#eerie blonde gets a name

[rainydayathogwarts]

The team discovers you're dating - Aaron Hotchner

d/n: daughter's name.. Summary: The team discovers you're dating because of Jack's freudian slip. (singlemom!bau!reader) 0.7k wc

Small trudging footsteps paired with loud squeals caught the attention of the agents in the bullpen, an apologetic SSA following after his son. Derek and Penelope raced to the young boy, Derek scooping him up the second he was close enough, beating his work wife by seconds. "I'm sorry guys, national holiday and our sitter cancelled." The team dismissed him, understanding of his protectiveness over his son. After seeing so many cases, there was no way he'd let a random person look after his son. "I'll take him down to the daycare in a second, but Jack here just wanted to say hello to someone first."

Derek exaggeratedly frowned, looking down at the blonde boy "Is uncle Derek not the person you were looking for Jacky boy?" Jack shook his head, loud giggles filling the bullpen, just as the glass door opened one more. "Sorry guys," You started, trying to flip strands of hair out of your face while balancing your coffee and keeping your bag on your shoulder. "I had to drop d/n at daycare, sitter cancelled." You gasped loudly when you spotted the small figure in Derek's arms, placing all your things on the closest desk as you opened your arms wide. Jack wiggled his legs in Derek's arms so he could be put down on the floor, a wide smile gracing his features. You crouched down on the floor, grinning at the boy, who yelled loudly "Mommy!" as he ran into your arms.

An eerie silence filled the bullpen as all conversation died down. You wrapped your arms around the boy, his words sinking into your teammates' heads. You lifted Jack up into the air with a clueless smile, standing tall enough so you could see all of your coworkers' facial expressions, when it hit you. Your eyes widened and you froze, past the point of collecting yourself or trying to brush off what Jack said as an accident.

"What did he just say?" You hear Penelope interrogate, looking back and forth between the profilers in the room, hoping to get an answer. As though sensing the change in atmosphere in the room, Jack lifted his head from the crook of your neck, looking up at your face. You moved your stance to balance him on your hip, using the other hand to pick up your to-go cup and take a long sip of your coffee. "You wanna try my coffee Jack?" You teased, breaking the silence between you and him, laughing as the boy pulled a face of disgust, remembering the time he smelt his dad's black coffee one morning when you were over with d/n.

"Yuck! ... Mommy, am I gonna see d/n?" He asks, swinging his legs happily. You're painfully aware of the eyes stuck on you and the boy, glancing up to look at Aaron, observing his reaction. He's smiling softly at you and his son, back turned to the other agents in the bullpen. He walks over to you just as you reply to Jack "She's in daycare right now! Do you want to go join her?" Jack nods excitedly, arms lifting up when his dad walks over, allowing him to take him from you. "Well since the cat's out of the bag." Aaron shrugs, leaning down to press a kiss on your lips, walking out with Jack in his arms who giggles loudly "What cat daddy?"

With Jack finally facing away from you, you let all your emotions show up on your face: shock, confusion, and most importantly embarrassment to being exposed to your relentless team of close friends who will never stop the questions:

'How long?' 'Jack calls you mommy?' 'Don't you owe me money Morgan?'

You laugh at Spencer's comment, watching as Derek fishes his wallet out of his pocket, holding up a 20 dollar bill for Spencer to take. Rossi pushes himself off the desk behind him, where he faces Emily and the rest of the team. He sighs, shaking his head "For the record, I knew his whole time. And at least now you don't have to hide your ring, y/n." He states as he walks away. "You're married!?" Emily and JJ yell at the same time as Penny squeals loudly, running to hug you tightly. "Engaged!" You try saying over the noise. "Engaged not married!"

[goldenroutledge]

one in a million

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

word count: 1.5k

summary: fluff. lando’s comfort show is revealed to the world and you only love him more for it.

warning(s): swearing, hannah montana (? lol), max f makes an appearance

a/n: i saw the interview of lando saying to oscar “you’ve never seen hannah montana?” and took that personally. hope you like it <3

lando norris masterlist

“Tell us your comfort show, Lando! What are you binge watching these days?” Max exclaims through the mic, voicing a comment from a fan in the livestream chat.

“Yeah and who has time for that?” Lando retorts, ever sarcastic in his banter with his best friend.

Max chuckles. “Man’s won two races and wants you to believe he’s working around the clock.”

“They keep us very busy, you know! In the simulator, doing media…”

“Mhm. He’s just deflecting from answering, guys. Because if he reveals the true answer Y/n’s probably gonna leave him.”

“Keep her out of this alright? I’m not deflecting from anything.”

“Sure you’re not.” Max muses. It’s apparent that Lando’s secret, a potentially embarrassing one at that, is on the tip of his tongue. He can only assume that the reactions in the chat would be good, but the way he’s toying with Lando right now is great. One of his favorite pastimes by far. “Don’t worry guys, you’re not missing much. His comfort show is not even that good anyway.”

“Stop spreading lies on stream, mate. We’re losing all credibility.”

“Did we ever have any?”

A moment of silence falls over the stream, before both men fall into a fit of suppressed laughter almost in unison, obviously failing at keeping their composure when the jokes are low-hanging fruit.

“But seriously, Max has no idea what he’s talking about. I’m not telling you guys the name of the show, all you need to know is that it has plot, humor, character development… and it’s not even a cartoon!”

“Yet you’re a little too old to be watching it, don’t you think?”

“You’re not being a very true friend, Max. Who said I’m too old to watch it?”

“Not a true friend? Is that what we’re doing?” Max catches on almost immediately to Lando’s quoting of certain song titles in his sentences, giving small hints to the viewers without completely giving it away. “I know you don’t mean that so I’ll forgive you. After all, nobody's perfect.”

“I hope you’re including yourself in that, mate.”

“Yeah, I know, I’m just like you.” Max sings his last three words, imitating the original songstress as best as he could.

“There we go, that’s more like it.” Lando smiles, amused with himself and with the way the chat is speculating who they’re referring to.

“I’m not changing my mind, it’s time for you to move on from that show. Just kiss it goodbye, Lando.”

“Are you the superfan here or am I? Because you’re quoting an awful lot of songs there.”

Max sighs, clearly taking more humor in this than he probably should. But would it be a Max Fewtrell x Lando Norris stream without a good inside joke? “Life’s what you make it, man.”

“It is what you make it. Some may say truer words have never been spoken.” Lando responds thoughtfully, clearly pondering his words. Or he’s at least pretending to.

“The fact that you get your life lessons from that show is concerning. Has anyone guessed it yet?” Max questions, carefully scanning the chat to see if there’s any mention of a certain blonde pop star.

“Well I don’t need them to guess it! If it’s my comfort show then how comforting would it be for everyone to know it?”

“They already know, mate! We’re not exactly subtle!”

“Fine, then we’ll say it on three. Ready?” Lando suggests, before counting down in unison with Max. “1…2…3…Go-fuck-yourself.”

“Hannah Montana!” Max shouts quickly, leaving an eerie silence over the stream as he bursts into laughter once again, nothing short of hysterical. “It’s Hannah Montana!”

Lando blushes slightly, his stoic expression slowly breaking before he begins laughing himself. If anyone watching didn’t know any better, they’d think he’s crying by the way he cups his face in his hands. It only provokes Max’s reaction further. Out of all of their stream moments, it goes without saying that they know there’s no way this isn’t getting clipped.

–

You’re lounging in bed when Lando returns to you from the ensuite bathroom, fresh out of the shower and ready to cuddle up to you after a long day. His heartbeat usually quickens at the sight of you anyway, but especially now as he sees you there in your shared bed. Visibly calm, cozy in one of his t-shirts, and ready to forget about the outside world with him for the night.

You can hardly peel your eyes away from the video playing on your phone, but it’s not hard once his eyes meet yours. You smile at him which is never out of the ordinary, only this time you know something he doesn’t. There’s mischief in your smirk and he immediately catches onto it.

“Congrats babe, you’re viral.” You face your phone towards him so he can see the video of himself from just hours earlier.

He throws his head back in exasperation and sighs dramatically, knowing that his suspicions have been proved correct. The little Hannah Montana moment between him & Max today was definitely clipped and had made its way into your algorithm. Lando throws the covers back and crawls in bed next to you, feeling at least a little bit soothed at the warmth of your body heat compared to the chill down his spine. He watches the video from over your shoulder, fitting in comfortably right beside you.

“I can’t believe he really went there!” You exclaim, with no urge to scroll past the video and see something else. You’d hate to make Lando feel bad, but it does get a little funnier every time.

“I can.” Lando states matter-of-factly. “He’s been holding it over my head ever since my sister let it slip that we watched it all the time growing up.” You giggle, which prompts Lando to defend himself further. “But it’s a good show! If I put on a wig and took on a new persona, my DJ career would’ve taken off by now. She’s a genius if you think about it. I mean I can’t be the only one who understands, right?”

“You’re not.” You murmur comfortingly, chastely kissing his jaw. “That show is a classic. Don’t let Max bully you into not liking it anymore. I love that you can appreciate good television when you see it, even if it’s Hannah Montana.”

“So you’re not leaving me?” Lando echoes Max’s words from earlier and beams with joy, putting an end to the pout he was putting on for dramatic effect.

“And let him win? Never.” You tease. “And you know why else I’m not?”

He breaks your gaze momentarily, feeling like his heart will turn to mush after you say what’s on your mind. If he’s honest with himself, it always does. “Why else are you not, Y/n?”

“Because you, Lando Norris, are one in a million. Hannah’s words.”

He sighs and smiles wide before giving you a proper kiss. It’s full of gratitude that you always play along, that you always flatter him until he’s blushing but most of all, for just being you. For never being embarrassed by him or hesitating to love him back the way he loves you, cheesy song lyrics be damned.

“Should we watch an episode?”

Lando rests his chin in the nape of your neck and caresses you gently. Moments like these are what makes the distance so agonizing, because you crave nothing more than to be with each other like this again. It’s what brings you back home to each other always, no matter what the coordinates say.

“Sure, baby.” He presses a kiss to your shoulder, trusting your judgment as you scroll through the episodes. Maybe you hadn’t seen them as often as Lando had, but they were fond childhood memories you held also. “Just not the Blue Jeans one!”

You give him a puzzled look, silently asking him to refresh your memory and explain himself.

“You know, Blue Jeans. Her horse? He gets bitten by a snake and almost dies. It’s too sad, we can’t watch that one unless I’m prepared for it, which I am not.”

“But he was okay in the end right?”

“Yeah, but he didn’t deserve what happened to him!” Lando emphasizes and you can hear the stress in his voice as he recalls the memory. “I didn’t think he was gonna recover, it’s a miracle that he did.”

You hum in agreement, amused by his passion. “Don’t worry my love, there are plenty of other episodes to choose from. I know that one is sensitive for you.”

“Promise you won’t make fun of me for it?” Lando teases, lightening the mood from his depressing story about an injured horse on TV.

You pause for a few moments, pretending to weigh your options. “Build me a closet like Hannah’s and you have a deal.” Lando smirks, picturing the image instantly. It was nothing short of a fashion lover’s dream, with shoes along the walls from top to bottom and clothes displayed in a colorful carousel.

He places a kiss on your temple, and then several behind your ears and down your neck to your shoulder, drawing your attention away from the television screen and back to him. He doesn’t really have to pause and think about it. Maybe he’s not always poetic with his words, but he knows in his heart that no gesture is too grand for you. “Consider it done.”

a/n 💌: reblogs, comments & feedback is greatly appreciated! thanks for reading <3

[featherandferns]

gamble (fic)

jj maybank x fem!kook!reader | technically a sequel to risk (read here!) but can probably be read as a standalone too!

content warnings: physical v!olence; mentions of sex (fem receiving); kook assholes

word count: 22k. (get a warm drink and strap tf in)

blurb: you love JJ Maybank for who he is, but as more people find out, more secrets are uncovered, things start to feel different. Why does it suddenly feel like JJ's keeping things from you? And why does he never tell you that he loves you back?

You used to have trouble sleeping. It felt as though someone was always lurking in the background of your mind, passing through the backdrop of your dreams like an extra in a movie. Overtime, it came and went. You got used to the occasional insomnia. But after JJ, you slept soundly at night. It was such an eerie shift that you wondered if it was him. If JJ was the one that had been lingering in the back of your mind, as though the universe had saved space for him in your life before he’d even entered it. 

The Maybank name was infamous on Kildare Island. You weren’t oblivious to the reputation that was tied to it nor were you oblivious to JJ Maybank himself. He was like a comet shower: unpredictable and unavoidable. Girls were drawn to him the same way he was drawn to trouble, and you were seemingly no exception. But you admired from afar. You’d catch glimpses of him during Sunday service, back when JJ was practically forced to attend. Subtly trying to glance over your dad’s body, you’d make out his shaggy sun-bleached blonde hair, free from his usually caps, and the way that his creased dress shirt sat unnaturally on his ever-strengthening frame. Then, he vanished from the church. You think it had to do with his mother, come to think. You knew little of JJ’s family but you never took Luke for a big bible-thumping man. People no longer wanted to help JJ. No, they wanted to leave him to the fishes. He can make his own bed, they’d sigh, and he can lie in it. A twin of his father, they’d sigh. A lost cause.

You didn’t believe in that. JJ had changed the trajectory of your life. He was the sunlight beaming down on your days of grey. He was the throttle in your beat-down tin box car. He was the album that you never knew existed but never wanted to be without again. He brought colour to your bubblewrap Kook life. Blinding red and brilliant yellow and haunting blue. Adrenaline and lust and happiness. 

JJ squints his eyes open. 

“Quit it!” you scold with a smile. 

“Just wanna look at you,” he mumbles. There’s a dopey smile on his lips as his eyes close once more. You laugh quietly and roll your eyes and shake your head. You’re sat, straddled, on his lower stomach. In one hand is a tub of Clinique clay face mask, your other hand dirtied at the fingers. JJ’s hands are resting on your bare thighs, fingers rubbing mindless patterns, up and down, in hardly-there massages of the flesh. The cool, damp clay smears across his cheeks and you rub it in with the pads of your fingers. It’s a nice excuse to touch him - not that you need an excuse. The tips of your acrylic nails barely scratch the surface of his skin as you wipe the facemask under his eyes and around his temples, painting it along his cheeks and chin. There’s the faint scratch of his growing back stubble that poetically contrasts the soft peach fuzz atop of his boyish features. 

“Is it stinging?” you check. 

“No,” he hums. He sounds relaxed. He looks it, too, sunken into your bedding, head propped atop of throw pillows, a lilypad in a sea of comfort. You wipe your hands clean on an Egyptian cotton towel before leaning over and digging about in your make-up bag. You subject JJ to lip scrub, gel-cooler pads on the eyes, and even eyelash and eyebrow serum. JJ takes it all willingly. You think he secretly enjoys how doting you are of him. Enjoys the attention and the pamper and the care taken for such insignificant things. 

“For someone who washes, like, twice a week, you have incredible skin,” you murmur, a little envious. 

“Hey! I wash more than twice a week!”

“Going in the sea doesn’t count as a shower. You know that, right? It’s important to me that you know that.”

At your teasing, JJ squeezes your thighs. Not hard enough to hurt; enough to draw a giggle. A warm, damp washcloth wipes his skin clear. You treat him with toner and moisturiser and facial spray and lip balm. His eyes remain closed, blissful, as you go about the motions. He’s adorable like this. Nobody would believe you if you told them that you gave JJ Maybank a spa-like pamper treatment. This side of him was just for you. You could tell by the way it took very little convincing for him to allow you to do it. Leaning down, you plant a quick kiss on his lips. 

“Done,” you brightly announce. 

Sighing, JJ blinks his eyes open and sits up onto his elbows. His hands slide down from your thighs to your knees. As he wakes up his muscles and joints from their hour long break, you reach for the mirror that lies on the comforter of your bed and hold it out before him so he can see his reflection. JJ pulls a face as if impressed by the glow of his skin and you grin. 

“Feels nice, right?” 

JJ runs a finger along his jaw as if admiring your handy-work. “I’ll say,” he grins. 

His hands suddenly land on your hips and JJ tugs you down towards him. Giggling, the mirror flops back onto the plush duvet as you gladly fall into his hold. You catch yourself with a hand by his head and another on his firm upper chest. God, it’s not fair. He’s so pretty it hurts. Your lips slot against his. The combination of oils and scrubs and balms taste sweet and tangy. JJ’s greedy with his touch, his hands slinking around to your backside, palming leisurely at the flesh. Pulling apart for breath, JJ’s hooded eyes flit between your damp lips and shining eyes. A telling smirk grows on his handsome face. 

“What’d you say I give you a facial too, huh?”

“You’re gross,” you mutter with a roll of your eyes. JJ sniggers and you can’t take the distance much longer. You quiet him with your mouth. He sinks into your kisses like he sinks into your bed. It’s like a dance, the way your lips move together. The push and pull: hard then soft. It’s like he’s Jekyll and Hyde, debating how to be. Whether to savour it or take it. His fingertips tease at your skin and you sigh contently against his lips. Like a fire, it simmers to a warm burn then sparks up again with newfound kindling. You rock against him, feeling him under his shorts, trying not to smirk at the ego boost of knowing how much you affect him. It’s not like it’s one way though. Nobody had ever had you like JJ Maybank did. 

JJ’s fingers slip into your hair. It’s still damp from washing it, unstyled and untamed atop of your head. Before, you wouldn’t dream of letting someone see you so unkept, but with JJ it was different. He saw through all of that anyway. The glitz and glamour was a part of you but it didn’t make you. His lips draw away from yours and he’s breathing heavy, hot against your skin, as he chases your jaw and your neck. You sigh at the lubricious kisses against the tender skin. The toe-curling sensation of his teeth scratching the surface just-so, never enough to break, never enough to hurt. 

“You’re so pretty,” he mumbles against you. He inhales as if he wants you in his lungs like vapour. You pull his lips back to yours, alight once more. “So fuckin’ pretty.”

“You talk too much,” you tell him against his mouth. He sort of chuckles. 

“Like that’s ever bothered you.”

“Shush,” you hurry out, kissing him harder, deeper. His tongue lewdly brushes yours. 

Neither of you can keep your hands to yourself. Neither of you can keep still. There’s no thought safe from JJ. No desire or wish. He’s everything, all consuming, as if he’s brainwashed you. 

“Prettiest girl in Kildare County.”

“Prettiest boy in North Carolina.”

“Always gotta one up me,” JJ sniggers. 

Hands and lips and tongue and teeth. Your heart races in your chest, lungs short of air. It’s giggly and erotic and romantic and there’s nothing else in the room, in the world, than JJ and you. His fingers finally find the lace fringing of your panties and your lips smile instinctively at the promise of what would follow. You go to decorate his jawline with hickeys as if painting a Monet. The sounds he makes are your favourite. Some whining-type groan, mixed amongst sighs and heavy breathes. Incoherent praises through mumbling lips. 

“Ew!”

Like a sledgehammer to an ice sheet, the moment is shattered. You pull back with furrowed brows, staring down at a cringing JJ. 

“Ranger! Get off!”

Your head whips around to find your darling geriatric golden retriever licking the fuck out of JJ’s feet. JJ keeps trying to kick his foot away but Ranger is obsessed, following after it. You laugh. 

“Ranger, I don’t think you wanna do that. God knows the last time he washed those dogs.”

“Hey!” JJ protests at your reasonable comment. You turn back to him with a playful grin. He leans up and kisses you fleetingly on the lips. “It’s a good thing you’re hot,” he jokingly tells you. 

“Could say the same thing to you.”

“Ranger! Seriously, man!” 

You’re gently tossed off JJ’s body, tumbling into the sheets with a laugh, as JJ gets up and frees his feet from Ranger’s affection. Rolling onto your side, you smile as you watch your boyfriend fuss your dog whilst he tries his best to discipline. The bracelet you made him sits safe on his wrist: seashells and blue and white and silver beads framing the two letters JJ. It’s a sister bracelet to your own which JJ rather persistently requested you make: seashells and blue and white and silver beads framing your own initials. 

“You know,” you start to say, “I sometimes wonder if you’re with me for my dog.”

“You’re crazy.” Looking over to you, his grin is his tell. “I’m with you for your money.”

Gasping, you grab for one of the many, many throw pillows and toss it at him. JJ bats it away with a laugh. You continue your onslaught with JellyCat children and cushions and through your combined laughter, JJ crawls over to you, coaxing you onto your back, looming over you. You smile up at him. He’s pretty like this. No, he’s pretty whatever way you look at him. It’s like he’s the night sky. No matter where you are, when you are, how you view it: it’s breathtaking. 

“Hi,” you giggle. 

His blue eyes held so many layers of emotion, fragile like the casing of a bomb. They peer into your soul and you feel seen, truly seen, by him. 

“Hi.” 

His eyes glance down at your lips. This kiss is different. It’s slower and languid. He takes his time as if he’s mapping every muscle in your lips to memory. Sighing as he pulls away, you gaze up at him. The words fall out of some corner of your mind and topple out your mouth. 

“I want you to meet my parents.”

JJ’s smile flickers like a dying lightbulb. “What?”

“My parents,” you mumble, lifting a finger to stroke dotingly at the apple of his cheek. “I want you to meet them.”

“What? So you can see my execution up close?”

“JJ!”

Laughing, he rolls off you and lands by your side with a gentle thud. Rubbing at his face, he says, “babe, your parents are not gonna like me.”

“You don’t know that,” you say. He gives you a look that reads as ‘really?’ “JJ, my parents aren’t some stuck-up snobs.”

The look intensifies. 

“What? You think I’m a stuck-up snob?”

The look reaches its limit. Rolling your eyes, you gently bat at his face and he snorts. “Come on! I want you to meet them. And I know they want to meet you.”

Panic flashes across his face. “You told ‘em about me?”

“No, not fully. Just that I’m dating someone,” you say. “But the church is full of gossips so...”

“Pretty sure the bible frowns upon that,” he mumbles. 

“Well, tell that to Mrs Dulamy. But only if you want to lose a limb.”

JJ stares at the ceiling and you stare at him. You can hear Ranger at the foot of your queen-sized bed, sighing as though his life is filled with stress before he settles down to rest. You reach out and rest your hand on JJ’s chest, feeling the warmth of him through his shirt. His eyes slowly look over to you and you smile smally. 

“I just want them to meet the guy that I’m crazy about,” you quietly say. 

“You really think they’re gonna like me?” he asks you after a moment’s thought. 

“I think they know me well enough to know I wouldn’t fall in love with the wrong person,” you reassure him. “So, yeah, I think they’re gonna like you.”

JJ sighs and contemplates the offer. “When would this be?”

“Tuesday? They get back from their cruise Monday afternoon.”

“One dinner?” 

“One dinner.”

“What happens if I say no?” JJ wonders, his tone almost joking. 

The truth? You’d never force JJ to do something he didn’t want to do. You know this wasn’t his world. Family dinners and expensive parties and bible study-groups. He dipped his toes in as much as he felt comfortable when with you but you wouldn’t push him in, head first in the deep end. For now, you were more than happy to settle for the occasional pamper night and meal at the Wreck. Besides, his life was always more exciting than yours. As long as you got to keep your jewellery and make-up, you would happily be a Pogue. 

But for now, you pretend to seriously consider his question. “I won’t put out for a week.”

His mouth drops open in horror. “What?”

Shrugging, you roll onto your back. “Those are my conditions.”

“That’s blackmail!”

“No, it isn’t,” you say casually. “Blackmail is when I have something on you that I decide to hold against you.”

“Alright, well then it’s jus’ mean,” JJ replies. Giggling, you look at him. He begins to smirk. “Like you’d be able to go that long without it anyway.”

Quirking a brow, amused, you say, “you certainly think a lot of yourself.”

“I’m just goin’ off what I’ve heard,” he grins. Scrunching his eyes up, his voice goes up an octave as JJ mimics you. “Oh! Just like that, JJ! Feels so good!”

“Hey!” you laugh, lunging over and playfully attacking him. “I do not sound like that!”

“Harder, harder!”

JJ catches your wrists easily, stalling your lazy so-called hits. You shake your head, smiling down at him. 

“You look good like this,” he says. 

“You look good all the time,” you reply. 

“Damn straight, princess,” he grins, pulling you down so your lips meet his. Between kisses, he asks, “but really? What’s in it for me?”

“Apart from a nice meal?” you say. “I’ll let you take me fishing again.”

“Meh,” he shrugs. 

You look down at him with a small, sultry smile. “And I’ll let you do that thing you like.”

A grin slowly unfurls on his face. His kiss is overly hard and passionate and it makes you laugh against him, as he somehow spins the two of you so you’re on your back once more. Before JJ can do things that will make you forget your own name, he gives his answer. 

“Sold.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*

The musty smell of aged wood and cold stone floors somehow compliments the overpowering notes of designer perfume that exudes off the girls you sit between. They sit in their Sunday bests; hair styled to perfection without a single strand out of place, their  heads hung in prayer. The wooden pews are uncomfortable and your throat is dry from the air conditioning. Your lips move absentmindedly through the prayers that you’ve been saying for as long as you were able to form words. 

“In Jesus’s name we pray. Amen,” you say in unison with the others. Lifting your head, you watch Father Jude walk up to the ornate podium. There’s a peaceful, friendly smile on his weathered features. 

“Father Jude talks like it’s going out of fashion,” Bethany mutters. The girls snort and giggle under breath and your own lips twitch in a small smile, not necessarily disagreeing. 

“He’s kind of a DILF though, don’t you think?” Ashley whispers. You cringe. 

“Ashley, that is so gross,” Daisy sniggers. 

Bethany, Ashley and Daisy. The Bible Bitches, as JJ had lovingly deemed them. 

“And we ask, Lord, won’t you guide us to be truthful? For is it not the teachings of the bible - is it not the word of Jesus Christ himself - that we should be truthful to ourselves, not only to others?” Father Jude preaches. 

“Psst.”

You look to your left and meet Ashley’s gaze. Her eyes are doe-like but they aren’t innocent. They fit well on her love-heart shaped face. In hushed tones, she asks, “is it true that you and Maybank are, like, official now?”

You nod. An unfamiliar smile appears on her face. It prickles you like a thorn. “How do you find him?”

Brows tugging, unsure of her meaning, you shrug. “Usually at his friend’s house.”

“No, no,” she sighs. “I mean, how do you find him in bed? Is he kinda freaky with it or…”

Your temper ticks just enough for a sharp rush of adrenaline to wash through your veins. Saving you having to catch your tongue. Bethany leans over to whisper, “Ashley, are you seriously talking about sex in the church right now?”

“You’re unbelievable,” Daisy giggles, thumbing her pearl necklace. 

“What! I’m just asking the important questions!” Ashley replies, grinning like there’s some great joke at play. 

Your face contorts in disgust and disapproval. 

“Just as Ephesians says, 4:25. Therefore each of you must put off falsehood and speak truthfully to your neighbour, for we are all members of one body.”

Her brows twitch up as she licks leisurely at her teeth. Before she speaks, you know you won’t like whatever she’ll say next. “Just trying to get a group census for her boytoy.”

“Shush!”

Startling in your seats, you all turn to meet the eyes of one of the longtime church attendees. Her elderly features are downturned in disapproval, probably much like your own. 

“Sorry, Mrs Dulamy,” Ashley whispers, turning back to the front with the others. The girls erupt in barely stifled giggles and you do your best not to roll your eyes. You don’t want to feed into unnecessary drama which would circulate for the next week. It’s easier to pretend like you enjoy their fraudulent friendship. They were the kind of kooks JJ hated. The kind that thought Pogues were bred to mow lawns and buss tables, and the kinds who would borderline emotionally abuse their boyfriends to get gifts out of them. Daisy would console you in one moment and then recount the story with fabricated fill-ins within the next. Ashley would pick and choose who was her favourite depending on who had the best social footing. You trusted Ashley as far as you could throw her. Bethany was the most bearable of the trio. You’d confide in her the most, though only bits and pieces which would do no harm if they were to make it into Figure Eight. Before, you settled for their questionable morals to have company, but now you have the Pogues and have experienced real, true friendship, and it was as if you saw the Bible bitches in a whole new light. The rose coloured glasses were off. 

Father Jude smiles lovingly at the gathering of people. “So, I ask of you all, to live life in truth, and encourage others to live truthfully too. As the Proverbs say: an honest witness tells the truth, but a false witness tells lies.”

Hums and approving nods occur across the room like an unnatural current. The girls stay quiet for the rest of the service and the conversation doesn’t pick up until after closing prayers. As the bells chime for midday and everybody rises to leave, Daisy speaks first. 

“So, my parents are out on Thursday night. I was thinking about a bible study?”

Bible study was code for girls’ night. Someone would sneak their parent’s wine and you’d all drink and bitch and occasionally glance down at your bibles. 

“I’m in,” Bethany nods. 

“Sure,” Ashley agrees. She looks over her shoulder at you and flashes you this Cheshire cat grin. “I wanna hear about Pogue boy.”

“I’ll see if I can come,” you say, shooting a not-so-subtle glare at Ashley. “My parents get back tomorrow so they might want some family time.”

It was a half-truth. You would much rather spend your time with JJ, either with or without the added company of the Pogues. The pair of you were a little attached at the hip. As Daisy and Bethany discuss the latest episode of the Bachelor, you follow the stream of people out into the streets of North Carolina. The sun beats down hard on the concrete. Fans appear to manifest out of thin air as church goers fan themselves. Your eyes search the space for JJ and you find him waiting for you across the street, looking like some James Dean heartthrob from the fifties. He leans against his red dirt bike; toned, sun kissed skin delectable under a white t-shirt. Dressed in cargo shorts and combat boots, as if his beauty wasn’t enough to have him stand out from the others. You smile at the sight of him, smitten all over again. 

“Damn. He looks good in white,” Ashley mutters. 

Despite your jealousy, she isn’t wrong. Turning to them, you say, “I’ll see you guys later” and then gladly cross the street to meet JJ. 

“Hey,” you smile. You close the gap between the two of you and loop your arms around his shoulders. Mostly for yourself but partly to remind Ashley who JJ belongs to, you push up onto your toes and press a kiss to his lips. They’re salty from the sea and grainy from the sand. He smells like aftershave and sunscreen and a hint of weed. One of his hands comes to rest on your waist. “Thanks for picking me up.”

“Well, you have a promise to keep,” JJ reminds you. His fingers toy with the fabric of your dress. The length of it sits just above the knee, the neckline shy of being too revealing for a Sunday service. You garnished yourself with jewellery: earrings and layered necklaces and a thick bracelet. “You look pretty.”

Your cheeks grow warm at the easy compliment but you try to play it cool. “You helped me get dressed.”

“Think helped might be a strong word,” he grins. It was true. If anything, he hindered the process. Looking over your shoulder, he gives a slight nod. “Your pack is watching.”

Glancing over, you make out the Bible Bitches ogling with the rest of the gaggle of church attendees. Mr and Mrs Mantash stand out in their cream yellow attire, murmuring to one another, eyes trained on you and your boyfriend. Rolling your eyes as you look back to him, you change topic. “Fishing?”

“Fishing,” JJ confirms. 

You take your usual spot behind JJ on his bike. Arms looping around his waist, you tether yourself to his firm middle. You can remember the first time you rode on his bike. The adrenaline spike and the hammering heart as JJ raced the two of you down the roads. Now, it’s as second nature to you as hopping on a bus. JJ revs the engine to spite the spectators and you giggle. Then, the two of you take off down the road, away from Figure Eight and out towards the Cut. You watch the scenery zip past you as the wind creates a dull sting in your eyes. Under his shirt, you can feel JJ’s stomach tense at every dip and corner. The stifling nature of the kook bubble you’ve lived most of your life in fades with every yard and as it does, you feel as though the air gets lighter and your lungs get wider. 

The two of you park in a small lot beside a walkway. It leads down to a wooden pier that's immersed in a scenic marsh. The greenery spans across the water and expands out as far as you can see, perfectly outlining avenues of water that house gators and fish. JJ’s fishing gear is already set up. It’s a quiet spot that few know about aside from locals and it seems JJ has a good enough relationship with the regulars to trust his rig won’t get stolen. Besides, he’d probably just steal it back. His hand is clammy in your hold, the metal of his rings warm against your fingers. Then begins the dance of prepping the rods. You watch over his shoulder as he messes with hooks and lines. 

“You remember how to do this from the last time I showed you?” JJ asks you. His fingers work meticulously at the hook as he fastens it to the line and rod. You’re mesmerised by his intricacy, thoughts happily wandering towards the gutter. 

“Sort of,” you mumble, not fully present. 

“A’right,” he hums. “Pass me the bait.”

You do as he asks and retrieve a small, pink shrimp. Your mind immediately makes the connection and at your dawdling, JJ turns to look at you as you begin to giggle. Gently puppeting the shrimp, through your laughter, you imitate in a strange, high-pitched voice: “and the other thing is, my sister had a baby and I took it over after she passed away, and the baby lost all its legs and arms and now it’s just a stump but–”

Rolling his eyes, grinning, JJ takes the shrimp from you. “Such a dork.”

You laugh and wipe your fingers on his shirt, drawing another chuckle from him. 

“You watchin’, baby?” he checks. You nod and calm yourself and watch as he hooks the shrimp onto the hook. Holding the rod out to you, you take it with your free hand and wait as JJ sorts out his own rod. Soon enough, you’re guided on how to throw the line into the water. Then, your favourite part: the waiting. Rods lying against the railing of the pier, you and JJ stand side by side, your head resting on his chest. He’s vaping a dab pen and the mango-infused vapour pleasantly scents the air before the two of you. Your feet are turned in towards him like tree roots searching for safety. Birds coo and call in the distance, sweeping over the water and teasing the fish below the surface. The sky's spotless blue and bright with daylight. You feel a little guilty for breaking the serenity of the moment. 

“So…You going to finally tell me why Rafe and his gang of fairies wanted to kill you and Pope the other day?”

JJ’s breathing stutters, though you wouldn’t notice if it weren’t for your ear against his chest. “Like they need a reason to be dicks.”

“They don’t,” you hum in agreement. “But neither do you, so.”

“So?”

“They don’t pick fights for absolutely no reason.”

“Hm,” JJ says, clearly not in full agreement. 

“You can tell me anything. You know that, right? Like, I’m always going to be on your side,” you remind him quietly. JJ’s hand finds your hip easy and he squeezes. 

“I know,” he mutters. “Jus’ don’t want you thinking less of me.”

“Less of you how?”

“I don’t always make the right decisions,” JJ says, almost embarrassed. Snorting, you glance up at him. 

“Like I didn’t know that?” JJ’s bemused furrowed brows prompt you to continue. “JJ, we went to Sunday school together. I think you hold the record for being kicked out of class.”

“Fair point.”

A breeze comes and it’s a nice excuse to inch slightly closer. Rafe’s threat to you hasn’t escaped your mind. Knowing that the gang still had their aims set on yourself and JJ, and the other Pogues too, obviously didn’t thrill you. But that came with the gig. Avoiding an obnoxious asshole was a pretty small side-effect to a drug like JJ Maybank. So, to lighten the mood, stepping away from him, you plant your hands on your waist and jut your chin up. “Well, I’ll protect you if anything else happens. I’m an armed woman now.”

Raising a brow, smiling, JJ says, “you gonna protect me, huh?”

“Yeah,” you nod. 

“But then who’s gonna protect you?” With that, he grabs at you and tosses you over his shoulder. Screeching, giggling, smacking lightly at his back, JJ wanders over to the railing. 

“Put me down, Maybank! Put me down!”

“Can’t hear you princess!” JJ loudly remarks. “Maybe you ought’a pray for help.”

“I’ll scream!”

“Knock yourself out,” JJ smugly says. But you don’t. You just laugh and continue to natter for him to put you down and after he pretends like he might throw you in, he relents. You gaze up at him, your limbs still tethered. 

“I’ve got your back,” you say, breath now caught, laughter contained. “I trust you.”

“I know,” JJ nods. He’s visibly uneasy by your brazen honesty. You get the feeling that he’s not used to someone being so openly in love with him. So carefree in their affection. So willing to show it.

“I love you," you smile.

A smile come fights onto his face. As he dips his head and your eyes slip shut, anticipating the familiar feel of his lips on yours, he pauses. Then: “yo! Yo! You got’a bite!”

“Huh?” you ask, opening your eyes. 

“Fish on!”

You swiftly turn to your rod to see it twitching, telling of a bite. Gasping, you rush to grab at the handle and awkwardly manoeuvre your hands in the way JJ taught you. He hovers by your side, his larger hands shadowing yours. 

“You remember how I showed you right?”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” you mumble, brows furrowed in concentration as you try to reel in your catch. But your arms start to ache and you feel as though the line is endless. “I can’t do it, JayJ.”

“You can, you can,” he encourages. “Reel it in faster, baby.”

“I can’t!” 

“A’right, give it here.”

JJ’s hands are warm as they encase your own. You let JJ do most of the work as he pulls the fish in, and the grunts of effort beside your ear should not be as erotic as they are given the moment and your saintly Sunday start. Soon enough, the line reaches its end and a fish emerges through the water, hanging from the hook. You giggle excitedly at the sight. 

“That’s what I’m talking ‘bout, baby! Woo!” JJ whoops. “Get the net, get the net!”

You scramble and do as he says, ducking under his arm. You hang the net just below the fish and help JJ guide your catch onto the pier. There, JJ tactfully removes the fish from the hook and holds it up. The grin on his face is like a schoolboy who just scored his first goal. He’s radiant like this. You smile wider, prouder. 

“Hell yeah! That’s a flounder right there baby! Hell of a boy too!” JJ gloats. Laughing, body thurming with excitement and adrenaline, you watch as JJ preps the catch for the cooler. Once everything is squared away, JJ strides over to you and captures your cheeks between his hands. His lips press to yours in a short kiss and you giggle and groan, trying to squirm out of his hold. 

“Ew, JJ, your hands are all fishy,” you carp. “S’gonna ruin my make-up.”

“Bite me,” JJ grins, kissing you again. It’s a good way to quell your complaining. Good way to derail your thoughts, too. 

Later, after John B has picked the two of you up (JJ riding the bike home), the two of you find yourselves shoulder to shoulder at the kitchen counter of the Chateau (though JJ is a good head taller than you). The pungent smell of fish makes you feel as though you’re fifty feet below the ocean’s surface. The flounder is squishy under your fingers, soggy from the cooler it had been kept in. When JJ’s knife makes a small incision by the fish’s eye, you gag and look away. 

“Oh my God, JJ, that’s so gross,” you mumble. 

He sniggers. “Jus’ nature.”

You hesitantly glance back down at the fish to see JJ make another incision with the blade. And then, the fish twitches. You shriek and JJ jumps, thankfully not slicing off any fingers in the process, cussing up a storm. 

“It’s alive!” you exclaim. 

“Barely! It’s just a reflex,” JJ loudly replies, shaking his head. One of his hands (slimy with fish guts) reaches for yours and guides your fingers back to the body. “Come on. You said you wanted to do this.”

He wasn’t wrong. You, in fact, insisted. He warned you that he didn’t think you’d like it but you hated being thought of as incapable, even if that wasn’t how he meant it. Stubbornness was a family trait. You could wear pink and talk about politics. You could plie and prepare a fish…maybe…

“Oh my God, oh my God,” you mutter, alternating between swallowing and gagging. Your acrylic nail slips under the top layer of the creature’s skin. JJ laughs, guiding your fingers as if puppetering. 

“You’re fine,” he sniggers. 

“I didn’t think it’d be so…gruesome.”

“It’s a fish.”

“It’s disgusting,” you mither. At the feel of something squishy and spongy under the tip of your finger, your hand comes flying out and you practically dance away from the fish as you squirm. “No, no, nopity, no.”

Laughing, JJ shakes his head and turns back to the fish, finishing the job. You head to the sink to clean your hands. “You kooks crack me up. Bet you think theses things come outta the water already baked and broiled, huh?”

“Har har,” you sarcastically quip, scrubbing at your hands. You study the underbeds of your nails to find fish gunk all up them. Whining, you say, “these are a fresh set of acrylics, JJ.”

“Hey - you’re the one that wanted me to have dinner with your parents,” he says with a shrug. 

Wiping your hands dry on a questionably clean dish towel, you lean your back against the counter and watch your boyfriend. “I didn’t know how much I’d have to sacrifice, clearly.”

You take the few steps towards him and wrap your arms around his middle, cradling his back against your front. You press a kiss to his shoulder blade. One of JJ’s hands lands atop of your own and squeezes softly, and it’s so sweet that you can’t even be annoyed that he just got fish slime all over your freshly washed hands. You lean against him as he continues to work on prepping the fish: the muscles of his back rippling and rolling with the movement of his arms and wrists. This close, the indescribable smell of JJ washes away that of the flounder. It somehow calms and turns you on all at once. Here, like this, you’re happy. Being with JJ was like stepping into a secret oasis, free of prying eyes and callous whispers. You knew introducing JJ to your parents was going to shift things slightly. It would set it in stone: you’d made your choice, and your choice was a Pogue. You were ready for that change but you worried that maybe JJ wasn’t. I guess only time would tell. 

The front door to the chateau creaks open and you glance over to find Kiara walking in. 

“Sup guys,” she greets. 

“Sup,” JJ replies, not bothering to turn. 

“What’re you guys doing?” she wonders, walking over. You untangle yourself from JJ and lean against the counter. 

“JJ’s showing me how to prepare a flounder.”

“You guys go fishing?”

“Yep.”

“This one caught her first fish,” JJ chimes in proudly. 

Scoffing, you shake your head as you look at Kie. “Barely. It bit my rod and JJ’s the one that pulled it in.”

“Under your supervision,” JJ adds. “Officially a fisher girl now.”

“A flounder’s a pretty decent catch, too,” Kiara praises, glancing over her friend’s shoulder. “Nice one, princess.”

Yes, it seemed the princess nickname had stuck with everyone. It didn’t bother you all that much. You were rather prissy compared to them. You hated getting dirt under your nails and would see red if there was a beer stain on your shirt. Any excuse to wear heels and often dressed in skorts or skirts. No matter how late, you had to do your full skincare regime. At first they teased and poked fun but they never insulted you. It was just part of your personality. 

“You guys eating here?”

“Actually, I should head back soon,” you say, glancing to the clock on the wall. “My parents should be home by now.”

“Dutiful daughter duties call,” JJ remarks. You poke him and grin at his squirming. One of your favourite discoveries of JJ Maybank? He was insanely ticklish. 

“We should probably head to Heyward’s soon, too,” Kiara says. “Promised we’d give them a hand with deliveries, remember?”

“Damn. I forgot 'bout.”

You take that as your cue to leave. Reaching a hand up to JJ face, you turn his head towards you and push up onto your toes. 

“See you,” you say, kissing him quick. 

“Later,” he replies. You wave politely to Kie in farewell and head to the door. Just before you pass through it, you call JJ’s name and wait for him to turn and face you. You point at him. 

“Tomorrow. What time?”

“Six.”

“On the dot.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he dismisses, waving a hand, turning back to the fish. You look at Kiara and she grins. 

“I’ll make sure he gets there on time.”

“Hey!”

“Thank you,” you smile, satisfied. With that, you make your way home. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

You pace the hallway of your house. Your eyes glance to the clock that hangs on the wall, crowded by framed pictures of yourself and your family. He’s late. Ten minutes late. Sighing, nervously twiddling your fingers, you glance from the front door, to the sitting room door (where your mom is lounging), to the office (where your dad is thankfully occupied by a business call). You knew your boyfriend wasn’t very timely, but surely tonight he would know the gravity of it. The importance of it. 

“Come on, JJ,” you mumble, glancing to the front door once more as if manifesting for it to knock. 

Ranger slowly trundles into the hallway, his tail wagging slowly, half-asleep. He rubs against your leg asking for pets and, as if sensing your anxiety, gives a sympathetic whine. Scratching as his head, you sigh. 

“I know, boy. He’ll be here.”

As if on cue, the door cracks open. JJ eases it open and steps in cautiously, and your head lolls back as you exhale in relief. 

“Finally!” you say to the ceiling, eyes slipping shut. Walking over to him, you press the door shut and grab his wrist, tugging him behind you through the house. “I thought you knew I was serious when I said you needed to be on time, JJ. This is a big deal, alright? You’re lucky my dad has been on a call for the past ten minutes!”

At his silence, you take pause at the bottom of the staircase and look at him. 

Your mouth parts in horror at the sight. 

“Oh my God,” you breathe. 

His lip is cracked, the half-heeled, ruby red cut from his last scuff up broken, now accompanied by a second fresh wound. His face is discoloured. Cheeks a muddy brown and plumish purple, with bruising on his cheekbone encircling a cut. There’s another impressive bruise by his brow, and a third near his mouth. His eyes are what sadden you the most. The hollow, gaping impression of them, as if he’s retreated somewhere inside of himself, the brightness snuffed out. His teeth and clenched and jaw tight. You immediately feel guilty for chewing him out. 

“Oh my God, JJ. What happened?” you ask, reaching a hand up to cup at his face, as if needing to confirm he isn’t some kind of apparition. He bats your hand away dismissively. 

“It’s nothin’, a’right? Let’s get this fuckin’ thing over with, yeah?”

You frown, keeping your hands to yourself. “JJ. Don’t be like that.”

“Like what? I’m here, ain’t I?”

Sighing, shaking your head, you take his hand in yours and guide him up the stairs and to your bedroom. Ranger sneaks in before you close the door. He lingers by JJ’s legs as JJ takes a seat on the edge of your bed. It seems Ranger calms him, nuzzling his head into JJ’s palm, demanding affection. Leaning against your door, folding your arms across your chest, you study JJ a moment. He’s shaken up but trying to hide it. It reminds you of how he was after Rafe and his gang jumped him. You wonder if that’s who is responsible for these injuries, too. There’s some anger that lingers, hovering around him like a smoke, not yet to dissipate, and it worries you for the gravity of the night. 

“We don’t have to do this tonight, if you don’t want to,” you say gently. 

He shakes his head immediately, eyes trained on Ranger’s panting face. “It’s a’right. I’ve been through worse.”

“Funnily enough that isn’t particularly reassuring, JJ,” you sigh. “I’m sorry for tearing into you like that. If I’d have known–”

“--I just wanna forget about it, a’right?” JJ says, almost snapping but not. He looks at you and nods, and tries a smile that looks queasy. “I know how important this night is for you. I don’t wanna use this as a get out.”

“It isn’t, though,” you say, crossing the room to him. Ranger makes space for you to stand in front of JJ, and he rests his head against your stomach. Your hands rub reassuringly at his upper back. “I want you to meet them when you’re ready for it, y’know?”

“I know,” he says against your dress. “You look pretty by the way.”

Rolling your eyes, smiling, you say, “thanks, JayJ.”

“I'm sorry. I wanna meet them,” he says. Pulling away, he looks up at you and gives a sheepish smile. “You got some sorta magic potion that can fix me up.”

Grinning, as if you’re a nineties movie character who has just been granted the permission to give a makeover, you eagerly nod. JJ chuckles at how you rush for your make-up bag. Taking a spot beside him on the bed, you use every trick in the book to help cover up JJ’s wounds, careful not to be too brutal in your craft. 

“Don’t tell John B about this,” JJ mumbles as you blend out the concealer. 

“God forbid a man wears make-up,” you sarcastically murmur back. 

“I’ve got a reputation to keep, y’know?”

“Mhm. Think you lost that reputation when you started dating a kook,” you giggle. 

He grins. “Nah. Just made me even more of a staple, really.”

Rolling your eyes, amused, you say, “be quiet so I can finish this off. We’re already late for dinner.”

“You want me to get changed?” he asks. “You’re dressed up all nice.”

“I’m always dressed up all nice,” you tell him. It’s true: you’re wearing a new dress that you got in the sale from Miu Miu; your hair styled to the nines; the brightest, bestest jewellery you own; and, of course, JJ’s bracelet. JJ sits in his usual attire: a graphic t-shirt that reps one of Kildare’s many local establishments, a pair of shorts that are kissed with dust and seasalt, and his combat boots. 

“You want me to, though?”

“No,” you say. “I want them to meet JJ. Not JJ.” 

At the pompous accent you put on the pronunciation of his name, JJ laughs and nods, and bows his head almost bashfully, as if holding your eyesight is too intimidating for a moment. 

“We should probably go and face the music,” you quietly tell him. 

Taking a deep breath, JJ nods and juts his chin up. “How’d I look?”

“Handsome as ever,” you smile. Careful not to hurt his wounds or rub at your work, you pinch his chin in your hand and guide his lips to yours for a quick kiss. 

“Promise me this won’t change anything between us?” JJ whispers. 

“I promise,” you reassure him. 

Nodding, JJ gets to his feet with a grunt and encases your hand with his own. Ranger perks up at the sudden spike in energy, eagerly guiding the way to your door, then down the stairs and into the hall. As you pass the doorway into the sitting room, you feel JJ free his hand from your hold. 

Your mother and father sit like something from a Victorian portrait. They’re in an armchair each, on either side of the fireplace, a haunting orange glow illuminating the sides of their profiles. Your mother is drinking coffee from a fancy glass-mug; her hair hung in such perfect, symmetrical ringlets around her face, it’s as if she slept with coca cola bottles in them. Your father is the picture of success: dressed in a Gucci suit, not a wrinkle or crease in sight, his grey hair stark but not unflattering. They’re not making it easy to be unintimidated by them. 

“Darling!” your mom croons. She beckons the two of you over. “We were wondering where you two got to!”

“Sorry, mom,” you smile, crossing the room to her. She presses a kiss against each of your cheeks. Then, she ushers JJ near. 

“Yeah, sorry, Mrs T,” he says, clearing his throat. “I, uh, got caught up at work.”

“Well, there’s worse things in life than a boy who knows the importance of work,” your dad says. 

Your mom smiles dotingly at JJ, extending out a hand. “It’s wonderful to meet you, JJ.”

“You too, Mrs T,” he says, shaking her hand. 

“Oh, don’t call me that! Mrs T was my heinous mother. I’m Pam,” she light-heartedly tells him. 

“Well, alright, ma’am,” JJ nods. He turns to your dad next, who feels the need to rise from his seat as if Jesus Christ himself has demanded him to. A hand is thrust out like a bayonet. 

“Pleasure, JJ. Good to put a face to the boy who caught our daughter’s eye,” he says. JJ takes his hand and gives a firm shake, and you’re weirdly proud of how well he’s holding up. He must be terrified. You know how much he hates Kooks. Feels stifled when he’s around too many of them; judged and belittled, despite their charity and kindness. You can’t ever empathise, but you can certainly sympathise. “Call me Patrick.”

“Well, I think it’s time for some dinner, how about it?” your mom says. 

“Oh, I think that’s a wonderful idea, darling,” your dad agrees. They lead the way out of the room to the dining room, and you linger back with JJ. 

“You okay?” you check. 

“Could definitely do with a drink after this,” JJ only half-jokes, nervously smiling at you. 

You smile. “You’re doing amazing. They already like you.”

“Don’t give me false hope. Now come on,” JJ says, following after your parents. 

The table is set as though it’s Christmas dinner, or perhaps even the last supper. Impressive candles stand in even more impressive candle holders, and the runner is pure satin. The fancy china is out alongside the fancy wine glasses. JJ takes the seat beside you, opposite your father, and yourself opposite your mother. 

“Wine, JJ?” your dad asks, pouring himself a glass. 

“Oh, no thanks, sir. I’m seventeen,” JJ politely says. You have to hide your smile behind your own glass of water, taking a sip to walk down the humour. JJ drank like a fish. 

“Good man,” your dad says, winking at him. Another test passed. 

The door opens and the chef brings through the loaded plates. He places them in front of everybody one by one. 

“We’ve been told steak is your favourite,” your mother says to JJ. 

He glances at you, slightly surprised, then recovers and smiles. You’ve never seen his spine so straight before. “Uh, yeah. Thanks. Um - I mean, thank you.”

“Of course,” she smiles. You look down at your plate. Medium-rare steak, of the finest cut, smothered in peppercorn sauce and accompanied by steamed vegetables and homemade garlic butter. It smells delectable, mouth-wateringly attractive in its layout. Hands are interlocked, grace is said, and then everybody begins to eat. In the corner of your eye, you see JJ wince as the cut on his lip stretches too wide. 

“So, JJ. You say you have a job?”

“Uh, yes sir,” JJ says. “Usually odd jobs but I have a pretty steady gig at the golf club, which is nice. I busboy there.”

“Honest work, that is,” your dad says, tipping his glass in approval at him. “Honest and good work. I think it’s important people learn the importance of working, don’t you darling?” 

“Oh, absolutely, darling,” your mom agrees. 

You see JJ stiffen in your peripheral and instinctively your hand reaches for his leg, hidden under the table. You squeeze his knee reassuringly. They don’t realise how tone deaf they sound. How backhanded it is to say such a thing whilst eating a dinner that cost at least sixty dollars, dressed in nothing but designer threads. 

“Our little pumpkin tells us you’re pretty good with your hands though,” your mother says oh-so-innocently. 

Your face feels hot as a boiling kettle and your eyes shoot down to your plate. You can imagine JJ’s smirk perfectly: the picture of coy and cocky. 

“Oh, really? Little pumpkin, said that, huh?” JJ says. 

“Oh yes,” your mom says, blind as a bat to the innuendo. “She says you’re good with all sorts of mechanical mumbo-jumbo.”

“I’m pretty good with it, yeah. My dad taught me everything I know. He’s the better one at fixing up motors and stuff like that,” JJ says, his voice taking on a weird sort of edge, the thought of his father brings up a strange myriad of emotions. 

“Your father, eh? That’s, uh, Luke, isn’t it?” your dad says, swirling his wine. 

“Yes, sir,” JJ eventually says. 

“Ah. I went to school with him, back in the day. He always had a knack for getting caught up in the wrong sort of thing,” your dad absentmindedly says. 

“Dad,” you lowly say, shooting him a look. He seems to remember himself. Clears his throat and shakes his head. 

“I apologise, JJ. I didn’t mean to offend,” your dad says. 

“Not at all sir,” JJ replies, but it’s stifled, like the lid on a shaken bottle of fizzy pop. Desperate for a hand, you look to your mom. She brightens up and chimes in. 

“Oh! The midsummer’s ball is right around the corner! I imagine it’s been all hands on deck at work, getting things ready for it, hm?” 

“Oh, you better believe it,” JJ chuckles, nodding. Then, your mom makes a noise like an elephant trying its first toot of its horn. It alarms everyone, catches their attention. 

“Darling! I just had the most splendid idea!” your mom bursts out. Your head shoots up, mouth full of half chewed food. “You should take JJ along with you as your date!”

You chew and chew. Swallowing, glancing at JJ, you nervously laugh. “Oh, um, I don’t know if it’s really his kind of thing, mom.”

“Come now! Some nice food and nice music. An excuse to get all dressed up. What’s not to like?”

Dressed up? She clearly doesn’t read JJ very well, sat in his well-worn t-shirt, hair an enticing mess (cap begrudgingly abandoned). Just to put the matter to rest, you oblige, placing a hand on JJ’s leg as you do in hopes he’ll track the secret message of, ‘don’t worry - you don’t have to!’

“Maybe, mom. Maybe we will,” you say. 

The rest of the dinner passes with little hitch. If anything, it’s almost mundane. Your mother tells embarrassing stories that have you cringing and JJ laughing; your father recalls anecdotes from the office that are only mildly boring. JJ even starts to share some of his own tales. A car he helped to fix up, which prompts your dad to tell him about his classic car collection - offering JJ a tour some day, and even a drive around, which certainly appeals to your boyfriend. Another story about you, from when you went cliff jumping. Your parents are visibly taken aback. They can’t seem to imagine you hurling yourself off a cliff, down and down into water. Your mother even says something like ‘good grief’ when JJ recounts the tale. 

“Will you be staying for dinner, JJ?” your mom asks as you all depart from the living room, full and fed. 

“Uh, I should get going,” JJ says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Got people to see and things to do, y’know?”

“Busy, busy,” your mom beams. 

“Yeah,” he chuckles, glancing down. The make-up has started to fade, teasing at the bruise that’s likely only worsening on his handsome face. 

“Well, it’s been wonderful to meet you, JJ,” your mom says, meaning every word. 

“Likewise,” he says. “Y’all have a lovely home. And thank you also, for the dinner. It was fuc– Uh…It was freaking amazing.”

“You keep that good head on your shoulders,” your dad tells him, sticking out his hand once more, though this time far less threateningly. “And take good care of our daughter. She’s pretty taken by you.”

“Dad,” you grumble, embarrassed. 

“I will sir. I’ll keep her safe, I swear,” JJ assures, shaking his hand. The four of you stand a moment before you speak. 

“I’m gonna walk JJ out.”

With that, the two of you make for the front door, leaving your parents in the sitting room with their bids of good will and safe journeys home. He’s a stride or so ahead as you pass the hall. His toned back enticingly sways under his shirt. The two of you linger on the doorstep, outside the closed front door. The summer evening air is muggy and morish. JJ retrieves his vape and takes a hit or two to calm any persisting nerves from the dinner. 

“How you feelin’?”

“Like I just survived a mugging,” JJ says, making you laugh. He seems to like your laugh. He starts to smile. 

“They liked you.”

“You sure?”

“Oh yeah,” you nod, certain. “My dad especially.”

“Your dad’s scary as fuck.”

“He is not!”

Shrugging, disagreeing, JJ takes another drag of his vape. He looks down at you then, smiling to himself, sleepy. “You sneaking out to the chateau later?”

“You want me too?”

“Is that even a question?” he asks, quirking a brow. Grinning, playful, you reply: 

“Well, a girl likes to feel wanted.”

Shaking his head, amused, perhaps even smitten, JJ leans against the wall of the cove of the entryway. He watches you for a moment. 

“You gonna tell me who banged you up like that, then?” you broach, eyeing his just concealed injuries. They’re more obvious, gleaming through, in the doorway light’s fluorescent. 

“Why? You gonna go vigilante on ‘em?” JJ smirks. 

Rolling your eyes, you say, “don’t kid, JJ. I don’t like seeing you all black and blue.”

“Well, knowing me, you’re gonna have to get used to it, little pumpkin.”

“Oh good. That’s catching on,” you mumble. Laughing, JJ clears the gaping gap between the two of you with two shuffles of the feet. 

“It’s a cute nickname.”

“It is not becoming your new nickname for me.”

“Mm. We’ll see,” he says. He dips his head and kisses your lips, and it tastes like salt from the dinner in the most divine way. “Come to the chateau tonight, yeah?”

“Okay,” you murmur against his mouth, never being good at saying no to him. Another kiss, too short and too fleeting for your liking, and JJ steps away. Then, the matter comes back to you. You grab at his hand and stop him in place. “What my mom said, about the midsummer’s ball - you really don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I mean, of course it’d be nice if we went together, but I know that isn’t really your scene so…”

JJ winces, not quite torn but off put in disappointing you in some kind of way. Maybe your smile is reassurance enough for him to be honest. “I just can’t handle being around that many kooks, y’know? And the penguin suits and the blind ignorance? It’s just–”

“--I get it,” you assure, nodding, smiling. “It’s tone deaf.”

“People on the Cut still don’t have power from Aggie,” JJ says, “meanwhile Figure Eight are wasting their power on fairy lights. No offence.”

You shrug. You like midsummers: you weren’t going to lie about it. The dresses and the costumes; the community and the music; the sneaking drinks and the gossip that sparked. Most of kook life was lonely and insufferable but the party felt rather fun, most years. You imagine JJ would be delectable in a suit. His muscled-up arms brimming under a white dress shirt; legs hugged in the black iron-pressed trousers; hair combed and quiffed, still swooping over his forehead…But he wasn’t a ken doll. No, he was G.I. Joe. You weren’t going to wrangle him into a suit to play dress up and parade him around something that would only make him feel like he’s lost at sea. Besides, there was something magical, almost, in the way he was with you, out of the eyes of others, or in front of the Pogues - worry free of judgement. You liked that JJ, not the one that looked like he practised sitting with a ruler and waited for a misstep in conversation to casually degrade his entire family and upbringing. 

“That’s okay, JayJ,” you soothe. “You’ll just have to make peace with the fact that I’ll be looking fine as hell in front of those dumbass kook boys.”

“You already look fine as hell, every Goddamn day,” JJ chuckles. He presses a kiss to the corner of your lips, his voice dipping as he says, “and those dumbass kooks will know who to answer to if they forget who you belong to, huh?”

A thrill trickles down your spine. Giddy, you bite back your smile as JJ pulls away. There’s a knowing look on his face, as if he could hear the effect his words had on you. You hang onto his hand for as long as possible as he slowly backs away, down the front door steps. You give him a small wave farewell as he wanders over to his bike, and as he starts down your drive, you step back into your house. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

JJ’s skin is warm against your cheek. Your body shifts up and down with the steadying rise and fall of his chest. You’re both clammy, probably more so being cuddled together under the tousled sheets, and his skin smells of sweat and sex and seasalt. A finger toys with the shark tooth necklace that rests just shy of his heart. The mattress is uncomfortable so you prefer JJ's stomach. You can feel every spring pushing through the thin material and you contemplate buying him a mattress topper, sneaking it on when he's out surfing or working. But you know he'd tell the difference: know it'd upset him in a way that would come out as frustration. 'Charity'.

One of JJ's hands leisurely rubs at your bare thigh and whilst the action itself isn’t necessarily erotic, it keeps a gentle humming buzz through your bones like someone keeping an engine running in a car out front. 

“How many girls have you been with?” you wonder. 

JJ barks out a laugh. “Why'd you ask?"

“Just curious,” you say, glancing up at him with a cheeky smile. “I wanna know how I rank.”

He peers down at you through half hooded eyes. “Dumbass question. You know where you rank.”

“At the bottom, right?” you joke, raising your brows. 

Laughing, he shakes his head and gazes up at the ceiling. His hand squeezes at the flesh of your leg, somehow lovingly, somehow telling you, 'no, not at the bottom'. 

“Just gimme a ballpark figure.”

“C’mon!” JJ laughs. “You know I ain’t gonna do that. This is one of those traps you girls set to catch guys like me out.”

“No it isn't! I just want to know, I swear! May God be my witness.”

His laugh tells you that he’s not going to fess up anytime soon. Smirking, aware fully of your teasing, you say, “well, at least tell me if I’m the only Kook you’ve been with.”

“Baby–” He cuts himself off with another chuckle, but the way he looks at you this time gives you room for answer. Your mouth parts in an aghast smile, giggling as you point at his face. 

“I knew it! You’ve slept with another Kook before me!”

“Oh my God,” he says, shaking his head, amused, not denying. 

“Who was it!? Maybe I know them,” you ponder, curious. 

“Nobody special,” he tells you. “Nobody as special as you, anyway.”

“Aw. You passed the test,” you kid, pressing a kiss to his lips.

One of his hands captures the back of your head, his fingers sinking into your hair like fingers into bread dough, and he deepens the kiss. Licks lazily at your lips, his tongue brushing against yours. He tastes like the joint he was smoking when you made it to the Chateau (successfully sneaking out of your house), and the flavour maps itself into your memories so it will forever be tethered to the name JJ Maybank. Insatiable in bed, as if his hunger is contagious, your cunt throbs at the implication of JJ’s wandering hands. You part your legs just enough to let him slip a finger through your wet folds, stimulated and sticky from the last round. Lips parting from his, your head rests on his collarbone as he pushes through your already used hole. Soft moans slip through your lips like the susurrus of the wind. JJ kisses at your ear, nibbling at your earlobe, kitten-licking the helix. The sweet gentleness to his kisses juxtapose the way his fingers fuck into you. 

“So fuckin’ wet, baby,” he murmurs in his crooning, southern accent. “So fuckin’ wet for me, huh?”

“Just for you,” you dumbly breathe against his skin. Your body rocks against his hand instinctively, chasing the pleasure that has your vision going mushy. The metal of his rings against your swollen walls, just cool enough to push the buttons of your stimulation just right. His fingers curl and brush against you and it hits that spot that has you gasping out, practically humping his hand. It’s crazy that your man could make you feel this way. 

“That’s it, baby. Gimme one more, yeah, baby? Gonna gimme one more?”

“M’close,” you whimper. He doesn’t relent. Keeps his fingers pumping in and out, the lewd sounds feeling as though they echo in your head. You push out the thoughts of sin and blasphemy from your mind, recalling JJ’s own words when you confided in him about your worries of wronging the Lord. If he ain’t want you to feel good like this, he wouldn’t have given the human body the right. Instead, you choose JJ as your alter. 

A new pace sets in, merciless as he pounds his digits into you. Your eyes are sealed shut, noises that feel foreign falling into the abyss of the room. Praises drive you on, fed into your ear in a voice as sweet and thick as Tennessee Whiskey. 

“That’s it, baby. Be a good little girl and come for me, huh? Come on, I know you’re close.”

You clench around his fingers with a gasping whine. Feel yourself leak out pleasure, dribbling down your thighs, drunk on the dopamine. He softens his rhythm. Kisses pleasantly at your ear and neck, whispering sweet nothings in the way your fellow church goers mumble out their prayers. And as you feel yourself return to your body, a smile grows on your face. You were lovestruck: it had gone straight to your head.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

The rolling slopes and green of the country club are perfectly trimmed; not a single blade out of sync. The smell of cut grass, recently hydrated from the hurricane the other week, seeps naturally into the aroma of the party. Liquor and juice mixers; fried clams; flowery fumes from the decorations. Amongst that is the perfumes and colognes of the guests, your own probably only adding to the fragrance of the Midsummer’s party. Wooden beams form rectangular archways, organised on the lawn, with wisteria and baby’s breath and lavender twirled around it, dangling down like something from a fairytale illustration. You glance around the gathering and search for familiar faces. There’s the Bible Biches, gathered with their parents. You spot Pope with his father at the food pop-up. Kiara’s talking to him. You like to think they’re your friends too - not just JJ’s - but something in the way they stand and talk, it seems personal and private. You decide not to pry. 

“You look beautiful, little pumpkin,” your mom tells you, catching your attention. You smile at her and let her fiddle with your hair, correcting some strands. “It’s a shame JJ couldn’t come.”

“I know. He’s busy though. Had to work,” you lie. 

“Well, I think it’s good that the boy knows priorities. Working is the world,” your dad nods. Your teeth grit. You know he means well when he says things like that, but working for JJ is synonymous with living. He didn’t have a choice. Still, you wish there was some truth to your words. JJ didn’t want to come to Midsummer’s but he never told you what he’d be doing instead. You feel the gap of his presence beside you and wonder if maybe you’re too joined at the hip. 

“I’m going to get a drink,” you say to them. They nod and catch eyes with the Mantashs, and you part from them. As you venture to the bar, you wedge yourself between people. 

“It’s just downright disrespectful,” a woman says. You glance curiously to your right and recognise Topper’s mother. “I mean, sinking someone’s property. It’s disrespectful.”

“It’s illegal, is what it is,” another woman agrees. Kelce’s mother. Their headdresses are ridiculous and over-the-top. 

“It isn’t surprising though. Those Maybank people are trouble with a capital T,” another woman remarks. That has your attention. You dip your head and listen in. 

“Still. Strange that he’d sink your boat without rhyme or reason,” Kelce’s mom says. 

“Like those delinquents need a rhyme or reason to cause chaos. That John B beat your son black and blue the other day, and then the Maybank kid had the nerve to pull a gun!”

“Well, I’m just glad we pressed charges. They arrested the Maybank kid just the other day, thank God. He owes us a restitution,” Topper’s mom gloats. “It’s about time they learn some consequences.”

You suddenly feel very, very sick. Your mouth is so full of saliva that a drink seems frivolous. You step away from the bar as if you’re already tipsy. The words arrested and restitution rattle around your head like a ping pong ball. JJ was arrested? When? She said only the other day, so it can’t have been that long ago. Why wouldn’t be tell you? Why didn’t he call you? You could have bailed him out; helped him cover the restitution. Is that why he was beaten when he came to your house the other day? Did the cops do that? No, no, they wouldn’t. Surely? Maybe Topper, again? But if Jj was arrested, that would be revenge enough, surely? The bombardment of questions doesn’t help the nausea so you step outside. Beneath the worry and the confusion is a sting of betrayal. He lied to you. Right to your face, several times. Hell, even last night, tangled in bed with him at the Chateau, he had the gall to look you in the face and omit all of it. You grip the railing of the porch and look out across the way. Kie and Pope are still talking. Do they know about all of this? You wonder about going over to ask but maybe they’re not supposed to tell, or maybe they don’t know themselves and you spark more drama. 

“You alright, pumpkin?” your mother asks, wandering over to you. You plaster on the smile you wear for dance recitals. 

“Mhm. Just a little stuffy in there, is all,” you say. More questions troop through your head. Does your mother know about this? Your father? You imagine not, given their earlier remarks about JJ. But will they? This town is small and this community is full of gossips. They liked JJ enough at dinner last night but you imagine that to change if they hear he was arrested for destruction of property. What did Topper’s mother say? ‘Sinking’? It must have been a boat that he sunk. You can’t imagine your dad to be willing to show his classic cars to a known convict. Your spiralling thoughts are interrupted by applause, and your head turns like everybody else’s to watch the Cameron family stroll through the doorway and onto the porch. The guests of honour. Rose is in a hot pink dress with a headdress that could poke somebody’s eye out. Sarah follows behind in a darling satin gown. You envy her hair and flower crown. Beside her is Rafe and your blood immediately turns cold. His baby blue suit does little to quell his intimidation. You’re gonna regret this, you know that? Better keep a fucking eye out, princess. JJ’s absence - despite his secrecy and lies - has never felt so gaping.

The night twinkles on as the daylight dwindles. In the far distant, amongst the clouds are streaks of pink and orange and tangerine. The rest of the world is cast in a dusk-like blue. It’s so beautiful you can almost begin to relax. Almost. Kiara is with her parents and Pope with his father, and you feel as though you’ve been spending your night avoiding people. You nurse a glass of ginger ale and watch people under the warm glow of the fairy lights, dancing to the music of the live band. You wish JJ were here. He was a good dancer, when you got him going. 

“Hey! There you are!” Bethany giggles, rushing over to you. She grabs your hands in hers as Daisy and Ashley follow behind her. “Why are you all on your own?”

“Just not feeling it tonight,” you mumble, smiling smally. 

“Well, that’s silly,” Daisy says, hiccuping. You quirk a brow. She’s been on the sauce. “You should come dance with us!”

“And have some of this. It’ll perk you right up,” Ashley says with a coy smile, holding her glass out. You take it and have a sip. The taste of vodka hits your nose like cough medicine. You wince as you swallow, laughing as you hand it back. 

“Jesus! What the hell did you put in that?”

“Just that good stuff,” she grins. She was intolerable at times, but had her perks. Taking your now spare hand, she sways your arm. “Bethany and Daisy are right. Come have fun with us.”

Your eyes dart to Pope - busy at work with his dad - then at Kiara - hovering around her parents, almost sulking. You’d lost track of Rafe and his gang, but being enveloped with friends made you less of a target, you supposed. Besides, you could do with a pick-me-up after being blindsided by JJ’s apparent arrest. With that thought, you happily let the girls drag you out onto the ‘dance floor’. You sway to the music, hips moving to the beat, and laugh with the others as you take turns busting moves. Ashley passes around her drink and you’re happy to indulge, giggling at Daisy’s squiffy nature, and finally the night starts to brighten. 

Come on and hold me. Just like you told me, the singer belts. 

Bethany takes your hand and twirls you under her, the two of you laughing. Your dress swirls around your feet, the fabric moving like liquid, and you correct your flower crown that’s perched dainty on your head like a halo. Then, in your peripheral, you see a familiar silhouette. You slow your dancing, your brows tug together, and your eyes fall onto JJ. He’s dressed in a white button-up, covered by a waistcoat and bowtie. It doesn’t look ugly on him but it certainly is foreign. His hair is as untamed as always; face still healing from the mysterious bruises. The bracelet that you gave him is on his wrist and for some reason - maybe because of the alcohol - this infuriates you. Why is he here? To appease the girls and save their suspicion, you pretend to continue to dance, keeping a watch on where JJ goes. He approaches Sarah Cameron. Taps her on the shoulder, presses his finger to his lips at her confusion, dances whilst conspicuously handing her a folded note. Why the hell is he here? Jealousy trickles into the infuriation and confusion. You think back to last night, how he’s slept with another kook before you. Was it Sarah? No, surely not. 

Then, you spot him. In his baby blue suit, Rafe strides over to JJ. Your boyfriend turns to come face to face with him, backed by his posse. Your body stills with panic. You try to eavesdrop into their conversation but it’s impossible over the girls’ chatter and the music. Every noise starts to deafen like cicada buzz. Rafe has his hands on JJ’s arms, holding him in place, as Kelce talks to them. You think to the arrest, to Topper’s mom, to the outdoor movie altercation. JJ manages to break apart and backs away, and your body instinctively follows like a magnetic pull as he takes off running into the building. Your hands grab at your dress to lift it from the floor as you hurry after them. Inside, you see JJ in the far distance race through the building, shadowed by Rafe as his gaggle. When they filter into the men’s facilities, your panic peaks. Standing dumbly in the centre of the room, you look around and think of what to do. What to do? Do you get Kie? Pope? Your dad or mom? No, no, they’ll ask too many questions. Think! 

A security man hovers in the corner like a CIA agent, dressed in a black suit and tie. Yes! You rush over to him. “Sir! Sir! I need your help!”

“What’s wrong, miss?” he asks, brows tugging together.

“I need your help, please,” you jabber. You grab at his wrist and drag him after you, ignoring his mass of questions. “Somebody’s in danger!”

There’s a commotion behind the door of the men’s changing room. You follow behind the security guard as he strides in. You look around his arm to find JJ in a headlock by Kelce, Rafe looming in his face. Your breath catches in your throat. The security guard flickers the light of the room and they suddenly become aware that they’re not alone. From their distraction, JJ is able to shuck himself free. Kelce lends a hand chivalrously, shoving him away. 

“Gentlemen! Is there a problem?” the security guard asks, sauntering into the room. You stand just to his side in clear view, arms folded over your chest in a way that you hope looks intimidating, despite the anxiety that overrides every emotion in your body. 

“Oh. Pardon me, officer. No, there’s not an issue,” JJ chatters, still panting. “I just– actually, yes. No, there is an issue.” He runs a hand through his hair and his eyes finally catch yours. That betrayal chips hard at your resolve when you lay your eyes on him, face to face. Maybe it reads through your gaze because he’s quick to look away. “Uh, we got a criminal trespass in progress here. Beep! Call it in, right? Blatant disrespect for private property.”

“Yeah,” Rafe nods, scratching oh-so-casually at his ear. 

“I’m in violation of all kinds of shit, sir,” JJ tells the security guard. You can feel the guard’s temperament changing and your concern shifts for the millionth time that night. What the hell? JJ was the one getting beaten up? How is that fair? “But these young gentlemen…”

“Don’t touch my shit,” Kelce snaps, batting JJ’s hand away from his bowtie. 

“...uh, caught me, sir, and they’re about to take me away. And that’s what you should do, escort me out of here,” JJ says, raising his hands as if to be placed in handcuffs. The security guard wastes no time in walking over, grabbing harshly at his wrist and dragging JJ. You want to protest but can’t seem to find the words. Your eyes survey the scene once more and Rafe catches your eye. A smirk shadows his menacing face. JJ glances after them as he’s pulled away. “All right. Fix that tie, son. You’re lookin’ spiffy, too. You Powerpuff Girls have fun.”

“Tell your little girlfriend there that she looks pretty hot for a Pogue,” Rafe quips. Your stomach churns in disgust at the comment. JJ breaks free with that, a newfound anger overcoming him, and he strides over to break even. You dart forward with the security guard, trying to hold him back, and Kelce comes between them too, though with far less innocent intentions. Finally, JJ begins to leave. You follow after them, gnawing your lip in anxiety, and spare one last glance at the room of Kooks. Rafe catches your eye and winks. You quickly look away. 

“Hey! Be gentle with him!” you say to the security guard as he practically manhandles JJ through the room. Your boyfriend is rattled, high on adrenaline, and only seems to lean into chaos now. “Hey!”

“Look– Look, man, I can walk by myself. I got legs. Can you see that, brother?” 

“Come on.”

Outside, people look and leer. You follow after them both, protesting at the security guard, your worries melding into JJ’s taunts and complaints, all of which fall on deaf ears. JJ then swipes a drink from Mr Dunleavy which doesn’t help his situation, and you glance worriedly at the gathering of people who are watching everything unfold like a daytime drama. You wonder if your parents are watching too. 

“It’s okay, everybody! Do not panic!” JJ announces loudly to the room, raising his hands in mock surrender. You take pause on the stairs, watching it unfold, aware that you’re past the point of being able to help. “...Let’s hear it for them! Rose! Looking like Lady Liberty! It’s good to see you again.”

You think back to the other day, fishing on the dock, before you knew all that you know now. I don’t always make the right decisions. You feel as though you’re getting a first person demonstration of an example. This side of JJ is new to you. It’s hard to decipher how you feel. It’s like trying a new food for the first time; trying to worm your way through the flavours and textures, and coming to an impasse. 

“Let go of him!” Your head darts over to Kiara. “You can’t boot him! I invited him here.”

You don’t know what’s true anymore. Did she invite him? Didn’t you invite him also? But then why did he sneak over to Sarah? Your head hurts and it isn’t from the vodka. JJ takes advantage of the destruction and shoves the security guard away, with a hasty apology. He points at Kiara then. Talks as if you don’t even exist. 

“Hey! Mandatory power hour at Rixon’s, Kie,” he says. “Pope, you as well, all right?”

You watch it all unfold, invitation-less, and it feels isolating and dismissive. You stand like a ghost on the stairs and watch the Pogues gather together at the outskirts of the party. JJ doesn’t even spare you a glance as Kie runs over to him. He doesn’t spare you a glance as he takes her in his arms, spinning her around. Jealousy rears its ugly head yet again. They take off into the darkness, laughing and hollering, and you stand, forgotten and forlorn. And JJ doesn’t even spare you a glance. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Ranger’s tail wags as you walk. He’s got a barely-there tug on the leash, guiding the way on your mid-morning walk through Kildare. It’s glorious today; the sun glad to shine after the storm last night. You wish you were more awake to enjoy it but after Midsummer’s, you barely got any rest. At first it was the mass of questions from the Bible Bitches. What was that? Why was he here? Why didn’t you go with them? Next, from your parents. Just created a scene. I wonder what the fuss was about. I thought you said he was at work. Finally, your own. The worst part? You had answers for nobody, including yourself. JJ hadn’t texted or called. The service was still dodgy after the hurricane so it wasn’t entirely his fault. Still, it didn’t sit well with you. None of this did. It felt the more time passed, the more you were left on the outside, looking through a window that was being concealed, one blind at a time. 

Ranger suddenly takes a diversion that has you frowning. You try and tug him back onto your main course but he’s insistent, leading the way down towards The Wreck. Well, you could do with a lemonade. You relent and let him do his thing. The Wreck is closed but you can hear voices from inside. You catch some phrases like 'Royal Merchant' and 'sweater vest', and before you can contemplate going in, JJ comes out. He’s in a muscle tee, showing off his muscular and slim frame. It’s not fair for him to look good when you’re mad at him. He seems surprised to see you there just as much as you are him. 

“Hey,” he says. “What’re you doing here?”

“Ranger must’ve heard you,” you say, nodding down to your joyful pup. As JJ approaches, his tail starts like a propeller, swinging back and forth. JJ fusses him and murmurs loving compliments at Ranger, and eventually looks up at you. You quirk a brow. 

“Is this about last night?”

“What’d you mean? Oh! You mean how you randomly showed up to Midsummer’s, gave Sarah Cameron - of all people - a secret note, got chased by Rafe and his gang, saved by me, made a huge scene and ran off without even saying thank you or goodbye?”

JJ cringes, caught in a corner. “...Maybe.”

“Talk. Now,” you say, unimpressed. 

Sighing, he stands tall and runs a hand through his hair. He glances back to The Wreck. “It’s complicated, okay? It’s a long story and I don’t wanna bore you with it.”

“I’m not bored,” you flatly reply. 

JJ walks over to you and grabs your hand. You’re unwilling to meet his gaze, desperate to stay disgruntled. He kisses you and you try to dip out of reach, but he just opts to kiss your cheek after. “I’m sorry, okay? I should have thanked you for saving me.”

“Damn right you should have,” you mumble. You finally relent and look up at him. He’s playing the part well: remorseful and abashed. It feels a little pathetic when you admit, quietly, “I didn’t like being left out, JJ. I felt so embarrassed just stood there watching you all.”

JJ nods, dipping his gaze. “I didn’t think of that. I should’ve said something to you. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“What was the meeting at Rixon’s even about?” you ask, narrowing your eyes slightly. “And why did you give a note to Sarah?”

“Oh, you spying on me now or something?” JJ jokes, a playful glimmer on his face. When you fail to be amused, he sighs and knocks it off. “Look, it’s not really my business. It’s a Pogue thing, okay? I promise it isn’t anything that you gotta worry about.”

That doesn’t make you feel much better. It’s like applying a bandage to a bruise. JJ seems to sense this. His finger hooks at your chin and guides your face up to meet his. The kiss he plants against you is like an apology rewritten. You feel your anger melt away the longer he kisses, and you want to smack yourself for being so easy to appease. Maybe he’s right. Maybe you don’t need to worry. It might just be a silly thing. But silly things feel hard to believe when things like ‘arrest’ linger in the background. It’s a slippery slope from a prank to a crime. 

“There’s nothing goin’ on with me and Sarah Cameron, a’right? You’re the only girl I’m mackin’ on, I promise you that,” JJ reassures you. You’re grateful for that. The image of him hugging Kiara still has you a little green on the edges but you’ll chase that monster away on your own. Like he told you from day one: he didn’t want Kie. He wanted you. 

The moment is short lived though. JJ pulls away, takes a step back, and you realise he was leaving to go somewhere. The wounds are healing well on his face, so at least that’s a relief. You want to ask about the boat, and the arrest, and press about the meeting at Rixon’s cove, but he’s already backing away before you can. 

“I gotta go, baby. But I’ll see you soon, a’right?”

“Wait, where’re you going?” you wonder, disappointed. “I thought we could spend the day together.”

“Uh…I gotta go to work, y’know?” JJ says. It’s his tone that has you taking suspicion. 

“To work?”

“Mhm. Duty calls and all that,” he says in his upbeat, energetic way. “I’ll see you later though, baby!”

“Wait, wait,” you blurt, rushing over to him, Ranger in tow. He does as you ask, if anything looking mildly concerned. Once in front of him, you push onto your toes and press a fleeting kiss to his lips. “I love you.”

You open your eyes to meet his. They’re a little wide; his lips parted, damp from your barely-there spit. The corner of his mouth twitches, maybe with a smile, maybe not. Clearing his throat, JJ nods, smiles tightly down at you, and then he reaches down to scruff Ranger’s neck in farewell. You watch him walk away, rounding the corner, taking off down the road in a hurry. 

He didn’t say it back.

Ranger barks again then whines, and he looks up at you. 

“I know, boy,” you mumble. “Something doesn’t feel right to me, either.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Hello!? It’s your turn,” Daisy sing-songs. 

You blink yourself into the room and look blankly at her. “Huh?”

“It’s your turn to read,” she says, nodding down to the bible in your hands. It was Bible Study with the Bible Bitches, hosted at Ashley’s house for a change. They were indulging in the blood of Christ (red wine that they’d snuck out of Bethany’s parent’s cellar) but you decided to steer clear. There were enough emotions lining your mind that alcohol would only pull out of you. The four of you were sitting on her plush, pink duvet, cosy in her canopy bed. Music played from her speaker and a candle burned on the bedside table. You look down at the open page of your book and nod. 

“Oh, right. Sorry,” you mumble. Tucking your hair behind your ears, your eyes focus on the dancing words. “The Lord himself goes before you and he will be with you…Uh…”

“Everything okay?” Bethany asks at your lack of presence. 

Sighing, you close your book and hang your head. “Just hard to think, is all.”

“Is this about JJ?” Daisy wonders. You glance at her and your lack of answer seems answer enough. She nods and purses her lips. 

“What’s new? Boys are liars. We knew this,” Bethany says, unimpressed by his actions from Midsummers, no doubt. 

“Especially JJ,” Ashley snorts. You look at her. There’s something irritating in her glee, as if she’s glad he lied to you. 

“Look, you guys don’t know him like I do, alright,” you say, jumping to his defence. He might be acting a little shifty right now but that didn’t mean you loved him any less. Ashley quirks a brow. 

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” you say, tone steady like stone. “He’s been through a lot, okay?”

“That might be true but he still sunk Topper’s boat,” Bethany says. 

“Topper’s a douchebag,” you remind them, “they were probably getting even for something Topper started.”

“Still. Getting even to me is like egging a house, not sinking a twenty-thousand dollar boat,” Daisy tells you. You look down at the comforter, agreeing if only slightly. It certainly doesn’t help to deescalate a situation, by sinking a boat. 

“What makes you think we don’t know him like you do?” Ashley randomly asks. You frown at her. 

“Because you don’t.”

“But what makes you say that?”

“You don’t see the kind of JJ I see,” you impatiently reply. You knew JJ inside and out. You knew his fears and his anxieties; his insecurities and his ego; his pet peeves and his pleasure. Except, did you? Did you know that he sunk Topper’s boat? That he pulled a gun on Topper at a kegger? That he was arrested for both? That he was going to sneak into Midsummers? That he was going to hand a note to Sarah Cameron?

It’s as if Ashley can see these questions run through your mind like a teleprompter. That same smirk teases at her lips. It reminds you of a change in wind, warning of a storm. 

“He did tell you about us, right?” she says, quirking a brow. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” you mutter, unamused. 

“Well, I just want to check. Since you know him in a way nobody else does, I’m guessing that means you know everything about him, right?”

“Of course,” you immediately reply. 

Her ruby red lips grin unscrupulously. Her head cocks like a cat, askew to the left. When she speaks, her tone is innocent, as if she’s telling you the weather or relaying an order for a table. 

“Well then, you know that we slept together, right?”

The air in your lungs gets stuck. You feel as though you could start choking from it. Everything else fades away: the hazy music, Bethany, Daisy. It goes mute and fuzzy like you’ve hit your head. Ashley’s figure becomes hyper focused. The flawlessness of her skin, the immaculate placement of every strand of her hair, the recalcitrant personality that she hid so well under prayer and pretty bows. She was everything you weren't. And as if you’re on a hideous psychedelic trip, your mind conjures haunting images that flash through your thoughts like a high speed slideshow. JJ’s lips on Ashley’s. His hands on her body, the way they laid on yours. His mouth pressed close to her ear, mumbling the intimate things that he said to you. The things you thought were only for you. It blinds you. Consumes you. Something about it all, something about the way that you didn’t know, had no idea, feels like betrayal. 

Ashley slowly lets her smile transform into something mocking concern. “Wait…Did you not know?”

You swallow the bile that churns in the back of your throat. It burns as it runs down into your body and it’s as if it sets your body aflame with anger. A strange sort of anger. A quiet, secret anger. Your jaw tenses. 

“I’m done with this conversation,” you tell Ashley. You get up from the bed and stride out the room. There’s murmurs between the girls as you leave. What the hell, Ashley? What? She deserved to know. Someone is coming after you as you walk down the landing. 

“Wait, wait,” Bethany says, hurrying over. You wave her away. 

“I’m leaving,” you say, starting down the stairs. You feel like you’re floating. Like your soul is grappling to stay inside of your body, maintain some autonomy. 

“She didn’t mean anything by it–”

“Oh my God!” you snap. You laugh, unable to hold it back, far from amused. You spin on the step and glare up at her. “You can’t seriously believe that!”

“She was just doing what she thought was right,” Bethany fumbles. You hold her gaze for a long, long moment. The silence drips down the walls. Shaking your head, you take a tense inhale through your nose. Do not speak ill of others. 

“I need to talk to JJ,” you lowly say. Bethany doesn’t follow after you, then. You make your way down the stairs and out the door. The air is uninviting. If anything, it’s muggier than inside, soothed by the AC. The humidity feels like sweaty hands grabbing at your throat, choking you. The world is off its axis. The July evening air does little to alleviate the flurry of emotions racing through you. They’re all hitting at once, mixing into a confusing mess, as you struggle to process Ashley’s words. What they mean. What you feel. What you should do. The sickness sits. You pull your phone out of your pocket and stare at your text message thread with JJ. Read the last one he sent.

Have fun tonight bby

Had JJ called her that, when his dick was buried inside of her? Had he whispered it into her ear as he fucked her in the very bed you were just sat on? Or was it the Chateau’s bed? The one that you contemplated buying a mattress comforter for so he could get better sleep at night? Did she know what it felt like to have every spring scratch at her spine as he rammed into her, over and over? The sickness swirls in your stomach. 

You need to talk to him. 

He must be at the chateau. Where else? He said he was hanging with the Pogues tonight. You don’t know what to believe anymore, and that is maybe what hurts the most. You climb into your car. The drive flashes by as your mind flicks through haunting mental images. An abhorrent collage of JJ and Ashley tangled together, intermingled with memories of you and JJ, giggling, gasping, grinning. The chateau’s driveway is pitch black, as is the house and the yard. You park your car and sit, and try your best to piece together the fragments of feelings and thoughts. The yard is empty, as is the pier, and after walking the house, nobody is home. You sit on the porch steps. You wait as though you’re a phantom, a strange echo of the Midsummer’s party. You wait and wait. The thoughts flatten into nothing, become apathetic to the pandemonium of emotions, and you only focus on the sound of the water and wind. You wait and wait. 

The Twinkie turns up the driveway. You can hear the Pogues. They’re loud in their chatter as it bounces off the interior of the van. You don’t bother turning your head. You feel like you can’t. JJ’s voice floats above the others and it sparks the mental images again. 

JJ’s mouth on Ashley’s tits. 

They clamber out of the van. They sound happy, elated even, and you wonder what that feeling is like. It feels so alien now. So far away. They’re talking over one another. Their voices get louder as they approach. 

“Hey!” Kiara says, happy, spotting you. “What’re you doing here?”

Your head turns and your eyes fall on JJ. He’s in cargo shorts, a black long-sleeve, and a slate-grey blue t-shirt over the top. A bandana sits around his neck. His hair is dishevelled in a way that hints at trouble. In this lens, he almost looks like a different person. He almost looks like the JJ Maybank everyone talks about. The lady killer, the delinquent, the liar. He is a liar. He lied to you.

“Hey,” he says, smile wavering when he notices you. “What, uh…What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk.”

He glances at his friends then back at you. Licking his lips, nodding, he takes another step over. “Alright, yeah, we were just gonna–”

“Alone, JJ,” you say sternly. “We need to talk alone. Now.”

The Pogue’s excitement simmers down and they share looks. You know how you look, how you sound, but you don’t care. JJ clears his throat and nods. He looks at John B (who is head to toe in dirt and mud, and you don’t have the energy to wonder why let alone to ask) and an unspoken conversation seems to unfold, and John B recommends to the others that they should go hang on the pier. 

Ashley’s mouth around JJ’s dick. 

As they make their way over to the water, you rise to your feet and venture inside. You’re suddenly restless, desperate for a thing to do. JJ isn’t ever far behind. He flicks on the lamp as you mindlessly wander to the kitchen. You fill a glass with water and chug about half of it. You stare at the window, unable to make out anything through the reflections of light against dark. Instead, you watch JJ hover nervously in the room. He’s fiddling his fingers together, rocking slightly on the heel and ball of his feet. Taking a slow, steadying breath, you place the glass down on the counter and turn to face him. Head hung, eyes slipping closed, you find your voice. 

“I’m gonna ask you this once,” you say, “and I need you to be completely honest with me, okay?”

JJ’s quiet for a moment. Then, “okay.”

You take another breath, hoping to ease the nauseous but only making it worse. Raising your head, opening your eyes, you meet JJ’s gaze. 

“Did you sleep with Ashley?”

JJ’s brows twitch. “What?”

“Just answer the question, JJ, please,” you reply. 

But JJ shakes his head, defensive. “Why the fuck would you ask me that?”

“You said you’d answer–”

“--No, no,” he says, taking a few steps towards you. He points accusingly. “Why the fuck would you ask me something like that?”

“Why can’t you just answer the question?” you sharply ask. 

“Because it’s none of your fucking business,” JJ snaps. 

Your lips part, eyes widening, genuinely taken by surprise. You scoff. “Excuse me?”

“You have no right to ask me something like that,” JJ snarls, eyes narrowed as if you’re the one at fault. 

“I have every right to ask you something like that,” you argue. “I’m your girlfriend, JJ. I’m entitled to know that.”

“Entitled? Entitled? Jesus - you’re fucking entitled to everything, you kooks," JJ sarcastically derides.

It stings. Salt in a wound. He isn’t the one that gets to be angry right now. That’s not fair. You stare at him, lips parted, and despite the stray bullet, you can’t help but keep focus. Shaking your head, you hopelessly say, “why can’t you just answer the question, JJ?” 

He lets out a tense exhale. He turns away from you, paces the length of the room. Takes his cap off. Messes with his hair the way you like to. Stands, back to you, hands on his hips, for a long, long, minute. Another sigh fills the quiet and yet somehow, this one feels different. Your heart cracks. 

“It was before we met.”

“How long before?”

“I don’t know–”

“Yes, you do,” you interrupt. “How long before, JJ?”

“Jesus, I don’t–” He snaps, spinning back around, but then he stops himself. Meets your eyes. Realises something, perhaps. Sighing, shaking his head, hanging it, he says, “maybe a week. Two, maybe.”

A week. 

One week. 

Your eyes slip shut as that same, awful, agonising pain slices you in half. Cuts every neuron, every nerve, every cell. The tissue and muscle tear apart from one another and the pain finds solace in your heart. 

One week. 

Lips grimacing in an ugly frown, the tears finally fall freely. 

JJ’s steps echo as he crosses the room to you. His hands try and hold yours but you wriggle them free, shaking your head. A sob slips past your salt-slicken lips and you try to stifle it with your hand. 

JJ’s fingers inside of Ashley.

“Baby, please just…”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you blubber. When you look into his eyes, the pain just worsens. More sobs come and you gasp for air. “Why didn’t you tell me that, JJ?”

“I didn’t think there was any need to! I…” He scrambles for reasons, explanations, but there are none. 

You cry and cry. You’re not even sure what is causing the hurt. All you know is that whatever it is, it hurts so fucking bad. 

Your hands cup over your mouth and you shake your head, trying to steady your breaths but to not avail. Slipping past him, needing some room, you begin to pace the room now. 

“It was before we met, Y/N,” JJ tells you. 

“That’s not the point, JJ,” you say, wiping your cheeks. 

“Not the point? It’s entirely the point,” he argues. His defensiveness has come back, always quick to shield and deflect. JJ was raised in a house of arguments: it was his way. “I didn’t know you then.”

“But you did after,” you counter. “You did after and you never told me.”

“Because why would I?” he shouts. Catching himself, he visibly tries to calm himself. Tone normal, he repeats, “why would I? I figured my past didn’t matter.”

“But that’s the problem, JJ,” you loudly say. “You always just assume things and you don’t tell me anything. Ever. I feel like I’m always the last one to find out.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“The Royal Merchant, JJ!”

“Oh my…”

“The arrest! The boat! Everything! What? You think I didn’t know? That I wouldn’t find out? You were arrested, JJ! You should have told me!”

“I’m trying to protect you!” he shouts. 

“I don’t need protecting!” you screech. 

The words hang in the air. You hate hearing your voice like that. Shaking your head, you rub tiredly at your forehead, unbothered by your already ruined makeup. 

What a fucking mess. 

“I knew this was going to happen,” JJ mumbles. 

You frown. Looking to him, you ask, “what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“This. All of this. It’s too much for you,” JJ says. He gestures between the two of you. “We’re too different. I knew you’d get tired of it and you’d find a way to–”

“Oh!” you exclaim, quick to catch on. “Oh! I get it! This is about me being a kook again, isn’t it?”

“Don’t say it like that!” JJ argues. 

“Like what?”

“Like it doesn’t matter when you know it does!”

Scoffing, you shake your head. “I can’t believe we’re having this fight again.”

“We’re too different, okay? We keep trying to act like it doesn’t matter but it does.”

“It doesn’t matter, JJ, unless you make it matter,” you disagree. 

“What the fuck does that even mean?” JJ laughs humourlessly. 

“You don’t tell me anything that happens in your life: you didn’t tell me about the boat, about the treasure hunt, about the arrest. I mean, did it cross your mind that I could have helped you? Bailed you out?”

“See! That! That right there!” JJ’s finger points as if singling you out in a courtroom for a jury. “I’m not your fucking pet project.”

“Pet project?” you gape, bewildered. 

“I don’t need your charity. I don’t need your fancy meals and your fancy parents and your fancy dumbass parties.”

“Oh, you’re so right,” you say sardonically. “I’m so sorry that I made you eat a five-fucking-star meal when you met my perfectly polite parents. I mean, how wicked of me! The horror!”

“You don’t get it,” JJ mutters, shaking his head. 

“You know what I don’t get, JJ? I don’t get how you can leave me out of so much. I don’t get how you sleep with one of my friends and not even tell me!”

“She’s not even your friend!” JJ laughs. “What? Do you want me to invent a time machine or something? Go back in time before I met you and not sleep with anybody? I didn’t know you yet! And I’m sorry that it happened, and I’m sorry that it hurts, and I’m sorry that I can’t take it back, but I can’t change my past, a’right?”

“I don’t care that you slept with her, JJ!” You snap. “I care that you didn’t fucking tell me!”

Again, another quiet. In arguments like these, it’s like navigating rapids. A lazy river tumbles into a violent rapid, and voices raise and things are said in desperation for clarity that could never result from such, as if throwing a life ring blindly into the waves. Your cheeks are uncomfortably tacky and sticky from your tears. Your nose is clogged and sniffly and the lump in your throat lingers. Your chest heaves, throat dry, from the shouting. JJ’s hair is sticking every which was from his restless pulling. Then skin inside his mouth is probably ripped to shreds from his anxiously gnawing. And here, stood opposite him, the two of you illuminated in the barely-there lamplight that desperately tries to expand across the room, you know you love JJ. Nothing could change that. 

Have you dug yourselves in too deep?

Shaking your head for the millionth time, you brush your fingers through your hair. 

“You never say it, y’know?”

“What?”

“You never tell me you love me,” you quietly say. 

JJ shakes his head. “Of course I do.”

“But you don’t say it,” you emphasise, meeting his gaze. “I mean…Are you ever going to be able to let go of me being a kook?”

“I don’t…I don’t know,” JJ admits in a sad, defeated sigh. 

You let out your own. Sniffing, you glance away from him, eyes fixating on some random aspect of the room. Your fingers rub your lips restlessly. It was all too much, too fast, too quick. 

“Maybe we rushed into this too fast,” you mumble. “Maybe…Maybe we just need some space to think. Not a break or a break-up, or anything like that. Just some time and space.”

JJ sniffs. He clears his throat. “Maybe you’re right.”

Sighing, suddenly tired, you glance at your boyfriend. His hands grip the edge of the counter that he leans against; the muscles in his arms taught and flexed. Head hung, eyes trained on the floor, his teeth gnawing on his lower lip. He’s so fucking pretty it’s unfair, especially when the two of you are in a fight. Crossing the room to him, unable to help yourself, you wrap your arms around his middle in an embrace. He doesn’t hesitate to return it. His face buries in your hair, inhaling deeply, and you do the same to his shirt. You’ll miss this. The feel of him and the comfort. The smell and the warmth. The two of you stand like that, intertwined, neither wanting to break it. 

“I really do, y’know,” JJ mumbles at one point. “Love you, I mean.”

“I know,” you say quietly into his chest. “I love you too.”

Gently easing apart, inevitably drifting like fault lines, you look up at him with a pained, smiling expression. “Just…what if that isn’t enough?”

JJ swallows. He bobs his head as if contemplating something, like you spoke to something inside of him. “Yeah, well. I guess that’s always the problem, ain’t it?”

Before you can try to think of what that might mean, let alone ask, JJ’s pulling away completely. He grabs his cap and his keys as he walks to the door. Glancing over his shoulder, he shucks his head in the direction of the van. 

“Come on. It’s late, I’ll drive you home.”

You nod and comply, following him out the chateau and into the truck. You keep your distance again but now for entirely new reasons. You don’t talk. Somewhere in the journey JJ’s hand reaches across the bench-like seat and finds your hand, and you interlace your fingers, squeezing reassuringly. You don’t let go until you’re getting out of the truck. JJ leans against the driver’s door and you walk around to meet him. You stand in front of him and linger. Neither of you want to leave. 

“How, uh, long is this space-thing gonna last, then?” JJ wonders. 

You shrug. “I don’t know. I guess as long as we need to make a decision, really.”

“A decision about us?” JJ checks. 

You shrug again. “I guess.”

Nodding slowly, JJ licks his teeth. You raise a hand to his face, your fingers gently resting on his warm cheeks. The peach fuzz of his hair tickles your skin. It’s like your nerves are hyper aware of him now that you have to leave. A small smile blesses JJ’s face and you mirror it. Pushing up onto your toes, JJ dips his head, and the two of you share a kiss. It’s slow and abiding, sensual and bittersweet as your tongues only just brush against one another. Breaking apart, you purse your lips and try not to cry again. Arms coiling around yourself in a hug, you awkwardly take a few steps backwards, away from JJ. You wonder if you should say something but JJ seems to understand your struggle, and he gives a reassuring yet queasy smile and nod farewell. You take in the sight of him and sink it deep into your memory - slate grey t-shirt; black long sleeve underneath; cargo shorts; combat boots; dirty blonde hair; swollen, damp lips; dreamy eyes; shark tooth necklace; your friendship bracelet around his wrist; silver rings - before you turn away, walk up to your door, and never look back.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

There’s a gentle knock on your bedroom door. You don’t bother moving from your spot in bed, buried under your comforter, amongst throw pillows and jelly cats. You hadn’t washed your pillow yet and it still smelt like JJ. You were slightly angry at yourself for how attached to it you were, how scared you were for the smell to fade. The doorknob twists and your mom slowly walks in. She sits on the far side of the bed, your back facing her. 

“Are you going to join me and your father for dinner, little pumpkin?” she softly asks. 

“I’m not really hungry, mom,” you hum into your pillow. Your voice is croaky from want of use. Her hand sweetly lays on your head. Her fingers stroke lovingly at your hair and you press your eyes shut to ward off the tears it elicits. 

“I know we’re not always home much,” your mom says. “But you can talk to me about anything. You know that, right?”

“I know mom,” you whisper. Then, you force yourself to roll over and face her. The sympathy on her face is so blatant that it makes you cry, and that only makes it worse. 

“Oh, pumpkin,” she murmurs. She pulls your bedsheets up and climbs in, kicking off her slippers. You crawl into her warm company and let her cradle you like you’re eight years old all over again. Vague memories fizzle into thought of how she used to hold you like after a bad dance recital or a failed piano exam. She smells of Channel and Chardonnay as you nuzzle against her sweater. “I know it must hurt.”

“He lied to me, mom,” you cry quietly. “I love him so much and he lied to me.”

“I know, darling, I know,” she soothes. The two of you stay like that for a while as you cry. It feels cathartic, letting it all out. Eventually, you pull away. You wipe at your blotchy face and sniffle loudly, and it’s so comical it makes you both laugh. Your mom shifts to sit up against the mass of pillows and you do the same, laying against her. She continues petting at your hair. “What exactly happened, darling?”

“A lot,” you say quietly. “He’s a good guy, mom. He really is. He just doesn’t always make the best decisions.”

“Mm. Like the boat?” Your head darts up and you meet her gaze. A knowing smile comes to light. “What? You think I didn’t know? Us mothers know everything, darling.”

“You’re not mad?”

“Mad? Of course I’m mad! He sunk someone’s darn boat!” The way she says it has you both laughing, yours still wet and soggy. “But your father and I did a good job raising you to know that you know a good person from a bad one. And JJ is a good person.”

“He is,” you sniff, agreeing. 

“Your father was right. We went to school with his father - it was before the academy was even built, back then. There was only the one school. We know his dad well enough to know that your boyfriend wasn’t given an easy life. When you grow up like that, it makes it harder to make the right call every time. It doesn’t excuse it - and I certainly don’t want you to go sinking boats with him - but it does explain. And the Lord told us to give grace, did he not?”

“He did,” you hum. “He just gets angry sometimes. Not at me, but just at the world, I suppose. And I can’t really blame him.” Your mind ventures back to the security guard; how quickly he turned from a hero to a villain, just because of who JJ was. 

“But I’m guessing that isn’t the reason why you’re so upset, hm?” she gently presses. 

You don’t particularly want to divulge your sex life to your parents, nor JJ’s for that matter. You don’t imagine them to believe you were a virgin - they weren’t those type of Christians - but admitting this aloud wasn’t on your bucket list. “He used to date this girl who I know, and he kept it from me. And it wasn’t just that. He keeps me out of a lot of things, mom. Like the boat, and the arrest, and some other stuff, too.”

“Ah,” she says. “I see.”

You sink against her and want to hide in the labels of her sweater forever. It feels safe here, in your cocooned bedroom. Not as safe as being with JJ, wrapped in his arms, but safe enough. 

“Did you know that I used to date Ward Cameron.” You bark out a laugh, taken aback, and look up at your mom. She’s smiling, nodding, as if to say, yes, it’s true. “Your father didn’t know, though. He found an old love letter from him in the attic from way back when and nearly saw red. I’ve never seen him so upset, if I’m honest. I suppose he’s like your boy in that way - just gets really mad, when really it’s just pain. The thing is, I never told him because I figured, ‘what did it matter?’ I loved your father and Ward was just a skeleton from my past. Sometimes we don’t always make the right calls in things out of trying to protect the ones we love. I’m sure JJ didn’t mean to keep it from you in a hurtful way, darling. He probably just didn’t want you to know because he knew it would upset you.”

“It only upset me because I didn’t know,” you grumble. She quirks a brow. Your mother knew you better than anyone else. Because she was right. Underneath that - the lie and deception - was the truth. You were jealous. You hated the thought of someone having been with JJ in that way. All the other girls were just faceless figments, as hypothetical as Schrodinger's cat. But Ashley - Ashley you knew. Ashley made it real. Real that JJ had a history, and that his history didn’t include you. Sighing, you bow your head. 

“Your father managed to look past it after a few days. We sometimes joke about it now, at things like Midsummer’s, and it’s just a little blip. People aren’t perfect, darling. You’re not and JJ isn’t. We have to give ourselves and others grace to make mistakes.”

You cuddle against her and let your eyes slip shut. She strokes at your hair the way she might pet Ranger’s fur. The tiredness creeps in and takes over silently, like day turning to night, and you finally get some sleep since the argument with JJ.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

BBBRRRINNNGGGG. BBBRRRINNNGGGG. 

You startle awake, shooting up in bed like you’ve been electrocuted. It’s one of those feelings when you don’t remember where you are or when you fell asleep. As you rub at your eyes and let them focus on your surroundings, illuminated by the soft glow of your bedside lamp through the darkness, you remember. You’re in your bed, in your room. Your mom must have left you to sleep after you nodded off, finally at some semblance of peace to get some rest. The sleep you fell into was dreamless and well-needed. 

BBBRRRINNNGGGG. 

Blindly reaching for your vibrating phone, you squint at the bright screen and make out Kie’s contact picture and name. You swipe to answer. 

“Hello?” you mumble, half-asleep. 

“Hey! Can you hear me okay?”

“Yeah,” you yawn, rubbing at your eyes again. “What time is it?”

“I don’t remember. Like ten, maybe? Eleven?”

“Hmngh.”

“Are you busy?”

“Not really,” you sleepily reply. 

“I think you need to come over,” Kiara says. Something about her tone has you awake like a shot of espresso. You push the covers down off you. 

“Is everything okay?”

She sighs and that does little to ease your worries. “Look, I know you and JJ are in a bit of a fight-thing right now - I don’t know, maybe that’s why he’s acting the way he is, at least partially but–”

“Kie? What’s going on?” you interrupt. 

“I just…” She sighs again, then finally says, “I just think JJ really needs you right now.”

“I’m on my way,” you reply, hanging up. You climb out of bed and don’t bother getting dressed past pulling on a sweatshirt. The clothes on your body are three days old; you changed once since the conversation with JJ. A pair of mac and cheese stained sweatpants and an old tank top. Ranger wakes as you make your way down the stairs and you decide to let him join. It’s disorientating as you sneak out the house into darkness, considering that you fell asleep in the daylight. The two of you load into your car and you’re leaving your house in record time. In the rearview mirror you check your hair and cuss, trying to smooth it down. Your skin is makeup free and body empty of jewellery, save from the bracelet that twins JJ’s. It makes you feel somewhat naked. As if he heard the whole conversation, Ranger whines from the passenger seat. You murmur reassurances and pet his head as you drive down the deserted roads. The Chateau beams into sight from your headlights. But there’s something else. Some other light, bright and illuminating, from the yard that wasn’t there before. You park your car and climb out, Ranger quick to follow, and walk into the yard. Your eyes widen as they land on a hot tub. 

“What…the…fuck?”

“Oh, thank God,” Kiara exhales in relief, appearing in the doorway of the porch. She rushes down to you and wraps you in a hug, and you’re happy to return it. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t want to get involved in whatever it is going on with you and JJ, and I never really know if we’re friends or just circumstance friends but–”

“Kie! It’s fine, it’s fine,” you interrupt with a small laugh, a tad concerned. You pull apart, hands on her shoulders, to meet her gaze. Your smile melts with unease, eyes heavy with worry. “What’s going on? Is JJ okay?”

She sighs and shakes her head. She takes a step away from you and rubs at her head. “He got in a fight with his dad. Some stuff went down after you two had your…talk. I don’t know…It might just be better to ask him.”

You purse your lips and nod slowly, contemplatively. 

“He’s inside,” Kiara tells you. With that, you make your way up the porch stops. At the front door, you falter and stop. Would he even want to see you? Was this somehow breaking the rules of your ‘non-break’; not giving him the space he needs to think and function away from you? You recount the past three days of your side of the non-break. How you’ve spent them hiding in your bed, crying at the oddest moments, feeling the lack of JJ’s company like you lost a limb. Ranger rubs at your leg, whining, and you decide to trust your gut. If he wants you to leave, all he has to do is say, but you’re certain Kiara wouldn’t call for just any old thing. 

The spare bedroom door is shut. Ranger whines and whines and scratches at the door. Your hands wrap around the handle and you take a steady breath in. The rickety handle creaks as you slowly push it open, the hinges protesting loudly. One of your hands leans down to grab at Ranger’s collar to keep him by your heel. On the bed is JJ, slumped as he sits, his back to the door. 

“Kie, I told you to jus’ leave me alone, a’right? I’m fine,” he mumbles. His voice is thick like he’s been crying. You swallow. 

“It’s not Kiara,” you quietly confess. JJ whips around. His lips part and eyes gape and he stares at you as you stand awkwardly in the doorway. You probably look just as much of a mess; days-old clothing, unruly hair, make-up free and irritated skin. Funnily enough, a diet of purely Reese’s Pieces is not the best for keeping spots and blemishes at bay. 

“What are you doing here?” he says in a tone that you can’t quite decipher. 

“Kiara called me,” you reply, shrugging as you add, “she’s worried about you and thought I should come over.”

“Oh, uh, right.”

His head slumps and he stares at the blanket atop of his bed. You purse your lips and feel the awkwardness and unease consume your entire body. Contemplating leaving, you glance behind you, into the silent hallway. But then Ranger somehow manages to slip from your hold. He races over to JJ like a rescue dog in the mountains, clambering onto the bed, ambushing JJ. He laughs at the onslaught of slobbery kisses, letting Ranger imitate a lap dog. His fingers scratch into the coarse fun on Ranger’s neck and he chuckles. 

“I missed you too, boy,” he murmurs. You smile at the sight. JJ glances over at you. 

“I figured you might need a puppy-pick-me-up. He missed you like crazy.” You then take a shaky breath as you go on to admit, “we both did.”

A look flashes across JJ’s face then. His smile lessens as if in thought, and he nods. “I missed you too.”

“I can leave if you want me to leave,” you tell him. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“No,” JJ blurts, quick like a cat running from a loud bang. “No, don’t…don’t leave. Please.”

You nod. You’d stay forever if he asked you to. You’re not sure there’s many things JJ could ask of you that you’d protest to. Closing the door behind you, you wander over to the bed and sit sort of opposite to him, on the side nearest the door. Ranger settles half laid in JJ’s lap, appeased now that he’s in the company of perhaps his favourite person in the world. Your eyes survey JJ’s face for new injuries and am relieved to find none. The old have healed completely now too, thank God. That’s a relief at least. He’s unharmed. Or so you thought.

“Do you, uh…Do you remember when we went fishing, just last week? I don’t know, it feels like a lifetime ago now but…” you cut yourself off nervously with a laugh. JJ nods vaguely. “D’you remember what I said to you?”

“That you’re an armed woman, now?” JJ wonders, quirking a brow, that cute, playful smile trying to break out. 

You laugh quietly, shortly, and dip your head for a moment. “Not just that though. D’you remember that I told you that you can always tell me anything, and that I’m always gonna be on your side?” 

JJ nods again. 

“It’s kinda ironic cause I think that’s when you started putting up these walls,” you say. Another small breath in and then you continue, “and I don’t blame you for it, JJ. In fact, I think I understand it.”

His brows tug together, unclear, and you’re not sure you’ve ever known him to be this quiet before. 

“I can’t relate to you, JJ. I have my own struggles with silly, trivial kind of things but I don’t know real struggle. Not like you do. So, I don’t blame you. Why would you let a rich, stook-up Kook into that?”

“I ain’t mean it like–”

“--No, no, I’m not mad. I’m not saying that to be all ‘woe is me’ or whatever. I mean it. Like…I get it,” you interrupt, fighting to hold his eyesight. “It just hurts, y’know? Cause the thing is, I love you. I love you no matter what. No matter the ‘bad decisions’ and the stupid choices, like the Midsummer’s fiasco or whatever. But I can’t love you, JJ, if I don’t know you. If I don’t know these things about you. I don’t like being left on the outside. It makes me feel like I don’t matter to you, and I don’t know if I can take that feeling, y’know?”

JJ licks his lips nervously and clears his throat. He nods, glances around the room, uncomfortable by your candidness. You got the feeling he didn’t come from a place where conversations like these were encouraged or common. As if to reassure, your hand finds his on the blanket and you softly envelope it with your warmth. He stares at that small gesture for a long while. 

“I just don’t want you to think less of me,” JJ confesses quietly. “I’m a scumbag, a’right? I make dumbass choices and get myself into dumbass situations and I’m not good for you.”

“Yes, you are, JJ. You’re a good person.”

“No, I ain’t,” he quickly dismisses, meeting your gaze once more. And he means that. It hurts you so bad because he means it. “I ain’t a good person.”

“Don’t say that,” you whisper. “You’re a good person to me, okay? I don’t care about all that other noise–”

“--Well, you should, alright?” JJ snaps, losing his tether. His hand slips from your comfort to flail out into the air in a wild gesture. “I mean, Jesus! I just fuckin’ robbed a drug dealer and blew the money on a hottub, for Christ’s sake - and you’re sitting here telling me I’m a good person?”

You look down with that. JJ catches his anger and sighs, shakes his head, disappointed. “I’m sorry, I just…This is what I mean. I can’t let you get that close to me.”

“I get it,” you mutter. “You don’t love me, JJ, that’s okay. That’s not your fault.”

“No, hey - what? I never said I don’t love you.”

“You never tell me you do,” you whisper, eyes stinging with tears yet again. You look at him and offer him a shaky smile. “I don’t want to force someone to be with me, JJ.”

“I don’t want you to tie yourself to me,” JJ out-right states. As if surprised by his own truthfulness, he’s spurred on. “I don’t want you to say you’re okay with these things now and then look around in three months time or whatever, and realise just what a fuck-up you’re with.”

“I’m never gonna think that,” you tell him. “I’m never gonna think you’re a fuck-up.”

JJ looks unsure of whether to believe you or not. Your hand finds his again, the other landing on his thigh. “I mean it, JJ. I’m in love with you. I don’t care what batshit, crazy stuff you get yourself involved in, as long as I’m in it too. I’m in, okay? All of it. I’m in.”

JJ shakes his head slowly. But he’s easing up, coaxing open like a conker from its spiky shell. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” you say, smiling sweetly. “But I’m your baby.” 

He smiles at that. 

“So, will you tell me? All of it? Please,” you request. And he does. It’s hard at first, like he’s forcing the words out syllable by syllable, but then it gets easier. The stories. The reasons. The motives. It starts with the hurricane - hurricane Agatha - and then with the white boat that they found. That’s where he got that gun - the same gun that you used to save him from Rafe and Topper - and you distantly recall his story. Then bits and pieces continue to crop up surrounding the Royal Merchant: the compass, the package…Then comes the grocery run and the jump on Pope, and the revenge. How Pope sank the boat, not JJ. That’s when the scruff up happened at the outdoor theatre, with you wielding the gun and saving their asses. Soon after came the arrest, originally intended for Pope but JJ gladly taking the fall. The pictures in the interrogation room of those men, bludgeoned and killed with a fishing spear before being left for shark bait. How JJ was terrified of that happening to John B and, more importantly, to you.

So he started to shut you out of it. Wanted to keep you at arms length. Safe. Unaware. You couldn't get wrapped up in the Royal Merchant madness if you knew nothing about it.

"Cause I have to keep you safe," JJ mumbles, gazing into your eyes. "You're the most important thing in the world t'me, y'know? If something happened to you...and it was because of me..."

His voice trails off as if he can't bare the thought. Your heart swells. He returns to the story. To how his dad beat him when he came to pick him up, and that’s why he was black-and-blue when he came to your house for dinner with your parents. God, if only you knew. After, with Midsummers, with John B dating Sarah Cameron (hence the secret note) and the meet-up at Rixon’s surrounding the Royal Merchant and the gold. How you weren’t invited because above everything else, JJ had to keep you safe. Then, they found it. They actually found the gold, under the Crain house, and they were going to be rich. Stinking, fucking, stupid rich. That brought them to today.

“So we melt the gold down,” JJ recounts, petting Ranger’s sleeping head. “And go to this pawn shop, a’right, way up town in like dodge-ville. I’m the one who’s gotta pawn this hunk of crap ‘cause I’m the best at bullshitting, so I go in and spin this whole yarn about my dementia-crazed mom or some shit. The pawn broker sends us out to the middle of butt-fuck nowhere, and we get jumped by this random guy with a gun. He held it to our heads and made us give up the gold, but John B got the upper hand, right? You following? And I lost my shit, okay? Like things just felt…With you and the whole ‘break that isn’t a break’ thing, and the gun…I lost me shit, and I wanted to get even. An eye for an eye and all that crap - I mean, you know, you’ve read the bible. So we go to his shitty ass trailer and I steal the twenty-K that I owe for that boat Pope sank. But the others weren’t, uh…they weren’t super cool with that, so I went off alone, a’right? Cause I don’t need anybody but me, yeah? And I go to my dad and give him the money to settle up with the cops. But…But he don’t wanna do that. So this whole…thing starts and…”

JJ loses his momentum. His lower lip starts to tremble and this infuriates him. Huffing, he presses his hand over his mouth. You frown, worried, brows so closely knit they might as well be one. A shuddering breath that’s so deeply unfamiliar to hear in JJ lets slip. A tear trickles tellingly down his cheek. 

“Oh, JJ,” you murmur. 

“I nearly fuckin’ killed him,” JJ gasps. More tears fall. He stares you down as he repeats, “I nearly fuckin’ killed him, baby. I just couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t take it–”

You throw your arms around his shoulders and pull his shivering body into you. JJ rests his head on your shoulder, burying his face in your collarbone, and he sobs. Your own eyes well at the feeling of his pain leaking onto you, and you press your nose against the collar of his shirt, breathing in the only smell that can bring you calm. Your own personal brand of nicotine. His arms raise to cradle your back, holding you close just as you do him, and you let him cry. With every tear, it’s as though another brick has been pulled free from the walls he’s been building in the past two short weeks.  

Even when the headfirst sadness has passed, you hold him. It’s safe here, in this corner of the world, once again lapped in moonbeams and darkness. 

“I do love you,” JJ says against your skin. His breath is warm as it fans across the flesh. “It’s jus’...my family, we didn’t do the whole talking thing. I’m not used to really tellin’ anybody anything, let alone how I feel. It’s easy enough saying it to my friends but with you, like that…It scares the crap outta me.”

“Why?” you breathe, pulling back to be able to meet his gaze. Your head shakes as you gently say, “why is it so hard when I say it to you all the time? You know I’m never gonna turn you away or shoot you down for saying it.”

“I don't’ know,” JJ admits. “I don’t know, I guess I just have this thing that tells me I shouldn’t eve tell anybody.”

“In case you ever wanna take it back?” you wonder. 

JJ swallows thickly like taking medicine, and he shakes his head. His eyes look so sad you could weep as he admits, “No. In case you ever want me to.”

Lips parting, something clicks in your head. You think about the past two weeks. How your parents welcomed JJ into their house with open arms, whereas JJ is lucky if he can stay in his for a week without a blow-up. How you lean into your mom for comfort, whereas JJ can only find that in the bottom of a bottle. You’d only ever been met with love and grace and forgiveness. JJ? He knew betrayal and abandonment and disdain. You said you understood before, the first time he told you that he loved you, way back after the fight at the outdoor movie, but you didn’t. Not until now. 

You feel yourself begin to smile. Your eyes lose their squint like the light’s eased up, and your body feels lighter from the epiphany. Now. Now you know everything about JJ. 

“JJ. You took me from my world of grey and gave me colours that I’ve never seen before. The kind of colours I can’t see with anyone else. I’m never going to stop loving you, just for that,” you profess. 

JJ’s eyes gaze into yours, The universe sighs. Time smiles. Like spring, there’s suddenly change. His lips find yours like a migrating bird returning home, and you feel as though you can finally breathe right for the first time in three days. Your fingers slip into his hair, combing through the strands, and JJ’s palms and fingers caress across your figure, as if tracing your body back into his mind. 

“I love you,” he murmurs against your lips. “I love you.”

There’s still some things, some tangles to smooth out, so you’re both walking the same map in the same way, but those can wait. It can all wait. Because, right now, for maybe the first time, you finally see JJ for who he really is. And as the two of you kiss, you realise that this was all it ever had to be. It was never that complicated, never that layered, because all that mattered was JJ. Wonderfully, recklessly-imperfect, Pogue through-and-through JJ. 

read the alternative ending to gamble here!

[cece693]

Childhood Friends (Michael Myers x M! Reader)

Summary: You couldn't remember your childhood, so with a plan to return to your old home in Haddonfield for clues, you never expected yourself to be tied to the boogeyman himself, Michael Myers.

tags: childhood friends, Michael remembers you, mentions of memory blanks, happy??? ending

Your memory was shit. Anything before the age of eight was a void of nothingness and you hated it. Talking to your parents didn't work: 1) they were dead and 2) even when they were alive, they were too preoccupied with the bitch of your sister to pay attention to you. So, with nothing but a measly 300 dollars to your name, you traveled back to your childhood home in Haddonfield.

You didn't expect much from the trip, to be honest—a vague recollection of a location or a friendly face, but not the plethora of history that followed your family. Ignoring the stares as you walked through the streets and up the old stairway to your home, you turned the key and stepped inside. Once the door clicked shut behind you, you finally let out all the pent-up anger you'd been holding in.

You always knew your last name was trouble—your family was composed of delinquents and shady people. Still, you hadn't expected yourself to be associated with the boogeyman himself, Michael Myers. When you saw his name, it was like a gate swung open. Memories came rushing back, one after another, until you were thrown into the past—back to when you and a young Michael were friends. You remembered standing up to his bullies and tending to his bruises when they found him wandering alone.

And more embarrassingly, the pact you guys made. It was stupid—you were both young and naive—but it was easy to promise something to a boy who had nothing. Together forever.

At the time you laughed it off, thinking it was just Michael’s strange way of saying you were his best friend. But he was dead serious. The way he had looked at you, his eyes intense and unwavering sent shivers down your spine. Not wanting to remember anything else, as it was beginning to give you a headache, you decided to take a small nap. That nap ended up being hours. Once you awoke, the room was pitch black, the clock on the nightstand flashing midnight.

"Shit." You murmured to yourself. You had hoped to get more done, to start unpacking the few boxes you'd brought into this old place, but it seemed you needed sleep. With a sigh, you stood and made your way out of the bedroom, intending to grab a snack before going back to sleep. But as you reached the bottom of the staircase, a strange feeling washed over you.

You paused, squinting into the dark living room—perhaps you were going crazy, or sleep still clung to you.

But then you saw him.

Standing in the middle of the room, his back to you, was a tall figure, his broad shoulders unmistakable. For a moment, you were paralyzed, unsure of what to do. The last time you had seen Michael, he had been a friend, but now he was something unrecognizable.

The thought of fleeing crossed your mind, but before you could act, Michael slowly turned around. His face was obscured by the eerie white mask, the hollow eyes staring back at you, unblinking and unreadable. He didn't move, didn't speak. He just stood there, watching, as if waiting for you to take the first step.

"Michael?" you whispered, the word barely audible in the tense silence.

As soon as the name left your lips, Michael began to move in your direction. Your instinct was to back away, and you did, taking a cautious step backward, your heart pounding in your chest. It seemed he had sensed your fear as he stopped, and held his hands up, a silent indication that he meant no harm. Then, with deliberate slowness, he reached up to his face, his fingers curling around the edge of the mask.

Michael’s hands hesitated for a fraction of a second before pulling the mask off. His blond hair, tousled and unkempt, fell slightly over his forehead, framing a face that was older yet familiar. He took a step forward and this time you didn’t move back. The fear was still there but it mingled with something else: curiosity.

Before you knew it, you were standing right in front of him, close enough to see the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. You reached out, hesitantly at first, and then with more certainty, wrapping your arms around him. Michael’s body tensed for a split second, but then he responded, his arms coming up to envelop you in a hug.

His embrace was strong, almost overwhelming in its intensity, and you were struck by how much larger he had become over the years. His frame dwarfed yours, making you feel small in comparison, but there was a strange comfort in it. As if the world could fade away and nothing could touch you as long as he held you like this.

Michael, on the other hand, was ecstatic. After what felt like an eternity, he was reunited with the only person he had ever truly cared for. And now, holding you in his arms, he felt a sense of peace he hadn’t known in years. I will not let you go again, Michael vowed, together forever. This wasn’t just a reunion—it was a new beginning. And he would do whatever it took to ensure you stayed by his side.

[writememysticfalls]

All Night Long | Klaus Mikaelson

Summary: Klaus turns up to your bedroom on the full moon, just before your first werewolf transformation. You find yourself fantasising about the time you slept together.

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x wolf!reader

Genre: Suggestive, angsty, hot, Klaus calls you little wolf

Word Count: <1k

You stood by the window, staring out at the New Orleans skyline.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

The voice made you jump. You turned around to see Klaus leaning against the doorframe of your bedroom.

You would never get used to vampires and their uncanny ability to creep up on people.

Klaus was dressed in all black, arms folded. His lips glinted blood red, like he'd just finished a meal.

You shrugged. "I prefer the mountains."

Klaus walked to the space beside you and gazed out of the window too. The pale light of the moon bathed his face in a eerie glow.

Klaus turned to you, catching you staring at him. You hid your blush with your hair.

"How are things?" He asked.

"I haven't killed anyone else since I activated my werewolf curse, if that's what you're wondering," you snapped.

Klaus's voice was serious. "I was asking about you."

You scoffed. "Since when did you care about me? I'm basically just a stupid little project to you... let's see what happens to the new girl with the werewolf gene now she's gone and killed someone."

Klaus tutted. "Don't be like that, little wolf. I do care about you."

You raised one eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yes!" Klaus smiled, and it was close to friendly.

You noticed the two brown moles on Klaus's neck. Suddenly, it was that night you shared together again.

-

"Don't stop," you moaned. You were straddling Klaus, smirking as he ripped the buttons of your shirt.

You dipped down and pressed your lips to Klaus's jaw, tracing a line down to his neck. You kissed his moles, one by one.

Klaus gasped. A strangled moan escaped his lips, almost like a purr.

Suddenly, he flipped you over, so he was on top. He dove in.

-

"Y/n?"

Klaus's voice shook you out of your flashback. You weren't used to hearing your real name come out of his mouth.

"You were miles away," Klaus said. "Somewhere good I hope."

You sighed, turning back to the window. You looked out at the night sky and frowned.

"The moon's almost full," you said, warily.

Klaus watched you intently.

"You're worried about your imminent transformation," he said, more as a statement rather than a question.

"I am," you confessed. "If you were a new werewolf on her very first full moon, you'd be worried too."

Klaus laughed, and you realised this was the first time you'd ever seen any genuine emotion from him.

"I could... transform as well, tonight. Give you some company as you howl at the moon out on the Bayou."

Your eyes widened. "You'd do that for me? You haven't changed into a werewolf in years. That's going to hurt like hell."

Klaus shrugged. "What's a little pain to an Original?" His expression grew serious. "Plus, some things are worth changing for."

You touched his hand and smiled. --- The next morning, you woke up in a clearing in the middle of the woods.

You were naked, sweaty, and covered in mud.

The memories from the night before flashed through your mind: you and Klaus, both in wolf form, splashing around in the lagoon, nipping each other with excited mouths.

You heard a rustling.

Klaus was walking towards you, fully dressed.

He'd washed off all the mud, but you noticed a remnant of last night that had been left behind - a branch of a fern caught in his blonde hair.

Klaus handed you a blanket. "Same again, on the next full moon?"

You smirked. "You bet."

​—

MAIN MASTERLIST

Let us know what you thought in the comments or on anon! 💋

[actuallysaiyan]

Video Vamps(Vampire!Hizashi Yamada & Vampire!Shouta Aizawa x Fem!Reader)

warnings: smut, biting, vampires, hypnotism, mentions of rabies, bats, scary video game, blood drinking, oral sex(fem receiving), nipple play, dark and suggestive themes, pet names pairings: Vampire!Hizashi Yamada & Vampire!Shouta Aizawa x Fem!Reader word count: 1.2k summary: Hizashi and Shouta invite you over to show you a scary video game they found, but really it's just to get you to consent to their own little mind game. a/n: for @nanamiscocksleeve's collab event, Monster Mash. Dividers by @adornedwithlight

You walk in between both Shouta and Hizashi. They had called you up tonight to ask you to come over to play some spooky video game they had just gotten their hands on. As per usual, Shouta isn’t nearly as invested in this as Hizashi is, but there’s a look of mischief in his eyes.

“Is this a bogus story just to get me to come hang out? Like the one about the bat that bit you two last week?” You ask, skeptically wondering what the motive was.

Hizashi turns to face you, standing under a streetlamp, “I promise you that actually happened! We had to go see a doctor to make sure we didn’t have rabies.”

“Right right…rabies.”

Hizashi is about to grow defensive, but Shouta is eager to get back to his shared apartment with the loud blond. The three of you pile in the door, taking off your shoes and then going to the living room. Then Hizashi heads into the kitchen to get some refreshments for all three of you.

You sit on the tattered couch as Shouta boots up the old video game console. Just in time for the game to start., Hizashi sets down a bowl of popcorn and some sodas for all three of you. You wonder what this video game is really going to be like.

The screen is black at first, then the dripping red text appears on the screen. Video Vamps, the title reads. You’re a little more intrigued now. It seems like it could be something spooky and fun. It’s perfect for this time of year.

Hizashi is the first to wrap his arm around your shoulder and to pull you in even closer. He whispers in your ear, “If you get scared, I’m here to hold you.” You scoff at his words, but you do like being close to him.

Shouta starts the game. It plays like a very old Super Famicom game. He’s controlling what looks to be a teenager in an old mansion on the screen. The teenager fights off bats and skeletons with an old sword.

He beats a few levels, then he passes the controller to Hizashi. Hizashi smirks at the dark haired man. “I think I can continue, Sho.”

You snuggle closer to Shouta, and he wraps his arm around you. He pulls you even closer, surprising you in a way. He presses the softest little kiss on your forehead, which shocks you. Neither of them are shy about flirting with you, but Shouta usually is the more subdued of the two when it comes to affections.

One Hizashi has beaten a few more levels, he passes the controller back to Shouta. This goes on for a bit before the screen turns to black again. Then the same bloody red text appears on the screen. This time it says, ‘It’s too late to run…’

You look up for a moment, unsure of what it’s meant to be warning you about. This is when you realize you haven’t heard anything from either Hizashi nor Shouta in a bit. You look at both of them, but they are very fixated on the screen.

“Uh…so was that the end?” You finally inquire.

You’re met with even more silence. It’s becoming a little eerie in this way too. Usually Hizashi is quick with something clever to say, or Shouta is trying to be the logical one. But neither of them can tear their eyes away from the screen.

Then there’s a sudden loud noise. The screen turns bright red and both men seem to almost snap out of it. You look at Shouta then at Hizashi. Shouta smirks at you, loving the way fear is written all over your face. Hizashi grabs you and pulls you even closer.

“Didn’t we tell you something happened to us?” he whispers in your ear.

“N-no…wait…does this have to do with the bat?”

He laughs as he begins nipping at your earlobe before kissing down your neck. Shouta leans in and holds your wrists down. You try to break out of the tight hold, but it’s impossible. He’s got you pinned down pretty good.

“Look at the fear in her eyes, Loudmouth.” Shouta comments.

Hizashi laughs, “Oh she’s terrified.”

Before you even have time to react properly to what either of them are saying, Hizashi sinks his fangs deep into your neck. You cry out weakly, desperate to get away from him. You feel a warm liquid dripping down your neck and you know you’re bleeding.

When Hizashi pulls away, Shouta leans in to lap up the blood from your neck. He sinks his fangs in as well, drinking from you. Then they both pull away. Hizashi kneels before you, hiking up your skirt. Shouta nips at his own wrist, bringing it to your mouth.

“Drink, baby. Or else it’ll hurt more.”

His words don’t make sense, but you do as you’re told. You drink his blood, finding it more appealing than you could ever imagine. All the while, Hizashi has your panties pushed to the side.

“You’re greedy, Hizashi.” Shouta scolds him.

Hizashi smirks, “Can you blame me? I’ve been wanting to do this for so long.”

You’re trembling as this intense feeling overwhelms you. Hizashi’s warm tongue presses against your folds while Shouta is working on taking your shirt off. So much for being patient, you think to yourself. His hands are calloused and feeling so rough on your skin as he finally frees your tits.

“She’s perfect,” Hizashi moans between long, languid licks of your pussy. “I’m so glad we decided to include her in this.”

Shouta pulls you onto his lap, spreading your thighs even more for Hizashi to be able to devour you, “I’m glad with our decision as well.”

You lean against him, feeling the muscles against your back. You shudder when Hizashi leans back in to lick you again, suckling on your clit to make you shudder.

“Let me tell you,” Shouta whispers in your ear as he tugs on your nipples. “You did so well for us. But this will be an adjustment, baby. You’ll become just like us.”

You have so many questions, but with the way Hizashi is licking you, you know you won’t be able to muster up the brain power to ask any questions just yet. The coil in your stomach tightens so tight, you’re seeing stars in your vision. Shouta smirks as your legs begin to shake and he actually reaches down to tangle his fingers in Hizashi’s hair. You only barely just notice the claws instead of regular fingernails.

“That’s it, Hizashi. Bring our little darling to orgasm.”

Your body is tingling. Your eyes flutter shut and you’re panting. All at once, this intense wave of pleasure and energy overwhelms you. You cry out as you begin soaking Hizashi’s face and the floor with your juices. You feel the teeth in your mouth getting sharper; your nails turn into claws.

When you open your eyes again, it’s like the world is breathing. Everything around you looks more vivid. Colors are vibrant. Hizashi’s eyes are glowing red as he looks up to you and smirks.

“Welcome to the nighttime world, kiddo.” Shouta whispers in your ear.

reblogs and comments always appreciated!

©actuallysaiyan 2024– do not repost on other platforms, copy, translate or edit my works!

[longdaytogo]

the boy in the portrait

@hotchnaur wrote a fic for this!

This is based off a little snippet I wrote which honestly isn't much (since I have absolutely no writing skills) but was more of a "I need to write this down before it disappears forever from my brain" kind of rush.

This takes place in an AU where Draco didn't make it out of the Fiendfyre, but the war is won and done. The Ministry has ordered a cleanup and seizes pureblood residences, namely Malfoy Manor, and Harry volunteers to inspect the property. He doesn't know why he did, but still apparates to the front gate, in a sort of trance since the Room of Requirement incident, not fully understanding why he's feeling so.

As he walks up the spiraled stairs and down the long corridors, it hits him that he's in the Malfoy ancestral home, the very place where Draco grew up. The eerie quiet is interrupted by the sound of a child crying and murmured shushes from a further corridor up the path. When he follows the sound, he's greeted by a long line of portraits, all old and dead, glaring at Harry before sharply turning and disappearing into their paintings.

He continues down the path until he gets to the very last portrait—a young boy crying, fisted hands covering his face. The other portraits tell him to "pipe down that noise" before vanishing, leaving only Harry and the young boy. When Harry approaches the smaller boy in the portrait to ask if he's alright, he stops dead in his tracks. It's Draco. A much younger Draco who looks to be around 6 or 7, much smaller than his first year at Hogwarts with his signature white blond hair and not-so-pointy chin.

Young Draco sniffles, wipes away his tears, and looks up at Harry, confused about who he is. He asks where his mother and father are and how lonely he is here. He explains how he "woke up" one day in this portrait and feels scared. How all the other portraits (namely Great Great Aunt Belvina and Grandfather Cygnus) won't answer his questions and only tell him to be quiet.

Harry stares at the younger Malfoy absentmindedly. He tells Draco he's here to stay for a while and asks if he has any messages for Lucius and Narcissa. "They're out right now but they'll be back shortly," he says, and young Draco's eyes light up. Draco finds a willing listener in Harry and tells him about how sad he is here, how delightfully boring it is, about his new toy dragon from Diagon Alley and about that one time Pansy and Theo fell face first in a puddle of mud as he and Blaise had watched, giggling while saying so.

Harry quietly listens, noticing he still points his nose up tauntingly while teasing and the way his haughty air or confidence seems to permeate the conversation. Harry tries to absorb all that he can, overlapping this young Draco with his Draco—noticing their similarities and difference where one is all childlike innocence and laughter, while the other only a mere husk of a boy towards his final days.

Young Draco tells Harry about his first flying lesson and his new broomstick when he suddenly asks if Harry knows "Harry Potter." Shocked, Harry asks how he knows the name when Draco, going a bit red in the ears, replies back how he's going to be Harry's best friend at Hogwarts ("once my letter arrives in a few years!") he says proudly. He tells Harry how he's made father buy out all the books on "Harry Potter" and how mother reads them to him nightly.

Draco makes Harry promise not to tell anyone, sharing that he only revealed it to so because he had shared so much already. Harry promises and, feeling a bit disheartened, says he needs to go, but he'll come back soon. Young Draco pouts and whines but understands, reminding Harry to pass along the message to Lucius and Narcissa. He waves goodbye, on the promises of "I'll see you later," and disappears into his portrait. Harry watches the boy vanish, then turns to leave down the corridor he came.

Walking down the stone path back to the gate, he recalls a boy with teary eyes surrounded by scorching flames and another boy dreaming of befriending the Boy Who Lived. He leaves Malfoy Manor feeling choked and a little worse than when he arrived.

[themidnightcrimson]

bump, set, spike ࿏ wm

summary: in which your new volleyball coach has a thing for degrading you.

words: 4.7K

warnings: volleyball coach!wanda, f!reader, degradation, I MEAN DEGRADATION, mommy kink, I SAID MOMMY KINK, slight dubcon/non-con, use of cumstrap, breeding kink, authority kink, yes i was a volleyball girl

this post is for 18+ only. minors: dni.

masterlist.

“I heard she’s a total hardass,” your teammate huffed as she bumped the volleyball to herself, staggering around to keep her balance as she bumped it into the air and down, then back up again.

The coach of your volleyball team had left in quite a hurry, leaving your college team without a proper coach for weeks on end. Finally, the university acquired one of the best coaches in the state, and this was your first scheduled practice with the coach whom you had no idea about except for the floating rumors that players were constantly passing out from her hard practices.

The wooden floor squeaked under your tennis shoes as you walked to the side of the gym, volleyball under your arm, to grab your water bottle and drink from it. Your teammates were casually bumping to each other, some lying around on the floor talking to each other as you waited for the new coach to arrive. It wasn’t customary for a coach to be so late to their first practice—your teammates had already set up the net in preparation. You sighed and sat down on the floor to relace your shoes.

Finally, the gym doors squealed open, and, as you sat on the floor with your shoelaces in hand, you glanced over to see your new coach walking in. She was wearing knee-length black tights and a fitted t-shirt that left no room for the imagination. Her brownish blonde hair was short and pinned halfway up, the curl of bangs resting over her brows that were arched in curiosity as she glanced over the room of girls, already analyzing and sorting out her new team at her hands.

“Good morning,” she called confidently, her dark green eyes flickering between the stunned faces of your teammates. She was a young woman, in her late twenties or early thirties, her body fit under her tight clothing and her face beautiful but stern. She seemed to suck up all the air in the large gym, everyone going suddenly silent.

Your fingers fumbled with your laces when her eyes finally landed on you. She stopped walking halfway down the length of the net to stare at you, her eyes boring into you like two sharp arrows. You felt your face getting hot under her viridescent stare, finding her rather formidable even with her obvious beauty.

“Why are you on the floor?” she asked evenly, her tone a sense of eerie calm.

You glanced down to your shoes then back up at her. “Tying my shoes.”

Her dark lips twitched into a half-smile. “What’s your name?”

Your heart started to unreasonably pound in your chest. “Y/n.”

She nodded instantly, as if she didn’t even listen to what you told her your name was, but it surprised you when she repeated it meticulously, “Y/n, are you a starter?”

There were some whispers from the other girls. Of course you were a starter. You were the team’s best hitter, earning them three-fourths of their offensive points every game. You only dumbly nodded, finding that your voice was incapable of escaping your throat.

The new coach hummed, nodding politely before the smile on her face faded. “If you spend one more second wasting practicing by lying around, you will not be a starter anymore.” Her words only had a millisecond to dumbfound you before she snapped, “Get up!”

Your body obeyed her clipped command instantaneously, jumping up to your feet and standing upright like you were in the military. You were thankful that you had just finished tying your laces. She only stared at you for a moment longer, turning slowly before she looked to the rest of the team who also were now all on their feet. “I’m Wanda Maximoff. You will call me Coach Maximoff.” Her hand grazed the net as she walked along it. “I was a little stunned at your statistics when they asked me to step in as coach. You guys hardly win a game.”

She turned around again, eyes dancing on you from across the room before they slipped away. Why were you sweaty all of a sudden?

“I can change that. If you give me respect, diligence, and consistency, I can help you guys out.” She paused, coming to a stop and placing her hands behind her back. “If you don’t, you will run suicides until the first person passes out.”

Some girls in the back giggled—the rumors were true, apparently.

Coach Maximoff smiled tightly, and then she asked for everyone to say their name and their position on the team, and whether they were a starter or not.

That practice was one of the toughest ones you’d ever had. She introduced advanced drills that none of you had ever done before, and every time someone messed up too badly, everyone had to run in a line around the gym for five minutes. Practices were usually only a couple hours long, but this one lasted until well into the afternoon.

You noticed that every time you glanced at Coach Maximoff, she was already looking at you. You must have pissed her off or something, because she called you up first for all the drills to “show them how it’s done,” only to reprimand and correct every single thing you do.

“Alright,” she began after she blew her whistle, looking at your team of sweating, panting, red-faced players from the other side of the net. She swooped under the net easily, looking at the lot of you. “Since you ladies are playing like junior varsity players, we’re going to do a simple practice that surely you can understand.” She took a ball from the stand beside her and held it up. “Bump, set, spike. I want you to get in a line, and I will serve the ball. The first person will bump it back to me. I will set it. The next person will spike it, and so forth. Got it?” There was only a pause of nodding and humming before she suddenly pointed to you. “Y/n. Up first.”

Why was she calling you first for every single drill? It was starting to aggravate you, especially since you were so tired and worn out from all the running and the tough drills. You bit back a groan and went to the first of the forming line, lowering down into receiving position.

Coach Maximoff smirked a little as she watched you lower down, raising the ball up into the air. You took a deep breath—your previous coach was always a soft server, but you didn’t know how Coach Maximoff was yet. Eyes pinned to you, smirk still set on her features, she tossed the ball up with one hand and quickly slapped her other hand over it, sending the ball spiraling quickly at you with a loud slapping sound that echoed in the gym.

It was so fast that you didn’t even see it before it hit you right in the knee and bounced away. There were some whispers from the girls behind you as your face turned red in embarrassment, and it only worsened when you looked up to the coach to see that she was staring at you with an expression of irritation.

“Why didn’t you get it?” she snapped coldly.

You blinked, rubbing your sweaty palms on your knee pads. “I—I don’t know, it came too fast. I wasn’t ready.”

“Wasn’t ready?” she echoed with a huff, amusement on her face. “Well get ready.” She grabbed another ball and you lowered again, hands spread in front of you, ready to receive. She tossed the ball up and hit it harder again, the sound slapping even louder than the last time. You expected it to be a low serve that you had to dig for like the first time, but this time it hurtled straight to your face. Normally, you would know to receive it with a set instead of a bump, but your hands fumbled and just went straight in front of your face, blocking yourself from the ball that slapped your hands and bounced to the floor limply.

Coach Maximoff rubbed her face over her hands and sighed in aggravation. “That’s it. Run.”

You stood there like an idiot, feeling fiery with shame. “Run?”

“Run!” she yelled, throwing her finger around the gym. “Run until I tell you to stop if you want to keep being a starter!” Her voice was like that of a snarl, low and vicious. Heart already pounding, you set off in a stumbly jog, running a lap along the wall of the gym.

Coach Maximoff continued the drill with the other girls, and you went green with jealousy at how easily they were receiving her serves and spikes, so seamlessly and perfectly. She even praised them, and something in your chest tugged.

You thought maybe after a couple laps, she would drag you back to the front of the line to redo the drill, but she never did. You ran for an uncounted amount of time, to the point where your legs were shaking and you were sweating through your shirt and finding it hard to breathe. Finally, she ended the drill and turned to see you jogging exhaustedly across the gym. “That’s enough!” she called, and you instantly fell to your knees, thankful that you had your kneepads on as they hit the floor hard. You bent over, gasping and wheezing loudly, wiping the abundance of sweat from your forehead.

With a blow of her whistle, she dismissed the practice, and you limped over across the gym to collect your things and get the hell out of there. “Practice tomorrow afternoon!” Coach Maximoff called to the team as other girls were already hurrying out the door, prepared to pass out or puke or both. You fell to the floor with a huff and began tugging off your shoes, feeling blisters forming around your feet.

Maximoff walked over to you as the other girls were leaving, and you looked up, seeing that she was standing close to you, towering over you. “I want you stay tomorrow night after practice. I think what you need is some one-on-one coaching.”

Dread filled you. Not only did you already have plans with friends tomorrow night, but you did not want to be around this villainous coach any more than you had to. She obviously had it out for you, and the embarrassment in front of your teammates was enough—you could only imagine how much she would belittle you alone. “Sorry,” you mumbled, still out of breath. “I have plans tomorrow night.”

Wanda’s lips pursed, her nostrils flaring as she breathed in slowly. Placing her hands on her knees, she crouched down in front of you incredibly close, her face only inches from yours. You froze, glancing around to see that everyone else had already left.

“It seems to me that you don’t care one bit about this sport or this team,” she said quietly, her voice rasping in a way that made your ears burn. You could see every shade of green in her eyes from this close, the curve and suppleness of her lips. “If you want to keep your position, you will see me tomorrow night after practice. If you don’t, I will have no choice but to reconsider your role on this team.”

Your eyes widened—was she threatening to kick you off the team?

Her hand reached out suddenly, placing itself on the middle of your thigh. You glanced down, seeing her long, nimble fingertips pressing into your skin. “And make sure you stretch before coming tomorrow. I need you to be flexible.”

A smirk curled at her lips, leaving you dumbfounded with an even redder face. She stood up and walked away, leaving you on the floor.

The hours leading up to the next day’s practice were unbearable. You were nervous about being alone with her, worried you would not meet her expectations and get yourself kicked off the team, but you also could not stop thinking about her hand on your thigh and the words she had said to you in such a low, raspy voice with that damning smirk on her lips. It was etched into your mind like a fire.

The practice went the same as the day before. She called you up first for every drill, which you failed miserably at. Why were you messing up so much around her? Of course, you were nervous, everyone was intimated by her, but no one else was messing up as much as you were. Your knees felt wobbly the whole time, your hands sweaty, your mind too distracted by the way she looked at you, and the way she moved, and her words still circling in your mind like a cyclone.

Practice was finally over, but that didn’t help your nerves one bit, because now you were going to be alone with her. While everyone else flooded out of the gym, some crying because Wanda made them run so many laps around the gym, you stayed sitting on the floor off to the side, rubbing your ankles that were blistered and nearly bleeding.

You watched Coach Maximoff go across the gym and pick up stray volleyballs that didn’t get picked up. She was wearing a pair of thick black sweatpants today and a tiny red shirt that showed her midsection every time she lifted her arm to serve the ball. She was so beautiful and confident, albeit mean, that you couldn’t help but wonder what she was like outside of being a coach, if she was actually a kind, gentle person who had hobbies like reading or art. Part of you thought maybe she ate the hearts of the innocent in her free time with how monstrous and unrelentingly cruel she was in the gym.

When she’d replaced all the balls back to the standing bag, she looked over at you expectantly. Her face lowered, eyes shadowing under the overhead gym lights, and she lifted a finger and curled it towards her.

You found yourself standing up to walk towards her, limping a little from the blisters on your ankles. When you came to a stop, her eyes flickered up and down your body, landing around your hips. “Do you usually wear shorts that short to practice?”

Glancing down, you looked at your tiny spandex shorts and shrugged. “Um, yeah, I guess.”

“Those are a little revealing, don’t you think?” she murmured, boldly reaching her hand out and running her fingertips under the hem of the tight shorts, tugging on the fabric and then letting it snap against your thigh, making you jump. She smirked and tilted her head, stepping closer to you. “And this shirt…” Her hand took the hem of your tight long-sleeved shirt and tugged at it. “Take it off.”

Heat swelled in your face as you blinked, making sure you heard her right. “What?”

“You’ll get too sweaty in that. You’re wearing a bra, right?” Her tongue peeked out of her mouth and ran across her lower lip. “It’s just us two in here. You can take it off so you won’t get too hot.”

Feeling somehow breathless, you looked down at your shirt and reluctantly took the hem. You had been just fine wearing it all during practice, and most of the girls wore long-sleeved shirts to help protect their arms from so much bumping. You wanted to say that, but her smirk turned into a stone gaze.

“I’m your Coach, y/n. There needs to be a level of trust between us—and respect. That means—” She leaned closer and whispered, “You do what I say.”

Gulping, you only nodded, taking the hem of your shirt in your hands and slowly peeling it over your head, leaving you only in your sports bra and shorts. She bit her lip and let her eyes run down your figure as she finally stepped away. “Good girl.”

Your face grew immeasurably hot. Wanda walked to the standing bag and took out a volleyball, holding it on her hip and pointing to a few feet in front of her. “Come here. We’re going to do bump, set, spike, until you get it.”

You wanted to tell her that was such a simple drill and that normally you would have no problem doing it but found it hard to keep your composure around her, but you didn’t. Instead, you let your voice die in your throat and walked to the spot on the floor, turning to face her.

“Get in position,” she commanded, so you did, bending your knees and spreading your hands. Without warning, she quickly tossed the ball up and spiked it towards you, sending it slapping across your thighs.

“Ow!” you instinctively exclaimed, clapping your hand over the red spot forming on your thigh, but Wanda was already getting another ball and served it to you twice as quick, and this time you had to jump out of the way before it smacked you in the face. “Jesus!”

Wanda gave a mixture between a sigh and a huff as she rubbed her hand over her forehead. Your face burned in shame as she stared at you, trying to think of what to do with you. Finally, she clicked her tongue and said, “You do not know how to receive a serve at all, do you?”

Feeling frustrated, you threw your hands up in the air. “I’m a hitter, not a libero!”

The coach ran her tongue over her teeth and stared at you for a moment. “Fine, since you somehow made it into college volleyball without knowing how to receive, I guess I’ll be the one to teach you.” She started towards you. “Get down into what you think a receiving position is.”

Huffing, you lowered down in the same way you had. Wanda neared you, eyes flickering over your body as she started walking a slow circle around you. You could feel her standing behind you, your heart starting to race.

Suddenly, her foot came and kicked at your ankle, forcing your legs to open wider. You gasped, nearly tripping, until you found you were lowered down even farther with your legs spread wider. “Keep ‘em open,” she murmured behind you, and you didn’t realize how close she had been standing behind you until you heard her lips right behind your ear.

Trying to remember how to breathe, you felt her hands come to rest at your elbows, adjusting your arms to a different position. “You want to keep them closer together,” she whispered, her breath moving strands of your hair. Her hands, once finished moving your arms, slowly slid up them and to your shoulders, tracing down your back. She pressed in at the middle of your back, causing it to arch into a curve. “Your hips…” she trailed, and you felt her hands leave you. It made you feel cold without her touch.

“W-What about them?” you asked in nearly a whisper, feeling like the large gym was suddenly half the size it usually felt like.

“You need to bring them back more,” she said in a husky tone, and then her hands were on your hips, squeezing the bones there before she jerked them backwards. You gasped when your ass pressed right against her crotch, and from the force of it you could tell she had bucked her hips towards you. You were about to start apologizing, but her hands held your hips still.

Then, when she moved her hips a little to get closer to you, you felt it—something hard and large tucked inside her sweatpants, bulging out right against your ass. Sharply, you stood straight, feeling your back hit her chest as you did. Her hands kept hold of your hips, digging herself into your ass and letting out a throaty moan that brought chills up your spine.

“Coach?” you whispered, panting as you felt yourself throbbing within. You could feel her breath on the back of your neck, her lips grazing your spinal cord as she pushed herself closer to you, grinding her hips into the swells of your behind.

“I don’t think you know how to respect your coach,” she husked into your ear, her lips pressing against the skin there. One of her hands left your hip to swerve around your tummy, diving up towards your chest. “Or how to obey.” Her hand grabbed at your breast from over your bra, bringing a sharp gasp of surprise from your throat.

You knew that it was incredibly wrong, letting her touch on you and press against you like that, but the rasp in her voice and the domineer in her hands was turning you on so much that you felt like you were rapidly growing a fever.

Her hand left your chest and dove straight down into your shorts, reaching past your thin pair of panties to grope at you between your legs. Your lips fell open, head falling back against her shoulder as her svelte fingers started to grab at your clit. She smelled like perfume and the rubber scent of volleyball material, her lips pressing against the corner of your jaw before biting there.

“Coach, please,” you groaned as her fingers started to rub hard at your clit, her cock pressing harder against your ass all the while.

“You can call me Mommy,” she whispered into your ear before biting it, inciting a moan from you. “You’re pathetic. All wet and needy for me.” She pulled her hand out of your shorts to show that her fingers were glistening under the gym lights. Reaching up to grab a fistful of your hair, she yanked your head back so that your lips opened, and she dove her fingers inside your mouth. “Suck,” she demanded in a harsh whisper against your ear, so you did, sucking your own juices off her fingers as your face turned bright red, tasting your own arousal and the hint of salty sweat on her fingers.

When her fingers were all clean, she pulled them out and growled before she used her hand in your hair to push you forward so hard that you crumpled to the ground, your kneepads hitting the hard wood as she followed you down, kneeling between your legs.

“You want to be a starter, huh, little whore?” Wanda asked from behind you as her hands started grabbing at your shorts.

Dizzy from the fall and from the neediness throbbing within you, you let out a small, “Uh huh, Mommy.”

“Fuck,” Wanda hissed when you called her that, yanking down your shorts to expose your bare ass and pussy. “Then you will take all of Mommy’s cock so she will let you be a starter, won’t you?”

“Yes,” you moaned, the wooden floor cold against your face. “Yes, Mommy.”

“What a fucking slut,” Wanda murmured as she yanked her sweatpants down a little so she could take out her strap. You couldn’t see it, but you knew it was big when she started to rub the tip up and down your wet folds. “Listen to that, slut.” You could hear the wet sounds that your folds made when her strap parted them. “I didn’t make you out to be such a dirty whore.”

Keeping one hand in your hair, pushing your face onto the floor, she thrust her cock into you all at once, your walls opening for her as she slid through them.

You cried out at her size, grabbing helplessly at the floor as she pulled out before snapping her hips back into you, shoving herself hard inside you. It was so rough, and you felt so dirty lying on the floor as your coach took your pussy from behind, but you loved it, finding yourself lost in a whirlwind of primal pleasure as her grunts and your moans echoed in the loud gym.

“What would someone say if they walked in right now,” Wanda said between her thrusts, and you heard the sound of skin slapping together, “if they saw you lying on the floor getting fucked by your coach like this?” You could tell that she loved the position of power she had over you, both technically and physically. “Offering up your pussy to me so that you’ll be my favorite.” She tugged at your hair, lifting your upper body off the floor and hissing against your ear. “Do you think they’d call you a slut?”

Shame filled you just like it did when she had first seen you and scolded you for sitting on the floor. You could only give a string of unintelligible noises, so she yanked your hair harder, demanding you to speak. “Yes,” you finally gasped. “Yes, they would, Mommy.”

Wanda laughed at how pathetic you were, pushing your face back into the floor. Moving her hand to your ass, she grabbed at your flesh there, letting out an unashamed moan as she thrust her hips harder into you. You could feel your own juices sliding down your inner thighs, your eyes squeezing shut as her strap went deeper and deeper inside you, causing your legs to tremble.

“Fuck, I knew you’d have good pussy,” Wanda breathed, and her words were spinning a coil of pressure in the pit of your tummy, her own voice starting to falter as her thrusts grew wild and unrhythmic. “I wanted to throw you down and put my cock in you when I first saw you yesterday.”

Her words were making you burn so hot you thought you would melt right through the floor.

“You’ll make such a good fleshlight for Mommy—fuck—letting me bend you over just like this everyday after practice, won’t you?”

“Uh huh,” you squealed, mouth falling open as you felt an orgasm impeding upon you.

“That’s right, you will. If you want to be a starter, you have to be Mommy’s fucktoy first—ah!” She hissed, her hips snapping into you harder and sloppier. “Fuck, you gonna take Mommy’s cum?”

You let out a gasp when she hinted that it was a cumstrap she was wearing, and you knew that you were moments away from cumming helplessly all over her strap. “Yes, yes, Mommy,” you whined, feeling her hand tighten its grip in your hair.

Wanda reached down to grab the base of the strap right as her climax reached her, growling loudly and grabbing hard at any spot on you she could grab, squeezing the base and letting her cum squirt deep inside you, painting your inner walls and filling you up so that you came instantly, moaning and bucking your hips backwards against her.

Wanda sighed, grinding her strap slowly inside you as you rode out your own climax, watching some of her cum drip out of you each time she pulled her strap out a little. Grinning, she pulled out and stood, grabbing your shoulder and turning you over on your back. You looked up at her in a daze, legs still trembling as you panted.

“Open up,” she said with a wide grin as she kneeled over your face, her strap glistening with a mixture of juices that dripped from the end and splattered across your chin. Desperately wanting to obey her, you opened your mouth, and she lowered her hips, shoving her cock deep into your mouth. You choked at first, letting out a quiet gagging sound that she laughed at until you caught control of yourself and started dutifully sucking her clean. She looked down at you with her lip caught between her teeth, humming in appreciation at how cute you looked with her strap in her mouth.

Once it was clean, she pulled out of your mouth with a popping sound and pushed her strap back into her thick black sweatpants that easily concealed it. You were burning up and shaking, inebriated with all the degradation she’d poured upon you, feeling your pussy full of her cum that was slowly dripping out of you.

“Good girl,” she whispered as she stared down at you, reaching out and wiping the liquids away from your chin. “Same time tomorrow? Don’t wear underwear this time.”

[justblades]

⌕ SEIZED, 18+

⟢ CHARACTER : luocha x afab! reader WC : 1.8k

⟢ WARNINGS : (EX)PLICIT, MDNI. lactation, breeding, netorare, d!ck deprived & d!ck drunk! reader

⟢ SUMMARY : an appointed family doctor visits a widowed mother to check up on her health, but it appears fate had other plans instead.

the incessant pelting rain continuously clatter against your home's rooftop, pitter pattering sounds ironically accompany the loneliness murking your heart. it has been a long week of just trying to get by with no hints where to continue next. without your husband, it's as if your pillar of support crumbled into smithereens, nothing but dusts of what were once a life being.

naturally, your peers and family come into the scene to help soothe your grieving soul, but as much as you hate to admit it, no words of theirs relieved the lingering sadness. feigning healing has been a routine so you don't worry your relatives too much— but then a surprising knock on the door veer your train of thoughts off course.

you check from the cameras to see who's the visitor and as you saw those familiar blond strands tied in a neat low ponytail and the foreign designed clothing, you swing the door open and give a greeting. "good evening, doctor. come in." he bows lightly, "pardon the intrusion."

with enough small talk while you lead the doctor to the vast living room of your own home, you bid your farewell for a moment to fetch some drinks, a kind gesture of welcoming your guest. "might i ask how's your girl? is she well?" the doctor queries kindly, viridescent hues flutter in curiosity. "yes, she's asleep actually. it's a little . . saddening to realize my husband never got to see our girl past 6 months." you reply, setting the tray on the long glossed table.

"my sincerest condolences. if ever you would like to seek help from a professional, i can name a few and refer you to them." his honeyed words felt rather wholesome. for some reason, being with someone you're not that particularly well acquainted with is refreshing. you've met with luocha several times from your husband's health check ups whenever you accompany him, so it's safe to assume luocha took up the role to be your family's doctor; after all, your husband is the type to entrust a reliable individual to support his wife.

luocha takes out his equipments so he can administer his check up regarding your physical health, bringing out his stethoscope and the familiar golden necklace laced around his gloved fingers. he proceeds with the usual basics, a question sparking one after another as a way to not bore his patient. "how are you faring nowadays?"

"honestly speaking, things are really bad." he nods, gesturing for you to continue. "i can't help but yearn for crumbs of intimacy sometimes." you chuckle at the end, coverig a light hand on your mouth. "from your husband exactly? or—" your gaze shifts to luocha's face, addled at the far fetched inquiry of his.

"—my apologies. that was below the belt." the blond male cuts himself off and an apologetic smile sits on his lips. however you dismiss it, "no no, don't worry about it. if anything, it feels nice to be accompanied once in a while. i can't open up my feelings to others given that i might cause them trouble," you pause, heaving a blue sigh and continue, "i doubt this will weigh you down, doctor. especially when you're in the medical field."

the vicinity then falls silent for a short while and your eyes gaze elsewhere, reminiscing the olden moments you were being showered with affection from a loved one. a gut feeling suddenly persuades you to look back at luocha; when you do so, the smile sculpted on his lips persists. his usual expressions were never eerie, but this time, for some reason . . it feels different from the usual. "it's a shame you're widowed at such a young age miss."

your eyes widen, heart beat racing against the hundreds of thoughts flaring up in your mind. "i don't know what you're hinting at, doctor." he closes in the remaining distances between the both of your bodies. you remain there sat on the wooden chair while the blond stands up and lowers himself just enough for your piercing, heating gazes to meet. "there is no need to bluff. it's okay." his voice deepens, jade hues reflecting a crystalline clear view of your curious expression.

as if the strings of your life become woven in a fruitful future once again, your sultry lips press against luocha's. getting a feel of his soft margins sends shockwaves of pleasure and longing in your system; you couldn't restrain yourself, restraint is not your forte. the kiss eventually transitions into a deeper one, tongues coming into the scene, tangling with each other's in sync.

luocha's eyes are shut, his breathing becomes sharp and ragged. it was clear cut that he's savoring your liquids, gloved hands now exploring your body. "miss, it was . . . supposed to be a lighthearted joke." he says in between the sloppy kisses, struggling to keep up with your fast rhythm. "drop the formalities, luocha." you retort, your stomach fluttering for more action.

it was his first time being referred to by his nickname from a favorite patient— fueling his carnal desire even more that it's impossible to extinguish its fervor flames at this point. luocha's hands quickly cup your clothed chest - his long fingers lightly dig on the plush of your tits, your breath hitches and the kiss finally ends, connecting your lips to luocha's with a naughty singular trail.

he skillfully rips the fabric apart, conferring him a full open view of your voluptuous tits— given that you're still breastfeeding. luocha's bulge underneath twitches, he bites his lips in impatience, a foreign feeling he has a hard time encountering. you let out a chuckle and take the initiative by pushing him back to his seat and straddle his lap, facing the doctor.

naturally, he's surprised, but you did not waste any more time by combing his lush flaxen hair with your hand and drag him to your boobs, perfectly aligning his mouth to your soft buds. a soft moan slips out once you got a feel of his tongue suckling on your nipple, "mhm, i never would've guessed you'd be into this as well."

the doctor doesn't reply but proceeds to toy with the other one, squeezing your flesh in an attempt to milk you dry - evident from how hard he's lapping your boobs up. your folds start to seep out of arousal from the lewd movements and you get a feel of luocha's erect crotch; you buck your hips to accumulate friction from the heating body part all the while urging luocha to drink more of your juices. in contrary to his gentlemanly, chivalrous nature, he's surprisingly greedy and rough as to how he nibbles on your hardened bud.

"h-how do i taste?" you skittishly ask and luocha pauses. "compelling." a mere singular word throws your mind in a daze, body tingling everytime luocha's feathery touches brush on your skin. "a flavor that's addictive, making me want to procreate with you so your supply wouldn't run out."

heat and blood rush all the way up to your cheeks, sexual passion brews in the depths of your lower abdomen. "i'll stand up as the father— we can be together . . ." he whispers to your ear, his hot breathe caressing your bare skin. your next move was more predictable: luocha watches with his predatory-like eyes while you strip yourself in front of him, legs farthest apart, muddy white beads trickling away from your lower lips.

your fingers spread your folds open, an immensely erotic view that will inevitably be etched in the male's mind for the longest time. "this is all yours." the corners of luocha's lips tug upwards as he removes his onyx glove with his teeth, proceeding to set it on the tabletop beside your vulnerable state. he resumes and brings his cock into full view for your eyes as well, stroking his girth until it stands tall and glorious. "you're surprisingly . . packing."

you were taken aback as he lifts your body up along with your left leg, draping it on his forearm while he teases his tip adjacent to your entrance. it happened too fast as if it occured in 20 machs speed, now rocking your hips, begging for him. "did you ever imagine this whenever you accompany your husband with his check ups?"

now that he mentioned it, you were left wondering. since when did you ever fantasize about your husband's doctor, much so that your façade as a goody two shoes wife immediately breaks down with the littlest, puny attempts?

just as when you were about to respond, he thrusts into your wet cunt, his girth filling all the remaining space inside your velvet walls. luocha's guttural moan erupts from his throat, gratification pooling inside him the more you clenched around his throbbing dick. you were tight, very tight that the doctor feels himself cum on the spot.

if it weren't for him pulling out from your slit, he'll have to instantly bury his seed of climax deep. "ah— luocha . . !" you yelp once he pistons in again, this time, his cock's tip kisses the surface of your cervix. ". . honestly. . y . . yes." you admit, embarrassment gnawing at your bones, words cut off everytime luocha pounces into your lewd hole.

his breathing becomes even more jagged, beads of sweat rivulet from his forehead, "i'm very close . ." your knees were about to give in as well, all the left strength in your body vanishing. "m-me too!" with another shared sloppy kiss in between the intercourse unraveling from both of your heated, lust brewed bodies, luocha pounds into your pussy swiftly, emitting squelching sounds both from his cock and the constant sucking and licking of your lips.

"hah . . please . . make sure you'll knock me up!" desperation heavily hints your words, enough to cater to luocha's preferences that were obvious the more time you got to spend with him. you figured it all out, how he likes your lactating tits, how he goes berserk just to procreate with you. although it all seemed a little too quick— perhaps this is how the higher entities planned it.

with one last balls deep thrust, all of his cum pool inside you, filling you to the brim. your melting moans of pleasure mesh along with luocha's, both satisfied from everything that transpired. luocha supports your trembling body with his figure and grabs ahold of your hand, bringing it closer to his saliva glossed lips. he places a chaste kiss on the back, leaving yet another ephemeral chill, running along your spine up and down.

"i'll take good care of you . . . your girl . . . and our soon to be baby. our newly built family."

my masterlist !

[calummss]

The Shelter | Eminem—Marshall Mathers

masterlist

summary: you meet eminem at the shelter when your friend drags you along to your first show

pairing: fem! reader x marshall mathers/eminem

words: 1.7k

The night sky across Detroit had stars splattered across the pitch black sky. It was so beautiful that many people that called the 313 their home, momentarily forgot the weight that was bearing on their shoulders, walking across the street towards the shelter with their heads facing the sky. Lauren grabbed your hand so the two of you could sprint across the street to follow a crowd full of people into the Shelter. It was your first time ever going to step foot in the shelter. Lauren was a huge fan of rap and hip hop and had forced you to go since her other friends had planned for the night. You squeezed through a crowd full of people that were waiting in front of the line. ‘Aren’t we supposed to line up?’

‘No,’ she replied, barely looking over your shoulder, still tugging your body until she had reached the bouncers. Neither of them said anything. They gave her body a quick scan and stepped aside, letting her pass into a tight and dark hallway, with flickering lights barely illuminating enough light to see where you were going.It seemed less than a second when she let go of your arm and disappeared as soon as she let go.

‘Lauren!’ You called out, stopping in your tracks to try and find her. ‘Lauren?’ You continued to walk along the hall, no idea where you were going or where it was heading.

It was an eerie atmosphere trapped among the building, filled with people you didn’t know and people double your size. It felt clammy, uncomfortable and you needed space to breathe. Luckily the further you continued down the hall you eventually found a bathroom. Opening the door you took a few steps into the room before you collided with a hard wall, or so you thought. No wall, just a man. He had bleach-blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin and a pointy nose. He was hot. His eyebrows were slightly knitted, his jaw flexed as he stared at you, somewhat intimidatingly.

‘Sorry,’ you said, not moving from your spot.

‘You’re good.’ He replied, his voice laced with drugs that perked up your ears like a deer. He said nothing more than a few words yet they felt like they had sung to your soul, ready to listen to what he had to say. ‘Are you here to watch the show?’

‘Yeah,’ faint smile, lips freshly coated with a sheer red lip. ‘Are you here to watch or perform?’

‘Perform hopefully,’ He adjusted his beanie, his pale skin contrasting the dark washed clothes that hung off his body, barely a silhouette to be seen.

‘Good luck out there.’

‘Thanks.’ He didn’t smile but his face wasn’t as stern as it had been before. Probably one of those men that barely smile or show emotions.

The man you wanted to ask for his name walked past you in a hurry, the whiff of his cheap cologne the only thing that stayed inside the bathroom. Barely getting a chance to mentally go over your encounter you heard the faint voice of Lauren behind you and followed it until you saw her up front before the stage waving you over with a big smile. You walked over and awaited the performance of the mystery man. When he came on stage it was like you were living through his emotions. You could tell he was nervous, maybe you only thought that because he had teased it with you but his eyes looked like there was nothing behind them except rage to rip his opponent to pieces. And that’s what he did. Cypher after cypher, beat after beat, he took majority of the wins and climbed his way to the finale. When the final rappers were announced he had scanned the crowd to look at the people who were cheering on him. His eyes stopped scanning the crown when he laid his eyes upon you, staring at you for so long you were able to flash him a smile and whisper ‘you got this’ which you knew he understood.

The final round demonstrated his flow, speed and creativity on a different level than the rounds before. It was your first show and you knew that second that he had what it took to make a rap legend. When he was crowned winner of the shelter you applauded him like it was only your claps he could hear. When people started to get ready to leave, Lauren had tried holding your hand to not be separated once again but you told her that you wanted to talk to someone and told her you would meet her outside in a few minutes.

‘Hey,’ you walked up to the same blonde boy you had met before. His friends who were talking to him steadily crept away from him and left the two of you alone, knowing that this was a conversation not meant to involve them. ‘I just wanted to say that you absolutely killed it on stage. I know it’s my first time so my comment might not mean much but I just wanted to let you know that you have an incredible talent.’

‘Thank you.’ He replied somewhat dryly. ‘All praise is good.’ His blue eyes stared at you like they had before and before, ready to manipulate you into spilling your secrets. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Y/n.’

‘Eminem. Marshall Mathers.’

‘Nice alliteration,’ you chuckled, earning a small tug on his lip from the monotone face before you. It suited him—a smile. The way his eyes would crinkle. He suited a smile. ‘I hope this won’t be a shot in the dark but can I give you my number?’ Your heart began to race, grabbing the piece of paper with your digits that you had written down right after the bathroom encounter, knowing you wanted to get to know him.

He grabbed the note, roughly inspecting it, ‘I’ll give you a call if I’m interested,’ you gave him an approving smile before he turned around.

Seconds later the sound of your phone rang from your bag, desperately trying to fish out the ringing phone and answering it without looking at the caller. ‘Hello?’

‘Hi.’

‘Who is this?’

‘You know me.’ The voice sounded oddly familiar, you had heard it before but couldn’t recall when.

‘I’m afraid I don’t.’

‘I just wanted to call and say I’m interested.’

The answer popped into your head the same time Marshall turned around with a smirk on his face. Playfully glaring at him you continued to talk over the phone.

‘Really?’

‘Really.’

‘Will you take me out then?’

‘Do you want me to?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then let’s get out of here.’

You hung up the phone and stepped closer to him before you both walked out of the Shelter, walking through areas of Detroit before stepping into a fast food chain to sit down, eat and get to know each other and that night you were already grateful that your life had led you to the shelter.

‘You live around here?’ Marshall asked, taking a sip from his soda, with those eyes that never seemed to stop glaring at you.

‘Yeah,’ you said as you picked up a fry and let it sit before your lips before you had finished your sentence. ‘Born and raised in Palmer Woods.’

‘Palmer Woods?’

‘Yep.’

‘Your family got money?’

‘Why,’ you raised your brows. ‘Is it a problem?’

‘Nah man, I was wondering what a girl like you is doin’ around these parts of Detroit.’

‘Just because I live across 8 Mile doesn’t mean I have to stay there y’know. Most of the people there are stuck up asses anyway.’ You relaxed your back into the booth seat, crossing your legs. ‘Where do you live?’

‘Warren.’

‘Shit neighbourhood.’

‘Tell me somethin’ I don’t already know, Y/n,’ he gave a gloomy reply, taking a bite from his burger, also relaxing into the chair.

‘Do you want to leave?’

‘Nah not really. A nice fucking house would be sweet man but I could never leave the city, you feel me?’

‘Never wish to get away from here? All this bullshit? Crime? I mean it’s fucking exhausting here. We’re all living here never knowing when our last day is our last day.’

‘You scared?’

‘Sometimes but with this in my bag,’ you lifted the handle of a gun only enough for him to see before shoving it away so you wouldn’t accidentally start anything. ‘I feel a lot safer.’

‘That ain’t what I was expecting.’ He chuckled. An actual chuckle. The corners of his lips turned, showing you that faint smile you already loved. ‘You’re kinda different from all the other girls I’ve met.’

‘Positively I hope.’

‘Yeah,’

‘Your house around here?’ You returned the question, not noticing that you had asked him before.

‘Why? Want me to take you?’

‘Just making conversation, Marshall. I’ve known you for less than three hours. Why? Want to take me?’

‘Maybe.’ He smirked, both of your eyes filled with amusement as you finished your food. ‘Not tonight though.’

‘Maybe some other time?’

‘I’ma be honest with you,’ he put his elbows on the table. ‘You’ll probably see my house once but will never go in. My mom ain’t a pretty sight.’

‘I won’t judge you for your house.’

‘I don’t care what anyone thinks but I like you, Y/n, no way in hell am I showing that shit hole so soon.’

‘It’s okay,’ you smiled. ‘I’m more interested in you than your house anyway.’

‘What are you sweet-talking me for?’ Marshall playfully squinted his eyes.

‘Is it working?’

‘Man, you got me good.’

‘Good.’ You bit your lip, ‘Let’s get outta here.’ You got out of the booth and walked out with Marshall by your side as he walked you home, taking the time to get to know each other. At your front door it seemed like neither of you knew how to say goodbye, the two of you standing across each other, the dim entrance light casting a shadow across his face.

‘Thank you.’ You said.

‘No worries.’

‘Call me,’ you took a step towards him and placed a quick kiss on his cheek.

‘I will, Y/n. You won’t be getting rid of me anytime soon.’ He smirked, both his hands balled into the pockets of his hoodie.

‘Good.’

‘Good.’

‘Good night, Marshall Mathers.’

‘Good night, Y/n.’

[chemical-killjoy]

Healing Kiss

Jack Dawson x Female Reader

Summary: y/n is Struggling™ and in hospital, can her best friend and doctor heal her?

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: mentions of self harm, suicide attempt, sexual and physical abuse, blood and bruises, semi smut. If any of this gets to you, please don't read, it is a STRONG theme. Stay safe <3

Author's Note: ... I got issues, m'kay? Anyway this fic is a little old but I'm finally publishing it. As always if you like it, please reblog, and if you want to be tagged in my fics please click here!! Thank you <3

Jack had never been so terrified in his life. It was just another Thursday night, when the blond man walked up to Y/N's door and knocked, grateful to have a moment free for his best friend. But instead of her bright face opening the door, Jack was greeted by an eerie silence. After waiting for a few minutes and eternity, dread filled his chest. He knew that Y/N was going to be home, the plan was for Jack to come over so you could get his opinion on your latest poem. Y/N doesn't back out of plans.

Jack called out, and for a moment he calmed down, tried to rationalize. Maybe Y/N had lost track of the days again, as often happens when she's writing. But instead of silence, this time he heard a small voice through the walls, calling his name like a question. Without hesitation, Jack broke through the door and ran to Y/N's room.

He'd never been scared of blood before.

The carriage jostled as the horses sped towards the hospital, and a groan escaped your lips at the movement. You kept hearing Jack whispering to you.

“Eyes open, Y/N, do you hear me? Keep your eyes open, please. Please.” His voice broke on the last word. You wanted to answer, to keep your eyes open, but you were so tired, and sleep was so welcoming. You wanted to slip into that abyss, the nothingness of the black ink behind your eyes. Maybe, if you just let the pain go, you could sleep forever. That was the latest plan. But the carriage jostled and bruises collided with floor and you whimpered. There was no rest. But by the time you got to the hospital, you were unconscious.

You woke up with a headache. Such was expected, after the night you had had. The night before came crashing back into your mind, five times worse than the headache. Tom. The fight. Hiding in your bedroom. Tears streaming down your face and a hollow ache of numbness settling over you.

You raised a hand to rub your head when you noticed the bandages. Shame settled deep into your bones and tears sprang to your eyes. What had you done? You took a bad situation and made it so much worse. You shouldn't have fought back. No, you shouldn't blame yourself. Both thoughts spun around in equal measure, making you feel dizzy. What would your family think? What will happen when Tom finds out? Who found you?

Jack.

Oh no, not Jack, you thought. The tears came harder, dehydration be damned, you couldn't stop. The nastiness of your mind started up again. He hates you now, he feels sorry for you, he's going to leave you, you've disappointed him, he doesn't care about you like that and you know it, and he never will now. You started to gasp for air when you heard the door creak open just enough to see Jack's eyes peer through, not wanting to disturb you if you were asleep. You couldn't fake it fast enough.

The door opened wider as Jack walked inside. In just a few strides, he was at your bedside, and for a second you thought you saw him hesitate to come closer.

“How are you this morning?” Jack voice was steel as he clenched his jaw and looked to the ceiling, playing the clinical doctor, not the terrified friend.

“Jack. I'm so sorry.” You said, softly, scarcely concealing the hurt in your heart. You didn't want the voices inside to be true.

Jack nodded once. Twice. And then he kept nodding, as if the more he nodded, the more sense it would make. The nodding turned into a shake and he looked at you with fierce eyes.

“Why?” he asked, anger covering fear as well as a band-aid covers a bullet hole. “Dear God, why?! What happened?” Hesitation gone as he sat down on your bed, taking one hand in his. “Y/N, please, tell me what's going on. You haven't been yourself for months now and I didn't know what to think, and now this?” He took a breath, and shamed still prevented you from looking at his face. “Please, tell me what brought you such pain that you thought death would be better. I'll take care of it, please, just-” You'd never heard the self proclaimed artful dodger's voice break before. “Just don't leave me.” He pressed your knuckled to his forehead, and for a second, the pain of the night before didn't seem to hurt.

You didn't see a way around it. You had to tell someone the truth or you'd burst, and you trusted Jack more than you trusted yourself. After a moment, you took a breath and began to speak.

“Tom. He-” Jack's face hardened immediately at the name of your fiance. He'd never liked the man, half because his gut told him he couldn't be trusted, and half because he was betrothed to the woman he loved. “He attacked me. When I told him the wedding was off. He- he pushed me against the wall, said that I had just been leading him on, that he could make me his wife one way or another, a- a- and and then-” your breathing was coming fast and you could feel a panic attack coming on.

It took Jack a moment to realize what was going on, as he was lost in his confusion. Since when was the wedding off? Who would be dumb enough to attack high nobility such as yourself? What did he mean- oh hell no. The rage came quickly and diminished just as fast when he saw you gasping for breath.

“Y/N/N, breath, everything is alright, calm down. Breath with me. You are safe, you are here with me.” You had told Jack once about the panic attacks, the way it felt like you where drowning in air, anxiety rising over and killing you. You'd explained what helped you through them, even though medically speaking, you sounded crazy. But Jack trusted you, would never think you crazy and would do anything to see you smile.

Jack repositioned himself to hold you against his chest, too scared to squeeze hard, even if that's what you'd previously instructed him to do. The sound of his heartbeat and movement of his chest under you calmed you down a bit, and the hysterical crying and panic dulled to simple tears. You continued talking.

“I was so scared. So I ran into my bedroom, and locked the door. But I could hear him screaming and feel him slamming against the door against my back. And it occurred to me that I can't run from him, Jack. He was right, I'm going to be his one way or another. I just couldn't do it, I couldn't take it. He repulses me, I just...” you stopped talking for a moment in the hopes the tremble in your voice would calm. It didn't. “I just feel like the only way to be free of him is...” you trailed off, leaving Jack to fill in the blank.

Jack pulled back and looked you in the eye.

“No. No, your death is not the answer. Tom, on the other hand...” Jack trailed off. You wanted to be scared but couldn't find the sympathy within you, drained of emotions from the panic attack. “There'll be a way. We will find one. Just don't leave. I cannot fathom a life without you.”

The tears in Jack's eyes only furthered those in yours, until the pair of you were holding each other and sobbing. Jack held you tighter, and for a moment it was comforting, until you breathed in and the pressure hurt the bruises on your waist and hip, making you gasp.

“What's wrong?” Jack asked, immediately springing to his feet and checking both your bandages, but no blood seeped through.

“Nothing, just a bruise, I think.” You said. Only it wasn't just a bruise, it was the mother of all bruises, and you were scared to think of how bad the damage would have been had you not been wearing a full skirt and corset.

“Where.” Jack's question was more of a statement, doctor mode activated.

“My waist and hip.”

You weren't expecting a small blush to appear on Jack's cheeks, but the sight made your heart leap. How could the smallest flush of colour be so adorable and attractive in equal measure?

“Is it alright if I take a look?”

You hated the thought of anyone seeing your body, let alone the person you loved seeing the markings of the man who hurt you, but you also knew you were in hospital and this was your doctor concerned for your health. You pushed down the blankets, and Jack gave you the slightest nod to double check if it was OK. When you nodded back, Jack took the edges of your nightie and slowly and gently pulled it up, fingers softly grazing your skin.

Jack sharply gasped when he saw the bruises, a deep blue and black spreading from your just below your waistline across most of your right hip, and a smaller purple bruise on your lower ribcage. He lightly touched the skin around the bruising on your hip.

“Y/N/N,” Jack said softly, looking up at you with pleading eyes.

You took that the wrong way.

“I know. Alright? I know, it's ugly, I'm ugly, and I'm scarred, I'm damaged.” Jack looked up at you with those big eyes that you loved, care and concern brimming his eyes as the words you'd been keeping flowed out. “I hate this all so much. I hate the bruises, the scars, I hate how I feel unsafe in my own mind, that I am unsafe in my own home. I hate how one minute we're all children, safe and adored, and bruises can be solved with a quick kiss better, and the next we're adults, the bruises last and kisses complicate.” You sniffled. “I wish all this could be healed so simply as a kiss better.” You went to wipe your eyes, but Jack beat you too it, quick as a flash, drying your tears and looking into your eyes with a playful smirk. Though he was too scared to let it show, his heart was nearly beating out of his chest as he spoke.

“I'm not magic, but as your doctor, I'd like to give it a shot.”

“What?” you asked, heart caught in your throat, assuming he was kidding or just about to kiss your cheek.

“A kiss.” You looked at each other for a moment. “To stop the pain.” Jack clarified, backtracking with fear. You merely nodded.

The hand that was cupping your cheeks after drying your tears softly trailed down your arm, turning it over so the bandage covering the cut was facing him. Jack raised your arm to his lips, and though you couldn't feel it past the bandage, you fought yourself to maintain composure. Jack turned your arm back and held your hand, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. He looked into your eyes as he brushed his lips against your knuckles. His lips were soft as they touched your fingers, and you were speechless. A small shiver worked it's way down your spine.

You mistakenly thought Jack would stop there, but Dodger was nothing if not bold as he shimmed back to kiss around your bruised waist. Feather-light fingers gently touched you before settling on your waist, as he lowered his mouth to the top of your bruise, just under your ribs. Small pecks peppered all around your bruise, inching lower, until the kisses became more. More sure, more of a kiss than a peck, but light enough to leaving you longing. By the time Jack had gotten to the base of your bruise, you were breathing hard and suppressing a moan by biting your lip as one of his hands was on your inner knee, the other near your bruise, partly on your hip, partly on your ass. He slowed down slightly, looking up at you with what could only be described as hunger and desperation, as though he'd been wanting you for so long that he could barely contain himself.

“Jack-” you whispered.

There was a knock on the front door and Jack barely had time to pull your nightgown back over your legs and sit up when Hetty came in.

“Sir, we've got-” Hetty faltered for only a moment upon seeing your flushed cheeks and Jack's red lips and ruffled shirt. “Ah, we've got three new patients for you to see before midday, if you're free soon?”

You were mad at Hetty for interrupting, but grateful for her grace and tact.

“Yes, yes of course, I was almost on my way out, just give me one moment with Miss Y/L/N, please.”

Hetty lowered her head and closed the door behind her.

For a minute, neither of you could look each other in the eye, too scared of what you'd show and what you would or wouldn't see back. Jack broke the silence.

“So,” he cleared his throat. “Er, if you need anything, at anytime, call the nurses and ask for me, alright? Even if you start to feel distressed for only a moment, even from your own mind, call for me. I don't want you to be alone right now. I-I can't let you get hurt, Y/N. You're-” he stopped himself before he could say 'my world', adding instead “you mean too much to me.”

And with that, Jack slipped out of the room, leaving you to analyze the kisses. You already felt better.

[urfavlarry]

REQUESTS ARE OPEN AGAIN LETS GOO!

I just have this crazy idea which is kinda cringy but can you do a soulmate au with tyler where the last thing your soulmate says to you is written on your wrist, but it changes when they are in the phantom realm and then tyler dies, or something like that

i know it sounds stupid but thanks if you decide to do it ヾ(＾-＾)ノ

Meant to be part I.

Tyler Hernández x reader

warnings: swearing, bad grammar

genre: fluff

A/N: soo about the thing your soulmate says to you is on your wrist.. I made it so it’s the sentance your soulmate WILL say to you.. like the thing that is written on your wrist will happen in the future yk ?? like you have it ever since you were born and it dissapears when you meet your soulmate and they say the sentance to you! hope thats not confusing lmao

A/N 2.0: FUCKING HELL I JUST REALISED I MESSED THE WHOLE REQUEST UP OMG GIRLLL.. nah I’m so sorry but in the part two ill make it that in the phantom dimension its the opposite of the real world, you have your soulmates last words on your wrist so bare with me here okay

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╰┈➤ ⋆｡‧˚ʚ 🥀 ɞ˚‧｡⋆

“She’s probably the one that played that stupid prank on us.”

That was the sentance written on your wrist for about 16 years. You have no idea what it means since you weren’t the type to prank people since you thought those kinds of things were stupid and childish. You walk through the streets of Savannah, staring down at your phone. You were in Savannah for a school trip, another school coming along with you for 2 days. While you were lost in thought you feel someone crashing into you. Groaning, you put a hand on your head since they kind of hit you in the head pretty bad. “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry!” A girl with short black hair and tattoos says to you, quickly getting up and looks you up and down; “Maybe as a sorry I could give you a tour of the Sorrel Weed house?” She says and eagerly waits for your answer; “A group cancelled on me so I have some free tickets left?” You look down at your phone, seeing that you still have about an hour left before having to go back to meet up with your class. “I um, sure? I have time.” She smiles and hands you one ticket and drags you to what looks like a very, very old house. She tells you to look around for a bit and that she will be back with some more people in a few minutes and to not touch anything.

A few minutes pass and she comes back with a group you noticed when you were walking to your room at the motel. You notice a boy with dark red hair and a girl, who is most likely his twin look at you. The girl smiled at you so you did so as well to not seem rude, but the boy just.. glared?? You shrugged it off and admired the old architecture of the house. It was a cozy but creepy looking house, it had some hidden details you wondered about. You liked imagining about what kind of memories the people that lived here had. Maybe they were a noble family that were secretely some sort of criminals? Or maybe it was a big family that struggled to keep themselves on their feet? You follow the others as the black haired girl, whos name you couldn’t remember lead you into an eerie looking room. You get chills down your spine and put on your hoodie, a really evident drop in temperature being in the room.

A phone ringing echoed through the room, the black haired girl excusing herself and left the room in a hurry. You eye the group who were whispering something to each other, the boy from earlier still eyeing you as you were some sort of pray. You hear the ginger girl talk about some sort of sensitivity to sound, the blonde boy and the grumpy one were fascinated by it. You walk past them and turn towards them, eyeing them from behind. You notice a strange figure behind the ginger girl, getting creeped out you gasp, alerting the others as well. “Ashlyn.. Behind you.” A boy with glasses says and you shiver, your whole body tensing up.

The girl flinched and falls to the ground, the mysterious figure disappearing in a heart beat. “What was that thing?” “A ghost maybe?” The blonde boy says as if this whole encounter was the most hilarious thing ever. The brunette boy scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah as if, ghosts aren’t real.” He looks towards you and his brows furrow. He steps closer to you and pushes you towards the group. You stumble back, tripping on your feet but catch yourself before you could fall on your ass. “Rude much..” You mumble but immediately shut up when you see his pissed face.

“She’s probably the one that played that stupid prank on us.”

Your face goes pale, a tingly feeling welling up in your arm. He was your soulmate. You don’t say anything and just push past them. leaving the creepy house and hurry back to meet with your class. You were quiet the whole time at your hotel room, your roommates doing their own thing as you just layed there on your bed. It was about 11:43pm and you couldn’t get that boy off your mind. The other school, which they were from was just on the floor below yours. You wonder what your first words to him will be. You decide to go and speak to the ginger haired girl, thinking that she looked pretty nice you went downstairs and went to what you think was their room, at least that’s where you saw them enter. You knock on the door and pray for them to not be asleep when you hear the door open, and there she was. “Hey um, I was the one that was at that weird house with you guys.. I was wondering if we could um.. be friends?” You ask and mentally face palm at your shyness. She looks you up and down and yells some girls name. The girl, AKA the grumpy boys twin appears behind her and speaks up; “Hey! I remember you! You were with us at that house. Come in!” She says with a smile and you nod, walking in. “We were about to go to sleep but we could have a sleepover.” She says and you nod, introducing yourself; “Oh and by the way, I’m Y/N.” You say and they introduce themselves as Taylor and Ashlyn. You sit down on the floor and when you go and speak, your whole world goes black.

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A/N: haha bet you didn’t expect a cliffhanger !! I’ll make a part two soon so dw and make sure to take care of yourself guys~ :D

[cer-rata]

Fic WIP: “No One Majored In Chemistry"

“...So yes, I’m going to figure out which one of you it was.” Billy growled into his phone as he dodged and weaved through the crowd of other excited freshmen.

Bruce sighed on the other end. “Are you really saying it’s impossible that you could have gotten into a good school without one of us meddling?”

“Gee, I dunno, acceptance and a full-ride scholarship to an ivy league school I didn’t apply to, with no active requirements to keep it up? Because of my AV experience? Room and board included? UPenn has a 6.5% acceptance rate, and again, I didn’t even apply, Bruce!”

A pause. “...It was Diana. Drop out, and she might actually cry.” Then he hung up, because of course he did. Billy groaned.

Fine. It was fine. Maybe superhero nepotism had gotten him into college, maybe that meant some other, more worthy kid didn’t get a shot. He had to balance that guilt with gratitude: Because someone clearly believed in him, and that meant a lot. Ugh, he couldn’t even yell at Diana about it, you can’t just yell at Diana! Why couldn’t it have been Ollie? Half of his job was giving people someone to yell at!

He was so frustrated that he pushed the door to his dorm open way harder than he intended, and it slammed against the wall, startling the boy who had apparently gotten there first. He spun on his heels away from the window where he’d been setting up some figurines and pointed a pair of accusatory finger-guns at Billy. He looked like a Scandinavian dude, with all of the trappings: Tall, broad shoulders, long shiny blond hair, blue eyes as sharp as Tim’s but somehow much less eerie to look at, probably because he wasn’t being possessed by the ghost of a Victorian street urchin.

“Oh! Oh, hey.” He pushed some hair out of his face and flashed Billy a bright smile.

“I recommend this one, Batson.” 

Billy paused. He didn’t recognize that voice, who was--Oh no. Oh no, Achilles never said anything unless he was asked a direct question, and even then--OH NO.

The guy cleared his throat. “Um…You’re Billy, right?”

Crap, I missed a dialogue cue! “Uh, yeah, yeah, sorry, weird…weird morning.” Billy quickly propped his suitcase against his bed and walked over to offer the guy a handshake, which was smoothly accepted. Billy wasn’t a little guy, 5”7 was perfectly average, but this guy--wait, what was his name?

“Yeah, totally, it’s been a weird morning. It’s nice to meet you, though! I’m Garth.”

Ah, okay. “Garth” had at least five inches on him, and that, combined with the length of the fingers and width of the palm that consumed his hand served to make average old Billy feel kind of small.

“Me…me too. Um. I mean, it’s nice to also meet you, not that I’m Garth. I don’t know you well enough to decide if I want to steal your identity yet.”

Garth let out a surprised giggle and raised an eyebrow. “...Well, I hope to prove that my credit score is worthy of being ravished.”

His smile made Billy’s eyes sting a little bit, but on a level he wondered if that was a product of every one of the degenerates in his mind (and maybe Solomon) trying to get a look at once.

“Aha, I guess we’ll see!”

Garth shook his head a little and smirked. Then his eyes flicked over to Billy’s bed. “Wait, is that your only bag?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I…don’t like having a ton of clothes.” It was kind of true.

Garth nodded. “Hmm. Fair enough. I’m a little bit of a…well…” He gestured to the pile of clothes on his bed. “...I like shirts.”

"Nothing wrong with that, you seem to be good at…wearing shirts.” What?

“What?”

“I dunno man, I haven’t had any coffee, the prompt was: 'Friendly compliment that is also not weird.'”

Garth laughed again and patted him on the shoulder, and it was at that moment that Billy realized that they’d just been standing in handshake range the entire time. He backed up in the direction of his bed a bit, and Garth took that as a cue to go back to unpacking while he talked. 

“I’m from Gotham, my standard for weird is a little warped.”

Billy sat on the edge of his bed and quietly lamented that his feet didn’t reach all the way to the floor. “Gotham is a wild place, yeah. Probably cursed.” Literally cursed, actually.

“Yeah, yeah there’s…yeah. But imma be real, I think Fawcett is much scarier.”

How does he know I’m from Fawcett?

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, that place is a Buzzfeed unsolved video waiting to happen, I mean there’s a reason the Big Red Goober hangs out there so often, right? Magic is spooky, man.”

Billy bit his cheek. “Ah, well, you may have a point, there have been a couple weird things over the years.”

Garth let the silence ride for a beat as he put some sweaters in his closet. “Hey so, big fan of your podcast, by the way.”

Billy chuckled nervously. “How…how do you know about that?”

“How many Billy Batsons can there be?”

“Honestly? A WEIRD number.”

Garth snorted and stretched slightly to get to the top shelf. Achilles noted that his shoulder-to-chest ratio was good for archery (and other things), and Billy tried his best to ignore him. “Either way, I figured you’d be a little more braggy about getting to interview superheroes, that’s kind of good for like, street cred and shit. But I guess being a bit of a shy little guy makes sense, all things considered.”

Billy was about to defend himself against the “little guy” accusations, but Garth turned around and made eye contact again, which derailed him long enough that he lost the window, and Garth continued on. 

“So, what’re you majoring in?”

“Mixed media, with a minor in journalism.” For some reason, Billy felt a little self-conscious whenever he told someone, like it was somehow unrealistic, when in reality it had been made abundantly clear to him that the concept of ‘unrealistic’ did not apply to a life like his.

Garth seemed to think it was cool, even. “Oh that’s great! Makes sense, you seem like the type to be good at all of that stuff.”

Billy fought to keep a blush down. “Ah, gee. Um, wh-what about you?”

“Pre-med and Screenwriting. Dual major.” 

Billy blinked a couple times. “Wow that--”

“Yeah, yeah I know. I kinda…I kinda applied to both departments and didn’t expect to get into either, so when I got into both I kind of panicked and accepted. So. You know. It’s…I’ll be fine, I’m used to juggling plates.” He brushed some hair out of his face and tucked it behind an ear, and for the first time in the fifteen minutes that Billy had known him, Garth looked a little nervous. Only for a moment though, then it was all smiles again. “Hey, that reminds me actually…”

Billy’s eyes widened as he watched the blond cross their room to sit right next to him on his bed. “Uh, wh--”

“How are we going to do this?”

“Do…what?”

“Oh, I do like it when they’re forward.” Zeus, please!

Garth leaned back on his hands.“I have two stressful majors, my mom has been in AA since before I was born, so no drinking, and I like people. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

“Well, theater, medicine, Gotham, parental stress: You’re one rejection letter from turning into a Phantom of the Opera themed, organ-harvesting villain of the week?” Why did I say that!?

He could hear the smug satisfaction in Hermes' voice. “Just a little inspiration, for free. You’re welcome.” AHHHHHHH--

Garth laughed really hard at that one, and any cool vibe he was trying to foster was shattered by the way his cheeks went pink and he snorted. Billy could suddenly see the dork behind the symmetrical features and shiny hair.

“Fuck you! This just means you’re gonna be my first victim, Batson. That kidney?” Billy giggled and leaned away as Garth jabbed a finger right over where his kidney actually was. “Is mine.”

“This is good,” Achilles said, “Generally this is where I’d suggest pulling your shirt up, and enticing him with your wares, but that may be unwise as you’ve neglected your mortal body’s physical integrity, you disappointing, noodly-armed twink--”

“Hey!”

Garth raised an eyebrow and Billy realized with horror that he’d let that one escape.

“Uh--”

“Sorry, just…remembered…a thing--where were you going with that before you claimed my kidney?”

“Oh! Yeah right. So I’m gonna like…be busy, you know? ‘Everybody stares at me, boys, girls, I can't help it, baby--’”

“You did NOT just quote Rent--”

“It’s a good musical! What I’m asking is if you want to like, set up a schedule, or is there a codeword, or do I put a sock on the door, or…you know.” He wiggled his eyebrows and Billy wanted to die. For some reason. 

“Oh, uh. I mean yeah I guess you can just text me? But it’s not gonna be--”

“Yeah don’t worry, I’m a considerate guy, I won’t screw you.”

“Wow, Batson, look at that, you’ve already taken yourself off of the table.”

“That’s not what he meant! Wait, shoot--”

“Who are you arguing with?” Garth asked casually.

Billy slowly turned to look back at him. “...Eheh, whaaaat? Sorry, just, my internal monologue sometimes--”

“It was Zeus, right? I know about the Ganymede thing, I figure I’m within his taste range.”

“He’s not wrong.”

A chill shot through Billy and he frowned. “...How do you--”

“Dami' wanted me to be prepared in the event of, and I quote, ‘Billy fucking up badly enough that you end up with a demon trying to crawl up your ass.’ End quote.”

Billy stared at him. 

“...When you say ‘Dami'--’”

“The stabbiest Christmas elf, yeah.”

Billy groaned. 

[k-nayee]

Love Sick BNHA

wc: 2.4k a/n: Wanted to make AU of the Love Struck Series. Happy Halloween y'all! (at least for those who celebrate it)🎃 Song Inspiration: If U Seek Amy by Britney Spears; recommend you listen while reading!!

Traveler M.List

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

Izuku's breaths came in harsh uneven gasps as he stood facing the group of villains, his heart pounding as he tried to process what had just happened.

The forest was thick with tension and the heavy smoke still lingered from the fiery blast they’d barely dodged.

Shoji and Todoroki flanked him, their stances tense, but their expressions showed the same panic that gripped the greenette's heart.

Somewhere in that twisted cruel circle of villains was Bakugo and Tokoyami—captured into a marble.

Izuku’s mind raced, frantically searching for a way to get to him.

But before he could act, a flash of movement darted toward him, and a weight tackled him to the ground.

“Hi Izuku! My name’s Toga!” The voice was cheerful, almost sweet. Izuku found himself staring up into manic eyes framed by blonde hair.

Toga straddled him, her knife pressed to his throat with a disturbing gentleness. She giggled as she leaned closer until her nose was nearly brushing his.

Her lips curled into a twisted smile.

"I've been thinking since I saw you..." she said with a breathless giggle, "...that you’d be so much cuter if you just bled a little more!" she chirped. "I can help with that!"

Izuku tried to jerk back but her grip was firm, her blade dangerously close to his skin. Before she could press down a blur of motion burst onto the scene.

“Midoriya!” Shoji’s voice rang out before he slamming into Toga, knocking her off the All For One successor. 

Shoji positioned himself protectively in front of Izuku. “Stay away from Midoriya!” he growled, flexing his arms as if to shield the freckled boy from the psychotic girl before them.

Regaining her footing a pout formed on Toga's lips as she glared at Shoji.

"So that's how it is." she hissed, voice dripping with mock disappointment. "You want to come between us?" She tilt her head as if sizing him up before sneering, “To be honest you’re not really my type...but I’ll cut you anyway!”

She readied her blade, her stance lowering as she prepared to lunge at them both with an eerie smile spreading across her face.

But just as she was about to spring a smooth teasing voice rang out from the darkness.

“Now Toga...is that any way to treat such cute boys?”

The entire clearing froze.

Emerging from the shadows of the trees, you stepped into view with an effortless sultry grace.

Every eye was on you as you made your entrance; your figure framed by the moonlight filtering through the branches.

Your outfit—striking, bold, impossible to ignore—casted a faint gleam off the accessories around your waist.

A hot pink corset hugged your frame in a way that emphasized every curve. It ended just above your hips—leaving a hint of skin between it and the top of your dangerously short black mini skirt that hugged your hips.

The skirt barely brushed the tops of your thighs, swaying with each confident step. Around your waist a glittering chain belt spelled out "SEXY" in bold gleaming letters.

And as you walked, the belt jingled softly, bringing focus to the thin thong straps peeking out at your hips.

Toga’s reaction was instant.

Her previous focus on the fight forgotten as her cheeks flushed.

She brought her hands up to cover her mouth as if to contain the girlish giggle that escaped her lips.

Dabi couldn’t help but smirk. “What a way to be late to the party,” he grumbled, though there was no real bite behind it.

You let out a soft airy giggle, tilting your head coyly as you stepped closer to the flame user.

"Aww don’t be like that Dabi," you pouted. "I bet you were hoping to cause some real trouble without me, hmm?"

Your voice dripped with feigned sweetness, an almost musical lilt as you dragged a teasing hand along his arm.

The heat he emitted didn’t faze you in the slightest; you merely smiled—unfazed by the danger as if the fire itself was a welcome warmth.

Dabi’s mouth twitched into a smirk, his gaze dark and amused as he leaned into your touch ever so slightly.

"Tch," he scoffed with a lazy grin, his tone dry. "You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up late and acting like you own the place."

You chuckled unbothered, finally letting your palm captured his jaw, your grip gentle but unyielding.

“Maybe I do,” you teased. Lifting his face just enough to make sure he met your gaze, your thumb brushed along his scarred jawline as if daring him to object.

His eyes narrowed but he didn’t pull away, his lazy grin just edging on something deeper.

But before you could take it further the familiar weight of arms tightened around you.

"____!"

Toga was at your side, her excitement palpable as pressed close against you as if starved for your attention.

You felt her lean into you and with a sigh of mock disappointment, you reluctantly pulled away from Dabi, giving him one last playful smirk as you shifted your focus to her.

Toga’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes wide and sparkling as she gazed up at you with adoration. Her grip tightened as if afraid you’d disappear again.

"You’re finally here!" she nearly sang, her voice bubbling with joy. She melted against you, almost purring, as if every inch of her had been waiting for this moment.

With a soft laugh you wrap your arms around her waist as you place a leg between hers. Bringing your face close to hers, you tilt her chin up with a gentle touch.

Her breath hitched and she practically melted under your gaze.

“Toga darling,” you murmured low, “you know I don’t like it when you drink blood from others. You’re mine remember?”

You trace a thumb over her cheek with a playfully possessive smirk.

Toga’s eyes sparkled, a mix of exhilaration and devotion lighting up her face as she giggled, her blush deepening.

"Of course! I just...well I couldn’t help myself," she admitted while leaning closer. Her voice was breathless as if your mere presence had left her spellbound. "But if you don’t like it I won’t do it again!"

From somewhere behind you Twice’s voice broke through the moment—loud and unabashed.

“Hot girl-on-girl action!” he shouted enthusiastically before contradicting himself, “Disgusting! Get a room you underage minors!”

Izuku, still lying on the ground where Toga had left him, stared in stunned confusion; his cheeks flushed as he tried to process the bizarre scene unfolding in front of him.

Even Shoji seemed uncertain as he glanced between you, Dabi, and Toga with a mixture of confusion and discomfort.

And then there was Todoroki: though his face remained stoic, a faint blush tinging his cheeks betrayed his surprise as he quickly averted his eyes, trying—and failing—to appear unbothered.

Before any of them could collect their thoughts a sudden burst of light flared nearby.

The ground shook slightly and merging from the haze Mr. Compress leaped to his feet.

“Ugh!” he groaned, straightening with a melodramatic sigh. His mask glinted in the dim light and his posture radiated irritation as he dusted himself off. “You just had to ruin my exit with your seductress behavior you...you harlot!”

You barely spared him a glance, still entirely focused on Toga who beamed up at you in her own lovestruck world.

Dabi let out a snicker as he turned to Compress. “You got Bakugo?”

Compress adjusted his top hat with a proud tilt and step forward. “Of course!” He reached into his coat pocket.

Then Shoji, taking advantage of the villains’ distraction, gave a low shout. “Midoriya, Todoroki! We’re done here. Let’s go!”

This caught your attention and you finally pulled back from Toga, a single eyebrow raising in slight amusement as the trio began to flee.

The blonde blood drinker didn't even notice the chaos swirling around—clinging to you—still love drunk.

“I'm not sure what your Quirk is, but it had to do with those little marbles right? The ones you stashed in your pocket. ” Shoji boldly brandished the two glowing orbs. “So I'm guessing these are Tokoyami and Bakugo. I managed to take them during the earlier skirmish.” he announced in a defiant tone.

With that, he grab a hold of Izuku, hoisting him up and giving him a gentle push.

The smaller boy stumbled forward but quickly regained his footing as Todoroki to follow suit.

"Ha ha ha! Well color me impressed," Compress taunted, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Just as I’d expect from someone with so many hands. How splendid."

The UA students barely had a moment to celebrate before a thick purple mist began swirling in from the shadows. Todoroki skids to a halt with gritted teeth. "Not this guy..."

Shoji holds an arm out in front of his two classmates. "He was at the USJ. The warp villain."

“It’s been five minutes since the signal. We must retreat,” Kurogiri’s voice cut through the air.

With a disappointed sigh, Toga reluctantly peeled herself from your side, giving Izuku one last mischievous smile as she blew him a flirtatious kiss.

“Sorry Izuku! But I’ll see you 'kay?” Her voice was sweet and sing-song, completely c to the contrasting the devastation in his wide horrified eyes.

Instead of leaving into the portal, you lingered beside Dabi, your playful demeanors replaced by something darker—more serious.

Dabi’s voice dropped into a low threatening growl as his gaze remained fixed on them with a dangerous glint. “We’re not leavin' without the kid.” 

The theatrical villain let out a condescending chuckle.

“Don't worry,” Compress said haughtily, “They were so proud of themselves for rooting through my pockets that I thought I'd let them gloat.”

He lifted a hand to his mouth and tapped his cheek, a wicked gleam shinning in his eyes.

“You really think I’d be so careless?” he taunted, his words calculated and smug. “Allow me to explain a basic tenant of magic. If I'm flaunting something shiny...”

Opening his mouth, two small marbles were revealed resting on his tongue—the real Bakugo and Tokoyami. “...it's because there's something else I don't want you to see”

Shoji's eyes widened in dismay as he shakily looked at the marbles in his hand. “No...”

Immediately the two objects explode; revealing what was really trapped inside the small objects.

Todoroki stiffen in disbelief. "...is that my ice?"

“Ah that’s right!” Compress grinned, indulging in his own theatrics. “During that freezing attack I prepared these dummies and slipped them into my right pocket for a little misdirection.”

“Damn it!” Izuku clenched his fists as desperation flashed in his green eyes. “His quirk...it lets him compress and hold things.”

The Vanguard Action Squad member smirked as rage simmered beneath their shock. “Forgive me but I do so adore a twist ending.”

“You can’t do this!” Izuku shouted, voice cracking with both anger and helplessness. He took a step forward, his body trembling with the need to act.

Kurogiri's purple mist began to envelope the three of you. And for a brief moment the young heroes could only watch stunned as your forms began to dissolve into the darkness.

“One last bow,” Mr. Compress declared grandly, leaning forward with a mocking smile as his gaze held steady on the trio of dismayed students. “And then...the curtain fal—”

A sudden blinding beam of light sliced through the misty gloom, steicking Compress squarely in the face. 

It sent him staggering backward as his mask shattered to pieces like broken glass in the moonlight.

The unexpected attack jolted everyone out of their momentary stupor.

Compress gasped, clutching his face as his precious marbles slipped from his grip, spinning wildly through the air.

You snapped your head toward the source of the laser and caught a brief glimpse of blond hair peeking through the dense undergrowth. 

The corner of your mouth quirked in slight annoyance—these kids had more fight in them than you’d expected.

Shoji surged forward, managing to grab one of the marbles just before it could roll out of reach.

Not far from him Todoroki stretched his hand toward the second one. But just as his fingertips brushed it, delicate fuchsia pink coffin nails swept in and plucked it mid-fall.

Todoroki froze. His gaze was wide with shock as his mismatched gaze locked on yours.

Your fuchsia-colored eyes gleamed under the moonlight, the broken heart-shaped pupils shimmering with a taunting glint.

You held the marble up between your fingers letting it catch the faint beams of light.  Your smile widened as you took in his stunned expression.

“Aww,” you coo in a soft mocking lilt. “Better luck next time cutie~”

Before he could process your words, the familiar warmth of semi-burnt hands settled around your waist, pulling you back against a broad chest.

Dabi leaned in close, his smirk as sharp as the glint in his turquoise eyes as he rested his head next to yours.

“Well,” he drawled, enjoying every hint of distress on ̶h̶̶i̶̶s̶ ̶b̶̶r̶̶o̶̶t̶̶h̶̶e̶̶r̶'̶s̶ the young hero’s face. “Isn’t that a tragedy?”

Compress—still recovering from the unexpected laser shot—muttered a few choice words under his breath.

He finally managed to gather his composure, though irritation was still evident in the way he snapped his fingers.

In a flash the marbles in your hands expanded revealing Bakugo and Tokoyami in their true forms.

Tokoyami stumbled beside Shoji as he regained his balance while Bakugo thrashing as soon as he materialized.

His face was twisted in a fierce scowl, anger blazing in his eyes as he struggled against Dabi’s firm grip around his neck.

“Get your filthy hands off me!” Bakugo barked as he tried to wriggle free.

Ignoring his fury you slip an arm around his waist—pressing yourself closer as you looked up at him in a twisted kind of admiration.

 “You’re such a fighter...” your tone was sickly sweet, gaze trailing over his scowling face as he glared back at you. “...me likey~”

“Checkmate,” Dabi tightened his grip on Bakugo’s neck with an sneern.

“Kaachan no!” Izuku’s desperate scream echoed through the clearing. His feet pounded against the forest floor as he struggled to close the distance.

He kept his gaze locked on Bakugo; horror and helplessness painted across his face as the mist from Kurogiri’s portal began to swirl around them once more.

Bakugo’s eyes shot toward Izuku. “Stay back...Deku...”  His voice echoed faintly as he struggled to keep view of the greenette, his sight dimming as the darkness closed in.

“KACCHAN! NOOOOO!” Izuku’s voice broke. Pain was etched across his face as he reached out futilely.

His fingers curled into the final dark wisps as it swallowed Bakugo and the League whole leaving the clearing in shadow and silence.

The forest stood still as the trio of Class 1-A stood frozen in despair, the reality of their failure sinking in.

[mayasaurusss]

Day twenty eight: fortune telling.

"Madame Holly Fortune Teller" you read out loud, staring at the red and yellow insignia. The sky is a beautiful iliac, giving the insigna's light an interesting and fascinating look, making the place seem altogether more interesting. It would be fun to know your future, right?

"Come on babe! Let's go!" you take her hand into yours, leading her inside the shop's dark entrance.

Lottie, despite not admitting it, has always been fascinated with these things: witches, hexes and curses, spirits and old gods, you name it. She didn't want to seem too interested, but she was, so much that she was shaking a bit. She sits next to you on the plush sofa, her eyes dark against the dim lights of the room. After some questions, you ask Madame Holly the thing you came in for. You bend over the table, talking closer to the old woman, "Miss, what do you see in our future together?". Lottie is a bit taken back from your question, but she's curious to know too. "I see... I see a place, near the mountains and a lake. It's full of people, old and young. You two must help them". You get out of the room with more questions than answers.

Shauna has always had a disdain for these types of things: she never liked this world of charlatans and always believed they only said things to make you lose your money or sanity. She sits next to you on the sofa, sizing up Madame Holly, who sat on her armchair. After a couple of questions, you ask her the question you came in for, "Madame, what do you see in our future?". Shauna feels her cheeks heat up at your question, but makes no effort to stop Madame Holly before she reveals your future. "I see a happy home life. Two parents and a child running through a room. But one of them holds a secret" you'd have to confront Shauna about this later.

Jackie is deeply interested in what this Madame will tell you, but she'd lie if she didn't say she's at least a little bit scared. She sits close, almost on top of you when Madame Holly starts to speak. After a while, she asks the question that has been tormenting her ever since the session started. She stutters as she talks, "M-madame, what do you see in our future?" The woman looks out of it for a moment, as if holding a communion with otherworldly beings, then she talks. "I see uncertainty. Many paths lie in front of you, children. It is your will that will shape your life. The paths unravel, pointing you to a happy life together" she finishes, looking over at Jackie. "I have one piece of advice for you child: be aware of whom you call a friend".

Natalie isn't too interested in these things, but she sure as hell is ready to try them. She almost sinks into the red leather sofa, struggling to stay put. After some questions are answered, you ask the one you've been wanting to for a while; "Madame Holly, what future do you see in us?" Thankfully the dim lights of the room shield Natalie's blush, or both you and the woman would have looked at her like she was about to have a heart attack. The woman raises her hands near her head, humming lowly and looking eerie as fuck, to both you and Natalie's point of view. "All your paths will lead to doom" she says, making Natalie feel a lump in her throat "Unless you wield the strength to break free from your past. Do not chase it, or be prepared to face the consequences. If you do it, you will live a happy life". Both you and Natalie get out of the room with sadness in your eyes, but the hope of a better future in your hearts.

Misty has never believed in any of these divination things: they're scams, they're irrational, and most of all, they're creepy as hell. Her blonde hair tickles your skin and her warm hands close in on yours. Misty is very wary of Madame Holly, but she can't understand if her fear comes from fear of the unknown, or fear that her deepest secrets will be split. She cringes and prepares herself for the worst when you ask the dreaded question, "Miss Holly, what do you see in our future?". The woman closes her eyes, humming lowly, before she speaks "I see a calm life, one made of the stillness of the day and love. But I also see unresolved issues holding you. I see ancient anger clawing at the heart, ready to burst out in unpredictable ways" her words halt, eyes studying your figures on the red couch. "Don't let your emotions get a hold of you, you will regret it".

[anyamaris]

Title-Golden Hour

Word Count-2273

Summary-You have no idea how you got here, and the people you encounter aren't helping. It's time for you to remember what they said.

Trope-Ateez lore au

Pairing-Lost!F!Reader x Ateez (Lore based au Ateez)

Warnings-None really, it's a little unhinged in a weird ass way. Mentions of drinking. Memory loss, lots of chickens. A cock to the face.

A/N-So I wanted to go completely off the rails and explore some of the fun of the mv as well as Ateez lore. I'm planning on exploring each member in upcoming fics based in this. This is just the intro!

Dedicated to @sanjoongie because you let me scream about this and support my unhinged ideas. I hope this helps to get you excited, don't worry. Bandit San is coming.

A huge thank you to @frenchkisstheabyss for beta reading it and supporting my insanity, I love you so much, hyung.

The song playing during the dance is Blind off the new album.

Tags- @cultofdionysusnet @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @yoonguurt @shinestarhwaa @stardragongalaxy @kpop-stories-21 @starlitmark@millennial-fangirl @ericssmile @wooahaeproductions@changbinslovelylegs @yeosxxx @millennial-fangirl @starillusion13 @duchesskaren @minki-moo @woosanbby

@cafekitsune Thank you for banners and dividers! 🤍💜🤍

“Golden hour

The brightest moments in life

Those moments are like quick flashes

And never come back”

You’d been driving along this dusty road since before dawn, miles of desolate desert stretching behind you.  

Blinking, you try to clear your head, the only memory you had were those softly spoken words and an almost hypnotizing hum bouncing around in your exhausted mind. 

Then everything was static.

Wiping the sweat from your brow, you shield your eyes from the hot noonday sun.  

Your old, reliable car was smoking behind you, the hiss of whatever had caused your breakdown filling the air.  

Distant outcroppings of rock terrain are all that greet your eye beyond the rusted old buildings surrounding you.  

The faint repetition of pickaxes echo through the open area as you survey where you’ve been stranded, the tings and clinks setting an almost eerie soundtrack for your current predicament.

Where in the world am I? 

Turning to look towards the run down motel, you manage to catch a glimpse of some cowboy hats bobbing in conversation.

It must be nice to be drinking this early, you muse, studying the three figures in chairs gathered around a small table, the crystal of their whiskey glasses reflecting the sun's harsh rays.  

A bell rings and your attention is drawn to a tiny building with a red door surrounded by green.

Is that…a diner?

Your stomach grumbles in response, causing you to take a step towards the sudden aroma of chicken hanging in the air.

It didn’t appear that anyone was at the gas station at the moment, though the sign proclaimed “mechanic on duty.”

Your stomach growls at you once more, and you decide that you can inquire inside the diner while you appease your appetite.

Walking towards the impossibly small building, the chime of a bicycle startles you and you leap out of the way as a pack of people ride by.  

Not one of them looks back at you, but for some reason you feel as if each and every pair of eyes are on you. 

You swear you didn’t even see his face, but you can almost picture the blonde man leading them with the beret grinning maniacally at you.

Hongjoong, a voice your own and not your own ping pongs around your brain.

Remember what I said.

A soft giggle echoes in your mind, tickling more than just your aural senses.  

It’s as if you can feel that laughter under your very skin.

Trying your best to ignore the creeping confusion teasing at the edges of your mind, you step forward to push open the red doors.

The man behind the counter wearing a trucker hat turns to study you as you enter, tilting his head as he narrows his dark eyes.

His name tag reads, ‘Yunho’.

You glance away as you take in the inside of the diner, walls lined with gold albums, one L-shaped counter taking up the majority of the space.  

There are other diners in colorful, flashy clothing seated on the red stools as your empty stomach gives another howl of protest.  

Blushing at the embarrassingly loud noise, you nod your head to the other customers as they turn to eye you.

The tall man in the hat’s expression changes at the sound, tapping his spatula in his palm.

“Sounds like you could use a bite to eat.”

His blinding smile seems to take up your entire vision and suddenly you’re pushing open the red doors once more.

“Remember what I said!” 

Your brow furrows, turning to see the cook waving to you as you leave.

Remember…? 

Your memory is only filled with the buzz of static as you try to recall anything that happened after you entered the building.

Frowning, you realize you’re no longer hungry; your stomach is full and you can only scratch your head in confusion as you bid the strange man goodbye.

Yunho.  

At least you recall something from the hazy lunch.

Glancing across the way, you notice that your car is no longer where you left it.

Instead, it’s on the side of the building, and the form of a man moves around inside of the building as the blue ‘ice cold’ sign flickers.

When did I move my car? You wonder, somehow knowing it’s being taken care of.

Rubbing your eyes, a sudden weariness takes over as you plod over to the run down motel, figuring it’s best to at least find out if there are lodgings. 

The three men who were drinking before you entered the diner are nowhere to be seen as the old motel sign creaks and groans above you.

Entering the dilapidated building, you notice the silhouette of a man at the desk, his chair squeaking as he turns to glance at you in surprise.

As he opens his mouth, a rooster flies into your face with a flurry of feathers, causing you to reel backwards.  

Landing on your ass, you find yourself in front of a motel room door, white chickens grazing around you as you ponder what the hell just happened.

“If you need anything, I’ll be around.  And remember what I said.”  a deep, velvet voice says, and you turn to watch the man who was in the office saunter back into the rusted main building.

Yeosang.

His name is all you can summon from the strange black hole of your mind, recalling the plaque on the desk that told you as much.

Looking down at the golden key in your hand, you just chalk your fuzzy memory up to exhaustion, slipping the key into the lock.

Before you can enter the room, you freeze as a man in a white suit and hat slowly strides towards the gas station.

Is he riding an ostrich?

He raises his a red lollipop to you, winking as if to say-

Remember what I said.

Seonghwa.

The moment you think it, he nods and turns to continue on, yet there’s no recollection of meeting him before.

Massaging your temples, you enter the small room, collapsing immediately upon the bed.

Remember what? 

Why does everyone keep saying that?

Why do you know these random names but can’t recall any interactions?

It’s like you’re losing time here.

Maybe this is all a dream…

Before you can even open your heavy eyelids, you can hear music coming from the old television set on the dresser.  

“All you need to do is remember what I-” 

“Said.” you mutter, peeking an eye to glance at the screen.

The form of a purple clad man in a top hat with a cane beams back at you, looking almost satisfied that you finished his sentence.

Mingi.

It’s strange how you keep recalling these strangers' names, yet somehow…

You don’t even remember your own.

Rising from the strangely comfortable mattress, you finally glance around the room you’ve been sleeping in.

More framed albums, posters of random music shows, awards and accolades fill the walls.  

Slipping your legs off the bed, you find yourself stepping on the litter of dollar bills all over the floor.  

Frowning, you lean down to pick one up, rubbing your fingertips over the paper to see if it’s real.

This place is insane and you can’t help but feel like you’ve fallen down some kind of crazy rabbit hole.

Chicken hole, you think, eyeing a white chicken as it struts out of the bathroom, clucking at you happily.  

Music plays from the television, drawing your attention to the spectacle of a man in a blue suit, with a red flower on his lapel.  

A mariachi band plays in the background as he bows, looking up at the screen to give you a sassy little smirk.

“Tonight, we dance til the sunrise! Remember what I said.”  He proclaims, causing you to flop back on the bed. 

Wooyoung.

STOP IT!

Soft laughter fills your head as you glance over at the screen, a wanted poster of a man with a mask in all black on the screen.

“Have you seen the Masked Bandit? Call 1018-1117!”

That’s not even a real number, you think.  

Opening the door to go back outside, another commercial plays before you can shut the door.

“Don’t be like Jongho-remember what we said-” 

Static overtakes your mind, and suddenly you’re outside, chickens pecking the ground at your feet.  

The sun is dipping below the horizon, and you hear the loud laughter of a large mass of people in the distance. 

A large red brick building looms and you can see some colorful banners as if decorated for a party.

Was that here earlier?

Following the sounds of music, you suddenly hear the loud roar of car engines and you rush over to see what is going on.

Cash litters the ground even out here, and your foggy brain starts to register more of your environment.

Dollar bills are being used as banners, hanging in windows, and thrown all over the ground like confetti.  

As the sun sets, you approach the peculiar celebration going on, eyes wide at the sight of the colorful outfits, the loud music playing, the vast array of curious eyes as the turn to take in your arrival.

“You came.” A voice says, the hand on your back gentle yet firm as it guides you towards where everyone is gathered.

“San?” you ask, shocked that his name came out before you even thought about it.

The man in the black hat and vest grins at you in delight, dimples peeking out as he gives you a single nod.

Before you realize what’s happening, the sky is darkening and the blaze of a fire is lighting up the night.

Music seems to come from everywhere and nowhere as you turn in circles, the beat of the song coursing through your very bones.

Yeah, it spreads when I see you, fire

The sound of an accordion playing catches you off guard, and you notice the song is in so many different languages yet you seem to understand everything.

All you can interpret is the red moon rising, the blaze of the fire as the beat takes over.

Before you can take another breath, you’re being spun around into someone’s arms.  

You barely sense the bodies writhing around you, compelled to sway your hips and get swept away with the atmosphere.

I feel an unbearable thirst, crazy 

It’s as if you’re in a fever dream as you take in the gleaming eyes of the man holding you in his arms, his blonde hair tinged with red as you hear his delighted giggle.

I'll whisper to you until the sun rises, singing

You blink and suddenly your hand is in the man in the blue suit’s, as he twirls you around happily.  

Dance just for you tonight, follow, follow

Another blink, a set of strong hands holding your hips, swaying them as he holds you close, his deep voice singing along to the song.

Singing only to you.

I'm tickled, I'm going to cut off all the perfect lines, babe

The man in the top hat and cane is dipping you, whispering yet another line,

Come closer, come dance with me-

Your hands are in the long, dark tendrils of a man with big doe eyes, his tongue darting out as he mouths the next line.

I know you want to, let’s dance

Strong arms pick you up and swing you around, a delighted laugh escaping your throat as you lose yourself to this fever dream.

His angelic voice rings in your mind, whisking you away to another world-

Until the break of dawn

My love I'll sing for you all night

A tall man yanks you to him, his large hands splayed over your lower back as he guides you through steps you shouldn’t know, yet you move confidently with him.

Matching steps under the moonlight, cha-cha-cha

Feel my heart getting hot, pam-pam-pam

Your hands meet the bare skin of a chiseled chest, the now familiar dimples greeting you as he grips your hips to sway in time with the music.  

Over and over, you’re spun around, with each breath, a new face greets you, until you’re looping back around.

You’re becoming almost familiar with them each as you feel them draw you deeper into their forbidden dance.

Hongjoong, Wooyoung, Yeosang, Mingi, Seonghwa, Jongho, Yunho, San….

Over and over they blur in and out of your vision until the chorus builds and their voices combine gloriously, hypnotizing you;

Dance tonight, in this burning night

Queen of the night, star of my eyes

Wake me up with your gaze

Take my soul, take my heart, love is blind 

Take my soul, take my heart, love is blind; Let's go

The night sky gleams golden as the edges of your vision start to fuzz, many sets of arms assuring you that you won’t fall as the world goes black.

The heat of the sun beats down upon you, the clucking of chickens invading your sleep hazed mind.

Holding your hand over your eyes to shield them, you look up at the men standing above you.

They're dressed much differently than the previous night, and you sit up slowly, wondering what happened.

Clad in wide brimmed work hats, shovels and pickaxes in hand, the maniacal eyes of the blonde man meet yours as he kneels beside you.

“Come on, love.” he says, his voice dancing as he tucks a tendril of hair behind your ear.

The sound of a clarinet fills the air as a distant rooster crows.  

“What…where are we going?” You ask him, looking around at the eyes studying you.

“Gotta work.”