#i forgot to put the trigger back in when i put it together the first time and only noticed when i tested it and tried to fire and realized | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

featherandferns · 7 months ago

Text

guilty as sin? (fic - part 1/2)

jj maybank x fem!routledge!reader | largely inspired by the bible

content warning: sexual content; mentions of parental abuse (physical abuse) | any questions for trigger warnings, feel free to inbox anonymously

word count: 14k.

blurb: when you, John B's half sister, return to Kildare after over two years of living in Colorado, your adolescent crush that you harboured for his best friend comes screaming back. Because you and JJ can't be together in real life, what's the harm in a fantasy?

“And this is your room.”

The syrup-coloured wood is the first thing your eyes meet when John B pushes open the bedroom door. There’s the vague lingering smell of teenage boy which he’s tried to air out, the window open ajar, and the clutter of his belongings has been moved to make space for your own. As you drop your duffel bag and step into the room, you take in the walls. There’s posters and prints stuck above his bed, dotted around on slats of wood separating windows: someone surfing; a rockstar smashing his guitar. An old skateboard deck is nailed into the wall alongside a license plate. The sheets are bright blue, the bed freshly made, and a clean towel is folded up at the foot. It’s well-lit with plenty of daylight flowing through the many windows. Homely and inviting.

“Is it, uh, alright?”

You turn to find John B leaning against the doorframe, hands in his short pockets. Smiling, you nod.

“It’s perfect,” you tell him. “I’m honestly chill with crashing on the couch, though.”

It’s pretty obvious this was his room: you feel guilty kicking him out.

He shakes his head and gestures with his thumb over his shoulder. “I moved into my dad’s room anyway. This has been the spare for a while.”

“Well, thanks,” you smile.

He nods, mirroring your content. “I’ll let you settle in and stuff. I moved all my crap out the closet so you can put your stuff in there, and the top bedside drawer is empty.”

“That’s perfect,” you say. You lift your bag with a grunt and dump it on the bed.

“I gotta go to work but call if you need anything. Shouldn’t be back too late.”

Unzipping your bag, you look to him. “Where’d you work?”

“Got this gig helping out at Ward Cameron’s. Don’t know if you remember him?”

“Course I do,” you snort. “The kingpin of Kildare, and your dad’s treasure hunting buddy.”

There’s a tense silence as your words catch up with you. You press your eyes shut, embarrassed.

“Shit, sorry. That didn’t come out how I meant it to.”

“It’s cool,” John B says, graciously gliding past it. “Anyway, he pays pretty good so can’t complain. Mostly just handy-man odd jobs.”

“Very noble work,” you joke.

With a quiet laugh, John B nods and backs out the door. He lingers another moment, contemplating saying something else. “Look, uh, I know it isn’t ideal circumstances, you coming back to Kildare and stuff, but I’m glad you’re here. Really. It’s nice having you back, sis.”

Your mood sobers, smile turning solemn.

“Thanks,” you quietly reply.

He nods once more and pats the doorframe in farewell. “Right, I’ll let you get unpacked. See you later.”

“See ya.”

When John B leaves – the front door shuddering against the house as it slams shut – you’re overcome with quiet. In Colorado, where you lived with your mom in the city, there was little nature. You forgot how peaceful Kildare is. Through the crack in the window, birdsong and cricket chimes accompany the sound of your unpacking. You turf out your clothes and take to putting them in the closet. Shoes and bags and bikinis. A jacket and a few sweatshirts. It was easy enough to plan for your outfits considering you’re only staying the summer. You remember the weather in Kildare well enough from when you used to live here.

Once you’ve unpacked your clothes, you find your paints. A box of watercolours which have seen much use and love, the hinges rusted and the inside of the palette smeared with dried mixed paint. Turning to the bedside table, you pull open the bottom drawer on accident. You come face to face with corny porno magazines, a box of tissues, two wrapped condoms and a half empty bottle of painkillers.

“Gross,” you mutter, slamming it shut. Yep, this was definitely a dude’s bedroom.

The top drawer is empty, like John B promised. You fill it with your paints and sketchbooks and pencils.

As the day ploughs on, the room becomes increasingly saturated with your personality. Postcards from Colorado, of the towns and cities you visited, photographs from school of your friends and classmates: you scatter them along them wall, amongst John B’s. Some of your favourite paintings, alongside artists which inspire you, join the mix. On the desk you add a few of your own books to the haphazard stack of abandoned homework and school reports.

At the bottom of your duffle bag is your penny board. You look around the room, searching for empty space to slot it without adding to already cluttered surroundings, and opt to slot it under the bed. Ducking down, you come face to face with a collection of empty beer cans. Clearly the spring cleaning only went so far. It’s noisy as you drag them out, but you’re certain you hear someone shouting. Pausing, sitting back on your haunches, you turn to peer out the open bedroom door. It’s silent for a moment, and then you hear footsteps.

“Yo! JB, you home?”

It’s a guy shouting. His voice sounds vaguely familiar. When he comes into the corridor, he glances into Big John’s bedroom (now claimed by your older half-brother) first. Blonde messy hair and well-worn combat boots instantly name him. JJ. He turns to the spare bedroom and stops short the moment his eyes land on you, sat amongst a pile of trash.

“You’re not John B,” he says.

“What gave me away?” you reply with a lift of your brows.

There’s a long awkward moment where he stares at you. You can practically hear the cogs turning as he takes you in. When you lift your arm up to scratch the back of your neck, realisation dawns upon him. You imagine your scar on the outside of your elbow gave you away.

“Holy crap! Little Routledge?” he gapes.

You laugh. “Haven’t been called that in a minute.”

JJ steps into the room and you get to your feet. He tackles you into a hug. It’s too short, too sudden, and then he’s stepping away from you again, leaving you dizzy on your feet.

“The fuck? You’re, like, grown now,” he says.

Rolling your eyes, you reply, “well, I am sixteen.”

“The fuck!” he repeats. He then takes in where you’re standing, and the state of the room, and frowns. “Wait, what are you doing here? I thought you were in Colorado with your mom?”

“I was,” you say. You kick one of the cans out the way and fold your arms over your chest, shrugging. “I came back for the summer.”

“Oh, that’s sick!”

You laugh. It’s a nice reaction to have from someone who you haven’t seen for over two years.

“John B gave you his old room then?”

He walks into it as if it’s his own. You watch as he studies the new additions to the wall that you’ve added. Lingers on one of your paintings.

"Yeah, he’s moved into his dad’s, apparently.”

“Yeah, he moved in there a while ago,” JJ tells you. “I’ve been sleeping in here most of the time.”

Your mind flashes back to the bedside drawer stocked with teenage boy necessities. Ah, makes sense. You remember how JJ was when you were a dorky thirteen-year-old. At the ripe age of fourteen, he had girls fawning after him. He was shameless in his reputation. The conversations you overheard between himself and John B as he’d brag about his escapades are seared into your memory, as you felt your wasted preteen heart splinter with every tale. It’s no surprise now that he’s probably just as unruly. Especially considering how he looks. There isn’t much time to ogle though because he’s looking away from the décor, meeting your gaze again.

“That explains all the empty beer cans, then,” you say.

He cringes. “Yeah, uh, sorry ‘bout that.”

You shrug. “It’s cool. I need to toss ‘em out but I don’t know where the trash bags are…”

“Oh, right,” he says, breezing past you. His cologne lingers in the air when he leaves. There’s the smallest moment for you to catch your breath as JJ bangs around in the kitchen, and then he reappears with a roll of black bags. Tosses them to you and you catch. “Here.”

“Thanks.”

You begin to shove the cans into the bag and JJ starts to help. His black button-up gapes open as he leans over and it takes everything not to glance down his shirt like some pervert.

“How come you didn’t want to stay in Colorado for the summer, then?”

“Change of scenery,” you vaguely reply. It isn’t a complete lie, but it isn’t the whole truth either.

“Well, you chose the best summer to come back. Our mission this year is to have the best summer of all time.”

“Pretty lofty goal to set,” you chuckle.

JJ glances up at you, flashing you a grin. “Nah, we got it in the bag.”

You find yourself smiling back, held captive under his stare. When he takes the now full trash bag off you, tying it off, you snap out of it.

“So, where’s your brother at then?” he asks, heading out the room. You follow.

“At work. Said he does jobs for Cameron now.”

“Oh, yeah. Cameron sorta took him under his wing after his dad…went missing,” JJ replies.

You have a feeling that the way people talk about John B’s father is rather doctored.

“I can’t believe he’s gone,” you tell him, referring to Big John.

As you step on the porch, the sunlight warms your face. The floorboards creak as you make your way down them, to the garbage can outside.

“It was insane,” JJ says to you. He tosses the trash away. “I mean, we all knew Big John was a bit too into the whole royal-merchant thing but…we never thought it’d go that far, you know?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Scary.”

JJ looks at you a moment longer. Then, he laughs to himself and shakes his head. “Can’t believe you’re sixteen now.”

“Can’t believe you’re seventeen.”

“What? I look good or something?”

He does a small spin on the spot, arms held out by his sides. You roll your eyes, acting as if you’re unaffected. It’s hard to swallow the reflex reaction of yes.

“Or something,” you say.

JJ takes it in stride. “Well, you look pretty cute yourself considering you’ve been in the mountains for the last three years.”

“I don’t live in the mountains,” you snort. The word ‘cute’ rattles around your head like a pinball.

“You’re taller now too. Practically come up to my shoulders. I remember when me and John B could pick you up by your ankle like a marlin.”

“Yeah, I remember that too,” you not-so-fondly recall.

JJ grins and steps over to you. Despite both of your growth spurts, you still have to look up at him, and him down at you. His eyes are just as dreamy as you remember them. When you first left for Colorado, you hardly had time to pack. In the midst of chaos, taking a picture of your brother’s best friend didn’t seem all that important. Cut to you spending endless nights trying to remember his eyes, the exact colour and the exact shape. Trying to remember the dimples that popped out when he smiled. The pure joy in his laugh. The way your heart felt like it might explode whenever he looked at you, even if it were for a second.

But when JJ pats your head, your chest deflates.

“Well, see you around, little Routledge,” he says, stepping away. “Tell your brother I was looking for him.”

Because even after all these years, you’re still just John B’s little sister in JJ’s eyes.

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

You stare into your can of cider. In the night, the only light being that from the bonfire John B started up in the backyard, you can’t make out the colour of it. Just the swirling of liquid. You’d spent the last three days working on a watercolour of the marsh side to John B’s house, but you couldn’t capture the movement of the water quite right.

“Wait, I’m confused,” Pope frowns.

“What’s there to be confused about, Pope?” JJ sighs, seemingly exhausted from the questions. There had been an influx of them the minute John B brought you out of the Chateau. “His mom shagged her dad and boom, here she is.”

“Charming mental images there, JJ, thanks,” John B cringes.

You laugh into your drink.

“No, I get that. But…You used to live here, right?” Pope asks you.

You nod.

“But then you moved to Colorado?”

“Yeah?”

“But now you’re back here?”

“Apparently,” you say.

Pope’s frown deepens: apparently that cleared nothing up for him. You’ve never known someone so analytical. “This is complicated,” he observes.

“No shit,” Kiara quips.

It was complicated. Families usually are. You and John B had different dads, in short. Your shared mom cheated on Big John when John B was hardly a year old, putting you around 11 or so months behind him. She ran off to Raleigh with your dad to try and fix their tumultuous relationship, leaving you with Big John for practically thirteen years. Whilst he wasn't unkind to you, he never saw you as his. You supposed you were a reminder of his ex-wife's unfaithfulness. But John B treated you like blood, as did his friends.

Just after your thirteen birthday, your mom decided to flee the state, and she was taking you with her. It all came out of the blue. You weren’t exactly thrilled to go to Colorado. You liked Kildare, and North Carolina, and John B and his friends. Kiara was always nice to you. She never talked down to you, despite you being seen as John B’s little sister. You bonded over turtles and Bob Marley. JJ was different. He’d prank you with John B and tease you about your dolls, but he’d also patch you up if you fell and calm you down after a nightmare. Your crush on him evolved naturally over time. What started as childhood infatuation with the supposed delinquent of Kildare became real. You liked JJ. He was funny and rambunctious, but he had a kindness and tenderness that he kept hidden below. He was often at the house as his own family situation was far from perfect, so having him around became as familiar as John B’s presence. When you left, JJ gave you a hug that you wished would last a lifetime.

But you drifted away in Colorado. You didn’t have anybody’s phone number, save for Big John’s (which your mom refused to let you use), and you were too young to remember addresses to write to them. Social media was never something you latched onto and eventually it all faded away into a strange, dreamlike memory. Being back here is almost proof that you didn’t imagine the whole thing.

“We’re half siblings,” you say, whittling down your family history into a simple statement. “That’s all you really need to know.”

“Damn straight,” JJ whoops, downing the last of his drink. He crunches the can in his fist and heads to the cooler for another.

“You’re staying for the whole summer then?” Kiara asks.

You nod. “I’m tryna get a job at this restaurant in town to keep me busy.”

“Screw that. Just come smoke and surf with us all day, that’ll keep you occupied,” JJ grins.

He’s comfortable in himself, relaxing in a lawn chair, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles. His t-shirt represents one of Kildare’s small-town establishments and his shorts are stained with dust and dirt from riding his bike.

“She’s the good one out of us lot,” John B announces, gesturing to you. “Out of all the Routledge offspring, she’s gonna go places. You’re not gonna taint that, JJ.”

“And by ‘all the Routledge offspring’ you mean yourself and her?” Pope checks.

John B nods fervently. “I’m telling you! She’s madly talented.”

“You’re drunk; it’s giving you beer goggles,” you dismiss, finishing your drink.

“You were always the creative one,” JJ remarks. Everyone looks over to him. “Me and John B would be out on the water and she’d be drawing it.”

“Maybe you can show us some of your stuff,” Kiara says.

You laugh and shake your head. “Maybe not.”

The alcohol wizzes up your body as you get to your feet and you take it as a good time to call it quits.

“I think I’m gonna head in.”

“What?”

“No!”

“Come on!”

You laugh, shaking off the group’s disputes. “I’m tired!”

“Lightweight,” JJ teases. You flip him off as you pass, ditching your empty can in the garbage as you go.

“Night guys!” you holler as you head back into the house.

“Night!”

The bedroom John B offered you is starting to feel less like a guest house. You shrug off your cardigan – it stinks of smoke from the fire – and close the door. Through the window, you can hear the group chattering.

Pope seems nice. He hadn’t been around when you lived in Kildare, but you recognised his name. Heyward was a legend on the Cut; you could see his dad in his eyes. Kiara was just as you remembered her, if not more consumed by her environmental activism than before. JJ was the most staggering change of all. He’d grown into his looks, matured around the face. Any puppy fat that you remembered from childhood had vanished. Lithe and lively, he was an American heartthrob, through and through.

As you do your skincare, you glance out the window. You can make out JJ, sat with his back to you. His arms are flailing around as he tells a story. You can’t make out the details through the window but the looks on everyone’s faces tells you it’s pretty damn entertaining. He was always the joker, humour hiding whatever was happening underneath like he was arming himself with a grin. The unexplained bruises on his face and the painful batterings on his body were never explained whenever he’d stay at Big John’s, when you were younger.

The moment he shifts in his seat, you dart away from the window, scared to get caught, and finish getting ready for bed.

A bad dream rouses you awake. It was about Colorado. The warped memories keep you from falling back asleep, no matter how hard you try. Sighing, you stare at the ceiling. The room is bathed in moonlight, cosy in the wooden interior, and you contemplate sitting outside for a bit. The same cardigan from earlier gets pulled on over your vest top and you slip into some crocs.

You head for the front door, creeping past John B’s room, and step onto the porch. There’s a warm, humid air in the night. The crickets and owls harmonise with the faint buzz of mosquitos who surround the porch light. That’s when you realise that it’s already on, and you’re not alone. JJ’s on the porch, laid out on the sofa. He’s smoking a joint. The smell of weed merges into that of the dying embers from the abandoned, extinguished bonfire. You rap gently on the wall as you approach, hoping not to startle him.

“Hey,” he says, looking up at the sound.

“Hey.”

“Can’t sleep?”

“No,” you say. “I thought everyone went home.”

“They did. I’m crashing here tonight. My dad’s…”

He falters, glances up at you, and shakes his head.

“Don’t need to bore you with it.”

“You’re not boring,” you hear yourself tell him.

Smiling, JJ offers the joint to you. You take it, sitting down in the red armchair at the foot of the sofa. The weed consumes your senses when you take a drag, hitting the back of your throat and dulling your thoughts.

“Haven’t smoked in ages,” you say.

“Big smoking community out in Colorado?” JJ asks.

You laugh. “Not where I live, no.”

He takes the joint back when you lean over to him. Tilts his head back as he takes another hit. He’s in the same clothes as earlier, hasn’t even taken off his boots; his hair is tousled like he tried to sleep but couldn’t. You’re caught in the act of staring at him. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even make a joke. Instead, he holds your gaze. It’s almost like a silent challenge: who’ll break first?

“Can I say something kinda inappropriate?” he asks.

“I feel like you have to, now.”

JJ grins at that, amused. “You’re way cuter than I remember you.”

“Oh? You mean sweaty thirteen-year-old, chalk-highlight-pink-hair wasn’t cute?” you joke.

Shaking his head, he adds, “No. Well, yeah, but not in the way you are now.”

Your stomach tightens and heart constricts, and you wish you had the joint to have something to distract yourself with. You hope you sound calm and collected when you say, “thanks. You don’t look too bad yourself.”

“Oh, you’re too kind,” JJ jokes. He takes another long, deep drag. “Is it nice? Being back in Kildare?”

You glance off to the marsh. You forgot to check the time when you got up but judging from the endless navy blue of the sky, it’s still late.

“Sure.”

“Sure?”

You look back to him. “It’s better than Colorado.”

“So, you’re not missing home then?”

The blunt is passed back to you. Taking a drag, you ponder his question. “I don’t think I know where home is right now. I don’t think it’s Colorado, but I don’t know if it’s here either. Maybe I don’t have one.”

JJ doesn’t say anything and you remember yourself. Laughing self-deprecatingly, you shake your head.

“Sorry, think this joint’s going to my head. That was dramatic.”

“No, no, I get ya,” JJ assures. “I know what you mean.”

“You don’t like Kildare?” you ask him.

His expression darkens like a shadow has cast over him. “It depends.”

“Hm,” you say. Nothing more is said on the matter. You get the sense that JJ was vague on purpose.

Pulling your legs into your seat, you glance around at the clutter on the porch. A surfboard is lent against the nett lining of the porch; a rusting duck ornament balances on one of the beams. What looks to be a broken radio sits beside a half-full bottle of rum on a small table by the couch.

“I think it’s good for John B, having you back.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” JJ smiles. “He sorta spun out when his dad disappeared. You’re kinda the only family he has left.”

“You’re his family too. Been around longer than I have,” you tell him.

JJ’s smile softens. He glances away from you, fiddling with the paper of the joint, almost as if he’s flustered. “Thanks.”

“So,” you say, “you got some poor girl on this island falling after you?”

“Rude of you to assume there’s only one,” JJ grins wickedly.

You roll your eyes.

“What about you? Some West Coast jock waiting for you back in the home state?”

The sarcastic ‘har har’ that he gets has JJ frowning, bemused.

“Definitely no guy, and definitely no jock.”

“Now that I find hard to believe,” JJ says.

Before you can ask what he means by that, or spiral out by thinking too much about it, JJ’s getting to his feet. He puts the blunt out on the window ledge, ditching the empty butt in a filthy dish. Stretching his arms over his head, sighing, you watch as his t-shirt rides up. The tensing of his abdominal muscles is like torture. God, to run your hands up his chest, over his shoulders, tangle them in the salt-soaked strands of his hair…

“Right, night Little Routledge,” JJ says.

You blink away from his chest and meet his gaze. There’s a strange expression on his face, one you don’t recognise, and you want to scrutinise it and find out what it means. But it’s gone in a flash, as is he as he heads back into the house. You watch through the window as his silhouette drops onto the pull-out sofa.

It takes a minute to regain your composure.

You can’t think of JJ like that. He certainly doesn’t think of you like that, and that childhood crush has long been put to bed. Shaking it awake is the last thing you need right now. Besides, he’s John B’s best friend. Your brother’s best friend. The same brother who’s taken you back into his house, offered you a room, free of charge, without complaint or question. And it seems like John B needs as many people around him as possible right now. But it’s hard to maintain that line of thought, when as you lie back down in your bed, desperate to get some sleep, you can vividly picture the slit of JJ’s chest that you were privy to just moments ago when you close your eyes.

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

You follow Tom through the restaurant. He’s the supervisor, eighteen and a fresh high school graduate. It’s hard to keep up with him as he points things out: waiter’s station; kitchen; storeroom…You’d forgotten how overwhelming job orientations can be.

“And this,” he pushes a door open, “is the staff room.”

You glance in and take in the messy pile of shoes, the overflowing trash can, and the three coat pegs overwhelmed with bags and hoodies.

“Love what you’ve done with the space.”

Tom laughs. He closes the door and leans against the doorframe. Broad shouldered, he stands taller than you by a couple inches.

“So, what made you want to work here?”

“I’m really interested in not being broke,” you reply, making him laugh.

“You new to the island? Feel like I haven’t seen you around?”

“This island that small?”

“Or you’re just that unforgettable,” he smoothly returns.

Your face fires up. Laughing nervously, you shift your stance. “I just moved in with my half-brother for the summer. Need something to keep me busy for a few months.”

“Ah, sweet. Anyone I’d know?”

“Dunno,” you say. He starts back into the main restaurant building. They haven’t opened yet. It’s void of life. “John B Routledge?”

“Oh shit, yeah. JB,” he says, flashing you a grin.

He’s charming in a disarming way. The kind of face that a modelling agency would swipe up because of his easy marketability.

When the two of you approach the bar, there’s a girl stood polishing wine glasses. She looks to be about your age, maybe a couple of years older. Her smile is sweet and welcoming like warm hot chocolate on a winter’s night.

“Hey, Lizzy. This is the new starter,” Tom introduces.

“I’m guessing I got the job then?” you ask him. He nods. With that, you offer a hand to Lizzy.

“Nice to meet ya,” she says, shaking it. “Could do with more girls around here.”

“Happy to help,” you reply.

“So, you think you can cover a shift tomorrow night? I figured cause you’ve waitressed before it shouldn’t take too long for you to learn the ropes here,” Tom says.

You nod. “Sure. Sounds good.”

“We’ll see you tomorrow then,” he says.

You bid farewell to himself and Lizzy, seeing yourself out the front door. The restaurant is in the heart of the cut, surrounded by other small businesses and hipster start-ups. You begin the journey home, plugging in your headphones and submerging yourself in Reggae music. Children play in the local park and preteens chatter as they speed past you on their bikes. There’s a warm breeze that brushes past you; it smells of sea water and fried fish. You’re passing the harbour. Eyes land on Heyward’s store, the logo just as you remember it from all those years ago. It’s surreal being back.

When your phone buzzes, you pause your sightseeing to check it. It might be John B asking after the interview. Your throat closes up when you see your mom’s contact pop up. A text. ‘Call me back.’

Just like that, you’re dragged out of Kildare and are back in Colorado.

It’s impossible to ignore the text, but you do your best either way. You don’t even remember half the journey to the Chateau as you walk through the door. JJ is home. He’s sat at the messy dining table, eating a bowl of cereal and scrolling through his phone. Tugging out your earbuds, you give a small wave hello.

“How’d the interview go? That was today, right?”

“Smashed it. Got the job,” you say.

“Oh, sweet. Congrats.”

“Thanks.”

You ditch your bag by the door along with your phone. Taking the seat opposite him, you sit cross-legged on the wooden chair. The sketchbook you’d abandoned earlier lays dormant. Opening it up, you flick to your latest piece of the marsh. It’s coming together rather well. You’d decided to add the H.M.S Pogue, sat harboured on the grass. JJ peers over his bowl to the painting.

“Holy shit. That’s sick,” he says through his mouthful of Captain Crunch.

“Thanks,” you smile. “I’m pretty happy with how it’s come out, considering how old these paints are.”

JJ watches as you crack open the aforementioned watercolours. The smell of artificial paint teases the air. Dampening a thin brush in the mason jar of water, you dip into the blue.

“They bad quality or something?”

“A little. They best ones are Winsor and Newton, but I can’t justify spending over twenty bucks on paints.”

“Why not? You’ve clearly got a gift,” JJ says.

You hate how casual he is when he says things like that to you. Like it doesn’t knock the breath out of you like a sucker punch to the chest.

“S’just practice,” you mumble.

You can feel his gaze as you paint. Resting your chin in your hand, you work at the water under the jetty, trying to perfect the shading. You want to feel as though you can walk into the painting; like you could drown in the crystal clean waves.

Painting had become an escape when you were in Colorado. Whatever you could remember of Kildare, you’d paint. When that well ran dry, you began to paint places you wished you could go. Anywhere but the dilapidating family home you’d found yourself in. Secret gardens made of twisting ivy and crumbling, ornate statues hidden amongst orchids and rose bushes. Cosmic planes with make-believe ice cream stations snuck onto Mars and Venus; whales which bathed in the stars and caught a tan in moonbeams. Underwater societies full of sea kelp and multicoloured coral reefs, with octopi hiding amongst crabs and shellfish.

You glance up to find JJ transfixed on the painting. There’s a crease between his brows as if he’s the one concentrating. It makes you laugh, quiet and under breath, and he looks up. Holds your stare.

“That’s amazing, that you can just do that,” JJ says, remarking to your work.

You swallow the sickly rush that his words give you. His tongue dampens his lower lip, tantalisingly slow. You feel it hit somewhere deep inside of you. Something in the air shifts.

Then, so quiet neither of you can be sure he really said it, he utters, “you’re amazing.”

“Yo!”

The door swings open with your brother’s arrival. Your head spins over your shoulder to the front door. John B stands holding a bag of takeout burgers in the air beside his head.

“Y’all hungry?”

“Hell yeah,” JJ says.

When you look to him, it feels as if you could have imagined the whole interaction had just moments ago. JJ’s sat in his seat as he was before, unfazed.

He abandons his cereal and follows John B into the kitchen like a starving dog, begging for food. You place your paintbrush back into the water and join them. John B unpacks the burgers and fries onto half-clean plates. You watch JJ toss a fry into the air and catch it, whooping in celebration. A plate is handed back to you, over John B’s shoulder.

“Beef burger with cheese, no pickles.”

“Thank you,” you sing-song, taking the plate off him.

JJ turns around and looks at you with faux disgust. “No pickles?”

You shake your head, heading back to the table. JJ and John B join you with their own quick dinners, and the three of you eat. You tell John B about the summer job you secured, and he tells you and JJ about Sarah Cameron and her new boy-toy Topper. JJ says he’s “biceps without a brain” when you ask which one Topper is.

“That can’t be his real name,” you snort.

“Oh, it is,” John B replies.

“His name is almost as dumb as he is,” JJ sniggers.

There’s the sound of chewing and swallowing.

“Two official weeks into summer,” John B randomly announces.

You quirk a brow. “Two weeks since I came back to Kildare.”

JJ holds his cup of soda up in a toast. John B wipes his mouth and raises his own, as do you. The three of you clink cups, smiling at the stupidity. As you bring your cup to your lips to drink, you find your eyes meeting JJ’s across the table. He holds your gaze as he sips, swallows and licks his lips of the sugar. You feel it hit somewhere deep, deep inside of you. JJ looks back to John B and starts recounting his tales of the day fishing, leaving you stumped.

What the hell was that?

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

As your days in Kildare stretch on, your imagination becomes your most loved and loathed place all at once.

The Pogues had taken you under their wing without a second thought. It felt as if it wasn’t just because you were John B’s younger sister. Kiara would spend hours talking to you about music and star signs. Pope would discuss books and artists that he’d read about, falling into a huge debate about whether Andy Warhol is as legendary as everyone makes him out to be (the answer is, of course, yes). You and John B connected as brother and sister, filling that hole of ‘family’ that had been taken from both of you within the past year. Movie nights sharing popcorn and critiquing corny horror films, and mornings spent tending to the yard and fishing at the jetty: you felt yourself coming back bit by bit, in the company of the brunette.

But spending time with the Pogues came with spending more time with JJ. That little childhood crush that you’d claimed had succumb a long, undisturbed slumber…Oh, she had been awoken. Him staying over more and more on the pull-out when him and his dad ‘got into a thing’ meant the throw pillows smelt like his cologne and soap. He’d offer you his sweatshirt when sat around the bonfire on evenings drinking, and the warm distinct smell of him would consume you, drown you in the pheromones, affecting you like some pathetic animal in heat. Days spent surfing and sunbathing at the break gave you space to shamelessly ogle his bare chest, splattered in sea water, scorched and tanned with sunlight. The ripple of his lats when wearing his useless muscle tees as he waxed his board in the surf shack. His jawline strong and steely when annoyed or focused, with faint blonde stubble a week after shaving. But you swear he knew how it affected you. Swear he knew it drove you crazy whenever he’d fleetingly touch your back, brushing past you in the kitchen to grab a drink, or adjust your grip when helping him fix up his bike. When sharing a blunt on the porch (as you often did when sleep couldn’t come), he’d take his time passing it to you, fingers brushing. Innocent, incidental touches that felt calculated and planned. The way his eyes would gaze into yours, like he could read your thoughts and decipher your wants. A vague, barely-there smirk to his lips, constantly tortured by his tongue and teeth…

God, your whole body feels as if it has been on fire for the past week.

You blame your overactive thoughts of JJ on your boredom. Working at the restaurant hadn’t been sufficient distraction from the mess that is your life right now. Even now, as you stand before the till, typing through an order for the kitchen and bar, you feel your mind wandering. To thoughts of the Chateau, and to a certain blonde-haired guy sprawled on the pull-out sofa, shirtless, back on proud display…

“You gonna be much longer?”

“No, I shouldn’t be,” you say to Tom.

You hope your embarrassment doesn’t read on your face. It’s not as if he could hear your thoughts, so you’re not sure why you feel caught in the act. You finish selecting the sides for table 16 and press ‘store table’. Stepping to the side to grab some side plates, Tom takes over the till.

He’s nice. Makes you laugh a lot at work, as you slander rude tables and gush over those that tip an extra twenty.

After depositing the side plates at the table, you head to the bar to run the drinks you put through. Lizzy is mixing the cocktail you ordered. She pours rum into a shaker and then passionfruit puree.

“Can I ask you something?” you say to her.

She glances over. The two of you had gotten closer at work. You were hoping to hang out with her one time down at the beach, or maybe grab lunch after a morning shift. She runs a hand over her buzzcut hair style and nods.

“Do you think there’s such a thing as bad thoughts?”

“Bit deep to be asking that at eight o’clock at night, don’t you think?” she smirks.

You roll your eyes. As she goes on making the cocktail, you elaborate. “I have this dumbass crush on this guy which I know I shouldn’t have…I just feel bad for thinking about him so much.”

“Well, that’s dumb,” she snorts.

There’s the loud rattle of ice against stainless steel as Lizzy shakes the cocktail. Then, as she strains it into a martini glass, she looks up at you once more.

“Who’s this guy? Do I know him?”

“Maybe.”

Her eyebrows shoot up into her hairline. “Is it Tom?”

And, no, it isn’t Tom, but maybe saying it is means she won’t keep digging. You’d rather keep your embarrassing years-long infatuation with your brother’s best friend close to the chest. So, you do your best to look meek as you nod.

“Holy shit! Well, if it makes you feel better, he’s totally into you,” Lizzy tells you.

“He is?”

“Hell yeah. Guy practically ogles you across the room,” she says.

You glance over to Tom. He’s stood before a table, talking away, scribbling down their order on a notepad. At the feeling of being watched, he looks up and meets your gaze. You flash him a small smile and he mirrors it quickly before returning his focus to the task at hand.

“So, do you?”

“Think there’s such a thing as bad thoughts?” Lizzy checks. You nod. She ponders the question whilst garnishing the cocktail. “No. No, I think only actions talk. I mean, I think bad things all the time about customers who are dicks. I could put glass in their drinks: that’d show them sort of thing. But I don’t actually put glass in their drinks, so I’m off the hook. Nobody’s the wiser.”

It’s a somewhat extreme example but it gets the point across. You take the tray and nod.

“I mean, maybe fantasising about it might be cathartic. Get it out your system, you know?” Her sly wink speaks volumes as to what these ‘fantasies’ are about. You roll your eyes.

“Thank you for your advice, Lizz. I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Anytime sunshine.”

With that, you walk over table 16 and deliver their drinks. The rest of the shift passes by rather quickly. You end up making a bet with Tom that you can sell more pints of larger than him and come up victorious, leaving work with an extra ten dollars in your pockets.

The streets are painted sunset purple, orange and pink. You spot John B’s campervan, known as The Twinkie, in the parking lot; he’d promised to pick you up after work tonight. But as you walk up to the passenger side, you realise it’s JJ behind the wheel. You’re not sure if the feeling of your organs shrinking is a good thing or a bad thing.

“Where’s John B?” you ask, climbing in beside him.

“Nice way to say, ‘hi JJ, it’s so good to see you!’”

“Okay, hi JJ,” you say, rolling your eyes. He starts the engine. “Now, where’s my brother?”

“He had to go do something for Cameron.”

“At ten at night?”

“Dude, I just work here, a’right? I do as he says so he lets me stay on his sofa,” JJ says. You laugh.

The radio kicks on and ‘Downtown Lights’ starts to play. You look out the window as he drives, watching the houses fade into overgrow and trees.

“Hey, you hungry?”

“Starved.”

“We can swing by a Wendy’s on the way home, if you wanna,” JJ says.

You smile as you look over to him, nodding. With that, he takes the next left and the two of you make your way in comfortable silence to the drive through. At the worker’s request, JJ recounts his order: two hamburgers, both with cheese, one without pickles. Oh and a large Pepsi.

As he pulls forward to pay, you say, “you remembered I don’t like pickles?”

He glances over to you like you’re stupid for even asking. “Course.”

Food secured, Pepsi in the cupholder for you both to share, you start the journey to the Chateau.

“Feed me a fry?”

You laugh and oblige. It’s the least you can do, considering he bought you takeout, after all. You turf one out the brown paper bag and hold up to his lips. His breath fans against your fingers as he takes it. Chews and swallows. You managed to tear your eyes away. That man could yawn and you’d be mesmerised, you swear. It’s pathetic.

“Thanks.”

“Course.”

The ride back is over way too soon. You take what’s left of your food and your bag, opening the door. “You staying over tonight?”

JJ contemplates a moment before shaking his head. He studies his hands as they run up and over the steering wheel when he says, “no. No, I gotta go home sometime.”

“Right,” you quietly say. The last fight him and his dad got in was ugly. He came over, shaking with anger, a purple bruise forming under his eye. It scared the shit out of you to let him go back there alone. “Well, thanks for the food.”

JJ looks up from the steering wheel and takes you in. His lips move, like he wants to say something, but he seems to abandon the thought. You take it as your cue to leave.

“See you soon.”

“Yeah. See you soon, Little Routledge.”

You hate that nickname. The resentment is thick to swallow as you say goodnight, stepping out the van.

John B isn’t home when you walk into the Chateau. The lights are off, dirty dishes piled up in the sink. The sofa bed is unmade from the last time JJ slept on it. You contemplate crashing on it for the night, just so you can feel as if you’re near to him, but you know that’s insane. If John B were to find you there, he’d only be concerned that something was wrong with your own room, either way. So you trundle back to your bedroom and strip out of your uniform. Makeup rinsed off and teeth brushed, you crawl into bed and drift off easily.

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

His lips are hot and wet on your skin, kissing down your stomach. Your breathing’s laboured like you’re fighting an adrenaline rush. He seems to notice, laughing darkly against your tummy.

“So wound up already and I’ve barely touched you,” JJ croons in his southern drawl.

Your eyes slip shut, fighting back a whimper as his fingers dip teasingly into the waistband of your panties. A moan finally lets slip at the sensation of his lips pressing against your crotch, over the cotton.

“You want it?”

“Please,” you whisper.

“Yeah? You want my mouth?”

“Yes, JJ, please.”

It’s embarrassing to beg but you don’t have much left in your mind other than thoughts of him to even care.

Fingers knotting into his hair, you try and coax him lower still. And he obliges. Drags your panties down your legs like time is a luxury. You wonder if he likes teasing you; if it brings him pleasure like the feeling of his hands on your body does for you. He leans back on his haunches and runs his palms up and down your thighs, staring at you exposed pussy. His shark tooth necklace sits against his toned chest and you’re jealous of how close it gets to be to him.

“Fuck,” JJ groans as you open your legs.

He leans back down and nuzzles your inner thigh, pressing a sharp kiss with his teeth, sucking in the skin and relishing your pleasured yelp. It feels as if he’s marking you as he leaves the hickey: mine.

“Been dreaming ‘bout this.”

Before you can let out another pathetic plea, JJ situates himself between your legs and goes down on you. Eats you out like a man who’s been lost at sea, like a man starved. Sighs at the taste of you on his tongue, kissing at your thighs as if to catch his breath, dragging you closer and closer to the edge. The damp of his tongue laps at your clit and your legs lock around him in a vice. He’s indefatigable, insatiable and…it’s too much.

“I can’t,” you whine hopelessly. Your fingers grasp at the sheets, eyes clenched shut.

“Come on,” JJ preens. “Wanna see you come.”

He leans close to your ear, taking your lobe between his teeth, and slips a finger into your seeping hole. Your orgasm comes like waves crashing over splintered rocks; breathing jagged and vision blurring behind eyelids. Somewhere in the euphoric haze you cry out his name. Flashes of colour blending into a mercurial high as he works you through your ecstasy, unrelenting.

You gasp awake.

Had you been sleeping?

Your forehead is damp with sweat, throat parched and chest heaving. Anyone would have thought you’d have just sprinted three miles. When you sit up in bed, you register the pulsing between your legs and the telltale stickiness of your thighs.

Shit. Good thing there’s no such thing as bad thoughts.

Wiping at your face, your skin feels red hot. You venture to the bathroom and drink water from the faucet. Making eye contact with yourself is too hard right now, considering you just had the most incredible wet dream about your brother’s best friend. Now that the high is passing, you’re overcome with shame and guilt. You’re delusional. Maybe you should submit yourself to be sectioned. Would be a good way to kill some of these summer weeks…

Heading back to bed feels like returning to the scene of a crime. Instead, you head out onto the porch, dressed in nothing but a t-shirt and panties. John B’s a deep sleeper, you’ve come to learn. You’ve never heard him get up in the night, in all your moments of insomnia. There’s no risk of crossing paths with him out here.

Stepping out onto the paint-peeled floorboards, you notice he forgot to turn off the porch light when he came home. Great, I guess I know where my wage is going. But as you head to your favourite red armchair, ready to gaze out at the marsh and watch the waterside plants dance in the breeze, you freeze.

JJ’s on the sofa. And he’s awake. You can tell just from where you’re stood.

Before you can flee back to your room, the floorboard creaks. JJ jolts up and looks around, eyes landing on you. You swallow. The moment you lay eyes on him, part of your dream comes screaming back to you. The way your voice cracked as you cried out his name, tumbling over the edge. You quickly shun away the thoughts, slamming them closed in a box, before your body can lose itself to the fantasy once more. Please God tell me that I didn’t actually scream his name.

“Hi,” you dumbly say.

“Hey.”

“I thought you were staying at your place tonight,” you say.

JJ shrugs. “Change of plans, I guess.”

“Oh.”

He looks back ahead at the armchair, back to you, and you can’t help but pull a face akin to holy shit what the fuck do I do? When he holds up a joint, you decide to stay. Panties are just the same as a bikini anyway, and he’s seen you in those. You make sure to wear your cutest ones when he’s surfing with you. The ones that are tight in all the right places and hug your figure in a way that you wished he would. Oh my God, shut up. You wordlessly take the joint as you quickly step past him, planting yourself in the armchair. You pull your legs up and sit atop of them, taking a long drag to try and calm your racing mind and heart. Inspecting the floor seems a good thing to do, suddenly. The divots in the wood from worms and the strips of paint. Looking up, you find JJ’s eyes trained on your legs. His gaze diverts when you lean forward, offering him the blunt again. As he lifts himself to take it, you see him wince, and now in the light of the porch, fully taking him in you, you can make out the bloody cut beside his eye.

“Jesus Christ, JayJ.”

“It’s fine,” he reflexively says. He takes another hit. “Just need some self-medication.”

“Bullshit. You need to clean that thing ‘fore it gets infected.”

“Be my guest,” JJ scoffs.

With that, you get to your feet and head back into the house. The first aid kit is under the bathroom sink. It’s probably the least dusty thing in the whole room. Returning to him, you forget all about the reason that you got up in the first place and shove it to the back of your mind. This was more important than worrying about some dumb dream. Shoving his legs off the couch, you force him to make space for you. You place the first aid kit on your lap and open it. JJ keeps smoking. The smell of weed clouds your senses. Picking out a disinfectant wipe, you turn to him.

“This’ll sting,” you say, opening the packet.

“That’s what she said.”

You frown. “What kind of kinky ass sex are you having?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he grins.

For a moment dread drops down your body, chilling your spine. Did he hear you? No, no he couldn’t have. You probably didn’t make a noise. He’s just being his usual, salacious self.

You take his jawline in hold gently between your fingers. The bone is hard beneath the soft of his skin; fine stubble scratches your fingertips. Leaning up, you try not to get distracted in his eyes as you dab at the cut. You apologise as he hisses. It doesn’t look as intimidating when clean of blood, which is more than a relief. You dip back into the first aid kit and offer up two band aids. One is plain nude and the other Hello Kitty.

“Take your pick.”

He rolls his eyes with a small smile and grabs the Hello Kitty one, holding it out to you. You shift onto your knees, bending over him to plant it over his cut. You notice a bruise forming on his cheek bone on the other side, and a cut lip. You should have insisted he stayed over when he dropped you off. He looks up, as if he can hear your thoughts, and meets your gaze. You can’t seem to find it in yourself to move away.

“It’s not your fault,” he quietly says.

You swallow. It’s scary how easy he can read you. Makes you worry what other thoughts he can tell from your face. “Wished you just stayed here.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Hate the thought of you going back to that house.”

“That’s sweet,” he smiles. “But if I didn’t go, I wouldn’t have you here taking care of me.”

“Oh, was it all part of your masterplan?” you joke, finding your smile again. His seems to grow at the sight.

“Something like that.”

When his lips press to yours, you’re taken aback. It feels like fire, searing hot, and you flinch like you’ve been burnt. You gape at him, wide eyed, and it seems to register what he’s just done. You both move to put as much space between you as possible, as if trying to keep the blaze from spreading.

“Shit, I—”

“I should go back to bed,” you hurry out.

JJ nods. “Yeah, yeah. Course.”

In your scramble to get back to your feet and back in your room, the first aid kit falls to the floor, the contents spilling out. You cuss and drop to your knees, rushing to retrieve all the clutter. JJ joins you, passing you gloves and bandages. You find some nerve to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he says. The sincerity in his voice…It’s painful.

“It’s okay. I don’t…It isn’t…”

You sigh. Your speech is just as messed as your mind. Closing your eyes, gathering your words, you take a deep breath. Looking back to JJ, you shake your head.

“We can’t.”

“I know,” he replies, almost sadly. Nods once more. “Yeah, I know. I’m just…high. And tired.”

“Right. Course.”

And whilst his excuses should sting, they don’t, because you don’t believe them. JJ smokes enough weed to not be affected all that much by half a joint. But you don’t argue. Instead, you close the box and go to head inside. You stop in the doorway.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you say.

You spare him one last glance. He’s on the floor, head hung and back to you, and you consider staying. But you don’t. You go straight to bed, acting as if a fresh start tomorrow will reset the entire thing.

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

In the morning, JJ’s gone. John B doesn’t seem to have even realised he’d stayed over. You find your older brother in the kitchen, washing up the dirty dishes. Swiping up a towel, you come to help.

“Hey. Sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” you lie. “You?”

“Like a rock,” he grins. “You still up for that keggar tonight, at the boneyard?”

“Oh shit, that’s tonight?”

“Yeah. All the others are going,” John B says.

“Yeah, I’ll go. I think I’m catching a ride with Lizzy from work.”

“Alright. Just stay safe.”

“I will,” you drawl. He smiles at you before turning back to the washing up. “Hey, John B?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For letting me stay here.”

“Yeah, course,” he says. He pauses his handy work, turning his attention to you. “You’ve always got a bed to crash on here, even if child services are up my ass.”

“I appreciate it. I really needed to get out of Colorado.”

The seven missed calls from your mom slip into your mind. Her texts go unanswered, but she knows you read them. You don’t want her to think you’re in danger. Talking to her is just too much right now.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I needed you back too,” he says. “Things have been kinda messy since my dad…disappeared. I don’t know what I’d do if I was on my own.”

“You’re never gonna be on your own, though,” you smile. “The Pogues would do anything for you. It’s actually kinda scary.”

John B laughs at that. “Yeah, yeah, they’re, uh, not the smartest.”

“Apart from Pope,” you point out. He nods, smiling as he looks back to the soapy water.

“Yeah, apart from Pope.”

“JJ cares about you a lot,” you feel the need to add. His voice last night, apology ready, after your kiss, echoes in your mind.

“I know. I feel like you two are the best things in my life right now,” John B admits. The guilt multiples by tenfold with that. You fix your face when he looks to you. “So, thanks.”

“No worries, big bro,” you reply, nudging his shoulder with yours.

He laughs. “Thanks, little sis.”

With that, you both continue cleaning the pots. The shame from last night gets shoved down into the deepest, darkest pit of your stomach, and you try to go about your day without sparing another thought to JJ.

On the way to the keggar, Lizzy grills you about your ‘crush’ on Tom. “He’s gonna be there tonight, I think.”

“Oh, really?” you say. You know you don’t sound enthused. It’s too much effort to pretend.

“Everything good?” she frowns, glancing away from the road.

You nod and plaster on a smile. “Yeah, yeah. Just tired, I think.”

“Couple drinks in you and you’ll be wide awake, I promise,” she assures.

Nodding, you shift in your seat and look out the window. Your skirt rides up in the processes. It’s a little short but it’s so ridiculously hot tonight, you can’t seem to care. A crotchet style crop-top dresses down the outfit. You don’t want to seem like you’re trying too hard for a beachside keggar. As you pull up closer to the boneyard, cars line the roads. Lizzy finds a spot and parks. You grab the crate of Budlight and her the box of White Claw, and you hop out the car towards the beach. Her stories about work and school have brightened your mood.

She’s tall and remarkably cool in a way that you never will be. She has stick and poke tattoos on her knees and elbows, and nine piercings on one ear. Her nose ring and snake bite piercings are far from intimidating on her cherub like features. The buzzcut has been dyed neon blue, standing bright against her dark skin. As you pass groups of teens, she shouts hello to those she recognises and shares the odd bro-hug.

You add your drinks to the pile of booze before grabbing a can, cracking it open. A quick scan of the scene tells you that the Pogues are still pre-drinking at the Chateau. You’d managed to dodge JJ so far.

“This is a pretty decent turn out,” Lizzy tells you, swigging from her can.

“Know a lot of people here?”

“Sure,” she says. She points to a gaggle of polo-shirt wearing pretty boys who look like they could snap you with one finger. “Those are the gym rat kooks. That tall blonde Topper is with the princess of Figure Eight, Sarah Cameron.”

JJ was right: biceps without a brain. You watch as he shotguns a drink and cracks the can on his forehead. Sarah Cameron, blonde hair straight flowing down her back, does not look impressed.

“And her brother Rafe. That guy’s all kinds of whacked out,” Lizzy mutters. You follow her finger to spot a tall, short haired guy. He looks unapproachable, even from far away.

“Yo Lizzy!”

You both turn to find a crowd of girls and guys. One of them is waving at Lizzy and she waves back.

“Come on, I know these guys. They’re cool,” she tells you, taking your hand and guiding you over.

You’re introduced to everyone and soon enough are roped into beer pong and shots. It’s fun though. Everyone’s having a laugh, cheering each other on. You hear about some good spots to grab food and learn Michael, Lizzy’s closest friend, can drink you under the table. A few hours in and there’s a comfortable buzz to your bones. You haven’t thought about the Pogues, or JJ, or the fleeting kiss all night. As you laugh along to one of Michael’s soccer stories, someone taps you on the shoulder. You turn around to come face to face with Tom.

“Hey,” you smile, squiffy.

“Hey! I didn’t know you were coming tonight.”

“Yeah, I came with Lizzy.”

“Hey, Tom,” she smiles before sending you a more than suggestive look. Oh, shit. The lie. “Hey, why don’t you go get my girl a top up?”

Before you can contest, she’s taking your half full can out of your hand and coaxing you away with an assuring smile. Tom takes it in stride and walks with you to the coolers. He grabs two cans of beer, passing one to you, and you cheers him.

“How you finding Kildare?”

“Good.”

“Yeah? You been hanging with John B’s crowd, right?”

“Most of the time, yeah,” you smile, nodding. He makes a face before taking a drink. You frown. “What?”

“Nah, nothing. They’re just kinda…well, I mean, some people think they’re bad news.”

“Some people, huh?” you say cautiously.

“Just reputations and all that. Like that JJ guy. He’s got slippery fingers, if you know what I mean,” Tom says, wiggling his own in demonstration.

Suddenly this conversation is very unappealing. You glance off to Lizzy and the others. “I should probably get back to them. Thanks for the drink, though.”

“No, hey, no,” Tom says. He grabs you by the wrist. “Come on, I was being a dick. I’ve had one too many. Let’s just hang, alright? I really wanna get to know you.”

You look between him and Lizzy and sigh. Taking a swig, you shrug. “Alright.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tick you off.”

“I like the Pogues. They’re a good group,” you feel the need to defend.

“No, yeah, they are!” Tom agrees. You can smell the stench of liquor on his breath. “I just don’t want you to get corrupted by them.”

“Excuse me?”

“Just, you’re new here—”

“And so I’m clueless on how to judge people?” you finish sardonically.

Tom rolls his eyes and it makes your anger tick. “Come on, you don’t gotta be a bitch about this.”

“What did you just call me? You know what? Forget it,” you scoff, snatching your arm away from his hold. “Have fun drinking on your own.”

But you don’t get very far before he’s grabbing at you again. “Calm down, would you? Just gimme—”

“Let go!” you demand.

His grip only tightens. The strong front you’re putting on begins to crumble under the panic of this guy is way bigger than me.

“Just quit bitching and we can talk,” he says harshly.

“I don’t want to talk. Now please let go of me,” you firmly return.

He doesn’t let go. Keeps chattering away, insisting that you have to hear him out.

“Let go, Tom!”

“Everything good here?”

Your wide eyes look away from Tom and land on JJ, and your whole body relaxes. He’s looking at you and the panic must read clear on your face because his demeanour changes in a split second. Jaw tight, he turns to Tom.

“I think you should let go, man.”

“You think I’m gonna listen to you?” Tom scoffs.

JJ takes another step towards him. He towers over Tom by enough to be intimidating. “Think you should listen to her.”

“Oh, I get it,” Tom snarls. He lets go of you and you can feel your skin breathing. You rub at the pink marks, easing the sting. Tom gets into JJ’s face, undeterred from a fight. “You wanna keep John B’s sloppy sister for yourself, huh?”

JJ’s fist flies at Tom’s face, making an ugly, visceral sound as it lands on his left cheek. You gasp. Nearly knocked off balance, Tom stumbles on the sand. The commotion has drawn in somewhat of a crowd. Before you can intervene, Tom’s throwing hands. He aims an upper cut to JJ’s jaw but he’s quick to dodge, landing his own punch instead by Tom’s eyebrow. That one seems to deter him. He trips backwards. The chanting of the crowds egging it on makes you feel sick. You’d just finished patching JJ up last night, and you’ve seen his anger before. It takes control quickly and blinds him to reason. The last thing he needs is to wind up in a cell. So, before he can land another hit, you’re stepping forward and grabbing at his arm, stopping him.

“Come on, let’s just go,” you say pleadingly.

His chest is heaving with anger, breathing short and jaw heavy set and tense. He hesitates, looking between yourself and Tom. He’s still cradling his last hit, trying to regain his composure. Sighing, JJ lets you lead him away. Tom’s heckling is laced with slurs directed at you, and you have to keep a steady grip on JJ to keep him from going back.

“He’s not worth it, JayJ,” you mutter.

“You’re so wrong,” JJ darkly returns, but he doesn’t go back.

Away from the beach, back on the road, you let go. He paces for a moment, trying to calm himself. Tugs off his cap and rakes his fingers through his hair, breathing deep and slow. You don’t speak: just let him go through the motions. Babying him through this isn’t going to help anyone.

Whilst violence isn’t the answer to anything, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t grateful for JJ’s help.

Letting him cool off, you take a seat on one of the fallen tree trunks.

“Hey.”

Looking up, JJ walks over. He’s mostly back to himself.

“You okay? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No. Just freaked me out a bit. He’s not usually like that. He’s just drunk.”

“Like that’s an excuse,” JJ scoffs. He takes the spot next to you, sitting worryingly close.

The culmination of last night and tonight makes your head spin. The effects of the alcohol vanished the moment Tom took a hold of you. Now you just want to forget the whole thing.

“Wanna get out of here?” JJ asks.

You turn your head to face him and smile smally, nodding.

“Come on. I brought my bike.”

His red bike is parked beside the Twinkie. He climbs on first and offers a hand to help you onto the back. Your arms slot around his middle, circling around his taught chest, pressing yourself against him. Face resting on the middle of his back, you try not to inhale the smell of him. It might be too much for tonight. His calloused hands on yours have you shifting your hold, ensuring your tight against him like a backpack.

“Good?”

“Good,” you quietly reply.

He kicks off the stand and starts up the engine. You pull away from the keggar and up the road, zipping down the isolated streets. There’s nobody around at this time. Not a soul in sight. It feels so right, wrapped up against him like this, safe in his presence. Tom was wrong: JJ wasn’t bad news. Sure, he was a klepto, but he was the same guy who learnt how to sew to fix your favourite pair of shorts when you were little. The same guy who stepped up when some dirtbag was harassing you. The same guy who remembered you don’t like pickles on your burgers. Who looked at your paintings as if they were Picasso.

Somewhere along the ride, one of JJ’s hands comes to rest on your own. You don’t ask why and don’t pull away. Just let the reassuring weight of his hand on yours stay there and ground you to him like an anchor. Here, flying through the night, you can pretend like all the other shit doesn’t matter. It’s just you and him.

He starts onto a dirt track, slowing down, and a house emerges. Pastel yellow painted exterior hidden behind porch netting. There’s clutter of engines and fishing gear amongst surfing supplies. He pulls to a stop and kicks on the stand, turning off the engine. It’s quiet now, without its rumble. “Your dad home?” you can’t help but ask, staring at the front door.

JJ shakes his head. “No. He’s out on Friday nights. Kinda the only routine he has.”

You don’t ask where and he doesn’t expand. You step off the bike and watch as he clambers off too. Fixing your skirt, you wait for him to talk. He doesn’t. “I should probably head back,” you say. You’re not entirely sure why you came to his place instead. You’d assumed when you got on the bike that he’d take you back the Chateau.

“I mean, we can share a joint first if you want. Help you calm down and stuff, after that shitshow,” JJ half-chuckles.

There’s something heavy in the humid air. It’s hard to describe, hard to place, but you can feel it like static electricity. You find yourself nodding. He nods too and starts up to the house, hands in his black short pockets. You watch his feet sink into the grass and guide your eyes up his figure. His shoulders are tense, dressed under a thin t-shirt. He ditches his cap on the kitchen counter when you walk through the door. Through the house, past the neglection, and to his bedroom. He flicks on the light and clears his throat as he goes to his desk drawer.

You stand, leaning against his door until it clicks closed, and look around his room. There’s a world map pinned to the wall but no markings on it asides from one: Kildare, North Carolina. Print outs of palm trees and pressed, framed butterflies and leaves seem less innocent when placed between posters of models on the beach. The floor is a mess of dirty clothes and empty beer cans. Several dead vapes litter near the overflowing bin, and cigarette and joint buds scatter the windowsill and beside table. But the smell of JJ hangs strong in the air; it makes you smile to yourself.

“Alright,” JJ sighs. The desk drawer slams closed and he turns around, holding up a fresh joint and lighter. His initials are scratched into the metal: JJ. He sits on the bed and places the blunt between his lips, flicking at his lighter. You watch him take a drag and take it off him when he offers it over.

No words are shared as you pass the bud for several minutes. You both glance around the room, at the floor, at the ceiling, anywhere but each other.

“How’s your face?”

“Huh?” he asks, finally meeting your eyes.

You nod to his cheek. “Your cut from the other night?”

“Oh, right,” he mumbles. He lifts a finger and strokes it absentmindedly. “It’s alright.”

“Good.”

JJ hands you the joint again, you take a drag, you pass it back to him. That same feeling from earlier, when you first climbed off the bike, has only amplified.

“So…”

You brave clearing the distance between you. You take the spot next to him on the bed.

“We gonna talk about it.”

“What’s there to talk about?” JJ deflects, studying the floor.

“Well, you kissed me,” you eventually reply, taking the joint back. “So, there’s that.”

“I already told you,” he sighs. “I was tired and doped up.”

When you say nothing, he looks up at you. "What? You think I'm lying?"

You take a drag. Shrugging, you honestly reply, “yeah, a little.”

He holds your gaze as if challenging you to back down. You don’t. Beating around the bush won’t help anything here, and its obvious you can’t go back to acting like it didn’t happen. You can’t move past it until you know why he did.

“S’just weird,” JJ mutters, looking away. “What happened last night, with me and you. S’just weird.”

“Yeah, it was weird for me too,” you agree. Swallowing, you take another hit. “But not bad weird, right?”

JJ’s head lifts once more. His eyes flash across your face like he’s searching for some kind of trap. He sucks his teeth in contemplation. “No. Not bad weird.”

Your heart stutters, breathing shaky and unsure. You feel your eyes dart down to his strawberry pink lips, and his to yours. But then he’s shaking his head. “What are we doing?”

“I don’t know…” you breathe. You’re transfixed on his lips. Can’t move away, can’t bring yourself too. The blunt in your fingers is burning away, ash dropping to the floor, but you don’t care. All of it, everything but JJ, is white noise.

The moment you flit your eyes up to his, something shifts in him. His jaw ticks as he clenches it. Your brows pull in thought but there’s no time for you to ask.

“Fuck it.”

His lips are on yours within a breadth. He consumes your senses like a drug, dulling down anything else until all your thoughts are on him. He grabs for the blunt in your fingers, haphazardly putting it on the bedside table, and then his hands are sliding up along your sides, up your back, into your hair. One finds purchase on your cheek, and you rest your jaw in his hold like a bird settled in its favourite branch. The way he holds you like you’re something holy is different to how sinful his kiss is. It’s pure passion: raw, animalistic heat from weeks of build-up. And, God, it feels so right. The way his tongue brushes against yours, warm in your mouth, heavy in your head. The nip of his teeth on your lips and the fanning of his breath when he has to break for air. You’ve never been kissed like this before, not by anyone. It’s dizzying.

Until it isn’t, and he’s pulling away. His forehead rests against your own. You’re both panting. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” he says.

You slide a hand up his neck, tracing his jawline with your fingers. He practically melts under your touch, eyes slipping shut. “I know,” you whisper distractedly. Your thumb traces his lower lip. It’s swollen from your kisses.

He blinks his eyes open. “I’m serious. He can’t know.”

“He won’t,” you say, going to reconnect your lips.

But JJ stops you. “No, he can’t. He’d…God, he just can’t.”

You want to cry, seeing the moral dilemma weigh on JJ, feeling you share the burden. But the thought of walking away from this, of not feeling every inch of him, of never hearing him fall apart, makes you want to sob.

“Maybe just one time,” you murmur. Your finger traces down his chin, along the centre of his neck. “And we can just get it out of our system.”

“Yeah,” JJ mumbles. “Yeah, one time.”

“Yeah?”

You meet his gaze. His pupils are dilated, heavy with lust, and you feel your body ignite. “Touch me, please.”

With that simple mark of consent, JJ’s unchained. He doesn’t hold back when your lips reconnect. Somehow it becomes deeper, rougher, better. It’s such a strange oxymoron, the way he touches you and kisses you. You pull away to remove your crop top, and he takes the moment to strip off his shirt. The two of you are shameless as you take in the other. Reaching out a hand, you run your fingers up his chest in the way that you’ve imagined so many times before. It’s funny how in your head, you’ve already done it. His eyes dip down, watching your hands explore. You lean forward, pressing a kiss to his left pectoral, then his right. Sighing, his chest drops up and down with uneven breathes.

“So pretty,” you say through your kisses.

His fingers tether into your hair. There’s a slight tug that sends ripples of pleasure through your body in ways that it shouldn’t as he pulls you away, guiding your lips back to him. As he crawls atop of you, you inch up the bed, skirt riding up. You settle on our back. JJ’s greedy in his touch. Strokes your skin, explores your body, like it’s his own. And in a way it is because you’d give him anything if he asked. When his fingers slip behind your back, searching for the clasp of your bra, you lift yourself onto your elbows. He holds your gaze as he unfastens it, guiding it off your shoulders, helping it off your arms.

“Fuck,” he sighs.

A smile teases at your lips. It takes a certain type of guy to make you blush at the sound of his curses. Your head rocks back, eyes sinking closed, as his lips latch around your nipple. A hand palms at the skin, teasing your breast, exploring your reactions. You sigh out your pleasure, bringing a hand up to mess with his hair. It’s better than you imagined. Tops every fantasy, every wet dream, every sinful thought. And it’s only just begun.

“So fucking sexy,” JJ groans, kissing up your body until he finds your lips.

You don’t want him away from you. He looms over you, encasing you in the safe, consuming feeling of his presence, trapping you in the smell of his cologne and soap that you’ve tried so desperately to avoid. Through the kisses and love bites marked into necks and collarbones, you feel one of his hands ghost the outline of your figure. Traces down so slowly like you might not even notice. Down, down, to your panties. It’s there that he sweeps over your cotton covered mound. You sigh against his lips in anticipation.

“I know you’ve been thinking ‘bout this,” JJ says.

His voice is just as you pictured it: deep and crooning, his Southern accent at forefront. You want to bottle it like brandy and drink it until you black out. His lips work down your neck as he lightly circles your clit over your panties and you can’t stop your moan.

“I heard you, the other night.” Your eyes shoot open. JJ meets your gaze. He’s dying, the desperation clear as day on his face. His eyes themselves could send him straight to hell. There’s the shadow of a smirk.

“Were you thinking of me, whilst you were getting off?”

You go to push him away. The last thing you need is for him to tease you about it and make fun. But he doesn’t let you. Instead, he kisses just below your ear.

“Cause I think about you. Every night since you’ve been back. Can’t jack off to anything else,” he confesses into the crux of your ear. Your only reply is a small, surprised gasp. Your body’s ablaze with his words.

His fingers finally dip below your panties, sliding between your soaking folds. He groans at the sensation and you feel your legs give way. He works at you for a while, toying with you like it’s a side hobby. You’re only half aware of the sounds you make. One of your hands has situated itself on his upper back, nails scratching at the skin. JJ can’t seem to keep his mouth shut. It’s one blasphemy after another, and it drives you deeper and deeper into the abyss. He seems to become impatient. He removes fingers to push your underwear down. You kick them off at the ankles with a small giggle.

The moment his finger sinks into you, you swear you’ve seen heaven. JJ worships you, taking his time to inch you closer and closer to the edge. Another finger, then another. The stretch is heaven. Your back arches off the bed, mouth agape, brain dumb with pleasure. He won’t be quiet. He whispers praises into your ear. Narrates his own fantasies he’s harboured about you. Know you’ve been teasing me with those tiny bikinis. I wish I fucked you on the porch the other night. The moment his thumb swipes over your clit, you know you’re close. And then he’s bending his fingers just slightly, hitting that spot. You abandon all religion: this is the only type of prayer you need.

JJ has the audacity to laugh as you climax. You grasp uselessly at his body, the bedsheets, anything. You use a shaky hand to push his fingers away, overstimulated, and he finally relents. Starts kissing at your neck like a Goddamn vampire.

“That good, huh?”

You can’t really formulate words. You just drag his face to yours, kissing him senseless. When you inevitably part for breath, JJ leans back. He pinches your chin between two fingers, gnawing at his lower lip, and parts your lips for him. Your body pulses at the submissiveness he’s placed you under. Then his used fingers are slipped into your mouth. You close your lips around them, holding his gaze as you suck them clean. The salty distinct taste is unfamiliar but not necessarily unpleasant. He gives a small laugh, like he’s in disbelief.

“Fuck. Why did we wait so long to do this?”

You pull his hand free, taking grip on his shoulders. Pushing him against his bedroom wall, you move to straddle him. His hands fall onto your hips. Somewhere in your heady make-out, you rock yourself back on him. JJ groans; his head knocks back against the wall. He’s rock hard. It must be torture. You shuffle off him to make room to pull his shorts off. They join the mess of clothes on the floor. The tip leaks precum, straining painfully. You go to jack him off but JJ stops you.

“I won’t last,” he admits, half-embarrassed.

You nod, biting back your smile. “You got protection?”

“Top drawer,” he says, nodding to the bedside table.

You lean over and dig about before finding a condom. You come back, tear it open, and gently slide it over him. He lets out a shuddering breath at your touch, eyes clenched shut in concentration. It makes you feel slightly guilty for letting him indulge you for so long, but this will pay it back.

Straddling him once more, you steady yourself with one hand on either shoulder. His find home on your hips once more, and he helps you line up. Then you slowly sink down onto him. The stretch stings despite the earlier efforts. Head hanging forward, mouth falling open in silent moans, eyes clenching shut, you take him in. JJ’s mumbling praises, eyes transfixed on where you connect, spurring you on. Taking me so good. Jus’little more. You rock against him, using whatever energy you have to ride him. He helps guide you, head resting against the wall. You love that he isn’t quiet. Love that you’re on top and can see every ripple of pleasure course through him, reflect on his face. But when his eyes slip shut, you take a hand and guide his face to yours. Pressing your forehead against him, you lean forward and steady yourself with a hand on his chest. The new angle is euphoric. You moan and whine against his lips, eyes staring into his own. It’s the most hideously lewd symphony as the two of you chase your highs. There’s only one thought in your mind. And when JJ comes unannounced, shuddering as he finishes, never looking away from your eyes, only one thought is in your mind.

If it can only happen this once, it has to be perfect...

to be continued (part 2 will be released later this week)

#jj #jj maybank x reader #jj x reader #obx #outer banks #obx fics #outer banks fic #obx fic #obx preference #outer banks preference #jj preference #jj maybank preference #routledge!reader #jj x routledge!reader #brothersbestfriend!jj #brothersbestfriend!jj x reader #jj x fem!reader #jj maybank x fem!reader #fem!reader

461 notes · View notes

castielsprostate · 1 month ago

Text

VENOM 3 SPOILERS AHEAD!!! and veryyyy unorganized thoughts below the cuttt!!!

first of all. OH MY GOD. genuinely this was a beautifully executed storyline, with the most bitter, heartwrenching ending. tom hardy when i fucking GET YOU!!!!!!!!!!

okay. im in actual, real life tears over this movie. venom saved eddie's life within, what? 3 days of knowing him? a week tops? and venom brought eddie back from the fucking dead!!!!!!! DESPITE KNOWING!!!!!!!!! WHAT WOULD HAPPEN!!!!!! despite knowing he would trigger the codex, venom still saved eddie's fucking life! which is especially interesting considering the symbiote in mulligan, which i am assuming was in him for a WHILE, left him to die (fair!) at the end of the second movie! venom saved eddie's life. without a second thought.

also this definitely was a love story between eddie and venom. they literally had their break up arc in the second movie(!) and this tied a beautiful, bitter end to their very tragic story. venom saying, to eddie, what martin said. "until we meet again", genuine tears in my eyes. it showed venom's humanity, everything he learned, from eddie and others. to me, personally, venom is still with eddie. they're living symbiotically, with eddie on one side of the door and venom on the other. nierka(??? i totally butchered that lmao). eddie saying i will never forget you buddy while looking at lady liberty. GOD. eddie isn't alone anymore! eddie won't EVER be alone!!!!!!!!!! despite what everyone told him!!!!!!!!! eddie has venom, maybe not physically right now, but he still has a part of him!!!!!!!! they're both free. they're both. GAH.

also there still is a bit of venom left. in a tiny test tube, at the bottom of area 55. don't think i forgot about that!!!!! he's still there, they never showed us that it actually got destroyed. and EYE believe that venom found eddie, after they blew up. and it somehow, in some marvel magic sparkles way reset the codex. they still have each other, until the end!!!!! TILL DEATH DO THEY PART!!!!!!!!!!!!!

genuinely, the writers cared. tom hardy cared!!!!!!! i don't know how many people he had to keep under gunshot to get this, but he gave us a beautiful trilogy about love and friendship and humanity and finding each other. the queerness of it all, the found family (except the chickens. how DARE eddie give the chickens away. for that alone he should've died).

eddie saying he was born with it [the weird arms] also just. god it added another layer didn't it? also what actually happened to that guy. like. he got his bar destroyed, and then he got fucking tazed lmao??? what did they do to him????? also the WAY that in the "sacred timeline" the bartender looked all cleaned up and put together despite the fucking snap 💀💀💀💀 and how the bar was nicer. the disney filter!!!!!!!!!

that also left a very veryyy clear way for them to bring eddie!venom back but in the MCU, because they didn't show the TVA resetting the timeline! venom saying eddie would've made a great father. well. you had carnage and i think it's best you don't try again huh.

i missed anne, but i think that her not being there was. good? it was good. she and eddie truly loved each other as friends and whilst i hoped they'd at least have a phone call or a singular scene together, i do get why they didn't! she moved on with her life, and it was time for eddie to move on with his. her telling venom to keep him safe at the end of the second movie. and he did! he gave his own life for eddie's, he kept his promise. i just. GOD. venom keeping eddie alive as the symbiotehunters kept coming and coming and coming. keeping eddie from looking back, and healing him one. last. time. HE DIDN'T EVEN NEED TO SAY I LOVE YOU!!!!! EDDIE JUST KNEW!!!!!!! EDDIE!!!!!! KNEW!!!!!!!!!!!

eddie saying "but i need him". it had me bawling. BAWLING. but i need him. oh eddie. EDDIE. 😭😭😭😭😭 anne said he was too afraid of commitment and yet. AND YET. he was willing to DIE for an alien!!!!!! and to then say he needs him. god.

was the movie a bit retconn-y? maybe. did they use this as a segway for more movies with different characters? absolutely lmao. was it an ad for crocs? yes that too. but i think that this was a good end. they won't drag it out, they won't destroy a good comic for more money (for now). the song choices were also OUTSTANDING. the symbiotes coming together to save eddie and venom, because they knew!!!!! THEY KNEW!!!!!!!! eddie nor venom sparing a second look at sexy ladies!!!!!!!!!!! the dancing with mrs chen!!!!!!!! GAH

to me, right now, eddie and venom are sitting on a beach, toes in the sand, finally sipping the bloody mary that venom didn't get to drink at the beginning with miss chen on one side, anne and dan enjoying the ocean, and agent mulligan on the other side. alive, happy, together. and the bartender. he's there too. for funsies.

#sjonnie.text #venom 3 #venom spoilers #venom #venom 3 spoilers #movie analysis #if anyone DARES to say this movie was queerbait i will personally rip your head off

54 notes · View notes

lieslab · 3 months ago

Text

Will you have me or watch me fall?

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Chan X gn reader

Summary: You're part of Chan's mafia, but after you lose your leg in a car accident, coping with the grief and pain seems to be nothing short of hell on earth.

Genre: Mafia AU

Word Count: 4.1K

Trigger warning: Descriptions of a car accident, alcohol, a creepy asshole, physical assault, depression, anxiety, grief, mentions of wanting to die, and insecurities.

A/N: I know this isn't a request, but I had an urge to write something mafia related. Also, I've realized that there are a lot of people out there that live with some physical struggles and disabilities that some people really don't think much about and that includes me. So I've created this to shed some light on something that some people have faced and live with daily. It's a shot in the dark, but I hope it makes someone feel seen <3

_ _ _

It was all you had ever known for years. For so long, you forgot what ordinary life was life. A mirage of tangled memories seemed to be there and then they fell. They entirely fell apart within the span of an hour. One moment you were driving and glancing down to switch the radio. The next, you were screaming as you swerved the wheel to avoid the oncoming semi-truck.

Whether you had changed lanes while switching stations or it crossed into yours, you didn’t know. Life turned into a hazy blur in those few seconds. Time came to a screeching halt as you lost control of your car. Glass shattered, you felt yourself flip, your forehead went flying into the steering wheel, and then your neck snapped back into the headrest.

When you came back around, red and blue flashing lights mixed with the high-pitched whirring of an ambulance. It smelled like burnt rubber and gasoline. There were faint voices of cops and someone was calling out to you, but you didn’t understand it.

Your head was trapped in a fog and nothing made sense. There was a tingling sensation in your leg that wouldn’t go away. When you drifted back into the unconscious void, the feeling was still there. It was the last thing you felt before the world went dark.

When you wake up in the hospital after a major accident, the main task of nurses and doctors is to keep you relaxed. Putting you in distress can cause a delay in healing of your injuries. It’s important to feed you information a little at a time, especially if you’re not fully there.

It took you three days of fading in and out of consciousness before you found Bang Chan’s voice and it stuck. As the leader of the group, he had been there from the start. In your phone, he was the first emergency contact. When he first got the call and it was reported that you were in an accident, he thought of the worst things possible.

Maybe you were brain dead and just barely surviving; forced to use a breathing tube to keep your organs alive. Perhaps, you were unrecognizable in that bed. Your body smashed from blunt force trauma and a brain injury that would leave you the shell of who you once were.

During the whole ride there, all he could do was clutch his steering wheel and begin to pray for your safety. He flew out of the house still in his pajamas. Shirtless in gray sweatpants, he threw on a black hoodie for the sake of the people he’d encounter. His sneakers were barely tied as he booked it to his car and tried to get to you as fast as possible.

As for you? The pieces of the puzzle came together once Chan rushed through the double doors. The squeaky sterile floors with too bright white lights. A face full of worry and lips pushed tight together in a straight line of fear. He didn’t have the heart to ask the nurse how you were.

When he saw you hooked up to the heart rate monitor and a bag of pain meds, he nearly burst into tears. The sight of you covered in scrapes and bruises was haunting. The nurse reassured him that they were doing everything they could to take care of you.

It took three days until you were awake long enough to hear the details from Chan. You went out on an evening drive to clear your head. They didn’t know what exactly happened, but you lost control of the car and you ended up slamming into a fully grown maple tree.

In the dead of night, overturned maple leaves fluttered above the car like a protective canopy. The scent of petrichor hung in the ozone. The threat of a severe thunderstorm hanging in the balance made the entire scene so much worse.

Cops, firefighters, and paramedics mingled as they attempted to get you out of the vehicle to the hospital. You knew you were injured, you remembered the pain in your leg before you fell victim to the darkness. You assumed you broke your leg and maybe, if you were unfortunate enough, maybe in multiple places.

Out of everything you could have imagined, losing your leg wasn’t one of them. Even hearing the words uttered from Chan’s lips, you couldn’t believe it. You refused to believe any of it until you ripped the wool blanket from over your body. To your surprise, the lower half of your leg was missing. Wrapped in multiple bandages and stitched together with stitches, all you could do was stare in horror while your brain attempted to process the missing limb.

That was months ago. Days blended together between pain medicine, doctor visits, rehabilitation, occupational therapists, and the new normal. Everyone is different when it comes to amputation. Some people receive prosthetics quicker than others. Some deal with infections and some suffer so much mental anguish that living day to day without a limb, it seems unbearable.

As for you, you hid the truth about your feelings. The mental torture, the realization that you’d never have both legs, and having to rely on others, it was taking a toll and it had been since it happened.

You lived your life on your own terms. You always had and you always planned to. Yeah, you were part of the gang, but you were independent as hell. Nobody could tell you what to do unless it was Chan. That was just how it was and how you lived your life.

Relearning and coping with the new normal, it left you with sleepless nights. On the nights you struggled with phantom limb pain, the feeling of pain where your leg was no longer attached, you kept your crying sessions silent. Through every tingle, cramp, and ache, you kept it to yourself. To the guys, you were a trooper, but in your own head, you were a failure.

Chan forced you to stay out of missions while you healed. One night, you had enough. On the shiny metal prosthetic, you slammed the door open to the meeting room while Chan was explaining the next mission.

Your sudden appearance was a shock to everyone, including him. “I want in,” you finally uttered. “I want in this mission and you don’t get to tell me no. If I have to stay here while you all go somewhere again, I’ll lose it.”

The guys all exchanged glances. Chan’s eyes looked down at the clipboard he was holding. He didn’t look thrilled about it, but he couldn’t say no to you. After a few moments of silence, he finally gestured you to the empty seat that used to be yours. You walked over, sat down, and he began reassigning parts again.

That was last month and ever since, you were still struggling to cope. Losing a limb is never easy. From the tip of a pinkie being slammed in a car door, a hand being crushed in a factory, to an arm being ripped off via a combine, or a crushed leg in a car accident; no matter how small, they weren’t easy.

From self-doubt, to shame and embarrassment, the emotional exhaustion when it comes to retelling the story over and over and over again to everyone who asks; losing a limb is hard. The phantom pain that lingers from hours to days, the physical exhaustion from trying to heal, and the mental toll it takes on everyone around you, it’s not always easy to get through.

Tonight’s mission, you found yourself on the dance floor of some random club. Most members were spread throughout the area with ear-pieces in their ears and you were no different. You found yourself on the dance floor.

Spinning under dazzling light and feeling the bass blast through you beneath your sturdy feet, you finally felt free. Across the way, Chan and Minho kept an eye on you from a table. To blend in, the two of them had drinks that they seemed to be nursing.

The rest of the guys were scattered throughout the club. Someone at the front entrance and another at the back. Someone lazily leaned over the balcony above and a few more blended between the lively crowds of drunk and tipsy people. From where you moved around on the dance floor, you knew exactly who you were looking for. Chan had drilled the guy’s appearance into everyone’s brains. Apparently, he crossed Chan and that was unforgivable in Chan’s eyes.

Whether it was unpaid dues, straight up fuckery, or making threats that’d never be carried out, crossing Chan was like crossing God. The difference between Chan and God was that you could pray and God would forgive you. You could get on your knees and plead for your life in front of Chan, but a dead man was a dead man.

At a small table, Chan sucked in a deep breath as his nostrils flared. Minho glanced over at Chan and realized he was looking over at you. “You know that they’re fine, right? They’re taking care of themselves pretty well.”

“I don’t appreciate how many people are approaching them. I don’t like any of it. I should have had them skip this mission.”

“You can’t keep them from these things forever.”

“Well, I can fucking try!” He snapped angrily. He stood up and slammed his chair beneath the table. Minho rolled his eyes while Chan’s half-empty glass of whisky spilled outside of the cup. He reached over to clean it up and Chan headed in your direction.

There was pulsing energy looping around the place, but he couldn’t focus on it. Ever since you lost your leg, he’d been worried about you, they all had. Warm bodies were pressed up against one another. The air inside the bar smelled like cigarette smoke, a faint whiff of alcohol, and the overpowering stench of sweat.

The alcohol made everyone too warm. The tipsy and swaying dance floor, the beat of the drums, the way the dancers shifted throughout the place and snaked around men like snakes, he hated it. He hated that this was the only place he thought they’d be able to capture the target.

A hand slithered across his shoulder and he shoved it off. One of the dancers wore a sheer lilac bodysuit. Pale skin shone through the sheerness and he wanted to roll his eyes, but he held it back. Usually, he wouldn’t have cared, but he wanted his attention to focus on you.

“What’s a hot guy like you doing out here all by yourself? What’s got your dick in a twist? Hmm?”

“Save it,” he grumbled as he kept walking.

“I could fix your problems with a private dance.”

“Not interested.”

“They’re on sale tonight for-”

“I said I’m not interested! Get lost!” Too irritated and annoyed, the next group of drunk people he came up to and wouldn’t move, he shoved through them. Not caring that they stumbled and almost fell, his eyes were still set on you.

On the dance floor, you had been stopped by some middle aged guy. His hand found your hip and when it did, you jerked away instantly. “Don’t do that, I’m not interested.”

“Aw, come on!” He called out to you. He stepped closer to you and grinned. “A pretty person like you could use a bit o-”

“I meant what I said.”

He laughed, not quite believing you. His hand cupped your torso and slid down and that’s when you snapped. Your hands shot out and you shoved the guy back. He stumbled and just barely managed to catch himself. “Hey! What the hell was that for?”

“Don’t touch me!”

“What are you going to do about it?” His dark eyebrows furrowed. He stepped closer, nearly pressing his chest right against yours. A feeling of disgust crept up your throat, so you took a step back.

Upset and feeling frustrated, you spun around to go back to the guys. You wanted to be near people you felt comfortable with. Besides, your prosthetic was starting to irritate your leg anyway. You were used to walking with it and sometimes jumping and running, but you hadn’t used it much to dance.

When you didn’t put up a fight, the guy saw red. He had been watching you for a while and all he wanted was a dance. Walking away from him hurt his ego. With an angry huff, he jerked his foot out. With a loud clunk, it slammed into the back of your prosthetic leg hard.

Chan’s eyes widened and he rushed through the crowd to get to you. On the dark floor, a choir of gasps and murmurs echoed around you. A lump built up in your throat at the pain surrounding your stump, but you refused to let tears fall.

Instead, your shaky fingers reached towards the disconnected limb. The force from the guy and the way you fell, it knocked it right off. You blinked rapidly and fiddled with the velcro strap to tighten it.

Sweat soaked the end of the stub. The darkness and the glossiness from tears made it difficult to see. You sniffled and just when you thought you might be slowly getting somewhere, Chan dropped to the ground beside you.

“Hey, are you okay?”

You faintly nodded, but your eyes didn’t meet his. You couldn’t bear to have him see you so weak. In front of this many people, you were already embarrassed. Shame filled you and flooded your system.

A wave of anger swept over Chan, but he forced it down. He wanted to go after the guy and knock his lights out, but his attention was focused on you. His fingers swept against yours and pulled them away from the fake limb. “I’ve got it, let me.”

You didn’t fight him because you were exhausted. You were so tired and drained. You wanted to go home and curl beneath the covers. You wanted to cry until it was impossible to cry anymore. You wanted to drown in your tears and self-misery.

“Did he hurt you?”

You shook your head. He stood up and reached out for your hands. You let him tug you to your feet and you placed all your weight on your good foot. When his hands move to your hips to steady you, he noticed the shift instantly. A frown filled his face and he scanned you up and down. “Why did you do that?”

You shrugged, but he wasn’t buying it. He moved your body, so you were forced to evenly distribute your weight. The moment you put weight on your prosthetic, pain shot through your leg. A yelp escaped your mouth and you jerked your weight back to the good leg.

His eyes went back to your prosthetic and he frowned. His eyes scanned your face, hoping you’d admit the truth. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you weakly managed to get out.

He stared at you and a stern look came across his face. “You don’t have to lie to me. I know something is wrong, so just tell me what it is. I want to help you, so please, what’s wrong?” One of his hands reached up to cup your cheek and that’s when your heart free fell.

You blinked rapidly again, more tears began to well in your eyes. “Not here.”

A soft sigh escaped his parted lips and he slowly scooped you into his arms. You didn’t fight it as he fought the crowd and managed to get you into the bathroom. He locked the door behind you and walked you over to the porcelain sink.

It probably wasn’t the best place, but it was the only place for now. You sat along the edge and your legs dangled towards the tiled ground. “What happened?” He tried again as his fingers began to undo your limb.

“A guy kicked the back of it.”

“I saw.”

“It hurt when I fell. The plastic section dug into my stump. There’s scarred tissue and it’s still tender sometimes. It just hurt, that’s all. It’s not a big deal.”

“I’m going to kill him,” Chan muttered beneath his breath. His fingers worked quickly to remove the limb and the silicone slip that covered your stump. The compression sock that you wore for support beneath it came off next.

Gentle fingers tenderly worked their way around the amputated leg. Shame filled you once more and your eyes found the ground. This wasn’t the first time that something like this happened and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

Ever since your leg had been amputated, everything was different. About a month after you were comfortable walking around on your new leg, Chan made everyone learn how to put it on you and take it off. You were so used to being independent, but this had been a major setback. You were forced to rely on people while your leg healed.

When his fingers slipped across a red inkling marking the side of your leg, you winced. He frowned and his eyes went to meet yours, but you still refused to look at him.

His voice came out softly when he spoke again. “Why aren’t you looking at me?” You didn’t respond, but he knew. He could see it in the way the glassiness in your eyes built up. Your bottom lip quivered and he knew you were close to cracking.

“Look at me.”

When you didn’t, he reached out and gently took your chin. He tilted your head towards him. “I don’t believe you. How bad does it hurt?”

“Like a rug burn.”

He shook his head. “No. There’s no way it’s just like that. If you fell and the sides cut into your skin, you have to be hurting a lot. How much does it hurt?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because I care about you.”

“Who cares about a bruised ego?” Your voice was hoarse as the tears finally silently fell down your cheeks. Chan’s heart dropped straight to the pit of his stomach. You reached up and quickly wiped away the falling tears.

“You don’t have to do that, you know. You don’t have to do that thing where you pretend to be strong in front of me. It’s okay if you fall apart. There’s nothing wrong with having a moment to-”

“I don’t want to have a moment!” You cut him off with a shrill voice. “Who gives a shit about a bruised ego? So what? Life goes on. Whatever.”

“I give a shit.”

“I-I wish,” tears slid down your cheeks faster, “I wish I would have died in the car accident. I should have died and I-”

Out of all the things he had heard you say since the accident, it was never anything like that. His fingers were still cupped around your chin. His fingers tightened their grip and he shook his head. “Don’t say that, you don’t mean that. You don’t mean that you-”

“I do! I mean it with everything! I mean every fucking word!”

The limbo he was stuck in at the hospital came rushing back to him. The way he felt like he was suffocating while he waited for you to wake up. The aimless walks around the barren hospital while he waited for your eyes to flutter open, so he could see them again.

Everyone was holding their breaths and assuming the worst. The group chat kept blowing up, but you never responded. As Chan texted the guys, they didn’t want to believe it. The prayers, the worry, the fear that they’d never see you alive again.

“You don’t mean it,” he whispered. “Don’t say that, you don’t understand.”

“It would have been better than-”

“It wouldn’t have been better for anyone! You’re part of our family!” His voice came out exasperated. “You don’t know what it was like to wonder if you were ever going to wake up again! Do you have any idea how much you even mean to us? Stop saying that!”

“Don’t tell me what to do!”

“Stop being so stubborn! Stop acting like it’d have been better if you died! Stop acting like you don’t care! I never want to hear you say anything like that ever again!”

“You don’t get it!” Your voice grew louder. “You have no fucking clue what it’s like!” You slapped his hand away and watched his face fall with shock.

“I don’t know what it’s like?” He scoffed and shook his head. “I don’t know what it’s like? Bullshit! Do you know what it’s like when someone you love is on the brink of death?”

“Stop making this about you! It’s not and it never has been!” The tears were hot rolling down your cheeks. It was a pool of lava around your heart bubbling and now it was exploding. “You’re not the one missing a leg! It’s not about you, it’s about me! You don’t have to wake up feeling useless every fucking morning!”

“Don’t say that, you’re not useless. No matter how many limbs you have, you’re not useless.”

“Every time we go out on missions, I’m not trusted anymore. I’m constantly being watched by everyone. The attention is on me and not on the surroundings. If something happens one day and someone gets hurt because I-” Your voice cut off.

“That’s not going to happen,” he tried to reason with you.

“You don’t know that. I-I don’t need to be watched all the time. I don’t need to be treated like a kid.”

You were killing him. It was killing him internally to see you so broken and so vulnerable. You were always so independent and so fierce that he never considered how much their actions could be hurting you.

His hands gently cupped your cheeks and he wiped your eyes. “We just want you to be safe. We’re worried about you and we almost lost you once. We can’t bear to nearly lose you again.”

“I can’t even cook without being supervised. I can’t go shopping at the mall alone. I can’t go get coffee like I used to without someone tagging along. I can’t even go on a simple walk around the block. I have to be followed by someone and practically walked around like a dog.”

“I-”

“Save it! I-I’m grown and I know I almost died, but I-” You were practically choking back sobs. You could feel the warmth of his hand cupping your cheek, but you couldn’t see the worry and guilt in his eyes through your tears.

You couldn’t see how much your words were physically killing him and causing him pain. He wanted you to be able to do things yourself, but he was terrified. He was so afraid of losing you that it was easier to capture you in a metaphorical cage than let you go free.

At least, if you were with the guys, he knew you’d be safe. If you fell, they’d be there to help you. If your prosthetic hurt your leg, they could carry you to safety. They’d go to the ends of the earth to protect you, but along the way, he had forgotten what it must have been like for you.

To constantly have someone hanging and looming over your shoulder in the background. No wonder you were so upset to the point that you were breaking down in front of him. He was so worried about you, he forgot the amount of stress and guilt that was eating you up too.

Instead of speaking, he pulled you tight into his chest. You sobbed as your head curled protectively into his neck. In his arms, the outside world couldn’t get to you. The weight of the world wasn’t yours anymore, it was pulled away and lingered above. You could finally breathe for a few moments.

The steady pulse of Chan’s heartbeat thrummed against your cheek. A hand gently came back to your back to soothe you and the gesture caused you to cry harder. You were so mentally exhausted and tired. Everything seemed to be a nightmare and it never stopped.

Life without a limb was hard for everyone involved. From family and friends to the potential love of your life, it was difficult. New challenges were faced and fears were unlocked. As Chan soothed you, he forced himself to calm down.

As much as it scared him and frightened him, he had to let go of all those fears. It wasn’t fair to keep you held captive. You deserved to feel like you had your independence back and he hated how weak he had accidentally made you feel.

The only place he wanted to keep you captive was just like this; in his arms, right where you belonged to begin with.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lina-linny @straykidsstanforeverandever @seungnishi @stellasays45

Masterlist

Taglist and inbox rules

#stray kids #stray kids fanfic #stray kids drabbles #stay #skz fanfic #bang chan #bang chan fic #bang chan fanfic #bang chan x reader #bang chan x you #bang chan x y/n #bang chan angst #bang chan comfort

73 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months ago

Text

Compotation

Warnings: non/dubcon, coercion and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Part of Roo’s Pajama Party (October 7-8)

Prompt: Compotation - a drinking or tippling together. (List of prompts here) + this look

Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all. I hope you enjoy this one and have a lovely weekend.

The world is awash with ripples. You feel heavy and light at once. The slosh in your stomach weighs you down as your head feels hollow.

You focus on measuring out the shot of tequila. You splash a little as you dump it into the bigger glass and add grapefruit juice and a bit of fizzy water. You swallow a belch and slam down the can, spilling even more onto the counter. You’re too angry, and tipsy, to care about any of it.

Knock, knock, knock. Fuckkkkk. It’s probably the neighbour come to whine about your music. It’s not even that loud. And it’s good music. Well, she can go rot with your boyfriend. Maybe even soon to be ex.

You take your drink with you to the door. Your fuzzy pants brush together warmly as coolness spreads over your exposed midriff. It’s too bad Bucky didn’t stay long enough to appreciate your new pajamas. No, you told him to go. No, good...

Maybe it’s him. He is so forgetful you wouldn’t put it past him to forget his own damn keys. You open the door, ready to bluster at neighbour and boyfriend alike. Your mouth hangs open as your met with a third unexpected option.

“Sam,” you blub out like a fish. “Oh, hey. He’s not here.”

“Oh,” he tilts his head, “figures. He’s not answering my texts. What’s going on? Party?”

He looks at your drink and you scoff. You take a deep gulp of the alcohol laced juice. You should slow down but you won’t. You don’t do this. No, you behave. You do everything Bucky tells you and he can’t do just one thing. One. Thing.

“Sure is,” you slur. “Party of one. I’ll tell him you stopped by when he drags himself home.”

Before you can close the door, he puts his hand against it, his strength easily blocking your own. You blink at him.

“What did he do?” He hums.

You roll your eyes, “what do you care? You’re his friend.”

“Oh, ouch. Kitten, I thought we were friends.”

“Mm, well, I guess,” you shrug.

“So, what are friends for, huh? Why don’t you tell me all about that deadbeat?” He smirks and smoothly edges his way inside. You don’t stop him. You could use the company.

You back up and blow a raspberry as you play back the argument that turned into Bucky yelling and you just a staring blankly. Then he left. No apology. No nothing. Somehow, you became the guilty party.

“He forgot our anniversary,” you grumble. “You know, just what he does. He can tell me what battle happened on what day, but he can’t remember our first date.”

“He forgot? Jesus, now how could he forget a girl like you?”

“Whatever, I don’t wanna talk about it,” you pause and slurp again. “You want a drink? You know, he can’t get drunk. He sucks down those beers for what? Because he likes the taste of piss?” You sneer.

Sam snickers.

“What?” You bluster.

“Nothing, I just... I’ve never seen you angry.”

“Yeah, well, I've been too accepting,” you spit. “So you wanna drink? Tequila and grapefruit. Or I have some peach juice.”

You lick the moisture from your lips and sway on your feet.

“Uh, sure, might as well,” he accepts.

“Uno momento,” you hold up a finger and drain your glass. You let out a long aaah as you finish then stagger into the kitchen. Are you leaning or are the walls?

You take out another glass. “Hey, grapefruit or--” you lower your voice as he enters the kitchen, “peach.”

“Mm, peach sounds sweet,” he says as he unzips his jacket. He hangs it on the back of one the tall chairs along the island. You hate them. You told Bucky they’re too high.

“Coming right up,” you declare.

You pour the drinks with a bit more care than before. Yet, your hands are just as clumsy. When at last you present him with a glass, it’s dripping. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“Hey, his loss.” Sam says as he turns and waves you out ahead of him. “I mean, old man should be ecstatic to hang out with a girl like you. He don’t know what he’s got.”

“No, he doesn’t,” you agree as you strut out into the front room. “You know, I didn’t even ask him to do anything. I set the date, I called the venue... he can’t even show up!”

“Aw, baby,” Sam sits with you on the couch. He takes a small sip as you swig back a mouthful. “That’s not fair. You deserve better than that.”

“I do,” you force yourself to put the cup down as you stomach stirs hotly. You wipe your sticky hands on your pajamas. He surprises you as his fingers wander over to touch the fuzzy fabric.

“Soft,” he comments, “he’s really missing out.”

“You like them? They’re new,” you look down at the crop top and pants.

“Soft and cute. Like you, kitten,” he drawls and reaches to put his glass next to yours.

Your head bobbles dizzily as you give a long blink. He continues to pet your pants, feeling the fluffiness. You can feel his touch beneath. It makes your skin hot.

“You okay, baby?” He asks.

You pout and shake your head. Your anger rolls into sadness, “no,” you sniffle as tears rise to the brims of your eyes, “no. Why doesn’t he care?”

“Aw, honey,” he stretches his arm across your back and you fall against him, burying your face in his shoulder, “it’s okay. I got you.”

“I tried so hard,” you snivel into his shirt as he rubs your back. His other hand cradles your head as he rocks and hushes you. “What am I gonna do? We signed a lease. We—we—I don’t think there’s any we--”

His hand creeps down to your neck and he extends his thumb under your jaw. He nudges you up as he draws away. He slides his hand under your chin and you flick your lashes against your tears. Before your vision can clear, his lips are on yours.

You push against his chest as you squeak in surprise. What is he doing? You tear your mouth away and gasp.

“Sam!” You sputter.

“Mm, he doesn’t deserve you, baby. Come on, let me show you what you need--”

“What-- why--” you gulp. “No, I can’t.”

“Kitten,” his hand falls down to your ass, “when’s the last time he even fucked you? I know you’re not all worked up just because a fight.”

You blanch and push your lip out. How does he know? You shake your head. “No, that’s not...”

“How long, baby?” He puts both hands on your hips and grips, kneading down to your thighs.

“No--”

“A month?”

You look away as your eyes gloss over once more.

“Longer?”

You shiver and grab his hands.

“Two... three...”

You shake as you cling to him, “please, Sam--”

“Six months? That’s it, right? Little longer?”

“How--” you choke on your unintended confession. “No, Sam.”

“I’m gonna treat you right, just relax,” he purrs.

“I can’t. I love him,” you insist.

“He doesn’t love you if he ain’t touching you,” he lurches your hips and easily puts you on your back. He shifts so that his knee is on the couch and drags the other up beside it. “Fuck, kitten, look at you,” he runs his hands up and down your thighs, “all dressed up for me, huh?”

“Sammy, please--”

“Mm, yes, keep calling me Sammy, baby,” his nails graze the fabric and he fingers curl around the elastic.

You groan and press your hand to your forehead as your vision thrums. Your temples pound and your heart races in panic. You’re too drunk.

He tugs and strips the pants past your ass. You whimper and throw your arm out.

“Sammy... I... don’t feel good.”

Your eyes roll back under your eyelids. You take deep breaths as you try to sober yourself. It only adds to the swirling sensation. Your legs raze with goosebumps as he frees your ankles from the elastic tails of the pajamas. You shiver and arch your back, exposed and weak.

He growls as a rustle stirs the air and the fabric heaps noisily on the floor. He grabs your leg and bends it, leaning it against the back of the couch. He pulls your other over the edge as the couch jostles beneath him. You blink and see his blurry figure looming over you as he bends over your pelvis.

You twitch and whine as he flutters his fingers along your folds. Your thighs tense. Your foot dangles just over the floor as your other sinks into the crack behind the cushion. Sam lowers himself as you retreat behind your eyelids.

His breath fans over you as he hums and hovers over your pussy. He purrs and nuzzles the patch of hair. You moan and reach down blindly. He grabs your hand and shoves it back and slides his tongue between your lips. You gasp and spasm.

He swipes his tongue again. You groan and your head falls to one side. You tilt your hips as he tends to you slowly, dragging up over your clit in long strokes before flicking back down.

Shame speckles over you as you remember who he is. What he’s doing. This is Sam. This is Bucky’s best friend. Your friend. You're just friends.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you dig down into denial. This isn’t real. Your drunk. This is all just the twisted delusion of your alcohol-laden mind. It’s not Sam making you feel so delicious. It’s Bucky. It’s Bucky. It can’t be anyone else.

He reaches up your stomach, tickling your bare skin, and slides his fingers beneath the bottom of your top. He fondles your chest as he laps at your hungrily. You moan and clasp onto his hand. It’s so good. So good it has to be Bucky.

You roll your hips in time with his tongue. You reach down with your other hand to push his head down. You need the release. It’s been so long since you got more than the fleeting pleasure of your vibrator. The warmth, the eagerness, the need in his touch enthralls you.

You murmur and mewl as your thighs tingle and your spine zing. You’re almost there. You feel the tension twisting tighter, tighter, tighter. You flex your feet as you tilt your hips frantically and cling to his head.

Your orgasm spills over and you cry out, “oh, Bucky, Bucky....”

He sucks on your clit as your climax crests and dissipates in a smattering of nerves. You huff and heave as you yawling turns to gibberish. His breath is damp as he pants against your leg before slowly raising himself.

He grabs your jaw and sets your head straight. Sam’s voice cuts through your fantasy. Your eyes round as you stare up at his dire expression. He shoves down his jeans impatiently as he squeezes until your bones ache.

He bends over, resting his hard dick against your cunt, and rocks against you. He smears his length along your wet folds, thrusting slowly, just enough to thrum but not enough to stoke anything more. You wriggle and whine.

“Forget him, kitten,” he continues his deliberate thrusts, “you’ll be begging for me and only me soon enough.”

#sam wilson #dark sam wilson #dark!sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #drabble #sleepover #avengers #mcu #captain america #falcon #marvel #pajama party

55 notes · View notes

am-i-the-asshole-official · 10 months ago

Note

Aita because I asked my friend to not name his kid the same name as my abusive dad because it triggers me?

✨👶🏼 so I notice myself, sorry but I have a mental disability so my grammar isn't great. Sorry if I sound weird.

So let's just call my friend Fred (23,he/him, trans man)and I'll call my dad's name Sven. Fred has one other child(1,m) who I'll call Winston and Fred's newest child (Unborn lol, we know its another boy) is with one of his partners Brooke(22, They/She, transfem nb girl). I also offhandedly mention my partner Rosey(25, Any pronouns, Genderfluid) a few times, Fred's other partner Alan (20s?, He/him, Trans man), and lastly Me (24, He/she, Genderfluid).

Me and Fred have been bffs for like 7 or 8 years and I and Rosey are godparents to Winston and Fred got pregnant again. This time from one of his partners Brooke , Winston's other dad isnt in the picture. Me and Fred are super close (nearly dated at one point but it was before Fred and Brooke got together the first time and we are no longer interested in each other like that.) and I've been following both of Fred's pregnancies just to make sure everything is ok (I'm not encroaching, I just get text updates on appointments and stuff. Fred's first pregnancy was rough.).

Without going into a whole timeline, Fred and Brooke dated a couple years ago for about a year but Brooke raised a hand to hit Fred (never made contact nor any other physical abuse however they used it as a threat) and was controlling over him, they broke up and lost contact and over the last year/year and a half, rekindled and Brooke says they've changed and Fred trusts them again. I still don't like Brooke for obvious reasons but I'm being civil and trying to let them earn my trust again. So far their relationship is fine and it's not my place to muddle so until Fred sets off alarms that Brooke has gone back to their old ways, I'm trusting my friend's judgement. Brooke has been doing great through this pregnancy.

Fred knows the gest about what my dad put me through and how abusive he was to me. He knows I can't even be near cigarette smoke because it reminds me of him. However, Fred doesn't know his name. It's not because Fred doesn't want to, my dad's name just never came up and i didnt realize he didnt know his name till a few hours ago.

Me and Rosey sat in a call with Fred, Brooke and Alan while Fred and Brooke were brainstorming name ideas (They wanted our input). Brooke suggested the name Sven. I wanna be clear, Brooke doesn't know my dad's name either so I don't think this was a way of attacking me or something sinister. The name Sven is standing in for is a very common name in my country, though it's not popular for us gen Zers, it is common for my dad's generation.

I obviously froze up a bit due to the mention of his name and although Rosey tried to bring it up, Fred and his partners are kinda known for interrupting (Usually not viciously) and they didn't hear her. Fred and Brooke chatted happily about what a handsome name Sven was and how they might just decide to stick with it here and now but they wanted to hear other options. I waited out till the end of the call when Alan left (I don't know them so I didn't want to accidentally tell them personal things about my history of abuse) and told Fred that Sven was my dad's name.

Fred gasped and quickly said he wouldn't choose Sven and that he was sorry he forgot his name. Brooke however said that that was not a good enough reason to not consider a name they both dearly loved not 10 seconds ago. I tried to tell Brooke about why my dad was a bad person and some of the lighter things he'd done (not in a trauma dump explicit way, just in a he did *insert form of abuse* way) but they shut me down and said it was their kid to decide the name of. Fred told him he was also a vote in the name and he didn't want to upset me unnecessarily. Brooke said they were done with the conversation and Fred said they'd talk about it later. Fred then said to me and Rosey that he'd handle it and ended the call.

After about 30 mins, I got a couple of texts from Brooke and Alan that I was a jerk for trying to push my triggers onto other people and causing a fight between them and Fred and it wasn't my baby to name. (Alan doesn't live with Brooke and Fred so Brooke told Alan first what happened.) I decided not to answer for an hour or so because I was already worked up and they both essentially called me an asshole for overstepping. Fred just says hes gonna handle them but now I'm just confused.

I can see where I might of overstepped but I wasn't trying to be controlling and even if they would of picked Sven, i would of still respected it and tried my best to get over it as best i can. Was I pushing my problems on others or was I just letting a friend know what that name might be a bit painful for me when the name was just a suggestion? I don't think I'm TA but I wanna see if I'm missing something?

(I just realized rereading this that there is some important context to be added; Sven is not a sentimental name to Fred, Brooke or Alan. It's not a parents or grandparents name that might need carried on, it was just a name they liked. I checked with Fred to see if that explained Brooke's anger or something and Fred said no, they just liked Sven. There also hasn't been any hostility before this with Brooke or Alan so I'm not sure where all this anger came from.)

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

131 notes · View notes

amateurasstrologer · 6 months ago

Text

BY NECESSITY #1 SATURN IN PISCES

Hi babies, what’s up? You thought I forgot about you?

Well, you’re right, I did. But I’m back, bitches - at least for today - to remind you that astrology is still the shit. So, before I ghost again, let’s talk. This week it’s a Saturn in Pisces special.

Now, before you’re like, “Are you kidding? This bitch comes back after how long to talk about some random ass placement that doesn’t even apply to me? Ugh.” Just take a breath. Saturn is in Pisces. Right now. In the sky. So even if you’re not getting extra fucked like all the people having their Saturn Return, you’re still experiencing the energy and all the shit I’m about to say still applies to you.

Alright. First, let’s talk Saturn. Saturn is all about form. It’s foundations, it’s structure, it’s hard, it’s the shit you stand on that you forget you’re standing on (until a transit happens and forces you to look down in ice cold terror). It’s important to remember that Saturn deals with all foundations - which foundation (physical, mental, etc.) depends on which sign you’re working with. When Pisces gets involved, you’re dealing with your psychological, emotional foundation.

Next, Pisces. Pisces is about all dissolution. Pisces is last in line for a reason. All the shit you absorbed during your little life cycle - collective beliefs and ideals, definitions of success, definitions of failure, the shit your parents believed, the shit their parents believed, etc. - someone needs to dissolve all that loud biz (cue Pisces) so you can get back in touch with the real true you (cue Aries). Pisces is on that transcendental shit - it’s here to elevate you, it’s fucking your foundations up in a beautifully painful liquidation process, as in we’re closing everything has got to go this business is over forever goodbye we’re done.

When you put these two together and you get a fucking shit show. Hardening and dissolving? Opposites. Pisces is like “yes I’m here to love you forget you ever had a structure all of this is meaningless it’s time blend in the timeless space of forgiveness we’ll feel it all and understand the origin of life the mystery of life heart eyes” and Saturn is like “Look at your life! Build something! Be accountable! These are your limits - learn them! Wake up! You dropped your spine! Go pick it up! But also good luck bending over to pick it up because you don’t have a spine! Ha!”

It doesn’t take eyes to see that Saturn is not comfy in Pisces. And it’s true, Pisces and Saturn do bring very different shit to the party. But relationships are raw materials, babies, it’s what you make with them that matters.

Saturn and Pisces, together, create an opportunity for you to give your psychological, emotional foundation a fucking upgrade. Pisces helps you dissolve the fake ass bull shit persona you’ve been passing off as a self, and Saturn helps you reform into a person who, you know, you’re actually happy to be - a person with a psychological foundation based on inner-truth, not on societal/cultural/ancestral rules and regulations. Bitch, you’re a treasure! You’re a beautiful unique person, not a robot! If you wanted to be all copy paste should have reincarnated as a keyboard smh. Wake up.

Saturn in Pisces is a call to transform yourself on a spiritual level. The deepest level. (Deeper than you Scorpio sorry.) This isn’t some find a new job, find a new hobby bull shit. This is deep unconscious reconditioning. This is scary, triggering shit. You thought Pisces was out here just blending in the gooey goodness of love? Please. Think about what dissolution actually means. You want to be psychologically free? You want to scrub your karma? Get in touch with your essence? Lol. Girl. Get ready. This transformation process is a gnarly, confusing, and, most importantly, it takes time (thanks, Saturn). Just can’t rush it.

Alright, before you get too scared to continue, let me say it one more time for the people in the back: When Saturn is in Pisces, the unconscious, emotional (Pisces) foundation (Saturn) of your life stops being hidden. Material that was collecting dust (and power) in your unconscious (Pisces) is suddenly visible (Saturn). Surprise, bitch! Time to take a look.

Okay. Now, what happens when you’re confronted with your very own subconscious (Pisces) scaffolding (Saturn)? Well, two options:

(1) You lose perspective and collapse the transformation process before it has time to do its thing, dissolving your sense of self (Pisces) and hardening around rigid beliefs (Saturn) to bring yourself back to a superficial sense of safety, making your life temporarily more stable and comfy but ten million times harder to confront your psychological foundation at the next opportunity.

(2) You stay focused on the big picture and face your fears, dissolving the toxic beliefs you were unconsciously building your life on (Pisces) and reforming your identity (Saturn) into something real and true, making your life temporarily more lonely and difficult but ten million times easier to relate to yourself and others forever and ever amen.

“Uh wtf who would pick option one?” You, me, anyone allowing themselves to actually feel the crippling existential dread of having to face the unknown (Pisces) or anyone who can’t bear the thought of looking critically at their inherited beliefs (Saturn). It’s not an opportunity for the faint of heart. Or for anyone who doesn’t have, at the very least, one friend. And not some moralizing “forgiveness heals all wounds hang in there” type of friend - I’m talking some real ass, truth staring ass, love you anyways bitch.

So, why did I return from the underworld to tell you this shit now? Because Saturn is only halfway through it’s uncomfortable stay on the Pisces commune. Listen - if you’re starting to feel crazy, like (1) “I swear some shit must be up I just cannot catch a break from feeling like living shit” and (2) “why does the same shit continue to happen to me over and over again like fuck I thought I got over this shit in 1933” it’s because (1) you’re being called to transform and transformation is an active process time to stop being dragged around use you legs and (2) part of this particular transformation process is acknowledging that you did not leave any shit in 1933 and you’ve actually been dragging that ugly shit around in your unconscious and it’s secretly been controlling every decision you’ve made since then. Sorry.

“Ugh, can I just close my eyes and open them when this whack ass transit is over?” Sure. They’re your eyes, babe. But, just between you and me, why would you want to do that? This is a wonderfully unique time to face the truth (Saturn) and give yourself compassion and grace (Pisces), so that you can, oh, I don’t know, turn this car around before you and your unconscious Thelma and Louise yourselves. For a limited time only - the lights are on! There is no better time to look at this shit. The cosmic support is here. Right now. Let these lunar lovelies carry you through.

The key to navigating this transit successfully (and consciously), is to pay attention to what you’re dissolving, and what you’re hardening around. Be suspicious about the shit you take for granted emotionally - investigate that foundation - ask yourself: Where did this shit even come from? Is this the psychological foundation I want to perpetuate? Don’t keep trying to wrap yourself back up in that shed skin, babies, it’s not a good look. Embrace the rawness.

The energies are active, the pressure is there, but if you open yourself to working with the energy of the times instead of just closing your eyes and hoping for the best, you can completely transform your life over the next 12 months. No joke. No exaggeration.

Until we meet again, bitches, happy charting.

XO BULLSHIT FREE ASTROLOGY

#saturn in pisces #saturn return #first accept death

73 notes · View notes

imyourbratzdoll · 2 years ago

Text

𝒏𝒐 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒔 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝑰 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒎

part 3 of 💔broken family💔

summary - your life has gone downhill so fast, having drowned your emotions in alcohol, you're met with your ex-husband dropping your son off.

warning - angst, alcohol abuse, self-doubt, thoughts of disappearing, flashbacks, sad moments, crying, swearing, mentions of not taking care of themselves.

the gif I use isn't mine, headers by me.

part 1 - part 2 - part 4

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

You didn’t know how long it had been since you last saw Ari and Jason. You didn’t bother to check your phone or take good care of yourself. You hadn’t left the house, and it had gotten worse than when your son was living here, sure. He didn’t love you, but at least someone was there to bring you out of the dark. The bottles piled up in the corner, and bags had gathered under your eyes. You had showered, unable to live with the smell that would occur if you didn’t, but you barely ate. You couldn’t stomach it. The food had slowly gone off, and you relied on the alcohol between your hands to bring you back to those happy dreams, the world you would rather be in than this one.

You had probably lost your job, but you had already lost everything else in life that you didn’t care anymore. You took another swig, more tears flowing down your face as the memories kept replaying over and over. You stared at the blank tv, remembering when you had first met Ari.

You were in your twenties, wearing the prettiest light pink sundress and standing in line to get your favourite coffee. You hadn’t noticed the hunk watching you from a table. His laptop opened in front of him as you caught his eye. You were naive but not stupid. He had seen you come in every day, always ordering the same thing and always wearing a different colour sundress. Your head turned, and your eyes connected, causing a spark to flow through the two of you, and you gave him a soft smile, your cheek heating up as he returned it. You remember some asshole bumping into you just as you went to take a sip of your drink, causing the liquid to splash out and stain your dress. Ari had shot up, moving toward you so quickly, making sure you were okay, and giving the man hell before he went and ordered you a new one. You remember sitting down with him, feeling so shy, in the presence of someone so handsome.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He sat down next to you, handing you napkins and putting a large hand on your back as he stared at you with those beautiful blue eyes. “I’m so sorry that happened to you, crap. I forgot to introduce myself.” You swear your heart stopped as he chuckled. The smile on his face and the sound that escaped him was so… So perfect. His eyes connected with yours again, “I’m Ari. What’s your name, gorgeous?” Oh, at that moment, you wished your name was gorgeous. Your heart was beating so fast you thought it would beat out of your chest.

“I’m Y/n.” His warm hand encased yours, giving it a soft squeeze, and the rest was history. You had fallen in love, got engaged a year after meeting, and then had Jason two years after getting married. You went so perfectly together, you were happy, and it was as if you were two pieces of a puzzle that fit together, but then everything changed.

You blink, coming out of the memory, gulping down some more of your drink. You are startled as there is a knock at the door. Not knowing that you were supposed to be expecting someone, you got up and headed over to the door, slowly opening it and sighing as you came face to face with Ari, his eyes moving up and down your body, and you just sipped the wine out of the glass in your hand. “Did you need something?”

“I’m here to drop Jason off.” You raise a brow, wondering why he is dropping your son off, thinking that maybe he has another date with the unknown woman. “Are you up for taking care of him?” You roll your eyes, placing the now empty glass down.

“Of course, I’m up for taking care of my own son. I’m his mother.” Ari nods and lets you know that he will go and get Jason, and you sit back on the couch. When your eyes land on him, you try and smile. “Hey, baby. I missed you. Did you have fun at your dad’s?” He stays between your ex-husband's legs, clinging to him as if you’d steal him away. “I got some new toys for you?” You could feel this draining you further, bringing you deeper into the darkness.

Jason’s ears perk up at the sound of new toys, causing him to run to his room. “I can take to daddy’s!” You hold back the tears, not wanting Ari to see you so weak as you realise your son still doesn’t want to be around you. How could you fail as a mother? You watch as he comes back with the new toys, holding them in his tiny arms as he heads back over to his father, you try and smile at them, but this is breaking you too much.

As they leave, you place your head in your hands and burst into tears, screaming and crying. Why was this happening to you? All you wanted to do was hold your son in your arms and tell him you love him. All you wanted was for Ari never to have stopped loving you. The tears kept flowing, and you whimpered into your hands, feeling your heart squeeze inside your chest. Everything had become too much, and you didn’t think you could go any longer like this. You were so lost in your mind that you didn’t notice Ari walking back into the house, his heart breaking as he heard your screams. He had rushed over, kneeling on the ground and bringing you into a hug, his hands gripping the back of your head as your fingers curled into his shirt, sobbing into him, finally letting go of all the pain.

“Shh, shh. It’s okay, honey. I’m here. It’s okay.” He whispered, but his words were no comfort, not when you knew he wasn’t really here. He would never be here for you. Why would he? He left. Ari held you closer as you shook your head.

“You’re not, and it’s not.” You pull away, staring at him with tear-filled eyes. “I don’t have anyone anymore, Ari. You left. I lost the love of my life because you stopped loving me! I’ve even lost my son because he blames me!” You slam your fists into his chest, more tears flowing down as your heart keeps breaking. “Why are you even here!? Why are you acting as if you care?!” You bite your bottom lip, whimpering and sobbing, staring into the love of your life's eyes, thinking that the hurt look you see is all in your head. You push away, curling into the couch and turning your head. “Just go… It’s what you do best, Ari. You never even gave me a reason…..” You look at him. “Was I that hard to love?” You watch the many emotions go through him, but your eyes slip closed as you lean back into the chair. “You can go now… Looking at you hurts too much.”

Ari nods, leaning forward and placing a soft kiss on your forehead before he walks out of your house. Your tears continue to flow because again. You are truly alone. Your eyes open in shock when tiny arms wrap around you, hugging your body. “I sorry, mummy! I wuv you!” You stare at your son before your eyes move up and lock with Ari’s. Your arms slowly wrap around Jason’s, and you rest your head on top of his head as your eyes slip back closed, smelling his sweet scent, having missed him. “I stay?” You pull back and look at his wide blue eyes.

“Do you want to, baby?” He nods, nuzzling his head into your chest. You look back up to Ari, and he gives you a nod and soft smile before looking back down at your son, holding him closer to you. It felt like you finally got to feel your baby in your arms again before everything went wrong. But you couldn’t get your hopes up because it would break you if he turned around and did what he did before. “Thank you… I’ll drop him off tomorrow.” He waves you off before leaving. “Baby, what do you want to do today?”

“Food and movies?” He stares up at you with wide eyes, and you nod, excusing yourself first to brush your teeth, change and wash your face, needing to get the scent of alcohol off of you before heading back into the room, noticing him nuzzled into the pillow. When Jason’s eyes meet yours, he gives a little smile. “Mummy!” You smile and head over, sitting down and breathing in as he nuzzles into your side, holding onto you for dear life. You grab your phone and scroll through take-out options.

“Did you want pizza for dinner, baby?” He replies with a little yes, and you nod before standing, his little hands going up as he signals he wants to come with you. You pick him up, place him on your hip and make your way to the kitchen, setting him down on the counter as you prepare the snacks for the movie as you both wait for the pizza. “Have you been enjoying staying at your father’s, baby?”

Jason nods, “Is good. But at night is sad. Like here.” You tilt your head, stopping what you are doing and wiping your hands onto a teatowel. You slowly move over to him and cup his cheeks.

“What do you mean sad, baby?” You stroke his cheek, staring down worriedly at him. “Baby, what happens at night at daddy’s house?”

He sniffles, pouting as he looks up at you. “At nigh’, daddy cries. Is like here when you cry, he tries to be quiet, but I hear him.” Jason leans into your hand. “Is sad.” He pats your hands, “I in trouble?”

You shake your head, “No, baby. You aren’t in trouble. Do you know why he’s always crying?” You continue to stroke his cheek.

Jason shrugs. “All hear is I sowwy.” You nod, pressing a kiss on his head.

“Okay, baby. Don’t worry. Nothing is your fault, okay?” He nods, sucking on his thumb as you go back to the food, your mind now filled with why Ari was crying and who he was apologising to. You knew Ari was one to cry when something really hurt him. It was another one of the reasons you fell in love with him. He would let his feelings out, you had thought you found the perfect guy when he chose to communicate through problems instead of leaving, but you guess you were wrong with your judgement. “Alright, baby. The snacks are ready, and pizza is on its way. Do you want to help mummy carry the snacks to the loungeroom?” Jason nods, grabbing some of the food as you pick him up and grab the remaining. Once you’ve sat down and placed the snacks on the coffee table before you, you turn toward your son. “What do you want to watch, baby?”

“Avengers!” He giggles, punching the air. You shake your head, smiling before putting the Avengers on, “Captin!” Your son squeals, seeing his favourite superhero on the screen. “Pow! Pow!” You smile, sinking into the couch and holding your son close, your heart finally feeling warm after feeling so cold for so long. “Mumma! Wook! Cap ‘Merica!” Jason’s head moves from you to the screen, staring wide-eyed at the blue, white and red man. “Look like daddy?”

When those words slip from his lips, you stare at the screen, seeing the resemblance of the man you love. Your eyes move down his body and back to his face, those pretty blue eyes. You blink and shake your head. It’s your mind, and it’s playing tricks on you, making you see him because you miss him. You feel a finger poke your cheek. You look down and see your son staring at you with furrowed brows. “Yeah, baby. He looks like daddy.” You lean forward, pressing a soft kiss on his forehead, smiling as he bursts into giggles.

“Mumma?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“You still wuv me?” He pats his chest, pouting.

“Oh, baby. Of course, I still love you and will never stop loving you.” You place him onto your lap, “Why do you think otherwise?”

You stroke his sides as he pouts at you. “Just tought… I, bad boy, tought you stopped wuving me.” He sniffles, fat tears brimming in his eyes.

Tears fill your eyes, bringing your son closer to you as you place a kiss on his head, pulling him into you. “I will always love you, baby. Even when you hate me, I’ll still love you.”

Jason shakes his head into your chest, “I don’ hate you! I wuv you mummy!” Hearing those words felt good... But no one would ever know how broken you really are.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

512 notes · View notes

thehorrorsoftheblackbunnymask · 1 year ago

Note

This is for the high school AU because I completely forgot Liu was there, but can we get some head cannons for him?

High School AU Liu Headcanons

Warnings: Violence, Manipulation, rape mentioned but it's brief, alcohol.

Bro is a loner like EJ, but just like EJ it's by choice. Liu isn't really the type to want a lot of attention, and honestly wants to be mostly unknown.

Liu doesn't really do drugs like the rest of the people in the High School AU, but he does drink alcohol, he has a whole stash hidden in his closet. After what Jeff did to him, bro is still severely traumatized, even tho he forgave him, so he copes through alcohol. One time his parents found it and he was grounded for over a year, but that was his freshman year, he's grown now.

He found out about you through his brother. The two of them were walking home together and Jeff just wouldn't shut up about you, so this caused Liu to try to figure out who you were.

The moment Liu saw you, he fell in love. The way you walked, the way you talked, and just your overall appearance was like a drug to him. He came up to you after school when you were sitting on the curb waiting for your friends to leave their classed. Liu is a charmer and kinda flirtous, so that's what he did when he came up to you. The two if you talked for a while, and he made you blush a few times and got you to laugh.

Liu is so protective it's not even funny. Bro doesn't take shit from nobody, not even his own brother, and it's caused him to get into a shit ton of fights, and Sully instigated most of them.

Liu on his own is such a sweetheart, or that's what he wants you to think. He always offering to walk you home and giving you gifts. But this boy is crazy two faced, Sully doesn't influence him as much as he let's on. Liu is extremely smart and plans his moves carefully, so whenever he slips and let's his darker side shows, he lies and says it was Sully, even if Sully wasn't active.

Not gonna lie to you, Liu is extremely arrogant and full of himself, just like his brother. It's not obvious at first, but if you pay attention to his words and actions you start to catch on, but once you two start dating it's just so obvious.

Liu's main goal is to get you to date him, mostly because he has a massive crush on you, but also he doesn't want anyone else to have you. But once you two start dating, that's when you realize how much of a monster he is.

You didn't know he was an alcoholic until the two of you started dating. When you came to his house, he opened his closet and pulled put a bottle of liquor. And he's a violent, Emotional drunk too, so if you say something that pissed him off, you better run.

Liu is also extremely patient, which is a positive and a negative. He's willing to wait months until the two of you start dating, but if you're crying and pissed off at him because he said something that actually cut deep, he'll just sit there and wait for you to stop. Liu's pretty apathetic, and he may be extremely protective over you, he can honestly care less when you're mad at him because he hurt your feelings while he was drunk.

He kinda has a EJ situation going on. Kind, caring, calm and mysterious at first, but once you two start dating, you're trapped. Because Liu is possessive, once he has you, he's not letting you leave him. The moment you bring it up, Sully would slap you, not Liu, Sully.

You know about Sully, but you never actuly got meet or interact with him, and once you do, you never wanted to leave Liu so fast. Sully is a monster, he's pinned you down and placed a gun to your head, begging you to try and fight back, and he pulled the trigger to. You though you died, but then you heard, laughing? When you opened your eyes, Sully was laughing while saying that the gun was empty, and how cute you looked all scared and shit.

One thing about Liu too is that he could care less about sex. His sex drive is so fucking low, and he'd rather beat the shit out of you if you fucked up then fuck you. So, unlike most of the people in this AU, he's not a rapist. He respects your sexual boundaries and he also could care less about sex.

#creepypasta x you #yandere creepypasta #creepypasta x y/n #creepypasta x reader #homicidal liu x reader #Homicidal liu x y/n #yandere creepypasta x reader #Something Short Series #.high school au

137 notes · View notes

yanderes-galore · 15 days ago

Note

Love your writing on Fear and Hunger! Can I ask for a scenario/short where the Kaiser (Legarde) finds Darling reincarnated in Termina? They died such a long time ago, surely he won't let them get away from him time.

Considering the soul system in F&H... This seems plausible, actually.

Rebirth

Yandere! Kaiser (Le'Garde) Short

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Possessive behavior, Violence, Murder, Blood, Delusional behavior, Intimate implications (nothing happens, just mentions it as you were flings), Stalking, Forced relationship.

Everyone has a soul that reflects who they are.

The Kaiser, once known as Le'Garde, has grown familiar with such occult things. Every person has a soul that allows them certain abilities. Some subjects even share the same soul type... possibly through blood...

Or even reincarnation.

The Kaiser, once all these contestants came for the festival, sensed a familiar presence he knew long ago. It was unnerving at first.... Such a presence brought back memories of a vulnerable time.

That presence... It reminds him of those dreaded dungeons. Those dungeons that made him reborn again into a new god.... He suffered in those dungeons...

But he didn't recall suffering alone.

No, when he was still a typical unenlightened mortal, he had companions in those dungeons. Most of them he considered pawns. However, there was one he deemed worthy of his attention.

You, a poor soul exploring the dungeons, had come to his aid. He originally thought you foolish... yet frustratingly appealing. You and him had grown close in those dungeons.

Le'Garde was normally never one for love. He had his eyes set on greater things. He didn't even recognize D'arce's feelings. Yet, with you... deep in those cold and bloody dungeons.

You managed to get him out of his armor more than once when you were alone.

To Le'Garde and most likely you, they were Sylvian flings. Just a way to find comfort in those dungeons while surviving. It wasn't about love...

That's... what he tells himself... yet back then he kept approaching you for more.

Did he like you more than he thought?

Before Le'Garde could sort out such feelings, his plan was set in motion. He was made to be a God, one way or another. Although... by the end of it...

He never saw you again.

As The Kaiser, he had not thought of such thoughts until now. It was only when he was reminded of your presence that he looked back on his feelings. He shouldn't be thinking of this...

You died long ago....

Yet, as though fate guided your soul, your soul somehow made it back here. The Kaiser was already wary of the contestants on that train. He had enemies hunting him down...

But he also saw someone similar to you... He could sense it was you.

This was your soul.

The soul of the one he felt was rightly his.

Naturally, The Kaiser felt drawn to you. It was though his own soul ached for you once again. He felt oddly... giddy at the idea of finding his love again.

It's amusing to him.... He thought he forgot this feeling. Yet the moment he feels your soul close to his he's desperate. You have so much power over a god such as him...

Even if you no longer know him.

Ah, yes, a problematic thought. The idea of you nor remembering echoes in his mind. However... surely once you feel his presence...

You'll remember.

In this place and new age... in this festival... you didn't stand a chance alone. The Kaiser knew this... but just like in those dungeons, you put together a team of contestants to help you. Although... by the time you feel confident enough to challenge Rher or escape this place...

The Kaiser appears before you... sword drawn with a snake slithering around his neck...

Before you knew it, you're overpowered, not equipped enough to challenge him.

The stench of blood is oddly familiar, even if you haven't encountered anything like it from what you remember. The sight of this... being in front of you sends chills down your spine. Yet you cannot tell why.

You feel nauseous when The Kaiser slowly but surely slaughters those you called friends. Even that feels familiar... along with the blood on your clothes. You truly never stood a chance...

Why does this all feel—

"Do you remember me?" The Kaiser asks, towering over you. He doesn't seem to care much that you're laying in the blood of your friends. Their corpses are grotesque... just like the rest of this hell.

"Don't you feel it too? Our souls that were once bound together. I don't think I could forget you if I tried...."The Kaiser murmurs, as if reminiscing on a distant memory.

He sounds nostalgic... yet you just sob.

"Please— Please, I'm sorry! Spare me...." You plead, sensing the end was near for you. Except...

The Kaiser merely chuckles, as if what you said was cute.

"Spare you? Of course I'm sparing you, my consort." The Kaiser grins, eyes gleaming under his yellow hood. "After all... Why would I kill you when I've just found you again?"

"I don't know you... what are you trying to do?" You try to get answers, but The Kaiser merely clicks his tongue.

"Oh, love, you'll remember soon enough. You'll remember the dungeons, you'll remember the blood... the danger... the passion... but most importantly..." The Kaiser coos, stalking closer before grabbing your bloody hand and yanking you to your feet.

"You're going to remember me. You'll soon remember me as your love and you'll never abandon me. You'll be my consort, as you were always meant to be." The Kaiser hums, not minding your fearful yet desperate attempts to pull away.

"Consort? No— Let go—!" You struggle, yet The Kaiser merely drags you close to him. His touch and skin feels oddly cold...

The thought of following him scares you on a primal level.

"No, my consort. We were always meant to be together in all lifetimes." The Kaiser growls, pulling you close to his side. "I need you to follow me, love... we have a lot to catch up on. You may be scared... but don't worry..."

The Kaiser chuckles again, squeezing your side as you tremble and walk.

"I'll make you remember what we were and who you belong to... and I'll never let you go again."

#yandere fear and hunger #yandere funger #yandere fear and hunger termina #yandere kaiser #yandere le'garde

30 notes · View notes

fastlikealambo · 5 months ago

Text

seven devils all around you. || Oshamir Modern Royalty AU

Summary: After the assassination of Queen Mae-Ho Aniseya of Brendok, the world watches Verosha Aniseya, the spare the world forgot, return to her home country to lead it. Inexperienced with a royal target on her back, Osha must reach into the dark in order to save her home and her mysterious bodyguard Qimir is all too eager to guide her towards salvation or destruction.

Trigger Warnings: Death, violence, drugging, politics.

Thank you for reading! Don't forget to comment or reblogs if you can please!

Chapter One

“Where were you when Brendok was in need? How deep are the pockets of Coruscant that you willingly denied my country time and time again?”

When a black woman is angry, the whole world goes quiet.

From the dingy breakroom of a Best Buy in Minnesota, Princess Verosha Aniseya watched her twin sister slam governments across the globe for their sudden interest in Brendok, silence filling the crowded hall of the United Nations.

No one here gave a shit that the person selling them a smart vacuum shared a perfect likeness to the twentysomething queen of a country America once called “lifeless.”

“Brendok is not a member of this body, but a hostage. This is supposed to be a hall of peace but Brendok knows better and I will not govern in shackles.”

“Osha, the new guy made a mess in the tvs again. Help him get his shit together and you can head out early.” Her supervisor Harris said, popping his head in the door.

With a tired sigh, Osha shoved her phone in her pocket, making a mental note to actually answer Mae’s texts once her shift was over. It would more than likely be the last time before she changed her number and left Minnesota for Texas, then Texas for Alaska and so on and so forth.

Anywhere but Brendok.

Osha turned her attention to her co-worker of the last few months trying to lift two flat screens at once, dark hair flopping into his eyes, oversized blue polo matching her own. With a hint of a smile, she hurried over and took hold of the other tv, putting them back in place.

“You’re always saving me Osha.” He said, chipper as usual,wiping his hands on his cargo pants.

“It’s no problem, if Harris gives you shit again, ask him why he keeps a vape tapped under his desk. “ Osha said with an easy smile. Qimir had only been there for a short while or so but he was easy to talk to.

“Any plans for the weekend? You’re more than welcome to spend it with me.” Qimir said, attempting to lean on the doorframe only to miss it completely.

“As much fun as watching you play Sims and fight alcohol poisoning was the last time we hung out, I’m gonna have to pass.” Osha said, throwing her work keys in her locker and slamming her locker closed.

“We could do something you wanna do? You’re always reading, right? How about if I came over and watched you read?”

“You wanna watch me..read?”

Both their phones vibrated at the same time but Osha ignored hers in favor of clocking out with a yawn.

“I’ll text you.” Osha said over her shoulder, not waiting for Qimir. As she made her way into the empty parking lot her phone vibrated again, this time for longer.

Someone was calling her.

Nobody ever called her.

Osha dug her phone out of her pocket to decline the call, only to see a flood of text messages from an unknown number,. Unable to control the shaking in her hands, she tapped on the first one.

SHE GAVE ME HER. WILL YOU GIVE ME YOU?

Osha should have stopped right there, thrown the phone in the trash but she couldn’t help herself and played the video beneath the text.

And watched the person with her face take two bullets to the chest.

Osha couldn’t see, the video kept playing, Mae kept dying, and Osha could not see.

She didn’t know she was screaming until someone was shaking her. Qimir was on his hands and knees beside her, one hand on her back, the other shaking her shoulder.

“Osha! Osha, talk to me! Princess Verosha Aniseya!”

Her sister was dead.

“Osha, we need to go. We need to go, right now.” Qimir’s voice was different in her ear now, deeper, less chipper, more forceful.

Princess Verosha Aniseya.

Osha ripped herself from Qimir’s grasp, scooting back and haphazardly got to her feet, backing away from him.

It was as if the Qimir she had known had melted away in front of her eyes, a stranger in his place. The stranger towered over her, her phone in his hand.

“You called me Princess, how did you know to call me that?”

“We don’t have time for this, I’m sorry, I really am but we need to go.” Qimir said, hand outstretched but Osha did not move.

“Give me my phone. Now or I’ll scream.”

“So scream.”

Neither of them made any inclination to move for a minute before Qimir held her phone out to her.

Osha snatched the phone from Qimir’s hand but not as fast as she liked and within seconds, he had her restrained and she felt a thin prick in the side of her neck. Things started to go hazy quickly and her legs gave out first.

“I’m sorry Osha.” Qimir’s voice sounded like it was underwater and she had no choice but to let him cradle her in his arms.

“Fuck you.”

Osha’s eyes fluttered close and her final thoughts were not for the liar who carried her but for the other half she’d never see again.

The roar of an engine startled Osha into waking, mouth dry, ears ringing. For a good thirty seconds, Osha thought she had dreamed it all but the bandage on her neck brought it all back quickly.

“Look who’s awake.” Qimir said, taking the plane seat across from her. The work polo and dirty cargos had been replaced by a suit, tailored to perfection and the floppy hair she had once found charming was pulled away from his face.

“What is this? Where are we going?”Osha’s voice rose, eyes darting everywhere and she pulled herself into a seated position, the blanket that had been placed over her slipping to the ground.

“You tell me.”

Qimir reached around her, pulled the window shade up and the sight made Osha want to pass out all over again.

“No, please, no!”

“I’m afraid so. Welcome home, Your Majesty.”

#oshamir #qimir x osha #qimir #osha aniseya #oshamir fic #the acolyte fic

38 notes · View notes

happy74827 · 9 months ago

Text

Just Words

[Siobhan Roy x GN!Reader]

Synopsis: Words can be hurtful (especially to most) but with Siobhan’s “5-star” personality and ability to not care about anything other than herself, you can’t help BUT spill some words. {GIF Creds: @olliviacooke// I took this off of google (fair warning) so I had to dig deep to find the OP}

WC: 2274

Category: Slight Fluff (?), Enemies to… trope {Trigger Warning: Foul Language (I really channeled the Roy family here), Logan}

I did not expect my first succession fic to be Siobhan… but honestly, I’m not complaining 👀 (fyi: this was a request and I stupidly forgot to “answer” so hopefully the anon who requested lovely Shiv finds this 💀)

『••✎••』

Siobhan Roy… mega bitch. You hated her. Well, that might be an understatement; you despised her. From the moment you met her, she was just a total and complete pain in your ass. Not to mention completely and utterly self-absorbed. She had the attitude and ego of a child.

So when you were made to work with her, you were less than pleased. Logan Roy, the only man who could top Siobhan in terms of being an insufferable asshole, had made you a deal. If you and Siobhan worked together to find a solution to the media shitstorm he was currently experiencing, he would put you on the team that handled the IPO of Waystar. It was the opportunity you had been waiting for, so you sucked it up and agreed.

You and Siobhan sat in the meeting, both of you looking like a pair of miserable children. It made Roman look like a ray of sunshine, and that was really saying something.

Logan slammed the door, causing you to flinch.

"Fuck," he said, taking his seat.

"What?" asked Siobhan, a tinge of irritation in her voice. It’s amazing how her mood could shift on a dime.

"Nothing. I'm just a bit tired of this fucking circus."

"Well, what the fuck do you expect? You made a public promise. If you can't make good on it, why not just say so? Why continue this fucking farce?"

Logan narrowed his eyes at her.

"If I wanted to hear that, Siobhan, I would have gone to my wife's bed. I don't need a cunt in my ear right now."

Siobhan rolled her eyes. "Jesus fucking Christ. I'm a realist. You're the one who wants to live in your fantasy world. Just fucking drop the bomb, tell the truth, and let's move on."

"The truth? And what is the truth? That my son’s a psychotic, drug-addled mess? That Kendall is a sniveling, entitled little fuck? A pathetic, whiny, little shit stain who can't do his job because he's too busy jerking himself off to his own sob story? Is that the truth you want to set free?"

Siobhan stared him down, and once again, you were surprised. You had thought the woman was completely brazen, but there were still limits.

"I'm not your therapist," she said.

"No. You're not. And I'm not going to sit here and listen to a woman with the emotional range of a fucking teaspoon telling me how to handle this situation. Now, I need to get on the phone with my PR team. Fuck off, all of you. Get back to work."

You and Roman both jumped up, quickly leaving the room. Once you were safely away from Logan, you took a deep breath and relaxed a bit.

"Jesus fucking Christ," you muttered, "I don't know how she does it."

Roman smirked, "Oh, she's a special snowflake—a real ball buster. You should see her with Tom. It's a fucking bloodbath."

“Tell me about it. It’s a raging dumpster fire, even saying more than two words to her. I feel like she's going to snap my head off any minute. I’m so tired of her bullshit, and she's the least of my worries. The whole family is a fucking disaster. And I don't have time for any of it…. No offense.”

Roman gave you a half smile. "None taken. You're right; I'm the best of a very bad lot."

"Well, at least you're self-aware."

“You fuckers talking shit about me behind my back?"

You turned and saw Shiv leaning against the wall.

"Always," replied Roman. "And it's fucking hilarious."

"Well, don't let me stop you," she said, rolling her eyes. Her eyes then shifted to you.

"I didn't realize we were having a fucking slumber party."

"Just having a bit of a break," you said.

"Oh, well, that's very fucking nice. I'm glad everyone is taking a fucking break because I've been dealing with our father, who is a raging psycho at the moment. You know, while the rest of you are fucking around, the company is dying. It's falling apart, and everyone is too fucking busy to give a shit."

"Come on, Shivvy. Take a breather. You’re starting to act like Kendall… and that's never a good look," said Roman.

"Fuck off, Ro.”

Shiv glared at him, then glanced back at you. The glare made you want to hide, but you refused to show fear in front of her. You had done it in the past, and it only fed her.

"Well," she said, "aren't you going to say anything? Or are you just going to stand there with your mouth open like an idiot?"

"I think I'll take option B. I'd like to live through this," you replied.

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"I think it's pretty clear."

"Yeah, I suppose it is. I guess I shouldn't expect someone like you to understand."

"Someone like me?"

“Shiv,” warned Roman, trying to interject. Personally, despite his whacked-out sense of humor, you actually enjoyed his company. He was definitely the least obnoxious of the Roy siblings. “Let’s not get into this now, okay? Just drop it."

"No. No, go ahead, Shiv. Let's have it out. Right here, right now. Let's see if you can handle it."

Shiv stared at you for a few moments, then she smiled. It wasn’t her usual smug, condescending grin. It was different, almost sincere.

"You think you're tough?" she asked.

"No. I know I am. It's a little different, don't you think?"

"Okay," she replied, her eyes darkening. She leaned forward, her face just inches from yours. Roman just looked at the two of you as if watching a tennis match. "You're so sure you can handle me. So why don't you prove it?"

"Prove it? Like, what, punch you in the face? Is that what you want?"

"Although, as satisfying as that sounds, I was thinking we all should just move on… maybe have a drink, talk it over? Yeah? No?”

Shiv just looked at you. "Yeah, I'll pass. I'm not here to make friends, and I'm certainly not here to kiss your ass."

"That's good. Because, honestly, I don't see you as the ass-kissing type. Tom, yes. You? Not a chance. You're the type who wants everything to be handed to you on a silver platter. I'm sorry, but I'm not the maid. I'm not going to serve you or kiss your ass. I'm here because I have a job to do, and I intend to do it. That's it.”

"Oh, right. I see. Well, then, why don't we cut the bullshit and just get right to it. How about you go back to whatever shithole you crawled out of and let the real people get on with things."

“Guys-” Roman started.

"Real people? Real people? You think you're real? You think this is real? I hate to break it to you, Siobhan, but you're not a princess, and this isn't a fairy tale. You're not the queen. Your father isn't the king. You're a spoiled brat, and he's… well, he’s Logan. He's not even a king. He's just a bully."

"Is that supposed to hurt me? To insult me?"

"No, but you seem like the kind of person who doesn't take criticism well. You’re doing a terrible job.”

Shiv stared at you, her lip curled up in disgust. She looked as if she were about to hit you, but the rage was just a facade.

"Well," she finally said, "It's a good thing we're not here to play fucking games, then. So why don't you shut the fuck up and get back to work? Unless, of course, you don't think you can handle it. Maybe you should just go back to where you came from, and let the real people get on with things."

Your nostrils flared. It took every ounce of strength in you not to smack the look off her face. But you knew better. If you started a fight, Logan would take your head off, and that was a fight you couldn't win. So, instead, you smiled.

"Fine," you said. "If that's what you want. I'll do my job, and you do yours. But, just remember, the day is coming when this little charade is going to come to an end, and when it does, it's going to be a lot worse than it is right now."

You didn't wait for her reply. Instead, you turned and walked away, leaving the two of them standing in the hallway.

Once you were back in the safety of your office, you collapsed into your chair and let out a sigh. You had just gotten your first taste of a Roy fight, and it was worse than you had anticipated. The worst part was Siobhan had gotten the last word. It didn't matter that you might’ve won. She had gotten the last good word, and you hated her for it.

As the hours ticked by, you became more and more frustrated. You were angry and bitter. You were pissed at yourself for letting Shiv get under your skin, and you were angry at her for getting to you.

So, when your phone rang and you saw her name, you were tempted to ignore it. You let it ring for a few seconds, then decided to answer.

"Yes?” Your attitude was short.

"Get your shit together," she snapped. “We have a meeting in five minutes. We have a lot of ground to cover."

That was, in fact, false. By the time you arrived, the conference room was deserted, and only Shiv remained. She was sitting at the table, her laptop open in front of her.

"What the hell?" you demanded.

"I'm sorry. Did you want a fucking audience? Because that can be arranged. But, if you don't mind, I would prefer not to have any interruptions."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the fact that we are both here, and we have a job to do. Now, either sit down and help me, or fuck off. I really don't give a shit."

You stared at her, and she looked up from her laptop, raising an eyebrow. There was no audience, and there wasn’t going to be one. So, you had two options. Either walk away and look like an idiot, or stay and possibly get chewed out again. You took a deep breath and sat down.

Shiv just hummed in response, then looked back at her screen. "Good choice."

For the next couple of hours, the two of you worked together, trying to figure out a way to turn the situation around. Arguments arose, shots were fired, and at one point, Shiv threatened to kick you out, but overall, it was a productive session. Logan wouldn’t be pissed, so that was a win.

"So," Shiv said as the two of you left the building, "Did you cool down?"

"What?"

"I'm asking if you cooled down. Do you feel better now?"

"Um, yeah, sure. Why wouldn't I? You know, besides the fact that we were at each other's throats for hours and the fact that we both wanted to kill each other. I'm peachy."

"Mm, peachy." She said the word like it was an insult. "That's a strange choice of words, don't you think?”

“What? The real people don’t use the word peachy, huh? Is it beneath you, Shiv? Do you only use fancy words and proper grammar?"

"Oh, I can be a real commoner when the situation calls for it. It's all about knowing your audience."

"Really? So, is this the commoner Shiv? Should I expect a new side of you?"

"Maybe.” She smiled oddly again. The one that made you nervous. "Maybe not. That depends on you. Do you want to know the real me?"

"No, not particularly."

"Good. Because I'm not interested in showing you. I’m just curious if you have what it takes."

"To what, put up with your bullshit? To put up with a spoiled brat who thinks the world is hers for the taking? Mmm, yeah, I think I've got what it takes."

"Okay, first off, fuck you. Second, you're a piece of shit. Third, I have something to tell you. So, listen up. This is important. Okay, ready?"

You were about to say something, but her expression stopped you. Her voice was low, her tone serious. You nodded.

"I'm a bitch. And, yeah, I have a temper, and I'm not a warm and fuzzy kind of girl. But, that's the thing, I don't need to be. I don't need to pretend that I'm anything other than who I am. I don't have to fake it because I know what I want, and I'm not afraid to go after it. That’s what you need to understand. It's not about what you think you need. It's about what you want and what you're willing to do to get it."

You just stared at her, unsure of what to say.

"So, let me ask you, what do you want? And are you willing to do what it takes to get it?"

You thought about it for a second. "I want a drink. A strong one."

A little comedy never hurt anyone. And judging by her expression, you could tell you had made her smile.

"Well, that's a start." Siobhan had a smirk on her face. "Alright, fine. Let's get that drink. Then we'll see how far that gets you."

"Yeah," you muttered, "I'm sure."

But, as you walked down the street, you couldn't help but think about the question. What did you want?

And what was Siobhan offering?

101 notes · View notes

trickphotography2 · 1 year ago

Text

D-Day by TrickPhotography | Chapter 13

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x female!reader

Word count: 5.1k

Synopsis: After finding out his girlfriend is pregnant, Jake is ready to move in and get married. The last thing he expected was to be hit with a six-month deployment at sea and missing the birth of his first child.

18+, minors DNI

Chapter 12 | Master List | Ao3

---------------------------------------

Chapter 13

“Darlin’?” Jake called as he stepped into the house, tossing the truck keys onto the counter and lifting the bottom of his shirt to wipe away the sweat on his brow. He’d just returned from helping Bob move the treadmill into his apartment. With the deployment hanging over your heads, he wanted to take care of as much as possible around the house - and clearing out what would be the nursery was near the top of that list. Coyote was on his way to claim the weight bench. When there was no answer, he grabbed a water bottle and walked toward the home gym turned nursery. His heart dropped when he saw you lying on the floor with your eyes closed. He crossed the room quickly, dropping to his knees beside you. “Fuck, darlin’, are you alright?”

“Hmm?” you said, forcing one eye open to see his panicked expression. “I’m okay. Just got a little dizzy.”

“I don’t like how much that’s happening,” he grumbled.

“It’s not exactly a party for me, either,” you scoffed. Now nine weeks pregnant, you felt worse than ever - the lightheadedness hadn’t gone away, the low-grade headache was back, and your nausea and food/smell aversions were getting worse. When Jake made himself some eggs that morning, you spent some time in the bathroom throwing up while he hurriedly aired out the house. Not to mention how exhausted you were, your emotions were on a hairpin trigger, and your slacks were getting harder to button. And your bladder felt like it was the size of a pea with how much you were going to the bathroom.

Jake placed a hand on your stomach, a smile tugging at his lips when you covered it with your own, feeling the steady rise and fall of your breathing. “You’re supposed to be nice to your mama, Bean.” He’d refused to call the baby Berry over the last week, even though they’d grown to the size of a blueberry, stating that it felt like he was talking to a middle-aged man instead of “our little girl.” When you’d pointed out that he would have to eat his words when you had a boy, he’d only shrugged. “I told you aviators have girls. And if I remember my biology right, I’ve had a pretty big say in what we’re having.”

“Apparently, Bean is as big as a peanut shell now.” His grin grew as he pushed your shirt up and leaned down to kiss your stomach.

“Hey, Peanut.” Pressing your lips together against the tears that sprang to your eyes, you gently brushed the sweaty hair from his face. It broke your heart to realize that this was one more thing you’d miss - Jake greeting your child with a new name every week. He only had four more weeks at home, five until he was on the carrier. From your research, you could find out the gender at the 18-week mark, at which point Jake would be somewhere in the Pacific Ocean. When his gaze flitted up to meet yours, he sighed at the sight of your tear-filled eyes. “Darlin’.”

“I’m good. Hormones,” you sighed, pushing up onto your elbows. Wanting to change the subject, you forced a smile. “I found something in the closet that I’d like an explanation for, babe.”

“What’s that?”

“Exactly when were you planning to tell me you have a cowboy hat, Tex?” He furrowed his brows for a moment before smirking.

“Forgot I had that. It was for my buddy’s wedding.”

“Jacob. Michael. Seresin,” you hissed. “Are you telling me that there are pictures of you in that hat, and I presume a suit, that I haven’t seen?”

“I guess so.” Chuckling, he stood and walked to the closet, peering into it before pulling down the black hat. After dusting it off, he put it on and turned to face you. “Ma’am,” he drawled, his Texas accent thick as he ducked his head and touched the brim. Inhaling sharply, you held up both hands, and Jake hauled you to your feet, tugging you close to ensure you were steady.

“I’m getting ideas. So, so many ideas.” His lips curved into a wicked smile as he slowly backed you against the wall, his thigh slotting between yours.

“Is that right?” Nodding, you slid your hands under the back of his shirt, lightly trailing your nails down the length of his spine. In retaliation, he shifted his leg, dragging his thigh along your core and making you bite your lip. His hands rose to cup your breasts, thumbs lightly stroking your nipples through your bra and t-shirt. In addition to being more sensitive than usual, your breasts had already started to get bigger, a fact that your fiance seemed to enjoy.

“Jake,” you whined, grinding down on his thigh as he dipped his head to suck on the top of your breast. The hat bumped your chin, and you quickly removed it and put it on your head.

“Oh, darlin’,” Jake tutted, his hands and lips stilling as he met your eye. “You have no idea what you just did, do you?” His teeth dragged along your skin before he wrapped his hands around your waist and drew you away from the wall. You laughed when he knelt and carefully lined your hips up with his shoulder, an arm wrapped tightly around your legs as he stood. With one hand clapped to your head to hold the hat in place, you shrieked as he flung you over his shoulder. “You okay, Mama?”

“Fine,” you giggled, steading yourself with a hand on his back. You yelped when his free hand landed a solid smack on your ass as he started to move towards the door.

“Good, ‘cause I’m gonna fuck another baby into you.”

“Promises, promises.”

“You’re pregnant?” You and Jake froze.

“Hey, Javy,” you said, an embarrassed smile on your mouth as you pushed yourself up and looked over Jake’s head towards the other pilot.

“You’re pregnant?” he repeated.

“Um…” Jake’s grip loosened, so you slid down the length of his body, quickly positioning yourself so your back was pressed to his front, hiding his semi. Glancing over your shoulder, Jake shrugged. “Surprise?”

“Jesus Christ,” Javy whispered before pulling you into a hug. “Congrats.”

“Thanks.”

“Now the whole rushed marriage thing makes sense.”

“Accelerated,” Jake corrected. After the initial shock had worn off, you and Jake had spent a day sitting down and figuring out the next steps. He was adamant that you needed to be married before he left, which you’d readily agreed to. But there was so much that had to be done before he left Lemoore - in addition to everything he had to do to prepare, like his physical and dental checkup, there was so much legal stuff to handle. Jake had called the military legal clinic about your situation and had been advised that a marriage certificate would smooth much of the process of updating his Will, getting a power of attorney, and designating you as his beneficiary. It would be a requirement to enroll you in DEERS - the system that allows you to get your dependent ID card and be registered in TRICARE, the military health insurance plan.

Overwhelmed by the list of everything that needed to be done, from more minor things like renewing the house lease and filing his taxes when he was gone to having harder conversations about Jake’s wishes in case he died while deployed, you had pushed away from the table and started to hyperventilate. Jake had tried to hold you, but you’d shoved him away and paced the house before slipping on your shoes and walking around the neighborhood, a silent shadow at your side.

All of it was going to be on your shoulders. And you were going to be alone. Newly married, pregnant, and across the country from your family.

You had a new appreciation for what your mother had dealt with whenever your dad deployed. But even she hadn’t faced pregnancy and giving birth on her own.

Getting married sooner rather than later would allow you more time to handle everything else. So, with that in mind, you’d scheduled calls with your families to break the news of the deployment, pregnancy, and your plans to get married at the courthouse. While your parents had been thrilled and quickly agreed to come, Jake had taken the call off the speaker when his father asked how stupid he was to “get some tag chaser knocked up.” His face was red when he came back inside and informed you that his mother and sister would let him know if they were coming. His father had been uninvited.

With a quick text to your friends, everyone who needed to know the plans did.

“Accelerated, rushed,” Coyote grinned and shrugged. “Sounds like a shotgun wedding to me.”

“Fuck you,” Jake chuckled, shoving his best man. Javy pushed back, and the two men grappled with one another as you quickly ducked out of the way.

Watching them, you rolled your eyes. “Maybe I do want a daughter.”

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Your guests cheered, but you only had eyes for Jake as he grinned. Gently, he cupped your jaw, thumb lightly tracing your lower lip as he drew you closer with a hand on your hip. Your arms wrapped around his waist, giggling as he leaned down to press his lips to yours. He chuckled, kissing your forehead as his thumb lightly stroked your stomach before reclaiming your mouth.

The ceremony was simple but perfect. Jake promised you a bigger wedding once he was home, but you didn’t care. It wouldn’t stack up to exchanging vows under the gazebo downtown, surrounded by your family. You were more than happy with the off-the-shoulder, lacy midi-length dress you’d ordered offline on sale instead of a fancy gown and your flowers picked up from the grocery store that morning rather than spending hundreds of dollars on arrangements. The only concession you’d made was hiring a photographer and ordering a cake waiting back at the house, where your parents insisted on having a small reception.

But the most perfect part of the whole day was your groom. Jake looked so handsome in his dress whites, but it was the sheen of tears in his green eyes and the soft look on his face that made your heart skip a beat. Keeping with the non-traditional approach, you’d spent the day together - from him holding back your hair as you vomited to humming the wedding march as you cuddled in bed. Teasing touches became more intentional, and you gasped against Jake’s mouth as he slowly pressed into you, deliberately drawing out both of your pleasures to savor the last time you’d have sex as an engaged couple.

When your parents and Coyote arrived mid-morning to help get the house ready for the reception, Mom insisted on going to get your flowers. But rather than going straight to the grocery store, she stopped by a baby store to “just look” and bought a few things for Peanut, adding to the small pile of items you’d started purchasing. She'd then dragged you into a nail salon, excitedly telling the tech that you were getting married that afternoon.

With blue hydrangeas and white roses in hand - the same combination Jake had sent to your office to ask you out the first time and again on your anniversary - you returned home to see that the guys had been hard at work. And reinforcements had been called in. You were surprised to see so many cars in front of the house and Dad washing Jake’s truck. In the backyard, you found Jake on a ladder, hanging fairy lights on the side of the house as Coyote kept the ladder steady. Rooster and Phoenix were threading them through the fence. Bob and Maverick were driving stakes into the ground around the patio to string up more lights. Payback soon arrived with Fanboy in tow.

You could only imagine how many favors had to be called in to get the entire Dagger Squad a Friday off on such short notice and for Rooster, Mav, and Fanboy to get to Lemoore. Mumbling a quick thanks to everyone, you retreated to the bedroom, where Jake found you sitting on the bed with your head in your hands, trying to muffle your sobs. He could only smile when you explained that you were overwhelmed with everyone being there and you hadn’t expected them to decorate the backyard.

After Penny appeared with sandwiches for everyone and the lights were all strung, the group disbursed to get ready for the ceremony at 3:30PM, the last appointment the Justice of the Peace had for the day. You and Jake lingered in the shower, allowing your fingers to skate over one another and laughing as you traded kisses. The teasing continued as you got ready, standing side-by-side at the sink and glancing at one another in the mirror as he shaved and you worked on drying your hair. His arms caged you against the sink as he peppered your neck and arms with kisses as you tried to do your makeup, tugging at your towel so it fell to the floor and left you bare to his heated gaze. You paid him back by resting your forehead between his shoulders as he ironed his dress whites, toying with his chest hair and tracing his abs.

Jake’s fingers trailed up your spine as he zipped you into your wedding dress, then wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you back into his chest, his chin resting on your head. “You sure you’re okay with this?” he sighed. He’d overheard his mother and sister talking about how much more they’d preferred his first wedding, a big church affair that his ex had insisted on. He didn’t want you to feel like you were getting less.

Meeting his gaze in the mirror, you placed his hand on your stomach. “All I need is you and me, and one witness to make it legal.”

He swallowed hard before brushing his lips to your temple. “I love you so damn much, darlin’.” Blowing out a shaky breath, you tilted your head back against his shoulder, trying to keep the tears gathering in your eyes from falling.

“I love you so damn much, Mrs. Seresin,” Jake mumbled against your lips as he reached over you to undo the seatbelt. You could see the photographer hovering at the edge of the driveway; her camera pointed at you, but you ignored that to focus on your husband.

Husband.

The thought made tears spring to your eyes. Capitalizing off the slight height advantage the truck gave you, you leaned down to kiss him, feeling your heart clench when the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled into your kiss. Sliding your arms around his shoulders, you tugged him closer, sighing as he licked into your mouth. It was only when someone drove past and honked that you broke apart. Jake lifted a hand to wave at his - your - neighbor.

While you’d been busy taking pictures after the ceremony, the Dagger Squad had taken advantage of the distraction and decorated the truck. ‘Just Married,’ ‘The Seresins’, and ‘Hangman Got Hitched’ were written across the windows with chalk paint. A tangle of streamers was crumpled on the backseat after he’d pulled them off the bumper and hood. Little silver confetti wedding bells were strewn around the cab, and you knew that Jake would be digging them out from the seats for the next year.

Pressing his lips to your collarbone, he trailed his fingers down your left arm to capture your hand, lifting it to his mouth to kiss your wedding band. You smiled at the white gold band on his ring finger. “Ready?” you asked, glancing over your shoulder to the house, where your guests waited. You’d had everyone park in the driveway while Jake parked in the street so you could leave - you’d booked a hotel in Fresno for the night. When he nodded, you grabbed his cap and your flowers from the console and slid out of the truck. Once the door was closed and the locks engaged, Jake pressed the keys into your free hand and swept you off your feet to carry you across the lawn. Laughing, you put on his cap and kissed him. Thankfully, someone had unlocked the front door, so you didn’t have to fumble with the keys, and he nudged it open once you’d twisted the knob.

“Welcome home, Mrs. Seresin,” he grinned, not bothering to set you on your feet as he moved towards the kitchen, where you could hear a buzz of conversation. It wasn’t until he turned the corner that anyone seemed to realize you were there. Your mom and Penny were pulling finger foods from the refrigerator. They paused long enough to congratulate you before getting back to work. You offered to help, but they shooed you into the backyard with the rest of the guests.

The next few hours passed in a blur of hugs and congratulations. After setting your flowers into the vase by your small wedding cake, you sought out your dad, who was manning the grill with Mav. The two men paused their sports car conversation long enough for you to hug your dad and thank them both for coming. Jake offered to take over grilling duty, but your dad waved him off. Jake’s mother and sister chatted with Javy and Fanboy and hugged you awkwardly when you greeted them. “It’s just a shame your father couldn’t join us,” Sarah said, glancing at her son.

“Yup,” he agreed, unwilling to engage in the argument.

Rooster had set up a playlist, and music drifted across the backyard as you laughed with your friends. You had a few of your friends from Florida call you, and you and Jake stepped away to chat with them for a few minutes before returning to the party. Tables had been put together in the backyard, covered with linen tablecloths you’d picked up earlier that week, and everyone settled down to have dinner together, passing bowls of veggies, salad, and bread. You turned down every offer for a beer and instead sipped from a champagne flute filled with ginger ale.

When the sight of Payback’s rare steak turned your stomach, you quickly excused yourself and hurried into the house. Jake was right behind you, rubbing your shoulders as you retched. As you fixed your makeup, he ducked into the kitchen to get a sleeve of crackers. You were both subjected to gentle teasing about sneaking off for a quickie when you returned to the table, and you saw the flare of disgust in Sarah’s face. Jake’s smile was tighter, clearly having caught it, and he raised your clasped hands to brush his lips against your wedding rings.

When the sun started to set, Jake plugged in the lights, illuminating the backyard with fairy lights. You quickly cut the cake at the photographer’s suggestion and shared a slice with your husband since your stomach was still unsettled. Your smile became a bit more fixed, and when he pulled you into his lap while chatting with Rooster and Phoenix, you fought against closing your eyes as he stroked your arm.

“Honey,” your dad said softly, coming up beside you. “Can I talk to you real fast?”

“Hmm?” you said, forcing your eyes open. “Yeah, sure. Of course.” Jake watched as you walked into the house with your parents.

“I…um…” Dad said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wanted to see if you…”

“Your father wants to dance with you,” Mom interrupted.

“Oh,” you gasped, pressing a hand to your mouth as you nodded. “Of course, Dad.” You felt the first tears fall as your dad’s phone started to play My Girl by The Temptations. Laughing, you stepped into his arms, dancing in the living room to what he’d decided was your father-daughter dance song when you were a baby. You could see your mom crying and laughing as she recorded it with her camera, and the back door opened in time for you to see the photographer slipping in. The song ended too quickly, and you reached for the phone to restart it before holding a hand out for your mom. Your dad grinned, gently tucking both of you under an arm so the three of you could sway together like you’d done so many times after he got home from a deployment.

“You know,” he said gruffly, “this was a lot easier when you were a little girl.”

“Well, I grew up,” you sniffled.

“Don’t we know it,” your mom chuckled wetly. “Grown up, married, and having a baby.”

“Crazy, huh?”

“Nope, just a new adventure,” your dad corrected, kissing your forehead. He met Jake’s gaze through the window, where he’d been watching you all dance, and smiled. “You found a good one, honey.”

“I know.”

“Even if he is in the Navy.” Laughing, you shook your head and wiped your face.

“I mean, technically, I’m a Navy spouse now.”

“Air Force brat, first and forever,” your dad said, spinning you and your mother before drawing you back in. “And this one” - he nodded at your stomach - “if they ever decide to go into the military, make sure they follow in their grandpa’s footsteps and go blue.” Shaking your head, you touched your stomach and took a deep breath.

“We’ve got a long time before we have to even think about that.”

“Hey,” your mom said softly, squeezing your hand before pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I know you’re worried about while Jake’s gone, but your dad and I are here for you. We’ll be out here as much as you want us to be, and we’ll do whatever you need.” Your teeth dug into your lower lip as your chin wobbled.

“Thanks, Mom.” Smiling, she tugged you in for a hug.

“You got this, baby. And those folks out there? They seem like a good group, and they’ll help you where they can.”

“I know.”

“Everything okay?” Pulling away from your mom’s embrace, you saw Jake’s concerned face as he stepped into the house. Nodding, you motioned him in, eyes darting to the photographer, who quickly ducked outside.

“Yeah,” you nodded, stretching out a hand towards him. He quickly moved towards you and took it, squeezing tightly. “What do you think about letting the rest of the family know about Peanut?”

“Yeah?” he asked. You’d talked about when to let people know, not wanting to announce it too early in case anything happened but giving enough time to let the important people know before Jake deployed. But, seeing as most of the people you would want to tell were already sitting in your backyard, it seemed like the perfect time to do it. At your nod, he stepped forward to tug you into his arms, kissing the side of your head. “We’ll leave after. You look tired.”

“Exactly what every bride wants to hear on her wedding day,” you mumbled. Chuckling, he kissed your cheek before grabbing your overnight bags and putting them in the truck while you used the restroom. Hand in hand, you stepped into the backyard, exchanging a glance before Jake cleared his throat. The low rumble of conversation died as the group turned to face you.

“Hey, we’re… we just wanted to thank everyone for coming and helping us celebrate today. We, uh… didn’t originally plan on getting married like this - ”

“But it turned out perfectly,” you interrupted, squeezing his hand. “Better than any big ceremony.” His grin was blinding as he slung an arm around your shoulders and tugged you in for a kiss. Someone let out a wolf whistle, and you lightly pressed against his chest, feeling the indentation of his metals under your palm. Reluctantly, he pulled away, a heated promise in his gaze.

“Better than any big ceremony,” he echoed, not taking his eyes off of you. “This one wanted to wait until next year to get married - made me agree that we’d only get engaged this year.”

“But plans changed,” you prompted. He nodded, forcing his eyes off of you and towards his friends. His hand slipped from your shoulders to your waist, fingers lightly stroking your stomach.

“Plans definitely changed.” Jake didn’t say anything, instead savoring the confused looks the Daggers gave one another and the knowing ones that Rooster and Coyote gave him. As the silence stretched, you rolled your eyes and lightly elbowed him in the stomach.

“We’re having a baby.” There was stunned silence before you were suddenly surrounded by people. The Daggers hugged you tightly and slapped Jake’s back, congratulating and gently teasing.

Your parents, seated beside Sarah and Lina, smiled as your new family celebrated the news.

“Want one?” you asked, holding out a fry. Jake glanced at it before leaning closer, his hands never leaving your thigh or the steering wheel. Scoffing, you fed him the french fry, laughing when his teeth scraped your finger.

“Still can’t believe you wanted chicken nuggets instead of a steak,” he grumbled. Before hitting the highway, you’d asked him to go through the McDonald’s drive-thru since your stomach finally felt settled enough to eat.

“Blame your son - ”

“Daughter.”

“For not letting me eat earlier. Besides, this seems like the start of a fun tradition - McDonald’s on our dating and wedding anniversary.”

“We agreed to it being the dating anniversary only, Mrs. Seresin. This is not our wedding anniversary tradition.”

“Come on,” you wheedled, holding out another fry to him. “How cute would this be? Every year, you, me, and Peanut go to get dinner and tell him - ”

“Her.”

“About how we stopped and got chicken nuggets and fries after our wedding. And if we do it every year, he - ”

“She.”

“Might do it with his kids, and then our grandkids will have this sweet story about how grandma and grandpa always got McDonald’s on their anniversary every year, just like on their first date.”

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“You know what they say,” you said in a sing-song tone, “happy wife, happy life.”

“I’ll think about it.” You grinned, knowing that you’d won. The rest of the drive was passed in comfortable silence, the soft music on the radio and the road noise nearly lulling you to sleep.

Jake glanced at you from the driver’s seat and smiled as your eyes closed, head lolling against the headrest. He knew it wouldn’t take long for you to fall asleep, not after finally getting some food in your stomach and the emotional day. You were lucky if you made it past 7:30PM most nights, and it was already closer to 9:00PM. He stole a sip of your Sprite, smiling every time the light caught on his wedding band.

It felt strange to have something on that finger again. It would take some time to get used to it, but it felt right from the moment you’d put it on his finger when you’d gone shopping. The fact that you’d worried about the metal type in case he got into an accident at work - if they’d be able to remove it from his finger safely and quickly - had taken him off guard. When he saw your father’s gold wedding band, scratched and dented from years of working as a jet engine mechanic and government quality assurance inspector, he understood where the concern came from. You’d already ordered him a silicone band for when he flew.

As the hotel came into view half an hour later, Jake debated continuing to drive so you would stay asleep. But as he stopped at a light, you inhaled deeply and woke. Blinking at the city lights, you gave him a confused look. “That was fast.” Chuckling, he squeezed your thigh and turned into the parking lot. After grabbing your bags from the backseat, he took your hand and led you into the lobby, unable to keep from smiling when the man greeted you as Mr. and Mrs. Seresin.

“Come on, darlin’,” he said softly as the elevator stopped at your floor. You lifted your head off his shoulder as he led you into the hallway, pulling you to a stop outside your room. You quickly raised a hand to stifle a yawn, blinking away the tears in your eyes. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“No,” you whined while he opened the door and ushered you inside. “We’re gonna have hot, married people sex. And then bed.”

“Whatever you say, Mrs. Seresin.”

“That’s right.” Turning, you ran your hands up his chest to wrap around his collar, tugging so he leaned down to kiss you. Jake kicked the door shut, one hand fumbling for the light switch while the other closed on your hips as he backed you further into the room. You shifted your attention to the buttons of his coat, undoing them and tugging his undershirt from his pants. He quickly shrugged off the coat and tossed it onto the desk chair as you worked on his golden belt buckle.

“Hey, hey, hey, slow down,” he said, catching your hands. “We’ve got all night.” Huffing, you toed off your heels before burying your face in his chest.

“Jake?”

“Darlin’?”

“Would you be upset if we had hot, married people sex tomorrow?” Laughing, he held you tight, swaying slightly.

“No, I won’t be upset. You and Peanut had a long day, Mama, and we’ve got the rest of our lives to have hot, married people sex.”

You hummed, a tired smile crossing your lips as you mumbled, “It was a perfect day.”

“Absolutely perfect,” he agreed, slowly pulling your dress zipper down. “Now, let’s get comfortable and call it a night.”

Jake folded your dress and his uniform while you washed your face and stood beside you as you both brushed your teeth. Once in bed, you pulled him on top of you, but he stubbornly refused to do anything more than trade kisses after you pulled away to yawn again. Chuckling, he turned you onto your side, pressing his chest to your back. Threading his fingers through yours, Jake smiled when your wedding rings slid against each other before he tucked them against your stomach.

“Night, husband,” you mumbled, snuggling into his embrace.

“Night, wife,” he replied. He felt your breathing slow and thought you’d fallen asleep until you spoke again.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

----------------------------------------------

Author's Note: They're married! I'll be honest, I didn't expect to write that when I sat down to write the chapter. Thought it was going to be them arguing about the nursery and all the things that needed to be done to prep for him leaving. But Jake and Darlin' had their own ideas! There is so much legal stuff that has to be taken care of before he deploys, and Jake wants to ensure that his little family is taken care of. Had to bring in things from their first date, like fries in the car and the flowers he bought her. Oh, and the cowboy hat rule 😉 🤠 Jake definitely enforced that once Coyote left.

The McDonald's anniversary part is actually my parent's story. Every March 3rd, everyone in my family goes to McDonald's and gets chicken nuggets and fries to celebrate my parent's anniversary because that's what they stopped to get after their wedding. My parents love joking that it's their fancy date night. And the tradition works, because they'll be married 40 years in March! They renegotiate their marriage contract every year, so you can say I drew quite a bit of inspiration from them for this fic.

While it's not super important, this is the dress I had in mind while writing the story. The model is not indicative of how I picture Darlin'.

Read Chapter 14

Tag list: @memeorydotcom; @alldaysdreamers; @kmc1989; @djs8891; @caitsymichelle13; @dempy; @midnightmagpiemama; @lovelyladymayyyy; @caidi-paris; @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby; @bellaireland1981; @lethargicluv; @mayhemmanaged; @tenderclio; @lucypaulette; @abaker74; @trhett21; @misshoneypaper; @schreksdoubledeckerhomechecker; @eternallyvenus; @mavrellover91; @chloeforde; @thatbitcily; @rest-of-brazilian-wax; @percysaidnever; @harperdoodle; @hardballoonlove; @maeleeme; @emma8895eb; @xoxabs88xox; @queenslandlover-93

#hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x reader #top gun fic #top gun maverick #jake seresin #Hangman top gun #soft!Jake Seresin #hangman smut #hangman fic #D-Day fic #jake hangman seresin

167 notes · View notes