#wednesday is so close yet so far
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need this physics exam to be over so I can continue my "loosely inspired by chappell roan songs" series and christen toji fushiguro on seeingivy.com
#wednesday is so close yet so far#coffee x toji fushiguro yup#EX HUSBAND toji fushiguro yup#ronnie talking to herself#also thinking about after midnight with coworker nanami kento
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Thanks to @bonheur-cafe for the tag! Here is some emotionally vulnerable S1 TK coming to Carlos for some, ahem, physical comfort, and Carlos seeing right through him. Also Iâve become totally weak for the thought of them sometimes calling each other sweetheart youâre welcome.
âTell me what you need, sweetheart,â Carlos whispers, breath warm against his skin, sending a wave of goosebumps over his shoulders, rippling along his upper arms.
TK tugs one of Carlosâs hands in response, guides it down to his crotch and presses until Carlosâs palm is flat against him, until TKâs pushing his hips forward into Carlosâs touch. His cock is hard and straining, and Carlos doesnât rub, doesnât apply the extra friction TK longs for, but he doesnât pull away either.
âYouâre so hard for me,â Carlos whispers, and TK nods, breath still a stutter in his chest.
âThatâs what I need,â he says, and his voice sounds small, like heâs standing in the shadow of his confession.
âMy hands?â Carlos asks. âMy cock inside you?â
âJust you,â TK whispers. It surprises even himself, so much so that he stills, stops grinding against Carlosâs touch, stops pressing so firm against the back of his hand. He looks up to meet his eye instead, finds Carlos already looking back. He thinks he sees a bloom of surprise, feels like heâs spilled his aching guts for this man when heâs hardly said a word. His cock pulses at the look in Carlosâs eyes then, when surprise gives way to understanding, to a small and gentle nod.
âOkay,â he says. And nothing more.
âO-okay?â TK asks, feeling a little unmoored suddenly, a little bereft without Carlos either making a move or giving him direction.
âOkay,â Carlos repeats. âIâm yours, TK. But I need you to do something for me first.â
Anything, TK thinks, but the word is too daunting to say it aloud, so instead he simply raises his eyebrows, wordlessly telling Carlos heâs listening.
âSit down,â Carlos says, gesturing to the couch, âand let me get you some water.â
No pressure tags to @carlos-in-glasses @catanisspicy @chaotictarlos @iboatedhere @freneticfloetry @largepeachicedtea @sanjuwrites @detective-giggles @heartstringsduet @paperstorm and @taralaurel and anyone else who wants to play and tag me back so I can read!
#wip wednesday#this story clocks in at 5k so far and Iâm not close to the end yet#tk strand#carlos reyes#tarlos#911 lone star#tarlos fic
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man. now that i think about it. crisis core sure did do that to zack's potential as a character huh
#listen. i respect the creators' original vision. however#i also firmly believe that their vision was stupid af.#zack had so much potential to be an interesting character with his own motivations and goals and agency#and then angeal hewley happened with his dreams and honor bs... and it all went downhill from there.#and that's the thing!!! the potential is still there!! all zack has to do is realize that angeal was talking out of his ass#and that genesis was a lunatic and didn't need to be taken seriously#and that he can make his own goddamn decisions without having to consult spectres of a bygone era of insanity.#babygirl they are a terrible influence on you. break free. you are so close to the epiphany come onnnn.#sigh. oh well. canon and fanon zack are different out of necessity and i love and loathe them both for many reasons.#but man. canon zack needs a push. rebirth ALMOST had it too. so damn close yet so far away.#rant over it's one of those mornings folks. happy wednesday. sparkle on!#zack fair#ffvii
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why canât this week just end alreadyyyyyyy
#rant about the week incominâ in the tags bc âcomplainingâ is my unofficial middle name#this week has *not* been my week so far and itâs only wednesday morning#my horrible week commenced on sunday night when i was unable to sleep bc my pillow was oriented wrong#thus i had a grand total of 1 hour of sleep which was not very poggers tbh. so i tried to sleep on the train butâŚ#the guy next to me??? kept swaying to lean on my shoulder??? so i hunched over to avoid physical contact but he just landed on my back??#so that sucked balls. i kept having to wake up to push him away with my bag and then trying to go back to sleep.#but then!!! just as i fell asleep after one such instance!!! the guyâs phone alarm went off????? like?? why???? why would you set an alarm??#weâre on a friggin train mannnnn!!!!! why did you have to set an alarm?????????????#and ofc when the dude finally alighted (and i was asleep) he just *had* to jab me in the side with his elbow when he got up. ಠ_ಠ#so thatâs how i knew the rest of the week was gonna be just â¨peachyâ¨#anyways manning 2 workstations (+ 1 bonus âminiâ workstation) on 1h of sleep isnât very fun. esp if youâre incompetent af like me#and ofc there just had to be problems too. like the printers couldnât print (and the systems crashed everytime i tried to print something)#and this sample running software kept closing itself in the middle of running samples so that was a pain to deal with#and tuesday (yesterday) wasnât much better. in fact it was â¨worseâ¨. none of the 2 workstations could get started till like 10am and aaaaaaâ#to make matters worse i had stubbed my toe so badly in the morning that my skin tore. so walking was â¨much pain⨠as well :(#and ofc yesterday had to be the one day where i had to walk back and forth an unnecessarily high number of times >:( sadded#and ofc they *had* to have an hour-long meeting about something or other towards the end of the workday when i had yet to eat my lunch >:(#(fell asleep during the meeting though bc it was boring as balls whoops)#and i could only take a half-hour break after that >:((( i wanted my full hour dammitttttttt#and ofc it was raining when i left and ofc it took like 25 mins for me to hail a taxi on this booking app bc i didnât want to take the train#and ofccccc i misheard the taxi driver when he arrived and he roasted my chinese speaking skills. and ofcccc we were caught in a traffic jam#(i had a really nice hour long nap in the cab though so thanks traffic jam)#and thus ended my terrible 2 past weekdays. iâm drained af and itâs *only* wednesday morning????!!!!!!!!!!!!!#iâm mentally looping anzu no uta (imascg) to cope. ânu-uh i donât wanna workâ so true anzu#i just wanna sleeeeeeep and wake up this weekend or sth idk itâs too early in the year for this#it is suiyoubi my dudes#may spam self-rb my monster-length character image/gif posts later to cope. you have been warned
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i literally have ONE (1) last exam tomorrow and then iâm done with undergrad (god willing i pass) but i am just sooooo tired and sleepy also i hate physics i donât wanna study but i must </3
#i am so close yet so far#i canât even be excited about graduation until this exam is over#which is sad bc i graduate on tuesday and wednesday but oh well#aniâs stuff
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Had tickets to see Live tonight and my fuckin car broke down đ¤Şđ¤Şso didnât get to go
#we were literally 800ft from the venue. Two stop lights and a right turn away.#and then my stupid bitch ass car just stops moving. like my friend was pressing the gas and it wouldnât move#he just looks over at me and says um bro itâs not moving#literally man we were so fucken close we drove the forty minutes to get there perfectly fine then literally one street away man Iâm so like#come on like bruh and then we got it to start again and get to the second light and guess what happens? it does it again. then we fix it n#get to the street and boom does it again. like just stops and wonât move while weâre in the middle of the street n people are honking at us#we just try to find somewhere to park but canât do we make it to the parking garage n it does it three more fuckin times and where on the#fucking sloped hill to even go into the lot while people are honking and shit n the car starts going backwards we manage to get up to the#third level still looking for a spot to just park and leave it n go to the concert anyways but nope it does it again so weâre stuck on this#dam slope in between level 3 n 4 and I canât move my foot from the brake or it starts going backwards again. manage to get the emergency br#ake n have to wait the 40 minutes for my mom n brothers to come rescue us while we miss the whole concert. and guess fucking what? they com#and start it and drive it home with no problem.#man Iâm so like come onnnn this stupid bitch car couldnât make it the 800ft and yet they get in n start it and drive it home perfectly fine#like bruh. thanks for that stupid 2018 hyundai also the fact that I literally only bought it in august like dude come on#and! Iâm moving into my very first apartment this weekend like I literally signed the lease on Wednesday what great timing#you bitches in league a the cosmic forces better not be cursing me or some shit#but my bff n I did get Dairy Queen to ease our struggles so maybe itâs not all bad#oh also I literally left work early for the concert too! they even asked me to stay and I said nope Iâm going to a concert sorry#so stupid đ starting to think maybe concerts that are far away may not be worth the struggle for me since last time we even had trouble w t#e maps n were driving on the wrong side of the road n shit cuz stupid iphone maps thought were were facing the other direction#but sadly we donât have any venues here like we had one that was shut down cuz of christians n their complaints#anyways enough of my ranting I will make it to a concert this year even if I have to take a damn bus#m talks
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sugar (fic)
ex!jj maybank x ex!fem!reader | set in season 4 without the Blackbeard mystery! (non-canon) | inspiration
content warnings: mentions of/references to sex (m and f receiving; MDNI); drug use; unfaithful relationships
word count: 18k.
blurb: JJ comes back into your life - older, richer and different again from before. Can the past stay the past, and the two of you be friends, or is there too much history there to let it all lie?
Cinnamon Buns
âWhere would you like these?â Someone calls out to you. You turn and take in the tray of mouth-wateringly delicious looking cinnamon buns that a volunteer holds. Smiling, you point to a far table on the grassy field.Â
âAnywhere over there is good! Those look amazing, thank you so much!âÂ
You turn back to the task at hand: organising cans of tinned, chopped tomatoes. To your left is a stack of bags of rice and to your right, bags of pasta. Itâs quick work as you separate them by flavour: garlic and herb; chilli; regularâŚIn the background you overhear chatter of fellow volunteers. Where should I put this? Who had the plastic bags? This was your happy place.Â
âThe Stirring Spoonâ is what you had called it. It was your passion project born out of daydreams. A collaborative, community effort, providing food to anybody and everybody, free of charge. It wasnât a traditional food drive. Instead, it was like a potluck dinner that you hosted every Wednesday in the late afternoon, running into the evening. People brought whatever dish they had prepared, or any ingredients that they had going spare which you and a handful of other volunteers whipped up into mains and desserts. Tomato soup and lentil curry and meatball subs and rainbow brownies and chocolate chip cookies. Youâd even managed to rope a few local establishments into it. Any leftover bakes that they had when the workday was over, or things that were just a smidge out of date by a day or two, you took and offered out. Today? Cinnamon buns that were baked yesterday at a humble cafe in the town centre, just shy of Figure Eight. Food health and safety laws were strict but you could stretch them for The Stirring Spoon. After all, you werenât technically selling a product so no harm done. People were clued in about the supposed âriskâ.Â
You lift up a can of tomatoes and study the âbest byâ date on the metal lid. A month in the safe zone. Perfect. As your mind flicks through recipes of what you could cook up, a voice stood out amongst the chatter nearby. It was like a sirenâs call; distinct and damning. You could pick it out even when deaf.Â
âI gotta delivery here for yâall.â
âWhatâs in it?â
âFresh sorta stuff. âTatoes and that kinda thing.â
âOver there, Iâd say.â
As the footsteps approach you can feel your heartbeat quicken. It taps nervously in your ribcage like youâre sixteen all over again. Your focus remains on the task at hand until a slight shadow casts over you, and you know you canât stall any longer. Your hands freeze over a can of tomatoes. Looking up, standing in front of you, clear as daylight and bright as dawn, is JJ Maybank. Heâs dressed in his usual attire of a worn-down t-shirt and shorts; his fingers and wrists decorated with metal rings and beaded bracelets. If you squinted, itâd be like no time had passed at all. He doesnât look all that different from the last time you saw him and yet, heâs entirely changed. In his hands is a large cardboard crate of various fresh produce. You smile.Â
âJJ.â
It comes out in a breath as though youâre seeing something supernatural before you. In a way, you are. How long has it been now? Two years? Nearly three?
His own surprise mirrors yours on his face. But JJ was always better at hiding his emotions, once he had a chance to catch them. It was like a teasing glimpse before he closed the curtains. His recovery is quick as a smile starts to show, and he says your name like heâs practised it everyday.Â
âHey.â
âWhatâre you doing here?â you ask.
âBrought some deliveries,â JJ says, hitching the box. âKiara mentioned something âbout a community kitchen drive yâall do and we thought we could contribute and stuff.â
âWell, thatâs nice of yâall. Thank you,â you reply.Â
You shuffle some stuff out of the way on the pop-up table in front of you to make space for JJâs box. Itâs hard not to watch his arms as he lowers it down, the way the biceps flex and tense beneath the skin. Itâs hard not to think of other times his arms have looked that way, wrapped around your body, tugging you closer. You blink the memories away.Â
JJâs hands slot into his short pockets. He rocks on his feet. âLooks like itâs a pretty popular thing, huh?v This food drive, I mean.â
You glance around at the bustling volunteers. Smiling, you say, âYeah, I guess it caught on pretty quick. Could say the same about yâalls tackle-and-bait shop you got going. Itâs the talk of the town âround here.â
JJ grins with visible pride and it isnât until you see it that you realise how much you missed his smile. You wonder if heâs surveying your face and body the way you are his, as if looking for some inconsistency or change since the last time you saw him.Â
âYeah, itâs coming together pretty nice. Helps having a bunch of us working on it, though.â
âI bet,â you say. Youâd heard the chatter on the island about the Pogueâs latest venture. The sneers of the kooks and the curiosity of the locals. Their bets and wagers on whether the business would sink or float. Youâd wanted to wander down and check it out for yourself but you always chickened out. Truth was, youâd been avoiding JJ Maybank like the flu, and now here he was in front of you, putting all your quarantining to shame. Your eyes flit down at the crate and you gently rifle through the food for a distraction. Tomatoes and potatoes and bunches of fresh berries and fruit.Â
âI, uh, donât know if thereâs much in there that yâall need butââ
âNo, no, this is great,â you assure him, smiling. âItâs really generous of yâall. Every contribution is appreciated.â
âHappy to help. To be honest, itâs Kie and Sarah you should be thanking.â
âYeah, I didnât peg you as the gardening type,â you tease.Â
âWell, only for the stuff that matters,â JJ grins with a wink. You consciously try to fight away the warmth running to your cheeks. Damn it, you werenât sixteen anymore. âSoâŚhow have you been, then? Since we lastâŚyâknowââ
âBaby!â
Itâs a reflex reaction to turn at the sound of Markâs call. He comes bounding over with a wide grin. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to the elbows and flour is dusted on his khakis. Itâs a reflex to close your eyes when he dips his head to plant a kiss to your lips, too. You rub them together after as you prepare yourself for what might be the most awkward interaction youâll ever go through.Â
âJJ,â you say, turning to the blonde haired boy. âThis is Mark. Mark, this is JJ. We used toâŚuhâŚWell, we used to hang out.â
âJJ - pleasure,â Mark says sincerely. He sticks out his hand and for a painful moment you genuinely worry that JJ might never take it. But he does, shaking it.Â
âLikewise,â he says.Â
You feel Markâs spare arm slide around your back, his palm placing itself respectfully on your side. That was Mark: respectful. Righteous but not in an arrogant way. He was kind and caring without judgement, like the sort of Christian boy your nana would want you to bring home. The sort of guy who would bring your mother flowers and play golf with your father on the weekends. The kind of face youâd see flash on the television during the six oâclock news as the reporter relays a daring and heroic tale of saving orphaned kittens from a burning tree.Â
âThis is the guy thatâs started the tackle-and-bait shop. Yâknow, the one with the surf store and stuff,â you say to Mark. Realisation dawns upon Mark and he wags his finger at JJ.Â
âWait, wait, JJ as in JJ Maybank? One of the gang who found El Dorado?âÂ
You roll your eyes at the pure awe in his voice. JJ chuckles somewhat nervously and nods as he says, âyeah, uh, that JJ, I guess.â
âHoly shit! Baby, why didnât you say!? Oh man, I read all about that. It sounded freaking incredible! I have so much to ask you, I mean-â
You place a hand to his chest and laugh, slightly embarrassed by his fangirling. âBaby, baby! Cool it a second, yeah?â
Laughing, you glance at JJ. And you catch it. That emotion he lets slip just before correcting himself. His eyes dart to yours in a second but they were looking elsewhere before. They were looking at your hand on Markâs stomach.Â
âNah man, itâs cool. You guys should stop by sometime and I can tell you all about it. The other Pogues too, yeah,â JJ cordially replies.Â
âOh sick, man. Thatâd be great,â Mark beams. You smile at JJ and nod.Â
âIâd love to see what you guys have done to the place,â you tell him. JJ smiles but it falters, like a flickering lightbulb thatâs fighting to stay on. An awkward quiet passes and you clear your throat and glance around at the voluntary effort. âWell, I should probably get back to work.â
âNo, yeah, course. I oughtâa get back to the shop,â JJ replies.Â
âThanks for the stuff though. We really appreciate it.â
âYou brought this?â Mark wonders, picking a strawberry out of the crate. He pops it in his mouth and hums happily. âDamn, those are some fresh strawberries.â
âYeah, man. All from our local garden we got going.â
âThis place sounds like the dream,â Mark tells you. You smile up at him. He takes the crate in his broad hands and lifts it easily into the air. Being sandwiched between two toned-up guys had you feeling as brittle as candyfloss. âIâll take this over to Nancy. Nice meeting you, JJ.â
âYeah, you too, man.â
You watch him wander off a moment before turning back to JJ. He offers you another smile. âIâll come check out the shop soon,â you promise.Â
JJ points at you, playfully warning, âyou better!â before walking away. You watch him with every step he takes and the moment heâs out of sight your head drops. You let out a breath that you didnât know youâd been holding. Your entire body feels as though itâs vibrating; your heart running laps in your ribcage. And the funniest part of all is the strange thought that races around your mind, heâs real. It had been so long since youâd seen JJ, let alone heard from him, that it felt like a daydream. The memories were so hazy now that theyâd been painted over in sepia and you wondered if youâd imagined the whole thing. But no, here he was, knowing you and recognising you, and talking to you. The two of you back in Kildare, seemingly for good.Â
âBaby! Can you give us a hand?â
The call drags you out of your thoughts. Your eyes fall onto your boyfriend. He stands a good head taller than most people. Heâs almost lanky in build but not ungainly; broad shouldered and slim nosed. His eyes are those of an otter: nearly black with how brown they are; beady and shining, even from over here. Thereâs a smattering of freckles over his cheeks which is adorably boyish in contrast to his stubble on the jawline. Heâs smiling at you in a way that all girls want to be smiled at. Unashamed in his admiration for you. It grounds you from the dizzying interaction with JJ and you walk over to him, ready to help out in any way you can.Â
The rest of The Stirring Spoon passes without a hitch or unexpected visitor from the past. Itâs as popular as always, with locals and tourists stopping by. The lentil and tomato soup that you whipped up disappears within the first half hour, alongside the nearly stale but still delicious cheese bread. Mark stands by your side the whole time, smiling as he serves. He whispers little jokes in your ear that have you giggling in the quiet periods of the food drive. Then came the evening rush, with people stopping by after work. The culmination of it all meant JJ was pushed out of your thoughts and back into the long-term store, where heâd been haunting before. That is, until youâre tidying up.Â
âThat JJ guy seemed nice,â Mark says from the table to your right. You look up from the plastic snack-bags youâre tidying away. âYou said you guys used to hang?â
âWhen we were sixteen,â you reply.Â
âHow come you stopped hanging out?â he wonders.Â
You look down at the bags and obsess over the colours of the labels as you debate how best to word your reply. What do you divulge to him? Thereâs an index of memories labelled JJ and you know not all need to see the light of day, let alone enter the mind of your boyfriend in scarring reenactments.Â
âWe just grew apart. He was going through some stuff, I think, and then he got really into that whole treasure hunting thing,â you tell him. It was true enough to not be a lie. Mark hums in thought.Â
âThatâs a shame.â
You quirk a brow, amused. âWhy? Cause I could have cashed in on the gold too?â
Mark shrugs and you laugh. âWhat!? Iâm just saying, some people are worth staying friends with!â
But that was the thing. You and JJ werenât just friends. Shaking your head, you close the cardboard box of repacked snack-bags and carry it over to the table where heâs working. You held him wrap individual muffins in napkins before placing them in a large tupperware box.Â
âHey, yâknow whatâd be nice?â Mark says.Â
âWhat?â
âIf we took them over some leftovers. I mean, we made most of this stuff with the ingredients they gave us anyway. And thereâs still some of those cinnamon buns going spare.â
You take pause and look up at him. Heâs obliviously working away, head tucked down to look at the muffins. Thereâs an easy smile thatâs permanently etched into his face, as if he came out the womb cheesing away. That wasnât why you fell for him though. No, it was his kindness. His offhand generosity that came so naturally to him it was almost offensive. Pressing up onto your toes, you cup his jaw and press a kiss to his cheek. He chuckles quietly.Â
âYouâre wonderful,â you hum happily. âI think thatâs a great idea.âÂ
âYou go wrap up some cinnamon buns then. Iâll pack up some of these muffins for them.â
You do as he asks and soon enough, thereâs a box of miscellaneous leftovers from your food drive. Mark drives. The sky is a delicate colour of amber and pink warning of soon nightfall. Colours like that always make you feel relaxed. It helps ease the nervousness of seeing JJ again. You werenât sure why it was making you so antsy. It wasnât as if you and JJ parted ways on bad terms. You suppose itâs just a bitter-sweet memory. All memories of JJ came with that sour coating now, like sherbet lemons on your tongue. You wonder if youâd feel the same way if Mark werenât around.Â
But he is, and youâre glad he is.Â
Looking over to him, you reach out your hand to capture his, resting on his thigh. He glances over at you and smiles. âYou okay?â
âYeah. Just happy, sâall.â
âThatâs good,â he says, looking back to the road. Like something from a music video, he raises your interlocked hands to his lips and presses a kiss to the back of your hand. âMeans Iâm doing something right, if youâre happy.â
Itâs impossible not to do a double-take as you pull up to what was formally the Maybank property. Itâs as if new life has been breathed into it. More than just a lick of paint, thereâs two brand new buildings alongside a pretty sturdy looking pier and dock. Thereâs a handmade charm to everything that makes it all the more enticing and impressive. Mark seems to think so too because he whistles as the two of you pull up the driveway. You look to your left and see the Twinkie. A relic from your past, of memories half-naked, rolling around the back with JJ, sharing a blunt in a post-orgasmic haze. Your thoughts shut off with the engine.Â
Mark takes the lead, his hand in yours, and carries the box of leftovers up to the house. You both wander up the porch and Mark knocks twice on the door. Your eyes look at everything, taking it in, admiring every detail, until someone opens the door. Itâs Kiara.Â
âHey. Can I help you?â she asks your monolith of a boyfriend. You poke your head from around his body.Â
âHey Kie.â
âOh my Gosh! Girl, where have you been?â Kie beams. The two of you embrace, laughing and smiling. âWait - did you get the stuff I sent JJ over with?â
âYeah, we did,â you say. âThank you so much.â
âWe actually brought this as a thanks,â Mark adds, offering out the tub. She eyes him almost with suspicion.Â
âSorry, I forgot to say - Kie, this is Mark. My boyfriend,â you explain. Kieâs eyebrows shoot up with that final word but she recovers quick.Â
âNice to meet you, Mark,â she says. She takes the box and glances through the plastic.Â
âJust some leftovers we thought you might like. Muffins and cinnamon buns and things like that.â
âThanks guys, you didnât have to. Weâre happy to contribute,â Kiara tells you. âIn fact, me and Sarah were talking about maybe making it a regular thing. Like every Wednesday we bring some stuff from the garden, or fish that weâve caught?â
âOh my God, yeah, thatâd be amazing,â you nod enthusiastically. âWe can definitely figure out a system.â
âPerfect. Iâll put these inside. You guys want a drink or anything? I can show you around,â Kiara offers, opening the door wider in invitation.Â
You glance over her shoulder into the room and then around the porch, behind you out to the water. Youâre not sure why you were expecting JJ to just appear out of thin air in front of you.Â
âJJâs out on the dock, if you want to catch up,â Kiara posits, as if hearing your thoughts. You look at her and hold her gaze, and - unable to read what her expression means - nod.Â
âI think Iâll go say hi. We didnât get a chance to properly catch up,â you reply. You glance up at Mark. âYou want to come with?â
âItâs alright. Iâll stay here and get the tour,â he tells you with a wink. You smile, press a kiss to his lips, and wander off with a wave to Kie, towards the dock.Â
Feet thudding on the slabs of wood, the structure creaks as you walk to the shop. An American flag waves in the breeze. You run a hand along the thick rope bannister and glance down into the growth of plants and water weeds underfoot. I canât believe they built all of this, you canât help but think as you walk up to the wooden-slatted tackle-and-bait shop. As you walk into the store under the wooden âWELCOMEâ sign, reggae music blesses your ears alongside the smell of incense. Itâs jam-packed with miscellaneous water accessories: fishing gear, surfing gear, refreshments, you name it. Thereâs nobody behind the counter. You glance around and squint, catching onto a spot red through the window. JJ lies outside atop of a vintage cooler, feet crossed one over the other, arms tucked under his head. You canât help but smile. Walking outside, you lean against the doorframe and fold your arms over your chest.Â
âWell, as far as customer service goes, this is pretty crappy.â
He snaps up to sit like he has the joints of a ken doll. You laugh as he blinks his eyes awake, laying them on you.Â
âOh shit,â he says, clearing his throat, running a hand through his hair. âWhenâd you get here?â
âA few minutes ago. You looked pretty comfy there,â you say, amused.Â
âYeah, yeah, itâs a good nap spot,â JJ chuckles nervously, glancing down at where he just lay his head. He straightens his t-shirt and then looks back at you. His brows furrow. âWait, whatâre you doing here?â
âCame by to see the new place,â you reply, gesturing around you. âYou offered.â
âDidnât think youâd be in such a hurry.â
âNo time like the present and all that.â
Youâre acutely aware of how youâre avoiding mentioning Mark and how heâs currently being led around JJâs former house and yard under Kieâs tow.Â
âThis is a pretty sick set-up,â you praise.Â
âYeah, itâs pretty good, huh?â JJ grins, getting to his feet. âHere, you want a beer? Weâre technically closed for business anyway.â
Laughing, you shrug. âSure. Why not.âÂ
Cracking open the cooler, he reaches in and retrieves two ice-cold cans. One is tossed to you and you catch it, and a feeling of deja vu rings through you. JJ, younger, just as handsome, throwing you a can of beer at a kegger. He leans against the cooler and you against a wooden pillar. Cracking cans and the fizz of beer, and you take a refreshing sip. A comfortable quiet comes and the two of you catch one anothers eyes. You smile.Â
âI donât think I said earlier, but itâs really nice to see you again,â you tell JJ.Â
He smiles, small and reserved. âThanks. Itâs nice seeing you too. Even if it is with Joe America over there.â
âJoe America?â you snort. âCome on, he isnât that bad.â
âNo, no, he seemsâŚuh, he seems nice.â
âHe is nice.â
âI believe it.â
âWellâŚgood.â
That marked the end of that conversation. You take a sip of your beer and sigh, looking out to the view of sunset over the marshland.Â
âI wish you couldâve seen it,â JJ suddenly says. You look over to him with a frown, confused. âEl Dorado, I mean. South America. It was beautiful. Like actually fucking stunning out there.â
âReally?â you say, smiling.Â
âHell yeah,â he grins. âLike there was colours out there that I didnât even think existed without, like, LSD, man.â
You laugh and he does too and youâre glad whatever awkwardness that just came passed quick like a seastorm.Â
âI still havenât gone farther than Charleston, so I guess Iâll have to live vicariously,â you lightheartedly remark.Â
âYeah, well, turns out thereâs a pretty big world out there,â JJ grins.Â
âGlad one of us got to see it,â you hum.Â
âNah, youâll see it too. All of it. Even Paris.â
The cityâs name hangs heavy in the air. It was more than just a throwaway comment. It was a secret message, as if JJ was speaking in code. I remember it. I didnât forget. You wash down the adrenaline with another sip of beer.Â
âBut no place like home, huh?â JJ says, clearing his throat.Â
âProbably helps now that John B ainât a fugitive anymore,â you muse. JJ laughs, nodding.Â
âYeah, yeah, no, for sure.â
âWell, Iâm glad you found your happiness, JJ,â you say, smiling at him. âIâm glad you found yourself out.â
âAinât we all?â
The two of you watch one another for a moment. His resting smile lingers on the edges of his thin lips. His round, soft cheeks that add to a boyishness about him that his jawline doesnât allow. You always liked JJâs hair though. A mop of blonde planted atop of his head with sun-bleached highlights and deep-sea lowlights. But heâs taking you in too. You canât take the weight of his stare after a while. Taking a deep breath, pushing away from the beam, you ditch your half-drunk beer atop of the cooler.Â
âWell, I better get going.â
âYou sure? I mean, we can hang out a bit longer, if you like?â
You smile politely and shake your head. âIâm not the one driving, soâŚâ
JJ looks over your shoulder and spots Mark. âAh. Didnât know Dollar Store Chris Evans was here, my bad.â
âJJ! Donât be mean!â
âI ainât being mean! If anything, thatâs a compliment,â JJ defends. You roll your eyes. âLook, Iâll see you around though. Itâd suck to go back to being strangers again when weâre both in the same place for a change.â
Despite the innocence of the offer, something in your gut tells you that you shouldnât agree. You should set a boundary there, draw a line, and leave it in the past. So, really, you have nobody to blame but yourself for saying âIâd like thatâ with a smile in farewell, before walking back across the dock to your boyfriend.Â
Salted Chips
JJ had always been in your life. However, in the past, he was more of a background character, like an NPC in a videogame that creators constantly add in like an Easter Egg. The kind of character youâre curious about, in terms of their past and their present, their wants and their fears, but the kind you never have the privy to get close to in that way. Heâd be at parties, at the surf break, at the shops or at school, but he wasnât in your life. Until he was.Â
Fate came in the form of a seating plan for history class.Â
You and JJ were classmates. Table buddies. At first, the conversation was nonexistent. Sometimes JJ wouldnât show up to class at all, either bunking off or playing truant in the bathrooms to light up a joint. But sometimes heâd come to class, usually escorted by Pope, and youâd share an uncomfortable silence as you worked through the hour. But then came an assignment that needed to be done out of class, and numbers were exchanged and words were shared outside of âwhat did he sayâ and âwhatâs the homeworkâ and âwhat answer did you get for five?â. At your prompting to start on the project, JJ offered up the Chateau to work at, John Bâs house that was a renovated fishing shack on the marsh.Â
To stimulate inspiration for the poster the two of you had to create - outlining the history of the American Civil War - JJ had offered up beers and a blunt, and you were glad to take him up on the offer. If youâre going to be doing schoolwork at the weekend, you might as well get something out of it other than mind numbing boredness. It seems you saying yes to JJâs âgiftsâ put you in his good books. Itâs as if you could see the moment his opinion of you changed. From there, it was as if the two of you had always known the other. Conversation came easy, banter even more so. Time spent together stretched outside of the classroom and instead into lunch breaks and evenings and weekends. Heâd seek you out at keggers and hang with you at the beach. Somewhere in the roots of you friendship grew an attraction from the fondness. You noticed it in his lingering glances, his drifting gaze from your eyes to your mouth to your body. Later, you heard it in his words, finding innuendos in smalltalk, catching compliments like falling stars. Eventually, both slightly intoxicated, it came to a head, about three months into this natural-forming friendship.Â
âYo!â
You turn around, beer in hand, startled by the interruption. Itâs JJ. Heâs wearing a cap, squishing down his beautiful locks of blonde; the muted green pairs well with his t-shirt. His combat boots sink into the ground, damp from the rainfall earlier in the day. Everything smells piney and fresh. You lift a finger to your lips to coax him to be quiet. His brows quirk up, a bemused smile gracing his gorgeous face. God really does have favourites, it seems.Â
âYou good?â
âSh! Youâll scare them,â you whisper. At his cocking head, confused, you fervently gesture for him to come over. He does. His presence by your side is almost overwhelming. The buzz from the liquor makes it difficult to keep your itching hands to yourself and your inhibitions at bay. âYou see them?â
âSee what?â
âThe birds.â
âWhat?â
âLook, here,â you mumble. You lean close to him so you can point clearly with your finger, just along his line of vision. A whiff of JJâs scent dusts your nose. Heâs warm like he creates heat. Through the canopy of leaves, you can make out a single branch of a tree. In the nook, against the trunk, is a nest, and inside is a bunch of baby birds, cawing out for their mother, hungry, blind. Youâd left them some salted chips on the floor, crumbled and scattered, in case the mother wanted to steal some to take up and gift. She probably wouldnât, but something about their cries made you feel the need to do something, and it wasnât as if you could offer up your beer.Â
âWoah.â
âYou see âem?â
âYeah,â JJ breathes. âThatâs sick, how did you see them?â
âI heard them first,â you tell him, keeping your voice low so as to not frighten them. âNeeded some air.â
âThe smoke from the campfire botherinâ you?â
âI swear to God, it targets me,â you sincerely reply, making JJ laugh. You finally retract your finger (still sticky from the Smores made earlier) and turn, looking up at him. He looks down at you. Some strands of hair stick out from under his cap, pressing against his forehead. His brows are almost permanently slanted, eyes bright in the dusk of the evening. His shark tooth necklace sits against his chest. JJâs lips quirk at your staring. âItâs not fair.â
âWhatâs not fair?â
âYouâre so pretty,â you say, shaking your head, smiling. The alcohol has given you too much confidence, it seems. Loose lips. His eyes widen in momentary surprise but he catches it, covers it well. Then, comes his mask of confidence. He gives you a cocky smile.Â
âYouâre not too bad yourself,â he suavely replies.Â
âNah, I mean it. Youâre really something, Maybank,â you smile, doubling-down. In for a penny and all that. Â
His smugness fades into something more real. He doesnât seem to know how to take compliments like that. Then, strangely, something like panic tugs his brows together. âIâm not very good at this sorta thing.â
Your frown of confusion seems to spur him on.Â
âBeing honest. Real. IâmâŚIâm pretty fucked up, yâknow?â
âThe best people are,â you murmur, meaning every word.Â
âNah, I mean it, though. Iâm notâŚI donât wanna hurt you.â JJ says it so quietly, so sincerely, that you get the sense that heâs never said it before. Maybe only thought it on dark nights, when youâre so alone with your thoughts itâs maddening. Smiling, shaking your head, you lift a hand to his cheek. Your heart hiccups at how he relaxes into your touch.Â
âI donât think you have to worry âbout that,â you whisper.Â
Youâre not sure who moves first, whether itâs him or you, but you end up a hair-width apart at the lips. His breath is hot as it fans onto your lips. Risk comes like a lightning rod and you take it, pushing onto your toes, connecting your lips with his. His hand finds yours and squeezes. That small gesture, as innocent as it is, tells you that youâre crossing this boundary together, from friends into something more.Â
Pistachio PastriesÂ
The smell of coffee rouses you from sleep. You hum sleepily into your pillow, nuzzling in the scent of your boyfriend: peppermint and sage. A heavy palm gently pets your hair.Â
âWake up, sleepy,â Mark murmurs.Â
You grumble in protest and he chuckles. The bed dips and the duvet lifts as he climbs back into the cocoon of warmth. Rolling over, you tuck yourself against him. He always slept in pyjamas. It was adorable. Nothing cheesy: just a simple shirt and flannel bottoms. His arm hooks around your waist and holds you against him. You swear to God, you could hide here forever. Mark was safety and security. Mark was the netting beneath a trapeze artist. Mark was the emergency brake in a racing car.Â
âWednesday again,â he says, stroking the skin of your back. âKiara messaged the Instagram page today. Said one of them will drop off an order around one-ish.â
âSweet.â
An alarm blares from Markâs phone and he cusses, breaking apart from you to retrieve it and turn it off. You take the opportunity to sit up and grab your coffee. The steam tickles your nose as you blow on it. Routine. Mornings spent in the mini home Mark had made in his parents backyard, in their old shed. He brought you coffee in the morning and you brought him tea before bed. Youâd be asleep by ten and awake by eight. Your shifts at the smoothie shop typically followed a Monday through Friday routine, with the exception of midweek, with Wednesdays reserved for The Stirring Spoon. Weekends passed in a blink. Then, you reset to continue with the same thing again.Â
But thatâs okay. Routine is okay. Itâs reliable. Monotonous in a way that assures certainty. Besides, you liked your job, and your coffee, and your Stirring Spoon. But maybe it might be nice to stray from it all, just for a change.Â
You carefully place your coffee back on the side table and look over to Mark. Heâs scrolling on his phone, lips set in a line, brows tugged together in vague concentration. A thrill runs through your body at the thought, as you press several kisses to the skin of his neck. You feel him breath beneath you. Then a kiss comes to your forehead, quick like a grandparent to their least favourite grandchild.Â
âBaby,â you hum, lifting a hand to rub your finger along his jawline.Â
âMhm?â
âDo you have any, likeâŚthings you wanna try.â
He takes a moment to think, looking up from his phone. A smile comes to his face and he looks down at you, and your body burns with anticipation. âSurfing. Was never that good at it but Iâd like to try it again, yâknow?â
It fizzles away like water atop of a dying flame. âOh. Yeah, no, yeahâŚthatâsâŚyou should do that.â
He frowns. âYou okay?â
âWell, I just meant moreâŚin the bedroom. Like anything, I donât knowâŚâ Your face burns like youâre a nun stumbling across a Playboy magazine. âKinky?â
âKinky?â
âNot like oh my God, kinky. JustâŚI donât knowâŚâ
He quirks a brow, smiling at you in a teasing sort of way. âYou got some kink youâre not telling me about?â
âMaybe,â you tell him, hoping it comes out seductive.Â
âI donât know,â Mark sighs, resting his head back against the wall. You watch his Adamâs apple bob as he swallows and you lick over your lips. He grins, like something dawned upon him, and he dips his head suddenly to press his lips to yours. âWanna know what Iâve always wanted to try?â
âMhm,â you say, lifting your hands to cup his face and keep him near. Yes, your body practically cries. Tell me, tell me, tell me.Â
âWell,â he stalls, kissing you again. You chase his lips, shortening in breath. âIâve always wantedââ another kiss â-to try-â another kiss â-doing it in the shower.â
Itâs hard not to deflate completely with disappointment.Â
Wow, yeah Mark. Kinky.Â
But when you open your eyes, you come face to face with a nervous, sweet, caring Mark. A Mark who always makes sure you feel good and safe. A Mark who would never walk past an elderly man struggling to cross the road. A Mark who would donate a twenty dollar bill he found on the roadside. And you can see it in his eyes, this burning passion, this shock at his own words, because for him, that was like confessing to watching gangbang porn in a Church. So, you plaster on a smile, feigning excitement. âNo, yeah. Thatâd be fun. We should totally do that.â
âYeah?â
âYeah,â you grin, kissing him again. He sighs, pushing back against you. Your body sparks up again. The feel of his hands on your sides is like static energy. âWe should try it now.â
âNow?â
âMhm,â you nod eagerly, kissing at his lips desperately. âGood way to start the morning, huh?â
âMaybe,â he says. He pulls away slightly, guilty as he adds, âbut itâs been a while since I cleaned the bathroom. And I promised my mom Iâd help her out today, and I gotta be good to go in like ten minutes soâŚâ
âOh.â
He kisses you fleetingly on the lips and then tosses the bedsheets off his lap. You watch him get up. âBut maybe soon? Like Friday?â
Routine with scheduled sex.Â
âOkay,â you say through a false smile. You sink against your pillow and watch him put on his slippers. The moment his back turns, you drop the expression. Youâre so disappointed there doesnât feel much point in trying to get off by yourself now, either. You donât seem to fix your frown quick enough before he turns back around.Â
âOh, hey, baby, I didnât mean to upset you,â Mark frowns. He lowers down so his eyes are level with yours. You pout like a child as you look at him. He pushes some hair off your face. âI swear, if I werenât about to go help my mom, Iâd be all over you right now.â
âMhm.â Maybe you are being a bit selfish. Heâs helping his mother for Godâs sake! Smiling, properly this time, you jokingly warn, âIâm gonna hold you to that, Mark.â
âYou better,â he winks. He kisses you before leaving the room, into the bathroom. Sighing, you roll on your back and blink up at the ceiling. You practise your mantra - Mark is good. Mark is good for me. Mark is good. Mark is good for me - and you get up to start your day.Â
The Stirring Spoon is a good distraction from your whining libido. Itâs hard to think about fucking when youâre comparing shapes of pasta. And yet, you still find a way. Because as you stack packets of spaghetti, you try and recall the last time you and Mark had really good sex. Not sex where itâs soft and nice and satisfying. Sex when you feel like you might cry or scream, just to cope with the pleasure pulsing through your body. Sex when youâre actually scared that you might have a heart attack from how fast your heartâs beating. Was it ever like that with Mark? Was it ever like that with anybody else?
Yes.Â
âHey.â
The very boy who just popped into your mind like a vision stands before you, crate in hand, smile on face, as if you manifested him.Â
âJJ.â
âYou good? You were looking at that spag pretty hard,â he asks, amused.Â
âNo, yeah, Iâm good,â you say. You drop the pasta like itâs incriminating to what you were thinking about. Donât tell JJ about the hot sex I was thinking about with him, pasta, please. âWhatâre you doing here?â
âDelivery from Kildare County Kitchen,â he says, dropping the crate down onto an empty spot on the table. âSome of Cleoâs less deadly version of her gumbo; a few sandwiches that Sarah whipped up; and some fish me and John B caught the other day.â
âDamn, thatâs quite the haul,â you say, glancing into the crate and surveying its contents. âThanks, JayJ.â
As you retrieve the items and lay them out carefully and neatly on the table, JJ shoves his hands in his short pockets and looks around the yard. âSo. Loverboy here?â
âHeâs busy today, helping his mom.â
âAh. You short of a helping hand today, then?â
âWhy? You want to help?â you say, half-joking. But JJ shrugs.Â
âIâm not doing much. Why not?â
âDonât the others need you back at the shop?â
âThereâs five of them, I think theyâll manage,â JJ replies sardonically. He claps and rubs his hands together. âWhere do I start?â
âUmâŚâ You stand upright and scan the area, checking what looks the most chaotic. As if on cue, the local bakery van pulls up. âOh, sweet. Delivery. You can help me unload and log inventory.â
âYes, maâam.â
The two of you walk over to the van, side by side, hands kept politely to yourselves. Small talk sits on your tongue but doesnât make it into the world.Â
âMorning Mr Parker,â you call.Â
âMorning, darlinâ,â he croons in his southern accent. âYou too, Maybank.â
âGood to see you, sir,â JJ nods.Â
âWhat you got for me today?âÂ
âSome good stuff, Iâm not going to lie to yâall,â he grins over his shoulder before opening the doors to the back of the van. Mr Parker pulls out a tray of sealed baked goods. JJ steps in and takes it, and as he holds it you crack open the lid to peer in.Â
âPastries?â
âPistachio pastries,â Mr Parker says proudly. His takes off his cap and brushes a hand through his short grey hair. âMy wife got a bit carried away. People in this town donât have that fancy of taste buds.â
âMaybe not on the Cut,â JJ mumbles, making you smile.Â
âWell, be that as it may, glad I can contribute something to your little venture,â Mr Parker tells you. He squeezes your shoulder sweetly. âYâall doing a good thing, with this here Stirring Spoon.â
âThank you,â you say, overwhelmed by the simple praise. âWell, we appreciate any contribution, especially pistachio flavoured ones.â
With that, the three of you get to work carrying the four trays of baked goods to a spare table. Bidding Mr Parker farewell, you and JJ take pause against the table.Â
âI think Iâve earnt a break.â
âYouâve been here less than an hour.â
âTime flies by when youâre having fun, and all that,â he says passingly as he cracks open one of the bakery tubs. He grabs one of the pastries and tosses it into his mouth. His eyes widen as he chews. âHoly shit. These are so good.â
âJJ, youâre not supposed to eat theââ
â--try one.â A pastry is shoved into your mouth. You glare at him but bite, and holy shit this is really good. It must read on your face cause JJ grins. âYeah, right? So good.â
âOh my God,â you mumble. The two of you smile at one another like youâre stealing cookies from a jar.Â
âYou remember that time we got high and raided Popeâs dadâs fridge?â
You laugh and nearly choke on the flaky pastry. âOh my God, I totally forgot about that.â
âYou were like a fucking racoon,â JJ sniggers.Â
âYou were the one that got me high in the first place.â
âI didnât fucking drug you! You wanted to try it!â
âYeah, I did,â you grumble, unwilling to accept responsibility for completely draining the Heyward fridge.Â
âYouâre cute when youâre high.â
You glance up at him. His smile is coy, like he knows he shouldnât have said that. Because he shouldnât. Rolling your eyes, you play it off as best you can. âCute whilst Iâm stuffing my face with questionable cheese?â
âYeah,â he chuckles, shrugging. âYouâre cute all the time though, so guess itâs not very hard for you to be even cuter high.â
âJJ, stop it.â Your tone is gentle but firm. âI have a boyfriend.â
âOh, Iâm aware,â JJ says. âCaptain Vanilla.â
You hate how he isnât completely wrong. âThatâs not his name.â
âItâs just too easy,â he shrugs, playful as always. âThe guy is a walking textbooked âgood guyâ.â
âWhatâs so wrong with that?â you mumble, picking out another pastry and studying the way itâs rolled.Â
âNothing, I guess. Just find it funny.â
âFunny how?â
âThat youâd go from me to him.â
You glance up from the pastry to meet his gaze. âWe never officially dated, JJ.â
âSame difference,â he shrugs. âBut hey - you know you. You know what you want.â
âExactlyâŚâÂ
You do know you, donât you? It sounds like such a crazy thing to question. But the older you get, the more you think you donât know a thing about yourself. Whatâs your favourite colour? Whatâs your favourite animal? What do you want out of your future? What do you want out of a relationship? Journeying back to the morning, your mind replays the scenes like a horror movie. The worries of when the last time you felt passion in the bedroom feeds into worries of when the last time was that you felt passion, period. Oh no: it feels like an existential crisis might be coming on, about thirty years too early.
âHey.â You snap out of your spiral. JJ forces a smile. âJust wanna know that youâre still living, not just secure. Yâknow. As a friend.âÂ
Funnily enough, that does little to cheer you up.Â
Croissants
JJâs skin is warm against your cheek. Your face rests on his bicep, using it as a makeshift pillow, as you lay skin-to-skin, body-to-body. One of your legs is hooked over his, and his palm rubs large, mindless patterns against the sweat-sticky skin. The room is bathed in moonlight, the curtains drawn closed, and you can hear the sounds of the marsh from outside the Maybank residency. You wonder if JJ might have fallen asleep. His chest is rising and falling rhythmically and you canât see his face from here, to tell if his eyes are open or shut. But then he sighs and you smile against his arm.Â
âTell me about your family,â you request in the quiet of the room.Â
âWhat about them?â
âAnything, really. Like about your mom and dad; if you have any siblings,â you murmur.Â
âNot much to tell,â JJ replies in a hum.Â
âStill. Tell me anyway.â
âTell me about yours,â JJ deflects. You crack a smile.Â
âAlright,â you relent. âI live with my mom and my dad. Sheâs a waitress and heâs a mechanic.â
âYou got any brothers or sisters?â he asks, his thumb massaging your upper leg.Â
âI did,â you say, your voice turning softer. âAn older sister.â
âWhat happened?â
Your lips press together. An image flashes into your mind like a jumpscare, of a coffin dressed in white daisies and lilies. Swallowing thickly, you close your eyes and will the memory away. Itâs then that you decide to confide in JJ.Â
âDo you know who Andy Warhol is?â
âI recognise the name,â he replies after a moment, not questioning why the sudden change in topic.Â
âHe was an artist. Painted a lot of pop-arty things.â
âIs that the freakshow who painted those boring-ass soup cans?â JJ wonders. You laugh quietly.Â
âI wouldnât describe him like that but yeah, thatâs the guy.â
âWhat about him?â JJ asks.Â
âHe was in love with this man, way back when. He kept a diary and this man he was in love with died, and Andy was heartbroken. But he ainât like to say that somebody had died. Instead, he used to write that âthey went awayâ, like on a trip or somethinâ,â you tell him. Your voice trails off towards the end, fearing JJ might laugh at you as you go on to say, âI donât know. I think Iâd like to say that about my sister.â
JJ shifts underneath you until the two of you are lying side by side, now able to see one anotherâs faces through the muggy darkness of the room. His eyes glow in the non-existent light, shining and present, gazing into yours.Â
âWhereâd she go, then? On this trip of hers,â he coaxes. Your lips part in surprise, and for some reason, you want to cry for his small act of kindness. Then, you smile, small and sombre.Â
âTo Paris, in France,â you whisper.Â
âShe go to the Eiffel Tower?â
âEvery day. She eats dinner there at night and watches it twinkle. For breakfast, she buys a croissant and sits by the Seine,â you murmur. Tears wet your eyes as you picture your lost sister, venturing the streets with the wind in her hair, kissing her plump cheeks. Your voice is thick when you continue, âitâs her dream to see all the stuff in the Louvre. She goes every week and keeps a note of where sheâs been and where she wants to go.â
âLike the Catacombs?â
You laugh and sniffle. âNah. Theyâre too creepy for her.â
âDamn straight,â JJ mumbles. âThey scare the crap outta me.â
As a tear lets slip, trickling down your cheek, JJ reaches out his thumb and wipes it away. His hand lingers on your face and you feel yourself lean into his hold. Itâs like heâs holding you up. Heâs holding you together. You open your eyes into his. Thereâs a smile on his face, different to the others. More reserved, less obvious, so different to the JJ youâd known and heard of before. Youâre terrified of losing it entirely or saying something especially stupid, and so instead you mouth two words: âthank youâ.Â
When he kisses you, itâs different too. Thereâs something about it, like a taste that wasnât there before, and it lingers in your mind and mouth. It only grows as JJ deepens the kiss. Your hand traces his jawline and your fingers loop through the locks of his hair, and you tug him closer with a breath. The dance of your lips and tongues and teeth is growing more and more familiar by the day and it terrifies you how easy it has been to become accustomed to it. How easy it has been to become accustomed to JJ. Hands on your hips, JJ lifts you atop of him with a grunt, him rolling onto his back. You shrug the comforter off your back and straddle him. Your hands cradle his face, palms cupping his cheeks. You kiss him like heâs the antidote to all your ailments. Your mouth chases him in the teasing of his lips, breaking apart just to reel you back in. JJâs teeth nip at your lower lip and pull, just so, just enough to have you whining and sighing like some lovesick fool. Maybe you are.Â
âJJ,â you mewl, rocking back against him. He groans as you begin to torture his jawline and neck. Groans louder when you suckle on the tender skin by his ear, painting hickeys like a beautiful landscape. His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips deep enough to leave delicious bruises. You feel him growing hard beneath you as you grind against him like some animal in heat.Â
âFuck, youâre soâŚFuckâŚâÂ
Your lips continue their descent down his body. Kisses are peppered along his windpipe, bridging over his Adamâs apple, and you can feel every breath, every stutter, every sigh. Down his chest, bare and broad, and down his stomach. His hands are now free from your hips and instead they tether into your hair, combing through the strands. You look up at him from between his legs - heâs made space for you - and can make out his lazy smile through your hooded gaze. JJâs looking down at you too. His eyes glow.Â
You ghost a kiss over his boxers and he inhales a long, deep breath, his head tilting back into the pillows, eyes undoubtedly slipping shut. Lips upturning with a smile, your fingers tuck into the band of his boxers, and you pull them down his legs tantalisingly slow. Somewhere in the shadows of the room you hear him mumbling, âplease.â Taking him in hand, revelling in his short gasp, you guide him to your mouth. The smell, the feel - it all consumes you as you go down on him. The brush of bristly hair scratching against your nose, flooding your senses. JJâs hand comes to the back of your head quick, as if guiding your pleasure, wordless praising your ways. Until itâs not wordless.Â
âFuck, thatâs itâŚTaking me so fucking good, huh? Look so pretty like thisâŚâ
You hum around his length and he stammers out a moan. Your eyes flick up to take in the sight of his exposed neck, head thrown back, mouth hanging open as he lets noises slip through, shameless and sinful. And you love it, the way you can bring him to the brink, the way you can manipulate his satisfaction like moulding something out of clay. A finger here, a stroke there. The tip hits the back of your throat uncomfortably. You pull away with a damning pop and a trail of saliva connects the two of you. Resting your head against the apex of his thigh, you jack him off with your hand, almost mesmerised by the way he pulses in your hold. Maybe itâs the sounds he makes. JJ Maybank walks like heâs a God; itâs a power trip to have him weak at your hold.Â
âPlease, please, fuckâŚJusâwant your mouth, baby, please,â he begs through gritted teeth. His hand gently yet firmly pushes at your head, trying to guide you back to him, and you feel a giggle bubble up through your throat. It feels unnatural, this version of you. Sexy, seductive, sly.Â
âYou want my mouth?â you tease, pressing a kiss to his throbbing dick.Â
âFuck - yes, yes, please,â he groans. You glance up at him and meet JJâs gaze. His hair, damp with sweat, hangs over his forehead, dangling over his eyes. A sadistic smile is on your face as you pull away, easing your hand off him too. His brows furrow. Itâs like something snaps inside of him - some restraint he was holding breaking like the overstretching of elastic. His hands are on your in a second, gripping and grabbing at your body like you weigh no less than feathers, and you gasp as he tosses you onto your back. Heâs on top of you, ravishing your throat and collarbone so mercilessly, youâre gaping at the ceiling, eyes wide.Â
âThink thatâs funny, huh? Wanna see how much you like it?â
You stammer something out; you donât even know yourself if itâs a yes or no. All you know is you want him - you need him - on you, in you. Anything. JJ doesnât make you wait. His hands pull your panties away swiftly. A finger slips all too easily through your slit and you gasp, eyes rolling shut. His laugh is deep, crooning, cruel in your ear.Â
âSo fucking wet for me, hm? Such a fucking slut. Wanna see how it feels?â
âP-please.â
The stretch of your walls isnât unpleasant as he eases a finger in. You let out a wanton moan. It pumps leisurely inside, the foreign metal of his ring overwhelming, and the brush of the tip of his thumb against your clit has you panting from the pleasure.Â
âYeah, you like that, huh?â
âFuckâŚâ
âYeah,â he chuckles. Then the torture begins, of the instant movement of his finger, in and out, in and out, before easing away so suddenly itâs like he was never there. After that, the faintest of pressure on the exposed skin at his mercy. His damp finger trailing the inside of your thigh. He repeats this cycle until youâre almost in tears. Your hands clutch the bedsheets in fists, feet writhing uselessly at the head of the bed, kicking at the flimsy pillows. You know heâs gloating from the power he holds. Something tells you he doesnât get this much control in most aspects of his life. Something tells you he gets off this just as much as you. âYou wanna come? Do you?â
âFuck! Please, please, JJ, please. Iâll do anything, please, please,â you blubber. You donât care how embarrassing it sounds; how much it pleases him. All you care about is feeling that hot, blinding, pulsing pleasure consuming your every nerve, every bone, every fibre of your being. His breath is hot against your collarbone. JJ kisses the lobe of your ear in such a tender way you wouldnât be able to fathom the magic he works with his hands below the belt. And as you finally break, tumbling over the edge, letting out a fucked-out sob when you do, you can make out JJâs low voice, his Southern accent thick like molasses.Â
âThatâs it, baby. Make a mess on my fingers.â
SmoresÂ
Despite telling Mark where youâre going, it still feels like sneaking around behind his back as you walk up to the Pogueâs house. But this isnât anything nefarious. This is just you breaking routine. This is you catching up with old friends, current friends, and having fun. Sharing some drinks, smoking a joint or two, sitting around a campfire. Good, old fashioned fun just like when you were sixteen.Â
Yep. Thatâs all.Â
âHey yo! There she is!â JJ hollers the moment you come into view.Â
âHey!â you smile, waving. In your other hand is a bag filled with a six pack of beer, a packet of graham crackers, some chocolate and a bag of marshmallows. You ditch it by the cooler to hug everyone hello. JJâs last. His arms wrap around you like tree vines, secure and strong, and itâs familiar in a way that has you lingering. Mark. You break apart and take a seat on the opposite side of the campfire to him.Â
âWhatâs in the bag, mystery girl?â the girl you now know as Cleo asks.Â
âSome refreshments,â you say, lifting up the six pack. That earns a few whoops and hollers of approval from the already tipsy group. âAnd some snacks.â
âSmores?â Sarah gasps. She takes the bag of marshmallows from you.Â
âJust like old times,â you say. Your eyes catch JJâs. Heâs watching you.Â
âLetâs light these bad boys up,â John B announces. The gang is vocal in their approval. Sticks and twigs are gathered for skewers. Marshmallows dangle over the open flames that lick into the dusky air. A marshmallow shoves at yours and you glower at JJ.Â
âLeave my marshmallow alone.â
âHey, this is America. I got rights, yâknow?â
âSays who?â
âThe constitution,â he retorts, grinning. You roll your eyes, trying and failing to bite back your smile.Â
âYâall better stop it,â Cleo says in her thick Jamaican accent. âI ainât wanting any marshmallows going to waste.â
âYou heard her,â you playfully quip at the blonde haired boy. He rolls his eyes at you. Heâs smiling. The amber of the fire paints his face like an oil artwork. What must it be like to grow up that beautiful?Â
No, no, stop it. Stop it! God, what is wrong with you? This is just because you and Mark have been a bit distant lately. Yes, thatâs all. Youâre getting stuck on nostalgia. Itâs a mindâs trick. It didnât work before with JJ so whoâs to say it will again. The two of you are friends - heâs been a good friend - and you donât need to go muddying the waters. You punish yourself by staring into the flames and trying to make images of Markâs face in the fire.Â
The night spurs on with drinks that wash down the sickly sweet snacks. You listen to the tales of El Dorado and laugh at the reminiscences of youthful madness when you were all in high school. It isnât until youâre back in the bubble of the Pogues that you realise how much you missed it. Itâs like rediscovering your favourite movie from childhood. It brings a certain comfort that few things can match. They ask about The Stirring Spoon and you recount the tale of how you came about with the idea, of how you got it off the ground. Nobody asks about Mark and youâre ashamed that you donât feel the urge to bring him up, either.Â
You go for another swig of your beer to find it empty. The cooler by John B is empty too, upon investigating. You drop the lid.Â
âYou guys got any more beers?â
âProbably some down at the fish and tackle shop,â Kiara tells you.Â
âThanks,â you say, starting towards the dock. The further you walk, the more the vivacious chatter turns into a humming like the crying cicadas and croaking frogs and cooing owls. The water laps at the wooden pillars and you smile, letting your eyes slip shut for a moment as you walk. Nature is so wonderfully peaceful. The cooler is full of bait and chum, but thereâs a small section for the beers. You retrieve one and drop the lid to find JJ standing in your peripheral.Â
âHoly shit!â
âSorry!â
âWhat the fuck, man?â you laugh.Â
âJust wanted a refill too,â he says, shooting you a squiffy smile. His hair is dishevelled. He seems to wear caps less now, you note. Youâre happy about that. In your tipsy state you can admit your attraction with less shame. You chalk it up to appreciating beauty the way one can appreciate a perfect sunset or timeless painting. To stop your staring, you open the cooler and hand him a can. âThanks.â
âHey, cheers,â you say, holding your drink out. He clinks his against yours. âTo old friends.â
The two of you take a drink. Neither of you go to move back to the other Pogues (who are seemingly in some weird charades battle that is far from quiet). JJ gestures over your shoulder. âYou seen the boat yet?â
âThe H.M.S?âÂ
âNah, the new one,â JJ answers.Â
When he walks past you, you catch a whiff of his smell and it reminds you of home. You turn and follow him. He steps up onto the large boat. Itâs painted bright green and in yellow paint, the name reads The Snapper. JJ offers you a hand and you take it, letting him help you up onto the boat. You feel your phone vibrate in the pocket of your shorts but youâre in no mood to check it.Â
âPretty sweet, huh?â
âSo sweet,â you agree, looking around. JJ wanders over to the main console and flicks on an overhead light. He glows beneath it. When he takes a seat on the bench, you do the same, sitting opposite. Sighing, you lean your head back against the brutal plastic. âThis is the life.â
âYeah? You miss the marsh?â
âI miss it all,â you quietly confess.Â
You can hear the rustle of clothes and the flick-flick of a lighter. The smell of cannabis drifts into the air. âHere.â
Opening your eyes, you lift your head to find a joint extended out to you. Smiling, you take it with thanks and have a hit, then a second, then a third. You havenât smoked in what feels like forever. Mark doesnât like the smell; says it makes him feel sick. You wonder why you stopped indulging in something you enjoyed just because of that, even on your own time.Â
âThanks,â you say, passing the joint back. You ditch your beer can to the side. One poison at a time would be best in these sticky situations, you reckon.Â
âWhatâd you mean, âyou miss it allâ?â
âI donât know,â you sigh. You gaze off into the distance; itâs hard to make out much definition in the dark, save for some lights of houses in the far distances and the silhouette of plants and trees. âI feel like my life is soâŚâsameâ now.â
âSame is good.â
âSometimes,â you say. âBut I keep thinking about what you said to me, the other day. About being secure but still living. What ifâŚWhat if Iâm not living?â
âWellââ
â--I mean, look at you guys! You went to El Dorado! You found El Dorado, and the Royal Merchant, and the Royal Merchantâs treasure, and the Cross of Santo Domingo. What did I find? A mouldy tomato in a box of potatoes.â
JJ cracks up and you roll your eyes. âItâs not funny,â you mutter, smiling nonetheless. You take the joint back and have another drag. Relief fills your system. The muscles in your face loosen along with your mouth. âItâs pathetic. Iâm nearly twenty-one and Iâve been as far as Charleston and have about a handful of exciting memories to my name.â
âWoah, come on now,â JJ chuckles, taking the blunt back. âDonât you think youâre being a bit hard on yourself? You heard what Mr Parker said: that Stirring Spoon thing is awesome, and that was all you. Youâre feeding the community, bringing people together. Thatâs way cooler than some shiny fucking stones.â
âMeh,â you shrug. âGuess Iâm just jealous of you.â
âHa! Yeah, donât be,â JJ sarcastically berates. A shadow comes to his face. Foot in the mouth syndrome curses you.
âShit. Sorry, I didnât mean it like that.â
âYouâre good. I sometimes forget how bad it was too, with how things are now,â JJ admits. He smiles at you and takes another hit. âBut I guess I didnât fully let you in then, huh?â
âYou think?â you jest. He laughs, thankfully, and you inhale the sweet scent of the herb. âGuess I just get stuck on the good memories from before. Like all the days skipping school to surf. And how the summers felt like they could go on forever. Or that time we broke into City Hall, or pranked Topperâs house.â
âDamn, I guess we did get up to a lot of shit, huh?â
âDamn straight,â you grin. Following the dance, you take the joint back.Â
âWell, I can think of some other memories, too,â JJ says. His grin is telling, tongue poking through his teeth. You bite back your smile.Â
âDonât,â you warn.Â
âWhat?â he chuckles.Â
âDonât! Thatâs dangerous territory,â you tell him. You point your joint at him. âThatâs no manâs land.â
âOh man!â JJ groans, tossing his head back. âWhyâd you have to call it that!? You know thatâs like calling a moth to a fire or whatever!â
âWhat?â you giggle, eyeing him.Â
âTelling a guy not to do something is the exact thing to do to get a guy to want to do something,â JJ argues nonsensically. You laugh, shaking your head at him. He holds your gaze and you feel your smile settle into your skin like footprints into damp sand. âThey were pretty good memories, huh?â
âYeah,â you quietly say. âThey were pretty good.â
âRemember that time we did it on the beach.â
âStop it,â you say, but thereâs little conviction in your words. You canât take his eyes anymore, the blue dragging you under like currents in a riptide. You look down at the joint and fixate on the way the embers burn at the paper.Â
âOr that timeââ
âJJ, I mean it,â you say, your tone losing its humour now. You shoot him a look that you hope will put a pin in it. âWe should talk about something else.â
âAlright, alright,â JJ surrenders, holding his hands up and all. He relaxes back against the plastic seat of the boat and you do the same. Your legs outstretch so you can rest your feet on the spot beside him. The two of you catch each otherâs gaze and look away, chuckling bashfully like preteens. You take another hit of the joint and watch the smoke fizzle away into the night. âHowâd you meet Mark, then?â
You glance at JJ. âA few months back. Heâd just moved to Kildare and came by to The Stirring Spoon to help out, and we sort of hit it off.â
âHe seems like a nice guy.â
âHe is,â you smile. But it fades. The weed tickles at your emotions, pulling the wires as if to wreak havoc. JJ seems to take advantage.Â
âWhatâs wrong?â
âNothing,â you lie. You take another hit and shake your head, plastering on a smile. âItâs nothing.â
Sighing, JJ folds his arms comfortably over his chest. âYâknow, just cause I know what you look like naked donât mean we canât be friends now.â
Barking out a laugh, you shake your head. âThere was definitely a better way you could have put that.â
âProbably,â he shrugs, grinning, âbut itâs true, ainât it? We can be friends.â
âOf course we can. We are,â you emphasise.Â
âSoâŚThat means that if you wanna vent about Mr Loverboy to me, you can,â JJ offers.Â
Laughing, you rock your head back and gaze up at the sky. The stars are out. They shimmer white and crystal in the abyss of the night. âThatâd be too weird, I think, but Iâll keep it in mind, thanks.â
âI just got one question. Just one.â
âGo on,â you reluctantly reply.Â
âDoes he say âthank youâ after the two of you fuck?â
You burst into fits of laughter. Itâs so sudden that it has you doubling over. Tears slip from your eyes and you wipe them away, looking at a grinning JJ. God, you missed him and his twisted sense of humour.Â
âHe just looks like the kinda guy who would!â
âOh my God, no!â you laugh, shaking your head. Catching your breath, you manage out, âno, he doesnât say âthank youâ.â
âIs he the sub then? Cause there is no way that guy is laying his hands on you without written permission.â
âJJ stop! Iâm gonna pee myself!â you cackle, kicking your feet. JJ starts laughing too. You open your eyes and make out his face in the lowlight of the pierâs lamp. Wheezing, you catch your breath and calm yourself. âThis is exactly what I was talking about.â
âI can give the guy pointers if he needs them,â JJ jokes. Your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets just at the idea though and you point at him in another warning.Â
âDonât you dare!â you say, trying not to crack up again. ââSides, he doesnât need pointers.â
âEverybody needs pointers,â JJ says with a roll of his eyes. âJohn B gave me one of the best pointers.â
âI find that impossible to believe,â you snort.Â
âHe did! It was a tip for kissing. Works like a fucking charm too, Iâm telling ya.â
âMhm, Iâll bet,â you sarcastically return. You glance at the joint to check if it needs tapping off, take another drag, and then look up to find JJ watching you. He hasnât changed enough for you to forget what that expression means.Â
âYou want me to show you?â
âShow me? How?â you say with furrowed brows. Something in the air shifts with your question. An unspoken thing, an unseeable thing, but something nonetheless. A nervous tickle comes to your throat.Â
JJ doesnât reply but he slowly leans over the seat towards you. Your breath catches in your lungs the moment he enters your bubble, breaking some unspoken barrier, and your smile fades away like day into night. You feel as though youâre stuck in place, plastered to the seat, and youâre ashamed to admit that you donât hate that you are. Youâre ashamed that youâre not pushing him away, telling him to buzz off, laughing at his idiocy. Youâre ashamed that youâre curious as to what heâs going to do next.Â
JJâs close enough now that you can smell him. His cologne mixed with something sweet but tangy, like seasalt and citrus. Something masculine underneath, that has a primal instinct inside of you wanting to claw its way out. Your fingers grip the edge of the seat instead. Your eyes stare into his. You study the laps of green and grey in the sea of blue, mesmerised in the way the night sky reflects in the iris. His gaze darts down to your lips and you have no idea how this happened and how you got here, and everything is blurry but so, so clear from the cannabis as he leans forward, and you canât move but you should move and you want to move but you donât, you never want to move again, as his lips brush against yours just so, just enough for you to know that they have, that he has, that heâs real, but that he hasnât, and that you can take it all back, and that it doesnât count and it shouldnât and you shouldnât butâ
Your hand clutches his jaw and you pull him in. His lips crash against yours in a breath. You kiss him like you wonât ever kiss him again. He sighs against you in the hurried mesh of mouths, groaning as your tongue brushes against his, tasting him for the first time in years. Itâs like finding a childhood toy and it smells like nostalgia. Itâs like eating a baked good and it tastes like a specific holiday. Itâs like smoking your first joint and it feels like floating.Â
Until youâre not.Â
Your body falls back down to earth with a thud. You shove JJ away as if heâs flammable and youâre the deadly spark. Your mouth hangs open in shock, your eyes filling with horror, and the worst feeling youâve maybe ever felt overcomes you so suddenly, you worry you might be sick.Â
Guilt.Â
âOh my God,â you whisper. You lift a hand to your lips and your fingers brush against the damp of his spit that lingers, and it confirms that it was all real. âOh my God.â
JJâs lips move to try and formulate words but nothing happens. He looks just as stunned as you do. His eyes are wide, lips swollen, cheeks pink. Those three words bang about your brain as you take in the sight of him. Itâs not at all unfamiliar.Â
Hot ash from your joint drops onto your thigh and you cuss, brushing it off. You toss the joint into the sea behind you as if itâs the culprit, the plotter, behind all of this. Then youâre on your feet and rambling out excuses.Â
âIâm so sorry. I donât know why I did that. I think it was - it was definitely the weed. I really should go, itâs so late. Iâm so sorry. Oh my God, I have no idea-â
Itâs as youâre about to step off the boat and onto the wooden pier that JJâs hand locks around your wrist. It freezes you in place once more and you want to climb out of your body and scream at yourself. Instead, you look down at him.Â
âYou can stay, yâknow,â JJ whispers. Thereâs a pleading in his eyes, a tenderness that you havenât known before in him, and you finally know how Eve must have felt with that damn serpent in Eden. Temptation at its finest, dressed up in blonde, unruly hair and dreamy eyes and sculpted muscles and a graphic tee.Â
Mark.Â
You shake your head and snatch your hand free. âThis was a mistake. I shouldnât have come here.â
And no matter how vehemently you tell yourself that you mean it as you hurry away from the pier and from the house, you know you donât.Â
Cheap White WineÂ
The tart tanginess of the wine is sharp on your tongue as you take another swig. Itâs late, or perhaps early, and the Chateau is illuminated by amber and orange from lamps. Itâs raining outside as hurricane season rattles on, but you and the Pogues could care less. When you have wine, you really have everything you need.Â
âCome on, come on!â Kiara laughs, egging on you to loop your arm in hers. The two of you line dance together to an old noughties CD in the player. You swing one another around in a tipsy haze to the upbeat tempo. Pope and John B heckle and holler from the pull-out sofa, toasting their beer cans up in approval. Youâre happy here, like this, in your bubble. As the song comes to a close on a major chord, you and Kiara giggle and take joking bows to your audience. You frown when you look around the room, not finding JJ anywhere.Â
âHeâs on the porch,â Pope says, seemingly catching on.Â
âThanks,â you smile, a little embarrassed that youâre that easy to read. Taking the wine, you venture out the door, closing it behind you as another song starts up. Kieâs cheer and begging for John B to dance is muted through the shutters and windows.Â
JJ sits on the sofa, a joint lit up, legs outstretched on the coffee table. He glances up at the sound of someone coming out and smiles at the sight of you.Â
âHey. Can I join?â you wonder.Â
âCourse,â he hums, shuffling a cushion in invitation beside him. You sit and lean against him, hitching your feet up onto the table beside his. He knocks one of his shoes against yours teasingly and you smile. Through the netting of the porch, you can make out the lashing of rain in the yard. Itâs pitter-pattering is soothing like a nursery rhyme. You sigh and let your eyes slip shut. âHaving fun?â
âAlways,â you mumble, making him laugh. âYou got any dreams?â
âLike sexy ones?â
âNo,â you giggle, elbowing him, making him let out a few laughs too. âLike actual dreams. Ambitions. A wish.â
JJ takes a pause for thought. You have a swig of your wine as you wait, revelling in the sound of his heartbeat through his shirt, steady and constant. âI donât know. Maybe.â
Your heart sinks with disappointment. This wasnât the first time this has happened. It felt as though every time JJ came close to pulling back the curtain and letting you see a glimpse, he caught eye of something that scared him and he slipped it shut again. He told you what he wanted to tell you and kept the rest close to heart. You werenât going to pry his cards from his body to see them, but it would be nice if he showed you them once in a while. It felt like the more time you spent with him, the less you knew. You could guess things from small clues as if playing a boardgame. He hardly went home, never mentioned his mother, and his father came into conversation with a shadow. He spoke lowly of himself, presumed the worst before others could, and it saddened you how clearly he believed everything he said. JJ couldnât see himself the way you did.Â
âI do,â you whisper, hoping it might entice him to share.Â
âOh yeah? Whatâs your dream?â
âI want to start a kitchen.â
âHuh?â
âLike a community kitchen thing. Not a bakery or a restaurant, just a place for all kinds of food, for all kinds of people, yâknow? A good thing, like that. My sister used to help out at a soup kitchen andâŚI donât know. I always liked that.â
JJ squeezes your thigh in acknowledgment. âSounds fuckinâ amazing.â
âThanks.â
In the Chateau, John B and Kiara laugh and Pope speaks loudly over them, something teasing, and you smile. The smell of weed fills the air before you and blends in with the notes of your wine and the telling scent of JJ. You wonder if the smell of you affects him in the same way; if the flavours of your perfume haunt him when he canât sleep the way his cologne does for you. Suddenly, somewhere in the serenity of the moment comes a calamitous realisation, like a rumble thunder breaking the rain.Â
You were falling in love with JJ Maybank.Â
Biscuits Â
Food poisoning. Thatâs what youâd told Mark. The heavy sickness that had sat in the bottom of your stomach like a boulder since last night lingered still. You hoped it was a hangover, but that passed with an advil. You knew what this was.Â
You only escaped the guilt in your sleep. The moment you returned home, you climbed under the sheets of your bed like a child hiding from the bogeyman. Sleep was the only reprieve, though it didnât come easy, and the second you came to in the morning, the first thought in your head was the look on JJâs face just before his lips touched yours.Â
Fuck.Â
Your phone pings with another message that is no doubt from Mark and you canât bring yourself to look at it. It doesnât help that thereâs a framed picture of the two of you staring at you from the bedside. It was his gift to you for your one month anniversary, because of course Mark cares about one month anniversaries. You hadnât gotten him anything; you had to make up some lie that it was late in the mail, and then run to the shops that night. Just further proof that you donât deserve him.Â
Hello, hell? Iâd like to reserve my spot in advance. Queen sized bed please, for me and my whorish ways. Much love.Â
When the phone begins to ring you groan aloud and send it straight to voicemail. You bury your head beneath the pillow and close your eyes, but the memories haunt you like flashbacks. JJâs eyes. JJâs lips. The way he tasted, the way he bit your lower lip just so, in that way that only he knows, in the way that he always knew drives you crazyâ
âStop it!â
Hello, hell? Quick update: I think I might be going insane, too. Just thought I should preface you.Â
Somewhere in your self-loathing, you manage to drift off into another restless sleep. Itâs broken by a tapping on your door. Groaning, you force yourself out of the safety of your bed and wander to your door, expecting to find your mom. Instead, your head tips back to see the face of your boyfriend.Â
âHey,â he says. His voice is thick with concern, brows knitted with worry. âHow you feeling?â
âLike shit.â Thankfully, you didnât have to lie with that one. âWhatâre you doing here?â
âI needed to check on you,â he replies. He steps into your room and you make space, sitting on your bed. He closes the door behind him. âI tried calling but you didnât answer.â
âYeah, sorry, uhâŚI was just feeling really frail, yâknow?â
âOh, baby,â Mark sighs. He sits beside you on the bed and places his large palm on your forehead. His brown curly hair sits in perfect ringlets atop of his head. One dangles over his forehead, out of formation, and it reminds you of JJ. Just how you went from me to him, JJ had said. Were they that different, after all? âYou got a temperature?â
âI donât think so,â you say. You gently push his hand off your face. âI think I just need to sleep.â
âWell, Iâm here to take care of you.â
âReally?â You hope the dread in your voice isnât obvious.Â
âCourse. Youâd do the same for me,â he smiles. He lifts a bag you didnât even notice he was carrying and shows you each item. âMamaâs homemade biscuits. Sheâs real worried about you, yâknow?â
âIâm fine,â you insist, âjust a bit sick. I think the worst of it has passed.â
âThatâs good, then. Iâll make you a hot drink, yeah? We can watch a movie or something. You get cosy,â Mark tells you. You nod and try your best to smile. Mark leans forward and presses a fleeting kiss on your lips, and the sickness comes back tenfold. You want to cry the second heâs out of your room.Â
Mark is good. Mark is good for you. But what if youâre not good for Mark?Â
Chocolate Chip Cookies
âI donât understand.â
You sigh, rubbing tiredly at your forehead. Bile lingers in the back of your throat but you swallow it down, alongside the feeling of self-reproach. This was it: the conversation youâd been dreading. The conversation that needed to happen. Youâd rehearsed your words in the mirror like practising lines for a play. Journals and diaries filled with debate, as to whether you stay or bolt. But now was as good a time as any, and you knew in your mind what the right thing to do was. You canât risk getting in the car accident if you step out of the vehicle.Â
âDid I do something?â JJ then asks, his voice weak, naked. You meet his gaze and shake your head firmly.Â
âNo,â you breathe, âno, you ainât do nothing, JJ.â
âThen I donât get it,â he repeats, stronger this time. Frustrated. You knew none of this would be easy.Â
âLook,â you cut yourself off with a sigh. You shuffle your crossed legs, sitting on JJâs bed in the Chateau in a way that you never have before, as if youâve never stepped foot inside his life. âMy parents are heading to Charleston for a couple months anyway, to stay with my grandmother and help look after her, andâŚwell, maybe itâs for the better, that we have this distance sooner rather than later.â
âDistance?â
âYouâve been removed, JJ,â you mumble, hoping not to sound accusatory. âAnd thatâs okay, I know youâre busy. I mean, you told me from the start that you donât do the whole relationship-thing. But I donât think I can stay, not right now.â
âOkay, is this some kinda joke?â JJ snaps. He gets to his feet and paces a few steps in the small throughway of his bedroom. Taking off his hat, JJ rakes his fingers through his hair. He looks at you, eyes fiery, expression hard as if to shield from the hurt that you donât mean to cause. âWhat the fuck are you even talking about? I thought we were fine.â
âWe are fine,â you insist. Sighing, you try and find the best way to explain yourself without giving it all away. âLook, I ainât meaning that youâre a bad guy or that youâre damaged or anything like that. I donât think that, not at all. ButâŚHow can I explain this?â
JJ takes a moment or two to calm himself as you hang your head and clench your eyes, searching for the perfect turn of phrase to make your thought process make sense. You find it. Lift your head, soften your gaze at the hurt on his face, and try your best to smile through the sorrow. This wasnât easy for you either.Â
âYou know when you see a tornado?â
He stares at you for a short while before nodding, urging you to continue.Â
âThings that likeâŚTheyâre always so pretty for afar. So mesmerising, how nature can create something like that. Stunning, really. Epic. But then, you get too close, and you get sucked in. And itâs just chaos and thereâs no way out of it without being broken.â
JJ nods again, pursing his lips.Â
âI think thatâs what might happen here,â you whisper. âIf I stick around.â
âI donât get it. Youâre saying Iâm gonna break you?â
âNo, Iâm sayingâŚIâm saying youâre not in a spot right now to give me what I need. That ainât your fault, JJ, but I canât let myself stay knowing that Iâm gonna have my heartbroken. I wish I could - I wish I could just wing-it like that - but I canât.â
Thereâs a pregnant pause that JJ drags out, staring at you as if trying to see into your head, searching for some lie. Sighing, he must come up empty, as he takes the spot beside you on the bed again. You test the waters, leaning against his chest, feeling the warmth radiate through his t-shirt. One of his hands lifts and strokes your hair, smoothing it down.Â
âI really do care âbout you, yâknow? Like, that ainât fake,â JJ admits in a hushed tone.Â
âI know, JJ,â you reply, just as soundless. âI just think you gotta figure yourself out before you canâŚâ
â...love you?â JJ hesitantly whispers, after you lose nerve. Your eyes squeeze shut.Â
âMhm.â
âYou canât love me âtil then, either?â
Laughing sadly, you shake your head against him. He really couldnât tell how much youâd fallen for him already, could he? âI donât think you gotta worry âbout that ever, JJ.â
A soft kiss is planted on your forehead. âSoâŚJust gotta do some soul searchinâ, huh?â
âSomethinâ like that,â you hum. âBut hey, I tell you what.â
You break apart from the comfort of his hold, tilting your head so you can look up, into his eyes. The pain in JJâs gaze tears you like wrapping paper, and itâs worse to know itâs your fault, but you know that itâs the only way to save you both from further pain. It isnât the right time, and thatâs a shame, and it isnât fair, since youâve memorised the outline of him and drawn him into all your plans and daydreams. But you can hear it when you talk and feel it when you sleep together, this detachment, this removal of himself, that canât come until heâs healed in a way that heâs far away from now. Thereâs something pulling him away from you, an adventure of sorts, and you donât want to keep him from it. You want JJ to love you but you want him to choose you, too. And until then, you donât have it in yourself to sit around on the sidelines, waiting for your heart to be broken. Itâs like sitting a toddler in front of a plate of chocolate chip cookies but demanding them not to touch; the temptation might just kill you.Â
âWhat?â JJ gently prompts, bringing you back from your thoughts.Â
Your smile is sick with inner lamentation. âIf you do figure yourself out, after some soul searchinâ and all that, then chances are Iâll still be here. So, I guess, if you ever feel like fallinâ then lemme know. You can catch me on the way down.â
JJâs smile is beautiful, even when his eyes are wet with unshed tears. You lean up and press a fleeting kiss to his lips, but you donât let yourself linger. If you do, youâre afraid youâll never leave. You murmur some sort of goodbye, making an excuse that you should get going, and JJ doesnât argue. He watches you as you stand, waves farewell with two-fingers as you leave, and you walk home with your heart halfway broken but more whole than it mightâve been if you stayed and tried to make this impossible thing work. JJ wasnât ready to fall in love, not yet, but you already had.Â
Ham and Cheese Sandwiches Â
âAre you sure youâre feeling okay?â
âYeah, I promise,â you reply to Mark, smiling reassuringly. You wonder if it looks like a grimace. It feels like one. Even touching him makes you want to cry, as you brush your hand atop of his on the table. Your feigned food poisoning was two days ago now but Mark was still worried for your health, likely because you were still acting so withdrawn and drained. Itâs hard to sleep when youâre consumed by guilt and confusion. âWhy donât you see if Nancy needs a hand in the kitchen, yeah? I can work on the inventory out here.â
âYou sure? I donât mind helping.â
âIâm sure,â you nod. âI can come get you if I need anything.â
âYou better,â he grins. He dips his head and kisses you and it takes everything inside of you not to pull away like a flinch. Itâs not him. Itâs you. You feel like youâre poison. Like JJâs kiss has infected you and you canât get Mark sick too. His brown curls bounce as he walks back to the building. You busy your mind with counting tins of soup. The Stirring Spoon had never had so many posters, so many new recipes, with how much youâd been trying to keep yourself busy. You picked up extra shifts at the Smoothie Shop to avoid Mark during the daytime, and you submerged yourself in your voluntary-planning work and âearly nightsâ to avoid him during the night. It wasnât fair to him but you didn't know what else to do.Â
Well, thatâs a lie. You know exactly what you should do, but denial is so much easier.Â
Ducking down, you grab another box of leftover soup from a local supermarket. Theyâd recently changed providers and all the old stuff had to go. You were thinking of making toasted sandwiches with soup. Grunting, you lift the box onto the table. The sun beats down on you as if the universe is punishing you. Good, itâs the least I deserve.Â
You can spot him anywhere, even blind. Heâs in the far corner carrying a smaller box than usual, compared to his crate. A sudden wave of panic comes over you and you speed walk over to him. He frowns as you approach.Â
âYou good? Hey!âÂ
You grab his arm and drag him out of sight from the field, behind an overgrown bush. âW hat are you doing here?â you hiss.Â
âBringing sandwiches?â he replies, as if it should be obvious. âAre you okay?â
âJJ, you canât be here,â you snap. âMark is literally in the other building!â
âSo?âÂ
âSo? Do youâŚDo you not remember what happened the other night?â you ask, calming down slightly.Â
JJ sighs and puts the box down on the floor. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he shrugs. âLook, clearly you spun out. I ainât gonna mention it if you donât want me to.â
âWaitâŚReally?â
âJesus Christ, I ainât a homewrecker,â JJ chuckles, trying to lighten the mood. You want to crack a smile but you think your face might be permanently stitched in perpetual concern forever. His laughter dies. âListen, I think you got some stuff to figure out, aâright?â
âExcuse me?â
âDonât get offended! Iâm jusâ sayingâŚâ JJ cuts himself of with a sigh and brushes a hand through his hair. He pinches the bridge of his nose. You missed all his little ticks and quirks. âLook, donât kill me for sayinâ this, Iâm just tryinâ to be honest. I donât think Markâs the right guy for you.â
âI-â
âIâm sorry, aâright? I donât think you want to admit it either butâŚI think you gotta be honest. You donât love him, okay? And thatâs aâright, Iâm not saying heâs a bad guy. I just think you need to make a choice.â
âWhat does that mean? A choice?â you quietly ask, terrified for his answer.Â
His smile is sad as JJ shrugs. âI was an idiot to lose you once, I ainât gonna lose you again - not if I can help it. If Markâs who you want - if Mark makes you feel like youâre living - then Iâll never bring it up again. Hell, Iâll stay away from you forever, if you want. Least, Iâll try to. I donât know if I can be held accountable for when Iâm drunk but- look, now Iâm getting side tracked. The point is:â, JJ speaks with his hands, âif Mark isnât the one for youâŚIâm here to catch you, yâknow?â
You blink at JJ and blink away the tears. Youâre not sure if you can form words right now, not even sure what words they would be, so you try your best to nod. JJ tries another smile.Â
âThereâs some sandwiches from Kie and Sarah for today. I hope it all goes okay. JustâŚlemme know. Or donât, yâknow? Either way,â he trails off with a shrug. You feel cemented into the dirt as JJ backs away. Then heâs gone. Your eyes slip shut. Some weird hybrid of JJ and Markâs faces fill your thoughts.Â
âIf you ever feel like fallinâ then let me know. You can catch me on the way down.âÂ
âIâm here to catch you.âÂ
You need to figure this out and fast. It wasnât fair to anybody, not even yourself. Dragging things out doesnât make it any easier, it only delays the inevitable, like tediously inching a bandaid off the skin. Sometimes you just have to rip. You just have to prepare for the aftermath.
How ironic, how when you were sixteen it was you waiting for JJ to figure himself out, and now itâs your turn. Itâs a shame you were never all that much of a fan of irony.Â
Cinnamon BunsÂ
Baking is therapeutic. The precision of weighing out the ingredients; the cathartic relief from beating together butter and sugar until fluffy like clouds; the tapping and cracking of eggs; the rhythmic folding of flour; the soon-to-arrive reward for your labour. You like baking when life gets stressful. Few things are so systematic, so simple, so quick to resolve, as baking. Life is more complicated than that.Â
Mark and JJ. Two sides of different coins. Neither good, nor bad. Human, just like you.Â
As you prepare the batter for cinnamon buns, you try to make sense of everything. Figure yourself out, as JJ had put it.Â
Mark was designed to be easy to fall in love with. It was as if the universe had a recipe for him, everything the girls crave, the people fawn over in romance novels, the parents pray for in their childâs partner. Responsible; caring; thoughtful; kind; secure; safe. Mark was good. There was no other way to put it. Hell, you met him at a voluntary community kitchen. He gave you stability like a white picket fence. Perfect and practised, like heâd been waiting for that his whole life. But you found yourself restless in the fairytale. Found yourself itching for change, for chaos, for clutter. He was sentimental in a way you werenât. That wasnât to say you were heartless - the two of you just loved differently.Â
JJ Maybank? He wasnât designed for it in the same way, but it was impossible to not fall in love with him. You knew it from the moment your paths crossed, back when you were sixteen and the two of you tumbled through two months together. Thatâs why you left in the first place. To save yourself from the inevitable heartbreak that it would bring, because sixteen-year-old JJ was in no place to commit to anybody. You assumed that with time your feelings would fade away and when you met Mark, you believed they had. You liked Mark - that wasnât false - and you had feelings for Mark. But the love you had for JJ didnât vanish. Like energy, it could only be transferred. It went into the back of your mind as if in hibernation but the moment JJ waltzed back into your world, it was awake. It was impossible to ignore.Â
Mark was the netting beneath a trapeze artist, but JJ was the acrobat. Mark was the emergency brake in a racing car, but JJ was the driver. But JJ was safety too. He made you feel safe, but he also made you feel alive.Â
And you wanted to feel alive.Â
Mark was routine. He was predictable. You could see the next five, ten, twenty years of your life laid out nice and neat with Mark. But did you want that? Did you want to give up the adventure? The chaos? The things you missed so desperately.Â
As you drizzle the topping on top of the cinnamon buns, you summarise your scrambled thoughts into one neat realisation: you wouldnât have kissed JJ if you truly wanted Mark.Â
Your heart feels like itâs in your throat as you walk to Markâs house. The buns sit neat in the tupperware and youâre careful not to shake them. His door looks like a tombstone as you knock on it. Thereâs a noise from inside and the door opens. Mark smiles down at you. Heâs dressed in a baby-blue waffle sweater and itâs so undeniably, so wonderfully him.Â
âHey!â he grins.Â
âCan I come in?â you ask. It sounds ridiculous asking that when you used to sleep in this house almost daily.Â
âCourse,â Mark replies. He opens the door further and you slip inside. It shuts behind you. You place the tupperware on the countertop, taking too much time in letting go. âYou alright?â
âMhm. I justâŚI think we should talk about some stuff,â you say, feeling your voice losing power.Â
âAlright. Come, sit,â he urges. You do as he asks and take the spot on the bed beside him, leaving a gap. âWhatâs up?â
You fumble your fingers together and stare intensely at your hands, racking your mind for the words, for where to start. Youâd practised this so many times in the mirror. Childish.Â
âI did something and I need to tell you, because youâve always been so good to me, and so honest with me, and it isnât fair to hoodwink you.â
âOkay,â Mark faintly replies.Â
You take a steady breath in. Mark is good. He deserves the truth. âI went to see JJ last week, and one thing led to another, and we kissed.â
For a moment, thereâs nothing. Just the sounds of the air conditioning unit humming as white noise. Then,Â
âOh.â
You clench your eyes shut before looking up at him. Heâs detached in his expression. Your eyes fill with tears. âIâm so sorry, Mark,â you whisper, scared your voice will break if you talk any louder. He meets your gaze. âYou donât deserve that. You donât deserve to be treated that way. Youâre such a good, genuine person. I justâŚI donât know why, but I justâŚI canât love you.â
Mark swallows thickly. The tears are warm and sticky on your cheeks. Itâs so selfish to cry when youâre the one who threw the punches. You hang your head with shame and watch the teardrops land on your restless hands.
âI swear I didnât plan it. I didnât even know I still had feelings for JJ untilâŚWell, until then.â
âI did.â
Your head snaps up. Heâs staring at you, but he doesnât look angry. No. Thereâs a shadow of a smile on his lips. A sad smile, no doubt, but a smile nonetheless.Â
âYou did?â
âThe minute you saw him, that Wednesday at the start of the month. I saw it on your face, clear as day. You never used to look at me like that.â
âMarkââ
â--Thatâs okay,â he nods. Heâs crying too, now, and youâre not sure what to think, what to do. But Mark does. Of course, he does. His hands reach out to hold yours, warm in his clutch, and you blubber like a petulant child. âYouâre not a bad person, Y/N. I could tell something was bothering you this past week.â
âI just didnât know how to tell you, and I didnât even know what it meant. But I have to be honest for the both of us, and I donâtâŚI donât think Iâm the girl youâre looking for, Mark,â you say through your tears.Â
Mark smiles solemnly and nods once. The squeeze of your hands tells you everything. I know. I agree. Itâs okay.Â
âDo you hate me?â you ask in a moment of pure patheticness. Mark laughs and shakes his head.Â
âYouâre too pretty to hate.â
âUgh! You canât say things like that!â you whine, throwing your head back. He laughs again, soggy with his sorrow, and he shrugs.Â
âJust got to keep my good-guy rep up.â
Laughing, you shake your head at him and smile. The two of you share a breath and he nods. A conclusion. His smile dwindles.Â
âIâm gonna need time, thoughâŚBefore we can be friends, maybe. Just toâŚYou knowâŚâ
âOf course,â you whisper. âI understand. Whatever you want, whatever you need. Itâs all on your terms, I promise.â
Mark nods. Thanks you. It is so fucking bizarre to have the man you cheated on thank you but here we are. Life is full of strangeness.Â
âCan I give you a hug?â you wonder. Chuckling, he nods, and you waste no time in throwing your arms around his shoulders. Mark holds you in the embrace and the two of you savour the feeling of one another for one last time. Against his shoulder, you murmur, âIâm going to miss you, Mark.â
âIâm going to miss you too,â he tells you into your collarbone. âJJâs a lucky guy. But make sure to tell him I know where he lives if he hurts you.â
You tearfully giggle against him. âIâll pass on the message.â
Bacon Sandwiches
Itâs warm today; bright and brilliant. The critters are happy, chirping in the trees, croaking in the overgrowth by the water of the marsh that lines the Pogueâs house. Your footsteps feel heavy as you walk up the driveway, anticipating weighing you down. You lift a hand to shield your eyes from the sunlight and make out JJ. Heâs at the entrance to the shop, stood a few rungs up a free-standing ladder. Heâs trying to staple something to the walls - a banner of some kind - and you make your way over.Â
âNeed a hand?â
He jumps and you cringe. Oops. JJ looks down at you and his lips quirk at the corners. The muscle tee he wears is grey and hangs loose on his well-kept frame. Heâs armed with a staple gun. âYo. Whatâre you doing here?â
âWant a hand?â you repeat, nodding up at the banner, not quite ready to confess. JJ shrugs and nods.Â
âSure. Thanks.âÂ
You glance around and find something that looks sturdy enough to stand on. Dragging it over, you boost yourself up and hold out your hand to take the other side of the banner. Holding it up against the wall, JJ leans forward and steadies himself with an elbow on the wooden panelling.Â
âWeâre selling bacon sandwiches on weekends now, so thought we oughta advertise it, yâknow? So, anyway, whatâre youââ a grunt and a click of the staple gun, â-doing here?â
You step down from your boost and JJ takes your place. You donât speak, stalling time, as JJ secures the banner. Sighing, taking it in, nodding with contentment, JJ jumps down and ditches the gun. The he stands with his hands on his hips and looks at you, shrugging again.Â
âI, uhâŚI needed to talk you,â you say, clearing your throat.Â
âAâright. What about?â
âJust likeâŚâ You rock your head back, take a breath, and steel yourself. Somewhere in that split second, you find a new mantra. JJ is good. JJ is good for me. Iâm good for JJ. Weâre good for each other. Smiling, you look at him again. âDid you mean it?â
âMean what?â he mumbles.Â
Thereâs a playfulness, a teasing, as you shrug. âThat youâll catch me.â
You can see the words as they process through his head. See the moment he tracks the meaning, parses it altogether. A smile, beautiful and brimming, greets you, and then JJ crosses the gap between you in two large strides. He wraps his arms around you and lifts you up in an embrace. He swings you around for good measure and you laugh, looping your arms around his shoulders, holding him close, smiling against him. This is good.Â
âYou mean it?â
âI mean it,â you whisper in reply. He carefully reunites you with the ground. You smile up at JJ, gazing into his blue eyes, bathing in their depths. Your hand strokes along his jaw, slides down his front until it rests just above his heart. âIt was always you, JJ.â
âYou thinkâŚYou think you can love me now?â he nervously asks.Â
You shake your head with a silent laugh. It feels like breathing, like youâre finally free, as you admit, âIâve always loved you.â
It comes and goes like a comet; the flash of shock in his eyes; the glow of his smile; the burning passion of his lips on yours. And as you kiss JJ, without guilt, without fear, you finally feel at home. When you break apart, short of air, JJ rests his forehead against yours. His thumb smooths along the soft line of your jaw and you smile. He takes a small breathe, shaky, unsure, but JJ's words are sure like bedrock.
"I love you too."
#jj x reader#jj maybank#jj maybank x reader#jj#outer banks#obx#outerbanks#outerbanks fic#outer banks fic#outerbanks one shot#outer banks one shot#obx fic#obx one shot#obx 4#outerbanks 4#outer banks 4#jj one shot#jj x reader one shot#jj maybank one shot#jj maybank x reader one shot#jj fic#jj maybank fic#jj x reader fic#jj maybank x reader fic#fem!reader#jj x fem!reader#jj maybank x fem!reader#jj maybank angst#jj maybank smut#jj maybank fluff
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Dead on Main Soulmate AU [Part 2]
In this AU everyone is born with a tiny red heart tattooed on the inside of their wrist. If you're close to your soulmate the heart will beat, and when you meet them the heart turns to gold. If your soulmate dies, the heart will fade to black.
First part | Next part | Masterpost
CW: Brief mention of suicidal thoughts, take care everyone!
----------
Danny is 15 years old when he's informed that he is the crown prince of the Infinite Realms. He would have loved it if someone had had the decency to explain that the title of Ghost King would be passed down through right of conquest sometime before he fought Pariah Dark. If not that, couldn't someone at least have said something a bit sooner?
Now Danny had been faced with the information that he was ghost royalty out of nowhere, and that's just not something he was prepared to deal with on a random Tuesday afternoon.
As Danny paces the length of his bedroom he chooses to ignore Tucker's pointed reminder of "It's a Wednesday."
Instead of responding, he shoots a tiny ecto-blast at where his friend is lounging in the beanbag, which is easily dodged. Not that it would have hit, whenever Danny was aiming at one of his human friends me made sure to channel his dad and aim almost a full foot away from them, just to be safe.
He may be annoyed with Tucker's lack of sympathy about his situation, but he would never purposefully hurt him. Still, a warning shot when Tucker got extra cheeky wouldn't hurt anyone.
The other boy let out an affronted squawk as he dodged the blast, but wisely stayed silent after that.
Danny continued his pacing for another moment, but before he could start his frustrated rambling again Sam spoke up from Danny's bed, she hadn't even looked up from her phone for the whole time Danny had been ranting.
"It's not that big of a deal Danny, the council have been dealing with things just fine up until now, I'm sure they'll handle things until you're ready."
It was true, he knew that the council would continue to run the realms, and allow Danny to ease into the role.
The thing was, he was hoping that "ready" would mean he was at least of legal age. But no, ghosts saw time and age differently of course, they were satisfied as long as he was at least sixteen. Which he would turn in a few months.
In a desperate attempt to postpone the coronation (because Danny was not ready to become king of an infinite dimension yet, holy shit, he had convinced the council that it would be in their best interest to wait until the summer after Danny turned sixteen.
Danny still had to go to school after all, and the thought of having one measly weekend to be crowned before having to return to the halls of Casper High was not one that excited him.
The council had agreed to wait until summer. Danny wasn't overly happy that he'd still only have two months to adjust, but he'd take what he could get at this point.
He was not looking forward to starting his junior year, to say the least.
As if his looming coronation wasn't enough, now that Danny was aware of his title as crown prince, he suddenly had a bunch of new responsibilities. Supposedly, it was to prepare him for being king. Danny found it tedious at best, but he hadn't found a way to get out of it so far.
Luckily, as long as no ghost caused too much trouble Danny didn't have much to worry about.
----------
A ghost was causing too much trouble, enough that Danny got called in to deal with it.
At first he'd been salty that he had to ditch Sam and Tucker last minute for some stupid job that surely someone else could do. But once he heard what the job was, he was for once glad that he was dealing with it himself.
The situation was delicate, and Danny wouldn't trust a lot of ghost to handle it carefully enough.
An annoying ghost whose name Danny hadn't bothered to fully remember (Wi.. Fin.. Vin..ca.. something or other, not important) had decided to head to the human realm to take revenge for their death.
Now, if Danny tried to stop every ghost that ever tried to avenge their own death he'd never get to rest. A ghost's death was such a personal matter too, Danny didn't feel like he had any right to step in and say what's right or wrong for them to do.
So, in nearly all cases he stayed out of it. A lot of ghosts were happy to avenge their deaths in non-violent ways. Some time spent haunting their murderer, scaring them shitless, and most ghosts were satisfied. Not enough to move on, revenge was rarely enough for that, but enough to exist peacefully in the Realms.
That was all fine in Danny's book, but this particular ghost (Danny mentally dubbed them "Vi" when he failed to remember their full name) had decided that violence was the only answer.
The thing was, they blamed the wrong people. Vi had been a citizen of Gotham when they were alive, and they got caught up in some bad business. That had eventually led to their death.
It wasn't any one person's fault, but Vi blamed the Gotham vigilantes. From what Danny knew, Vi had been running away from said vigilantes, not wanting to be arrested, and had died because they were too focused on avoiding the vigilantes to pay attention to their surroundings.
The details of their death beyond that was not something Danny knew, he had listened to the necessary details from Clockwork before he left, but he didn't like learning exactly how other ghosts died unless they tell him themselves, it felt too personal.
All he needed to know was, the actions of the Gotham vigilantes had indirectly caused Vi's death, so they were on their way to Gotham to take revenge. That was bad, on so many levels.
The absolute last thing Danny needed was The Batman getting interested in ghosts. Danny had done a great job of managing without his or anyone else's help so far, and he really didn't want them poking their noses into his business now.
That was why Danny was speeding towards Gotham City, hoping to get there before Vi managed to track down a vigilante, as he was sure they didn't have any ways to defend themselves against ghosts.
After flying at nearly top speed for half an hour, Danny finally arrived. Not that long if you think about it, but plenty of time for a vengeful ghost to track down their targets.
With no better method, Danny started flying laps around the city, hoping his ghost sense would go off eventually.
His ghost sense remained quiet, but he found something better.
Batman himself, was right there fighting off a group of thugs. It was a small group of people for a skilled fighter like Batman to take on, he didn't really need backup. Which probably meant, the bird was somewhere nearby..
And yup! Standing on a rooftop close by keeping lookout was Robin.
This was neat, two vigilantes in the same location, now Danny could just stay here and keep guard until Vi showed themselves.
Danny hovered over Batman's fight invisibly, realizing how lucky he was that the man was unaware of his existence, and had no access to ecto-powered weapons. Danny shivered just at the thought.
Now that he was thinking about it, Batman was surrounded by a lot of people. A lot of them were probably innocent people, pulled into this business by a lack of better opportunities. Just like Vi.
And if Vi was here only for revenge, surely they wouldn't risk other people suffering the same fate as them. If they attacked Batman now, any one of the thugs could get caught in the crossfire.
Would Vi just wait it out until Batman was alone? It didn't make a lot of sense. Surely they would act soon, but Batman was surrounded, and Robin was.. Robin was alone!
Danny turned around in a panic as a cold shiver ran through his body.
Shit
He shot off towards Robin at high speed. Now that he had sensed them he could tell where they were (two seconds) Vi was heading right for Robin, their claws out and ready to strike (one second), they were just about to make contact, barely an inch away from Robin, when Danny crashed into them, phasing them both harmlessly through the vigilante and flying them far, far away in the blink of an eye. His heart was drumming so hard in his chest, (he could feel it all the way through his arms, wow) he didn't realize his heart could beat that hard in ghost form, he assumed his core would take over.
Maybe it was just testament to how stressed out Danny was.
That had been too close.
He had barely a moment to rest, as Vi broke out of his hold angrily.
"Foolish boy, do not get in the way of my revenge again."
Vi tried to fly away to try again, but Danny formed an ecto-barrier around them to keep them put.
"Not gonna happen, you're targeting two innocent people."
Vi hissed at him with frustration,
"You know not what you speak of, fool. Those killers parading around as heroes caused my unfair demise, and I shall have reve-"
At that point Danny decided he'd heard enough, it was a school night and he had to get going, so he grabbed the thermos from his belt and sucked Vi into it mid-spiel. He'd heard that same speech enough times to know how it goes.
Robin still alive, Batman unaware of ghosts existing, Crisis averted, and Danny would still make it home with enough time to get a half-decent nights sleep. Things were looking up.
---------
Jason is 14 years old. It's been a year since his soulmate died.
He's gotten good at pretending it doesn't affect him anymore. After that first night where Jason let himself properly cry in Alfred's arms, neither of them had spoken about the matter again. Alfred made it a point to treat Jason exactly the same as before, knowing that if he were to act extra careful as to not upset the boy it would have the opposite effect.
Alfred was great like that, always noticing and remembering things but knowing when not to bring them up.
He pretended not to notice that Jason never wore short sleeved shirts anymore.
When he found Jason huddled away in the library he pretended not to notice how many more romance novels the boy was reading compared to before.
During the darkest nights, when Jason silently wishes he could go join his soulmate wherever they had ended up, Alfred was there without fail. He didn't speak of the things he knew Jason was thinking about, whether it was as to not make Jason uncomfortable or because Alfred himself didn't dare say it out loud, he didn't know.
But he was there, every time.
And when Jason realized it had been a full year since his soulmate died, Alfred was there as a silent support, just a moment away should Jason need him yet never intruding.
If Bruce notices that anything has happened to Jason, he hasn't bothered to ask about it yet. Jason isn't sure if he prefers it that way or not.
On one hand, he doesn't like the idea of Bruce butting into his personal business, the man had never been great with emotions.
But the realization that his father-figure didn't even know what he was going through had Jason wanting to burst into Bruce's study and tell him everything, if even just to get a reaction out of him.
It had been a year, but so far he hadn't said anything.
--------
When Jason is out on the streets of Gotham, the mask of Robin is always a nice barrier to hide behind. He'll lock his emotions up tight in the back of his mind and cover them up with the veil of an unbothered vigilante who had far better things to worry about.
This night he's standing on a rooftop, keeping a lookout as Bruce deals with a group of thugs. The group was small enough that Bruce would have no trouble at all dealing with them, and Jason's time would be better spent keeping an eye out for anyone trying to slink away unnoticed by the bat.
It had been an uneventful few minutes, watching Bruce dispose of the thugs as all of them kept rushing him, not a single one having the bright idea that whatever payout they were promised wasn't worth sticking around anymore.
Then, Jason felt a shiver run up his spine. He felt like he was being watched. It was a foreboding feeling, like something was going to jump at him any moment.
He spun around, quickly assessing his surroundings, but he found nothing out of place.
The feeling did not go away though, only growing more insistent.
And then in the blink of an eye, a gust of wind picks up around Jason as the feeling of danger flares, and Jason is sure he is about to die right there.
In the next second, the wind turns cold, and Jason could swear he saw his breath fog in front of him for a moment. Yet he doesn't feel even the slightest bit frozen.
The cold passes through him impossibly fast, and with it the feeling of danger vanishes, and so between one blink and another Jason is left standing there dumbfounded at what just happened.
He hadn't imagined it, that feeling of danger was nothing concrete but it had been clear as day in Jason's mind.
The wind was definitely real too, he'd felt it rustle his hair as it passed by.
And the biggest piece of evidence he wasn't going crazy, was the small piece of frost on the ground around Jason's feet. He took a step away from it experimentally, and it quickly faded. But it had been there.
The biggest mystery of the night though, the part of this whole thing that shook Jason to his core, was his wrist.
He raised his wrist and pulled back his glove to check, because there was no way he was actually feeling what he thought he was.
But right there, the tiny black heart that was stuck to his wrist as a permanent reminder of what he could have had, was carefully beating in an excruciatingly slow rhythm. Slow, faint, but real.
Jason lost track of time as he stood there, just watching the heart on his wrist beating slower and slower, until it stopped and refused to move again.
For the first time in a year, Jason feels a dangerous sliver of hope sneak it's way into his heart.
It can't be.
But there was no other explanation.
Jason had been in danger, but some unknown force, one that brought an overwhelming feeling of safe with it had saved him.
And his tattoo was telling him his soulmate had been there.
Jason couldn't think of a better explanation than that the one who saved him was a spirit, or ghost of some kind. It sounded ridiculous.
He looks back at his wrist, gently stroking his fingers over the tattoo as the considers it.
It seemed like a ghost saved him.
His soulmate had been there.
His soulmate who was dead.
Jason felt silly for entertaining the thought, but he couldn't help but want to believe it. That tonight he had been about to die, and the spirit of his soulmate had protected him.
He took that realization and stored it away with the rest of his emotions. He didn't know how to feel about it.
He knew, that for the past year his grief had made him consider some terrible things. But how could he possibly want to go join his soulmate now, when they'd done the impossible and appeared next to him for even just a moment, to save his life.
Jason decided then, that no matter what happened, he was going to live. The sadness may never fully go away, by he would live the life he had been given, and his soulmate would simply have to wait until Jason was ready to join them.
With a lighter conscience than he's had in a year, Jason grapples away from the roof and heads back home, a tiny hint of a smile on his face.
------------
First part | Next part | Masterpost
Tags: @craftyexpertchild
Thank you for reading <3
#danny phantom#dc x dp crossover#dc x dp prompt#dp x dc#dp x dc crossover#dp x dc prompt#dpxdc#jason todd#dead on main#soulmate au
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Meant to be â Prof!Spencer Reid (smut)
I just love writing prof!fics â almost as much as I love priest!fics. Almost. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx
Summary: The reader is a young professor joining the university Spencer works at. Even though he's annoyed about having to share his office with her at first, he can't help but fall for her all too quickly.
Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, office smut, some possessiveness/jealousy, lots of fluff
Pairing: Prof!Spencer Reid x fem!prof!reader (3k words)
âProfessor Reid?â The soft voice filled his office, forcing his eyes off the paper he was currently grading. His gaze wandered over the woman's features as he curiosity studied her for a moment before clearing his throat.Â
âMy office hours are over, please return on Wednesday for your questions.â His eyes left hers to refocus on his papers, while expecting her to turn around and leave, urged on by the rude tone he hadnât been able to shake. Spencer hadnât expected anybody else to turn up this late in the afternoon, he was desperate to squeeze as much work into the remaining time he had alone in his office, already overstimulated by the mere thought of having to share his office with somebody from today on.Â
âMy name is (y/n), Iâll be sharing this office with you.â Once again he was forced to look at her, unable to swallow his annoyance as it began to dawn on him that she wasnât a student.
She was pretty, by far prettier than all the pictures he had searched on the internet the second he had heard about her, about (y/n) joining his personal safe space. Why hadnât he recognised her? Was his mind already that fed up with the pretty stranger?Â
âOf course, Iâm sorry.â He didnât move as she slowly stepped into the big room, letting her eyes wander before finding her way to her space. The old wooden desk had been placed near the big window, drenching her in the light of the slowly setting sun. Spencer would crash and burn if he were forced to see this daily, a sight so ethereal he feared this was just a trick of his tired brain.Â
âIâm sorry that you have to share your office with me, I can only imagine how annoying that must be for you.â He wanted to protest, wanted to tell her that he doesnât mind sharing it with her â polite words any other colleague would have effortlessly spoken. But all Spencer could do was hum and redirect his gaze to the papers, while missing the slight hurt expression (y/n) couldnât hide.Â
âŚâŚ
Her heart was pounding with a faster beat, singing a tale of nervousness in her chest she couldnât silence just yet. This wasnât an unusual situation for her, she had taught numerous classes before, but the first class she taught at a new university always had something special to it, something (y/n) couldnât shake.Â
The students were working on the papers she had handed out a minute ago, fully engrossed by the story. She let her eyes wander, taking them all in in hopes of remembering at least a handful of them. But her thoughts were silenced the second her eyes found his. Spencer Reid was leaning against the door and with his arms crossed in front of his chest he intently studied her from his spot.
Her heart skipped a beat in her chest as it silently whispered to (y/n). It had been days since she had first crossed paths with him, the annoyed, closed-off man who was more handsome than she liked to admit. Ever since their first awkward run-in she hadnât tried to make any conversations with him, she had opted to wear her headphones around him, hiding herself from the curious eyes she felt on her frame whenever she let her work swallow her.Â
Neither of them dared to break their eye contact first, a silent challenge both were determined to win. (Y/n) allowed herself to take him all in, the locks perfectly framing his handsome face, the slight unfamiliar smile playing on his lips, and those twinkling eyes that seemed to follow her around whenever they crossed paths.Â
âAlright, seems like our time is up, if you have any questions about your reading, please email me.â She was forced to break their staring contest first, smiling at her students who smiled back at her before leaving the room. (Y/n) couldnât help but notice how a few of them wore overly bright smiles as they walked past Spencer, seemingly just as affected by the professor's handsome appearance, just like (y/n) was.Â
Only as the last student had left the room did Spencer finally begin to move. Slowly, he walked down the stairs, moving closer to (y/n) with every passing moment. She was glued to her spot, patiently waiting for the man to break their silence, to let her hear the raspy voice that had rang in her ears for the past days.Â
âThat was a really interesting lecture, (y/n).â He came to a halt only a few steps away from her, keeping a slight distance between them as if he was unsure how to properly approach her. For a moment, (y/n) had to avert her gaze, she began to pack her bag with a slight smile stuck to her lips, hoping that he wouldnât pick up on the nervousness flushing through her whenever he was close.Â
âThank you, Spencer, that means a lot coming from a beloved professor like you.â Her words drew a gritty laugh from him, while a slight rosy tint began to flush his cheeks. (Y/n) shouldered her bag before she began to walk up to him, wordlessly asking him to follow her up the stairs and back to their office.Â
âListen,â Spencer cleared his throat before he kept speaking, seemingly unsure how to put his thoughts into a coherent sentence. âI am sorry about those first days, I was annoyed and quite unfriendly to you. Would you allow me to make it up to you?â
âOh, Spencer, that is very kind of you, but I get it, I would be just as annoyed if I had to give up my personal space to share it with a stranger.â Her soft voice left him smiling, unable to look away from (y/n) while stepping back into their own little bubble, the safe haven they found in their spacey office that was filled with books and collected items.Â
âWould you want to get some food with me, as an apology? We could also order in, if you want.â He plopped down on his chair the same second (y/n) did, while holding eye contact from their spots.Â
âSure, that would be lovely, thank you, Spencer.â
âŚâŚ
Her phone had buzzed in her pocket a few minutes ago, and even though it had ripped (y/n) out of her thoughts, she was determined to get her search over with before giving into the pull. She had just finished her class and was now combing through their library, in search of new reading material, desperately trying to find her books.Â
With a relieved sigh she reached for the book she had looked for these past minutes, pressing it to her side before finally giving into her heartâs silent call. (Y/n)âs hand wandered to her phone, unable to bite down her chuckles as she read Spencerâs all too simple message.Â
âThai or Italian?âÂ
Ever since that evening in their office, where they had ordered in and started to get to know one another properly, they had begun to form some kind of routine, ordering food at least once a week to spend their evenings together. Spending time with Spencer felt all too easy, too natural, something that made her feel more confused than she liked.Â
She was about to type out her reply as she collided with somebody, forcing her eyes off her phone. Hands found her waist to stabilise her frame, keeping the young professor from losing her balance. (Y/n)âs wide eyes found a pair of brown ones, she studied the man for a second before parting her lips to apologise.
âI am so sorry, are you alright?â Her question drew a soft laugh from him. She had seen him from afar a few times, another professor she had yet to properly introduce herself to. He was a handsome man, taller than her and slightly older, and yet he had nothing on the professor she shared her office with.
âDonât worry, are you alright though?â The man still had his hand placed on her waist, holding onto her while murmuring the question. Just as she wanted to reply, to tell him that nothing had happened, her name was called, forcing her attention towards Spencer, who was approaching the two. An unreadable expression tugged on his features as he studied her and the hand of their colleague which was still glued to her waist.Â
âThere you are, I was looking for you, sweetheart.â Heat flushed through her at the unfamiliar term of endearment. The second Spencer reached her side, he pulled her from the manâs grasp, straight into his arms. She could only gape up at him, torn between her confusion and the slight twinge of excitement she couldnât shake as she took in his clear expression of jealousy. Â
The man muttered something (y/n) couldnât pick up, fully focused on Spencer and the way she fit all too perfectly into his grasp. No words were shared between them as they held eye contact, staring at one another as if it was the first time they got to take the other in. Spencerâs thumb stroked soft circles into the fabric of her shirt before he slowly â almost reluctantly â let go of her.Â
âI, uhm, you didnât reply, so I thought Iâd go find before you get lost.â Spencerâs whispers drew a soft chuckle from (y/n). She couldnât stop herself from reaching for his hand to lightly squeeze it as her smile kept growing.
âAnd what was that whole thing with calling me âsweetheartâ?â The blush she was all too familiar with by now returned to his cheeks, while forcing his eyes from her. (Y/n) squeezed his hand again before she began to tug him down the hallway, set on finding their way back to their office.
âDonât worry, Spenceâ, I quite liked it.âÂ
âŚâŚ
âYouâre so quiet, whatâs going on in that head of yours?â She mumbled the words as she studied Spencer. They were both sitting on the floor, leaning against the small couch placed near their bookshelves, while finishing their food. It had been almost an hour since their situation at the library, but while (y/n) had made some more jokes about the situation, Spencer had grown quiet, deep in thought.Â
Spencerâs gaze flickered from his hands to her curious features. He studied her for a few seconds before he placed his plate down and fully turned towards (y/n). No words were shared between them, they were caught in a thick fog of unspoken thoughts, longings, and fears.
âCan I try something?â His husky voice was about to draw a gasp from (y/n). She could only nod her head, not daring to break out of the grasp this situation had on her. Spencerâs hand found her cheek, while his eyes were focusing on her lips. He let a few seconds pass before closing the distance between them.Â
Within seconds he had pulled her into his lap, letting (y/n) straddle his thighs as their lips moved in sync. Their hearts were racing, pounding in their chests to beg one another to keep on going, to let their tongues meet while growing comfortable in the new sensation that held their souls hostage. The kiss felt all too perfect, something they had been waiting for ever since crossing paths, something they had longed for and thought of for weeks now.Â
âI canât stop thinking of the way he touched you.â Spencer murmured his words against her lips. A confused expression began to tug on her features as she patiently waited for him to keep on talking.Â
âYouâre mine to touch, and not his, youâll never be.â Possessiveness dripped from his words â a possessiveness so strong, it made her feel as if they had been together for years, sharing memories neither could shake. (Y/n) couldnât speak up, not when she felt Spencerâs hands disappear beneath the fabric of her blouse, softly stroking her sides.Â
âSpencer,â she gasped his name, desperate for more, another touch â anything heâd offer to her. His lips began to find their way down her throat, sucking on spots that made her tingle with a biting heat threatening to leave its mark on her forever. (Y/n)âs hands tugged on his curls while trying to shuffle even closer, letting her core grind against his growing bulge.Â
âWe shouldnât do this here.â (Y/n) could only whisper the words as his hands pulled her blouse over her head, exposing her bra to his wandering eyes. The groan that left Spencer at the sight made her forget every word she wanted to speak, every warning, nothing but hazy thoughts were left behind.Â
âTell me why we shouldnât, baby.â The raspy command forced her to arch her front into his touch. She felt as if he had set her ablaze, burning for him only, a summer solstice bonfire that left her shaking and trembling in a desperate need to turn every offering into something worthy.Â
âPeople will hear.â His hands kept moving, urged on by the desperate whines leaving (y/n). The cold air teased her now naked chest, the hardening nipples Spencerâs fingers tugged on, drawing the most sinful sounds from her parted lips.Â
âAnd? Let them hear how good Iâll be fucking you.â The words seemed to do something to (y/n) - they forced her hands to move from his hair down his front to slowly undo his trousers. Both knew that there was no way out of this, they were high on the feelings the other pushed through them, desperate for the highs they could already feel creeping closer without being properly touched. Â
âHow can you be so sure youâll satisfy me enough?â She was riling him up, teasing him in a desperate attempt to forgo any foreplay to be filled by him, needing to feel Spencer buried deep inside of her. They held eye contact for a second as she finally managed to free his cock, twitching in her grasp as if he felt the same exciting heat burning deep inside of him.Â
Spencer didnât speak another word as he pushed her off his lap to murmur a raspy âUndressâ. He stared at her as (y/n) pulled out of her jeans, with her soaked panties following a second later. Her skin was prickling, unsure how to act around the man who was now seeing her completely naked for the first time.Â
They kept looking at one another while Spencer fisted his cock, giving himself a few pumps before a smirk tugged on his lips. With his hand finding the back of her head, he pulled her in for a teeth-clashing kiss â a kiss so desperate (y/n) feared heâd rob her of her last breath.Â
âTurn around, chest down on the couch.â Slowly, (y/n) turned around to follow his command, only to feel him behind her a few moments later. She heard Spencer shuffle around and rip open a condom, before she felt his slender fingers at her aching heat. A loud moan managed to break through her at the feeling of his digits brushing through her slit, collecting drops of her arousal to spread it on her pulsing bundle.Â
(Y/n) had to claw her fingernails into the fabric of the couch to ground herself, to let go of a few deep breaths â all while Spencer slowly pulled his fingers away to push his cock towards her entrance. With one hand placed on her waist, he held onto (y/n) while slowly pushing into her â a sensation so strong, it pulled raspy moans from the both of them.Â
âFuck, youâre so tight, baby.â (Y/n) could only let go of a sob at his praises. She had her eyes squeezed shut, knuckles turning a few shades lighter from the strong grip she had on the couch. Spencer pulled out of her, only to fuck into her with more force, letting his hips meet her behind with every thrust.Â
This was neither sweet nor was it slow, it was a desperate fuck, an attempt to get rid of the tension lingering between them, the longings neither of them had managed to shake ever since meeting for the first time. It was a perfect chase that now ended with both of them tumbling to their knees, losing all grip on reality, while being fucked into oblivion.Â
âSpencer, fuck, you feel so good.â Tears dripped from her eyes while the words broke through her â words that filled Spencer with pride. His smirk began to widen as her moans grew louder, rumbling through their office like a song both played on repeat.
âTouch yourself, make yourself cum on my cock, baby.â Her fingers blindly followed his command, she circled her pulsing bundle to push herself closer and closer towards the edge, high on the sensation that began to thump through her veins. With her teeth buried in her lower lip, (y/n) tried to keep another moan from leaving her, very well knowing that anybody could burst into their office any second now, a risk neither of them should take. And yet they couldnât care, not when he was buried deep inside of her and about to fuck her through her high.Â
(Y/n) began to tremble as her orgasm climbed up her limbs, momentarily robbing her of her sight as black spots appeared in her vision. Spencer kept fucking her from behind, more ferocious with every thrust to chase his own high, set on following her down the edge. Their moans got tangled, ringing in their ears as if fireworks went off in the distance to support them through this long awaited moment.Â
Spencer came with a groan of her name, he clung to her as they both rode out their highs with racing hearts and quivering limbs. Heavy pants left them, filling the room with every breath spluttering from their lips.Â
âThat was,â the rest of her sentence was left hanging in the air. Spencer slowly pulled out of her, he tossed the condom away before finding his way back to her. A slow kiss was shared between them, with his hand cupping her cheek, and hers resting on his shoulders.Â
âPerfect, like it was meant to be.â
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want so bad - Minho âĄ
membership // m.list
pairing: idol! Minho x gn! reader
warnings: angst, mentions of depression, poor self care, struggling mental health (minho just wants to take care of you :'))
Have you eaten?
The question rang through your ears in a low hum. You could hear the words but they were so far away. You pulled yourself further under the covers. The heavy blankets consumed your body and weighed you down into an immovable mass. You wouldn't be going anywhere today. Monday had faded into Wednesday, then Thursday into Saturday.
Have you had any water?
By now you couldnât tell if the words were your own brain or some guardian angel flying down from Heaven every few days to remind you to breathe, to eat, to bathe. Some days were harder than others. Most of the time you could get up and join society as if it weren't a chore, werenât a burden. But lately, life has been a deep chasm of an inky black sludge that was pulling you inside its horridly ragged mouth. You wanted to fight, to pull yourself out of this monsterâs ragged jaws, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to fight alone.
"Iâm home!â A voice chimed from the front door. Minho, home from his most recent tour.
This tour had lasted longer than the others. He had called you every night like clockwork, sharing every experience he had while he was away. There was always a longing tinge in his tone like he truly missed you. That always made your heart feel warm. You hadnât shared the location of your recent residency, your bed. You never told him about the inky black sludge that was slowly creeping its way up your legs, pulling and scrapping at the last bits of strength you had. Instead, you told him things were fine, that you were fine. You gave vague details about your day and your daily diet.
But the word fine had become stuck in your throat every time you spoke it, sticking and clinging onto your vocal cords. Sometimes you could literally feel it hanging on, choking you. Iâm fine, Iâm fine, Iâm fine.
âAre you here?â Minho set his keys down and made his way to the kitchen, then the living room. His last stop, the bedroom, is where he found you. You poked your head out from under the covers, just your nose and tired eyes, breathing out a quiet hi.
Minhoâs face softened as his eyes fixed on yours. He hummed quietly and made his way over to you. He sat down on the side of the bed and ran his hand over your face. For a long while, he didnât say anything. He just stroked your hair, then your cheeks. He sat with you on that soft bed, in that dark room. You closed your eyes and focused on his hands, his fingers, the smell of his clothes. Finally, Minho asked, âHave you eaten?â
You shook your head, knowing better than to lie to Minho about eating. He truly enjoyed feeding those he cared about. He stood up from the bed, silent again, and made his way to the kitchen. You sat up slowly and leaned forward, trying to see him from the bedroom. You only caught glimpses of him moving around the kitchen. He bent down to grab a large pan, then opened the fridge to grab something else.
Soon, you could hear chopping noises and a low sizzle coming from the aforementioned pan. The sizzling grew louder as the ingredients Minho was chopping fell into the pan. Close behind, an intoxicating aroma of spices filled the entire apartment. A sweet and spicy fragrance wisped past your nose and seductively pulled at your senses, willing you to get out of bed. You closed your eyes and listened as the sizzling from the pan continued to grow in volume, taking with it the smells and scents, amplifying everything in the house.
Minho returned to the bedroom with a big, steaming bowl in his hands. Bibimbap. Your favorite dish. The first dish he had ever made you when the two of you moved in together. You breathed in the warm steam as it lit up your senses yet again.
âOpen your mouth, kitten.â Minho gave you a stern, loving look as he brought a spoon up to your face.
You opened your mouth and let Minho feed you, literally feed you. The combination of rice and sauteed vegetables danced on your tongue. The heat from the gochujang sauce warmed your throat and wrapped you in a warm blanket. Minho stayed next to you until you finished the entire bowl. He meticulously watched you bite, chew, and swallow every last spoonful. When you were finished, you rubbed your full belly, a ritual between the two of you as if to say so good, so full.
You let your head fall onto Minhoâs shoulder. He instinctively rested his head on top of yours, sighing deeply at the feeling of your skin against him. You sat in silence again, neither of you feeling the need to say anything, at least not right now. Right now would just be about this moment, about Minho feeding you, loving you, right when you needed it. And for an instant, the inky black sludge didnât pull, it didnât tug. For a minute or two, it felt as if Minho was battling the monster for you. You didnât have to fight alone. Maybe you never did. Maybe, Minho was the hand strong enough to pull you out of the sludge and back into the light.Â
taglist: @simply-trash5 @sugawhaaa @trixiekaulitz @chrizzztopherbang @cassidymb121 @roanns-posts @staysinbloom @yaorzu-blog @bubblebisk @cotton-candycloudz @beautyinhypnosis @domicaru @strawberry31 @slxtmeri @newhope8 @tinyelfperson @dandelions-143 @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @msauthor @fun-fanfics @ell0thebell @stephanieeeyang @juskz @kimahreummm @readr1221 @kayleefriedchicken @ovulatingrn @hwnglixho @darthmaddie25 @queen-in-the-shadows
#stray kids#stray kids fluff#skz x reader#skz x gn reader#skz fluff#lee know stray kids#stray kids lee know#lee know x you#lee know angst#lee know x reader#lee know#minho x reader#minho x you#minho angst#minho#lee minho#lee know x y/n#stray kids angst#skz angst#stray kids smut#skz smut
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threeâs a choi charm! âĄ
PAIRING: choi line x fem!reader.
GENRE: socmed + written
CONTENTS: summer romance, choi line are cousins, taehyun and hueka are y/nâs bestfriends + others, multiple endings, written chaps, slice of life, fluff, angst, comedy, nonidol!au, reader is mingyuâs younger sister, jungkook is choi lineâs older cousin, what would this be w/o profanity, . . .
SUMMARY: schoolâs out and itâs time for summer! also known as the âhottest season of the yearâ so in hopes of finding a hot, potential soulmate, you go on tinder and match with three people! who shall you end up with in the end?
AUTHORâS NOTE: a new smau!!!! woohoo!!!! choi line falling in love w/ reader & doing everything to get them, whew. thereâs going to be endings where you end up with each member so donât worry about that! i hope you all enjoy this one :D
STATUS . . . on hold! (taglist: open!)
SCHEDULE . . . mondays, wednesdays, fridays @ 1:30pm est!
FEAT . . . rest of TXT, LE SSERAFIMâs Yunjin, ITZYâs Ryujin, ATEEZâs Wooyoung, ENHYPENâs Heeseung, BTSâ Jungkook, SVTâs Mingyu!
PROFILES: lost causes | got dat dawg in me âď¸ | older bros
01. like a virgin | 02. omega gyat ohio rizz | 03. under no circumstances whatsoever. | 04. are you fucking kidding | 05. who is this | 06. itâs like a man and a woman had a baby! | 07. the âL wordâ | 08. do they know? | 09. kiss me plz | 10. i STRONGLY disagree | 11. youâre so not omega for that | 12. letâs run away (with rizz) | 13. yucky day | 14. she ainât my baby | 15. you apologize? | 16. cute dimpled man | 17. whoâs fault is that | 18. talk later? | 19. wildflower | 20. love is in the air | 21. so close yet so far | 22. driving me mad | 23. i donât care anymore | 24. where are they? | 25. falling in love | 26. i really need your help | 27. gone | 28. itâs you, again. | 29. weâre getting the band back together! | 30. letâs try this again. | 31. coming soon.
yjâs ending. | sbâs ending. | bgâs ending.
TAGLIST: @https-yeonjun, @sugaringgcaramel, @boba-beom, @ur-mother-realnotclickbait, @yawn-zi, @txtbrainrot, @soobsfairy444, @wonunuwoo, @coconutjjun, @headlockimnida, @dinosluver, @gwookie, @yourenzoo, @bunnyeonny, @eclipse-777, @lun4kazumii, @h00nerz, @soobjvn, @bam2gyuuuu, @gardnhee, @sugawara-levi, @miekesmellark, send an ask or shoot me a dm to be added! ^^ (bold â canât be tagged)
Š iTAEHYNZ.
#đ¸ ++ itaehynz.#txt fics#txt fanfic#txt fluff#txt#txt headcanons#txt smau#txt reactions#txt imagine#txt x reader#choi yeonjun x reader#choi soobin fluff#choi beomgyu fluff#choi beomgyu fanfic#choi yeonjun scenarios#choi yeonjun imagines#choi soobin x reader#choi beomgyu x reader#choi soobin x you#choi soobin smau#choi yeonjun smau#choi beomgyu smau#choi yeonjun fanfic#choi beomgyu angst#kpop x reader#txt x you#txt imagines#huening kai fanfic#taehyun fanfic#txt scenarios
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༯ OFF THE COURT â CHAPTER SEVEN đđ
paige bueckers x azzi fudd
themes: angst, pining
word count: 2.9k
tw: swearing, alcohol use, sexual content
a/n: letâs all celebrate yayayay 𼳠i absolutely hate writing smut so much but i felt it was necessary lol. also, chapter eight will be the last in the series, hopefully, but i plan to start a new one soon. if yâall have any requests/ideas for series or one shots, donât hesitate to lmk! enjoy reading
paigeâs walk back to her dorm was filled with regret and disappointment. the weight of everything pressed down on her chest. she desperately wished that azzi would want her the same way she wanted azzi. but she didnât.
her eyes sting with tears sheâs been holding back ever since she left azziâs room; she can feel them threatening to fall.
itâs only until sheâs completely wrapped up in blankets, comfortably laying in her bed, does she let the tears spill onto her cheeks. luckily, dorka, her roommate, wasnât in the room to see paige like thisâ thereâs nothing more she hates than crying in front of people, showing her vulnerable side.
god, why did azzi have to flirt with some other girl? right in front of paige, of all people, too. did she seriously not feel anything for paige? did their night mean that little to her?
question after question hits paige like a brick, only causing her sobs to grow. why did she have to care so much for azzi? she canât stand how much she wants thisâ herâ but her cries prove sheâs already too far gone.
her sobs begin to slow, tiredness creeping in, her emotional exhaustion too much to fight anymore. her breathing slows, body relaxes, sinking into the comfort of her bed. her eyelids soon flutter shut, her mind allowing itself to finally quiet.
almost two weeks go by with paige avoiding azzi like the plague. during practices, paige would create a noticeable distance between the two. she stopped throwing quick glances her way, never brought her up to anyone, barely even passed her the ball anymore.
paige tried as best as she could to make her feelings for azzi disappear, yet the curly headed brunette still lingered in the back of her mind constantly. no matter how much she distracts herselfâ focusing on drills, talking to the team, or retreating to her own thoughtsâ a familiar brunetteâs face keeps popping up at the most inconvenient times.
it was a wednesday night when a text message pops up on paigeâs home screen. she was laying in her bed, dorka was in her separate one, watching a movie and snacking on chips. paige was initially going to ignore it, but eventually took a glimpse at her phone, just to see who it was from.
her breath hitches in her throat when she sees the name azzi. paige and azzi have never privately texted one another; they only have each others number due to the team group chat, so it was a complete shock for the girl, to say the least.
she grips her phone and opens the chat. can we please talk? azzi had sent. paige scrunches her eyebrows, because what was there to discuss? azzi didnât like paigeâ the feelings were extremely one sided.
paige closes the messages app without responding. she puts her phone face down and tries to focus back on the movie.
only three minutes later another text message comes through. then five minutes after that, another text, from azzi, no doubt. but paige doesnât even bother to check.
paige groans at the sound of her alarm blasting in her ears. her eyelids pull themselves apart as she lets out a quiet yawnâ paige absolutely despises the mornings.
itâs time for yet another practiceâ another day of trying to ignore azziâs presence that she hates doing far too much. but what else could she do? azzi has made it very clear she isnât interested by the countless flirting sheâs done with people who arenât paige. right in front of her, too, like sheâs trying to show paige she isnât interested in her. and it hurts, god dammit. it hurts more than sheâs willing to admit. and talking to azzi only heightens that pain.
paige eventually makes her way out of bed, mentally wishing practice could get cancelled for just this once. itâs not that she doesnât want to playâ she didâ but seeing azzi, seeing her laugh with caroline and thrive in practice was simply too much for her to handle.
the blonde brushes her teeth, picks out a comfortable practice outfit and pulls her hair up into a ponytail. she quickly packs up her basketball bag, yanks on a pair of shoes and begins to head out of her dorm. before she leaves, she lets out a small, steady breath, unsure but ready to take another day on.
walking through the doors of the gym, she immediately spots the familiar brunette talking quietly with her close friend, caroline. she looks away, not wanting to risk the chance of them making eye contact. paige heads into the locker room to set her bag down when she hears footsteps from behind her.
her head whips around to see none other than azzi standing before her.
âpaige,â azzi whispers, a sad expression on her face, âcan we please talk?â
paige glares at the brunette, âno, azzi. i think iâve said more than enough.â
she struts past azzi, slightly brushing her shoulder on the freshmanâs. azzi whirls around and reaches out to place her hand on the blondeâs arm, forcing her to a halt.
âplease,â she pleads, a desperate look in her eye.
paige only looks at azzi, before shaking her head and walking out of the locker room, leaving azzi behind.
âhey p, are you good?â dorka asks her roommate one night as theyâre laying in their beds, silently scrolling on their phones.
paige glances at dorka, âyeah. what makes you ask that?â
âyou just seem different latelyâ sad, distracted. did something happen?â
paige thinks back to her and azziâs conversation all those weeks ago, ânah, nothing happened,â she lies.
âokay,â dorka replies, clearly not believing her, âwell, if you ever wanna talkââ
dorka didnât get the chance to finish her sentence before their dorm door flew open, revealing nika breathing hard.
âjesus, nika,â paige says, surprised to see her close friend without any warning.
nika places a hand on her chest, trying to catch her breath, âsorry, i just ran all the way here.â
âum, why?â dorka asks in a small voice.
nika breaks out in laughter as she moves over to where paige is seated on her bed, grabbing her hands.
âto come and get you, silly,â nika pulls paige up into a standing position, then attempts to tug dorka up, as well.
âi think iâll stay back,â dorka says.
âare you drunk?â paige asks, arching a brow.
âmaybe a little. me and some of the girls were doing shots in my room,â she giggles as she drags paige out of the room.
the walk down to nikaâs dorm is full of short laughs coming from nika and paige regretting she ever left her bed in the first place. she really wasnât in the mood to socialize, and especially not in the mood to drink tonight.
nika twists the doorknob and swings open the door. paige spots aubrey and jana planted on one bed, caroline and kk on the other, and azzi on the small couch, sitting cross legged. her eyes lock onto paigeâs as her heart instantly quickens.
what did paige expect? of course azzi was here. why didnât she see this coming?
âpaigey!â kkâs eyes light up at her friend, excitement buzzing off her frame.
nika practically runs over to the bottle of vodka, pouring herself another shot she definitely doesnât need. she pours a second and hands it out to the blonde.
âno thanks,â she waves it away, shaking her head.
âiâll take it,â caroline offers, holding out her hand. nika shoves the tiny glass in her direction as she throws back a shot of her own.
azzi remains silent on the couch as nerves eat at her stomach. she didnât expect to see paige tonight, but when nika said she was going to grab her, her heart practically flipped in her chest. she had to find a way to talk to her tonight, preferably alone.
paige lowers herself onto the floor, against a bed, not wanting to share the couch with azzi. she didnât trust herself to be that close to azzi and not say somethingâ or do something, for that matter.
the tension is thick between the two girls, full of uncertainty and unspoken words. azzi constantly makes quick glimpses at the blonde, who doesnât dare to meet her gaze in return. she couldnât risk it.
as most of the girls continue to drink, paige and azzi fiddle on their phones, in attempts to ignore each others presence as much as possible. it was relevantly silent in the small room before jana speaks out.
âso azzi, we saw you getting real cozy with that blonde girl at the bar,â she says, a smile on her face.
azziâs eyes widen as she throws a fast glance at paige, âuh, not really, no.â
paigeâs mouth is ajar, her eyes flashing with visible anger sheâs trying desperately to hold back. why did jana have to bring her up? she couldnât catch a damn break.
her fingers dig into her palms, nails creating marks. she shifts uncomfortably in her spot.
âyou sure? you two would look good together,â kk adds, drunkenly smiling as well.
before azzi has a chance to reply, paige was already getting up from her spot. she couldnât listen another word of this conversation. she reaches the door, yanks it open, and exits the room, leaving the other girls confused and concerned.
not even a minute passes before azzi jumps up too, rushing after paige. she opens the door to see paige walking down the hall at a rapid pace.
âpaige,â azzi says loud enough for the older girl to hear.
paigeâs head whips around, turning to look at her. her face is unreadable, yet her jaw clenches, exposing her frustration.
âi donât want to hear it, azzi,â paige closes her eyes, trying to visibly calm herself.
âyou donât want to hear what?â azzi raises her eyebrows, shrugging her shoulders.
âabout you flirting with that girl. you really think i donât remember?â paige responds, an edge to her voice.
âi remember it, too, you know. i remember everything,â azzi begins, stepping closer to the older girl. âiâm sorry for how everything went down that night.â
paigeâs eyes flash with a mix of sadness and anger. âgod, azzi, how can you pretend like nothing happened? is it really that easy for you?â
azzi scrunches her eyebrows, âwhatââ
âwell i canât, azzi. i canât when everytime i look at you, every single detail from that night all rushes back. you act like it didnât even matter, like i didnât matter. did it really mean that little to you? did i mean that little to you? because it meant everything to me!â paigeâs voice breaks and azzi swears her heart cracks open.
azziâs heart lunges in her heart, her throat grows dry. guilt floods her features, âpaige, iââ
paige shakes her head, âno, you donât get it. you donât get it, azzi. it meant everything to me,â she whispers, repeating her words. âyou mean everything to me. how do you not see that? and now i feel.. i feel like iâm just standing here, waiting for you to say somethingâ to show you care. i canât keep pretending like i donât care, az, because i do. i care too much. for you.â
azzi continues to stand there staring at paige; her cheeks were pink, mouth slightly open in shock at paigeâs vulnerability. she moves forward, closing their distant so theyâre mere inches apart.
âiâm so sorry i made you feel like you meant nothing to me. i promise you itâs the complete opposite,â she reaches out, gently cupping paigeâs face in her hands. slowly, she closes their distant further, until their foreheads are resting together, both of them breathing in sync.
âyouâre not nothing to me, paige. youâre everything. iâve always cared, more than you could know. i was just so scared to ruin everything and change how things were,â azzi continues, âand iâm so fucking sorry for saying âforget about it.â i didnât mean it. and i definitely didnât forget about it, either,â a small smile tugs at her lips.
paige places her hand on azziâs hip, pulling their bodies flush together. âyeah, that was a shitty thing to say.â
azzi playfully rolls her eyes, âi mean.. you did agree..â
paige moves her free hand to the back of the younger girlâs head, treading in her curls, âoh, shut up.â
and just as azziâs about to respond, paige leans in and kisses her. the kiss is the same intensity as last timeâ but filled with more passion, more meaning. the world seems to fade away around them as azzi deepens the kiss, feeling the warmth of paigeâs lips and the tremble in her body.
azzi feels the softness of paigeâs lips, the way she fits against hers perfectly. itâs as if the tension, the distance they created between them, was never even thereâ everything clicks into place in a way that feels both new and familiar all at once.
they pull away just enough to look at each other, their foreheads touching once again, breathing in sync. azzi brushes her thumb over paigeâs cheekbone as she looks into her blue eyes.
âum, wanna go toââ
âfuck yeah,â paige beams, never letting go of azziâs frame.
the walk back to azziâs dorm has never felt longer for the two girls. the sexual tension in the air was thick as paigeâs hunger for azzi only heightened.
azzi opens the door and shoves paige inside, slamming it behind her all with a grin on her face. paige matches her smile as she yanks off her shirt, unclipping her bra in the process.
azzi connects their lips in a matter of seconds. she feels paigeâs tongue enter her mouth, so she swirls hers against the older girlâs. a soft groan exits azziâs mouth.
âfuck, az,â paige murmurs against her lips, frantically trying to pull azziâs sweatshirt off her frame.
azzi assists paige with removing her clothing, also unclipping her own bra as well. paigeâs eyes flick to the freshmanâs nice breasts before she connects her mouth with a nipple.
azzi leans her head back in pleasure, holding paigeâs and gently gripping her blonde locks. her eyes roll back with her mouth ajar.
their bodies fall onto azziâs bed, remaining flush against the others. paigeâs lips quickly find azziâs once more with a sense of urgency and intensity.
paige kisses down azziâs neck, carefully sucking on her skin, working her way down her chest until she reaches her pants.
âcan i?â paige questions her, eyes flicking up to azziâs.
azzi desperately nods, âyeah. fuck yes.â
paige lets out a small chuckle at the brunetteâs reaction, then focuses her attention onto pulling down her pants and yanking off her underwear all in a swift motion.
paige places a delicate kiss on the inside of azziâs thigh causing azziâs body to shiver. a small gasp escapes azzi when paigeâs lips attach to her clit, rubbing repeated circles over her wet folds.
âoh my god, yeah, donât stop,â azzi says breathlessly, biting back a moan.
paige grins against azziâs pussy as she plunges two fingers deep into her. the moan the younger girlâs been holding back escapes her lips once paigeâs hand begins moving at a faster, more rapid pace.
âfuck, iâm gonna come,â the brunetteâs eyes roll back in pleasure, gripping the sheets with her fingers.
a familiar feeling erupts in azziâs stomach as she releases, spilling out all over paigeâs fingers.
a moment of silence passes between the two girls, both trying to steady their breathing. paige looks up at azzi, locks eye contact as she places her dripping fingers into her mouth, sucking them clean.
paige lowers her head so her lips graze azziâs slightly shaking thighs, peppering little kisses, trailing to her stomach, all the way back to her lips.
âyouâre so beautiful, baby,â paige whispers against her full lips, treading her hand through azziâs curls.
azziâs breath catches in her throat, her heart fluttering at paigeâs sweet words. a shy smile creeps onto her lips as she flips paige, getting on top.
azzi nuzzles her face into paigeâs neck, sucking and kissing on the skin. a tug on paigeâs sweatpants causes the blondeâs head to snap down in azziâs direction.
âyou donât have to,â paige says.
azziâs grin only grows, dimples popping out on both cheeks. âi want to.â a bundle of curse words leave paigeâs mouth as azzi yanks down her pants, underwear coming with it.
hours have passed but paige and azzi continue to lay side by side in azziâs bed, naked limbs tangled up with one anotherâs. their hands are entwinedâ eyelids barely staying open as exhausted sets in.
âwhat are we?â paige asks softly, rubbing her thumb over the brunetteâs.
azzi turns her head, gaze locking onto paigeâs, âwhatever you want us to be.â
âso if i asked you to be my girlfriend, youâd say yes?â paige whispers, uncertainty laced in her tone.
azziâs lips curve into a tender, reassuring smile, âif you said that.. iâd say iâve been waiting for you to ask.â
the sophomore lets out a gentle breath of relief, eyes crinkling as her face breaks out into a wide grin. paige connects their lips into a passionate, warm kissâ the type of kiss that feels like coming home. her heart races, her thoughts swirling, yet all she could focus on was azziâ her soft, smooth skin against hers, the feel of her full lips, the warmth radiating off her.
god, did she love her.
#azzi fudd#paige bueckers#pazzi#uconn wbb#nika muhl#paige x azzi#uconn huskies#basketball#fanfic#paige buckets#fan fiction#uconn womenâs basketball
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Too Sweet
Wednesday Addams x Reader
Drabble
Summary: You and Wednesday were simply night and day, contrasting personalities preventing any chance of pursuit
Warning(s): No dialogue, pining!Wednesday, & no pronouns but the word 'goddess' is used once
Notes: Based off of 'Too Sweet' by the lovely Andrew Hozier, this song feels wenclair coded - hopefully I get the energy to edit them to it one day. This is my first time writing for Wednesday, so constructive criticism is more than welcome, and much appreciated! đ (as it always is)
Wednesday despised you. She loathed every fiber of your being, every word you spoke, every path you chose. Yet no matter how deep her hatred for you ran, it was all out of pure spite.
You were close friends with Enid, so inevitably that meant you and Wednesday often found yourselves in the same atmosphere. Sometimes you and Enid would have sleepovers and it did not take long for Wednesday to discover you were an early bird opposed to her late night writing sessions.Â
You always looked so peaceful while resting. How do you sleep so well? Wednesday wondered. What do you dream about? Itâs silly and utterly ridiculous, she knows. But her mind canât help but stray when it comes to you. You have shown your own concern when it comes to the Addamsâ erratic sleep schedule, if you could even classify it as one. You have always said to othersâincluding Wednesdayâto live right, to go to bed before the daylight.Â
You wake up to watch the sunrise;Â it was repulsing how rottenly pure that is. You were drunk on life, a poetâbut far from Wednesdayâs brand. You had a bright perspective; it was naive, yet wholesome. Your poetry revolves around the optimistic, steadfast side of lifeâwhile Wednesdayâs consists of more realistic themes such as death, betrayal, and eternal heartbreak. It was a drastic contrast.
Wednesday could never bear such a naive way of life, so she simply doesnât understand how you do. It was such a frustrating thought, the way you went about. Donât you just want to wake up dark as a lake, smelling like a bonfire, lost in a haze? You lived such a reserved life in her eyes; treating your mouth as if it's heavenâs gate, your body like itâs the TSA.Â
She wasnât oblivious to the glances you spared her; it was an internal battle refusing to meet them. But there were consequences. Wednesday has seen horrific things, things she believes would force a person like you into abandoning their wide-eyed outlook on life; she refuses to be the one who corrupts you. She wishes she could go along, donât get her wrong. You were a goddess on earth, inside and out; bright as the morning, as soft as the rain, pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape. Tooth rotting was what you were, but Wednesday did always deem herself a masochist.Â
If you can sit in a barrel, maybe sheâll wait. But until that day, sheâd rather take her whiskey neat, raw as the honey in your tea, and coffee black as the ink you use to craft your sugar coated poems. Your sweetness was too overwhelming for her to carry, the looks you gave her alone were laced in your perfection.Â
Everything pointed to the evident conclusion; youâre too sweet for her.
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A/N: I feel eh abt this one, but I need to experiment with Wednesday more if I wanna get used to writing for her
#wednesday addams x you#wednesday x reader#wednesday addams x reader#wednesday addams x female reader#wednesday addams x gn!reader#wednesday x you#wednesday x y/n#jenna ortega x reader#wednesday addams
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TWTHH Spinoff: Written in the Stars [Teaser]
Pairing: military strategist!Mingi x royal physician!reader
AU: historical au (Joseon era)
Summary: Mingi had spent countless years searching for the angel who saved his life when he was on the verge of death. He believed god was on his side when she finally reappeared before him, but she was now so near yet so far, so unobtainable. No longer just a young medical trainee, she had become an esteemed royal physicianâa woman working within the palace walls. And what did that mean? It meant she now belonged to His Majesty.
A/N: Credits to @sundaybossanova for contributing the main idea of Mingi's spinoff. I might have changed most of the proposed plot, but the MC's identity as a physician and how the two first meet remains Sunny's idea.
Main Story | Spinoff Masterlist | Part 1
"Ooh, guess who's here again," your colleague remarked, nodding toward the entrance of the royal medical hall where a certain tall, handsome military strategist strode in for what felt like the thousandth time this week. You sighed, refusing to look up from your book. "Please tell me it's not him."
She gulped, watching him approach. "Hate to break it to you, but it is your not-so-secret admirer, General Officer Song."
"Good afternoon, ladies. I, uh⌠I'm here today becauseâ" his familiar deep voice rang out as he paused at a respectful distance.
Clearing your throat, you finally closed your book and turned to face him with a courteous smile, finishing his sentence for him, "Good afternoon to you too, Officer Song. Let me guess, you're here because you got hurt during training again?"
Instead of the usual sheepish nod, he shook his head and nervously fiddled with his fingers. "No, actually⌠I came to ask if⌠i-if you would like to accompany me to the royal banquet celebrating Joseon's unity with Ruhon tonight, Royal Physician Ahn?"
You froze at his question, and your colleague mirrored your reaction. The two of you exchanged bewildered glances, trying to process the fact that this fool was openly pursuing you, a woman working in the palace, someone who belonged to the King.
Does he realise what he's doing?
You're probably wondering why I'm posting this on a Wednesday (depending on where you are) but it's a public holiday here today in Malaysia, so surprise!! It's finally Princess Mingi's turn! The way y'all thought his spinoff would be the first and here he is HAHA
In case you're confused and are not sure what I mean by MC belonging to the King, please read â¨thisâ¨
As always, I'll do my best to get the first part out as soon as I can! Let me know your thoughts on the concept! <3
Tag list (1/9):
@itstheghostofmypast @huachengsbestie01 @minghaoslatina @weedforthoughtz @minkiflwr |
@cheolliehugs @the-kpop-simp @writingwieny @stayatinykatsy @skzline |
@green-agent @stayinhellevator @vampzity @tinyteezer @evidive |
@vantediary @superbbananananana @kimyeolchan @chocolate-scoups @decadentstrangernacho |
@vic0921 @marievllr-abg @sunnyhokyu @seungmin-in-thebuilding @heyitsmetonid |
@sansaurora9904 @darkestacademiamindsx12-blog @myblovedjyh @professormingisglasses @newworldwritings |
@chicken-fifi @thunderous-wolf @shythinggiver @madnpan @yandere-stories |
@anxiousskylar @frobin4ever @starssongs98 @dollce-exe @jan-l |
@lovelyred2 @haven-cove @watermelon2319 @dreamingofyeo @akimkim |
@scuzmunkie @satsuri3su @mismatchfluffysocks @borntoshineateez @st4rhwa |
@ddaeing @tropicalsstuff @bts-army380 @skteezcursed @beauty143 |
@naps-over-degree @brown88 @sis-101 @lemon-sage17 @jcalicocatj
All Rights Reserved Š edenesth // DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR REPURPOSE.
#edenesth#the way to his heart#written in the stars#twthh spinoff#ateez#ateez fanfic#ateez fanfiction#song mingi#ateez mingi#historical au#joseon era#mingi x reader#mingi x you#ateez fic
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glitter & crimson
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7
Realistically, Steve knows the band wonât hang around Chicago forever. He knows theyâre out promoting a new album; knows theyâll have to move on and that Eddie has to go with them. It doesnât stop him from wanting Eddie to stay; to live in the quick familiarity heâs built within Steveâs little found family.
Eddie and Robin seem to have already created their own secret language, all gestures and movement and eye contact Steve picks up on but canât quite read. Heâs already picking on the Party like heâs known them their whole lives; ruffling Dustinâs hair, elbowing Mike, throwing his arm around Willâs shoulders, and giving Lucas little shoves.Â
Itâs easy; so easy to get caught up in how charismatic Eddie is. Steve has a hard time keeping his eyes off him, and Eddie knows. He keeps making comments, throwing winks in Steveâs direction, seeing right through every wall heâs ever built around himself and Steve is caught between being obsessed with it and terrified.Â
He stops drinking after the one beer, worried heâll make things weird if he gets anywhere near tipsy, opting to stay as far away from the possibility as he can. If anyone notices, they donât comment.
Lucas is chatting animatedly with Jeff, Max sitting close by, twisting braids into Elâs hair. Dustin, Mike and Will appear to be grilling Gareth and Freak about dungeon and dragon campaigns Eddie used to run. Nancy has her arm looped through Robinâs, but her attention is on the phone in her hands, as Eddie and Robin talk about what touring is like.
âWhere else are you going on this tour?â She asks as Steve tunes back into the conversation.
âThis isnât really a tour, we just havenât been on the road in a while and we just stopped the album, so we lined up a few shows to get our feet wet before we hit the road for real this summer. One more show out in LA on Tuesday, then weâre done until May, for now.â Eddie explains.
âWeâre in LA on Thursday!â Robin exclaims, and Steveâs stomach drops because, yeah. LA on Thursday. He trains his eyes on the glass in front of him, not willing to actually look at anyone theyâre around.Â
âWe could totally meet up again if you guys are able to swing it?â Freak offers, and Steve forces a little smile onto his face and nods.
âWe can figure it out later,â Eddie says after a few beats, and Steve is grateful for how the conversation rolls onto the next topic. When he finally looks back up, though, Eddieâs still looking his way. Steve hits him with what he hopes comes off as a reassuring smile, but it doesnât seem to pay off the way he hopes.
Once the tab is closed and the staff is tipped well, Steve catches Eddieâs elbow on their way out the door. âI would like to meet up in LA, if youâre interested. I didnât mean to get weird about it, itâs⌠Iâve been in my head a bit about that game since it was announced.â
âOh, hey, no worries. Weâre in LA the whole week, then weâre heading home. So no pressure, honest.â Eddie hooks his hand over Steveâs softly.
âWell, we should get in Wednesday, but we could totally do something after the game or even Friday?âÂ
Eddie smiles and nods, patting over Steveâs hand. âText me about it.â
âI can do that. How much longer are you guys in town for, anyway?â Steve asks.
âAh, the dreaded question comes,â Eddieâs playful, and it makes Steveâs face heat up. âWeâve got just under another 24 hours in the Windy City before hitting the road again.â
âOh,â It pulls his chest in a way he wasnât expecting, in a way that shouldnât be happening for a rockstar he was adjacently aware of in high school. âAre you busy tomorrow?â
âHarrington,â Eddieâs teasing again, and it does nothing to help the blush on Steveâs face. âYou canât possibly miss me this much when I havenât even left yet.â
âShut up,â Steve shoves him away then, crossing his arms over his chest with a pout, only for Eddie to pull him in with an arm around the shoulder.
âWe can grab brunch or something? We leave around 8 to avoid rush hour, so Iâll have to be in the bus by 6, or Iâd say dinner.â
âBrunch works for me.âÂ
~~~~
The trip back to the hotel doesnât go as Eddie expects; everyone is silently chatting amongst themselves, nodding and tapping along to the music and not causing a scene. He almost points it out, but elects not to bring unwarranted bullying upon himself instead. The guys had been giving him shit about Steve near constantly, so this was a nice change of pace after the last few days.
There was actually quiet as he made his way back to his room. A hot shower finally restored warmth to his bones the hockey arena had stolen, and he was drying his hair when he heard his phone vibrate with a text notification.
Steve: anything you're craving for brunch tomorrow so I can pick a place?
Itâs practically too easy to flirt with Steve; he sets up lines without even seeming to realize. But Eddie still canât get a real gauge on how Steve feels about the flirting, so he sidesteps the easy pass he could have made about Steve being enough of a meal, in favor of actually answering.
Eddie: French toast?
The next series of texts come before Eddie even moves his hands back to the towel over his hair.
Steve: sick, Iâll pick you up around 10:45
Steve: you mentioned going home, did you mean like, back to Hawkins?
Eddie twists his hair up in the towel, and lays down on the side of the bed he doesnât sleep on before firing off an answer.
Eddie: nah, Iâve got a place in Nashville and no reason to go back to Hawkins anymore. My uncle moved to Indy, so thatâs usually as close as I get.
Steve: any reason you moved to Nashville?
Eddie: are we playing 20 questions?
Steve: sorry.
Eddie bites his lip, and only hesitates for a moment before flipping over onto his belly and hitting the FaceTime button. Steve answers on the second ring, looking embarrassed, but Eddie doesnât let him get a word in.
âMy mom was born and raised in Memphis, but she always told me her favorite city was Nashville. I was there with her a few times when I was little and sheâd just, like, light up. And music is so heavily engraved into every inch of the city, itâs hard to not find inspiration everywhere you turn. So. I bought a place in Nashville the minute I had enough saved up, and itâs kind of my home base now.â Eddie explains, watching as Steveâs face softens and he relaxes into his chair listening to Eddieâs answer. âDo I get to ask a question now?â
âI really wasnât trying to be annoying, â Steve looks ready to keep going with an apology, but Eddie cuts him off.
âWhy do you play hockey?â It stops Steve dead in his tracks, and he genuinely looks confused for a moment. Eddie almost offers to drop the topic, but Steve fumbles his way into an answer.
âMy, uh. My dad wanted me to play before I was even born. Because he played. Professionally for a few years when I was growing up, then he went on to coach.â Steve explains, and it sounds a little rehearsed. Eddieâs sure itâs something that comes up often if his father played and coached. âGotta keep the Harrington legacy alive, I guess.â
There was a bite to Steveâs words that wasnât lost on Eddie. âYou donât sound too thrilled about it.â
Eddie can see Steve working over how he wants to answer before he shrugs and sighs. âBecause itâs all a show for him. The part we donât talk about is how I got hurt and benched most of my senior season and he cut me off when I didnât get full rides. Convinced me it was better to not go to college at all, despite the other scholarship offers, than to not get promised a spot on the ice. Convinced me to self-sabotage so I had to fight tooth and fucking nail to get into the league at all.â Steve pauses, then, and lets out a quiet laugh. âSorry, thatâs so unbelievably whiny of me. I love getting to play professionally, and I donât take the opportunity for granted.â
âNot whiny. Dads can be the fucking worst.â Eddie offers, gently, and is grateful when Steve doesn't press on that particular bruise.
Instead, he takes his turn to ask a different question. âWhy music?â
âThis is lame, but the answer is once again my mom.â Eddie rolls his eyes at himself, but he smiles. âShe was a musician. There were always instruments around and music was always playing and we traveled for her to perform. I knew my whole life I wanted to be a musician like her, but it wasnât until after she died that I figured out that songwriting⌠telling stories and painting pictures with words and melodies and making people feel somethingâŚâ Eddie trails off, lost in the thought.
âIâm sorry you lost her. It sounds like you enjoyed your childhood with her.â Steve offers, hopes it doesnât sound like a forced nicety, but Eddie smiles and his nerves ease.
âShe was a force to be reckoned with. Firing on all cylinders at once, chaos and home bundled into one.â Eddieâs soft a quiet for a moment, and Steve appreciates the silence by taking in how relaxed the other is to be talking about his feelings; itâs a refreshing break from many of his experiences with teammates or opponents who donât know how to get emotional in a healthy way. Eventually, though, Eddie clears his throat. âAnyway. Back to 20 questions,â
âI wasnât trying to start a game, really, I just⌠like talking to you,â Steve admits around a blush, tucking his chin into the collar of his shirt in an effort to hide the shade of his cheeks, but Eddieâs smile says his cover is blown.
âANYWAY!â He announces louder, then taps at his chin. âFavorite and least favorite teams to play and why, go.â
âIâm not a dog.â Steve laughs but thinks about his answer anyway. âFavorite is probably the Flyers in Philly. Their fans are absolutely brutal, and their mascot is hilariously terrifying.â
âI have seen many a Gritty TikTok, so I completely understand,â Eddie gives him a few beats before he prompts. âLeast favorite?â
âThe Kings. LA. Billy Hargrove.â
âTheâŚ, what the fuck? How many guys from Hawkins are professional hockey players?â Eddie asks, because honestly, how had he not known there was more than Steve?
âHeâs technically from LA, which is why he went back, thank God.â Steve mumbles, before dropping his head back against the wall behind him. âBut, for whatever itâs worth, thereâs me, Billy, and Tommy Hagan in the league.â
âWell isnât that a fun bunch to surround yourself with,â Eddie muses out loud. Tommy and Billy were two of the biggest assholes Eddie had ever met, and it sounded like Steve wasnât too fond of the other pair either.
âI actuallyâŚâ Steve trails off, before trying again. âI was going to invite you guys to come to the LA game, but Iâm really not sure it would be a good idea, so Iâm⌠Iâm actually going to ask you guys not to come, if thatâs not too much of a dick move? I can get you tickets to literally any game you want for the rest of the season, just. I donât think itâs worth it to get Billy started, and if heâs heard any of the press about us, Iâm already going to hear it even if youâre not there.â
âHomophobe extraordinaire still, then?â Eddie guesses, and Steve chokes out a laugh, before covering his mouth and holding up a finger to ask for a moment to compose himself.
âHe's⌠a lot of things.â Is the response Steve opts for, but Eddie can tell thereâs more there. Whatever the two of them are doing, it doesnât feel like Steve is ready to elaborate, so Eddie moves on.Â
âI think itâs your turn.â
~~~~
Nothing changes after Corroded Coffin leave Chicago, though. Not in the ways Eddie had expected, at least.
Steve still texts him throughout the day, answers his Facetimes whenever heâs available. Eddie makes him the playlist he promised, and Steve gives feedback on which songs he likes and which ones he really doesnât, after Eddie promises to not take Steveâs opinions personally. Which, to be fair, he tries really hard not to.
The concert in LA comes and goes, and Steve seems to send him every TikTok he comes across from the show. Itâs a refreshing break, as every few videos in Eddieâs feed are of him cheering for Steve at the game, or Steve watching from sidestage in Chicago.Â
A text from Robin eventually confirms their arrival in LA, and Steve and Eddie make plans to meet up after the game. Since Steve had expressed concern about Eddie going, he decides to just watch from the bar they agree to meet at. Televised games make it easier to track the puck, but Eddie decides he likes being there in person better.
Eddieâs sipping absently on his beer and in the time it takes him to look down at a text from Chrissy, several of the people around him react to something. Eddie looks around to make sure someone in the bar hadnât passed out. When he looks back at the screen, absolute mayhem has broken out on the ice. The refs are trying to separate players from one another, and Eddieâs scanning through the numbers on each Blackhawks jerseys before he finally spots Steve, slightly off to the side from everyone else. The camera pans away from him, zeroing in on the fight, now between a Blackhawks defenseman and none other than Billy Hargrove.Â
Billyâs helmet and gloves are off, teeth shining with blood as he grins like a psycho and starts to skate in Steveâs direction. One of the refs pulls him back, though, escorting him into the penalty box while another Kings player gathers his helmet, stick and gloves and clears them to the bench.Â
The camera finally pans back to Steve, who is now sitting with his back against the boards. Heâs got a gloved covering the lower half of his face, but his white jersey is covered in blood. A ref and the Blackhawks goalie are kneeling on either side of him as someone else speaks with him. The camera zooms in as the TV crews work to make out what is happening, just in time for Steve to lower his hand and shows off a gnarly gash along the side of his face. He leans forward a little and spits out blood onto the ice, and the TV jumps to the announcers in the booth.Â
The volume is off, but they show a slow-motion replay of the few moments Eddieâd missed; Steve passes the puck off to another player on his team, just before Billy slams into his side. The impact sends both of them into the boards and down onto the ice. Billy swings his stick around and cracks Steve in the face with the blade heel. Steve reacts, throwing his whole arm into Billyâs face, before a sea of white Blackhawks jerseys sweep in and suddenly Billyâs a few feet away, with players from both teams piled up.
Eddieâs hand hovers over his phone; has no idea what to do in this situation. Texting Steve is useless; it would likely be hours, if not days, before he even thinks about looking at his phone. He doesnât want to bother anyone, but heâs⌠well, heâs stressed. Even if Steve isnât interested in him the way Eddieâs interested in Steve, theyâve still built a weird little friendship and that was an awful lot of blood.
So, Eddie ends up firing off a text to Robin. Itâs just a simple 'let me know if thereâs anything I can do,' but his phone lights up with a call immediately.
âHow bad is it?â
âIâm not back with him yet, but just⌠meet us at the hospital, if you can?â She asks. While her voice waivers a bit, sheâs calmer than Eddie expected her to be.
âIâll be right there.â He agrees, hangs up and exits the bar before the game even returns from commercial break.
#hockeyplayer!steve harrington#steddie#rockstar!eddie munson#stranger things hockey au#glitter & crimson#sorry this took like 2 weeks#we're going to try to keep the momentum going here#steve harrington#eddie munson#robin buckley#platonic stobin#corroded coffin#steddie fanfic#starkidmunson writes#oh i almost forgot#one of the most important tags for this one#anti billy hargrove
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everyone but her pt.42
Summary: While Wednesday is busy worrying about you, an unwelcome guests shows their face at the Addams Mansion. Wednesday is starting to wish you would lose your morals again.
Word Count: 7.6k Warnings: swearing, mentioned child abuse, racism against Outcasts, smut at the end (18+) Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (Masterlist)
The Addams Mansion was louder than usual with its new guests. Much to her surprise, Wednesday almost found it comforting. If you had asked her even just two years ago if she would have enjoyed the newfound sounds in the mansion, she would have thought the notion preposterous. Absurd even. Of course she wouldnât have enjoyed the sounds, the mansion was her home. It was a sacred place that should be left untouched.
However, with your family around⌠at least they treated the old home as it deserved.
Even the youngest were respectful of the knick-knacks and artefacts around the mansion. They had only needed to be told once, and everything settled again. Sure, they would point out the ones they liked, but their hands stayed far away. Rooms that were off-limits to guests remained closed, and everyone was respectful of the⌠unusual habits of the Addams family.
The only one that remained unusual was you.
If Wednesday was being honest with herself, she was rather concerned about you. She hadnât heard you say much after that night. By all accounts, you were more similar to Lurch in your communication; doing little more than grunting in acknowledgement of whatever was being said. You hadnât even talked to Weems, who had shown up not even a day after the event to check on everyone. It was rather disturbing. And not in a good way.
At least there was an upside to the whole situation. Grandmama Addams had healed your arm with little more than a light scar over the skin. It was clearly a burn; that was impossible to erase. But there had been no need to go into a medical centre like the original EMT had mentioned. An Addams knew tricks no normie could comprehend.
There was nothing comfortable about talking about feelings, Wednesday knew all about that. She had trouble talking about her own, and you certainly felt the same. It didnât take a genius to know that. But she wished you would talk with her. Share your thoughts, what you were feeling at the moment. Or at the very least what you were thinking for the past few weeks, seeing as you still had yet to tell her how you had known the house was going to catch fire.
âWould you pass the sugar, dear?â Mother asked you.
You grumbled and nodded once before pushing it over with your scarred hand. It was a stiff movement, and your brows moved ever so slightly at the effort. So, Wednesday thought, you werenât entirely healed. You made no other indication of your discomfort and turned the page of your book.
âDaniel seemed quite interested in the atrium,â Mother continued. You hummed for her to continue. âHeâs asked numerous times about specific plants.â
You still said nothing in return.
Mother looked at Wednesday over the lip of her teacup. If you wouldnât even answer her small talk, how would they ever get you to speak? Even if you were having a small spat with Wednesday, you would always talk with Mother. Yet now, she was talking of your brother, and you wouldnât even answer? It was borderline rude.
You were never rude to Mother.
âThere you all are,â Weems said as she entered the reading room. âEveryone was a bit too quiet.â
âYouâre welcome to join us,â Mother said with a smile.
She did just that. Even you looked up from your book for just long enough to watch Weems sit down with her own cup of tea. It seemed everyone was indulging in caffeine. Everyone except for you, that was. You had opted for nothing more than a glass of water that sat untouched on the small side table.
Everyone resumed their activities; Mother and Weems were talking, and you were reading. Wednesday had her own book in her lap, but the words eluded her. How could she focus on a book when she was so concerned about you? How could you focus on your book? Were you not going absolutely mad?
She needed you to be okay. There was very little she could do to help, but she needed you to be okay. Perhaps you wouldnât talk with her, but that wouldnât be the end of the world, would it? No, she could survive you not talking about your worries with her, as long as you allowed her to attempt to help.
A word of advice from Yoko appeared in her head. She looked over at you and watched you for a moment. There was very little emotion on your face, but she noticed you blinking a little longer than normal every time your burned hand turned the page.
She gave herself no time to doubt herself before reaching over and grabbing your good hand. It stiffened, but when she linked her fingers with yours, you quickly relaxed. Before she looked back down at her book, she noticed the slightest pull at the corner of your mouth.
Good. That was progress.
Wednesday was acutely aware of Mother and Weemsâ hesitation before continuing their conversation. It gave her an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach to know they were watching you both. Showing outward displays of affection was becoming less agonising, but there was something unsettling about knowing her mother and your mother figure were watching.
The prickling spiders were starting to crawl across her skin when something knocked on the front door. You didnât look up, but Mother and Weems shared a look before Weems stood up from her chair.
âShall I?â She asked even though she had already started walking toward the front door.
âThank you,â Mother said with a small smile.
No one else paid any attention to what was happening. Everyone simply went back to what they were doing. What would it matter anyway? You were all aware that people only came to the Addams Mansion either based on a dare or had been invited.
âI donât believe itâs wise for you to be here.â
Your attention was captured by Weemsâ words. Wednesday would admit hers were too. There was a certain tone to the words, something that she didnât think she had heard before. No, that wasnât true, she had heard that warning tone before.
At Nevermore immediately after Nicky had died.
Wednesdayâs mind was running rampant when you pulled your hand away from hers. There was almost no time for her to grab it again before you stood up. Mother sent a concerned look her way. It was a lucky thing Wednesday hadnât had any tea, or she would have spilled it when she stood up.
Your body stiffened when you looked out the front door.
âI was hoping you would be here.â
That voice sent a shiver down every inch of Wednesdayâs skin. By the slight shake in your hand, you felt the same. The closer she got, the more nervous she was. It was a complicated feeling for her. Very few things, and even fewer people, made her feel that way. She didnât like it.
There was something comparable between your mother and hers. They both held themselves with confidence; something that you appeared to lack until you were in your motherâs presence again. However, there was a rather large difference between the two women.
Your mother always looked like she was out for blood.
âI was hoping to talk with you about something,â your mother said directly to you.
âI donât believe that would-â
â-Alone,â she interrupted Weems with a venomous smile.
Very few people spoke to Weems in such a way, apparent by the way everyone stiffened at the harshness of the word. But that very reality was what seemed to get you out of whatever stupor you had drowned in. Behind you, your wings puffed up enough to make themselves known as you looked at Weems.
âIâve got it,â you said in a soft yet confident voice. It was certainly a surprise to Wednesday, who had assumed you would sound weak after a large amount of silence.
Weems looked at you for another moment more. âMorticia and I will be in the study,â she finally said.
âAs I said,â your mother said with the same sickening smile, âthis is private.â
âAnything involving me involves Wednesday,â you said.
You and your mother stared at each other silently, and Wednesday felt like she was intruding on something. There was a history with you two that she knew very little about, but she knew enough. To stand there, watching your silent battle with nothing to say, was torture.
âOf course it does,â your mother finally said. She looked inside the mansion for a moment. âWonât you be a dear and invite me in?â
âNo.â You straightened back up and crossed your arms over your chest. âSay your piece and leave.â
Your mother opened her mouth to argue - she had stunning teeth, Wednesday noted - but quickly closed it once seeing the look on your face. Or rather, the lack of a look. Fear was the predominant look in your eyes when your parents were involved, but this? There was no reaction. You simply existed in her presence.
It was a wonderful look on you.
âVery well,â your mother finally said with a sigh. âI would like you to attend an event with me this weekend.â
âNo,â you said quickly.
Your mother stood tall. âYou will hear me out, Y/N.â
Fear flashed behind your eyes at the use of your full name.
âItâs a charity gala,â she continued. âFor those with yourâŚâ she gestured vaguely between both you and Wednesday, âaffliction.â
âWeâre Outcasts,â you said, ânot lepers.â
âSemantics, dear,â she said with a dismissive wave.
At that, you reached out and grabbed Wednesdayâs hand. Hard. An ache spread through the bones of her hand as they were squeezed together unnaturally. The skin on your hand was tough, feeling closer to leather than skin. Truly a fascinating thing.
She squeezed your hand back to the best of her ability.
âAfter all the shit youâve done, you want me to go with you to a gala?â You asked. âJust to make you look good?â
There was a red tint to your cheeks. Wednesday could hear all the words you werenât saying. You killed my brother. You had me arrested. You abandoned me. Though she didnât wish for a fight, she did wish for you to finally speak your mind. Let her know the hurt she had caused you all these years.
You didnât continue.
âYour father is away, so you wouldnât have to concern yourself with the restraining order,â your mother continued as if you were being nothing more than a petulant child.
âYouâre not listening,â you said. âIâm not going.â
The tone underlying your words was all Wednesday needed to hear to know your next move. Your grip had loosened enough to ease the ache in her hand, but it stayed firm. Though she wouldnât blame you, she knew you were done with the conversation. Nothing good could come from continuing to talk with your mother.
You turned around and started to pull Wednesday along with you.
âI heard about the fire,â your mother called after you.
You froze.
âEntire house burned to ash,â she continued. âA shame.â Your chest was heaving. âNo longer having a home to call their own.â
The warmth of your hand in hers quickly disappeared as you turned on your heel. Wednesdayâs feet stayed rooted to the spot even as she watched you walk up to your mother and stand over her. For the first time, she realised you were a decent amount taller than your mother. You could properly look down on her as she had no doubt you always wished you could.
In the background, the children could be heard playing in an unknown room.
âDonât pretend you care,â you said quietly. Harshly.
âOh darling,â your mother said with a smile that didnât match her tone, âI couldnât care less.â
âThen donât talk about them.â
âI just assumed, perhaps wrongfully, that you would wish for them to have a home again,â she continued. The look in her eye was similar to yours. âA gift, if you will.â
You looked down at your mother silently. Oh, how Wednesday wished she could see the look on your face. She so very much adored when you were angry. There was a fire behind your eyes that lit something within her.
Then she started to think about the implications of your motherâs words. Would you allow her to offer such a thing? The reminder of your debt would follow you for the rest of your life. After all, you were still feeling indebted to her parents for the pendant you constantly wore around your neck. But with a home? She couldnât even imagine the feelings it would invoke within you.
âShall I continue?â Your mother asked.
You hesitated. Then gave a single, slow nod.
âIf you accompany me to the gala, we will pay for the restoration of your little,â she hesitated, âfamily.â There was almost a sneer on her face, if Wednesday was reading her correctly.
âAre you blackmailing me?â You asked.
âOh dear,â she laughed, âIâm not that dense.â Your jaw clenched. âItâs an incentive. A rather generous one.â
Your mother then stayed silent. A tactic, no doubt. It would give you time to consider her offer. Even Wednesday would admit it was a tempting offer. She and her parents had offered your family the same thing knowing they didnât have the means to rebuild quickly on their own. It had been a quick rejection.
When it came to your mother, howeverâŚ
âYouâll pay for the entirety of a new house,â you confirmed.
Your mother nodded in response. âLarge enough for them all, in fact.â
âWith the barn and stables.â
âOf course.â
âAnd nothing will ever need to be repaid?â
âIt will be an act of charity.â
âAnd I can get that in writing?â You asked.
Oh. Oh, Wednesday could see the gears turning in your head. Once again, as she so often found herself doing, she thought back to those years she had believed you to be daft. Oblivious would perhaps have been the better word for it. Acting as if you were unaware of everything going on around you. On the rare occasion, even going so far as to act unaware of even the most basic aspects of life.
She used to believe you. After all, you were rather adept at playing off your intelligence. If she hadnât been so tragically enamoured with you, life would have become far different than it currently was. She wouldnât have had the pleasure of calling you hers.Â
However, she knew better. She could see the ideas forming behind your eyes. No, they werenât simply ideas, they were full-fledged plans. Wednesday desperately wished to have the ability to read your mind. What plan were you meticulously concocting?
âYou may have it in writing,â your mother finally said. âIâll draft it when I get home.â
âOh no,â you said quickly, âI wouldnât wish to trouble you.â
Finally, for the first time since your mother had appeared at the front door, you turned and looked at Wednesday. There was a fire in your eyes reminiscent of the burning house she had been forced to watch you run into. It was thrilling.
It was terrifying.
âWould you call SeĂąor Moreno?â You asked with a smile that made you look just like your mother. âMrs. Smith would like to draft an agreement.â
â---
Your discomfort was clear, but Wednesday rather enjoyed you in your current state. There had been few times she had seen you dressed well, fewer times since it had been a happy occasion. This was neither happy nor unhappy, so she took it as a positive. You looked rather stunning, aside from your wings resting uncomfortably underneath your clothes.
Not for the first time, her chest ached when you removed your hand from hers.
Listening to your mother fill you in on who was who was not on Wednesdayâs to-do list. No, she didnât truly care who these people were. What she truly cared about was the feel of your warmth beside her, enveloping her in something she had learned to crave. Something she could only receive from you.
âCome on,â you said softly, far closer than Wednesday had believed. It was unsettling.
She loved when you were unsettling.
With her arm looped through yours, she walked with you around the overly crowded room. A ballroom of sorts, she supposed, not too unlike the one in her own house. The difference was this one was bright and filled with straight-laced professionals. Her house was more often than not filled with criminals and unsightly characters for miles to come.
This was a far more concerning environment.
Every beat of Wednesdayâs heart grew stronger the longer she watched you in what would have been your natural habitat. Try as you might to deny it, you were rather skilled at talking up those that could owe you favours. For example, the senatorâs wife. Though Wednesday despised it, you had her laughing and getting closer the entire conversation.
You were lucky Wednesday had promised to behave.
She was lucky you had promised to behave.
The longer she stayed by your side throughout the evening, the more she realised there was a side to you she rarely if ever got to see. The part of you that could be serious and prepared for business. It was fascinating to watch your expressions and tone match whoever you were talking with. Almost like a mimic, if she had to put a word to it.
Sometimes, if your mother was around, she noticed the most subtle accent to your words. You sounded just like her.
She would never tell you.
âThis is Wednesday Addams.â
Your voice pulled Wednesday back into the moment. There was a man in front of you both that she didnât care to know. With his horrific toupee and pathetic mustache, she mentally placed him as a wannabe politician. His black tuxedo was slightly dishevelled around the collar, and his buttons were off by one. How peculiar.
âAddams, you say?â He asked with a voice that betrayed him more than the pipe hanging out of his mouth. âI believe I know of your father.â
âHow so?â She asked even though she had no interest in hearing his answer.
âWe met at a ball many years ago, if my recollection is correct,â he said. A puff of smoke left his mouth. âHeâs doing well, I presume?â
âQuite,â she said shortly. Perhaps if she made it clear she wasnât interested in small talk, he would leave her be.
No such luck.
âPerhaps he would appreciate an invitation to our next ball,â the man said. âHe can get proper connections in place for when you take over.â
Your hand on the small of Wednesdayâs back twitched. Nothing serious, a minuscule movement. It was enough. Out of the corner of your eye, she saw the slight frown on your face. Nothing overtly noticeable. Not that it would have mattered, the man you were both talking to couldnât be bothered enough to notice the change.
âThe Addamses are old money,â you chimed in, âthereâs no need to take over.â
âOf course, of course,â he mumbled. A puff of smoke escaped from between his lips. âIn that case, you must take that advice,â he said as he gestured toward you with his head. âYouâll need the good graces.â
Your hand twitched again.
âIâm not sure I understand,â you said with a slight tilt of your head.
âWhen you take over your fatherâs company,â he explained. Your nails dug into Wednesdayâs back. âAfter dear Nicholas passed - rest his soul - you became the beneficiary of the company.â He chuckled. âPerhaps they were keeping it a surprise until you came of proper age.â A wink. âDonât let them know I told you.â
You pulled your hand away from her back. Quickly. You could not have made it any more obvious that you were deliberately putting space between yourself and everyone else. If you could have turned and ran, Wednesday was convinced you would have.
She couldnât begin to imagine the things running through your mind. Not only had he mentioned Nicky - which she had learned would always be a sore spot no matter how much time had passed - but he had also told you something you undoubtedly had never wished to know. You looked like you had grabbed an electric wire and hadnât let go.
âAre you alright?â The man asked in a tone that indicated he couldnât have cared less what your answer was. Wednesday could appreciate the indifference.
âQuite,â you said quickly. âJust thinking.â
âAh, of course, I could tell,â he said with a nod, âIâve seen that face before.â Another puff of his pipe. âYou look just like your father.â
That.
That was the final straw.
Wednesday could practically hear your sanity break at that simple sentence. Any semblance of control you had maintained throughout the evening vanished. Before, you had acted like you had been shot by the words. You would close off, become solemn in the wake of the conversation. Being told those words almost hurt you more than losing your brother.
But not this time. No, now you were furious. If you clenched your jaw any tighter, Wednesday was convinced the bones would have shattered. Her eyes fell to your hands before you managed to shove them into your pockets. They were balled into fists.
She wondered if it pained your superficially healed burns.
âI believe I need a drink,â you choked out. ��If youâll excuse me.â You didnât wait for an answer before walking off where Wednesday could no longer see you.
She was mortified.
How dare you leave her with people that, not only did she not know, but she didnât care about? She had only agreed to accompany you because it would be a sleight against your mother. Not once had she agreed to be left alone with these people. Did you not know that she was not going to be good for your image? If anything, she would damage it more than it already was.
âI hope our dear Y/N is alright.â
She knew better. Wednesday really, truly knew better. But she couldnât help herself. With a small exhale, she turned to face your mother. A polite smile was on her face and she looked rather nice, if Wednesday wished to say something positive about the woman. Not that she deserved it, but that wasnât necessarily important.
You had her nose.
âOh sheâs splendid,â the man said, âjust stewing on some thoughts. Right, Miss Addams?â He winked at Wednesday.
She felt the rare twinge of disgust in her stomach.
âI presumed,â your mother said. âWould you mind if I stole Miss Addams from you?â
âNot at all,â he said. He bowed his head, let out a puff of smoke, and turned around to start a conversation with whatever unlucky soul happened to be nearest him.
âWalk with me,â your mother commanded.
Silence was Wednesdayâs best friend as she followed the older woman. She would admit, she had never believed she would find herself in this situation. Walking side by side with your mother - not the woman who raised you, but who brought you to life. It had seemed like a far-fetched dream, if not a full-blown nightmare.
She was ashamed to admit that she was⌠uncertain of how to act.
âYouâre a rather brave young thing,â your mother said as she continued to meander through the party, waving to people when she saw fit. âHas our darling Y/N ever told you that?â
âIâm aware of my own strengths,â Wednesday answered. She reconsidered for a moment. âYes she has.â
âThen we raised her properly.â
Wednesday opted to stay silent. It had only been a few moments of conversation, but she could fully understand why you felt a certain way about your parents. Was she aware of the ridiculous things she was saying? Did she truly believe that they had raised you? A foolish notion at best.
It was beyond clear that your true family had raised you. If she extended the definition of the word, Weems had even raised you more than the woman she was walking beside. You even called Weems a mother, which was evidence enough. Wednesday wasnât one to get overly emotional, but she knew the difference between what your family had done to raise you and what your mother had done. The difference was glaringly obvious.
While you hadnât told Wednesday much about your upbringing, she knew enough. Your mother had never been there when you cried. She hadnât helped you with your homework, or encouraged your hobbies. It would be of no surprise to anyone if she didnât know of your passion for climbing or boxing. She had left you to cope alone after not only a crippling car accident, but the figurative and, eventually literal, loss of your brother.
No, they hadnât raised you, and even someone as emotionally stunted as Wednesday was painfully aware of it.
âIâm sure sheâs told you rather horrid things about Marcus and myself,â your mother said, coaxing Wednesday out of her thoughts. âBut everything we did was for her own good.â
Wednesday understood the anger you harboured for them. She herself was feeling that same anger well up within her chest. Not quite threatening to burst forward, but making itself known. Subtle, creeping into her veins slowly, like waves gently breaking on the shore. All it would take was one wrong move and those waves would turn violent.
âI believe you truly think so,â was all she said.
âEveryone she loves gets hurt,â your mother said. She stopped in her tracks and turned slowly to face Wednesday. âOr dies.â
âThatâs improbable at best,â she said.
âYouâd be wise to leave before you fall victim to that curse of hers.â
Something cold and damp settled into the bottom of Wednesdayâs heart. It was⌠difficult to describe. Was your mother warning her, or threatening? She was unsure. The words themself were threatening, but her tone⌠she hadnât prepared to hear that tone from such a woman. Not after what she had come to know about her.
âNot everything you hear can be taken as truth, love,â your mother said softly, far too soft for her own words. She was ignoring Wednesdayâs silence. Or simply not caring. âFrom what Iâve read about you, you know that painfully well.â
Wednesday turned to silence once again. She had nothing to say, which was a rather unusual experience. So far, she couldnât properly think of a time she had been left without words. Or, quite frankly, even any thoughts. Skepticism was her friend, and your mother would not break her of such habits.
âThereâs two sides to every story,â your mother continued. She looked out toward the crowd of people, and Wednesday followed suit. âThis curse prevailed long before Nicholas.â
You had never told Wednesday of any incidents before Nicky. Though, if your mother knew about it, then perhaps you didnât remember. Or you werenât even aware in the first place. It indicated something that she wasnât quite sure how to feel about.
Something that mixed together with everything she had seen as of late.
âWe should get together one evening,â your mother said as she looked back at Wednesday. âDoubtless you have questions.â
She did. As much as she hated to admit it, even to herself, she had numerous questions that continued to pile up with each second that ticked by. With how much your mother hated Outcasts, was her implication of a curse figurative or literal? If literal, were you truly cursed? Who had done it? At the very least, who had been injured or killed when you were too young to even remember?
Would you hate her if she agreed? There had been a few times you had mentioned, in passing of course, about regretting knowing little about your childhood. Whether from young age or potential trauma, you remembered less than you liked. If she had a chance to find those things out for you, would you be appreciative? Or would you be upset with her for talking with your mother so casually?
Would you hate her?
Her mind was running through every scenario possible. She wanted to tell your mother something; of what, she wasnât quite sure. Wednesdayâs lips parted in an effort to buy herself some more time when someoneâs arm brushed against her shoulder. Just the lightest of touches, otherwise unnoticeable. It had been quite a while since she had last felt that electric shock spiderwebbing across her skin.
This was different.
Fire raced through her veins, creating an inferno in her chest that she desperately wished to smother. She could taste the smoke rising up from her lungs, scorching the back of her throat before settling into little more than a tickle. When her eyes opened, she saw vague shapes of the forest.
She was getting rather tired of the forest.
The birds were silent, and even the bugs had ceased to make their high-pitched calls. It was as silent as the grave. After witnessing the fire, this very setting rested heavy in her stomach. The only saving grace was the two familiar figures she saw standing underneath one of the outlines of a tree.
When they turned to face her, all comfort fled. Their faces were nothing less than mangled. Blood fell freely down their chins to the already-soaked dirt below their feet. Wednesday wanted to cry, to scream, to warn them of the creature looming behind them, but she couldnât. She was silent.
Just like you on that fated night.
She blinked once. When her eyes opened again, the forest was gone, instead replaced by a house that she could recognise even from her single visit. Wednesday had never been downstairs in your parents house, instead only exploring a few rooms upstairs when she came with you, but she recognised the tile. The entire building smelled like you, in some odd way.
The dining table was huge, accentuated by the measly five plates that sat around the perimeter of the stunning wood. Only five. Two seats were empty, and two more were filled with sights that Wednesday didnât think she could have imagined even in her most demented nightmares. In the fifth seat, Wednesday saw the near-perfect reflection of herself.
She had never imagined what her corpse would look like.
âI said donât touch her.â
Your voice. That was your voice, which meant she was out of her vision. Her throat ached like she had been screaming for years. There was a dull throbbing ache in her stomach where one of the wounds on her corpse had been. But your arms were around her, holding her close.
The ache would subside.
âIt might be wise to seek medical attention,â your mother said.
âThis happened while she was with you,â you practically spat. Wednesday still hadnât opened her eyes, but she could imagine the fury on your face. âI can be forgiven for not taking your advice.â
âIâd advise you not to make a scene, dear.â
Your motherâs tone left Wednesday feeling cold. Her own mother had never talked to her in such a way, even out of fear. It wasnât a way a parent should ever talk to their child. Yet, your mother did it shamelessly in front of an entire crowd of people that had no doubt found their way around the three of you.
Her eyes opened quickly. Far too quickly, the lights from the room hammered nails into her brain. But all the pain and discomfort faded away when she met your soft eyes looking down at her in concern. You were rather beautiful, and just the thought brought a smile to her lips.
A smile?
Perhaps she had hit her head on the way down.
âCan you stand?â You asked softly.
Wednesday nodded once.
You kept your hands on her as you helped her to her feet. The floor felt a bit uneven at first, but with your arm wrapped securely around her waist, she felt no concern. Her trust in you was unwavering. You wouldnât let her fall.
âYou should take her somewhere quiet,â your mother said, against everyoneâs better judgement. âIt will help.â
You shot her a look, but otherwise stayed silent as you guided Wednesday through the crowd. Everyone parted, looking away in some form of almost-shame. They didnât truly care. Elites cared for little outside of their own interests. And at that moment, getting the gossip firsthand was in their best interest.
There was no telling where exactly you were taking her. She didnât care to know. If you were taking her somewhere, it would be safe. You had never intentionally led her into harm, and she knew you never would. You cared too much, and though it often got you in trouble, she loved it about you.
âŚ
She had definitely hit her head.
When you opened the door and led her inside the darkened room, she didnât initially check her surroundings. Wednesday was no fool, she would know if something was unsafe. But when you flipped the switch and illuminated the space, she was overcome with⌠confusion.
âThe coat closet?â She asked, turning quickly to face you.
You were already pacing back and forth in the small - well, small for a room, rather large for a coat closet - space. Each step was harsh, purposeful. Behind you, your hands were clasped terribly tight, as if you were trying to prevent yourself from doing something foolish.
Perhaps you were.
âDid she hurt you?â You asked without looking.
âNo,â Wednesday said softly.
You scoffed. âProbably the only thing she didnât do.â The carpet was becoming worn into a path from your feet. âWe never shouldâve come to this stupid party.â
There were a few things Wednesday could have said, but she remained silent. It wasnât often you would find yourself pacing, let alone in a closet. On those rare occasions, she had learned it best to stay quiet. Once you had gotten your thoughts and emotions out, you were lighter and could move on.
âI canât do this,â you continued without prompting. âI donât want to do this.â A turn on your heels. âI didnât even want their name, let alone their fucking company.â The muscles in your arms tensed. âAnd apparently everyone is preparing for it. What happens when they find out Iâm a fucking Outcast?â You readjusted your jaw. âHe told me we shouldnât have come.â
Wednesday perked up.
âWho told you?â
There was no sudden freeze of your movements, as was usual. No, your pace slowed until coming to a graceful stop. Each breath you took was calculated, steady. Strange. She had seen enough of your panics to know this was different. Wrong somehow.
âNo one,â you said without looking at her. âJust⌠just a thought.â You turned slowly. âThe voice in my head.â
âYour conscience?â She clarified.
You didnât answer.
Wednesday didnât like when you didnât answer her. It left a gross feeling she couldnât quite describe. The best description she could conjure was mud sitting at the bottom of her stomach, weighing her down. She didnât like the feeling. It made her⌠well, almost sad.
It was possible you noticed her discomfort because, almost instantly, you walked over to where she was standing. Her entire body relaxed - for the first time that night - when your hands cupped her cheeks. There was something pleasant about your touch that never failed to ease any negative feelings trapped within her.
âAre you sure youâre okay?â You asked in a far softer voice. It was gentle and comforting.
She placed her hands on top of yours and nodded once.
âIâm sorry about tonight,â you continued. âWe shouldâve just had a nice night at home.â
Wednesday didnât disagree. There were many more things she would have preferred to do than come to some gala that no one seemed to care about. You had come under the premise of a gala for Outcasts, but she felt it was a farce. None of those people cared about Outcasts, and they never would. It would have been a much better use of both of your time to do something else, something far more enjoyable.
An idea formed in her mind and she quickly looked up to meet your eyes.
âWe can still have a nice night,â she said slowly.
âWednesday,â you said with a tilt of your head. âYou fainted and Iâm plotting the death of my mother. Youâd have to come up with something pretty⌠uhâŚâ
Your voice trailed off once she guided your hands down her neck. There was almost a humorous joy to the way you went slack jawed at any indication of activities less than professional. And when she continued, fighting a shiver as your fingers brushed the side of her clothed breasts, you stared with wide eyes until your hands rested on her waist.
âWednesday,â you whispered. Her name always slid off your tongue with a certain grace that she couldnât find anywhere else.
âYou need a distraction,â she said, âas do I.â
âPlease donât feel like you have to-â
â-I would like to,â she said quickly.Â
She knew where your mind was going and, in any other situation, she would have agreed. You had both agreed long ago that this wasnât something frivolous; it meant far too much to the both of you. It shouldnât be used for inappropriate reasons and, under normal circumstances, this would be an inappropriate reason.
Even though it was surprising to her as well, she genuinely wanted this.
âWeâre in a coat closet,â you said with a slight squeeze of your hands. It felt nice.
âI donât believe it would be our most unusual interaction,â she said with the slightest tilt of her head.
You bit back a laugh. It was a beautiful sound. âPlease donât call it an interaction, it sounds⌠dirty.â
She felt herself moving backwards. Whether you were guiding her or she was leading, she couldnât tell. All she could focus on was your fingers rubbing light circles on her hips and your face getting closer to hers. If she simply leaned up on her toes, she could kiss you.
âI can call it intercourse instead,â she offered.
The both of you stopped when her back pressed against the wall.
âI think thatâs worse,â you said, your breath fanning across her lips.
She waited for the question.
âCan I kiss you?â
A rhetorical question at that point, you knew the answer. You had always known the answer. Wednesday reached forward to wrap her arms around your neck and pulled you down into a kiss. It was soft and clumsy. After all this time, you were still clumsy for the first few kisses. Before you, she would have found it ridiculous.
Now, she enjoyed it.
Outside the door, the sounds of footsteps on the tile came and went. It didnât stop either one of you, quite the contrary, it made the situation all the more thrilling. Wednesday knew the joy you would find in it; she could practically hear your words. Two Outcasts fucking around their personal belongings? Sexy.
Her breath hitched lightly when you slipped your hands underneath her dress. It wasnât salacious; it was rather decent, if she was being honest. You didnât hike her dress up over her hips and take her right then and there. Rather, you kept her covered, the only indication of something going on being your hands underneath the fabric.
âIâm sorry, mi vida,â you said softly against her skin as you pressed kisses across her jaw. âThis will have to be quick unless you want to get caught.â
Wednesday was never a fan of what you and Enid - and clearly the rest of the world - called âquickies.â She was so selective of when and where she was willing to have sex that the thought had never appealed to her. Why dedicate such a short amount of time to something that required much longer? How was it enjoyable? Or even tolerable?
But, as she had noted throughout the night, she wasnât particularly picky at that moment.
She nodded quickly. More footsteps could be heard outside the door. You were correct; she didnât wish to be caught. The thrill was arousing, yes, but if it actually happened? There was no doubt in her mind that, though she wouldnât care about their opinions, she would be mortified.
Your teeth pressed lightly against the pulse point of her neck as you smiled. If Wednesday stretched her neck just a little further, perhaps she could entice you to bite. There was something delectable about the feel of your teeth on her skin. As if you could read her mind, you lightly nipped at her collarbone.
It was a good thing you hadnât completely enraptured her, or she would have made a surprised noise when you hoisted her up from the ground. Your hands held her by the back of her thighs until you pressed closer, leaving her trapped securely between your body and the wall.
Oh, she rather liked that.
Your unscarred hand moved, sliding softly against her inner thigh before brushing against her underwear. Her body shivered at the slightest of touches. It was humiliating. What was more humiliating was the smile on your face that she desperately wished would vanish.
âYouâre already wet,â you noted.
She could kill you.
âThe stoic Wednesday Addams is wet,â you said. Your fingers slipped underneath the flimsy fabric and she had to bite her tongue. âFrom a little makeout session in a coat closet.â
Out of all the times you could be condescending, you had chosen the worst moment. You chose the moment she was already going out of her comfort zone, but also, quite frankly, desperate. She finally understood the pleasure in quickies; it gave less time for words.
Wednesday would have told you to shut up right then and there. She would have stopped you simply out of spite. But her chance was ruined when you slipped two fingers into her with ease. Her head fell back against the wall as those fingers moved at a dangerously quick pace.
She wouldnât have to wait long to finish. It was truly disgraceful how worked up she was. Had you known? Because she hadnât. Wednesday had never anticipated ever being so close to a release with such little time. Perhaps it was you. You and your deceptively soft kisses on her neck. You and your nimble fingers that had learned long ago exactly what she loved. You and your damned thumb that never left her clit until she was so sensitive she could almost cry.
That warm feeling in her core didnât build softly. It formed quickly with each swipe of your thumb, each thrust of your fingers that had her biting her tongue so hard she could taste blood. She managed to lift her head right when you pulled your own mouth away. Perfect.
Her lips pressed against yours before that feeling erupted inside her. It was different from all the other times. It was more intense, hitting her rather quickly instead of slowly cascading over the edge. Her nails dug into the back of your neck, but you didnât seem to care. You simply held her closer, keeping your fingers moving in rhythm with her body until she could relax in your arms.
Footsteps came closer.
âIâm sorry,â you whispered against your lips, âI know it was fast, we can take our time at home.â
Wednesday didnât have an answer just yet. She was still out of breath, trying to recover from the wave of bliss that had left her unable to properly function. But she could give you some form of answer; a soft kiss, nothing like what you had just done to her.
She felt you smile against her lips.
âHere,â you said softly as you lowered her back to the ground on shaky legs. âIâll grab our coats, you take a moment.â
The moment you were gone, she felt cold. It wasnât something she had ever admitted out loud, but she despised when you left her even if momentarily. She was fond of the warmth you gave her, both internally and externally. There was something special about it that evaded her verbiage. All she knew was she enjoyed it.
When she opened her eyes, she froze.
âWhat are you doing?â She asked in a husky voice.
You thumbed through the cash in the wallet. âIâm stealing.â You grabbed the wad of cash and placed the empty wallet back into the coat before moving on to the next one. âIf Iâm going to run a company one day, I should start getting used to it.â
Wednesday walked up to you slowly and waited for you to finish with what was currently in your hands. Once you paused, she pulled you down into a kiss. Slow, soft, good. You pulled back ever so slightly with a small smile on your face, and she just looked at you.
âI love you,â she said softly.
You leaned down to kiss her again.
âI love you too.â
#wednesday addams x reader#wednesday x reader#wednesday addams imagine#wednesday imagine#jenna ortega x reader#jenna ortega
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