#you can pay for your license plate to say pretty much anything

[bookbabe92]

Vanity Plates at the end of the world

(Inspired by my commute)

If vanity license plates still existed in The Last of Us, after Tommy’s daughter was born he gets plates that read GRL DAD. Joel is irationally jealous, he didn’t even know he wanted something like that until he saw Tommy’s. He bullies Tommy relentlessly saying that those plates should be his because he was a girl dad FIRST. This gets so out of hand that someone in the middle of the night switches out Joel’s plates for ones that read GRLS DAD

[featherandferns]

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

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

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

word count: 14k.

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

“And this is your room.”

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

“Is it, uh, alright?”

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

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

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

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

“Well, thanks,” you smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Very noble work,” you joke.

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

Your mood sobers, smile turning solemn.

“Thanks,” you quietly reply.

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

“See ya.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yo! JB, you home?”

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

“You’re not John B,” he says.

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

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

“Holy crap! Little Routledge?” he gapes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, that’s sick!”

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

“John B gave you his old room then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

“Pretty lofty goal to set,” you chuckle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you nod. “Scary.”

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

“Can’t believe you’re seventeen.”

“What? I look good or something?”

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

“Or something,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

But when JJ pats your head, your chest deflates.

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

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

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

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

“Wait, I’m confused,” Pope frowns.

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

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

You laugh into your drink.

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

You nod.

“But then you moved to Colorado?”

“Yeah?”

“But now you’re back here?”

“Apparently,” you say.

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

“No shit,” Kiara quips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think I’m gonna head in.”

“What?”

“No!”

“Come on!”

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

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

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

“Night!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.”

“Can’t sleep?”

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

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

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

“Don’t need to bore you with it.”

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

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

“Haven’t smoked in ages,” you say.

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

You laugh. “Not where I live, no.”

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

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

“I feel like you have to, now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure.”

“Sure?”

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

“So, you’re not missing home then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

You roll your eyes.

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

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

“Definitely no guy, and definitely no jock.”

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

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

“Right, night Little Routledge,” JJ says.

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

It takes a minute to regain your composure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You new to the island? Feel like I haven��t seen you around?”

“This island that small?”

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

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

“Ah, sweet. Anyone I’d know?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Happy to help,” you reply.

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

You nod. “Sure. Sounds good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Smashed it. Got the job,” you say.

“Oh, sweet. Congrats.”

“Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

“They bad quality or something?”

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

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

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

“S’just practice,” you mumble.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yo!”

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

“Y’all hungry?”

“Hell yeah,” JJ says.

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

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

“Beef burger with cheese, no pickles.”

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

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

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

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

“Oh, it is,” John B replies.

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

There’s the sound of chewing and swallowing.

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

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

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

What the hell was that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You gonna be much longer?”

“No, I shouldn’t be,” you say to Tom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, that’s dumb,” she snorts.

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

“Who’s this guy? Do I know him?”

“Maybe.”

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

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

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

“He is?”

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

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

“So, do you?”

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

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

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

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

“Anytime sunshine.”

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

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

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

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

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

“He had to go do something for Cameron.”

“At ten at night?”

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

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

“Hey, you hungry?”

“Starved.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Feed me a fry?”

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

“Thanks.”

“Course.”

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

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

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

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

“See you soon.”

“Yeah. See you soon, Little Routledge.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You want it?”

“Please,” you whisper.

“Yeah? You want my mouth?”

“Yes, JJ, please.”

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

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

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

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

“Been dreaming ‘bout this.”

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

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

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

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

You gasp awake.

Had you been sleeping?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” you dumbly say.

“Hey.”

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

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

“Oh.”

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

“Jesus Christ, JayJ.”

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

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

“Be my guest,” JJ scoffs.

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

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

“That’s what she said.”

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

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

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

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

“Take your pick.”

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

“Something like that.”

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

“Shit, I—”

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

JJ nods. “Yeah, yeah. Course.”

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

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

“It’s okay. I don’t…It isn’t…”

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

“We can’t.”

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

“Right. Course.”

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

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you say.

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

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

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

“Hey. Sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” you lie. “You?”

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

“Oh shit, that’s tonight?”

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

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

“Alright. Just stay safe.”

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

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For letting me stay here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, apart from Pope.”

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

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

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

He laughs. “Thanks, little sis.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Know a lot of people here?”

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

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

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

“Yo Lizzy!”

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

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

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

“Hey,” you smile, squiffy.

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

“Yeah, I came with Lizzy.”

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

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

“How you finding Kildare?”

“Good.”

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

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

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

“Some people, huh?” you say cautiously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me?”

“Just, you’re new here—”

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

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

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

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

“Let go!” you demand.

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

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

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

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

“Let go, Tom!”

“Everything good here?”

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

“I think you should let go, man.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Wanna get out of here?” JJ asks.

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

“Come on. I brought my bike.”

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

“Good?”

“Good,” you quietly reply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’s your face?”

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

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

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

“Good.”

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

“So…”

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

“We gonna talk about it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” JJ mumbles. “Yeah, one time.”

“Yeah?”

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

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

“So pretty,” you say through your kisses.

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

“Fuck,” he sighs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That good, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[awingedinsect]

-Flood me like Atlantic-

Chapter 8

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: cursing, talks of injury, talks of homelessness, there’s a general 18+ content warning for this entire series and it does get a tiny bit interesting at the end here. Yearning Vessel gets his own warning.

“I got you a present.”

“Oh yeah? What is it?”

The little girl smiled, raking up a fistful of sand.

“It’s a surprise, silly.” She said. The breeze was blowing her hair, and Vessel smiled as she pulled it out of her sweet little eyes. “For your birthday.”

He remembers the smell of the ocean, the sound of the grey waves crashing on the shore. He remembers sitting there for hours with her, watching the tide come in as the sun made its journey behind the clouds.

He chuckled. “Aw heck, you didn’t have to do that.” There was a big smile creeping up on his face. “…Do I get a hint?”

“Well, mom paid for it, but I picked it out.” She said, yanking up a few pieces of grass poking through the grout. “and no.” She made a zipper across her mouth, beaming up at him with specks of sand scattered on her pink cheeks. “My lips are sealed!”

“Hey, Vessel.”

Vessel looks up from the pan he’s scrubbing, turning on the faucet to rid it of the suds. The water soaks into the cuffs of his hoodie.

“Hm?”

IV stands beside him casually, shrugging the leather jacket he performed in over his good shoulder.

“I’m heading into town. Anything I can get for you?”

Vessel sets the pan down on the drying rack, hands spidering a little desperately over the pile of dirty dishes in search of his next target. “Oh, no thanks,” he says, blinking at the guitarist’s reflection in the window then immediately looking down when his is in the pane too. He still looks tired, eyes bloodshot and hollow. Almost like he’d been nearly sacrificed and since possessed by an anonymous deity.

“You uh, driving?” He asks, glancing over at the man’s broken arm. An unprecedented wave of guilt comes over him, and he swipes his nose on his shoulder with a sniff. The sunlight is pouring in through the dusty window and it makes eye contact feel doubly impossible. But IV just shrugs, stuffing his hand in his jean pocket and shuffling a ring of keys.

“Aye, I’m the only one up here with a license. But I don’t mind, going to the grocery is pretty much a special interest at this point. You sure I can’t get you anything? Swing by your house for some clothes?”

It amuses Vessel that there’s an unspoken understanding that he’s staying. It would be sweet, if there wasn’t also the underlying idea that he doesn’t actually have a choice. But then again, he doesn’t have anywhere else that he should be, much less a house. He wonders if they can tell. If the inability to pay another night's rent at that damn motel is as plain as the bandage on his face. God, he wants his keyboard.

Out of anything in the world, he’d take those keys under his fingers.

“I’m fine, honestly. I can take a cab to the motel lat-“

“You’re staying in a motel?”

A horrendous blush creeps up his neck, and he dumps a plate on the rack hard enough to make him wince. “I’m… temporarily a bit displaced?”

There’s not a whole lot to read on IV’s face. He just absorbs information, then says some contemplated thing in return. But out of pity or surprise, there’s something closer to concern in his eyes.

“…You got a job, mate?”

There’s a silence longer than III’s fucking legs, and maybe twice as insufferable as the man himself. Even now Vessel can hear him in the next room, quietly muttering over his collection of herbs and spell-making equipment in an attempt to guard against whatever “bullshit the cat dragged in.” II is watching the tv, sipping a soda and giggling at whatever's on the discovery channel.

Vessel’s big eyes finally gather the strength to look up in the window, mouth twitching as he meets IV’s own.

“…I sing.”

And that’s what he does.

That’s how that day passes, and the next, and the next… at first, he’s nervous. Just settles on the edge of the couch to watch the three of them take positions, falling into the flow of practice as easy as a stream into the sea. II looks about as at home behind his drum set as a tree in the woods. Vessel has never seen so much cohesion between a person and their instrument, and it fills his gut with an almost jealousy, seeing something so flawless performed with such ease.

IV forgoes his guitar, obviously. But he still brings a lot to the performance by presence and a few vocals alone. II wasn’t kidding when he said the man could scream. The sound scratches Vessel's ears so gorgeously, he could legitimately start crying.

And then there’s III.

He stands front and center, that same flowery jacket on his shoulders. He looks concentrated. In tune. And yet there’s an ease that rolls off of him so fabulously it can’t help but feel like a subtle challenge.

Vessel watches his fingers move over the strings, rings glinting in the grey-ish light of the foggy forest.

And he feels… something.

He watches them play for an hour before II begs him to join. There’s something in those blue eyes that is undeniable, no matter how out of place he feels. And soon there is a mic stand in front of him, adjusted about three levels higher than he found it.

“Bring Me to Life.” III mutters. And without a piano, the first sounds are nothing but a few chords plucked by his nimble fingers.

The challenge is no longer subtle.

Vessel rocks on his heels, fingers splaying delicately down the side of the mic stand before gripping it low and still for his mouth to caress.

“How can you see into my eyes…”

A very quiet “oh hooo” of impending excitement comes from somewhere behind the drum set, and Vessel smiles.

“…like open doors?”

IV’s screams of “I can’t wake up” ring in all of their ears for several days, so intense it’d be funny if not so impressive. They played for hours that day, only pausing to brew a few cups of III’s jasmine rose tea. II was right; it tasted like ass. And yet in that room, sweaty from pouring his soul into a mic and surrounded by those three, passionate freaks of the industry, he realized he was almost happy. His smile, for the first time in years, wasn’t something he willed onto his face. And if he could hang on forever to the feeling of discovering a smile instead of creating it he would.

II tells him goodnight without any prompting. Just smiles at him, and says it as easy as breathing, before heading off into one of three doors lining the hallway.

IV likes him too. He gets a few changes of clothes and a brand new toothbrush from him, and even shares an intelligent conversation about guitars once Vessel mentions that he likes to play, too. Most of his feeling is in his eyes, he’s realized. They have a way of sparkling and harboring what might be big smiles in another case when he’s intrigued or at peace. The only person who gets him to really smile, is II; When the drummer is curled up in a tiny ball on the couch with his cup of “tea” or going absolutely manic on the drums, closing his eyes and getting carried off in the rhythm.

Even III smiles then.

But not once has he ever smiled at Vessel.

Vessel goes to sleep one night, thinking about it.

What would it feel like to have III’s approval? It’s clear at this point that he’ll never make the guy happy. He resents him too much for that. And yet, he did save his life. Shouldn’t that be good enough?

Vessel doesn’t like him very much, he’s decided. Especially when after belting his heart out at the man’s command he doesn’t even get a “well done”, or a “thank you” when Vessel made a mug of that nasty fucking tea and brought it to him after practice. He just nods his head and half-way looks at him; because at the end of the day, Vessel isn’t worth his attention.

And it makes his face red as a beet.

The moon is pouring in through the window. It’s been a week since it was full, and lighting up the forest outside with him in it. The cuts on his belly seem to be healing well, and he’s planning to take the bandage off his head tomorrow and see what the hell that’s all about.

Why won’t III approve of him?

He turns over on his back, looking up at the ceiling.

“You really are amazing.” II’s voice echoes in his head from earlier in the day, when he was cutting up some apples in the kitchen. “We’re all lucky bastards to have a singer like you messing around with us. Talk to III, we’ve got a gig coming up next week and I don’t know if we’d be half as good without ya!”

His eyes flutter as the darkness becomes staticy, rimmed on the left by faint moonlight and quiet as a grave with the whole house asleep. He thinks about II’s words. Is he in a band? If not, what’s he been doing up here all this time?

He’s not sure he can look at another crowd. Another waiting, patient collection of faces staring at his own until he does something impressive. Until the night goes on and terrible things have a chance to happen.

He shudders hard and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath.

Can he sing for people?

For me.

A voice speaks somewhere between his mind and his eyelids.

Sing for me.

“I can scream loud enough, for you.” His mouth wraps around the words, muttering them softly with hardly a sound. His tongue darts out on his lip.

He really does love singing with bass.

His hand slips under his hoodie, spreading delicately over the bandages decorating him. His fingers are cold against his hot skin, searing between the pieces of himself and what III taped to him. It doesn’t hurt so bad anymore.

His fingers travel down, grazing softly over the faintest of trails till they touch the band of III’s sweatpants.

God, he’s annoyed. He’s a good singer. Why isn’t he good enough for everyone? Why doesn’t that prick of a bassist say thank you when he makes him tea?

“I can scream loud enough...”

His fingertips push past the elastic, the slightest of tremors in his big hands for no reason he feels like guessing. He didn’t realize until right now how aroused he is by nothing in particular. It’s simply been too long, he thinks. Too long since he created release for all the sounds in his mind.

“…for you.”

For me.

“…Yes.”

After only a few minutes his eyes shoot wide open, full of pleading and hate as he cups a hand over his mouth and bites down hard enough to muffle a scream.

[neo-techculture]

Power Meets Prescription

Summary :- You work as a doctor in a hospital that caters to high-maintenance patients. And your newest patient- the head of the Italian mafia, Alexei Belmonte- is obsessed with you and is trying to take you out on a date.

Pairing :- Mafia boss!OC x Doctor!Reader

Warnings :- Mentions of getting shot and stabbed (nothing graphic).

Working in a hospital that caters to high-maintenance patients can be exhausting. These include actors, actresses, models, mayors, senators, politicians, and even members of the mafia. Interestingly, almost every patient is listed under an alias; it would be unwise not to do so.

You are on your way to see your last patient for the day, the notorious Italian mob boss, Alexei Belmonte. A few days back, he narrowly escaped a bullet, sending shockwaves through his organization. Managing his security detail and handling his top associate was quite a balancing act, akin to juggling flaming swords, but that's just another typical day on the job, isn't it? After patching him up, he was quickly escorted to a luxurious suite, because, of course, he expected nothing less than VIP treatment.

You see the expensive doors to his room, a number plate done in intricate detail on the door. Few guards are stationed in front of it, and they open the door with a nod to you once they sight you. Walking inside, you're met with Alexei on the bed, leaned against a few pillows, his phone in hand. Cameron D'Angelo- second in command, first in brooding- is seated on the sofa opposite the bed. His expression screams: “I’ve seen things, doc. Things that would make your medical license curl up and cry.” You could see the faint outline of a gun under his jacket, though it dosen't faze you much these days. Similar to Alexei, he too is on his phone. The latter's eyes lifts to yours at the sound of the door closing.

"If it isn't the pretty doctor," he grins, his voice smooth and velvety. He's wearing a plain black button-up and sweatpants, and his normally slicked-back hair is now tousled as if he's run his fingers through it several times.

You let out an internal sigh at his words, not really paying attention as you flip through the pages of the clipboard with his information. Taking the cap off the pen and getting ready to write, you sneak a quick glance at him.

"How are you doing?"

"Good, a bit of pain, but overall good," he answers, although his eyes are fixed on how good you look in your doctor's coat. You jot down some notes before checking his vitals.

"You'll be good to go within two days," you tell him.

"Perfect." He looks at his second-in-command and nods. Cameron gets up from the couch and walks over to the door, opening and closing it quietly, most likely to deal with his boss's discharge.

"So doctor," Alexei's velvet voice draws your attention back to him. "How about I take you out after I'm discharged?"

"Take me out as in murder?" You respond dryly, not really in the mood for his charm.

Alexei laughs, a genuine one; not one of his unhinged or mocking laughs. "You're funny, doll."

"If there isn't anything else Mr. Belmonte, I'll be going."

Alexei can't take his eyes off you as you walk away, a little smirk playing on his lips. Since you became his doctor, he's been totally fixated on you. He's been trying to charm you into going out with him, but let's just say it's not going as smoothly as he'd hoped. You've been pretty good at brushing him off, but he's not giving up that easily. After all, a Belmonte always gets what he wants.

-----

Alexei had been discharged several weeks ago. You have not seen him or any of his associates since then. Your own schedule was hectic, especially after one of the politicians was stabbed and the aftermath that followed.

Finally done for the day, you step out of the hospital's automatic glass doors. Your plan was to get into bed and sleep for the next twenty years, but your attention was drawn to a familiar figure leaning against a black car.

What is he doing here, you think as you walk closer to him.

"My favourite doctor!" Alexei grins, straightening up from his leaning position.

"Alexei," you acknowledge, your voice tinged with surprise and a hint of caution. "What brings you here?"

"I couldn't stay away," he says, his grin broadening.

Right, because hospitals are such romantic hotspots. Forget candlelit dinners; give me fluorescent lights and sanitized hand gel any day, you think.

"I thought you might need a ride home. Consider it a thank you for patching me up." Oh, great. A ride home from the guy who probably has a secret compartment full of weapons. But hey, your feet hurt, and your Uber rating could use a boost.

You glance at the sleek black car, its polished surface reflecting the hospital’s lights. "I appreciate the offer, but I can manage."

"Come on, doll," he insists, his tone playful yet persuasive. "It's just a ride. No strings attached."

You hesitate, weighing your options. It's been a long day, and the idea of a comfortable ride home is tempting. Plus, refusing him outright might not be the best idea. With a resigned sigh, you nod.

"Alright, but just a ride," you emphasize. "No detours."

"Scout's honor," Alexei says, placing a hand over his heart in mock sincerity. He opens the passenger door for you, and you slide into the plush leather seat. Once he’s behind the wheel, he starts the car, the engine purring smoothly.

The ride is surprisingly silent, the city lights whizzing past as Alexei drives like he's in a Fast & Furious movie. You half expect Vin Diesel to pop up in the backseat. You steal a glance at him; his usual air of danger seems subdued, replaced with an almost relaxed demeanor.

"So, doctor," he breaks the silence, "how's life been treating you?"

"Busy," you reply curtly, not willing to divulge too much (and because “chaotic” and “caffeine-fueled” don’t fit on the medical forms). "And yours?"

"Complicated," he admits with a shrug. "But that's the life I chose."

You nod, understanding the weight behind his words. Probably deals with mob drama and existential crises on a daily basis. Despite the stark differences in your lives, you both navigate high-stress environments filled with their own unique dangers.

As the car approaches your apartment building, Alexei pulls over and turns to you, his expression earnest. "I meant what I said in the hospital. I want to take you out, show you a good time. Just one date."

You sigh, contemplating his request. He’s persistent, you’ll give him that. "I'll think about it," you say finally.

"That's all I ask," he replies, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.

You step out of the car, and Alexei watches as you walk towards your building. Just as you reach the entrance, you turn back to see him still there, waiting. With a small wave, you disappear inside, leaving him with a glimmer of hope.

As you close your apartment door behind you, you can't help but wonder what you’ve gotten yourself into. One thing’s for sure: life just got a lot more interesting. And maybe, just maybe, a little dangerous.

The next morning, as you prepare for another demanding day at the hospital, your mind lingers on Alexei’s unexpected visit. You shake off the thoughts, focusing instead on the tasks ahead. Saving lives and navigating the chaos of the emergency ward leaves little room for distractions. The daily grind of hospital life—the fluorescent lights, the smell of disinfectant, and the constant battle against paperwork. It’s like Grey’s Anatomy meets Office Space. But hey, at least you're not dealing with alien invasions.

However, as the days pass, Alexei’s presence becomes a constant, albeit subtle, thread woven into your routine. An occasional bouquet of flowers arrives at the nurses' station, always unsigned but unmistakably from him. A cup of your favorite coffee appears on your desk during your busiest shifts, the barista's note simply reading "From a grateful patient." His gestures are persistent yet respectful, making it harder to ignore the enigmatic mob boss.

One evening, after a particularly grueling shift, you find yourself at a small, cozy café near the hospital. As you sip your tea, you notice a familiar figure entering the café. Alexei scans the room, his eyes lighting up as they meet yours. He makes his way over, a charming smile on his face.

"May I join you?" he asks, and you nod, gesturing to the empty seat across from you.

"To what do I owe this surprise?" you inquire, your tone light but curious. Translation: Did you follow me here, or is this just a coincidence?

"I was in the neighborhood," he replies, though you suspect he had planned this encounter. Because mob bosses casually stroll through neighborhoods, humming the Godfather theme. "Thought I'd grab a coffee and maybe some good company."

You can't help but chuckle at his relentless charm. "You don't give up, do you?"

"Not when something's worth it," he says, his gaze unwavering.

The conversation flows more easily than you anticipated. You talk about your work, your interests, and he shares glimpses of his life, carefully avoiding the darker aspects. Smart move. You don’t need to know about his rival mob’s cannoli recipe. Despite your reservations, you find yourself enjoying his company.

As the evening progresses, you realize that beneath the dangerous exterior, Alexei is a man who values loyalty, family, and those who make his world a little brighter. His world is complicated, but in this moment, it feels strangely simple.

When it's time to leave, Alexei insists on walking you home, and you let him. The night air is cool, and the streets are quiet. As you reach your apartment building, he pauses, looking at you with a sincerity that catches you off guard.

"Thank you for tonight," he says softly. "I know my life isn't easy to understand, but I hope you'll give me a chance."

Before you could respond, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours gently. Alexei steps back, a grin on his lips, after pressing another soft kiss to your cheek.

You hesitate for a moment, your heart thudding against your chest, before nodding. "I'll think about it," you say again, this time with sincerity. However, you intend to Google 'how to date mob bosses without dying' the moment you enter your room.

He smiles, a genuine, heartfelt smile, and you feel a warmth spread through you.

As you close your apartment door behind you, you feel a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty. Your life is already filled with enough challenges, yet something about Alexei intrigues you, drawing you in despite the risks.

One thing is certain: your life is changing, and you’re not sure where this path will lead. But for the first time in a long while, you feel a spark of excitement, a sense of adventure that had been missing. And maybe, just maybe, you’re ready to see where it takes you.

Aaaanndd, here we go! Drop your thoughts and what I should write next. Don't forget to like and reblog (very much appreciated; all of you're awesome <3). Also, the EVENT: Fics inspired by songs is going on and the first fic will be dropping this week, so stay tuned for that!!

HAVE A NICE DAY!!

Credits to the lovely @saradika for the cute line divider! Make sure to check them out!!

[peachonified]

A hint of the next AoKi fic

It's AoKi day... and due to various reasons I only got a fic STARTED. and I have a new rule: no more WIPs on AO3 unless they are finished. (except for the ones I am finishing up...) but this isn't AO3, so I am going to share the opening.

Just a few short notes... when I asked for ideas, @formlesscopycat said prison au, and @slicesofapple said a dom Aomine.

So I smooshed them together and you can't tell where it is going yet, but I love the start!

(It was originally called 'where you belong' and I was thinking about jail, but I already have an AoKi fic called 'Where you belong(by my side)' so that doesn't work)

~o~

Kise has never been to jail before.  And he can’t believe he’s going there now!

“I didn’t do i-“

“I don’t really care,” the officer escorting him to his new home informs him. “You have a problem, then get your lawyer to deal with it.”

And that, was that.

~o~

Okay not really. The trip to the prison is long and slow.

“Surely prison vans can go the speed limit?” he asks, entirely innocently, cos weren’t there rules about how slow you could go and the highway? “What happens if the driver is arrested? What if-“

“You really need to shut up before I do something about it.”

Mr Prison Guard was tetchy. Kise sniffs and and is silent for all of 84 seconds, until he can’t deal with it any more.

“I just think we should-“

The scream the prison guard gives is not quiet.

~o~

He happily drops him off at the gate.

“You’re leaving?” Kise asks, a little sad. “I felt like we were just getting to know each other, and-“

“He’s all yours. He’s all fucking yours,” Kasamatsu snarls. Kise feels inordinately proud that he got a name. But it was a four-hour drive, and Kasamatsu got sick of being called Mr Prison Guard about two and a half hours in. That was after establishing that he is a driver, but Kise thinks it’s still a job where he guards prisoners, so he’s a prison guard.

~o~

Intake is almost as slow as the drive him. Which Kise informs the new prison guard.

Who blinks at him from behind his glasses.

“You want this to be… quick?”

Kise nods, decisively. “Yeah, well, I’m innocent, so the sooner I get in, the sooner I get out right.”

Glasses kind of stares at him. He goes to speak twice, shaking his head each time, before he (slowly) pulls Kise’s paperwork. “Says here you were soliciting and then tried to bribe the police when they arrested you?”

Sighing, Kise flops back, placing his handcuffed wrists as attractively as possible. “I know what it says, but I never sleep with people for money. I only have sex with people I want to have sex with, because that is the point of sex. Not that I am anti sex work, by the way. But I make my money modelling. At least at the moment. I’ll be a pilot one day -  I need to get my license while I still have 20-20 vision. I read that even if you need glasses, if you get them after you become a pilot it’s still okay. And don’t worry! I’ll still look fabulous. Not everyone can rock the megane look, it’s true, but I absolute-“

“So you weren’t soliciting?”

Kise sniffs. “It was bad timing. We’d been at a party, so I was in costume for that. And can I tell you, I looked good! It was a take on angels – normally angels are all icy silver and white, but I don’t look good in white, so I changed it up for ambers and golds and-“

“Why didn’t you go as a Greek or Roman God? Or acolyte, or whatever. More colour op-“

He’s interrupted by Kise’s wail. “Oh my god you are right! I could have had so much fun! I mean, I looked great as a golden angel, but I could have had options and I hate-“

The guard (who was probably Imoyoshi, given that is a name plate on the desk) stops him. “Well, innocent of the crime or not, you do seem pretty innocent.”

There's a double meaning there, and Kise can’t let that pass! “Look, I’m not saying I’m a slut or anything, which would still be okay by the way, but I’m not innocent-“

Kise continues to rant, until he notices that Imayoshi isn’t paying attention. In fact he looks a little worried. And that’s not great. Kise leans forward, an earnest expression in his face.

“I’ve been sitting here just talking about myself, and here are you needing some help. I’m a very good listener, and pretty good at advice too.”

Imayoshi looks at him, speechless. Kise nods encouragingly, but inside is a little worried. This is now two prison guards who could barely speak. Who were they hiring? Surely this was a job that needed good communication skills?

Letting out a breath, Imayoshi laughs. “Yeah I’m worried, but about you.

They’re at the door, when Imayoshi stops short. “Wait, I have to know. What was with the official corruption?”

“The what?”

“Bribing a police officer.”

Kise frowns, then his expression clears. “I wasn’t bribing anyone! I thought they were at the costume party too, and the police outfits didn’t match at all! So I offered to help them out of their uniforms, and then more turned up and I thought they might have been strippers and then they weren’t and-“

Someone weaker than Imayoshi would have laughed.

[coppeliafoxworth]

February 1st 2023

Yesterday and today were pretty slow.

Yesterday at work, me and my coworker (Andrew) had to replace an entire rooms worth of fiberglass ceiling tiles.  I think anyone who has dealt with fiberglass before can tell you this but, I. Hate. Fiberglass.

It's itchy, it gets stuck to everything, it burns, it's flaky, and for some reason it will be the strongest thing when you don't want it to be and yet the weakest thing when you want it to be strong.  

After replacing all the ceiling tiles, we split up as we were sent on small trivial tasks.

Once I clocked out I headed straight to Walmart.  My mother is planning on re-decorating the entire house and I took the oppurtuntiy to change up my room as well.  One of the things I'm changing is getting rid of my bulky dresser and instead putting small plastic ones in my closet.  I bought two plastic dressers at Walmart and then made my way home.

Once I was home, I immediately took a shower and changed my clothes to get rid of the fiberglass.  Thankfully it worked and I was able to go to dinner comfortably.

For dinner I took me and my lover to Red Lobster since during my last paycheck I was extrememly tight on cash and my lover ended up paying for when we ate out.  All in all it was a delicious meal.  The only thing I would change would maybe be the waitress we had.

I don't want to sound like a Karen, but she was pretty rude.  I ordered a pretty big meal so when asked what two sides I wanted I just asked for two orders of fries.  My lover ordered no fries for his sides.

When the waitress delivered our food I had one order of fries on my plate and another plate with fries on it.  She put the other plate by my lover.  No big deal, it was a lot of food so I reached over for them and she told me as if I was a child,

"YOUR fries are on YOUR plate."

That pissed me off to the point of debating whether or not to purge on her shoes right in front of her.  Obviously I didn't but the thought was most certainly there.

By the time we both got home we were ready to pass out into a food coma, in other words, I slept amazingly.

Today at work we didn't do much, in fact, we did even less than yesterday.  

The day started off with having to replace a drain in a hallway.  After a bit of fussing with the screws we were finally able to secure the drain plate.  Afterwards we had to redo one of the ceiling tiles in the conference room we replaced yesterday.  They didn't like how the emergency sprinkler head showed through the tile so we had to fix it.

After that we didn't really do anything besides replace a phone.

During my last entry I mentioned my father giving me unsolicited advice about work and saying that I was going to take it.  Well, I changed my mind.  I just don't feel like having a job that makes me think, "what if I just killed myself right here right now" constantly is healthy.  I've been applying to more places.

I thought I had some luck when I was mesaged on my phone for an interview with an insurance firm through Zoom.  I gave the number the email to my Zoom account and was immediately asked if I was ready.  

This interview was supposed to be a messaging interview, not a video call.  I told them the hours of my lunch break and an hour after I got off from work were the best times for me.  Well, they completely ignored what I said and asked almost every ten minutes if I was ready for an interview.  Eventually I caved in as, the work day was slow.  They asked if I've ever worked remotely and I said, "No."

Apparantly, answering with a simple yes or no to a simple yes or no question wasn't the correct answer and in response, the interviewer decided to explain how an interview works to me.  I told them that I understand and half an hour later is when we finally start the interview back up.  

At one point they asked to see my driver's license along with a selfie of me for verification.  Keep in mind that I already told them I am at work, they know I can't go get my license.  I told them again the hours I was available and why.  They didn't respond.

Since I didn't receive a reply, I asked why they needed my license in the first place since this was just an interview.  All the responded with was that they needed it for a background check and that I needed to send a photo.

The part that really messed me up was how they decided to end the response, "Understand?"

It pissed me off that this recruiter was this fucked up.  I told them, 

"No, I do not understand why you are talking to me like I'm a child.  I wish to withdrawal my application if this is the way you speak to your employees or coworkers.  Thank you and have a nice day.

Once I got home, I changed and immediately called my lover.  I decided to go to his house and we enjoyed the other's company.

[negasonicimagines]

Tell Me I'm Not Funny

Request: darkandmysteriousbutheartofgold!ellie and wholesomeanddoesn'tunderstandwhyelliedoesn'tlikeher!reader where they're both part of the friend group but ellie just thinks reader is straight and messing with her pls

Notes: I don’t usually write MCU!Peter, so if he comes up in any future fics (like as the reader’s stepdad 👀 I’ve loved spideypool longer than I’ve loved Negasonic) you can safely assume it’s Andrew Garfield. But, for this time, this is MCU!Peter. Everyone in the friend group is 18-20, just to be clear.

This really isn't my best work, but it's a fun little slice of life piece. A lot of my ideas are pretty cinematic, I can picture them in my head but sometimes those pictures don't really translate into words. I may revisit this one day.

Warnings: D-slur (reclaimed by Ellie in one line), allusions to prior assault (an unwanted kiss that could've been more had another character not stepped in), and that's about it. Oh, and a little swearing, but this is an imagine for a character from Deadpool. If you can't handle swearing, you're on the wrong blog.

Synopsis: You’re into Ellie, but she’s with your good friend Peter. She treats you like you don’t even exist, and in the few instances she does acknowledge you, it’s usually just to make some sarcastic remark. You’re head-over-heels, though, and decide to deal with your unrequited love by writing her a song she’ll never hear.

“Fuck, that movie was terrible,” Michelle groans. “I’m just glad it was a matinee show and we didn’t have to pay as much to see it.”

“The special effects were good, but can’t Disney just leave stuff alone?” Peter agrees.

“Next thing you know they’ll be making a live action Toy Story, as if the original wasn’t traumatizing enough. I don’t want to imagine Watermelon as a sentient being. She’s seen some shit,” you snicker.

“Who’s Watermelon?” Ellie asks with a dark chuckle, and you clam up. How had you forgotten she was here?

“Oh, uh, nobody.”

“Don’t tell me you still sleep with a stuffed animal,” she snarks. “You really do need to grow up.”

“Don’t be mean, Ellie,” Peter protests.

“Watermelon is cute, everybody likes cute things!” Yukio adds.

“I think a live-action Toy Story could be cool,” Ned says. “It’d look really good if they did stop-motion animation.”

“Oh, you’re right!” you chirp. “It’d be quite the undertaking, but it would look badass.”

“I think you’re using that term a little loosely,” Ellie grumbles, and you have to stop yourself from frowning, instead you laugh it off. Why does she always pick on you? Sure, she’s got a witty remark for everybody, but she’s way harder on you. It hurts, she really is so gorgeous and funny and mysterious and everything you want in a woman, but she acts like she can’t stand you.

Ellie and Peter head off together, Peter still hasn’t gotten around to getting his license and Ellie seems happy to give him a ride. You really don’t stand a chance.

You and the others pile up in MJ’s SUV for some late-night band practice.

“I don’t know if I can do it,” you admit to Yukio in the furthest row back.

“You can,” she insists. “You’re a way better singer than Lola, anyways.”

“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to give her the wrong impression, I-”

“For the millionth time, Y/N, you didn’t. If she hadn’t left the band, we would’ve kicked her out. Not just for cheating on me, but for hurting you.”

“I guess,” you sigh. “Why can’t you sing instead?”

“Because I’m flat.”

“Yukio, breast size doesn’t have anything to do with singing ability, you’ve just gotta practice,” you joke.

“Shut up!” she giggles, punching you in the arm. “Plus, when you sing, the songs are being sung as they were written. We’re getting the real feelings.”

“Speaking of… I have something new I’m thinking about sharing tonight. Do you mind if I text you the demo?”

“Ooh, a first look! Hell yes!”

You text her the audio file and she puts in a wireless earbud, nodding along. Her smile gets wider and wider as she listens, and when she’s done, her assessment shocks you.

“Oh my gosh. You’re into Ellie.”

“What?!” you squeak. “No way!”

“You are! But, uh-”

“Don’t even say it. I know I don’t have a chance in hell. She only tolerates me for the sake of you and Peter.” Despite the gloominess of your tone, Yukio gets a mischievous glint in her eye, it confuses you. But, that’s just Yukio. Her thoughts are all over the place; she and Ellie balance each other out that way. They dated a couple of years ago, but it didn’t work out. They decided they were better off as friends.

“Screw that other song, we’re using this as the lead single. Everybody’s gonna love it, do you have the sheet music?”

“Yeah, uh, it’s in my bag.”

“Awesome.” Yukio’s grinning like she’s won something. Is the song that good? “We’ll have to practice this one a lot, we definitely need to have it ready by the concert this Friday.”

Right. Liz’s 19th birthday party. Apparently Peter had convinced her to let the band play, it’d be cheaper than hiring a more established artist.

“Our first paying gig? I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” you remind her. She scoffs and rolls her eyes.

“We’re mostly gonna be playing covers of Liz’s favorite songs, and she only has so many. We’ve gotta beef up the setlist with originals, and this is perfect! Has that pop-y fun vibe, it’ll fit right in.”

“Yeah, but if it’s that obvious how I feel about her after one listen-”

“Only because I already had a hunch after Daft Pretty Boys,” Yukio clarifies cheerily, and you sigh.

“Fair enough.”

The gang makes it to Michelle’s house, travelling down to the side door and going into the basement from there. MJ’s parents have encouraged her creativity from day one, and were ecstatic when the band was formed. You speculate that they’re mostly happy that she’s made friends. Writing and photography can be lonely hobbies.

“Y/N has something new for us!” Yukio chirps.

“That fast?” Ned’s surprised as you hand him the sheet music. He skims it. “Holy shit, this is a wicked solo! Thanks, Y/N!”

“Well, I’m hoping highlighting everybody else’s talent will disguise my lack thereof,” you chuckle.

“Don’t be stupid, we’ve all heard you sing backup,” MJ says. “You’re Ryan Ross, she’s Brendon Urie. I’m just glad we booted her out before she decided she was gonna be the only pangolin in The Pangolins.”

Everyone laughs at that.

“Let’s try it,” Michelle continues, and everybody agrees. After a sound check and a few runs of the song, it’s still clumsy, especially on your part. You’re not really used to playing and singing at the same time, outside of backup vocals, which require far less focus.

“I suck,” you mumble, but it happens to be into the microphone.

“You don’t!” Ned insists.

“With that attitude, we’re not going anywhere,” Yukio says. You hate it when she gets to the tough love stage of her support. You wish she’d stay in the shallow reassurances stage, it’s easier to brush off. “You wouldn’t be the lead singer if we all thought you sucked. We would’ve just put an ad in the paper. You’re awesome, get over it!”

You sigh.

“Fine. Thank you.”

“Say it,” she insists.

“I’m awesome,” you huff, it’s hard not to smile when Yukio tries to look serious.

“Damn straight,” Yukio says. “Or, I guess not, considering that was about Ellie.”

“Yukio!” you squeal.

“That’s about Ellie?!” Ned exclaims.

“Obviously,” MJ scoffs, fiddling with her tuners.

“Is it that obvious?!” You can’t help but feel embarrassed. Ellie probably knows exactly how you feel, maybe that’s why she dislikes you so much. Her boyfriend’s stupid friend has a crush.

“Wait, but at the beginning…” Ned trails off, before laughing. “Oh my gosh, I get it.”

“Get what? Oh… Y/N, have I ever told you how much I love you?” MJ asks.

“I- I love you, too?” You’re puzzled by their words, but you’ve got enough on your plate.

“Let’s go ahead and practice some of Liz’s favorites while we’re here,” Yukio suggests. “It’s a pretty big set list.”

You practice until dinner, getting a pizza and deciding to make a night of it since it was a little late for Michelle to be dropping you all off at your assorted residences.

You all sleep on a pallet in the basement, and despite your worries, you manage to get some rest.

Over the next few days, The Pangolins practice at every free moment, until it’s finally time for the party.

“So, just pictures of everything?” Oh, shit. She’s not supposed to be here. How are you supposed to sing that song with her here?

“Yeah! I know with how many people are coming, I’m probably not going to get as much time as I want with everyone, so pictures will be a good way to remember the night.”

“Why not just invite less people?” Ellie wonders.

“I want all my friends to be here,” Liz explains. “How’s the sound check going, Y/N?”

“It’s going great,” you say into the microphone, demonstrating the quality and volume with a smile. “Thanks for letting us play here tonight.”

“Well, Peter said you guys are great. Are you really gonna debut your best song so far tonight?”

“Oh, um,” you stutter, stepping away from the microphone. “Maybe not.”

“What? Oh, come on, please, it’ll make the night even more special! You’re playing covers of all my old favorites, sing me my new favorite!” Liz presses, but she’s not being demanding or bratty, she seems genuinely excited.

“If the birthday girl says so, who am I to say no?” you concede. Hopefully Ellie will be too distracted taking pictures. “You have way too much faith in me.”

“If you don’t quit with the self-deprecation, I’m gonna duct tape your mouth shut,” MJ interjects.

“But, Daddy, how will I say my safe word?” you tease, giggling at your own joke with the rest of the group. Yukio’s laugh seems the loudest. Ellie glares.

“We should practice a song!” Ned suggests.

“Ooh, a private show!” Liz seems excited.

“Any requests?” you ask her. Ellie’s resting scowl intensifies. If she’s more pissed off the more you open your mouth, you’re not sure how she’s gonna survive a night of you singing without going nuclear.

“Oh, oh, Girlfriend by Avril Lavigne, please?”

“You’ve got it,” you agree.

The song goes smoothly.

“What happened to the old singer?” Ellie asks, clearly unimpressed.

“You didn’t tell her?” you ask Yukio, grateful for the excuse to turn away from the sharp-tongued girl you adore.

“Didn’t want her to get the wrong impression,” Yukio explains. “She already makes enough rude comments towards you.” Yukio leans over her drum kit to give Ellie a pointed look.

“Oh, wait, shit, I didn’t mean it like that. You, uh, sound good, Y/N.”

You can’t help but whip your head back to look at her with a flabbergasted expression.

“What?! It’s true,” Ellie defends herself.

“Uh, yeah, but you just said something nice. About me. Liz, do you mind checking her for a fever?”

Liz obliges for the sake of going along with the joke before quickly withdrawing her hand.

“Jeez! I know you were kidding, but she’s burning up,” Liz declares.

“My internal temperature is higher due to my mutation,” Ellie quickly explains, looking a bit bashful. “Besides, I say nice shit about Y/N all the time.”

“No, you don’t,” the whole band says in unison, including you.

“Well, clearly I shouldn’t if everyone’s gonna make a big fucking deal about it,” she retorts, rolling her eyes. “I’m gonna go get some pictures of the decorations before there’s a bunch of fucking people here to block them.”

She stomps off in her heavy boots, and The Pangolins get back to work, putting on the final touches and making sure all the blocking looks right.

Soon enough, guests start flooding in, and Liz zips around to greet them, eventually meeting up with Peter and keeping him with her. He and Liz eventually pull Ellie away from her picture-taking, confident she’s done enough and needs to just relax and enjoy the party.

So much for distracting herself with work, she thinks.

They sit on the couch and eat, the dining room was monopolized by The Pangolins due to its elevation and space.

Ellie’s mesmerized by the way your fingers move until she hears Peter talking to Liz. They really are a cute couple.

“You really do need to hang out with us. Yukio told me Y/N thinks Ellie and I are a thing,” he says.

“Gross, you’re like my annoying little brother,” Ellie remarks.

“And you’re like my bitchy older sister,” Peter retorts with a shit-eating grin.

“Both of you, quiet! They’re about to play the new song. You’re in for a real treat, Ellie.”

“What does it have to do with me?”

Liz gives Peter a confused and slightly irritated look.

“I haven’t said anything to her, I didn’t know how,” Peter squeaks, blushing a little at the look in his girlfriend’s eyes.

“Explain, quickly,” Ellie demands.

But, then you start to sing again.

“Y/N-” Peter starts.

“Shut up.”

“But you asked-”

“I said, shut up,” Ellie insists.

“You know me as your boyfriend's goofy friend. I seem to have this effect on women, and your friends aren't as goofy as I am. I try my best to keep you entertained, always laughing at the jokes you are saying. I nod my head when you make a point, oh oh…

“Kiss me, kiss me with your eyes closed! Whisper that your heart shows all I want is you, yeah, you… Hold me, hold me I'm your bunny! Tell me I'm not funny, tell me I’m legit! ‘Cause I feel weak, in your hands and your feet… A precious end, I’ll never feel your touch…”

Ellie continues to listen to the song, all expression drained from her face. All the yearning in the words and your voice, all you want is…

Ellie looks at Peter, who’s looking at her with a triumphant smile.

“I told you.”

Ellie feels like she’s about to faint. She notices you’re talking to Liz— when did she leave? —your hand over your mic. Despite the knowledge that Liz is taken, Ellie gets jealous. You look so happy to be talking to Liz, to just about any girl you talk to.

She wishes you’d smile at her that way.

You nod at whatever Liz said, and the band starts packing away their instruments. Liz sets up her phone on some Bluetooth speakers, and songs that sounded so much better when you were singing them start to play.

No! Ellie internally protests. Sing for me again, please, sing that stupid song about how you think I don’t like you.

Yukio’s dragging you somewhere. Gosh, Ellie wishes it was her holding your hand.

Suddenly, though, you and Yukio are approaching her. She knows what she has to do.

“So, what’d you think of our- Eek! Finally!”

Ellie parts from the kiss to tell her to fuck off and not ruin the moment before kissing you again.

“Holy fucking shit,” you breathe. “Uh, I thought you were-“

“Dating Peter?! Seriously?! Do I need to write ‘dyke’ on my fucking forehead? I practically already have with the way I dress and act and-”

“I, uh, I try not to make assumptions,” you mumble, fingers touching your lips.

“I’m, uh, sorry for not asking.”

“No, it’s- It was good. I’ve wanted you to do that for a while. It’s just that that was the first time somebody’s kissed me, since, uh…” Your eyes dart to Yukio, who’s ruffling Ned’s hair and laughing.

“Yukio?!” Orange flickers in Ellie’s eyes for a moment, but she keeps it under control.

“No, no, of course not, uh… The old singer, Lola. She and Yukio were dating, but apparently I was the one she really had her sights on, and… She was entitled. Thought that because she wanted me, I must want her. That wasn’t really the case, I was already pining over you. Didn’t stop her from forcing a few kisses on me and trying to go further. If Yukio hadn't shown up early with cupcakes, I don’t know what would’ve happened.”

“I am such an asshole,” Ellie says softly. “Can I kiss you again? The right way.”

“I’d say what you did before was pretty right, but sure,” you consent.

Her kiss before had been rough, needy, and impatient. Just the way you like it. This, though, this is gentle, soft, and exploratory. You tangle your hands in her hair and kiss her harder. She moans into the kiss before pulling away, bewildered.

“That was…” Ellie trails off, trying to find a positive adjective that won’t sound to frilly or lovesick.

“A mistake, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, fuck, no. I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” she corrects you. “Just- Didn’t really know how. Even when you were kinda flirting with me at first, I just thought you were messing with me, so I- I am so stupid.”

“So am I,” you scoff. “I thought you were dating Peter.”

“I was spending a lot of time with him, but… I was just using him as an excuse to avoid you so I wouldn’t embarrass myself anymore. And I was asking him for advice. I figured if he could land somebody as far out of his league as Liz, maybe I stood the slightest bit of a chance with you. But I kept fucking it up. I’d just get so nervous, all of my compliments would turn into insults, all of my teasing turned into straight-up cruelty. I don’t know how you actually like me.”

“I’m a little bit of a masochist, I’ll admit,” you tell her. “I’m really glad you don’t hate me.”

“I’m really glad you don’t hate me,” Ellie replies, but she can’t help but think that what she‘s really saying is ‘I love you, too.’

She takes your hand, and you two rejoin your friends, swept up in a group hug. They wanted this to happen almost as much as you two did.

[raibebe]

Simple Lessons

Genre: fluff Words: 3.200 Prompt: 90s grunge boy Jeno x female reader

Warnings: smoking, mentions of food

A/N: Literally no one asked for this but this just poured out of me the other day... EVERLONG JENO IS MY COMFORT CHARACTER OKAY??

Everlong masterlist

“Do you want to go out to grab lunch? You don’t have classes until later as well, right?” Your best friend asked as she dragged you out of the lecture hall. “Sure,” you smiled, basking in the rays of the sun for a while after being stuck inside an auditorium with barely any daylight for two hours straight. “There is this cute new diner a little off-campus and a little birdie told me there is this super hot guy working there,” she wiggled her eyebrows to which you could just groan loudly, making her giggle in return. Mimi had talked you up during orientation days and you two hadn’t seperated since. Sharing majors surely helped with that and soon you had found a small group of girls to call your friends. While she was very much the flirty, extrovert in your group, a crush on a different boy each day of the week, you couldn’t not be fond of her shenanigans when it made all of you laugh out loud whenever she told stories of yet another drastically failed date. “Not everyone can still be with their Highschool boyfriend like you,” she accused, slapping your arm before tugging you in the direction of the diner. “Are we really going to this diner just because someone told you that one of the waiters is hot?” “Listen. This was a very trustworthy source,” Mimi pouted, “I’ll pay for your meal, just come with me please.” “How can I say no to free food?” You laughed loudly, letting her pull you along while complaining about all the assignments your professors had given out.

You had to admit that the diner was really cute. It had this old-school look inside with the red, big sofas and a variety of license plates decorated the walls and the female servers even wore cute puffy skirts. “This is so pretty,” you said once Mimi had chosen a booth, the leather of the sofa squeaking while you sat down. “Yeah, yeah,” she waved it off, looking around the place, “Now where is this hot waiter?” “You’re hopeless,” you giggled, picking up the menu that was already laid out on the table to look at their food options instead of helping your friend. “Shut up,” she grumbled, copying your action, “You also still haven’t introduced us to your boyfriend.”

“Yeah,” you sighed, “He’s...” Well, what were you supposed to say now? If it were to go how you had wanted, your friends would have already met Jeno at the first party you were invited to but he had declined the offer, only sweetly kissing your head and promising to pick you up at 2 am from the adress you had given him. Which he had done but by that time everyone was so wasted that they couldn’t remember a thing. Which had become a reoccurring theme, no matter how much you’d bribe them to not drink to finally catch a glympse at him. “If you all would stop drinking yourself into a coma every time we go out, you’d have met him already.” “I am beginning to think you’ve made him up,” Mimi grinned, “He seems way too perfect. Letting you go out and party on your own and picking your drunk ass up after but then he never shows up to your classes to walk you to the next one.” Well just maybe you hadn’t gotten around to telling your friends that Jeno in fact wasn’t even studying but working different part-time jobs to help finance your apartment until he had figured out what he wanted to do in the first place. They had just assumed he was studying something way different than you hence why you wouldn’t meet up during your breaks. “Well he is real,” you sighed, “He’s just... Different?” “Oooooh, I get it,” your friend grinned, “He’s older than you. Oh my god. Do you have a sugar daddy?” At that you let out an embarrassed screech which made her double over with laughter. “Why would you say that?” You whined, “He’s the same age as us, for real.”

“Hi ladies, I see you’re already having a great time. I’ll be your waiter for today, have you already decided what to get?” A deep velvety voice interrupted. You didn’t need to look up to know who the waiter was or what he looked like because his voice was almost as familar to your ears as your own was and you knew his body inside and out. Smiling brightly, your eyes met Jeno’s who was also smiling, throwing you a little wink. You had known that he had been working in a diner for a little while now but not this specific one so it was a nice surprise to see him here clad in a neat button-down and pants that for once weren’t ripped to shreds. Meanwhile, Mimi was stunned in silence, her mouth parted in what must be awe. “Hi,” you kept smiling at Jeno, “Anything you can recommend?” “Our burgers are pretty good,” he shrugged, “But what’s really good are our milkshakes.” “Then we’ll take that, right?” You asked your friend, kicking her shin beneath the table to get her to snap out of it. “Y-yeah sure,” she stuttered, still blatantly gawking at Jeno. “Great, I’ll be right back with your drinks,” Jeno smiled before walking off again.

“Girl he’s so hot oh my god,” Mimi exclaimed as soon as he was out of earshot, dramatically flopping down onto the table. “He’s really good-looking,” you admitted, a big grin on your face. “Better than your boyfriend?” “I wouldn’t say that,” you laughed, awkwardly shuffling in your seat. Was this the right time to tell her that the waiter apparently a lot of girls were thirsting after was in fact your boyfriend and probably not at all like they thought him out to be? “God, I bet he looks so good out of his uniform as well,” she groaned, “Just the thought of him in light washed denim.” At that, you had to mask a burst of laughter with an awkward cough. You had tried times and times again to convince Jeno to swap out one of his dark jeans for light-washed ones but he wasn’t budging, only in turn challenging you to wear one of his many black baggy T-shirts instead of your brightly colored spaghetti tops. “Sure,” you giggled instead, kicking your friend’s shin again to alert her when Jeno came back with your drinks. “There you go, food will be out in a bit,” he smiled politely. Not the kind of smile that turned his eyes into beautiful crescents but a more reserved one.

“Hey, uhm,” Mimi suddenly spoke up when Jeno turned around to walk away again, making him halt in his steps. “Have you been working here for long?” Oh god. You had to physically keep yourself from cringing at her awkward try to rope him into a conversation. “Just a handful of weeks, so not that long,” Jeno shrugged, “Looking for a job as well?” “Oh no, we both work part-time at a clothing store downtown,” she waved it off, “I was just wondering because I had never seen you around before.” “Well yeah, makes sense I haven’t been here for long.” “So you recently moved here? I’m sure I would have remembered a handsome face like yours,” Mimi now blatantly flirted, twirling a dyed strand of hair around her finger and just slightly leaning forward on the table to give Jeno a better view of her cleavage in her white cropped top. “Yeah, I’m not from around here,” he shared, his eyes firmly staying on her face but the redness of his ears and how his fingers were fiddling with his little notepad betrayed his cool facade. Was this the time where you should end this to save Mimi and Jeno from further embarrassment? Or should you enjoy this for a little longer? “Are you also a student?” She asked next, “We both go to university here.” “Oh god no,” Jeno exclaimed and this time you couldn’t hold in the little giggle that slipped past your lips, noticing that your boyfriend’s lips twitched into a little grin as well. The more Jeno saw you struggle between classes, essays and study sessions, the more sure he had become about his whole decision to not do the whole university thing. Just when your friend wanted to ask the next question, a loud voice interrupted: “Jeno, I am not paying you for flirting with customers! Get back to work!” Rolling his eyes at his boss, Jeno shot the two of you an apologetic look before quickly walking to the register where his boss was waiting.

“God, even his name sounds good,” Mimi groaned, returning to her former position, sprawled out over the table. “You sound like you’re in love with him,” you giggled, “You don’t even know him.” “Listen. This is love at first sight. Do you not watch romance movies?” You did in fact. Even though Jeno would complain throughout the whole first 30 minutes of the movie until he’d either accept his fate in favor of cuddling and letting you pet his hair or actually get invested in the movie as well, cursing the characters for being so stupid and not talking out their problems. “I do, dummy,” you rolled your eyes, taking a sip from your milkshake that didn’t disappoint after Jeno had praised it so much, “But don’t you need to get to know a person before you can love them?”

“You’re the one with a boyfriend,” she mumbled, collecting herself from the table to take a sip of her drink as well, “Tell me about him.” “My boyfriend?” “Yeah, you never speak much about him and don’t let us meet him either. Convince me he’s not made up.” “Well we know each other since childhood,” you shared, feeling heat creep up your cheeks and neck, knowing how cliche your story sounded, “He lived in the house next to ours so we played a lot as children but then my family had to move away when I was in like elementary school or something because of my dad’s work but eventually we moved back for my last year of highschool.” “Oh wow, that must have sucked to leave all your friends behind twice.” Sighing, you ran your hands through your hair. “It wasn’t easy to just leave everything behind, but I managed. We moved back into our old house and he was also still living in the house next to us with his family. His mom made him take me to school every day and we shared a lot of classes and then it just went from there,” you smiled, blatantly leaving out the part where you had to basically force Jeno to speak and open up to you at nights on his rooftop beneath the moon and the stars. That was a private matter you didn’t want to share without his consent.

“That is so wholesome,” Mimi cheered, “What’s he like?” “Different?” You tried to explain, swirling your straw in your milkshake, “Like different than you’d expect him to be. When you see us together, you’d probably say we don’t match.” “Ooooh,” she nodded, her eyes wide, “So you’re like opposites?” “You could say that,” you smiled, “But when you get to know us, we’re not that different.” Before she could ask more questions, Jeno interrupted you again, hands full of your plates. “And that’s your food girls. Please enjoy,” he smiled, placing the plates down, “If you need anything else, I’ll be around.” “Actually,” Mimi began and you had to hold yourself back from interrupting her, “I was wondering when your shift is ending.” “My shift?” Jeno repeated, his eyes shortly drifting over to you. “Yeah,” she smiled, waiting for his answer. “I’m off in a bit,” he said slowly after checking the time on the neon clock hanging over the counter. “So you’re free after we’re done with our food?” She pressed on. “Probably?” “Would you like to hang out after? We still have some time until our next classes start. “Hang out. With you two,” he repeated, still dumbstruck by her boldness. “I mean you don’t have to if you really don’t want or have something to do,” she shrugged but you knew that look in her eyes. She was determined to have him hang out with you. “I was just going to go get groceries and go home,” Jeno shared, “Listen, I gotta go back to work or my boss will literally fire me because he already hates me.” With an apologetic smile, he quickly walked down to another table where a couple was seemingly done with their meal.

“You’re so shameless,” you accused your friend, finally digging into your meal. “Listen. I see a hot boy and need to talk to him, it’s as easy as that,” Mimi giggled, taking a bite from her burger. “Now tell me more about that boyfriend of yours.”

Once you were finished with your meal, Jeno already wasn’t there anymore to take your bill, instead, a cute girl with a big puffy skirt handed your friend the bill. “But half the stuff is missing,” Mimi asked, “I’m paying for both of us.” “Oh, my colleague took care of one of the meals,” the waiter smiled, “He must like one of you.” “I told you my flirting was worth it,” your friend smiled, handing over the money. You really didn’t have it in you to tell her that Jeno most likely covered for your half of the meal when she seemed so genuinely happy about it, so you swallowed the words back down even if it was going to come out sooner or later when you’d finally get Jeno to meet your friends.

Apparently, the universe wanted it to be sooner because as soon as you stepped back out of the diner and into the sun, a boy clad in all black caught your attention. He was leaning against the little railing around the diner, a cigarette between his lean fingers. “Hey,” you nudged your friend, nodding towards Jeno. “Huh?” “It’s the waiter,” you explained, looking over at him. By now it looked like he was trying his hardest to hold back his grin while taking another drag. Shocking people with his looks still was one of his favorite things to do if they only knew him from one of his jobs where he had to wear a uniform. “No way,” Mimi whispered, “He looks like a completely different guy.” “You’re not in love anymore now?” “He’s just so…” “Different?” You helped her out, rolling your eyes. Why could no one see past the dark clothes, chains and the cigarette and made the effort to actually get to know Jeno? “I don’t think he’s my type.” “You’re ridiculous,” you snorted, leaving her behind to walk over to Jeno.

“Hey bubblegum,” he smiled, curling an arm around your waist like it was second nature already, “Fancy seeing you here.” “You didn’t tell me that was the diner you applied to,” you pouted, scrunching your nose at the smell of smoke. “I didn’t know it was close to your campus,” he shrugged it off and stubbed out the remainder of his cigarette after taking a last drag, making an effort to blow the smoke away from you, “Your friend tried really hard to flirt with me.” “She’s an idiot,” you rolled your eyes, looping your arms around his torso to hug him close, “I missed you.” “I made you breakfast literally this morning,” he laughed but pulled you closer to him anyways. “If you work this close you could have come to visit.” “Bubblegum…” Jeno sighed, tucking a wild strand of hair back into place. “My friends think I’ve made up my boyfriend,” you pouted. “You want to show your friend back there how real I am? I think her eyes are already very close to falling out of her head.” “What’s going on in that head of yours Jeno Lee?” “Let me show you,” he grinned, cupping your face with one of his hands before pressing his lips to yours in a languid kiss, the taste of smoke on his breath familiar by now. “You really need to quit,” you grumbled against his lips. “I know,” he sighed but kissed you again anyways, “Wasn’t expecting to see you this soon.” “So you smoke in secret?” “Stop arguing when I’m trying to kiss you,” he grumbled, playfully biting your bottom lip. “Stop kissing me when I’m trying to safe your lungs,” you pouted, slapping his chest for emphasis but didn’t protest and insted kissed you again, languid and deep.

“Are you two done making out now?” Mimi suddenly interrupted you, making your face heat up as you took a step back from Jeno who was having nothing of that and pulled you back against his side by your waist. “Yeah, all done,” he grinned, holding one of his hands out for your friend to shake, “I’m Jeno.” “I figured from your boss screaming at you,” she mumbled but shook his hand anyways, giving him her name as well, “You made me look like a fool. Like you could have told me you were the infamous boyfriend refusing to meet us.” “It’s not like I was refusing.” “You totally were,” you butted in, pinching his side. “Listen it doesn’t sound as appealing to spend my evenings with a group of all girls as you think it does,” he defended himself, “And now you have a witness that I am in fact real.” “You’re not getting out of his now, Jeno Lee,” you grinned, lacing your fingers together. “And if I told you I had this really important thing to do?” He tried, throwing you his best puppy eyes. “We can go grocery shopping after my last class,” you rolled your eyes, “You’re walking back to campus with us now.” “Yes, ma’am,” he rolled his eyes, “Let me carry your bag.” “Oh god, you’ll make me feel so single,” Mimi groaned when you handed Jeno your backpack to carry. “You wanted this, I can leave any time,” your boyfriend shrugged, “Do you have like stones in your bag or something?” “It’s called books, you should try it,” you said, playfully sticking out your tongue. “Why am I even dating you?” Jeno just rolled his eyes. “Because you love me,” you smiled brightly. “Yeah, I kinda do,” he confessed, squeezing your hand.

“No need to make me feel even more single,” Mimi groaned again, “Do you have any hot friends to introduce me to, Jeno?” “I don’t think they’re your style,” he shrugged it off, motioning at his attire of ripped black jeans and dark shirt. “So you do have some hot friends that are also single?” “You almost fainted when you saw me, I don’t think you could handle them.” “Don’t judge a book by its cover, babe,” you smiled, leaning into his body. “Sure, bubblegum,” he gently smiled back.

Because if you had judged him by his cover, you’d never be as happy as you were right now.

[thatonegreyghost]

I feel like being extra today, so have some California gothic(SoCal edition):

There is no rain. There is never rain. If it comes, it comes when everyone is inside or asleep. Roads flood and swimming pools spill over and there is half a foot of water on every corner. Then it dries and its gone forever. There is no rain.

There is something in the ocean. You can't see it, because you aren't far out enough for the water to be clear, but it doesn't matter; anytime you do go far out enough, it's too deep to see the bottom. There's a ledge where the sandy floor drops into a steep cliff; young kids who are brave enough to swim out the ten feet to reach it dare their friends to jump. You see fishermen on the pier and the beach, and even though you've never seen as much as a piece of bait on the shore, you keep your distance to avoid a hook in your foot. The water glitters with flecks of gold; when the waves crash, the sand is stirred up enough to reveal the precious metal. You've heard stories about people jumping off the pier, but you never see it happen. You love the ocean. Maybe you'll come again when there's less people. There's something in the ocean; maybe one day you'll actually see it.

The air around LA is dirty. Its orange and gray and disgusting. Breathing it in makes you feel nauseous, dirty, depressed. When it rains(it never rains), you can see all the skyscrapers, and the mountains! The mountains are so clear. It only lasts a few days, and the smog is back. Time slows down on the freeway leading into downtown. You sit in traffic, staring at the license plate ahead of you. Its been ten minutes since everyone stopped moving. You look up at the skyline; has it always been that orange? Someone honks behind you, and you turn your attention to the road. Its been five minutes. No one's moved.

There's a fire somewhere. It makes sense; you got a lot of rain that winter, and the summer was predictably hot. You wake up at three in the morning; on the coast, because you smell burning, in the hill, because a neighbor is pounding on your door. The sky turns red, and when high schoolers leave their third period, they can't see. Nothing gets canceled except for sports. There is ash in the pool; it will stay for weeks until the first home meet.

"Coyotes are back" the sign says. You think of your dog, a good sized dog that can protect itself. You think of your neighbors dog, a scrawny thing that would get snatched in an instant if it were left out at night. You think of your friend's cat, and how the only dead cats you've ever seen are mauled on the side of the road. Coyotes are back. You don't think they ever really left.

The lights went out last night. You know this because your alarm went off at two am instead of six, and because of the blinking 12:01 on your clock. Your fan is still going at least; without it, you would be smothered to death by heat, heat that builds and builds and builds until its cooler outside than in. The pools are open for the summer, but unless you know friends or family with one, you'll have to pay. You think that's kind of cruel, but say nothing. You're too hot to think.

There is a June bug in your house. Its July. There is a June bug in your house.

A gun shot goes off. No, wait, that was a firework. You wonder how your neighbors got those fireworks, the kind that bang instead of whistle and shriek instead of scream. You hope they don't go to the hill to set them off. There have been enough fires in recent years. You hear the bang again. You count the weeks to the fourth of July; three weeks to go. You'll get some sleep in a month.

There is nothing in the dark. Absolutely nothing. You know this because the night makes you feel safe, because it is cool and refreshing. There is nothing in the dark. You walk faster anyway.

A tourist from the Midwest complains about sunburn. You laugh; you don't get sunburn. You can't remember the last time you had sunburn. Sunburn is what happens to outsiders, or those with less melanin. You stare at the strawberry blonde whose face is as red as her hair. Even your white friends aren't so pale; living here, you've absorbed the sun into your skin and the golden warmth into your smile. Outsiders say you are beautiful. Insiders know why.

Disneyland is too expensive. You can't afford it, you don't want to go. You still think fondly of your past trips. Knott's is smaller, more local, but a yearly pass is a fraction of a Disney day ticket. You go to Knott's with friends. You don't regret anything. You say you should go again. You still want to go to Disneyland.

Southern California is its own state. Outsidrrs say "NorCal" and "Frisco" and wonder why locals stare. See's Candies are everywhere, every city has at least one. SoCal is dry and arid and has such a different climate from up north. There are forests in the north. You have never seen them.

There are abandoned train tracks everywhere. You want to walk along them. Your parents and friends say no. You ask why. They say its dangerous, they say there are coyotes on the tracks. They never say you might find a homeless camp. They don't need to; you already know. The homeless aren't dangerous. You stay away from them anyway.

You are chatting with an online friend. They say the snow is bad. They say their parents hate them for coming out. They say they don't feel safe at night because of the things outside. You are shocked. You know thses things can happen, but you never really believed they could before now. You tell them you are sorry. You try to understand what their life is like. You can't; you don't understand how their life is so different, yet they live in the same country as you.

LA to San Diego is 3 hours. LA to San Francisco is 8 hours. You have been to San Diego before. Its very nice. You've passed through it on your way to Mexico. You don't like coming back from Mexico; border patrol is scarier on that side. You worry that you will answer a question wrong and you will be kept on the wrong side of the border. You are a US citizen. You think about San Francisco. You've never been. It sounds lovely.

Your friend has a green card. You don't care; your friend is the same age as you, you met in elementary school. You hear a person in power talking about deportation. You are nervous for your friend. Your friend is a good person, their family is nice. Your friend wonders if they should take the citizenship test. You say nothing.

As a child, the police scared you. No one told you to be afraid of them, you just were. Now, you are still scared. At least this time, you know why.

You keep a bottle of baby powder in your car, right next to the beach towels and a scrubbie brush. "To get the sand off." You say to the questioning looks from the out of towner. You think they are visiting family. Most of your family lives here, and you don't remember who the outsider is related to. They gawk at the ocean. Its just the ocean.

Big Bear is pretty. Its always pretty. In the summer there's camps and in the winter there's snow. You go up for the day, once a year; its why you have a sled you never use.

Fourth of July is pretty cool. You get fireworks from the local high-school or local church, and you spend two hours setting them off. The pictures and video don't come out right, but it doesn't matter. You know this is a holiday celebrating America. You only care about the colors, and in the back of your mind, if someone might accidentally start a fire.

[kleptosuperstar]

hiii so uhh i really don't think anyone will see this because...i literally have one follower but im kinda making this for myself because me and my cousin are going to the mall and a few stores around the city in a few days SPECIFICALLY to lift and I made a list of things that we both want PLUS some tips for these stores seeing as I DO lift from most of them a lot sooo..yeah

SPENCERS: a moderately easy store seeing as there are TONS of blind spots and LP isn't employed. To top it off, cameras are never monitored, however they are low-hanging and somewhat high quality. Usually only 2-5 employees but the store is almost always crowded so if you find a blind spot it's a free for all. They wont chase but might call mall security.

What we want:

h20 piercing cleaner x2

toy cleaner

jojoba oil

hemp oil

septum and nose jewelery (we will actually have to purchase this, seeing as if you steal the jewelery they hand to you they WILL know you stole no matter what. Plus the packaging is riddled with RFID tags)

HOT TOPIC: Not that many blind spots, but employees usually don't care and rarely count clothing articles, which may have a tag or two, so check for those. Cameras are never monitored and the stores usually have a large layout so just watch out for customers and employees, find a blind spot and throw a bunch of shit into your bag They don't chase! :D.

What we want:

distressed thigh highs

over the knee thigh highs with bow

black fishnet lace thigh highs

black and white stripe arm warmers

black fishnet fingerless gloves

black floral tights

CLAIRE'S: whew lawd. I really really want to be helpful on this one but Claire's is a laughably easy place to lift from. No cameras, usually only 1 or 2 employees and if one is giving a piercing it's a free-for-all. THEY HAVE MIRRORS SO AVOID THOSE. My favorite blind spot there is behind the register if there is no one there, and that's all I have to say there.

What I want: (she doesn't want anything from Claire's apparently🙄)

Headphones

A tiara

Nail polish

VICTORIA'S SECRET: first of all lol, i feel ZERO shame in lifting from them. Please note that they do have cameras, and their SAs are trained to look out for shoplifters, however most of them are just confused college girls lol. Panties are NOT tagged. What I like to do is take a medium sized empty makeup bag and put it in my purse, and once I arrive to VS i put the makeup bag in the tote, I also drop my phone into the tote. I go around the store, picking out panties that are my size and i drop them so they can fall directly into the makeup bag. I do this with as many as I can fit into the bag and I do this with small makeup items as well. Once I'm done, I reach into the bag as if I'm looking for my phone (which i dropped in earlier) and that's the moment when i zip up the zipper of the makeup bag and pull out my phone immediately after and pretend to check the time and say something like "Damn, I gotta go. I'm late." Or something like that. Put the makeup bag in your purse and play around on your phone as you exit the store. And that's really it :) I rarely lift bras from there anymore so I can't REALLY help you there.

What I want:

a bunch of panties and some lip gloss!

BARNE'S AND NOBLES: I've never lifted from this place but I know friends who have. I'll give you the tips they gave me. There are cameras, and they are being monitored, but there are PLENTY of blind spots seeing as it is a very large store. The kid's section has no cameras tho, so if you're like me and look younger than you are, this could be for your advantage. No one expects you to steal when you're vibing in the kid's section. Most books have RFID tags, and hardcover books sometime have books engraved in the cover, so watch out for those. Most manga, some magazines, and just overall 99% of the books are tagged. Get what you want, flip through them and look for RFID tags while pretending to "read". If an employee sees you sitting down "reading" they won't suspect you unless they actually see you ripping out the tags. The worst that could happen is that they could ask you to move out of the book aisle so other customers can come through, if that happens, simply find another blind spot. Slip them into your bags like they're yours as SOON as you know they're rid of RFID tags. They won't chase, but probably will try to get you back into the store and if that doesn't work they'll try to get a license plate number or give your description to the police, neither usually goes anywhere tbh.

What we want:

fire force volume 1

fire force volume 2

fire force volume 3

fire force volume 4

Akame Ga Kill

Soul eater

Black lagoon

Kakegurui vol. 1

The seven deadly sins volume 1

Spy x family 1

Spy x family 2

Spy x family 3

Black butler vol. 1

Black butler vol. 2

Black butler vol. 3

Black butler vol. 4

Wotakoi vol. 1

Wotakoi vol. 2

Gangsta

Dictionary of witchcraft

The anatomy of the occult

Charms, spells, and formula

Moon spells

Gothic beauty magazine number 19

Nocturnal witchcraft

Necronomicon

The good witch's daily spellbook

A big book of practical spells

Any book on astrology

Gothic grimoire

Shingeki no Kyonin

Ulta: The second store I've ever lifted from. This store is easy, but not laughably. I feel like this would be a starter for babylifters. This store has mild LP, so watch out for those and NEVER EVER EVER conceal in front of customers, you should never do this in general but especially NOT in an Ulta. Get to your blindspot and make sure to detag depending on what you plan on lifting. Those mfs at Ulta tag like crazy. Put everything in your bag and remember to NEVER get too greedy at this store. They have a STRICT, VERY VERY STRICT no chase policy.

What we want:

better than sex mascara

lipstick

eyeshadow

makeup brushes

black liquid and stick liner

pink liquid liner (if they have it)

bronzer

brown eyeliner

eyeliner pencil

maracuja oil

any colorful eyeshadow pallate lol

WALMART: My walmart is so easy it hurts. Maybe about 5 cameras throughout the whole store to my knowledge, so the whole thing is basically a blind spot. The makeup aisle is heavily monitored tho so whenever I'm over there I make an effort to never look up to those cameras. Grab whatever you want/need and AVOID EMPLOYEES!!! they're everywhere. As well as customers. They are the two most annoying problems I've ever had lifting from a Walmart. I've noticed that aisles where you get things such as building materials are the most empty with no cameras. People usually only go to walmart because the food is cheap, so there are a lot of families who are usually only at one side of the store. Its rare that people ever need materials like those so seek out aisles like that to use as a blind spot. Wal-Mart doesn't seem to tag that many things, but ALWAYS check no matter what store you're at. If you're lifting something on the expensive side, just check for that.

What I want:

kinder buenos x2

sugar free monster energy

paint

paintbrushes

black lace

blue eyeliner

blush

nail polish

socks

THE DOLLAR TREE:

Pretty easy store tbh. The cameras are fake, and if they aren't they're never being monitored. I don't know about ALL layouts but mine has SO many blindspots it's crazy. If you're just looking for a snack, some makeup, or maybe a meal ? (Yes, you can get a whole meal if you lift enough stuff) then the dollar tree would be your place of interest. There are almost no employees walking around the store. There are usually only 2, and they switch between working at the registers and cleaning out the front of the store or whatever. Honestly this store is so easy just stuff shit in your bag lol. Even if you get caught they won't chase or call the police. Their stock is WAYY too cheap for that. I go there to steal candy or makeup brushes which is usually not worth paying for anyways so this is a beginner store. Knock yourself out ;)

What I want:

literally anything i see there that i want😭

welllll if you actually made it this far, thank you so much! I hope this helped someone and I hope one day I can make a master list of stores myself instead of just picking selective ones but this was all i was able to do :( i really REALLY hope this helped someone lmao just remember

✨ if its chain, its free reign✨

[poptod]

Pretty, Little Doll (Merriel Shelton x Reader)

Description: Merriel makes friends with the pretty little doll serving ice cream.

Notes: jus thinking about ice cream. implied female reader, but this.. is too much. theres just too much here. youve been warned. edit: wait no u havent. the warning is that theres suggestive themes and such WC: 2.3k

+

After working long hours in the broiling sun of the south, what felt best down his parched throat was a beer––a bar where many of his friends and coworkers drank at, and the waitresses wore low-cut dresses with short hems and long stockings. That sight went down wonderfully with several drinks, but what drew his attention today was a newly opened shop.

There was no sign, but the large, pristine windows gave a good view of the inside. Clean, white walls with several tables and chairs to the left, and a counter to order at on the right. Behind it stood you, dressed to the nines in ruffles and bows as you opened up the shop, displaying buckets of ice cream.

Merriel grinned. Lopsided and toothy, and he jogged inside, sweat and dirt still trailing down his skin and clothes. With his shirt slung over his bare shoulder, he met your eye and his cocky smile returned as his chin tilted high.

"Afternoon," he drawled as he approached the counter, barely grazing over the different flavors before returning to you.

"Good afternoon," you said in a much quieter voice, though you did mimic his smile, just more politely. "How may I help you?"

"You new here?" He asked, gesturing generally to the shop.

"Oh, yes," you said. "My grandmother always wanted an ice cream parlor, so.. I thought I could help her."

"That's awful sweet of ya," he said as he leant on the counter, tilting ever closer to you. "This ice cream sweet as you, boo?"

Your mouth fell open, eyes widening as you did a double take. For a moment you were at a loss for words, but you quickly attempted to stammer out a response, a blush burning your face.

"Well, um, we have, uh, strawberry, and um.. chocolate, vanilla, cherry, and uh, banana. And bourbon."

"Bourbon?" He said, a single brow kinked upwards.

"It's my grandma's favorite," you said with a sheepish chuckle.

"Damn, girl. Grandma knows how to have fun," he laughed.

"Would you like to try it?"

Only if I can lick it off you, he thought, his attention drifting to the soft skin of your neck. The thought of it melting down and pooling in your clavicle. While usually he didn't bother to censor himself for anyone, you seemed a little fainthearted. His chances with you would probably be ruined after one too-strange comment.

"Sure," was what he said instead. "Long as it's cold I don't care."

"I understand that. I moved here recently and it's certainly something to try and adapt to the heat," you rambled as you stuck a tiny plastic spoon in the bourbon ice cream, giving him the single bite. "Are you a local?"

"Been here long's I remember," he said, taking the spoon. "What time do ya get off today?"

"Oh, um," you fixed the ruffles on your collar, "I won't be finished till late. We're not all set up yet."

"If y' need some help, I'd be happy to offer my expertise. I do a hell of a lot a' nailin' things ta the wall."

You stared at him again, once more losing your words. He hadn't quite meant what he said, but the fluster he left you in had him grinning, humored by the connotation you'd incorrectly understood.

"That – that'd be very nice of you," you said, wringing your hands. "I don't want to bother you. You look.. busy."

He didn't miss how your eyes raked up his body, from his wrinkled, dusty pants up his bare waist and chest still gleaming with the sweat of morning work. His jaw could cut hearts and he knew that very well; accented it whenever he could as he cocked his chin upwards, watching carefully as your breath froze.

"I won't be busy tonight. How 'bout this." He walked up right to the counter, pressing his hips into the edge of it. "I come after I finish up ma' own job, and I'll give ya' a hand. Don't even gotta pay me."

"Really? But –"

"Don't worry 'bout it. 'S nothin' for a pretty doll like you."

"At least let me get you a cone? It's hot out today," you offered, reaching for the largest waffle cones you had.

The guys wouldn't really take well to him eating ice cream instead of drinking, but he figured they'd eat their words when they saw you.

"Won't say no to that."

As much as he wanted to boast about you, how pretty and sweet you were and how he so easily slid his way into your life, he didn't want his friends finding your shop and vandalizing it with their own dirty boots and flirtatious looks. Only he could do that.

In the evening he returned as promised, having walked from his house on the outskirts of town to your shop on the main street. The build, decorum, and location of the shop screamed rich family to him. No one in his state would be able to afford a business on main street, much less fully renovated and repainted. He could ask you, he decided, about your family, your grandmother, and of course you.

Inside, you were closing up the tubs of ice cream, hauling them out of the display case and into a back storage room. He knocked before he entered, earning a muffled 'come in!' from you.

Before either of you could speak, both the buckets in your arms began to slip, and he ran round to the other side of the counter to help. He took one from you to ease the load.

"Careful, cher," he said, grabbing another bucket in his other arm. "Don't wanna break yaself."

"Thank you," you said, mostly ignoring his comment. "My grandma is in the other room, so just, um.. be polite and proper."

Fat fuckin' chance, he thought in his head, but fortunately did not say aloud as he followed you.

The door swung open into a freezer room, where an old lady stood in the corner, covered head to toe in coats as she stirred.

"I keep telling you to let me do that," you sighed, setting down your container before rushing to her side.

"I can do it quite well myself. I'm not useless, you know," your grandmother said, staring you down with a glare. You hesitated, gauging her carefully, before you relented with another exasperated sigh.

"Fine, alright," you said quietly. "I'll go work on hanging up all the paintings and such."

"Thank you, dear."

You motioned to him as you passed by, pushing open the door and heading out of the freezer. He once again followed you, watching your ass with a grin you never saw.

"We need to hang up these," you said as you brought him to one of the circular tables, each of which carried a small pile of paintings, license plates, or tin posters.

"You got a ladder?" He asked, glancing to the high walls.

"Yes sir," you said, sorting through the different posters. He quirked a brow, intrigued by the possibility of that nickname.

"I neva did get ya name," he said as he leant on one of the tables.

"(Y/N). What's yours?"

"Pretty name for a pretty doll," he half sung, the same, one-sided smile stretched lazily across his face. "My name's Merriel."

"Also a pretty name," you said, picking the largest poster to start with. A pin-up girl in a sailor's suit. "Our ladder isn't all that steady. Will you hold it for me?"

He opened his mouth to offer himself up, but with one look to the ruffled skirt you wore, he shut himself up.

"'Course," was what he said instead.

Everything was a bit of a game––one you were unwittingly a part of, and one where you played your role rather well. A sweet, unassuming little thing, essentially a toy for him, accepting his help and letting him in. He hated to act the predator, but when it came to you he couldn't help it.

That was how he saw it. Hunting you down and taking you for his own at the end of a long chase. However, to any outsider, it appeared in a much simpler way; a young man doing anything for someone he'd developed a crush on. That was how it truly was, though the innocence of his crush was abruptly stripped away as he held the ladder, staring shamelessly up your skirt.

"Merriel?"

"Huh?" He said, broken out of his dreamy trance.

"I said could you hand me another nail," you said, pointing towards the package of nails with your hammer.

"Oh. You sure ya ain't gonna fall if I leave?" He asked with a grin. You chuckled, shaking your head.

"I'll be alright."

"If you say so, boo."

After a little while he supposed he ought to offer some more help than holding a rickety ladder, and took your place at the top with a hammer in his hand and nails in his mouth. As promised, his experience with nailing things to the wall (nails specifically, not women) made him much faster than you, and the entirety of the wall behind the counter was covered within fifty minutes.

"Thank you for your help, again," you said as you put away the hammer and nails.

"My pleasure," he said, the image of your thighs still fresh in his mind. "If y' ever need help.. I'm happy t' to be of service."

"Well, thank you. Come stop by again soon. On the house," you said as he left, peeking your head out the door and giggling.

"You know I'm stoppin' by again, get two things done in one trip. Some'in sweet for th' eyes and the tongue," he laughed, watching your face light up with a blush.

And it ain't just the ice cream, he thought.

Over the course of the coming summer, he left drinking for the evening, and instead visited your shop over his lunch break. You insisted on giving his cones for free considering he continued to help you out, but he usually found ways to sneak you the money anyway. You were not, as he assumed earlier, a very rich family.

His favorite activity, which he found rather early on, was to sit outside on burning hot days, his shirt draped over the back of his chair as he ate. Through the pristine glass, he spied you watching him often.

You couldn't help it either. Most of your life was spent in your family cabin, cutting you off from many teen and early adulthood experiences. People flirting with you was a lot to deal with, especially when it came from someone as pretty as him, the smooth dips and ripples of his lean muscles shining with sweat and dirt from his construction site.

His tongue. Ever since he made that comment on that first evening you met, you hadn't been able to get it out of your mind. How it rolled and drawled between his puffy lips drawn backwards with his teeth, in a very specific method you'd pinned down to 'the Tongue Thing'.

Your heated, embarrassed blush only worsened as ice cream dripped down his fingers from the heat, cleaned up by a sharp and precise tongue. You could hardly breathe watching him like that, but as he caught your eye you turned quickly away.

His bravado had clearly earned a huge boost from catching you mid-drool, prevalent in his step as he waltzed back into your store. You hardly met his eye, pretending to clean up the counter, but that didn't stop him. He walked right up to you, leaning down with his elbows on the stone, forcing you to stop and look at him, which you did with incredible reluctance.

"You been watchin' me, cher?" He asked, close enough to see his reflection in your wide eyes.

"No," you said quietly.

"A' think you're lyin'," he said, leaning in closer yet. "Betta' not do that. Could land you in some trouble."

You raised your brows.

"Are you threatening me?"

"Not with anythin' ya can't take," he said as he raked his eyes purposefully slow down your body. When you appeared to be at a loss for words, he said, "I'll ask ya again. Were you watching me?"

"... and if I don't answer?" You tested carefully.

"Well then, I think there's too much space between us," he said, grinning cockily as he jumped the counter, crowding you suddenly.

You drew in a sharp breath, backing up as he continued to step forwards till he pinned you to the wall with his hips.

"Tell the truth, baby." he drawled, carefully setting his hands on your hips and pulling you in. Something hard poked you.

"I – I wasn't staring, I –"

He half-grinded into you, pressing you tighter against the wall as his hands drew upwards, resting at your waist.

"Such a pretty thing," he mumbled beneath his breath, watching your stumbling reaction closely.

By pinning you with his hips, he had free roam to move his hands, one of which toyed with the hem of your skirt. It was wrong, certainly, and it was also illegal since you were in plain view of main street, but he lost control the minute his fingertips brushed the soft, supple skin of your thigh.

Your breathing hastened, hips yearning for something, though you didn't know what. When the rough skin of his fingers suddenly brushed inbetween your thighs your hands shot up to steady yourself on Merriel's shoulders. He laughed, running a finger through your lips, finding you already soaked and not wearing underwear. Instantly his laugh faded, devolving into a long, needy moan as his hips once more pushed up into you.

"Th – there's someone – someone coming," you said, eyes darting to the front door.

Immediately he was off you, stepping to the side as you straightened yourself out. You walked forward with shaky legs, which he most definitely noticed, and took the mother and son's orders as usual. When you finished you glanced to him, your heart stopping at the sight of him licking your slick from his fingers.

"I guess your ice cream is as sweet as you, boo," he murmured in your ear, giving you no chance to react before rushing back out to return to his construction job.

[mvnvgedmischief]

unremarkable days.

summary: sirius black is trying to be a good man, a good brother, a good person. Sirius has a steady job designing book covers for a publishing house, a flat he never leaves, and a traumatized brother who was just removed from the custody of his parents. All in all, it's wildly unremarkable.

chapter:  4/?

characters: sirius black, regulus black, wolfstar, background marauders

tags: tw: canon compliant abuse, child abuse, social services, abuse

words: 3. 8 k

read it on ao3 here

read the last chapter here

Sirius knew that work was going to be high stress all day. He felt sick to his stomach, thinking about the way he would continuously have to talk to people, when all he wanted was some peace. He wanted downtime. Time when he didn’t have to think about how he needed his paycheck to put food on the table, clothes on his brother’s back, pay bills to keep his lights on, wifi for homework. Regulus occupied his thoughts at all times, protecting him was Sirius’s only priority these days. He didn’t have time for anything else. Not his friends, not his interests, not music. Nothing could come between his focus and his brother’s wellbeing, because if it did, Sirius would never forgive himself. The consequences were too dire. So instead, he just wished for downtime that wouldn’t come, and prayed for the weekend to approach even faster. 

The weekend, when he could finally sleep again, albeit not well. The weekend, when he had the time to take a breath, even if it was only brief. Because his weekends were also spent finding ways to better equip his apartment for his younger brother, going to long grocery runs so Regulus had lunch to take to school, meal prepping all of the things he couldn’t bring himself to eat for dinner. He was definitely tired of all of the ways his mind was spiraling out, he didn’t have the time. He didn’t fault Regulus for it, it wasn’t the teen's presence in his life that was causing all this stress. It really was his own fault. A bit of crying at that first hearing had given Walburga and Orion the satisfaction of a victory over him at that first hearing, and they seemed to crave more of that chaos. They wanted to watch their children suffer, and this was how they chose to do that. So instead he spiraled in the privacy of his own home, because he could practically hear the words they burned into his mind whenever he saw them, and feel the ache of old beatings. 

But it was only Thursday, and that meant he still had to do this all day, and  then get berated by the rest of the team for not attending their weekly bonding happy hour. If he was lucky,  no  one would ask him to go. He knew he should be less terrified of them asking, most of the people on his team were his friends. There was simply the question of Remus, and Sirius didn’t have the time to be thinking about him in the first place. 

He didn’t have time to think about  the way his hair curled just the right way to fall into his eyes when he slept, or the way his caramel freckles made him look sunkist. He didn’t have time to think about the  pink scars that ran down Remus’s face or how they got there. He definitely didn;’t have time to think of the comfort  of his hand combing through Sirius’s own mop of unruly curls. So instead, he needs to  put  all of that out  of his mind. It wasn’t going to help him do well at work. It wasn’t going to solve his problems. He didn’t have the  time for this, nor did he have the emotional bandwidth. Perhaps that was why Sirius was conveniently avoiding the idea that he had asked Remus on a date. With some luck, Remus would think he was just an asshole who ghosted him. That was definitely complicated by the fact that they worked together, that he couldn’t just disappear. He wanted to, he really did, because there was simply no time. 

He set up his deliverables as though he had made tons of them, because his employment in this company  rode on it. Just two months ago, he was pegged to be promoted within the next two cycles, and now he could barely hold on to his sanity enough to handle his workload. He was so fucking tired, and he had so much on his plate. He needed to mentally prepare himself for the long day of meetings ahead of him. He had no true motivation to do his job right now, all he knew was that his exhaustion was no excuse. He knew that his boss, Alice, was giving him a whole lot of leeway right now. She was probably doing more than she should to help him. Being a mentor on the senior design team didn’t mean she needed to keep tabs on his personal life and pick up his slack. 

“Sirius–” 

When Sirius focused back into the meeting he was calling into, it occurred to him that they’re talking to him. So he did what he always did, blamed it on a shoddy connection. 

“Oh, sorry, can you repeat that? My audio cut out.” 

“Remus was saying that some of  the poems could probably use illustrations, and he was wondering if you had any ideas on which ones needed it.” 

“Thanks, Peter.” Sirius was glad that he knew the people on this team, that Peter and James were as close to him as anyone could be. Because otherwise, he’d probably be fucked. 

“So I was looking through them, and I was thinking Bite, Magick, and Love I could probably use larger scale illustrations. But at the same time, we don’t want to crowd the book. How attached are you to the current order or page arrangement?” 

It felt too close, but he was lucky that he had at least read the titles of some of the poems in the first half of the book. Sirius knew Remus didn’t actually know what his level of involvement was. He thought it was just doodles, but Sirius would be responsible for presenting everything from kearning and font choice within the pages, to illustration and cover art to the design team. He was integral to the success of this book as a product, and he  needed to start acting like it. 

“I’m pretty attached.” Remus sounded cold to Sirius, and he wondered what exactly he had done wrong in this meeting. And yet, he didn’t have time to think on it. He needed to keep things moving, keep getting valuable information out of the author. Hook up be damned, Sirius needed this book to actually get off the ground. 

 “Okay, well we should get a meeting on the calender to discuss. What poems and what scale of illustrations you want–” 

“Shouldn’t you be deciding what the illustrations look like and the logistics of those. Isn’t that what you  get paid for?” Remus really wasn’t making this easy on Sirius. But he had dealt with bigger demons and divas then whatever this attitude was. So he put on a light and airy smile, one they’d never know didn’t reach his eyes over the low quality webcam and nodded. 

“If you’d like to take a hands off approach with the design work, that can absolutely be arranged. But in the case of a fledgling project with a new author, the design team, myself included, really hope to prioritize your artistic license so that we can get a better sense of your vision for your literature, should Quill move forward with other publications in the future.  We can provide a completely in-house service, with as much input as you feel necessary during the design process, and deliver collateral towards the end of the project when final edits are done, if you would prefer, Mister Lupin.” 

Sirius practically wanted to scream. He needed Remus to stop fucking with his job, with his livelihood. He couldn’t lose this project. He needed all of the billable hours he could get if he was going to justify the overtime he needed in order to provide for his brother. This was ridiculous. But his clinical and polite answer must have thrown Remus, because he didn’t get much more attitude out of him. The back and forth had ended. So instead, Sirius pulled up his deliverables for the week, which included new iterations for the covers, and twelve illustrations for the three poems he had mentioned. 

He noticed the way Remus looked at his drawings, like he was pained by whatever his thoughts were, and Sirius wants to scream that he’s under no obligation to think that they’re good. But then he remembers that Remus seemed to be nitpicking on purpose, based on his critique of the design system itself. Sirius didn’t have the time to deal with that level of petty, just because he hadn’t been answering. He was too busy. He had too much on his plate. So instead he continues his presentation. 

“I don’t like any of these. Maybe you should start over.” Remus sounded vindictive, even mean. Like he was doing this out of spite.  Sirius could feel his heart drop in that moment. He didn’t want to start over. He didn’t have the time. 

“What do you not like about them?” Sirius is trying to salvage his work while he can. 

“The vibe is off.”

“Oh, is there something specific that throws it off or...” Sirius trailed off, wondering what exactly he needed to change. 

“No, it’s the whole thing. All of them are just off.” 

Sirius needed to think quick on his feet. He didn’t have the time to start from scratch, so he pulled up his original thumbnails that he had discussed with Remus. 

“These are the original sketches we discussed. I moved forward with the ones we talked about. I’m happy to rework those sketches,” no, he wasn’t. “But if there’s another sketch that you think would fit your vision better, please let me know.” He felt like he was pleading with Remus not to hate his artwork. He’d be a liar if he said it wasn’t a blow to his self esteem to hear that everything that he did was bad. 

“No, I would suggest you start over.” 

Sirius nodded, his mind immediately whirring with ways he could start over and re-design this project. He really didn’t want to do it. He didn’t want to do hundreds of thumbnails to get set on thirty, only to be destroyed in a meeting again. Especially when Remus seemed so excited about all of his illustrations before the meetings. It felt like too much. He didn’t have the energy for this kind of behavior. 

Luckily, Marlene directed the conversation away from Sirius’s work. The rest of the call went on without a hitch, like the only person who’s work Remus had a problem with was Sirius’s. He knew that it was more likely for Remus to have a problem with him, because design work was usually something an artist thought of as easy; however, this felt calculated and cold. If Sirius had been avoiding Remus before, it definitely wasn’t about to get better. So instead, he listened to the end of the meeting, and started the project all over again. He could do this. It was an unremarkable critique. It didn’t matter.

[vegetalass]

What about the RDR2 boys on a road trip?

Thank you so much for this fun request! As you can see.... I went a little crazy❤️✨😩

General 

They fight about what snacks they should bring and end up forgetting them all

They all fart in the car and blame each other for it. 

Literally ends up being the stinkiest ride ever and everyone wants to Die 

The fighting about what’s played on the stereo is endless and someone is always unhappy about it

If they have to take two separate cars, Hosea switches up the groups so that no one is stuck with the same people for too long

If one car seats seven, Hosea and Dutch will take the other for themselves (smh)

I’m not gonna lie… literally all of them would pee in a bottle… how they feel about it is pretty different, though 

Arthur 

Can drive one-handed

Drives in silence, not because he likes silence but because everyone else is Too Loud and he needs a break

Tries to talk about the scenery but that’s boring and he gets ignored

Also gets ignored when he points out cool cars.. and cows… and license plates… 

Even Charles can’t be bothered to respond

Backseat driver

Gets yelled at constantly for this but doesn’t stop 

John gets it the worst

He doesn’t have road rage, just thinks that everyone is a bad driver 

His favorite thing is to roll down all of the windows in the car 

Rarely gets to do this because of how many complaint’s he’d get

Stops at every farm stand on the side of the road that he sees 

After a while he doesn’t even need anything and just does it because he feels bad if he drives past them

The only thing he’ll eat while driving is chips

His clothes and seat get covered in crumbs

Wears his hat, jacket and boots in the car even though it’s hot and doesn’t make sense

Also probably buys one of those dangly pine trees to hang on his rearview mirror

Can’t read in the car because he gets carsick :(

Would he pee in a bottle? - Yes, but he doesn’t want to talk about it

John 

If he’s not driving, he’s probably asleep 

And if he’s not asleep, he’s “resting” 

Honestly, he just doesn’t want to talk to anyone in that environment

The grumpiest one of them

He’s just mad (sad) because Abigail wouldn’t let him go with Ms. Grimshaw and the girls

Probably ends up spilling something and tries to blame it on whoever is sitting next to him 

Spends most of his radio time just browsing through stations

When he finds anything he likes, it immediately goes to ads and the process starts all over again

Takes all his rest stops at 7/11 just so he can get a slushee and a hotdog 

He’s okay with stopping at gas stations too but they’re just not the same

Takes off his shoes in the car and just wears his socks the whole ride 

He probably drives like that, too 

This is why Abigail didn’t let him go with them 

Would he pee in a bottle? - Yes, but he’d be mad about it and would try to bring it up a lot

Charles 

Plans out where and when he’s going to make stops

Probably does a few stretches and some jumping jacks when he gets out of the car

He will let the gang stop at McDonalds but only if he thinks they deserve it

The only thing he orders for himself is an ice cream cone 

The safest driver out of everyone

So safe, in fact, that he’s always made to drive at night

He doesn’t mind much because everyone is pretty quiet when it’s late and that means less complaining

Makes a long playlist full of music like Sufjan Stevens and Mumford & Sons (and The Black Eyed Peas) 

Everyone tries to clown him for it but he’s the King of brushing it off 

“When it’s your turn, you can play what you want” or “I didn’t complain when you were playing 100gecs” 

First of all: drag them… 

Second of all: okay, Dad. 

Talented because he can read in the car without getting carsick

Apologizes for everyone’s behavior when they go anywhere

Makes everyone use hand sanitizer after doing literally anything

They have to pass it around the car like little kids

It’s probably Bath and Body Works

Would he pee in a bottle? - Yes, but pretends that he wouldn’t 

Micah

If he’s driving, he gets control of the radio. Doesn’t matter if it’s his turn or not, he gets Full Control. 

If anyone even suggests changing what he’s playing, he snaps at them

Dummy probably smokes in the car

Dummy also probably eats while he drives

Holds his food while steering 

Everything gets greasy

His rest stops are incredibly short

So short that they practically don’t exist

Threatens to drive off without people 

The only time Dutch intervenes with his behavior is when he tries to pick up a hitchhiker

He’s like, “Look Arthur, it’s your long lost brother!” 

He also probably tries to stop at a gentlemen’s club in the middle of nowhere at some point, too 

“I could crash this car right now if I wanted to” 

He only says this once though because it causes a riot

Backseat driver but only to Arthur 

Sean swerving and Hosea speeding: I sleep 

Arthur accidentally cutting someone off: REAL SHIT?

The only other one who gets to use the charging cord (because he’s mean and demands to)

Would he pee in a bottle? - He’s almost happy to

Hosea 

Is never allowed to drive because he doesn’t like to make stops. He 100% will drive past every single rest stop and every single McDonalds they see

Everyone could be screaming at him to pull over and he’d just ignore them

Drives way too fast. Catch him going 90 MPH saying “I’m just going with the traffic!” 

Everyone else: terrified

When it’s his turn for the radio, he chooses to play an audiobook

If you complain about being bored to him, he’ll try to get everyone to sing campfire songs 

Everyone gets to about ninety-five bottles of beer on the wall before giving up and start fighting

He’s also the one to suggest playing “I Spy”

The gang will play but it’s all like 

“I Spy something gross” 

“Is it Micah’s butt crack?” 

“Yes” 

Has one of those mini electric fans that sprays water at you when you press a button 

Doesn’t share it

Always has his phone plugged into the charger to the point where no one else can use it 

Keeps a box of bubbly water under his seat 

It’s lukewarm

He’s the only one who drinks it but he offers it to everyone 24/7 

Would he pee in a bottle? - Yes, but only because he makes the other boys do it and he feels guilty

Dutch 

Acts like everyone should be grateful he’s driving even though they’re all taking turns 

Pulls the “You’re lucky I drove, I’m not a chauffeur!” card when someone is mean to him about anything

Music of choice is just Elvis Presley with a few random smooth jazz songs mixed in 

“What do you boys know about this?”

Everyone: … 

Complains about everything

If he’s not complaining about someone being irritating, he’s complaining about how hot it is, and if not that, there’s something else

Always thirsty and needs to have a drink with him at all time

Will only share it with Hosea or Arthur and lowkey neither of them want what he’s drinking 

When he’s driving, makes everyone stop at a drive-through cafe where he orders the most expensive iced drink on the menu 

Like Arthur, gets mad at people for “not enjoying the view” 

“You boys are so lucky you get to experience the…” Blah, blah, blah 

Ends up falling asleep but only because he wears a sleep mask and ear plugs

Probably listens to music on a walkman lmao

*Dutch in sunglasses and headphones* “Sorry I didn’t see you right there, I was too busy, mmm, blocking out the haters” 

Would he pee in a bottle? - Yes, because he thinks it’s efficient 

Kieran 

Slowest driver of the bunch 

And out of all of them, takes the most stops 

Probably packs his own bag of snacks and it’s all fucking jellybeans and gummy bears 

Says that they’re the easiest to eat while driving 

Technically, that isn’t even a lie (Micah, please take notes)

He will stop anywhere anyone asks… Why is he so nice?

His favorite stop is Dunkin’ Donuts, though

The music he plays is either great or awful and no one can agree on which is which

Every other song is 2000s dance techno

That or Taylor Swift (and that’s when people start yelling at him to change it)  

Spends the whole trip in slides and no one wants to sit next to him because of his exposed feet

He can (and will) drive in them, though 

When he’s not driving, he’s probably watching a movie or playing games on a big ass tablet

Gets made fun of for using huge headphones

People are just jealous he’s able to find a wifi signal

Would he pee in a bottle? - He’s done grosser things for less, so yes 

Javier 

Brings himself a sandwich to eat and ends up sitting on it 

Backseat driver energy but he’s better at restraining his comments than Arthur 

That being said, if your driving is shitty, he will send you Vibes 

Doesn’t bother much with searching for music and just ends up playing a few hour long YouTube mixes when it’s his turn for the radio 

It’s either that, or Mexican radio for 2 hours (and he will sing along)

The only people who don’t complain about this are Charles and Arthur

Probably the only one out of all of them to make the gang go to an actual restaurant during his rest stop

It’s the first real meal any of them have had in like, three days, and suddenly they all feel better

They refuse to admit it, though

Clips his nails out the window at some point

Ties a bandana around his eyes and uses it as a sleep mask 

*insert that picture of the guy with his face mask over his eyes on an airplane* 

Also probably uses the bandana to block out the smell of farts when it gets especially stinky 

Would he pee in a bottle? - He doesn’t want to, but his logic is that if everyone is doing it, why shouldn’t he? 

Sean 

His driving speed is normal but his driving skills are… Bad

He just isn’t paying attention honestly

Too busy talking

Probably tries to text and drive

Arthur takes away his phone after that

Also, did someone say road rage? 

When it’s his turn for music, only plays nasty pop and rap  

It’s fine at first, but the fourth time he plays “I Cry” by Flo Rida or “New Body” by Kanye and Nicki Minaj, everyone gets mad 

Only takes rest stops at gas stations

And takes literally the longest stops out of all them 

Probably spends the whole time telling the gas station cashier about how annoying everyone is 

Everyone is like “kasjdfkhd” because they think he’s the annoying one and they’ve been waiting to leave for like ten minutes

Don’t sit next to him because he will sweat on you 

If you share your drink with him, 50% chance he’ll backwash in it 

When he’s not driving, he’s watching Tik Toks without headphones (if Arthur has given his phone back, that is) 

Would he pee in a bottle? - Without hesitation

Bonus: 

While the boys are all off fighting, Ms. Grimshaw packed the girls a picnic that they get to enjoy at a nice, camping rest stop 

Molly speeds like the devil 

She’s like Hosea, if not worse 

Tilly made everyone a different playlist and they all take turns listening to them 

Karen isn’t allowed to drive because she spiked her water bottle before leaving

Also isn’t allowed the aux cord because she will play inappropriate music or meme songs 

Sadie pumps the gas and chooses all of the snacks for everyone 

It’s a mixture of healthy treats and candy 

Jack is the Squidward wearing sunglasses while sunbathing meme when John asks if he wants to ride “with the boys”

[noirapocalypto]

3 for embry, 8 for Paolo, 14 for Paola, 21 for Judah, 22 for Salem, and 24 for Nato? :3

Thank you!! 💕@smilepal

From this OC Interview game.

Embry:

3. What is your favorite childhood memory?

"Once when I was a kid, I made this handmade license plate out of some bits of metal I welded together. It had our family name, even a little horse I managed to sculpt out of extra metal bits. It was obvious that a kid made it, but it was still pretty good, considering I was about seven or so. Anyways, it was a birthday present for my grandpa. I'll tell you, the moment he unwrapped his gift, I've never seen his eyes light up the way they did. He loved that thing, he was so proud of me. He even went around the camp showing it off to the other clan members. He actually displayed it on his and grandma's car too. That's just a memory that will always stick with me. Makes me smile each time."

Paolo:

8. What do you think had the biggest impact on you growing up?

"Both of my parents. But if I had to pick one, I would say my dad. From what I remember of him, he had the same sense of humor as I did. I guess that's where I get it. He was always laughing, always cracking jokes and could find fun anywhere he went. He was just so fun and lively. I guess that's why I'm the way I am, just trying to keep that part of him with him. I think we would have gotten along if he was still alive. I think we would have had a lot of fun together."

Paola:

14. What are your favorite music genres?

"I'm open to just about anything, but I'd say my go-to's probably EDM or electronic. I'm also pretty into rock and metal. I'll listen to rap and hip hop too. I'm not very picky, to be honest. I tend to zone out and just vibe to the music most of the time. But anything EDM is pretty much what's playing on my radio."

Judah:

21. Describe your ideal partner.

"I didn't get much affection and affirmation growing up. Or any, for that matter. I want someone that isn't afraid to show their love to me, that will hug me just because they feel like it. Or wants to hold my hand because they want to. Or give me a kiss without me having to ask for it. I want my ideal partner to love me because they chose to, not because I'm paying them for it. I like someone that can keep me on my toes too, someone that can keep up with wit and fling it right back to me. I'd like someone genuine, that won't mock or belittle me if I show them my softer side. I just want someone that's better than what I'm used to."

Salem:

22. What’s the easiest way to flirt with you?

"I like straight forwardness. Blunt and bold, if you will. I don't like having to dissect someone's words to find the hidden meaning, or trying to figure out if you're interested or 'just being nice'. Either tell me straight out or don't bother. I like the touchy-feely types. So if you're handsy, that's pretty much the way to go. A hand on my arm or on my chest, getting in close, stuff like that. I've had someone straight up grab my junk once. Unexpected, but not unwelcome. I appreciated the confidence. Basically, make your intentions clear and to the point, and it's a wrap."

Renato:

24. What would you consider your main love language?

"For myself? I like physical touch. Even if it's something as simple as just sitting close to me, it's comforting to know I have my loved one nearby. Big fan of having an arm around them and pulling them close, whether we're snuggling up in bed or if we're walking side by side. As for expressing it to others? I would say acts of service. I like feeling like I'm useful and dependable. I want my partner to feel like they can count on me for anything."

[hyunsracha]

six — lee felix

word count: 6.6k

summary: six months in which you realize you’re afraid of growing up.

warnings: uhhh reader is sad? not depressed but just like. sad. so if u don’t feel comfortable reading that!! also blood mention and like one or two suggestive lines hehe

august.

You fondly remember the moment you realized you had feelings for one of your best friends, Lee Felix. You were in 8th grade, and Felix was walking you home from school. Your dad had been out of town for the past 2 weeks, and Felix felt bad about you walking home alone. He stopped on the sidewalk in front of your house, “Well, here you are.” You had pouted, really enjoying the conversation you were having with your best friend. Your dad would be coming home tonight, so this would be the last of your little walks. 

“Wait right here!” You had squeaked before running into the house. You had a cute little orange tree in your backyard, and whenever Felix came over he would pick one or two and snack on them. There was a bowl in the kitchen full of them, so you plucked one from the top and ran back outside.

“To thank you for walking me home.” He smiled at you then, quickly knocking all of the air out of your poor adolescent lungs. When did he get so...radiant?

He’s radiant even now, leaning towards the front seat of Hyunjin’s car and honking the horn outside your house. You huff, yelling, “Shut up!” out the window as you hurriedly push a comb through your messy hair. It’s not like you’re going to be late. It only takes twenty minutes to get to the edge of your pathetic little town.

Hyunjin’s been driving the five of you to school ever since he got his license. You and Seungmin can also drive, but Hyunjin insists. He’s obsessed with the beat up little car he got with his own money; money that he got from working as a lifeguard one summer. Jisung sits in the passenger’s seat, claiming it’s his assigned seat since he’s Hyunjin’s boyfriend. Felix sits in the middle of the backseat, with Seungmin on the right and you on the left. You’re hyper aware of how nice Felix looks today. His hair is parted down the middle and wavy, a little dry from the many bleaches you did to it over the summer. He’s sporting a leather jacket with a Nirvana shirt underneath, and you suddenly feel like rolling down the window to get some air. That itself is a struggle, because Hyunjin’s car has manual windows that you have to roll down with a crank. The warm August breeze flows through your hair, but it’s not unpleasant. You’ve always liked summer; no school, spending all of your free time with the boys in the car, driving to surrounding cities and wreaking havoc all over the county. 

You all make small talk on the drive to school, mostly chattering about your senior year. Your last year in this hellhole of a place. You’ve been going to this school since 7th grade, since there aren't enough people to separate the middle schoolers from the high schoolers. You could maneuver these hallways with your eyes closed, and you hate it. In fact, you hate everything about this town. Almost every building is the same color beige, and almost every person sports the same blank, lifeless look. The people in this car are the only things keeping you grounded; if it wasn’t for them, you would have fled for the hills the second you got your license.

Another thing you hate about this town: everybody knows who you are. There’s no escaping yourself. You’re reminded of this during your lunch period, when the five of you walked into the one diner in town that hasn’t been renovated since the 1950s. When you enter, the waitress greets you all by name, a name that tastes like poison on your tongue. Everyone you know was born and raised here, leaving absolutely zero room for freedom. You itch to get out of here, to turn into someone you don’t even recognize. You long to walk into a restaurant in clothes that aren’t your style, and speak in a voice that isn’t yours, and even give anyone who asks a fake name. It’s not that you hate yourself, really. You just want the choice to be whoever you want to be. Here, you’re the same old (Name), the kid whose mom walked out when they were just a toddler. That’s all anyone around here really knows you for. 

Except for them. They’re sitting around you now, happily chatting away. You grew up with them, just like you grew up with every other kid around here, but they’re different. You were never the kid without a mom to them; you were just (Name), their best friend who just so happened to have a mom.

That’s another reason you like Felix, you think. He’s never mentioned your mother. Not once in the entire 17 years you’ve known each other. He understands you better than you even understand yourself. He’s always been the most caring person you know, refusing to step over boundaries you didn’t even know existed. He always does what’s best for other people, and never expects anything in return for his kindness. 

He’s too good for you, you think. He’s all sunshine and happiness, and you’re thunderstorms and eternal dread. It sounds cheesy, you’re aware, but it’s the truth. No matter how badly you want to be with him, you know it would never work out. It doesn’t matter how often you think about holding his hand in a more than friendly way or giving him quick kisses as rewards during study sessions. The two of you just wouldn’t work out, and it would certainly put a dent in your friend group. You convinced yourself all of this many moons ago. It’s just a silly crush, you tell yourself. A silly crush that’s been going on for four years. You could never be with Felix; it would ruin everything.

It’s better this way. You get to preserve this perfect image of this perfect boy, and you never have to see what he looks like once you’ve accidentally broken all of his ribs to stomp on his heart.

october.

Crying in the middle of the diner really wasn’t your plan on this Thursday afternoon. But you can’t help it. You took a big math test on Tuesday and got an 89% on it. Jisung scoffs when you first complain about it, whining that he would be crying tears of joy if he got an 89% in your level math class. And that is when you start to cry. Hyunjin immediately takes you into his arms, running long fingers through your hair gingerly. He rolls his eyes at the other boys as he tries to calm you down. 

Truth be told, you’re not just crying over a math test. You’re crying over everything. You would rather have had this session in your room late at night but you can’t always get what you want. Applying for university has been stressing you out so much. It’s so expensive to apply and you don’t even know if you’re going to get in? Sounds like a scam. You applied to 7 different schools, all in big cities that are your ticket to leaving this shithole forever. And that’s exciting to you, but then you lay in bed at night and realize that you’ll be thousands of miles away from the only people who have ever looked at you, a fucked up mass of cigarette burns and bruises, and decided that they love you because of it. That terrifies you. You’ve cried about it almost every night since you started your applications, and you change the subject whenever your friends notice the puffy redness surrounding your sad eyes. 

In the midst of your mini meltdown in the middle of the diner, you don’t notice Jisung ordering your favorite thing off the menu, adding a strawberry milkshake because he feels bad. He pays for you, too, before pulling you out of Hyunjin’s hold and dragging you to a booth in the corner. He sits you down, plucking a napkin from its holder to pat under your eyes. He’s mumbling sweet words and apologies through you, but you’re not listening. You’ve completely zoned out at this point. You only come to when Seungmin slides a plate of food and a glass in front of you. Hyunjin nearly coos at the widening of your eyes, a fond smile growing on his face as you gratefully sip on the milkshake. 

The rest of your lunch period is normal; filled with jokes that make your sides hurt and throwing food at one another when they say something unsavory (Jisung is a fan of yo momma jokes). You find yourself mindlessly gazing at the boys around you as they talk to each other. They really are your whole world, huh? They’ve been by your side pretty much since you could walk, and you can’t imagine getting this far without them. Tears sting the back of your eyes and your vision starts to blur. You can’t cry again, (Name), not like this. 

You shake your head, “Do you guys wanna hang out tonight?”

“Why? Do you miss us?”

“Yes, Jisung. I miss beating you at Uno and making you cry.”

“We agreed not to talk about that - !”

You all laugh, and you hear echoes of them saying that they’ll come to your house later. They’ll figure out something to do. They’re the most exciting people you know. Definitely the most exciting people in this town.

And you were definitely right. You hear a knock on your door at about one in the morning. You were in the living room, scribbling French notes in an old notebook. You open the door, coming face to face with your four best friends wearing t-shirts and swim shorts.

“Why are you wearing swim shorts?” You ask in a monotone voice. They quickly hush you, aware of your father sleeping in the next room, and they tell you to go get changed. You oblige with a huff. 

You can easily figure out where the boys are taking you. It’s a short walk, but everything in this town is a short walk. There’s only one pool in town, next to the middle/high school. It’s obviously closed now, but that’s never stopped you guys before. Felix uses the stick of one of his earrings to unlock the gate, ushering you all in. Hyunjin and Jisung waste no time peeling off their shirts and jumping right in, screeching at the feeling of cold water against skin. Seungmin rolls his eyes before following suit, choosing instead to take the stairs into the water. You and Felix are last. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye after removing your cover-up, “I bet I could push you in before you push me in.”

You see him narrow his eyes in your direction, “Bet.” And you’re immediately at each other’s throats, palms pushing against each other’s bare skin. The boys in the pool have their eyes trained on you, a mix between wanting to make sure you don’t fall and kind of hoping one of you does fall.

Felix ultimately wins your little fight. He grips your biceps, walking you backwards before practically dropping you in the water. It’s definitely cold, but not cold enough to scream over. You think it’s actually kinda nice. 

You take a deep breath as you emerge, glaring daggers at the boy still standing on the concrete. He’s cackling, and you kind of want to kill him. The next best thing you can do is grab his ankle and pull him in yourself.

The five of you splash around for a while, screaming and splashing at each other. Seungmin chases you around, grabbing at your feet to pull you under. Hyunjin, Jisung, and Felix are playing Marco Polo. Jisung is a cheater, slowly climbing out of the pool before calling out, “Polo!”

A little while later, you and Felix are sitting next to each other at the top of the stairs, your chest heaving as you pant. Your hair smells like chlorine, but it’s the first time you’ve felt true bliss since the school year started. “Let’s play Truth or Dare.” Hyunjin suggests from the deep end.

You roll your eyes, “What are you, twelve?”

“Twelve inches deep in your mo-”

“Jisung.”

But you decide to play anyway. It starts out small, with Seungmin daring Jisung to steal a candy bar from the convenience store down the street, and Hyunjin asking Felix the weirdest thing he’s ever gotten off to. Definitely not the weirdest thing to come from the five of you playing this game. 

But then, Jisung turns to you, “(Name), truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

A wicked smile covers his thin lips, and you immediately regret speaking, “I dare you to kiss Felix.” Your face immediately turns a bright red. Fuck you, Han Jisung, your mind is screaming. You sit up a little bit straighter, observing Felix out of the corner of your eye. He doesn’t even react to Jisung’s dare; he just turns his body to face you and gives you a lazy smile.

“You know you’re gonna have to shave your head if you don’t.”

“I know that.” You mumble before leaning in, stopping a mere few centimeters before his lips. You can feel everyone’s eyes on you. You want to just disappear. Felix, always the sweetest person you’ve ever known, does the work for you, closing that centimeter gap. He’s gentle; oh, he’s so gentle. He kisses you like he’s afraid of hurting you, like you’ll evaporate if he applies any real pressure to your mouth. Suddenly, all of your veins are filled to the brim with Felix and you want more, more, more. But you can’t get more, because your other three friends are right there. And once he pulls away, you can see it in his eyes. He will only ever see you as his best friend made of paper cuts and despair.

december.

Felix has been looking at you differently since that night. You don’t understand it at all. At first, you would ask things like, “Do I have something on my face?” and he would just shake his head and look away, leaving you more confused than before. It’s the same look every time, like you’ve grown two extra heads or a tail or something. It’s so analytical; so different than how Felix used to look at you. It makes you feel like a stranger in your own body.

“Guys…” Hyunjin whines as he pulls up to your house after school, just having finished the last day of the first semester. Midterms have kicked your ass, and you’re not really in the mood for Hyunjin’s pouting. You always get dropped off first, because your dad is hardly ever around, so sometimes you all just hang out there. “It’s our last Christmas Eve before college!” 

You glare at him from the backseat. Must he always remind you that you won’t be able to spend every day together in six months time? You push open the door, “See you guys then. 10, right?” When you get a nod from Seungmin, you shut the door before hurrying into your house, your thin jacket hardly protecting you from the December air. 

The next three days pass terribly slowly. You watch TV and scroll through TikTok and take many naps before it’s the night of Christmas Eve and you head to the park.

The five of you have done this every year. When you were little kids, you would spend the day of Christmas Eve together, running through the streets and playing games. As you got older, your hangouts got later and later until they were eventually an evening affair. Like now, it’s 9:45pm and you’re walking in between streets to get to the one park in town. It’s a small park, with a plastic playground full of primary colors, a swingset in the mulch, and an open grassy plain. 

As you approach, you see that Hyunjin and Jisung are already there. That doesn’t surprise you at all; those two are always attached at the hip. They’re chasing each other around the field, and you can hear their giggles from across the street. You wish you were more like them sometimes. Happy and in love and free. You zip up your coat and make your way to the swingset. The swings have always been your favorite. You get to kick your legs and go high in the air, nearly free. But you never go all the way. Your ice-cold hands grip at the chains tightly, afraid to just let go and fall. You’ve always been afraid to fall, haven’t you?

Seungmin and Felix are last, and they came together. They’re neighbors, after all. Only two streets away from you. Hyunjin and Jisung are one street away in the opposite direction. Seungmin joins you on the swings, but he doesn’t go as high as you do. He doesn’t really swing at all, actually; he just kinda sways, the tips of his sneakers brushing away any mulch in their way. Felix is everywhere. He runs around with the others, climbs to the top of the playground and yells nonsense, and pushes Seungmin on the swing. There’s never really a plan with the five of you. You could do nothing together and still have a good time. 

Your phone isn’t on you, so you don’t know how long it’s been before Felix calls your name. He’s halfway hidden behind the slide, one hand ushering you towards him. Confused, follow his gesture.

“What do you want? And why are we hiding back here?”

“Look, I know it’s tradition for us to not give each other any gifts, but…” He pulls a small box out from behind his back. You click your tongue disapprovingly, “Lix! I don’t have anything for you.”

“You don’t need to get me anything, (Name). Just...accepting this will be enough.” He hands you the box, and you open it slowly, afraid of its contents for some reason. You cannot stop the gasp that pushes through your lips as you look inside. There’s a small, delicate ring sitting inside the box, looking like it would fit perfectly on your pinky. 

“Felix…” You begin, but no other words come out. A hand meets your chin and ever so gently tilts your head to meet Felix’s eyes. Right now, he’s the shyest you’ve ever seen him, the tips of his ears red from the cold as his eyes still manage to sparkle in the almost dark. 

“It’s a promise ring. So, I have to promise you something, right?” He chuckles then, a deep sound that spreads warmth throughout your chest, “I know that, in a few months, we’ll probably be far away from each other. So, (Name), I want to promise you that I will always be with you. No matter how far away I am physically, I am always right with you, in your heart.”

You think his words are stupidly cheesy, but you can’t help but feel giddy at them anyway. You smile at him, taking the ring out of the box and slipping it onto your left pinky.

Felix thinks the smile you grace him with in that moment is the most genuine smile he’s ever seen on your pretty lips. So genuine, in fact, that he can’t help but to immediately kiss you. This kiss is different from the last; confident and playful as opposed to the shyness of the one before. Felix feels as though he’s finally clicked in the last piece of a puzzle and his mind can finally be at ease. He’s been wondering why he’s been feeling so weird since that night in the pool. Why he feels butterflies in his stomach whenever he looks at you. Why Seungmin insisted he was in love with you when they went to buy your Christmas present. It all makes sense now. Seungmin was right.

Felix is definitely in love with you.

february.

Lee Felix is not your boyfriend. You are not Lee Felix’s partner. And oh, God, does it burn. Sure, the two of you have kissed a few times since that night at the playground, and every kiss makes you feel like he’s trying to steal all of the oxygen in your lungs. Like he wants to steal your very essence; the very core of who you are.

A few days ago, he came to your house to study. The two of you sat on the boring grey carpet in your living room, on opposite sides of your boring grey coffee table. History books sat in front of you, and a plate of orange slices were being borderline inhaled by the blond. Midway through reading a passage about the War of 1812, he fell asleep, leaving you to finish reading on your own. In his slumber, you heard him mumble under his breath. This doesn’t surprise you at all; Felix has always been a sleep talker. What does surprise you, however, is when you hear him mumble something akin to your name. Your breath gets caught in your throat as you lean closer to Felix, hoping to hear him say it again. And he does. Your cramped living room suddenly feels very hot. He was dreaming about you. It’s like he wants you to fall in love with him.

It’s definitely working. You’re definitely in love with Felix. Ironically, you realize this on Valentine’s Day, when you wake up and immediately check your phone, your face turning bright red at his stupid good morning text filled with emojis. It wasn’t any different than the text sent the day prior, or the month prior, or the year prior, considering that he’s been sending you texts like these almost every morning since you both got phones. But this one made you feel different, like you were just some poor lovesick kid, hearts practically shooting out of your eyes at everything you did. 

You cry about this situation to Seungmin that night, tangled up in his arms as your tears wet his pale blue sweater. He’s always treated you like a baby for reasons you don’t know. You hated it when you were younger, but now you want nothing more than for him to rock you back and forth and mumble gentle words of care. He did this a lot when the two of you were kids; he was always more mature than he needed to be. Specifically, when Jisung would push little (Name) off of the swings. Seungmin has been the glue that holds your group together since you were in elementary school. He’s staring at the wall in front of him now, trying his best not to roll his eyes at your blubbering. He loves you, he really does, but you were reading this situation all wrong.

“(Name)...” he sighs, “You’re running out of time.”

You pull out of his grasp, watery eyes showing clear confusion. He can read you like a book, so he continues, “If you want to be with Felix, you have to go for it now.” You stare down at your lap, furrowing your brow. Your mind feels scattered. There’s no way that Felix loves you back. You’re his best friend. The person who brings him oranges from the single tree in your backyard every once in a while, just because you know he likes them. The person who he walked home for 2 weeks straight in 8th grade because your dad was out of town. All you would ever be is Felix’s best friend, and you’re okay with that. It just hurts sometimes, knowing that you could never happen. He’s too good for you; too bright and too good and too perfect. You would crush him, you think. 

Seungmin huffs from across from you, “Get out of your head. He loves you.”

You scoff, “Yeah, I know. He loves me like I love you.”

“No,” Seungmin pushes himself off of the bed, hurrying over to the other side of the room. He rummages through his desk, a somehow organized clutter of pens and crumpled up sticky notes. He retrieves a small receipt, a victorious smile on his face. He hands it to you, urging you with his eyes to read it.

“This is a receipt from a jewelry store. The one in the mall in the town next store, right?” He nods, “Why do you have this?”

“It’s Felix’s. I was the one who took him to the store to buy that ring for you.” Your hand comes up to your chest, fingers wrapping themselves around the ring you wore on a thin chain around your neck.

“Hearing the things he said about you would be gross coming from any other guy in love, but I think it was worse from him. And he was talking about you! It’s like Jisung and Hyunjin all over again!” You know he’s being dramatic to lighten the mood, and it definitely works. You sniff away any remaining tears and giggle while he sits next to you once again, “Look. It’s obvious that he likes you. He thinks you’re some sort of angel.” He drapes an arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his chest, “That ring was his move. It’s your turn now.”

It’s your turn now.

When you’re walking home that night and you get a text from the one and only Felix, Seungmin’s words cross your mind. It’s a simple text, really, just him asking when you want to study together next. You tell him to just come home with you after school on Monday, and you think about Seungmin again. It’s your turn now.

But you know you won’t be able to. You know you’ll look at his bright, warm eyes filled to the brim with pure love for everyone around him, and your confident facade will crack. You’ll melt under his sunshine gaze, crumbling into nothing but lovesick ash. 

You’ll give up your turn. It’s for the best, right?

april.

You’re going to Seattle. A shocked chuckle bubbles from your throat as the acceptance letter shakes between your fingers. Seattle. Somewhere much bigger than here. Half of your heart swells; you’re getting out. But the other half sinks.

Because Seungmin is going to Washington, D.C.

Because Hyunjin and Jisung are going to New York City.

Because Felix is going to Los Angeles. Of course he is. Lee Felix is the sun, and he could only survive in a place covered by his rays. 

It’s only 1,000 miles, you tell yourself. And you know he’s telling you, too. You can see it in the way he keeps stealing glances at you; you can practically hear him yelling, “It’s only 1,000 miles! That’s like...ten 100 mile trips!” Not like you have any idea what it feels like to be even 100 miles away from the blond. You all met up behind your house earlier, under your orange tree, to open letters together. The five of you have never felt tension like that before, when you all sat in a circle, the realization that you wouldn’t be five minutes away forever sitting in the middle. 

You feel like screaming. Your fingernail is caught between your top and bottom teeth to keep the sound inside in the backseat of Hyunjin’s car that night. Felix’s hand is wrapped around your free one, sending warmth throughout your otherwise cold body. It’s a short ride, and nobody is talking. It makes fifteen minutes maximum to get to your destination. As soon as he parks, you’re pushing against the door, desperate for air.

There is an open field on the outskirts of town, unkempt wildflowers poking out of the grass. There’s an abandoned farmhouse smack dab in the middle, once a vibrant red, now dull against the black sky full of stars. You’ve heard many rumors about that house. It was a pretty common party house in town, and almost every year, some poor girl gets pregnant after a party there. 

You have to turn on your phone’s flashlight to see once you’re in the house, nose turned up at the mess. There are empty beer bottles and trash everywhere, and your light can pick up the dust particles floating in the air. No doubt nobody has cleaned this place in years. You pick up one of the bottles, twisting it around in your hand as if it were a foreign object. Then, without warning, you throw it against the wall. Hard. The glass shatters everywhere, and you don’t even flinch as small shards cover your face and hands. The boys don’t react. They’re not paying enough attention to react.

Hyunjin, always on your side, follows your lead. He lets out a small yelp as his bottle hits the floor, and even more miniscule pieces of glass pierce your skin. In less than a minute, all of you are smashing bottles, not a word behind shared. All you can hear is the sounds of glass crashing against wood, and the occasional shaky sigh from your own lips. You thank whatever god is up there for generations of slobby high school students, for you have never felt so relieved. You’re bleeding quite a bit, but it feels good. You swipe your hand over your face, staring down at the red liquid smeared across your palm. It makes you grin. You feel sick.

Some time later, you’re all outside. It’s mid-spring, and it’s warm. The five of you are standing in a line, facing the tree line that seems miles away. You step forward, and you start to scream. Scream about how you hate this town, and how you hate every blank faced person in it. Every person who woke up one day and decided that this empty shithole was the place to live forever, to go to college and start a family and die. You hate your father. You hate your mother. How dare they be born here, spend 18 years here and decide they want to stay? Even worse, how dare they bring you into this hell when you never asked for it. You think you hate your father more. Your mother had the good sense to leave when you were a toddler. Sound rips from your throat at the thought of her packing her bags, looking her only child in the eyes and deciding to leave them behind. You could’ve been in some big city somewhere, a vibrant red or blue as opposed to the grey you feel. But then you never would have had them. 

They start to scream with you, similar cries about how miserable they are and how badly they want to be free. You scream until your throats are raw and you picture it bleeding. You’ve all started crying without noticing, the salty tears making the small cuts on your face sting. You think you like it. 

You’ve never been angrier. You don’t even know why you’re angry, and that makes it worse. You pull Felix by the front of his shirt, nearly smashing your lips together. It’s all teeth and tongue, sending shockwaves through your body. You can hardly hear the cackles and cheers of your best friends over the sound of your heartbeat. You’re not angry at Felix. You’ve never been angry at Felix. Your chest aches at the thought of leaving him before you’ve even really had him. Because Lee Felix still is not your boyfriend. And now, you know he never will be. You never really had a chance, you tell yourself. He is the sun, bright and warm. You know people need him to live. You don’t want to dim him with the grey that spills from every word you speak.

“It’s not that far,” he whispers into your lungs, but you know it is. He will forget you in a sea of new faces; you feel far too plain to be remembered. He will meet people with rainbow veins, and he will forget you and all of the greyness that surrounds you. You only kiss him harder; you will never forget his face full of stars, no matter how many people made of moon dust you meet.

june.

This is it.

This is it, you think, watching Seungmin bite down on his lip, hard. You know he’s doing it to keep the tears from spilling. He’s standing across from the four of you, hand twisted around the handle of his suitcase. 

This is it. He’s leaving. He’s going to get on that plane and fly a million miles away, leaving a cracked foundation behind. He’s practically staring through you guys at this point. He can almost see the thoughts of fear swirling around in your minds. He promised himself he wouldn’t cry until he was safe on the plane, but he nearly cracks looking at all of you. His favorite people in the whole world, looking at him like he’s their lifeline. His heart is aching in his chest, but he clears his throat and pushes the pain away, putting on the stoic expression he used to deal with fights between the group.

“Take care of each other,” He says, his voice wavering more than he would like it to. You notice, but you can’t speak through the lump in your throat. Tears are slipping from your eyes, but you can’t be bothered to wipe them away, “I’ll see you on Christmas Eve.” And he turns, dragging his suitcase behind him as he walks. You give him about 15 seconds before your demeanor snaps. You chase after him, the other boys quickly following after you. Seungmin turns back around at the sound of rapid footsteps, a short oof coming from his chest as you collide. Your arms are squeezing around his middle, and you’re sure you’ve stained yet another one of his sweaters.

“You have to promise.” You mumble into the fabric. There are three more sets of arms encompassing you two, “Promise what?”

“Promise you’ll come back. That you’ll always come back.”

He chuckles, a stray tear dropping onto the top of your head, “I promise I’ll come back. And I promise that Felix will come back, and Hyunjin and Jisung will. And that you will.” You release your hold on him, looking up at him with bleary eyes. He gives you a smile, one that says all of the words you know he’s too shy to say out loud. 

You let him leave this time. The remaining four make their way to the wall of windows, watching his plane soar through the sky. That’s when all of your tears start to get loud, as you all collapse into each other, gripping onto fabric like it’s the last time you’ll be able to feel each other. You won’t say it out loud, but you’re terrified. You’re terrified that once you get on the plane to Seattle, things will never be the same. That you’ll get too caught up in studying and new faces to make it home. That you’ll be too busy with exams and work to even send a text to the only people who matter to you. That you’ll end up losing them.

You jolt when you feel a soft hand on your wrist. It’s Felix, turning your hand palm up to see your tattoo. He places his wrist next to yours, looking down at the skin with a watery smile. You match his grin, thinking back to when you got it done.

It was the night of your high school graduation. You were at home, having just returned from a miserable celebration dinner with your father. The two of you didn’t exactly get along, seeing as he didn’t even know you that well, and he seemed to despise the parts of you he did know. You were exhausted, and you just wanted to call Felix and fall asleep together.

What you got was better than that.

What you got was a text from Jisung that simply said, “outside.” He waved at you from the passenger seat of Hyunjin’s car, Seungmin and Felix in the backseat.

“What are we doing?”

Hyunjin gasped, “You don’t remember the promise we made in freshman year?” You stared at his reflection in the rearview mirror blankly, blinking a few times as you tried to recall what this promise was. The five of you had made too many promises; you couldn’t keep up.

Felix grabbed your hand, tracing letters into the skin with his pointer finger. He knew Hyunjin wouldn’t drive until you remembered. Your eyes fluttered shut as you focused on what he was writing.

“T...Ta....oh! Tattoo! Oh- oh?”

And he was off. The nearest tattoo parlor was in the next town over, as was any actually cool place. The five of you stumbled inside, in a fit of giggles from some stupid joke Jisung had told. You all paid and played rock, paper, scissors to decide the order. You were last.

“Fuck-” You had nearly shouted, suddenly stressed. Hyunjin laughed at you, a high pitched cackle that made you want to throttle him. Felix’s hand found yours again, with a promise of, “I’ll hold your hand the whole time, okay?” coming from his lips. 

You were able to ignore your anxiousness while watching the boys get their tattoos done. You recorded all of their reactions, from their yelps of fear to their hisses of pain. Seungmin handled it the best, gritting his teeth as he made conversation with the artist. Felix was true to his word, a tight grip on your free hand the entire time you were getting your tattoo done. It hurt more than you thought it would. You squeezed his hand tightly, trying not to show too many reactions, fully aware of the camera in your face. 

Once you were done, Hyunjin took a picture of all of your wrists in a circle, blue “5”s on each and every one. It wasn’t a very big tattoo; only about the size of a quarter. But it meant a lot to you. You would be a piece of them forever. Whenever they shook someone’s hand, or held hands with a future lover, or even wrote on a post-it, you would be there.

“What are you thinking about?” the Felix of the present whispers, his breath fanning over your ear. You snap out of your daze, tears all dried up.

“Graduation night.” You answer, looking up at him. He nods, tongue poking out slightly. You can tell by his expression that he thinks you mean later in the night, when he walked you up to your door and kissed you soft and slow, mumbling i love yous into your mouth. When he asked to be your boyfriend and said no, telling him that you had missed your chance. That if he still wanted you after college, you’d be all his, but you were too scared to have your heart broken by your best friend.

He leans forward a bit, lifting up the chain that held his ring, “After college, we’re gonna come back here and hide behind the slide again...and I’m gonna put another ring on this necklace. Okay?” Your eyes go wide as you realize the weight of his words, stuttering an okay in response. How is he so confident? Is he not afraid of losing you, of losing all of this? He just assumes that nothing is going to change. That come Christmas Eve, you’ll all come back. Seungmin will still be the glue of your group. Hyunjin and Jisung will still be stupid and in love and filled with youthful glee. You’ll still be melancholy and grey, and Felix will still be in love with you. 

Maybe he’s got the right idea. Always the optimist, always hoping for the best and seeing the best in people. Maybe things won’t be so bad. After all, they’ll always be a piece of you. When you shake someone’s hand or hold hands with a lover or write on a post-it, they’re always with you. No matter how far.

[professormembranexreader]

Yandere!Membrane x Fem!Reader pt. 2 (Angst & Gore)

RECAP

——————————————————

Membrane kinda stalked you, memorized your entire resume, smelled the smelly smell on the resume that was smelly, and is now going to be your boss but you don't know the bad stuff

Membrane's POV:

It was her first day at work. Being honest, it caught me off guard when I saw (Y/N) at the entrance waiting for me. 'Oh, right. She has no clue where she's going.'

"Good morning, sir!" She smiled. Her joy was infectious; I couldn't help but crack a small grin under my collar.

"Good morning to you as well, (Y/N). How do you feel about your first day?" I started off casual. There was no way I was going to let her think I was 'weird' or 'murderous'. No, that would never do. I need her to be my secretary. I need her to be in my life. I need her to love me.

She spoke up, interrupting me and my thoughts. "Well, sir, I'm kinda scared. I don't know anything regarding what you expect me to do. I don't know how to do most of the things here either. Much less any of the people I'll be working with..."

I held her face with my hand. "Don't worry, (Y/N). I'll help you. Siempre." She looked at me, confused. I realized I got too close.

I cleared my throat, promptly removing my hand. "I'm sorry, (Y/N), that was highly unprofessional of me. Please pay no mind to that." She looked up at me, confused, but shrugged it off.

"Uh, whatever you say, sir." I unlocked the entrance to the facility and motioned for her to follow me. The loud thud of boots followed by the clicking of heels (can be short heel and prob will be) echoed through the vacant halls. None of the lights were turned on yet, leaving her to closely follow behind. I could faintly feel her breath on my back. I grinned as I lead the way to my office. She was going to be mine. All mine.

Along the way, I explained the basics of what she'd be doing. Organizing files, managing my schedule, et cetera. She nodded occasionally, and tried to make small talk... it didn't work too well for her. Luckily though, I had managed to save the conversation by asking her about her life. I already knew most of the information she told me, but there were a few things that surprised me.

Finally we were there. I helped her get familiar with her desk, showing her how to navigate the software, when it suddenly came time for work.

"Oh, it seems that we are out of time. Just page me if you need anything. Hasta luego, querida." I rushed down to my lab and started to gather notebooks. I needed to plan for my next invention. I rushed back up, avoiding the rush of workers who assembled the most demanded products. She winked at me as I entered the room.

She was seated near my office, separated by just a wall. I installed a one-way mirror so I could always watch her. It was covered by a tapestry which could easily be pushed aside. I had nothing to truly do, so I spent time watching her. Her hair was so pretty. Dios, I'd love to inhale the scent of her hairspray. I've stolen a few bottles, but they have nothing to truly cling to.

While I wished to be closer, this could do until I take her for myself. Of course it didn't take but a few days for plans to change.

I kept staring at her, smiling under my collar, but it soon started to turn into a frown. One of my most bothersome employees, Carter (sorry to both this and all other Carters), walked up to (Y/N)'s desk. I've been looking for an excuse to fire him for so long, but it seemed as though he knew my game. He always made sure to avoid the punishment.

But there was no way he would worm his way out this time. He leaned over her desk, talking. She seemed a bit uncomfortable, but he didn't seem to notice. He reached his hand over to her face and my blood boiled. It took every ounce of his self control to not punch through the glass and choke him then and there.

I stood up and walked closer to the one-way mirror. He sat on the desk and gave her a slip of paper. She blushed and told him something. He got off the desk and took her hand, kissing it before walking off.

I threw down the tapestry, covering the glass once more. I clenched my fists and started to grind my teeth. There was no way I would let him get away with that. I stewed in my anger until the time came for the work day to end.

(Y/N) knocked on my door before gently opening it. "Professor?" All anger was repressed when I saw (Y/N)'s face.

"Yes, (Y/N)?" A calming baritone voice resounded through the room. (Y/N) smiled and asked if I would walk her home. I nodded. There was no way I would ever let her go home completely alone from this point on. I took her hand and led her out of the office. A faint pink dusted her cheeks but she made no comment.

We walked down the city streets, looking at food and clothes through the windows. We talked about simpler things... simpler times...

Soon, we were at her apartment. It wasn't much, but to (Y/N) it was home. She won't have to worry about this disgusting hut when she's with me. I made no comment, but simply watched as she left my side.

"Thank you, Professor. Goodnight!" I saw her go inside before returning to my own home.

My sleep was restless that night. I tossed and turned relentlessly. Not even the thought of (Y/N) bending to my will, fully submitting to me helped. My mind was plagued with the thought of Carter (lmao forgot his name already and had to go look). The thought of him touching her, talking to her, looking at her! It filled me with indescribable emotions I couldn't quite name. I needed to rid myself of this. I needed to get rid of the problem.

I needed to get rid of him.

The next morning was roughly the same. I saw (Y/N) walk in and my heart fluttered. The hours dragged on before I decided to call him into my office.

"(Y/N), send Carter Hughes (sorry to all Carter Hughes' out there) to my office." She nodded and quickly paged him up. I waited in my office, gathering my self control to not rip him to shreds. If he wasn't here, he couldn't bother (Y/N). He couldn't bother (Y/N).

He walked into my office. He looked smug. I grimaced under my collar. "I think we both know why you're here, Mr. Hughes." His smile grew even larger.

"No, I'm not quite sure." This little weasel.

"Mr. Hughes, you are being fired from our company." I stated blankly.

"You have no reason to." He grinned. I wanted this to be simple-hacking off a small branch with an axe. But it seems that I'm cutting down the whole limb.

I planted my hands on the desk in front of me, raising my voice. "You have been harassing your coworkers and have been absent from almost all your work. With your record, it's surprising you stayed here this long." I handed him a pink slip. His face paled. "I suggest you pack your things in the morning, Carter. It's getting late. Wouldn't want you to go home in the dark." He gulped and nodded. The night passed. I felt accomplished. He was finally gone. Finally.

The next work day, Carter passed by (Y/N)'s desk. He was carrying a small cardboard box. (Y/N) asked something, then Carter laughed. He said something in return, but I couldn't tell you the words, but it'd made (Y/N) blush. He winked at strode his way out of the room.

My mind was fixed on the thought of what happened. How could I be so foolish as to let the problem remain? The only solution was to nip it in the bud. The only solution was to end it before it could cause any more trouble. There is no way to let him keep his life. And I intend to fix that.

I scanned through the files for employee information. "Harrington, Henson, Hepburn, Hill, Hinton, Hiragina, Holon, ah! Hughes." I wrote down the address and started packing up.

I dropped my work down on my desk at home. I grabbed some rope, chloroform, and put a fake license plate on my car just in case. I drove down to his apartment with a smile on my face. The problem will finally be gone. I creeped inside and found his bedroom. He really should lock his door—then again, he won't have to worry about that now. I put my hand against his throat, covering his mouth and nose with a chloroform soaked bandage. With the combined effort, he was unconscious in less than a minute. I flung him over my shoulder and threw him into the trunk. The sadistic grin never left my face.

I pulled up to my driveway, grabbed the bounty I'd brought home, and carried it down to my lab.

I didn't have long before he woke up, so I put restraints as my top priority. I set him down on my strongest operating table and cuffed his arms and legs to it. I began to quickly gather my tools.

Gore Warning Time (=◉ ◡ ◉=)

I filled the needle with Pancuronium, a muscle paralyzer. His eyes widened as he fought further against the restraints. I couldn't help but let out a little chuckle. It's just so useless. I set the needle down and stuck a tube down his throat. Hooking that tube to one of of the various machines in my lab, I turned to him.

"Take it easy!" I shrugged as I turned away, "I'd say to take a breath and relax, but it seems that you won't have a choice."

He fought against the restraints vigorously. A worthless action, really. I hooked him up to the ECMO in my lab. Now he'll truly experience what happens to anyone who talks to my (Y/N).

After that, the wait was over. I placed the needle into his skin as the chemical was slowly inserted. I smiled as his shaking body stopped fighting.

My scalpel found itself close against the man's skin. I pressed it lightly against him; beads of crimson came bubbling up to the surface.

"Let's get serious." I quickly sliced the skin from his clavicle to his pelvis. Blood surged up, trying to clot. Around the rib cage, another incision was made perpendicular to the first. The process was repeated on his abdomen. Blood began to drip down his sides. I smiled as I began to open his skin. It was like that of freshly killed game. Tissue that once clung together separated at the slightest touch.

I carved him as if he were a Thanksgiving turkey. His insides lay facing the ceiling lights. With an additional snap of my gloves, I poised my hands over his organs.

"Hmm, let's begin to look for where your god failed you."

꧁ᴛɪᴍᴇ sᴋɪᴘ꧂

"This, right here, is your left kidney. Whoops! There goes the last of yours. Let's see what else is here..."

"Ah, yes. Would you like to see your large intestine?" I had my hands full of his guts. "Or perhaps the predecessor?" The salmon-pink muscle was wound between my fingers. With a small tug, blood sprayed onto my uniform. I tossed the glob of guts aside and once again grabbed my scalpel.

"Let's see if you can stomach this." I cut open the lining, acid pouring out. A corrosive hisss echoed while the body digested itself.

I laughed. Not at the pun—that was terrible. I had been fantasizing about this moment ever since (Y/N) saw him. And like I planned, I crept further up his insides. I slowly broke rib from rib, going in depth with a medial explanation each time one was removed. If ribs don't grow back then he surely won't live to see the end of it.

"Here we are." I pushed my gloved hand into his chest. "No no no, this shouldn't be! You don't deserve this." My hand gently squeezed around the muscle. "I'll make sure to give this back to the owner." Red flushed the room. A low, continuous beep echoed through the walls.

It's done.

——-————————————————

I walked to (Y/N) as she headed out of her office at work. I held her shoulder, causing her to pivot on her foot, now facing me.

"Oh, uh... hi, Professor. Did you need me?"

"(Y/N), I'd like to show you some paperwork at home. I need it put into the system, but... I forgot to bring it with me." I took a deep breath. "The files are very complex, so I'd need to show you how to deal with them. Would you mind stopping by?" She quickly shook her head.

I smiled. "Then follow me." I opened the car door. With a few clicks, (Y/N) was in my car. She was in my car. I turned on the radio to fill the silence.

Glancing to my side, I saw (Y/N) staring out the window. Her hair gently swayed, bouncing with each hole the tires hit. She hummed along with the singer, softly singing the parts that she knew. Her words were breathy, almost afraid to be heard. But they were music to my ears. 'Focus, Miguel,' I thought.

The song continued to play as I drove home. When we got there, I unlocked the back door.

"Kids, go to your rooms!" My voice slightly echoed through the halls. I took (Y/N) by the hand. "Follow me."

I lead her to a wall. It was in the darkest corner of the living room. Hidden amongst the shadows was a copper plate.

"Ah, mierda." I took off my goggles and handed them to (Y/N). "¿Agarras mi gafas, por favor?"

She took them slowly, staring at me as the scanner checked my retinas. The door opened with a clunk.

I gestured towards the "After you." She took a few hesitant steps before looking to me for guidance. I chuckled before letting her lean on me. We descended down the staircase until we reached my lab.

She immediately went over to my bookshelf. I smiled as I locked the door behind us.

"(Y/N)." She whipped her hair around to face me.

"Yes, Professor?" I bit my lip. Hers were slightly parted, giving her face a blissful look.

"Come sit down." She did as I instructed. "Now, what I'm about to do may pinch." I held her down as I injected a small amount of morphine into her femoral artery. After a bit of struggle, she fell limp in my arms.

(Y/N)'s POV

I woke up to the sound of footsteps. I lifted my head and tried to look around. Why was I in a chair? And why can't I move my arms? My mind raced as I began to struggle against my restraints.

"Ah, finalmente estás despierta." An unmistakable baritone rang out. Was Membrane going to save me?

He came into view, goggles and lab coat off. His arms were prosthetics. Presumably steel or an alloy containing it. His eyes were chocolate with hazel flecks. But more importantly, his pupils were extremely dilated. I tried to call out for him, but all that came out was a muffled "mfph".

"No tan rápido, mi querida. Tú eres mía. Solamente mío." His cold "hand" traces my cheek. Tears threatened to spill from my eyes.

"MPMFPH!"

"Ah, tú quieres hablar. Pues, adelante." He ripped off whatever was covering my mouth. I gasped for air. The air tasted like latex and antiseptics. I looked up towards Professor.

"Did...did you do this to me, sir?" I stammered. His eyebrow arched as he placed a hand on his chin.

"Ah, inglés. Un momento." He cleared his throat. "Is this better, my (Y/N)?"

I couldn't believe it. "Answer the question!"

"Ay, mi amor, I had no choice. I couldn't risk anyone else getting close to you." His hands found themselves on my shoulders, slowly moving up to my neck.

"Get your hands off of me!" He quickly pulled back. He walked behind me, making it impossible for me to truly see him.

His once endearing laugh now plagued my ears. "My dear, sweet, (Y/N), don't be that way~! You and I are one now. You are mine. And I've brought you a present."

He walked past his desk, digging through his belongings. After a few moments, he returned.

"My dear (Y/N), May I present to you..." he reached behind his back and pulled out a bloodied jar. Looking carefully, there's... oh my god. Inside the jar was-

"Hughes' heart. He said it belonged to you, I figured he wouldn't mind if you reclaimed it." He smiled, teeth filling half his face as his merriment was finally shown. He set the jar down, took me out of the restraints, and held me in his arms. I was too numb to fight back. I sobbed into his chest.

Membrane wrapped his arms around my relatively small frame. "Shhhh. It's going to be okay. He would have wanted it this way."

"Okay."