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moonlight-prose · 2 years

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EPIPHANIES IN DISGUISE

➝ 03. WE'LL HAVE MANHATTAN

a/n: so i originally gave up on this fic. fully ready to delete it from here and ignore i ever started it, but then someone gave me such a warm message that it reminded me of my love for this story. i also only posted it to ao3 a long time ago, because i wasn't interested in putting it here anymore. but now i'm saying fuck it and continuing my small self indulgent murder mystery.

summary: you'd never consider yourself a detective, but when javier shows up with evidence...things begin to take form.

word count: 4.1k+

pairing: javier peña x fem!reader

warnings: not explicit, cussing, talk of murder, talk of death, mentions of vomit, drunkenness, alcohol consumption, awkwardness, ptsd, grief, angst, and dark humor.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

You wished Ria lived just a little bit closer to your place, but for some reason she was insistent on finding a place that was fit for a king. Granted…she could afford it. You suppose that’s why you were heading there—looking for something entirely different to get your mind off of what happened. Off the sight of Jasper lying on the ground dead. Fuck, you could barely close your eyes without seeing his lifeless eyes and that thought alone had bile rising up the back of your throat.

“Hey you alright?” the cab driver asked, his eyes wary in the rearview mirror.

Nodding quickly, you nearly sobbed with relief as he pulled off the side of the road—Ria’s apartment building right in front of you. “Thanks,” you mumbled, tossing the cash his way and stumbling out onto the sidewalk.

A few more minutes in the fucking cab and you’d have to pay extra just to have the car detailed and cleaned. You certainly didn’t have enough money for that. The morning sun was cresting over the city skyline—a sight you’d never tire of seeing—and it was then you realized how much you needed sleep. How much you craved it. After hours in a police station, still covered in Jasper’s blood, you felt as if death was steadily breathing down your neck.

Waiting for you to keel over too.

Shoving the prickly feeling on your back, you carefully climbed the steps, the alcohol and shock mixing together to create quite a lethal combination. You’d have to thank Javier for the booze, but also make him promise never to do that again. Sure, you kissed him because you were sad, lonely, desperate for comfort, but it wasn’t right—especially given that you were a known lightweight when it came to alcohol. If the two of you were to ever talk again (although you hoped it’d only happen when he found who killed Jasper) you needed to pretend that nothing happened.

That you were merely two strangers again.

You were grateful that Ria’s apartment building elevator was always broken. At this point you weren’t sure you could even handle that motion. Instead you climbed the stairs one by one, keeping your eyes on your feet below and doing your best not to trip and fall. It was harder than it looked though.

“She just had to live on the fifth floor,” you muttered, the wave of nausea nearly bringing you to your knees. “Fuck.”

“Hey is everything okay?” A man’s voice came from the top of the stairs, his footsteps following quickly after as he met you where you’d sat down.

“Mhm,” you slurred. “I’m fucking fanta—oh shit—” Falling back, you were met with dark brown eyes filled to the brim with concern.

When you said that New Yorkers were some of the rudest people alive you only meant those that refused to have a single fibre of empathy in their whole body. But every once in a while, there’d be someone like this, who extended a small amount of kindness towards a stranger they didn’t know. You found yourself smiling, hot tears falling down your face yet again, as you thought of someone else who was this kind for no reason. Jasper was always there for you—even when you feel you didn’t deserve it.

“Let me help you,” he said softly. His hands were gentle as he brought you to a standing position, looping your arm over his shoulder and leading you the rest of the way up. You wanted to thank him, but all that came out was an incoherent slur of words. “Where are you heading?”

Shaking your head, you tried to free yourself from the fog that filled your thoughts. “Um…fifth floor.”

He nodded. “Fifth floor it is.”

The last time you recalled being this drunk was New Years Eve three years ago—when you’d puked off the edge of a building. Jasper joked about whether or not the laws of gravity applied to vomit. Both him and Ria dragged you home, their laughter filling your ears as they tried to keep the mood light, and if there was a time you’d go back to in your life…it was that one. You’d give anything to relive that night; to see Jasper happy again.

Stumbling, the man helped you up the last few steps, his arm tight around your waist. “I’m Dante,” he said, in the hopes that distracting you would help with how you were feeling.

“I’m…” Trailing off, you stopped him when you came across Ria’s door. The pristine look of the hallway only added to the odd feeling you usually had when coming here.

You loved Ria, you did, but why she chose a building that felt less like home than any other place, you’d never know. A part of you wanted to ask her—know the truth—but even you knew she wouldn’t reveal why she left. Why she felt the need to come live in a part of the city that almost felt forbidden to you. With the way the prices were skyrocketing day by day, the place literally was forbidden. You were in debt just standing in front of her door.

He knocked, helping you lean further into him as the lock on the door clicked and it swung open to reveal Ria. It didn’t take her long to head into panic mode (a usual for her) as she took in the sight of you nearly passed out on the floor. You made a mental note never to drink this much again—one you’d no doubt forget in a few hours. Alcohol and you were frenemies for a reason. Sometimes you could handle what you drank and other times…you were left put into a similar situation as this one. Except the last person to drag you home was Jasper.

That thought left a sour taste in your mouth.

“Hey,” Dante said, his smile reminding you of the man you left on the rooftop. “I found her on the steps and she said you were her friend.”

Ria nodded. “Yeah she’s my— Thank you for doing this.” She held the door open as the both of you stumbled inside, your head now pounding as the alcohol began to slowly wear off.

“There you go,” he muttered, helping you to collapse slowly on her chestnut hued couch. Turning back to Ria he let you fall to the side, your stomach turning one more time. “I live one floor below. Is she…um…okay?”

“No…not exactly, but she’ll get there,” she said softly, the pain explicit in her tone.

It brought the ache in your chest back, reminding you of what happened—what still had to occur in order for this to be done for good. Jasper didn’t deserve the ending that was shoved onto him. He should be here now, laughing with you at the stupidity of your ways. You could practically hear his voice ringing in your ears: “C’mon rosebud you know you can’t handle your alcohol.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, hot tears tracking down your face.

Dante’s voice paused, his eyes glancing back at you with obvious worry in his expression. He didn’t even know you and yet he helped you when he clearly had better things to do. You saw the suit he wore—the fabric probably more than what you made at work in a month—which meant he held a level of importance in life. His time was clearly valuable and yet he still helped you. If you were more coherent, you would have thanked him, but unfortunately your brain was focused solely on one thing…Jasper.

A part of you still couldn’t believe he was gone. He left you here with nothing but the gruesome memory of his death; time you would rather not have. You heard Ria lead Dante out, her words of thanks and see you laters shoved his way, because neither of you knew where you might have ended up if it weren’t for him. You guessed that you would have woken up on the staircase hours later. Probably covered in your own vomit. That image alone caused a shiver of disgust to go down your spine; the pain in your head subsiding as the urge to empty your stomach became prominent.

“How are you doing?” Ria asked, crouching on the floor near where your head lay on her couch.

Mumbling an incoherent sentence, you shut your eyes—tears still running down your face. “He’s gone.”

“I know,” she whispered, cupping your face and wiping away the tears. “Did he…” She inhaled, her words breaking. “Did he say anything to you?”

You wanted to tell her. You would have spilled your fucking guts to her the second you entered through the front door, but something tugged sharply at your heart, reminding you that the words he spoke—the last thing he would every say—was solely for you. Ria didn’t know about your deal. She held no clue that those were the last words you’d ever say to one another. Sober you would have said it without hesitation, but your emotions were broken beyond repair—pain riddling your body like a poison that was weaving its way through every vein.

Opening your mouth to tell her, you found that the words were stuck in your chest. “No,” you lied, shutting your eyes tightly. “He was in too much pain to say anything.”

She believed you quicker than you expected, but given the situation it made sense. “Just lay here okay? I-I’ll get you some water.”

She was crying—you could hear her sniffles as she walked away and it broke your heart to not be able to do anything about it. You wanted to comfort her. Remind her that you were there for her when she needed you, but you could barely lift your head up off the couch. Moving sounded like hell at a time like this.

The both of you were shattered; left hollow as a piece of your group—your family—left you for good. In all honesty you never thought you’d have to suffer through this pain so early in life. Death was inevitable. You knew this, but the sudden shift Jasper’s death caused was brutal enough to cause a downfall in not just your life but Ria’s as well. This wasn’t meant to happen so soon; wasn’t a part of your future for decades to come, yet there you were. Staring at a wall as the future became the present all too quickly.

She returned a few minutes later, her eyes redder than before and a box of tissues in her hand. The glass of water was set on the table next to the couch for easy access, but even you knew it would be left untouched. You couldn’t stomach anything at this moment. Not after filling your body with alcohol and no food. In a few hours you’d be nursing a hangover that would rival any previous ones you’d endured before, but a part of you looked forward to that. The pain let you know you could still feel things—even after your body had gone numb.

“He loved you,” you mumbled into the couch, eyes trained on the white beige of her wall across from you. A single picture frame hung there—a shot from one of her photographer friends. The three of you laughing at a party.

Funny how you couldn’t recall what the party was for or even the year it was taken, but the memory played so clearly in your head. As if it happened yesterday. You wished it had.

“What?” Ria asked, her cat-like eyes snapping to you.

“Jasper. He loved you.”

“Get some rest.”

The smell of lavender hit your nose, filling your senses slowly. She must have lit a candle to ease the tension of the room—or you had officially gone insane. You figured the answer was the former rather than the latter. The pillow she had placed beneath your head was soft and plushy. The embroidered detail pressing against the skin of your cheek. There would be an indent tomorrow morning, but you couldn’t care about trivial things like that—not today.

Your body was worn down from the hours spent in the police station and on the roof and in the apartment. It felt like you hadn’t slept in days and at this point…you weren’t sure you ever would sleep again. The image of Jasper lying in a pool of his own blood was still burned in your mind—showing up every time you attempted to close your eyes. Except your body began to shut down on its own volition; the weight of the night and day now weaning you of the remainder of your energy.

“He loved you,” you breathed one last time, the image of Jasper’s face popping up into your mind once more as you finally gave into the call of sleep.

You woke up with a start, your heart racing as the remnants of your nightmare began to fade in the back of your mind. The memory of last night replayed in your head—a sick and twisted horror film that would never end. Only when you woke up…you were still stuck inside, forced to play out the plot like a failed heroine. Jasper’s last words still rang in your ear, making the hangover you now had even worse.

Groaning, you sat up slowly in the hopes that you would forgo the act of throwing up as your head felt like someone was hammering a nail into your skull. Everything hurt and you could still feel the grime from yesterday on your skin. What you desperately needed above all else was a shower—possibly a greasy breakfast as well, but you’d see about that after you managed to get clean. Your limbs were stiff from falling asleep on the couch and you glanced up to see Ria passed out in a chair beside you.

Waking her up was not an option. She needed just as much sleep as you got and so you grabbed the small notepad on her coffee table, jotting down a note for her. Call me when you wake up. Headed home to shower. Love you.♡

Stepping lightly around her living room you slowly opened the door and slipped out. You couldn’t tell the time—your phone, dead—but you wanted to guess it was heading into the evening hours. The sun began its descent behind the towering buildings, changing the sky to different shades and hues of orange and pink. You loved the sight of sunsets (having spent days on end staring at them and painting them) but tonight that particular view felt like a mockery of your feelings. So bright, so beautiful, even when life turned dreadful.

“Alright,” you sighed, stepping onto the sidewalk and heading down the street.

You could grab a cab back to your place, but the subway entrance was only a few blocks away. In all honesty you wanted to spend as much time away from your home as possible—the temptation to get lost rather than be who you were before all of this suddenly more appealing than ever. You and Jasper always talked about running away. Taking Ria and running—just the three of you on your own. Leaving behind a past that no longer wanted you, but that never truly happened.

If only that became your reality, then maybe Jasper would still be alive.

You didn’t want to dwell on the past let alone on what could have been, but you couldn’t stop the intrusive thoughts from breaking through. They were always going to be there in the back of your mind, like a predator waiting to strike.

The noise of the subway helped to ease your constant anxiety; the loud echo of the train drowning out everything. People sat in their respective seats, either listening to music, reading, or staring into space. The day was coming to a close—everyone who wore suits now heading back to their homes only to come back out tomorrow morning. A routine that you and Jasper used to make fun of. He never wanted to work in an office—let alone a cubicle—and so on the days when he managed to get out of work you’d come here. Sit in one of the chairs and people watch.

You could practically see him, leaning back against the plastic seat, a smile practically dripping with ease. “I bet they’re slowly losing their sanity sitting in an office.”

The thought of him made you smile for a brief moment, until you were forced to remember what happened.

The train came to a rough stop, your body swaying with the movement and you rushed off the platform, heading up the stairs as your block came into view. It was odd to think that hours ago you were here coming back from your stupid office job; nothing on your mind except what movie you were going to watch with dinner. Strange to see the neighborhood you knew so well still remain the same even though it looked so different to you. You hardly spoke to anyone here so they would never know what happened. They’d never know you were cradling the body of your friend in your arms, that you spent more time in a police station than they had.

But you supposed that was the human experience.

Everyone’s lives were drastically different in their own way.

Searching for your key you headed into your building, the familiar scent of cigarettes and cheap cologne from the first floor tenants filling your senses. Nobody was downstairs thankfully, which gave you the opportunity to rush upstairs. Your head still pounded, but the fresh air eased up the ache in your body enough for you to make it home. Just a few more flights of stairs and you could collapse on your own couch, choosing to sleep until the police found Jasper’s killer.

You were staring at the floor, trying to drown out the outside world, only to stop in place at the sight of someone sitting on the floor by your front door.

“Hey.” His voice was recognizable even before you finished glancing up to his face. The echo of him getting to his feet bounced off the thin walls.

“Javi,” you said, tone dull from the constant onslaught of emotions.

“I wasn’t sure when you’d be home.”

“How do you know where I live?”

He huffed out half a laugh. “You had to give your address to the station if we—they needed to find you.”

Ignoring the awkward layer of tension between you two, you simply moved past him and opened your door—not bothering to see if he followed you in. While the action may have been rude at any other time, you were mentally and physically exhausted. You weren’t even sure you could feel anymore than you already had—the possibility now sounding impossible.

He shut the door behind him, eyes taking in the sight of your chaotic apartment. “I didn’t mean to barge in on you—”

“Yes you did,” you said bluntly, dropping your keys and phone on the kitchen table. “What’s going on?”

Him sighing is what made you turn around. “Shit is going sideways.”

“What exactly does that mean?”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He squinted slightly, hands twitching at his sides—an old reflex he had from interrogating someone.

“My best friend died in my arms. Tell me Agent Peña, would you be okay if that happened to you?” You wished the words weren’t as harsh as they sounded, but what was done was done. More than anything you simply wanted a break. However, that didn’t seem likely in the near future.

He sighed again. “I’m sorry.”

“Before you tell me anything. I-I need to shower.”

“Right.” He glanced at the couch, waiting until you nodded to take a seat. “Just…don’t mind me. Take your time.”

You left him there, heading into your bedroom and immediately yanking off your shirt and pants. Even your undergarments felt tainted. They were soon discarded as well, tossed into your small laundry basket beside your dresser. You wanted to burn your clothes, but knew that would look bad on your part if they were ever meant to be brought back as evidence. Really you didn’t know how crime shit worked, but you’d seen it happen on television shows. Although they probably differed drastically from reality.

The hot water of the shower seared your skin and it was exactly what you needed. You couldn’t care less if it burned you raw or if the pain of the heat became too much, because you were gone. Numb past the point of giving a shit. The water cascaded down your body, encasing you in a warm tomb. It gave you something to latch onto; something to focus on as you washed the dirt, dried blood, and grime from your body.

Glancing down you watched the water run red as Jasper’s blood was cleansed from you for good. It twisted your heart violently to see it. Some sick and twisted part of you wanted to remain as you were, because at least then you’d have something to prove that he actually died. That’s what you needed for yourself more than anything…proof it happened. Proof that you held him in his final moments—the ache in your chest now hollow and vacant.

It didn’t take you long to shower, not bothering to do anything other than to clean your skin and as you walked out you found Javier sitting hunched over, his hands twirling a lighter between his fingers. He glanced up as he heard you come out, watching you as you popped a painkiller and swallowed a glass of water. The soothing cold temperature of it helped to ease you after such a steam filled shower. You could practically see the tendrils of steam exit your bathroom door—wafting into the kitchen.

“What are you really here for?” you asked, taking the chair across the coffee table.

He reached in his pocket and pulled out a folded up piece of paper. “Jasper didn’t die from the stab wound.”

Scoffing, you took another sip of water. “I was there.”

“That sped up the process, but he would have died either way.”

Glancing at the paper, you saw the title Coroner on the top. “What…do you mean?”

He turned it towards you. “Any person with that much fentanyl in their system would die.”

“Jasper didn’t take—”

“I know,” he stated, telling the truth. “Which means someone poisoned him.”

“W-Why?”

“I don’t know.” He twisted the lighter in his right hand again. “But now I know why they brought in former DEA agents. Just in case they figured this would lead back to something bigger.”

None of it made sense. Not the file, what happened, not even how he died. If someone poisoned him that means they’d have to do it via powder, because as far as you knew…Jasper never took medication. Not since the car accident in college. You dropped your head into your hands, your brain going into overdrive once more. This was fucked—all of it was fucked—yet you couldn’t get away from it. You had to do this for him.

“Let me help,” you said, lifting your head.

“What?”

You nodded. “Let me help you find who did this, because the police aren’t going to figure it out.”

“Well…we don’t know that.”

“I do,” you replied. “You just got here, but I know what happens with murder cases like these. They try to find the killer and eventually another murder happens and they are pushed to focus on that and they label this case as cold. There’s always another murder, but I can’t…I won’t let Jasper’s go unsolved.”

Javier regarded you with a look that would have normally made you feel shy all of a sudden. It was ridiculous to even think that—when you were currently plotting to basically take on a murder case yourself. The kiss wasn’t forgotten about (at least on your end), but you couldn’t allow yourself to focus on that at the moment. You weren’t sure when you’d be able to focus on it again.

“Be careful,” he said. “I don’t want you getting in trouble for taking this on.”

Taking the paper, you glanced at the empty wall to your right. You meant to hang up the picture frames that were gathering dust in the corner of your bedroom, but for now…it’d have to hold something far more important. The small tin of pins was on your kitchen counter and you grabbed one, placing it between your teeth as you pressed the paper to the wall. The first piece of evidence, the first step in finding out what happened.

“Don’t worry about me,” you said, stepping back. “We’ve got a murder to solve.”

#javier peña x f!reader #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña x y/n #javier peña #javier pena fic #pedro pascal #my writing #will this get another chapter?#who knows

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bisexual-horror-fan · 1 year

Note

BEX!!! Congratulations on hitting 3000! That's fan-FUCKING-tastic...and very much well-deserved.

Now, I'm not here to send you a request, because I'm sure you've already received quite a few by now...but I'd like to take the chance to lovingly (and lustfully) remind you and the fandom of something left...unfinished...something we've talked about recently...a continuation of your sinfully short fic, 'Three Against One'...

'Multi-May' or no 'Multi-May'...this foursome needs to happen...at some point...

I can wait...you know I *adore* anticipation...

Hello Kelly! Day three of Multi-May which means that we have a re-vision of my old fic, Three Against One! Thank you for the excuse to do this, I wanted to do the same thing with Lessons In Faking It because this is gonna get a sequel and finally get that foursome we have all been craving. Plus I have always wanted to expand this, I added 1.5K to the OG and cleaned and changed this up, hope you all dig this updated version and get hyped for the later entry! Also, the council in The Boiler Lounge has made the decision that Sam Wescott and Buddy Swanson and Leslie Vernon’s polyam ship is called Mourning Wood. Enjoy that and this fic.

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Rating. Explicit. Length. 4.5K. Sam Wescott And Buddy Swanson AND Leslie Vernon X AFAB! Reader. They/Them Pronouns. Warnings: Established Relationship. Vacation. Road Trip. Semi-Public To Public Hookups. Exhibitionism. Movie Spoilers. Some Fluff. Strap On Mention. Teasing. Dirty Talk. Buddy Is An Asshole But We Love Him. Threesome. Voyeurism. Outdoor Sex. Stalking. Threat Of Violence. Implied Foursome.

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Three Against One. Again.

—

It was going to be your birthday soon.

Your two boyfriends wanted to do something special for that, they asked what you wanted and upon discussing it you all realised you had some paid vacation time that needed to be spent before the year was up or you would lose it. You thought long and hard about it and came to the conclusion of partaking in a road trip together. You have always had a thing for the macabre and spooky, I mean look at who you were dating, when the secrets about them came out it didn’t scare you off, no, you stuck around happily.

So the purpose of said road trip was to visit a bunch of supposedly haunted locations and do some urban exploring and camping. Buddy was of course very excited about the prospect of this, he hadn’t really done a road trip with anyone else, he did one once, technically, when fleeing Canada post the events of Centre Stage but obviously that one wasn’t very fun. Clutching his barely bandaged wounds with one hand while he drove with the other, leaking blood badly as he drove a stolen car away in desperation of escaping his old life wasn’t a good time.

After he got patched up properly in a gas station bathroom, wrapping hastily bought gauze around his ribs and stomach under flickering lights, he was back in the car. He made the long drive to accept that fateful job at Camp Clear Vista where he met you and Sam wasn’t great either, it was lonely. Even if it did end up leading to the best summer of his life.

He and Camillia always talked about doing a road trip together, seeing some of the other provinces before settling down and opening that restaurant they always talked about. Taking a roadtrip with you and Sam sounded amazing and long overdue, he could hardly wait.

Sam would normally be just as excited, he took a road trip with Chuck once to visit a creepy wax museum she heard about and that was a good time, but that was different. Seeing something that is so obviously fake and an attraction, a controlled and safe environment but what you wanted to do was see some more “real” stuff, it made him nervous. The rest sounded great, long hours in the car, talking and listening to music, trying new food, camping out together, he just wasn’t that excited about the decidedly scary nature you wanted everything to take.

He tried to hide this. He did so poorly.

Sam Wescott was good at a lot of things, chopping wood, taking care of kids, starting a fire, hiding his emotions was not chief among them. His nerves were the most noticeable when you were all packing up the car, he had already agreed, you all took the time off, were gearing up to leave and he was chewing his bottom lip nervously, clearly lost in thought.

Buddy used this as a perfect opportunity to come up behind him, throw an arm around his shoulder, hooking around him, opposite hand resting on his chest as he leaned in close, “Awe Sammy baby, you look tense, what’s up?” Classic Buddy, the way he cooed that so easily and teasingly to Sam.

Sam turned his head, caught Buddy’s gaze, “Oh uh, sorry Buddy, just um…Thinking is all.” You rolled your eyes as you finally closed the trunk, coming over to Buddy and Sam as you say, “You are always thinking Sam, thinking way too much.”

“I agree, you gotta turn that brain off sometimes! It’s gonna be a great time man, relax.” Buddy’s hands rested on Sam’s shoulder next, giving a reassuring squeeze, and you backed him up, “Seriously, it is gonna be awesome. Calm down.”

You had slid right in front of him, you were holding Sam’s hands as you looked up at him and he let out a sigh, conceding.

“Yeah, yeah you’re right. Sorry, I know it’s gonna be a lotta fun.” Buddy pressed a kiss to his cheek and said, “Atta boy! Now come on, let’s hit the road, you got the first driving shift.”

And so off you all went and as soon as you were an hour into the trip Sam was wondering what he was so worried about. This was great, you next to him and Buddy in the back, alternating playing some of your music and talking, it felt good, felt right and relaxing, very needed, time away from all the bullshit stress of normal life and just being with his two favourite people.

“No, no, I am vetoing this-” Buddy argued as he held up the CD case of the disc you were trying to load into the player of the car’s dash, you ask, “What? You only get one veto a day and you are using it now? On fucking ABBA?”

Buddy shoved the case into your hand and sat back saying, “Yes I am vetoing ABBA, we are not listening to Super Trooper before ten in the morning.”

Sam couldn’t stop the smile that crossed his face, looking over to the pair of you playfully bickering about what CD to listen to in place of the one Buddy smacked down. Yeah, this was going to be a good trip.

You of course felt the same way. It was all great and you had a fun time on your first few stops, Sam even giving it up that it wasn’t bad doing it with you both. He still insisted on holding one of your hands while you wandered around some burnt out building but you and Buddy didn’t mind, and only handed out minimal teasing for it too.

The stopping at different restaurants Buddy had picked out while planning your route was thoroughly enjoyable for all of you, his pre-trip research paid off and you all ate at some great hole in the wall joints.

Staying in the occasional motel when the weather was bad enough that setting up camp for the night wasn’t feasible did end up happening a few times. The first time you checked into one a few days into the trip, Buddy dropped his duffle bag by the door, whipped off his rain soaked windbreaker, tossing it aside and then leaping at the bed and before you or Sam could question his enthusiasm it became all too clear. Leaning on one hand and the other rested on his hip he asked, in an intentionally comical pose, “What do you think? Is the bed big enough that you could both fuck me at the same time comfortably?”

You dropped your own bag as Sam scoffs, “I doubt it, look at you man! You’re what, like 6’3?”

Buddy cuts in, “6’2 actually-”

“Right, I’m worried about you being able to sleep comfortably on the thing, forget getting fucked.” You interject asking, “And how are we supposed to do that, exactly?”

Buddy gasped, “No! Don’t tell me you forgot the strap-on!” You and Sam were already cracking up as he carried on, somehow still able to joke like this after hours in the car, “Oh my God, well, the vacation is called off.” He rolled off the bed and headed for the bathroom before you or Sam had even caught your breath.

Once clean and settled down you were cuddled up in a bed just a bit too small for three, all tangled limbs and being impossibly close was cosy. The many other nights spent in the tent together, all having employed that trick Sam learned for zipping multiple sleeping bags together to make one big enough for three, were Sam’s favourites.

Not to mention all of the illicit hooking up. In that tent you and Sam and Buddy caught up, mid-make-out, one of his hands between your legs and with Buddy’s between Sam’s, feverish passing back and forth and hands all busy.

In or rather on the car, you bent over the hood with Buddy behind you and Sam watching, his own hand busy while you are all under the stars.

In alleyways next to bars or restaurants you just paid patronage to, and one really risky one in the handicap stall of a bathroom in a diner, you nearly got caught and after the person left without detecting you, the rest of said hookup finished safely back in your tent at the camp you set up.

Exploring and hiking was fun, you were all safe and doing it together, some of the locations you wanted to scope out were really cool and you brought along your camera, got some great pictures. Sam confessed while you were all at the highest point of a trail you’d just walked, looking down at the picturesque woods, that this was the best vacation he ever had and was glad you and Buddy pushed him to do this. He was happy, nerves totally forgotten.

Until the day of your actual birthday. The big stop this had been leading up to, you wanted to stop in Glen Echo and check out the Vernon farm. Initially Sam was excited about it, a farm, how nice and quaint, you even mentioned there was an apple orchard, apple picking sounded awesome.

You all pulled up and you seemed so giddy, you practically bolted from the car.

He didn’t realise why you were so excited about it until you all started walking around and you began enthusiastically explaining the history of the farm and about who used to live here. Big gestures of your hands as you went and explained about Leslie and the documentary and everything.

You walked about the grounds, rattling off what you knew, taking stops along the way to expound further, “And he would fuck with the branches of the trees so if anyone made an attempt to get down from the second floor they would break-” Buddy would, “Ooo-” appropriately and Sam’s face would lose a little more colour.

The walk continued, you giving as much detail as possible and Buddy nodded along, still smiling, clearly loving how passionate and happy you were to be here, even chiming in on what he thought was particularly interesting and cool.

Sam got more and more nervous as you all walked around. Funny thing considering his own past but that wasn’t him, not REALLY, it was the Wood Carver’s mask who possessed him, under normal circumstances he would never do what happened back then.

You finally were all standing in front of the burnt remains of the cider house, “And then Tayor apparently crushed his head with the cider press and set the whole building ablaze!”

Buddy was impressed, saying in response, “Damn. See the more you talk about this Taylor the more I like her, she sounds really tough.”

“Right?! She’s the coolest!” You exclaimed and Buddy looked over to the third and much more quiet one in your group.

Buddy nudged you, your head turning as Sam chimed in asking, “So Leslie is dead, right?”

You and Buddy stared at him for a moment, his eyes forward, nervous look clear on his face, surely his mind going a mile a minute, and then you and Buddy shared a look of your own, a small smirk from you, a raise of his eyebrows and you are on the same page. You say, “Well that is what they SAY but his body went missing.”

Buddy put on an air of faux concern as he said, clearly playing it up, hands coming up to his face, “Oh no, his body went missing?!”

You stifled a giggle and leaned closer into Sam who was going just a little pale, “Never recovered it to this day. We think we are alone here but who knows!”

That is when Buddy asked excitedly, “So you wanna camp here tonight, yeah? Spend the night?” You agreed immediately and enthusiastically, arms out stretched, “Oh yeah of course!”

Sam glanced at you, eyes wide, “You really want to? You sure you don’t wanna maybe stay at that B and B we saw on the way into town?”

“Very sure Sam.” You confirmed with a confident nod and Buddy was saying then, more playfully, clapping your shared boyfriend on the shoulder, “C’mon Sam it’s their birthday and they wanna stay at the creepy murder farm.”

“Yeah Sam! I wanna stay at the creepy murder farm!” You agree and he sighs heavily.

“Sorry I am not that enthusiastic about spending the night where several people were killed-” Buddy cocked his head to the side as he fired back with, “And yet we keep on returning to Camp Clear Vista every year.”

Sam had to give him that. He knew there was no winning against Buddy’s stubbornness along with your birthday wish so he agreed, tone a mix of frustration and resignation, “Alright, we should unpack and set up camp before it gets dark.”

“Hell yes! Thank you Sammy.” You leaned up and pressed a kiss to his lips and Buddy parroted what you said, smiling as his hand came up and ruffled Sam’s short hair in the way he knew bugged him, “Yeah thanks Sammy!”

Sam swatted Buddy away but he was smiling now, clearly fond.

So the rest of the afternoon was dedicated to setting up the camp.

You chose a place in between the barn and the apple orchard, you dug the fire pit, Buddy put up the tent, and Sam, taking a fallen tree he had found, managed to split some of it up to make some logs for you all to sit on around the fire as well as using it for some actual fire wood. It was nice but Sam still seemed nervous, kept looking like something was off, even with the axe in his hands. You and Buddy did your best to distract him but it didn’t seem to be working very well.

Hours later, it was after dinner, the fire was going and it was dark out.

You and Buddy had run to the car to get a bag of marshmallows to roast for dessert and on the way back to the fire you spoke up, “We gotta get Sam to chill out.”

Buddy sighed “God, right? He is going full Wescott right now.” You laugh but smack him on the shoulder, “Okay well don’t say that to him, you know he hates when you say that shit.”

“Well maybe if he didn’t go Wescott so often then we wouldn’t have had to attach his name to it-” You give him an unimpressed look, “Hilarious Buddy, truly, but c’mon, we need to help the guy out not make this worse.”

He groans and you sing-song out, “It’s my birthday-”

“I’m just messing around, you’re right, we should help not hurt, I will be nice.” He concedes, both hands up and you say, “Thank you cream puff.”

He gags and then says, “Oh my fucking God, what was that about being nice and not doing things your boys hate?”

“Ha, I said not doing things Sam hates, and what, you don’t like my pet names?” You ask and he says, “They are just soooo overly cutesy and sickeningly sweet-”

“Come on Buddy bon-bon baby, lighten up.” You tease and he stops walking, “I will vomit, right here.”

“No you won’t, not after you worked so hard on that dinner.” You say and he hangs his head before starting to walk again, “You’re right again, stop being right all the time.”

“Nope, it’s my birthday, I’m allowed.” You assert and then ask, “So how are we fixing this for him?”

Buddy hums, head coming up and after a moment he grins, looking over to you, “Overwhelm him?”

“Oh I love how you think.”

Your goal is to get him out of his head and relax, let him enjoy the evening as much as you had both been. The approach is easy, made sure he could hear you coming, didn’t want to frighten him further and you sat down next to him and he was quick to say, “I swear to God I heard something just now.”

Buddy sat on the other side of him, too close, pressing Sam between you and him as he said, “Uh yeah man, probably us.”

Sam scoffed, “No not you two, when you were outta earshot I could have sworn I heard someone, out there-” He gestured out the orchard and you shrugged, “Probably an animal or something. Don’t worry about it.”

That is when you made your move, leaning in, one hand to Sam’s cheek, pulling him closer and your mouth meeting his neck, you beginning to kiss makes his sentence stop short while Buddy’s hand sliding up his inner thigh made his breath catch already and you said into his skin, “What did we tell you Sam?”

A lick over his pulse point and a soft bite that made him tense under your touch and he stuttered out, “I’ll uh, be honest. I can-can’t really remember at the moment-”

You are busy with your task but you can picture his expression right now, brows furrowed, eyes closed and lips parted, totally swept up and thoroughly him and adorable, it makes you smile against his throat.

Buddy was there backing you up the way you usually did for him, “That you need to relax. Turn off that brain-” Buddy’s hand was between Sam’s legs now, palming his already hardening dick through his shorts as he added on, “-we can help you with that.”

It did sound appealing. He still had nerves and reservations but as you and Buddy both worked him over, hands roaming and wandering, tugging at his clothing, you kissing and biting his neck and Buddy’s fingers under Sam’s chin tilting him to give him a lazy and slow kiss on the mouth, definite heat behind it? Sam slowly started to let go, moaning into the kiss and returning it.

You and Buddy should have heeded Sam’s warnings, should have listened. Sam’s nervousness has validity to it, you weren’t alone and hadn’t been all day, he was right there, watching you. He was taking his time, he was used to the occasional gawkers and you three seemed harmless so he hadn’t done anything yet.

He thought you were all rather bold setting up camp for the night, he had every intention of stepping in and having some fun of his own but he didn’t expect such a show. The three of you had been really close and touchy sure but he didn’t think it was like this, that you were all together. He was interested. Honestly your timing couldn’t have been better, he was going to make his move right before you made yours and now he couldn’t stop watching.

Leslie had a thing for watching, a definite and total textbook voyeur, couldn’t help how hard he got off on it. You had already caught his eye earlier, so now seeing you making a move to get on your knees, starting to undo the shorts to get what you really wanted, about to start putting your mouth to good use, of course he wanted to stay quiet and see how this unfolded.

He watched as that curly haired man, Buddy, he overheard, was pulling back, one hand in the other man, Sam’s, hair as he started to whisper what he was certain were filthy things in his ear.

Leslie watched the way Sam flushed, lifting his hips to help you slide his shorts down, he couldn’t look away as you took his cock in your hand, leaning in, giving what looked to be a loving lick over the head before it disappeared between your lips. You started to take more, slide him in deeper, your hand around the base starting to stroke and he could hear the groan Sam let out, watched as Buddy’s head tilted back with a laugh.

You didn’t blow him for long before Buddy was whispering something to Sam, a grin on his face and finally that pulls his gaze from you between his legs to the other man sitting next to him, a nod, and the look of near awe and affection overtakes when he drops to his knees at your side to join in. Fuck, you and he shared him and that was something else. So they weren’t just sharing you, no, it seems like you all share each other.

The view was so good that Leslie couldn’t help palming himself through his overalls, couldn’t help coming closer, wanted to get a better look, hear some of what you were all saying. You were all distracted. He was able to manage it even more easily than normal.

By the time he was close enough, you had your fingers in Buddy’s curls, pushing him down so he was swallowing more of Sam’s cock and you said, “God, can’t he take it just so well? Almost puts me to shame.”

Sam lets out this delicious sounding moan, a small nod, still just mesmerised by the view in front of him. Gasping out, “So-so good.”

He rocked his hips up once and looked so lost in the feeling of it. He looked overwhelmed, Leslie wondered if what he said next was because he was sweet, concerned and selfless or trying to stave off cumming too fast with two talented mouths working over him. “We should be focusing on you, it’s your birthday right?”

“The man has a point.” You agree and Buddy was pulling off Sam’s dick with a wet pop and a nod, “He is right, we should be focusing on you.”

And just like that the attention was turned to you.

The speed is impressive, the way they worked together on you still had a way of taking you by surprise. They shared you exceptionally well and after so long were able to move together with you with total ease. You were pulled into Sam’s lap, he was kissing you and had his hands up your shirt in short order and Buddy was pressed behind you, his hands working on getting into your pants and you looked really damn good in that moment.

Your eyes falling closed, pressing closer to one and then the other, allowing yourself to bask in their attention, letting yourself to freely express how they made you feel, soft moans and gasping breaths, calling out their respective names in utter reverence as they pleasured you. Sam’s tongue in your mouth, Buddy had a hand in your shorts and was obviously fingering you, whispering more filth into your ears. Sam had only paused making out with you to get your shirt and bra off, tossing them aside, his hands and mouth working in tandem on your newly exposed chest. Hands cup, thumbs brush over your nipples in between indulgent sucks. This live show has Leslie’s overalls feeling far too tight.

Buddy is speaking up louder, Leslie is treated to this exchange, “Fuck, Sam, can you hear how wet they are?”

Sam pulls back, a breathy laugh, “I sure can, how you feeling?” He asks and you nod, “Mm, good, real good, ha-harder?”

“Yeah I can do that for you.” Buddy’s arm picks up the pace, your hips buck and you moan much louder, crying out a thank you and Sam’s mouth is latched back onto you.

You were squirming and moaning, grinding yourself between them and it looked like it was going to keep escalating, Leslie is convinced that you would be getting fucked out in the open by the both of them at once and fuck, it was too much.

Leslie moved quietly and carefully, and came around the fire so slowly, sickle at the ready. When he was right behind Buddy he moved forward. Sickle slices through the air, metal came down and lodged in the wood log Sam was seated on, it made the three of you jump, a frantic look and as soon as your eyes fell to him you said, “Leslie?”

Of course you recognized him. He was leaning against the handle of his sickle still stuck in the wood, stance was very casual as he said, “Hey. Hear you are a big fan. How are you enjoying your stay?”

To say you were taken aback was an understatement. Total shock, not sure what to respond with, Leslie would be lying if he said he didn’t find that at least a little bit cute, how much he got the drop on you. “Well?”

He prompted and you swallowed, Sam’s hands were covering your tits now, shielding you before you were saying, “Uh good? Real, uhm, real good.”

“Yeah I was gonna say, looks like you are all having a really good time.” He leaned down, his face much closer to yours, his eyes were interesting, full of something you wished you could define but can’t, maybe you were too shocked, his smile is however undeniably mischievous. Leslie speaks again, “So much fun I wanted to give you an offer.”

“An offer?” Buddy inquired, confused, clearly his own mind reeling and trying to contend with all this, and Leslie continued, “Yeah. See I was going to have a good time with you three tonight until you started doing all of this-”

He ripped his sickle up, you all jump and he laughs, he gestures to you with his weapon of choice, still half dressed in Sam’s lap, the three of you still pressed pretty closely together, “-but I gotta say that you all present a much better option, one that doesn’t come around here often.”

You picked up what he was putting down immediately. A phrase you had seen once before clear in your mind, fuck to survive.

The thing is you would have been down even without the potential threat of violence, although considering your choice in partners, the threat helps rather than hurts. Leslie is playing with the sickle, fingering the end of it as he is looking you all over, clearly enjoying the dynamic at hand, the power he holds in this moment, the potential of the night spread before you all. “Besides, I think it is awfully gauche to kill someone on their birthday, right?”

Gauche or not all you could think was how you were about to get simultaneously wrecked and spoiled all at once. Happy fucking birthday to you. A verbal response wasn’t what you have, what you did do was reach out, fingers caught in the torn collar of his shirt and you pulled him forward and down, giving your consent with your mouth in a different but entirely welcome fashion.

Sam was wrong, it was gonna be a good night, you could tell.

#Mourning Wood #BHF asks #Multi-May #Darklylucid #Slasher x reader #Sam Wescott X reader #Buddy Swanson X Reader #Poly!Camping Boys x reader #BHF writing

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peachisafruit · 2 months

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Recently, I've been on a trip to Greece.

It wasn't my first trip by a longshot, and surely it won't be my last. I was lucky enough as a child and up to now to yearly go on some kind of week trip, (that is if you exclude the times during covid), be it Croatia, Italy, England, etc...

What makes this trip different? Well, pretty much nothing. It wasn't life changing or mind opening. It was full of beautiful sights just like any other trip. You could feel the heat on your skin as soon as you stepped out of the plane, be it night or day, it was warm. The cities we passed through varied in architecture, yet they all had similar quirks.

It's funny how much architecture can tell you about the country and its people. The way all houses had shutter windows or AC units, to help cool the house during hot summer days. Or how they had their water tanks on the roof, so the sun could naturally heat it up to provide them with warm water.

Nature tells you a lot too, Greece- or more specifically, Crete where I was, was an island full of mountains, roads shaped like serpents, steep and narrow. You could mostly only see prickly bushes and a lot of olive trees, and I mean a lot.

Maybe I hoped the trip would be different, that I'd maybe meet someone, have that wistful 'summer love' that so many cheesy teen romcoms like to have, but I haven't. Though I'm not particularly mad about it, perhaps it would of done more damage than good. It's not like I was looking for someone in an organic way either, I'm too nervous to go out by myself with no friends, and so, tinder was my friend.

Friend is a bad word to describe this app I know. But it gave me a surge of confidence when I first downloaded it a few months ago. I didn't realize I could actually be liked by so many people and it was thrilling. I went through my first dissapointment as well, finding a girl I liked and I was thrilled thinking she liked me too, I even texted her first. But I tend to forget rationally when I get my head tangled up in romance, and obviously most people on tinder aren't looking for anything serious, or just because they matched with you doesn't mean they actually like you. But I lived, I got over my dissappointment and moved on. And I caused a dissapointment to another girl as well, I thought I liked her when we matched..but as we talked I learned that I don't. I know this will sound shitty, but I ghosted her. At the time I thought it was the better option, too afraid to actually confront her. Maybe that's how the girl I liked felt as well, maybe that's why she ghosted me. Funny how human beings tend to think alike, huh? But despite that, I still keep that app in my phone. Why? I don't know, or maybe I do. Maybe I still hope that I'll find someone for me, even if it's highly unlikely. Still, one can dream.

And that's what I hoped would of happened in Crete too. But I'm not sure why I'm desperate for love so much. I crave to be held, kissed, go on cheesy dates with someone- yet, the idea of actually dating someone scares me. Being committed to that person, scared of hurting them, scared of further intimacy, scared of-... a lot of things pretty much. Women scare me cause I'm afraid that I'm not actually attracted to them, men scare me cause the thought of intimacy terrifies me at times. But I would want to be intimate with a partner, yet I'm scared of fucking it up.

Pathetically so, maybe that's the reason why I feel so jealous about the couples around me. I see them and they seem so happy, they bounce off each other, all with their own specific quirks. And they just..work. They work together, and they look good together, and they like each other. It seems so easy to achieve for them, so much easier for my friends too. Pretty much all my friends have gotten partners this year. All so suddenly too. So I wonder why not me? Is something wrong with me? Is it my looks? I'm not perfect, I don't claim to be, hell, I admitted to ghosting a poor girl. I keep hearing the right person will come, blah blah, but what if they don't? What then? Honestly I don't know, at times, I prefer being alone, but then I have these moments where I crave I could have a partner.

So far this lowkey-essay is more about my lack luster love life then my actual trip. But that seemed to be all I could think about this summer. July is almost over and I'm still single. Maybe it's for the better, I'm going to college soon. I'll meet new people there, maybe they special someone too- or not. I'll get through it.

Maybe just because of this, I could appreciate the trip a little more. See it on my own, walk on sandy night lit beaches alone...take a trip through the palm forest with only me, my thoughts and my camera. So maybe this trip was a little different after all, or it wasn't.

Who knows.

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itsjeicelleswayblog · 2 months

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Random Questions -

So yeah! since I am not busy at work today. I would like to write something in here, but whenever I started penning, I've got nothing on my mind. So, I decided to just answer some random questions I found in google.. Hoping that few years from now, when I get to look back on this blog post, i will still have the same answers. lol

1. If you could vacation anywhere in the world, where would it be? - Well I have a lot of places in my mind, but realistic wise I would choose Georgia, because that is one my dream destination, I would like to experience their spring season. I'm so desperately craving for some vacation with my husband. 2. What is your go-to board game? - It's actually not a board game, it's a card game called in-between. This game is very memorable for me because I used to play it with my cousins and whenever we do, there's an endless laughter and it's super fun. We get to bond and play at the same time. I feel very emotional, because we aren't the same as before. Time fuckinly passed so fast that we're all grown ups now and have our own personal lives to live and so we don't get to bond as before.

3. What are two things still on your bucket list? - To visit Jerusalem, because as a christian, ofcours our goal is to atleast visit Jesus' grave and where he was born. I know it will be very epic! Russell and I have been planning to visit Israel soon! another one will be Petra in Jordan. What sports did you play growing up? - I don't do any sports growing up hahaha, not sporty here.. But I remember playing volley ball in HS as taga pulot ng bola. Do you currently live in the same place where you were born? - No, I was borin in PH and I am currently living and working in Dubai, UAE. Where is your favorite place in the world? - Cliche but my fave place in the world is anywhere na andon yung husband ko hahaha.. I'm a husband girl so kahit san sya andon ako and that's my favorite place. If you are cooking for only yourself - what is your favorite dish to make? - egg. Whenever I cook myself for my self it will be 2 omellette eggs and 1 sunny side up plus half bottle of banana ketchup. What are two things you never leave the house without? - Phone. In dubai it's my transpo card, my wallet, my data, my everything. HAHAHA Which snacks are your must-haves for a road trip? - I don't usually eat during roadtrips but I must have some caffein, Iced Caramel macchiatto or Spanish Latte or any Iced coffee lol. What is your most valuable possession? - I don't have any haha. I a cheap girl. chariz. Do you often remember your dreams? - Yes! Idk but I always remember my dreams. Sometimes I also dream in my dreams lol haha. When you were a child, what did you want to be when you grew up? - When I was a child, I want to be a Computer Engr. HAHAHA I thought that was cool back then. But growing up during entrance exam for college, I was told that I can choose any course but IT and Comp.Engr. funny. What does your ideal day look like? - I want to stay home and someday just take care of my own little fam.

This post is from my drafts from 2023

#October 2023

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musicarenagh · 3 months

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Behind My Eyelids: Micki XO Talks Mental Health and Musical Inspiration Portland's own Micki XO has captivated listeners with her introspective and hauntingly beautiful music. She's this Portland singer who's been blowing up lately. Her new song "Behind My Eyelids" is intense - all about mental health struggles and finding peace. It's got this haunting vibe with synths and drums that really gets under your skin. Micki's been around since 2020, always talking about real stuff like mental health and relationships. You can tell she's inspired by artists like Halsey and Tate McRae - her lyrics are super raw and honest. I was reading this interview with her, and it's wild how she turns her pain into music. It's like, you feel less alone listening to her, you know? she brings a raw honesty to her lyrics that resonates deeply with her audience. She's definitely making waves in the dreamy electronic pop world. The interview digs into how she writes songs and what inspired "Behind My Eyelids." It's cool to see an artist tackle the tough parts of life but make it sound beautiful at the same time. Definitely worth checking out if you're into that kind of music. Watch Behind My Eyelids below https://youtu.be/UXuA5W488qM Follow Micki XO on Linktree Facebook Spotify Soundcloud Bandcamp Youtube Instagram Songkick What is your stage name My stage name is Micki XO. Is there a story behind your stage name? It was originally just going to be "Micki", but it turns out that name was already taken. Micki is my childhood nickname that my dad gave me, and the XO drumkit is my favorite plugin that my producer uses (I'm a sucker. for some dirty bass and drums), so I combined them to come up with the name "Micki XO". Where do you find inspiration? I find inspiration in almost anything, but I'd say most of my music is inspired by mental health. I'm bipolar, and I was misdiagnosed for 11 years. While I was misdiagnosed, I never felt like anyone understood what I was going through, always brushed off my symptoms, and I felt incredibly alone in the world. I always wished I had music or something I could connect with to help get me through it. I may have been diagnosed correctly sooner if I had. I want to be that person for someone, so I write based off of my own experiences, as well as the stories of others that I hear on the topic of mental health/being bipolar in most of my music. What was the role of music in the early years of your life? In the early years of my life, I wasn't a musician yet, but music always got me through tough times. It would give me an escape I desperately craved, and it helped me connect to peeple when I wasn't sure how to connect with them. I have strong memories of my sisters and I taking road trips, growing up together, and burning CD's to some of our favorite songs. Back in the day, it was our form of communication with each other, essentially. Are you from a musical or artistic family? I don't, actually! My family all works in healthcare and tech, for the most part. I've always been the black sheep in that sense, but I've never been able to see myself going down those paths myself. Art is and has always been my life. Who inspired you to be a part of the music industry? It actually was a community of people who inspired me. I had just gotten out of an abusive relationship, and didn't know what to do with myself, didn't know who I was, and felt like I was completely broken. I was driving one night and saw a sign for karaoke at a local bar. I decided to go in and sing, because I have always loved singing in the car and shower, and just felt like I had nothing to lose by trying it. Turns out, I had everything to gain! I sang, and felt more like myself that I maybe ever had. I kept going back there, and after a few months, I started making a group of friends. One of them introduced me to their friend who does production, and I decided to start writing music with him. 4 years later, and we are an unstoppable force!

[caption id="attachment_56165" align="alignnone" width="1335"] It actually was a community of people who inspired me. I had just gotten out of an abusive relationship, and didn't know what to do with myself[/caption] How did you learn to sing/write/to play? I am actually almost completely self-taught. I started taking voice lessons and piano lessons about a year ago with an incredibly talented friend of mine to get better, but before that, I didn't really know what I was doing. Just kind of let my soul take me where I needed to go. I just use my instincts to help me feel out what I want the song to convey and go from there. What was the first concert that you ever went to and who did you see perform? My first ever concert was a free concert at the local mall. Our local radio station put on a show with Avril Lavigne, and I went and saw her. I caught a radio station sticker that they rained down on the audience from the top level and kept that sticker for over 10 years because of the memory. How could you describe your music? My music is pop that meets industrial srangeness. I don't like to define myself in one genre usually, but that's the best way I could describe all the different parts of it. I just write and make what I'm feeling. I don't like to put myself in a certain box, becuase that's who I am. A woman of many parts all thrown together into one interesteing human. My music is similar. I've done styles from acoustic pop all the way to songs that have EDM sounds. I think every song is like a person, it's different and demands its own respect and identity. What musician do you admire most and why? If I had to narrow it down to one, I honestly couldn't. I'm inspired by so many different musicians, but I would say my top three are Halsey, Billie Eilish, and Phantogram. Halsey because I love her music and because she pours her soul into every track so honestly. She was the first person to make me feel like I wasn't alone. Billie Eilish because she takes musical risks, isn't afraid to be herself, and like me, doesn't fit in any one box. She's a pioneer for so many musicians and the industry as a whole, all at such a young age! And Phantogram, because their music speaks to my soul. They are also a pioneer of music, combining rock sounds with pop with EDM sounds. It's inspired and I've never heard anything like them. Did your style evolve since the beginning of your career? Yes, a lot! I started out with a song I wrote in 10 minutes. I had never written music, and I had never learned any rules of songwriting. It made the song unique and original, and I still love it with all my heart, but now that I've learned the rules a bit more, I have kept that uniquness and originality, and crafted it in a more refined way. I've gone from inspirations that everyone knows, to being inspired by artist my friends have never heard of. I've stopped caring what people think of my music and started writing for ME. That has been the best part of my evolution of music. Who do you see as your main competitor? I don't like seeing other musicians as compeitors, honestly. I like being inspired by them, learning from them, and if I get the chance to, working with them. We are all chasing our dreams at high costs, and I think it's important to support one another. What are your interests outside of music? My other interests actually became my day job! I'm a Graphic Designer and Photographer, and art direct all my cover art. As I said before, I've never known a life where art wasn't my main focus, even if it's in different forms. If it wasn't a music career, what would you be doing? I would say I'd be a Graphic Designer and Photographer, but honestly, I've never felt more of a rush, more of a satisfaction, and more of a purpose than I have with music. I can't see myself doing anything else. What is the biggest problem you have encountered in the journey of music? I think it's a problem that most people I know have encountered and what holds them back: the costs.

Music is exremely expensive and time consuming. If you have those resources, it makes a huge difference. I wouldn't say I don't have them, but I also wouldn't say I have a plethora of them either. It's a tough line to walk without them. If you could change one thing in the music industry, what would it be? One word: greed. There is so much greed from people. The labels that want to give you a "loan", the people profiting of of your artwork who did not help build it, and the greed that some people have to not support others in the industry. There are definitely good people in the business, but it can be tough having to watch your back all the time to not get taken advantage of. https://open.spotify.com/artist/2UqmpmQDScS5rz5WsQaFCA?si=QmIHhBViQjiIE3LaTqaAxw Why did you choose this as the title of this project? I chose it because the pain I feel is largely in my head, thoughts, and introspectiveness. It's not on the outside. It's behind my eyelids, where people can't see it, but it still exists and screams at me. What are your plans for the coming months? I don't want to give anything away, so I'll just say some very big things are in store, and I can't wait to share them with you all! Do you have any artistic collaboration plans? I do! I'm currently working on a song with the very talented Zane Thomas, as well as an artist I just started chattiing with named Jayme Graves. They're both amazing people and artist and I can't wait to work with them! Stay on the lookout for our relaeases! What message would you like to give to your fans? I would like to leave you all with two things. The first being how grateful I am of all your support. I would be nothing without the people who help bring my art to life, whether that's my producers, my social media team, my label, or each and every person who likes, comments, or comes to shows. You all are the reason I write music, and you are all people that I am eternally grateful are a part of my journey. The other thing is that don't let anyone tell you that you are just one thing. I am more than my mental illness, just like you are more than just your struggles, your looks, or your status. People are all capable of being their best self and achieving your dreams. You just have to work hard, and most importantly, never give up!

#Interviews #BehindMyEyelids #BehindMyEyelidsbyMickiXO #BehindMyEyelidsfromMickiXO #BehindMyEyelidsMickiXO #MICKIXO #MickiXOBehindMyEyelids #MickiXOdropsBehindMyEyelids #MickiXOoutwithBehindMyEyelids #MickiXOreleasesBehindMyEyelids #MickiXOwithBehindMyEyelids

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juddygirl · 2 years

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M & S 🥰

Hello lovely, I hope you're good.

M - Got any premises on the back burner that you'd care to share?

I have 4 other fics with a few lines written on it. Two of them quite sad. But the one I'm excited about is this:

“Come on, Max. Focus.” The host says, in a smooth and focused voice. Max had to turn down the radio to stop the echo. “If you’ve just tuned in, we have Kyle and Max on the line, both answering questions to win a road trip on the mythical Route 66. So far, Max is second, with 18 points. If he answers this correctly, he wins this wonderful two weeks trip for two. Radio Magnum has already paid for it all. He’ll only need to pack and get to the airport.” The host drags on. Just ask your stupid question. I want the PS5, Max thinks. He’s entered this stupid contest just for the second prize. He tried to get one for over six months now. He’s a little desperate, it’s an understatement. He’s tried everything, even lost a couple of hundred euros in a scam. He wants it desperately. He’s been saving money since he learned it would be out.

It's Maxiel, of course, because what else can I write? And alternative universe as well. I want to do a bit more research on road 66 before I fully write it but I'm excited for this one.

S: Any fandom tropes you can't resist?

ohhh good question. I love hurt/comfort ones, and lately I've been craving some yearning in silence. Like Daniel finally coming to term with the fact that he's deeply in love with Max but the timing isn't right.

Thank you so much, It was really fun ❤️

#tag #fic #dm3rv

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seasonofthewicth · 3 years

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nobody does it like you do - act 1

I'm finally back with some more rowaelin! I started this fic in november last year and wrote the first 10k in 24 hours, but from then on this fic was a struggle... Thank you so, so much to @morganofthewildfire for sharing so much of your time to help me with this, this fic would not be here without you 💗 I'm so happy to have finally finished it and can share it on here. I hope you enjoy

CW: past drug abuse, minor character death, violence

7.7k - masterlist - ao3

When her agent sends her the script it’s not the first time she’s heard of Rowan Whitethorn, his name is written at the top under the heading director, which itself is under the big red text reading confidential. He’s been at this stuff for a while now, directed a couple of movies that popped up on her radar but that nothing ever came of for her, and he’s well known in the business.

He was even nominated for an Oscar a couple of years ago, and she watched the ceremony with Lysandra, slapping the bills into her outstretched hand when he didn’t win.

His movie had been far too fucking raw for him to have won, she knew that, a tale about a group of kids who witnessed a murder and how it stayed with them and fucked them up into adulthood, but it had stuck with her nonetheless and she’d put her money on him anyway.

She reads the section of script Dorian has sent her, tucked up in bed with a glass of sparkling water and her most comfortable sweater, leaning back into the mountain of expensive pillows she had Elide buy for her and pondering how so much money could end up so uncomfortable, and she knows it’s something special.

She realises she wants this role, almost to an uncomfortable degree, when she’s about five lines in. The heroine is bratty and rash, but serious and pained in a way that makes her completely fleshed out and Aelin wants to play her, wants to be her and embody her in a way that takes her out of the pit she’s in.

She hopes this could be what gets her out of it.

Aedion had tried to pull her out, gods bless him, dropping by her apartment every morning for weeks to check up on her with a coffee in his hand, topped with cream and two sugars the way he knows she likes. Each morning he let himself in with her spare key, the one she gave to him the day she moved in, wanting him to be able to let himself in whenever he wanted but also knowing there was no one else she wanted to give it to.

She would have given it to Sam, would have given everything to Sam, but he’s gone and she’s left sitting here, wondering how to salvage what’s left of her reputation.

What reputation she had even managed to build after starring in one mediocre TV show and a handful of low-budget movies. She knows deep down, and in a way her brain likes to remind her of when she’s at her lowest, that the main reason she isn’t a complete nobody is because she’s Evalin Ashryver’s daughter. Her therapist tells her every time she bothers to go to a session that having a famous mother doesn’t mean she’s a failure and that she has to recognise each of her successes as her own. She nods along every time, but she doesn’t believe her. What has she managed to accomplish truly on her own?

It hasn’t been made public yet that Rowan Whitethorn is involved in the film, she only knows because Chaol wrote the whole script himself and texted her to let her know when he signed on to direct. She’s known Chaol since she was eighteen and took her first solo trip to Rifthold, drawn to the lights of the big city and the almost magnetic pull of the heart of the industry. He’d stumbled upon her in a club she was far too young to be in and had pulled her out, sending her home in a cab that he paid for. Looking back she was grateful for his attempt to avoid what she knew later was an inevitability.

She had cursed him when he told her she’d still have to audition, but she gets it. She hasn’t exactly behaved in a way recently that makes people want to take a chance on her.

Stumbling out of clubs, eyes as wide as saucers and high as a fucking kite isn’t the kind of star casting directors are desperate to hire, but she’s trying to be better. She’s promised those around her that she’ll be better, and she knows that the only reason she hasn’t ended up in rehab is that she has an incredible therapist and a highly persuasive manner of dealing with her friends and family. The only reason they’ve taken that chance on her is time, and she’s grateful for that mercy.

She turns the page, hitting the final line for the third time. Chaol’s script is so good she’s read the few pages she’s been sent over and over.

She only reads scripts in physical copies, takes the time to print them out using her shitty printer that belongs right back in 2008, and she knows it’s wasteful but she allows herself that small luxury of the crisp paper in her hand as she delves into each new world. Her character is in the middle of a teary monologue that she knows exactly how she’d do, the way she’d halt her breath and choke out the words-- it’s not her character. Yet.

The audition is next week, and she’ll work her ass off to make sure she’s ready. Her usual pre-audition ritual involves taking up far too much of Lysandra’s time to practice reading the lines and filming herself time after time, take after take, and watching it back in the unholy hours of night until she’s happy she’s made an improvement.

Or at least that’s how she used to do it, nothing has made her want a role like this in a long while. She worries as she bites her lip, that wanting something this much means she’s getting over Sam. That maybe one day she won’t think of him and hear the pounding in her ears, won’t feel the lightheadedness that comes with a memory of their time together. Worries that if she forgets the sounds of his screams she’s failing him somehow.

She takes another sip of her sparkling water. It’s poured into a wine glass so she can at least pretend she’ll get the relaxation she craves. Alcohol was never one of her vices but she finds it’s better to be safe than sorry. It’s unhealthy as far as coping mechanisms go, but she’s been worse so it’s going down as a win.

Chaol told her some guy called Brullo is casting this one. She’s never heard of him, which is kind of rare. She’s been on the periphery of this bubble for pretty much her entire life, following her mother around her own movie sets and sitting on the wooden directors chair when her legs still dangled off the side, but if he’s like any other casting director in Adarlan she knows how to impress him.

When she reaches the last line of the part of the script she’s been sent, her mind wanders again to Rowan Whitethorn.

He’s the kind of director up and coming actors can only hope to one day work with, even though she’s pretty sure he can’t be much more than thirty, he’s built himself to a level where he can be choosy with his projects.

It's a well deserved privilege. Each of his works has stayed with her after watching, his style is gritty and dark, but grounded in a way that leaves her empty each time after finishing.

She wants this, and she buries the guilt she feels for that. Sam would want her to want this. She deserves it, or at least she hopes she can come to.

Dorian books her a mid-morning flight so she doesn’t have to wake too early before the audition, he’s a damn good agent and one she definitely doesn’t deserve with his seemingly endless patience, but she’s continuously grateful for him.

Aelin styles herself for it, ties her hair back and leaves the makeup to a minimum in a way that she hopes shows them she’s right for the part, that she can be the insecure little girl who experiences far too much. She knows she doesn’t have the sheltered innocence the character has, but she’s an actress and this is what she does. Aelin pretends for a living.

He’s also booked her a room in a pretty nice hotel for the night, she’s not sure whether he’s used her meagre acting funds or the funds from the account she knows he mom throws money into every month. It’s an argument she and Evalin have had repeatedly, she wants to stand on her own two feet, but she never protests too hard. The account kept the roof over her head when she was too busy snorting her life away to consider where her next paycheck would come from.

Aelin throws herself backwards into the crisp white bedding on the hotel room bed and takes a deep breath. The only luggage she brought with her is a carry on slung somewhere by the door and the room feels too empty to sit here and wait for the car that’s arriving to take her to the studio in just over an hour. If she sits here and waits the nerves will only build, and then she’ll itch for something to take the edge off.

She picks her phone up to text her cousin.

Jet lag from a 2 hour flight. Who would have thought?

Aelin waits two minutes for a reply, locking and unlocking her phone as she sits there, but one doesn’t come. Aedion’s probably at a training session and not checking his phone. Aelin runs a hand through her hair, careful not to dislodge the pins she placed carefully in it this morning, she needs to stop using him as her crutch. She knows he doesn’t mind, but it’s not right either way.

She needs to get out of this room.

The streets of Rifthold are busy and crammed as she meanders down them, clutching the takeout coffee cup she bought from a vendor with a stall at the side of the road.

People pay her no mind as she walks, the oversized shades hide her eyes that she knows are a dead giveaway for her membership of the Ashryver line. Even if she didn’t wear them, everybody else here wants to be someone, and so far she can still blend in if she tries.

She sends a text to the assistant organising the audition, it’s kind of shitty of her but she keeps it brief because she can’t remember their name, letting them know the car isn’t needed anymore and that she’ll make her own way there. She needs the stroll through the streets to clear her head.

Aelin needs to nail it. She hasn’t felt the twisting of desire so sharp in her stomach for a long time and the only way she’ll manage it is with a clear head.

She alternates her breathing with sips of her coffee, the taste is bitter but she keeps drinking. She pulls her phone out to check the directions to the studio.

Spontaneous isn’t a word Aelin would use to describe herself anymore, any longing to go with the flow died the minute she lost control. It’s safer now to plan, to make sure she won’t lead herself astray.

Brullo is a man in his mid forties, with dashes of grey seasoned through his muddy brown hair, and kind lines around his eyes as he smiles and shakes her hand. Aelin wipes the sweat off her palm on her jeans before clasping her hand in his.

The audition goes about as well as she can hope for, she remembers every line, and the other casting director is fairly natural reading the lines for her to act against. Aelin swallows back her tears after she finishes, trying to keep what dignity she can to end the audition when there’s snot threatening to run down her upper lip. It was a brutal scene to start with, but if she can pull this off she can surely manage the rest.

Brullo’s expression is carefully guarded as she leaves, giving nothing away, but Aelin thinks she did a good job, which is all she could have ever hoped for.

She’s staring at the tiled floor, mulling over Brullo’s parting words, thanks Aelin, our people will be in touch, when she hits something hard and warm.

She’s too busy dissecting those eight words to register exactly who it is with their hands clamped around the top of her arms, steadying her as she stumbles, but she looks up and her gaze meets that of a pair of striking, green eyes.

The man gripping her is easily over a head taller than her, broad and strong enough that she fights back the shiver that wants to roll through her at his touch. He’s staring down at her, the strong planes of his face drawn into a deep frown, with his strangely coloured eyebrows pulled in.

They’re a kind of silver that matches his short cut hair, and it shines in the fluorescent light of the hallway in a way that it can only be natural, but she’s never seen a shade quite like it.

“Sorry,” she manages to stutter out, still thrown from the vulnerability of her audition.

“It’s alright.” His voice burns through the words, his accent rolling in a way that raises hairs down the back of her neck. He flashes her a dangerous grin and she steadies herself. She knows what that look means. She’s used to the male attention, and as much as she hates to acknowledge it, she knows her looks are an element of how she’s got as far as she has. That and her family’s name.

The decision of whether to register in the guild as Aelin Ashryver or Aelin Galathynius was one she had spent hours deliberating over. Did she want the level of independence Galathynius would give her, or the reputation being an Ashryver would bring?

The man releases his grip on her shoulders, but not before running his hands down her arms until he reaches her wrists which he releases with a light squeeze. She takes an almost imperceptible step back, leaning back to breathe some air into her lungs. All she ends up doing is filling her mind with this man’s smell, inviting and intoxicating, a delicious combination of pine trees and snowy winter mornings.

“I don’t usually go around slamming into people like this,” she tells him, letting some of her snark slip through. He’s said two words to her so far but she knows he can take it, and she wants to play.

His grin becomes even more wicked and it truly is a sight to see. This man is built like a god; broad, muscular shoulders stretching the white button up he wears and she spies the dark lines of a tattoo threatening to slip past his collar.

It’s been a couple of months since her last mindless hook-up, and this man would more than do. The mischief glimmering in his eyes tells her he’d know how to make her gasp and beg.

“Slam into me anytime.” His words are a sensual croon and her mouth drops open slightly, but he sidesteps her before she can manage to speak again, nodding towards the door she’s come through. “Good luck with whatever you were here for.”

With that he’s gone, leaving her to turn and watch the way his grey slacks pull against his thighs as he walks away from her.

Aelin tries not to think too much about the outcome of the audition, and flies back to Orynth in economy class with a sleep mask tucked over her eyes lest she be recognised when all she wants to do is curl up in bed and be alone for a bit. That or get fucking wasted, and she can’t do that.

She tries far too hard to forget about the man from the hallway, forget about the way his voice had rumbled deep in her chest and the tug in her belly that his words had sent through her.

She begs Elide to come to a bar with her, and she agrees. Aelin needs to pay her more, maybe change her title from publicist to publicist-come-part-time-therapist-and-life-saver. Aelin’s not sure she has the budget for that really.

Elide would smack her if she knew Aelin’s thoughts. Would scold her for looking at Elide just like an employee as if they weren’t childhood friends and Elide hadn’t been there holding her hand through the whole Sam thing. As if she, Lysandra and Aedion hadn’t been her only reason for being here now.

A bar might be a risk, but she can sip her sparkling water while she browses the small selection of men that Orynth has to offer.

She enjoys the easy conversation she has with Elide, chatting about what their friends have been up to, even though most of them are mainly Elide’s friends at this point. After Sam she stopped speaking to everyone but those who were necessary. She couldn’t manage any more than that.

“You should come with us next time,” Elide is saying as she sips her own lemonade. Aelin knows Elide would normally choose a crisp glass of white wine over a lemonade and her sobriety solidarity touches her heart.

“Maybe,” she shrugs, noncommittal.

The look Elide wears tells her she’s debating pushing the issue for the millionth time against the risk that Aelin would pull back again. She hates that she does this to her friends so she sighs.

“Text me next time,” she tries. “I’ll see if I’m free.”

Elide offers her a thankful smile, and Aelin returns it, trying to tell herself this is what she needs and that she shouldn’t just stay locked up thinking about Sam.

There’s a dark haired guy at the bar catching her eye, his jeans are far too tight and his shirt is ridiculous, but she can see the body beneath and his face is striking. Elide notices her stare and smirks.

She likely knows why Aelin invited her out tonight, but doesn’t mind. Lorcan’s probably waiting for her at the home they share, waiting for her to come back so they can be in love. Aelin hates the bastard, except she doesn’t. She introduced her friend to the tall, dark and grouchy hockey player at the wrap party for the shit teen movie she did a couple of years back, and she’s big enough to admit she wants what they have.

She had what they have.

What’s left in her glass slips down her throat easily in one mouthful and she promises to text Elide tomorrow before slipping out of the booth and over to the guy at the bar.

“You going to just stare at me all night?” She asks with a sly smile. “Or did you plan on doing something about it at some point?”

His smile makes him look even more attractive.

“Maybe I was waiting for you to make the first move, a beautiful girl like you can be intimidating.”

It’s a shit line and she rolls her eyes, but tugs him into a cab back to her place anyway.

“Please.” Her voice shakes as she begs. “Please don’t do this.”

The man in front of them scoffs and Sam squeezes her hand, his palm rough against her own.

“Aelin, baby. It’s okay, just do what he says.”

He lets go of her hand and turns back to the guy in front of them. His face is covered by a black mask, only two slits show her the dark brown of his eyes. She can barely look away from the knife he holds out in front of himself, it’s pointed at Sam but that doesn’t make her feel any better, it makes her feel worse in fact.

“Your wallet,” the guy demands.

Tears are rolling down her cheeks, fat and hot, as she fishes around in her bag for her purse.

“Just dump the whole thing,” the guy growls, irritated, but she’s pretty sure she’s going into shock and she can’t focus. Can’t breathe.

Sam’s voice is steady by her side as he throws his own wallet onto the street in front of them.

“Alright, man. We’re doing everything you say.”

“Hands up.” The mugger’s voice is sharp. “Don’t fucking move.”

She raises her arms straight in the air, trying to control the way her hands are shaking and the attacker ducks down to grab their things.

She lets out a tiny whimper and feels Sam spin to her, his eyes begging her to trust him. No, she shakes her head.

“I said don’t fucking move,” the guy yells and lunges for Sam.

His scream cuts the night air and she whirls, hands dropping into the air between them as he drops to the ground. The mugger takes off, sprinting down the empty street and she falls to her knees by Sam’s side.

In the dark, the pool spilling out across the floor by Sam’s side just looks black, but she knows that really it’s red. She’s not stupid. His face is twisted in pain and her hands flutter around his torso before she manages to pull back the flap of his jacket.

There’s a hole in his white t-shirt and now her jeans are wet where she kneels.

She needs her phone, needs to call someone who can make this all better, but her phone is gone.

She presses her hands against his side and his eyes shutter closed as he gasps. His breathing is stuttered and uneven.

“Sam. Sam, no,” she cries. “I’ll get help. You’re okay.”

“Aelin.” He raises a hand to press against her cheek, and the blood on it is sticky and warm.

“No, Sam. No, stay with me.”

The scream that tears through her throat will hurt tomorrow but now she barely feels it. “HELP!”

His breathing becomes much quicker as she presses on his side and screams again.

She knows abstractly that she’s crying, tears and snot streaming down her face as she desperately presses her hands against his side.

There’s a strong arm around her waist, tugging her back and away from Sam, and she screams one word over and over.

“No, no, no, no.”

There are people here now, leaning over Sam, leaning over his body.

“NO.”

Aelin gasps as she launches up in her bed. The sheets are stuck to her clammy skin and her head flies to the side. The guy is gone, the side of the bed he occupied when she fell asleep now cold. Good.

She lives it over and over in her dreams, sees the dark street more often than not, feels the phantom warmth of his blood down her legs. Wakes screaming herself hoarse just as she did that night. She doesn’t normally let people stay the night. Even when Aedion tried for the first few weeks after the fact, she couldn’t sleep, couldn’t turn her brain off for even a second. Every time she closed her eyes she was back on that street, begging and pleading for him to open his eyes.

She grasps at her side for the switch of her bedside lamp and flicks it on. Her room is cold and empty and she hasn’t had it in her to decorate past the basics so it’s plain and impersonal when she looks around, trying to calm her breathing.

She checks the time. 6:25am. Not bad, she must have managed about six hours of sleep last night, and it’s more than she usually gets.

There're a few texts waiting in her inbox, including one from Elide, and she expects it to be a request to let her know that she got home safe but it’s not.

Call me as soon as you wake up.

Sent at 6:02am. Elide is a chronic overworker, no matter how much Aelin begs her to stick to a 9 to 5 schedule, but she couldn't imagine her friend any other way. The smiling emoji at the end of the text lets her know it’s nothing she needs to panic about, so she takes a moment to scroll through her other messages. It’s unusual for her to wake up to so many.

She clicks on her conversation with Dorian, the only message she can see, his most recent one, just says Aelin. He has sent her nine messages while she slept, and she scrolls up to reach the first one.

Aelin, you did it. You booked the Rowan Whitethorn movie.

Her heart pounds in her chest, running into overdrive as she processes the words on her screen.

She got the part. She fucking did it.

This is one of those moments she knows she’ll remember.

Dorian has forwarded over a number of contracts and official things but she ignores them in favour of dialling Elide’s number.

“Aelin!” Her friend’s voice is breathy when she answers. “Congratulations, I knew you could do it.”

“Thanks, El.” A pause where she takes a deep breath in. “I can’t believe it.”

She falls back onto her mattress, pressing a fist to her lips as she smiles, eyes closed, almost giddy as she listens to her friend talk.

“They’re putting a press release out today at 12:30, announcing you and the male lead, who I haven’t found out yet but I will.”

“Oh my gods,” she sighs, covering her eyes with a clammy hand.

“I know,” Elide laughs.

She allows herself one tear as she stares up at the white of her ceiling.

This is big, she can feel it.

Later her phone buzzes as Elide sends her links to two different articles breaking the news.

Fenrys Moonbeam and Aelin Ashryver to star in new Chaol Westfall drama. More to follow.

Rowan Whitethorn signs on to direct The Crescent City, the latest project from Chaol Westfall (Throne of Glass, The King’s Hand & more).

She presses the phone to her chest as she lets out a sigh of relief.

It all moves pretty quickly from that point.

She’s on a plane back to Rifthold the next day and Chaol has sent over the whole script for her to read on the plane, bypassing Dorian completely even though that’s how it normally goes and she knows the two are like brothers.

Chaol was the one to introduce her to Dorian, and they kind of took her under their showbiz wings in the first few years she began to get really serious about acting.

They gave her the inside scoop, having been in the industry for a few more years than her. Chaol writing and making movies and Dorian doing all the background stuff like contracts and negotiations and exposure. They took her to their wrap parties that everyone knows are just networking events and introduced her to some of the big names in the industry without so much as batting an eyelid, and she knows she owes them a lot.

The script is phenomenal, and she has to try and hide the tears that form when she reaches the end, it probably wouldn’t be the best start to the project, being photographed crying on the plane on the way to start shooting. It really is some of Chaol’s best work, and she sends him a text when she lands that says fuck you, I hate it, but his reply lets her know he knows she’s joking.

It tells the story of her character, Feyre, and how she’s dragged into selling drugs to pay for her mom’s hospital bills. Along the way she meets Fenrys Moonbeam’s character, Rhysand, the glowering bad-boy who’s well established in the gang and together they see some shit and do some shit but manage to get out together. The topics are kind of cliché and over done, but Chaol has managed to add a level of originality to it that makes it really special.

It’s heavier on the romance than Rowan Whitethorn’s previous projects, but it’s gritty enough that she can see why he’s signed on. It’s going to be hard, she knows this, and it will really push her to her limits trying to embody the range of emotions her character goes through. But she wants it, and she will make her performance incredible if it fucking kills her.

There’s a niggling part of her brain that reminds her that she’s surrounded by some big names on this project, names that are big for a reason, and she can’t let them hiring her be a mistake.

She sends Chaol a follow up text, wtf are these names btw???

He ignores her.

When she’s in the car taking her to the apartment the studio is renting out for her while they film she decides to take a little trip through Instagram and look up her new co-star. Fenrys is a household name by now, a couple of years in after his debut, but it can’t hurt to know a little more about her leading man.

f.moonbeam01 comes up as the first option when the types the three letters f e n into the search bar and he has over eleven million followers.

Shit.

Not that she needs a reminder but it slaps her in the face that this is actually big. Aelin only has a few thousand followers herself and Elide has already told her to prepare herself for that to rise.

His Instagram is a mixture of mostly photos of himself, some selfies and some professional shots, and he’s obviously gorgeous. His deep brown complexion playing well against his golden curls with a straight strong nose and flawless white teeth. He’s definitely leading man material, and she can tell just how charming his grin is even through a screen.

There are also promo pictures for all the movies he’s involved in at the moment, there are at least three projects he has coming out this year. Damn.

His most recent picture is a screenshot of the article announcing their casting, and he’s actually tagged her in the photo along with Rowan himself. She hasn’t seen the tag until now, it’s normally Elide’s job as her publicist to tackle the professional side to her social media, but there’s 6.4 million likes on the photo.

Again, shit.

She can’t help herself from clicking onto Rowan’s account, rowanwhitethorn is a pretty simple handle. He only has 27 posts, most of them are behind the scenes shots from projects, one with his classic director’s chair that has his surname printed across the back in thick white lettering, and a few pictures of different cameras and pieces of equipment.

There’s only one picture of him on there, and it’s from 2017. He has his back to the camera and the sunset behind him lends a shadow that covers all of his features. Very artsy she muses to herself as she double taps the screen to like it, he probably won’t see anyway, the notification will probably get lost in the ones his account no doubt gets from his 2 million followers. The only thing she can gather from the photo about his physical appearance is that he has pretty broad shoulders.

She’s tempted to google him, wanting to know what he looks like, but she feels a bit too much like a stalker, and she knows she’ll meet him in a couple of days anyway so she leaves it and pulls up her emails to reply to the seemingly endless list of forms she has to fill out and send back to Dorian.

The apartment she’s living in for the next few months is modern and airy, with clean lines and bright decor. Aelin likes it, and while it’s not hers in the same way as her home back in Orynth, it’s far better than a hotel room that lower budget movies tend to shove actors in. Another reminder that this time is different, there’s a bigger budget than she’s used to, bigger names than she’s used to, and she can’t fuck this up. There’s more eyes on her now than ever before.

She sends Elide a picture of her new bedroom and her friend just replies with a bunch of exclamation marks and she forwards the picture across to Lysandra too. Aelin wanders through to the kitchen, wondering if anyone bothered to stock the kitchen, not that she can’t do groceries herself, it would just be nice. She’s delighted to find a fridge full of fresh produce and gets about making herself a dish of pasta and veggies.

She tucks herself in front of the big television, munching away as she watches some National Geographic documentary about whales and it helps to take her mind off the fact that this is her last night of peace for a while. She’s trying not to get too in her head about it, there’s a fine line between knowing it’s a big deal and freaking the fuck out about it, and she needs to stay on the right side of that line, needs to keep herself in check.

If she allows herself a moment to relax, a moment to sink into the situation and bask in the opportunity; she’s excited.

And depending on how well this movie does, she knows she may not have another night like this one. Somehow the thought doesn’t seem to scare her.

Lysandra calls her as she’s waiting for the car to arrive to take her to the studio, it's day one of their table read today and she’s tired. She spent all of last night tossing and turning, unable to shut her mind off and panicking over every single detail of how this day could go.

She’s lucky it’s only a table read, she’s not sure even a professional make-up artist would be able to cover the dark circles under her eyes.

“Hello, you.” Lysandra’s voice is cheery through the phone and Aelin smiles, she’s really missed Lysandra and hasn’t taken nearly enough time to seek her out during her recent whirlwind. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

They had texted since the news dropped, but with Lysandra shooting a campaign for a brand she can’t remember somewhere over in the Southern Continent they haven’t had time yet for a call.

“Thanks Lys,” she says as she gets into the back of the sleek black car that the studio has sent for her, tucking her small black backpack onto the seat next to her. It’s all she can use at this point, any other bag just makes her think of that night.

“How’s it going? Have you met everyone yet?”

Lysandra runs in these circles of A list celebrities and Aelin wouldn't be surprised if she already knew Fenrys. She met Lysandra when they were teens; years before her first show for Victoria’s Secret, years before she was walking for people like Gucci and Prada, and they stayed close when they were both living off cheap ramen and thin strands of hope. Aelin likes to tease her about hanging with a lowly C-lister like herself but Lysandra is always quick to quip that she’s maybe a G-lister at a push.

That could change.

“I haven’t met anyone so far, but I’m literally on my way to meet everyone now.”

“That’s exciting, you’ll have to let me know if Fenrys Moonbeam is really that good looking in person.”

“So you don’t already know him?” she asks, teasing. Maybe Lysandra doesn’t know quite everyone.

“Oh you know, apart from every week-end when we hook-up, we’re not really that good friends.”

Aelin laughs, mostly to herself, knowing that somewhere out there that probably is a story that’s cropped up in some cheap tabloid. She knows there’s probably some dating rumours about herself and Fenrys already even though she’s still yet to meet him. It’s just how it is, she knows this, has known this since she was old enough to read the stories about her parents’ messy divorce.

“What does Aedion have to say about that, hm?”

“Oh, he joins us obviously!” Lysandra’s laugh is bright and loud through the grainy speaker.

No-one is more desperate for Aedion to propose to Lysandra than Aelin, not even the magazines, desperate for a scoop of the golden couple, quarterback for the Rifthold Ravens and the world-famous supermodel.

“I think I’ve heard enough, thanks,” Aelin laughs as the car pulls through security checks at the studio. “Lys, I have to go, I’ve just got to the studio.”

“Okay, good luck! Promise you’ll call me later though and let me know how it goes.”

She needs to make sure she puts aside a minute to catch up properly with Lysandra, she’s been slacking recently and she knows her friend misses her. She misses Lysandra too, and Aedion. Maybe she’ll stay with them for a couple of days when she gets a break from filming, she can probably see them far more often now that she’s in Rifthold too.

“I promise,” she agrees. “Tell Aedion to make sure he spoils you from me.”

Lysandra snorts, “Oh he does, I’ll pass it along anyway though.”

“Means a lot. Love you, got to go.”

Lysandra’s returning love you is sincere, but she cuts off the phone as the car comes to a stop outside the plain brick building.

She readies herself in the back of the car, pulling down a deep breath to center herself, she can do this.

The girl leading her to the room doesn’t speak other than to tell Aelin to follow right this way, and she’s grateful, she’s not sure she could speak right now without vomiting all over the dated linoleum flooring.

She needs to get a grip, and fight the urge for a hit that strikes her when she’s nervous like this. It could make her fears disappear, at least for a moment before they all came crashing back down ten-times worse the minute the high faded. There is a reason she packed that shit in, and she knows her nerves will pass. It’s been a while since she’s done any of this, her last movie read was pre-Sam and no matter how hard she tries to push it down, there’s a lot of pressure on her for this to go well.

The girl pauses outside an unassuming white door and holds a hand out to gesture for Aelin to go in. She rolls her shoulders back, holding her head high before she steps into the room. If all else fails she’s still Evalin Ashryver’s daughter and to some people that is something to be proud of.

Fenrys Moonbeam is the first person to catch her eye when she steps into the room, and it seems he’s done some stalking too because he ends his conversation by the food table with some others she doesn’t recognise and bounds straight over to her with a grin.

“Aelin Ashryver,” he says, his voice deep and smooth like velvet. “I’ve heard of you. It’s a pleasure.”

“You have?” She’s both surprised and not at the same time as she holds a hand out for him to shake.

He bypasses the hand she holds out and tugs her into his chest, wrapping both arms around her and knocking her backpack off her shoulder.

“I have,” he says as he bends down to pick her bag back up. “Sorry about that.”

She shakes her head. She needs to stop acting like a bewildered school girl meeting the Queen, she needs to remember that she has second billing for this movie thanks to Dorian.

“Don’t worry about it.” Aelin finds a smile and plasters it on.

Someone calls for everyone to take their seats and she notices the name placards spaced out in front of each chair. She locates her own and it's surreal to see her name printed there, Aelin Ashryver, between Fenrys and another actress playing her sister called Manon Blackbeak. She’s even less known than Aelin, and she only feels slightly guilty for how much that relaxes her.

Aelin knows how this goes down, they sit opposite the production team, the director and all the executive producers and she realises that she’s opposite the sign that reads Rowan Whitethorn.

She slides into her seat, Fenrys and Manon chatting over her head as she does, and she spots a male slipping into the chair opposite her. He’s wearing a slim-fit forest green henley and dark jeans, his shoulders are just as broad as they were in his Instagram photo and here there’s no shadow across his handsome features.

She can’t deny that he’s attractive, she knew it the first time she saw him. Her stare locks onto the man from the hallway after her audition and he smirks at her as if they have a secret. And maybe they do, but now she’s realising that he’s her boss, and a little voice in her head that sounds suspiciously like Elide is whispering to her that opportunities like this don’t come around everyday.

She owes it to Sam and she owes it to herself not to fuck this up, but the look that Rowan Whitethorn is sending her across the table makes her think she could risk it all.

It takes them three hours to run through it in full, and she’s happy to see she’s not the only one with a tear in her eye at the end. Rowan doesn’t cry, but he hasn’t looked at her since before they started and each time she read a line she avoided looking at him. She knows there were a couple of times where he nodded along with her expression of the lines. She’s ignoring it.

This is what she lives to do, they’re not even filming yet and she feels like she’s right where she needs to be. It’s cliche but she breathes easier when she acts, the air feels lighter when she takes on a new personality and feels all the things she’s told to feel.

It takes away the restlessness she feels when it’s all just down to her, being told how to feel is far easier.

Her therapist tells her she has both anxiety and PTSD, but she feels like giving it a name doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. She knows a diagnosis can be a relief for some, but to Aelin, what she feels is far too messy to be summed up in four letters. Her life has simply become the before, and the after, even though what each of those contains is a complete fucking shit show.

There are two Aelins; pre that night and post that night.

The Aelin from before that night doesn’t exist anywhere but in her own memory.

Once the run through is completed and basic notices are given by the producers, things like call sheet distributions and health and safety, the occupants of the room begin to mingle. She sees him make a beeline for her, and she swallows. She’s not ready for this.

“You look surprised to see me.” His voice is as hot as it was the last time she saw him, the slight rasp in his throat and his accent. Gods, the accent.

“You don’t look too surprised to see me.” She tilts her head at him because she feels way thrown off, like he has all the power here. Which he does. But like, she can play it cool. Fake it ‘til you make it, right? “Maybe had a little google search?”

He shakes his head at her, biting his lip kind of like he wants to laugh, and she bristles. She needs to level the playing field.

“Says you.” He’s definitely laughing now. “I saw you liked my photo last night.”

“What about it?” She shrugs, hoping her acting skills are up to it. He only tilts his head to the side as he takes her in.

“Do you think I didn’t know who you were in the corridor? I’m the director.” And fuck him for saying it like that, full of an easy confidence that in any other situation would have had heat pooling in the floor of her stomach. “Brullo discussed the casting with me.”

Right. Of course.

She’s not sure what to say next. Honestly? She kind of wants to flirt with him, but fuck.

Instead she hums a laugh, not really caring whether he thinks it’s sincere or not, and looks absentmindedly around the room instead of back up at him. He reaches a hand out to brush his fingers down her arm, looping them round the bones of her wrist and squeezing slightly like he did the last time before letting go. Her eyes snap back to his.

“Just between you and me?” he asks and the smile he wears is far too hot for her to deal with right now. “I think we made a good choice.”

“Thanks,” she says, but it’s a little too breathy. A little too dazed for having spent such a short amount of time in his presence. She’s aware that she needs to be careful, they are very much not alone in this room right now, and she doesn’t need to start any rumours that would destroy her chances of escaping this without a scandal.

She’s here to do a job, and she’s going to do it well. She doesn’t need any distractions.

He leaves her soon after that, and his parting remark of “have a good first day, Aelin” sticks with her, and she tries not to replay the way his voice had wrapped around her name.

Manon Blackbeak is watching them from across the room, and she arches one perfectly shaped eyebrow at Aelin. She ignores her; let her think what she wants, she’s surely professional enough not to gossip to any press, and stomps over to where Fenrys is chatting with one of the producers. It seems like a good enough place to start.

#rowaelin #rowaelin au #rowaelin fic #throne of glass #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #nobody does it like you do #ndilyd #im so nervous to post this lol #hope you all enjoy #cw: past drug abuse #cw: minor character death #cw: violence

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icanttakethemonmyown · 4 years

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prof!hozier birthday blurb

a/n: hi guys! happy hozier's birthday! here is a little something to celebrate the occasion, hope you are all doing well :)

“Seamus, my love, please, I’m getting desperate.”

Seamus was refusing to wear the special tie collar Sam got him. Every time she got close to successfully clipping it around his neck, he would lunge away from her, thinking she was trying to play. It was a cute tie, all green and striped and Sam bought it specially for today. It was a special occasion and she was already all dressed up and Seamus was really messing with her vision of how this morning would go.

“You're going to make your mum cry, is that what you want?” She tried again, hoping maybe guilt tripping would work. If she didn’t get some cooperation soon, she might just throw a tantrum. Although that would clash horribly with the fact that she was desperately trying not to wake Andrew.

With a deep breath, she decided she would try one last time. What she didn’t anticipate, was the soft steps coming from the hallway and the gravelly “Everything alright?” coming from the groggy Andrew.

His presence excited Seamus and he bounded over Sam to get to Andrew, knocking her to the ground. Exasperated, Sam didn’t make any attempt to get up, just laying there, staring at the ceiling with her arms crossed, like a dramatic toddler. Andrew’s head came into her field of view, with a guilty, but amused smile and a hand to help her get up. “Y’know, someday he is gonna realise I’m his favourite parent,” She sulked, but took Andrew’s hand anyway.

“What ever will I do then?” He quipped when Sam was upright in front of him. She could properly take in his appearance now. His eyes were still droopy but extra green in the morning light and his hair was messy and falling out of its hair tie. She loved him like this, all comfy. His appearance stood in contrast with her own. She had already gotten ready, hair done and wearing Andrew's favourite dress of hers - the floral, low cut one.

“Happy birthday, baby,” Sam smiled, putting her arms around Andrew’s neck and kissing him softly.

“Thank you,” Andrew rested his forehead against Sam’s, “Another year you’ve put up with this oaf, who would’ve guessed?”

“Stop it,” She chuckled, berating him for his self-deprecating comment by hitting against his chest. “Now, I made you breakfast - it was gonna be in bed, but someone ruined the surprise," Sam looked down at Seamus, who was sat happily at Andrew's feet, "So birthday boy gets to choose, tea or coffee?”

Andrew was becoming increasingly suspicious that Sam was trying to stall him. The picnic she took him on was lovely and all, but every time Andrew even so much as insinuated that he would like to go home, Sam looked panic-stricken and rushed through an explanation that there was another errand they needed to run.

It wasn’t until he was hunched down in their local supermarket, looking for some obscure chocolate Sam apparently had a craving for, that he received confirmation that he had definitely spent his afternoon being kept from the house.

Sam’s phone beeped and he had never seen her check a message that quickly. A self-satisfied smile took over her face and she simply stated “Yeah, no, I think they discontinued it a few years back, let’s just go home” before guiding him back to the car.

Andrew waited until they left the car park before he said something. "Babe, what's going on?"

"Going on? Nothing's goin-" Her voice was higher than normal, something was definitely afoot.

"Samantha." Andrew put on his best strict teacher voice, although it was undercut by the fact that using Sam’s full name always made them laugh.

Even with his eyes on the road, Andrew could feel Sam going through all the stages of grief next to him. She had not been as inconspicuous as she had hoped to be. She had always been terrible at keeping secrets from him.

"I know you think I'm gonna give in, because I'm shit at keeping things from you, but not this time, nope. I promised Alex-"

"Alex?" Andrew inquired with a cocked head and lifted eyebrow.

"Goddammit!" Sam slumped down in her chair, basically admitting defeat.

Much to Andrew’s amusement, Sam tried to stay silent the rest of the way home, seeing this as her best option not to spoil any more of the surprise. “You’re not getting anything else out of me. I am Fort Knox,” she declared, miming locking her mouth and throwing the key out the window. Naturally, Andrew used this opportunity to think of outrageous statements that would get her to crack.

“Y’know, I think I’m gonna rearrange the bookcases next week,” Andrew mused, as if it was something he had been thinking of doing for a while. He peeked over at Sam, checking for her reaction. She just shook her head in defiance, but Andrew could see her fingers twitch. He continued: “I don’t think it looks good arranged by colour, maybe I’ll arrange it....alphabetically.” That earned him a gasp and he smiled triumphantly. Still, Sam didn’t let up. He had to bring out the big guns.

“I don’t think Este Haim -”

“Don’t.”

Ah, there it is. Andrew decided to feign innocence. “What? I was just gonna say that -” Sam interrupted him again, this time with her finger over his lips. “Do not drag the love of my life into this. She doesn’t deserve it.”

Andrew chuckled and planted a quick kiss to Sam’s finger before she pulled it away. “You know I wouldn’t say anything that would make you kick my ass on my birthday.”

“Home sweet home!” Sam projected her voice towards the front door as she got out of the car, hoping that the guests inside would hear her. Andrew raised his eyebrow at her, but didn’t question her strange behaviour out loud just yet. He got out too and went to open the backdoor to get the picnic basket, but Sam stopped him. “Don’t worry, I’ll get it. Meet you inside?” He nodded in response and turned towards the house.

The closer Andrew got to the front door, the louder the sounds of rushed footsteps became. Hushed whispers he couldn’t quite make out, but then an absolute silence fell. The moment almost caused Andrew to knock on his own front door. Sam’s footsteps approached from behind and with a deep breath, he opened the door.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ANDY!” A crowd of people cheered, all stuffed into his living room and throwing streamers in his direction. Andrew’s eyes didn’t know where to look first. All the smiling faces of his friends made his heart want to burst. Alex stood at the front of the group, approaching him with a cheap plastic crown. “Birthday boy!” He exclaimed, placing the crown haphazardly on Andrew’s curls, “Time to get you a beer!”

Before Alex could escort him to the kitchen, Andrew turned back to Sam, who was absolutely beaming. “You are atrocious at keeping secrets, I love you,” He chuckled as he leant in to kiss her. “And you make quite a handsome king,” She giggled, as she adjusted his crown to sit more securely.

Andrew’s vision was a bit too blurry for him to assess whether the cake had the correct amount of candles on it, but he didn’t care. He was having the time of his life. A hand painted banner hung from the roof with Sam's loopy handwriting also wishing him a happy birthday and he could hear people singing along to Madonna in the living room. Life was grand.

It was as if his thankfulness reached new heights today. He had such amazing people in his life that he didn’t even mind the excruciating experience of being serenaded with ‘Happy Birthday’. He would simply look at the breathtaking love of his life stood alongside his best friend in the entire world and know that he was so deeply loved and cared for.

Sam and Alex had their arms around each other's shoulders, performing as if they were opera singers - well, as much as one can perform 'Happy Birthday' - and Andrew could hardly blow out his candles from the huge grin on his face. Now, he decided, the only thing that could make his night even better would be witnessing Sam's reaction whe she finds out that it was Alex who managed to get Seamus to wear a party hat.

#HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANDREW I HOPE YOU NEVER SEE THIS #thank you as always for reading #and thank you to anyone who has reached out to me about my writing #it truly means the world #at this stage i can only offer you this small glimpse #so i hope it is enough #hope everyone is keeping safe #and trying their best #prof!hozier #my writing #just realised i still need to figure out when seamus' birthday is #what a lad #anon i would like to hear all of your opinions #and i hope you caught my tiny easter eggs ;) ehehe #also this is the photo that gave me the idea to do this #so all together now #thank youuu photoooo #hozier fanfic #hozier fic

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jjmaybanksblog · 4 years

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Good Old Days - JJ Maybank

Gif credit @toesure !

Summary: you and JJ meet once again after a harsh break up.

Word count: 1,982

Warnings: cheating, angst underage drinking, implied sex at the end. I do NOT condone the action of going back to someone who cheated.

You sat alone in a booth at a local restaurant, diagonal from where your friend Nicole sat with an unfamiliar boy. You had offered to 'be a look out' for the girl when she brought up how her friends had helped her get a blind date. Nicole had the fear that she might embarrass herself or something might go south, so you decided to lend a helping hand to calm her down.

You subtly flicked your eyes up and down from the menu to your friend as a waitress came up to you. "What can I get you hun?"

"Just a vanilla milkshake and fries please." The lady nodded and took the menu from your hands. You reached inside of your bag and pulled out your notebook. Finding a pen, you began to mindlessly draw little doodles of whatever came to mind.

You were actually enjoying the peace and quiet until the front door bell chimed. Before you could react, JJ Maybank took the spot right across from you. "Can I help you?" You scoffed, closing the notebook.

"Nope. I'm helping my friend out and it looks like you happen to be doing the same thing for your friend too." JJ said, looking behind his shoulder to see his friend give him a thumbs up. You rolled her eyes, defensively crossing your arms.

"Okay, well how about you move to the other booth where you can 'help' by yourself." JJ dramatically put his hand to his heart, "does Y/F/N Y/L/N not want to spend time with me?" "The last time I was near you it didn't end well." You hissed. JJ immediately got quiet as the waitress came up to deliver your order.

"Oh! Would you like anything dear? On the house for the couple!" The waitress smiled, "oh no we're not-" "actually I would love a hamburger and a chocolate milkshake please!" JJ grinned. "Coming right up."

"Seriously JJ why can't you just sit somewhere else?" You asked as you dipped a fry into the milkshake. JJ furrowed his eyebrows as he watched you take a bite. "What? It's good." You defended.

"See I could, but Steve made me promise to help him out. And now I get to talk to you which is exactly what I want to be doing on my Friday night." Sarcasm dropped from his voice as you bite your tongue.

"Well you can leave. You never were good at keeping promises anyway." You seethed, taking the cherry out of the milkshake and popping into your mouth. JJ became quiet once more as the sudden flashback hit him.

Flashback:

2 years. 2 years was all it took for something so positive and bright, to turn into something dead. 2 years was all it took for JJ Maybank to own, and then break your heart.

You two had been dating for a full two years, both of you guys admitting you were in love. Making promises that you two couldn't keep. One of them being, 'I'll always love you.'

JJ broke that the minute his lips touched some tourons at an end of the year school party. You had lost sight of your boyfriend in the middle of the party after telling him you were going to the bathroom. It took you 10 minutes to find him with the unknown girl.

"Have you seen- oh." Your words slipped your mind as you saw a boy and girl break away from a kiss. Only to reveal that face that made your heart break. "I better... I better g-go." You stumbled over your words, your legs moving as fast as they could out of that house and far away from JJ.

You didn't know what to do, what to think, how to act, what to say, everything just became numb. Like someone had just ripped your heart from your chest, and dangled it in front of your face as if it were mocking you. So you just ran, and ran all the way to your house. Dried tears stained your face as you were panting, on the verge of passing out.

Your mind felt fuzzy, as if it were an old TV and an antenna was knocked loose, like all you heard was static and a ringing. You shook your head frantically as you paced in the living room. A rapid knock echoed in the silent room as you let out a sob. You slowly walked to the door, your hand shaking as it hesitantly reached out.

You twisted the handle and pulled the door open to reveal a frantic JJ. "Y/N please let me-" "Don't even fucking start JJ." You said, cautiously backing away from the door. JJ walked into the house as he tried to grab hold of your wrists.

You pulled your wrists back from JJ's grip as you began to have trouble breathing. "You fucking kissed some random girl. Who knows what the fuck would've happened if I didn't walk into that room." You mumbled to yourself as your head began to ache.

"Y/N you know I wouldn't do that!" "When you're in a relationship you don't fucking kiss somebody else! I didn't think you'd do that yet here we are!" You raised your voice as you paced again.

"Open your fucking eyes, it's so obvious I'm in love with you!" JJ yelled back, causing you to flinch, his breath smelled of alcohol. Your eyes suddenly fell to the ground, afraid to look at him without breaking down.

"You need to leave," your voice wavered, "you need to leave and not come back. You can't look at me. You can't speak my name. You can't have anything to do with me, Maybank. We're fucking done." You breathed out, feeling as though you had a boulder crushing your body.

"Y/N. I made you a promise that I'd love you, please let me keep going with that promise." JJ begged, his eyes burning harshly with tears. "You broke your promise, you can't come back from that."

JJ let out a sigh as his head slumped down, forcing his legs to walk out the front door, and out of your life.

Memory over.

"Look, this isn't a guilt trip: I just genuinely want to know if you dislike me so I can stop bothering you." JJ said, fidgeting with his fingers. You sighed as you swirled the straw around the milkshake. "I don't dislike you as a human, I fucking despise what you did to me." You admitted.

"I've changed Y/N. I haven't been with any other girl, I haven't spoken with that other girl since then. Please just give me a break. I've been busy trying so fucking hard. I'm doing the best I can. Please, please don't ask more of me." JJ frowned, his leg now anxiously tapping.

You let out a scoff, but you couldn't lie to yourself. You missed being with JJ, you missed him so damn much, but you didn't want to admit it. Your eyes flickered to your friend who was standing up and giving Steve a kiss on the cheek.

Their date was over, but you and JJ sat firmly in the booth. "Let me just drive you home like the good days, just hear me out." JJ begged. You cracked your knuckles, a habit you gained after the break up. "Fine. But so help me Maybank if you fuck it up you will never, I repeat ever come speak to me again." JJ let out a breath of relief and thanked you.

You couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit of luck when he offered, glad that you chose to walk to the diner. You two sat in silence for a bit of the ride before JJ turned on the radio. 'Wonderwall' by Oasis played through the sound system, memories of this song hitting you in the face like a brick.

JJ began to obnoxiously shout the lyrics like he would when you guys went on drives together. He would roll the windows down, blast the volume and just let it all out. At first you were annoyed with the boy, but as soon as he nudged you with his elbow you began shouting the lyrics as well. At that moment, things felt normal. Like nothing bad happened between them, and that scared you shitless.

When the song ended, JJ turned down the volume and began to speak, "you know, I never took your school photo out of my wallet. It's still there. And every night after... we broke up, I would just look at it and cry. Because I drank and I ended up losing the best thing I ever got in life. And believe me I know drinking is no excuse for what I did. I lost the one person that understood me more than my other friends, than myself. And I fucked it all up. And I know I can't take back what I did. Saying sorry won't change the hurt I made you feel. But I want you to know I'm truly trying my best to be a different person than who I was before." His voice was shaking as he found it hard to look at the road.

"I can try to forgive you Maybank, but that night has been burned into my memory. And it's gonna take a lot of time before I can forget it." You mumbled, looking out the window watching the trees zoom by.

"I'd wait 100 years if it meant that you would talk to me again." JJ muttered as he pulled into your driveway. "Do you.. want to come in? And like, catch up?" You wanted to punch yourself in the face for your offer, but again you couldn't deny how much you missed him.

JJ was shocked at your words, his mouth slightly open as he nodded his head. You walked into your house and to your luck, nobody was home.

You guys sat in your room, silence filling the air once again. You walked over to a picture frame on the desk and picked it up. The picture was of JJ after he had fallen asleep with his head in your llap. "Remember this night?" You asked as he looked over your shoulder.

"Yeah. I came over to make cupcakes for John B's birthday but we ended up just throwing flour and eggs at each other." JJ laughed loudly, remembering how he would find flour in his hair and ears for days after. "Then we sat on the couch and you laid your head in my lap. I played with your hair until you fell asleep and you snored so loud." You smiled at the memory.

"God I fucked up." He whispered. "Yeah. Yeah you did. When you sat across from me in the booth I wanted to flip my shit. I wanted to go off on you and say something like, 'oh fuck off you piece of shit. You think I care about you? That I give a damn about your feelings? Fuck off.' I wanted to hurt you like you hurt me." You confessed.

"Damn Y/N. I- I don't even know what to say." JJ said as you faced him. You couldn't help but stare at his lips, the lips you craved so desperately. You hated yourself for this. You hated yourself for making this move, but you leaned in anyway and kissed him. You were taken back at your actions, but your knees nearly buckled at his touch.

JJ gently held the side of your face as he pulled back. "I don't want to hurt you." He said, his words echoing in your head. "I'm desperate. And I'm pretty sure you are too. This is a one time thing until you gain my trust back. But for now, just shut up and have sex with me."

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