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inbarfink · 10 months

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So when discussing the ending of ‘Over the Garden Wall’ and the nature of the Unknown in general, I think it is important to remember that it’s left deliberately up for interpretation. You know, it’s not a Quiz with one concrete answer we must uncover, but it’s more about our interpretations and personal feelings. Each and every one of us experiences that journey with Wirt and Greg into the Unknown in a slightly different way.

So what I want to do here is not present a Correct Interpretation that will dispute all the others and prove them all wrong and prove myself right, I just want to share my own outlook on the nature of the Unknown. In the hopes that others will like it and it’ll inspire more cool readings and interpretations

So on some level I do agree with the popular theory that the Unknown is some sort of Afterlife - but I don’t see it as a regular Afterlife for human souls, I think it is an afterlife for Stories. This place is where fictional characters and stories end up once they’ve been totally forgotten by the living, ‘lost in the clouded annals of history’. and become.... unknown It is quite literally a place where ‘long forgotten stories are revealed to those who travel through the wood’.

That’s why the Unknown is a mishmash of different time periods and primarily visually and narratively influenced by stuff like fairy tales, ghost stories, children’s books and old cartoons - these stories have a high-tendency to be forgotten and thus get lost in the Unknown (whatever it’s because they rely on oral traditions or because they suffered from very poor preservation historically).

And that is what the theme song, ‘Into the Unknown’ is talking about…

Where can we pretend that dreams do come true? In Stories.

And what are ‘the loveliest lies of all’? Now that would be Fiction.

The entire concept of stories is a huge theme of this song, I think.

Beatrice and her family, Adelaide of the Pasture, Auntie Whispers and Lorna were all originally fairy tales. Maybe the same fairy tale, or maybe they were originally separated before being ‘melded’ together. (If, for example, the last child to Remember them before they were forgotten just assumed the Bad Witch in both the Auntie Whispers and Beatrice stories was Adelaide)

Pottsfield was an old urban legend about a haunted ghost town, Wirt and Greg basically played through its ‘plot’ directly.

Miss Langtree, the schoolhouse and the other associated characters come from a long-forgotten and out-of-print children’s book. That’s why those characters tend to talk in comically-stilted expository dialogue.

The Tavern was the setting for a series of 20’s animated cartoons. (Although obviously set long before that era). The Tavern Keeper was created as a Betty Boop clone and was the main character. The Tavern setting was probably a mere framing device for all sort of musical animations. The reason why none of them can comprehend the idea of not having some sort of Title or Label is because that’s how they were written - all given job-related titles but not named.

Fred the Talking Horse was a main character from a forgotten tradition of humorous oral stories where he was sometimes a trickstery anti-hero and sometimes a straight-up comedic villain protagonist.

Quincy Endicott and Margueritte Grey were characters from a satiric limerick about the greedy rich and their wacky habits. (Quincy was at least inspired by a real-life person since his name appears on a tombstone in the real world)

Possibly the same limerick where the punchline was the status-quo at the beginning of their OTGW ep, that both rivals’ mansions have become connected and they assume the other is a ghost haunting their house. Or maybe they were each from different regional variations of the same limerick about a greedy rich weirdo being lost in their own house and going mad.

Frogland and their little boat might be from a children’s book as well, but I also think that maybe… from the vignettes shown at the opening of the series…

That one might take place outside the Unknown, and shows the real inception of Frogland. Two brothers making up stories with their toy boat by the river. Since they never shared these stories with anyone else, when these two brothers died or maybe just grew up and forgot their boyhood misadventures by the stream - these stories also ended up in the Unknown.

The Fishing Fish we see briefly in ‘Babes in the Woods’ might be a small comedic illustration from a children’s book, or another piece of limerick, or just someone’s random notebook doodle that gained a life of its own first in the creator’s mind and then in the Unknown.

Cloud City, the North Wind and the Queen of the Clouds were also, much like the Tavern, from a very old cartoon.

The Beast was once just a mere Boogie Man to keep young children from wandering off into the woods. Ending up forgotten in the Unknown just ended up giving him a whole world of lost souls to harvest.

Maybe the Woodsman and his daughter were always a part of the story of the Beast. But since it seems that the Woodsman being a lantern-bearer is a fairly recent development - they might have had their own separate story. Some sort of pastoral novel about a family moving near the woods? But their narrative has been ‘hijacked’ by the Beast.

Wirt and Greg ended up lost within the Unknown cause had they actually died in the lake that night - they would have become a Story in their town. I mean we have a moody lonely teenager and his adorable little brother disappearing/dying - on the night of Halloween - after last being seen in a graveyard - with the older brother’s last act on this earth being to hand his crush a cassette of his love poetry. Can you imagine what sort of Urban Legenda you can grow from those seeds?

But as they were not yet dead, and not a Story yet… so they were technically an Unknown story. Between the borders of life and death from a human perspective because they were about to die, and from a Story perspective because they were just about to be born.

And the ending sequence, with the little vignettes showing where all the characters from all the episodes ended up. I think that’s almost like Wirt and Greg back in the world of the living and the real - being able to create happy endings for all of those stories they've met. That’s how the Woodsman’s daughter ended up being alive all along - it was less that the Woodsman's whole tragedy was a wacky misunderstanding all along. But it became so as a gift of thanks by their new storytellers - Wirt and Greg.

Because if dreams can't come true, than why not pretend?

#over the garden wall #otgw #the unknown

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darkshelbyfiction · 7 months

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The Nanny Diaries (Part One)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Innocent Reader

Warning: Dark Cillian has an innocence kink...Smut...Infidelity...Dub Con

It had been three months since you started working for Cillian and Lorna Murphy, looking after their two young children Sienna and Mitch.

You had recently turned eighteen and left your small town in America, eager to see the world beyond your front door so, moving to Dublin, was the perfect opportunity for you.

Through a family friend, who was an actor as well, you were given the chance to work as an Au Pair for the famous Irish actor who, with his wife and children, lived in a beautiful country estate just outside Dublin city, surrounded by vast gardens filled with flowers and trees.

Their home was like a sanctuary where nature merged seamlessly into luxury - wooden floors, high ceilings adorned with original works of art and large bay windows which looked out onto acres of greenery.

Their children were absolutely adorable.

Little Sienna was full of energy, running all over the place, whilst little Mitch would be curled up watching cartoons quietly. At first, it seemed strange, but gradually you found yourself enjoying every moment spent playing games, reading bedtime stories and preparing meals for them.

The only person whose company made you feel slightly nervous, however, was Cillian himself. You felt a strange and somewhat forbidden attraction towards this 45 year old man, something no one could quite understand considering how close he was to your father’s age.

However, being strictly catholic and engaged to young man back home, you brushed this off as simply being star struck and though Cillian wasn't exactly flirtatious, there was something undeniably captivating about him.

Cillian soon noticed the way you looked at him, the subtle flush of excitement that crossed your face when he walked into the room, and despite his own marriage status, he began making excuses to get closer to you. His constant praise made you blush, while the lingering glances gave you butterflies in your stomach.

One evening after Lorna had gone to bed, Cillian invited you to listen to some music with him in the dimly lit living room.

There was a comforting familiarity in the scent of leather, polished wood and roaring embers in the fireplace as you sat down beside him on the plump sofa. For some reason, your heart skipped a beat as you sank deeper into the soft upholstery and Cillian silently handed you a glass of wine and smiled.

"You did well today. Thanks for looking after them so diligently," Cillian acknowledged just as you traced the contours of his strong jaw line with your eyes.

"They are good kids. Despite, looking after them, is my job," you stammered in response. You couldn't help feeling nervous around this man, even more now since it was just the two of you.

"Still, it's nice not having to worry. So, thank you," Cillian said while leaning back into the couch, crossing one leg over another. "It can be quite draining sometimes looking after them."

"It can be," you smiled while your cheeks reddened as you tried not to stare at him openly. For a moment silence enveloped the space before you continued speaking softly, barely audible enough for him to hear properly.

"So you like Portishead, huh?" you asked, changing the topic to music as their album "Glorybox" was playing in the background. His face shifted to curiosity briefly, then turned serious again as he reached out slowly to brush his hand over your knee.

"I do. How about you? he asked, turning his head towards you. "Do you like their music?" he then asked and you felt a mix of fear and excitement surging through your body upon the sudden contact - your heart raced faster, and a warmth seemed to rise up inside you as his fingers caressed gently along your thigh. Trying hard to maintain composure, you responded casually yet uneasily.

"I do," you managed to utter softly as his fingers traced higher along your inner thigh. As his hand lingered there uninvited, your breath quickened involuntarily – a mixture of panic and arousal coursing through your veins. It wasn't right, what he was doing, but still, deep within you, a primal urge took hold.

"How is your boyfriend? Are things good between you?" Cillian prodded, leaning closer as he spoke. You could feel his breath tickling your ear as he whispered these words, sending chills down your spine despite yourself. Your hands trembled lightly, unsure whether to push him away or surrender to his advances, caught somewhere between terror and thrilling anticipation.

"He...uhm...yes... he is good," you stammered as his fingers dipped deeper beneath your skirt, brushing against your underwear teasingly, causing a wave of heat to ripple throughout your core.

Aware of the danger you were in, a part of you wanted to resist, while another desperately desired to succumb to his touch, craving the sensuality he offered with such intensity.

"Do you miss him?" Cillian asked quietly, almost tenderly while his fingers ran circles over your moistening panties.

Unable to think clearly due to the intensity of his advances, you struggled to find your voice. Involuntarily, your mouth hung open, dazed by the sensations that flowed through your body.

"I do miss him, yes," you finally murmured, unable to meet his eyes, as you fought to quell the desire rising up inside you. This was wrong, terribly wrong, but why did it feel so right?

"Do you miss him touching you like this?" Cillian asked huskily as, finally, he pushed aside the wet fabric of your knickers, allowing his finger to slide tantalisingly over your wet slit.

"He never..." you mumbled hesitantly, trying to regain control of both your mind and body, struggling to ignore the growing sense of guilt mixed with exhilaration that consumed you.

"He never what?" Cillian challenged, his tone darkening as his finger continued to explore the sensitive folds between your legs. One of his fingers began to push its way inside you, penetrating your tight entrance gently yet firmly, eliciting gasps and whimpers from you as pleasure ricocheted through your body.

"He never touched me down there before," you admitted reluctantly, knowing it wouldn't matter anyway because you knew deep down that this went far beyond mere physical exploration.

"Really?" Cillian queried with disbelief, pulling his fingers free from your quivering passage before pushing it in again, harder this time, his thumb pressing rhythmically against your clitoris. You let out a strangled cry, lost in the throes of ecstasy as your entire body writhed in pleasure.

"Have you ever touched yourself like this?" Cillian questioned deeply, his tone laced with raw passion, drawing a sharp intake of air from you. You didn't answer immediately, too absorbed in the exquisite sensations consuming your body. But eventually, the truth emerged haltingly from your lips.

"No. It's not allowed," you confessed seeing that you were strictly catholic, ashamed of admitting the fact aloud, wishing to sink into the floor beneath you.

"Do you want me to stop?" Cillian asked softly, lifting his hand away from your drenched crotch to rest it once more on the armrest of the couch. Your mind reeled as the erotic spell broke, leaving you feeling bewildered and confused.

Despite the intensity of the encounter, you shook your head defiantly, determined not to allow yourself to be further enticed.

"Alright. Can you take off your panties for me then?" Cillian commanded authoritatively, breaking the momentary awkwardness. His eyes bore into yours, demanding obedience. Reluctantly, you nodded, sliding your skirt lower until your knickers slipped off easily, exposing your naked thighs and pussy. The bold act sent shockwaves through your system, filling you with a potent cocktail of shame and arousal. Cillian observed you hungrily, appreciating the sight of your supple curves and smooth skin.

With determination in his eyes, he reached for your exposed thighs, rubbing his palms alluringly up and down them until his fingers found your wet labia. Gently cupping your sex, he teased you playfully, watching closely as your breath caught in your throat and your pupils widened with desire.

His erection strained against his jeans, making your nipples perk up in response.

He then inserted not one but two of his thick digits into your dripping core gently, feeling the resistance of your virginity as he thrust them in and out as small streak of blood trickled onto his fingers.

There was some discomfort in your expression, partly due to the pain caused by your first sexual experience but also fueled by anxiety and confusion regarding the situation.

Inside you, your mind wavered between feelings of remorse and yearning satisfaction as his powerful hands controlled your movements, taking command of your pleasure.

As he moved inside you, his touch became firmer, his pace picking up speed, creating a sensation unlike anything you had ever known before. Your whole body ached, your muscles twitching with the force of the waves crashing through you.

"You are incredibly tight," Cillian remarked approvingly, withdrawing his fingers momentarily only to plunge them back in again with greater fervor. His rough hands expertly navigated your insides, working you mercilessly, ignoring the protest of your uninitiated flesh. Each penetration drove a fresh wave of pleasure through your body, your nerves firing rapidly, setting every inch of your skin ablaze until, suddenly, you couldn't hold back any longer.

With a loud moan escaping your lips, you eventually came undone and Cillian covered your mouth with the palm of his free hand as your body began convulsing violently in orgasm.

"Sssh, we don't want to wake up Lorna," he chuckled quietly as your vision swam as your world turned upside down, your entire focus narrowed down to the sensations washing over you. Aftershocks radiated through your limbs, causing tiny tremors to run up and down your body as if electric currents surged through your very soul.

Breathless and flushed, you collapsed back into the embrace of the couch, exhausted and invigorated simultaneously as Cillian carefully withdrew his fingers from inside your body.

Wetness and a tiny amount of blood tickled down onto the leather fabric on which you were sitting as your heart hammered wildly in your chest.

Cillian smiled devilishly at you, amused by how quickly he had brought you to climax, and you felt both grateful and somewhat shocked.

Your stomach squirmed with a strange mix of emotions: gratitude, humiliation, and embarrassment battled furiously amongst themselves. Your cheeks reddened with a combination of both physical stimulation and shame.

"I shouldn't have done that," you muttered, attempting to make sense of your own behaviour. You had committed a sin against God and your morals, and now, here you were - wanting more of it.

The thought scared you, but something stirred deep within you, telling you it would be foolish to dismiss it entirely. There was a power to this darkness that held an addictive quality, like the forbidden fruit you had just sampled.

"You seemed to have enjoyed it though," Cillian smirked. His statement carried undertones that left no doubt as to what he meant just as you both were startled by Lorna who came walking down the stairs to fetch herself a drink from the fridge.

Quickly, you adjusted your skirt to cover your slightly bruised and still wet entrance before hastily grabbing your discarded knickers. Cillian, without missing a beat, made himself appear nonchalant, leaning casually against the armrest beside you.

Lorna looked curiously at the both of you, remarking "It seems quite late. You should come to bed Cillian", unaware of the recent events transpiring.

"I will be up in just a minute love". Cillian lied, hoping to prolong the interaction with you for just a little bit longer but, unfortunately for him, you decided to head to your room instead, claiming tiredness.

After you closed the door behind you, the tension dissolved slightly and Cillian sighed audibly, running his hand through his messy locks, visibly conflicted, pondering on about what happened.

Even as he prepared for sleep later that evening, right next to his wife, he couldn't help but dwell upon the enchanting image of you submitting to his touch, succumbing under his influence. Something about your innocence intrigued him even more than other women had. Perhaps it was the challenge you presented—the thrill of dominance over someone who belonged to another man.

Or maybe it was the sweet, lingering aftertaste of guilt you left on his tongue whenever he took liberties with your pure body. Whatever the reason, he simply could not resist pursuing you further despite the danger it posed to his marriage.

Meanwhile, you too, were laying in bed, thinking about what had transpired.

Your mind raced through memories of your earlier interactions with Cillian – his confidence, his touch, his mannerisms. There was that secret part of you that craved more contact, regardless of where it might lead. This newfound curiosity frightened you almost as much as it excited you.

You wondered what it would be like to touch him the way he had touched you, whether his experienced body would respond to you as you did to him. For so long, the idea of intimacy had been taboo for you, yet somehow, those strict boundaries seemed to shift when it came to Cillian.

Your core ached from the intrusion, and your cheeks burned with indignation, but there was a spark of excitement that lit up deep within you as well.

You wanted him to do this again and you knew that this was wrong and so did he.

#cillian murphy #cilliean murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy fic

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capseycartwright · 1 year

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hiiiiiiii lorna it’s only weird if you make it weird if u want<3

a throwback to quarantine era because there's just not enough of it u know?

Eddie Diaz is a grown man. He probably shouldn’t need to clarify that, but he is a grown man – and as a grown man of thirty-something years of age, he shouldn’t be feeling so weird about sharing a bed with his best friend.

Except he might be having a panic attack of some kind.

“Eddie,” Buck huffed, squirming as he got settled on the left side of his California King. He looked laidback, and comfortable – which was to be expected, Eddie supposed, given this was Buck’s bed, and Buck’s home. Eddie had always struggled with comfort, and he relied on being in his own space to find that comfort: and now, he was here, in Buck’s loft, sharing the relatively small space with three other people, and he wasn’t sure when he’d actually be able to go home to his own house, to his son.

“Buck,” Eddie mimicked, trying to use sarcasm to cover up his nervousness.

He didn’t know why he was being so weird.

(He did –

His slowly changing feelings toward Buck were something Eddie didn’t have the mental – or emotional – capacity to deal with just yet, and then the world went mad, and they were in lockdown and there was a killer virus spreading through the world, and now Eddie was having to face sharing a bed with his best friend who he might – maybe – have some less than platonic feelings toward, and –

He was being weird about it.)

“You have to get in bed if you’re going to sleep,” Buck hummed, folding his arms across his chest. He was wearing pyjamas, a garish cartoon character printed on the front of the grey material.

“I just – is it weird?” Eddie hopped from left, to right, the cool wood of Buck’s bedroom floor cold under his bare feet. But he’s not an animal – he wasn’t going to sleep with socks on and face the cripplingly domestic task of finding the socks he would inevitably kick off during the night under the weight of the shared duvet.

“It’s only weird if you make it weird,” Buck shrugged, seemingly unbothered by the prospect of sharing a bed with Eddie for the foreseeable future.

“I snore,” Eddie offered.

“I talk in my sleep,” Buck countered. “I kick sometimes, too – so sorry in advance to your shins. Any other arguments to make?”

Nightmares, Eddie wanted to say –

Sometimes, he woke up screaming and he couldn’t remember why: and other times, he woke up screaming and the why felt terrifyingly vivid: it was Afghanistan, it was watching Shannon die, it was losing Christopher and that constant fear that Eddie wasn’t a good enough father, it was watching the ladder truck up and the weight of it crush Buck while Eddie screamed Buck’s name until his lungs burned.

“I’m a restless sleeper,” he finally settled on a more measured set of words: because admitting to the fact that his sleep was plagued by nightmares and insomnia felt as though it wasn’t something he could talk about right now – and maybe wasn’t the right moment, either, given the tension that had crept into every corner of Buck’s loft as the four of them wondered how long they might have to live like this: crushed in like sardines, desperate to protect their families from a virus they didn’t know enough about yet.

Buck grinned. “I’m a deep sleeper,” he countered. “So, we’re a perfect match.”

Eddie couldn’t argue anymore, and so he nodded, padding the final few metres to the right side of Buck’s bed, tugging his side of the duvet free, sliding in, the cotton of Buck’s sheets soft under his skin. Buck’s bed was big, sure, but they were two relatively big guys – so Buck’s shoulder was pressed to his, as Eddie tried to get settled.

“It’ll be okay,” Buck reassured, his voice quiet, quiet enough to make sure that Hen, and Chimney couldn’t hear from downstairs. Those words were for Eddie, and Eddie alone.

Eddie appreciated it so much he could cry.

“How do you know that?” he wasn’t great, at voicing his fears, but Buck had always made him feel comfortable enough to admit to some of those dark thoughts running a marathon inside of his head.

“Because,” Buck nudged Eddie’s shoulder, the faint outline of his smile in the dim light of the loft all the reassurance that Eddie had ever needed to get through the worst days of his life. “It always is, when you and I have anything to do with it.”

And yeah –

Maybe Buck was right.

send me a 'there was only one bed' prompt

#911 fox #buck x eddie #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #in which i ramble #in which lorna writes fic #prompt fill #clusterbuck #thank u emma!!

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hotvintagepoll · 2 months

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You mentioned there hasn’t been as much family stuff this time around, but I have family-adjacent info!

My brother’s favorite teacher who became a family friend briefly dated Lorna Luft back in the day, and due to a storm he ended up staying the night. According to him, Judy Garland was even more enchanting in person than onscreen and even though she had legit celebrities also staying the night, she made sure to include him in the night’s activities and he ended up learning to mix several cocktails and play pool by the end of the evening.

He’s met a lot of celebrities over the years, but Judy Garland was next level even for him.

Judy Garland vs Natalie Wood

#judy garland #propaganda

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maybankswife · 3 months

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Falling for him part 4

JJ Maybank x fem Kook Reader

Summary-

You and Sarah have been best friends since you could walk, and now it has all started to change. and fast.

*This uses scenes from Obx Season 1, but modified to fit Y/N into the storyline.*

Warnings:

Mentions of a fight, bruises, tension, swearing.

A/N:

this is a longer part, around 4.9k words 😬 hope you enjoy!

6:45 AM

You’re woken up to the sound of your mum opening the shutters in your room, your mum is a big fan of routine and even when its summer break she doesn’t let you sleep in on weekdays, only weekends. You cover your eyes with your arm, trying to shield your eyes from the light. You can hear your mum walking over to your bed, she leans down and kisses your cheek, pushing your hair away from your face.

“Come on Y/N/N, time to get up” she speaks gently, rubbing your arm. You put your arm down and force your eyes open. Your eyes meet with hers, shes already in her active wear from Lorna Jane. You stretch under the covers. Removing the duvet off your body, you sit up your feet touching the rug that’s next to your bed.

“What are we doing today?” you ask her, standing up stretching. She smiles at you,

“I’m not sure, whatever you would like. I need to work on a case today, so you can do whatever you want” your slightly annoyed that she isn’t waking you up for a real reason, but you know this has benefits to you.

“I might go surfing” you say as your start making your bed, your mum is calling Oakley over to her.

“Sounds fun sweetie” You continue fixing the pillows on your bed, you can hear Oakley’s nails tap the wood floor as she walks over to your mum. “Okay I’m going to take Oakley on a walk down at the beach, I’ll see you soon” your mum breaks the silence, she leaves your room, closing the door behind her. You sit down on your bed, grabbing your phone from the side table. You look through your notifications on your lock screen, nothing important. You stand up, walking out of your room and into the hallway. You make your way to the kitchen, the huge floor to ceiling sliding glass doors that lead out to your backyard and the beach, are open as well as most of the windows in your house. You pull open a cabinet and pull out the blender. You place it on the counter, plugging it into a nearby outlet. You walk over to the fridge, pulling the door open.

You grab out the ingredients to make your favourite smoothie.

Frozen Mango

Frozen Pineapple

Coconut water

Fresh passion fruit

Fresh kiwi

Orange juice

Since you’ve made this smoothie hundreds of times, you can guesstimate how much of each thing you need in it. You put all the ingredients into the blender, turning it on. Whilst it’s blending you get a glass cup from the cabinet, and a glass straw. When its finished blending, you take the lid off the blender cup, pouring it into your glass and putting the straw in. you make your way over to the kitchen island, sitting down on a barstool. You open your phone, looking through who messaged you last night, and what’s been going on in the world whilst you were sleeping. You sip the smoothie, delicious as always. You see that all of the pogues have accepted your follow and have all followed your back. You accept all of their request and start looking through their accounts. You start with Kies, all of her posts are single photos of the beach, sunsets, turtles, and the silhouettes of the pogues. Shes taken down all the photos of you in them. her highlights are pretty much the same as her posts, a couple of photos of her and her parents and that’s it. You move onto JB’s account, his posts are similar to JJ’s, a lot of the same photos too. He doesn’t have any highlights, but you see a post of him and Sarah holding hands. Secret but not secret relationship. Pope’s account has nothing. Literally nothing but a Bio saying “P4L”. You move onto snapchat, responding to some people’s snaps. You really don’t feel like hanging out with the pogues today, as much as you would like to, you just need a day to yourself after yesterday. You message Sarah.

“Hey Sarah, I can’t hangout today mums making me hangout with her” sent.

“Awh okay, that’s okay see you soon” She replies, you sigh grateful for the lack of interrogation. You put your phone back down onto the table, finishing your smoothie.

You stand up, and walk over to the sink, rinsing out your glass and putting it into the dishwasher. You walk down the hall, back into your room. You walk over to your dresser to find a bikini. You decide to go with a hot pink set, that has small white hibiscus flowers on it. You pull off your pyjamas, then pull on the bikini top. This set is made for surfing, so its securer than your regular string ones. You pull up the bottoms, they sit in the perfect spot for a good tan line. You grab some loose white linen shorts to wear over the bottoms, and your Birkenstocks. You grab one of your many tote bags from a hook and start putting in a few essentials. Sun-Bum SPF15 tanning oil, towel, book, a cap, your hairbrush, and lastly your phone. You tie your hair up into a bun before leaving your room.

You walk out to your backyard where your surf shed is, you grab your surfboard out from the corner and carry it down to the beach. It was waxed a few days ago, so no need to rewax it just yet. You make your way down to the sand, the sun beaming down onto you is your favourite feelings. You find a good spot to put your stuff, dropping the surfboard onto the sand as well as the tote bag. You shimmy out of the shorts, putting them into your tote bag. You pull out the tanning oil, putting a generous amount into the palm of your hand, rubbing it between your hands. You rub it into your skin.

One of your skills that you have, is being able to put things like tanning oil and sunscreen on your back, its easy for you to do it. You make sure you get the tanning oil everywhere, including your face. You sit down on your board, letting the oil sink into your skin before you go into the water.

You sit there listening to the waves crash against the shoreline, and the seagulls calling out. Breathing in the familiar smell of salt and sun. The sand warm on your feet, letting your mind wonder.

You can tell the oil has melted into your skin, so you stand up ready to surf. You pick up your board putting it on your side and running towards the water. Once your deep enough, just below knee deep in water, you put the board onto the water, jumping on top of it. You start paddling out, waiting for a wave to come.

Riding the wave, your mind goes silent, absorbing the summer sun. This is all that you want to do this summer. Wait for the perfect wave to come, ride it, let your body move, and doing it all over again.

Its around mid-day when you finally decide to get out the water, your hair is wet and messy. You paddle back to shore, standing up when its to shallow to keep paddling. You lift up the board, holding it on the side of your body and walking up to where you left your stuff. You put your board down onto the sand, laying your towel over it so you can soak up the sun for a while. you remember this thing you had seen on TikTok, a girl put sunscreen into the shape of a love heart on her leg whilst she was tanning, and when she took it off it left a love heart tan line on her skin “sunscreen tattoo”. You didn’t bring any sunscreen with you, but there was some in the surf shed so you decided to run up to your house.

You got to the shed, opening the door, and walking in. you found the Sun-Bum SPF50 sunscreen, you grab it throwing it up in the air and catching it again. You run back down to the beach, sitting down on your board. You decide to do it just above your bikini line in the shape of a sun, you made it look pretty, and lied down on the board. You set a timer for an hour on each side. Whilst you were tanning, you decided to take a photo for your Instagram story.

Once you posted the photo, you put your phone back in your bag, pulling out your book “The summer I turned pretty” written by Jenny Han. You lie on your board, reading the book and listening to the world around you. This is what you call “me time”.

2:00PM

It’s been 2 hours already, you stopped reading when you had to turn onto your stomach and instead fell asleep for an hour. You woke up when the hour timer went off. In that time, your hair had completely dried, and you had the best sun nap ever. You got up, stretching. You pulled your hair out of the bun it was in, you grabbed your hairbrush, brushing out all the knots. You put the brush back in the bag and pulled out your phone. Scrolling through the notifications. You opened Insta to see who liked your story and you were shocked when you saw JJ’s name. you smiled seeing his name on your screen, it was a new feeling. You put your phone back into the bag, standing up. You decided to go for a swim before going back inside. You ran down to the water, splashing it everywhere. You dived in getting fully soaked. You emerged out the water, pushing your hair back. You swam around for a little while, looking at all the tiny fishes that swam close to your toes.

3:00PM

You finally convinced yourself to get out the water and go back home. You collected all of your items and wrapped the towel around your body. You started walking back up the sand and to your backyard. You put your board outside the surf shed, letting it dry before you did put it in there. You walked pass your pool, and onto your porch. Your mum was sitting on the couch on her laptop, probably doing some work. You walked in, Oakley wagging her tail at you.

“Hey mum” you walked behind the couch to the kitchen to get some water.

“Hey bubba, did you have a good day?” you could hear here typing away at her laptop, she usually got off her devices when she spoke to you, so the fact that she is still on her laptop meant that she is really busy.

“Yeah, I surfed for like 4 hours, tanned for 2 and swam for 1” you pulled out a freezing cold bottle of water from the fridge and started chugging it.

“Sounds like fun, did you see anyone?” she asked, her voice not a genuine as what it usually is.

“No not today, I just wanted some me time” you swallowed another sip of water, “what did you do today?” you question her, putting the empty bottle in the recycling bin.

“Well, I took Oakley on a walk, when I got back, I saw you surfing from the house. I went to the shops, bumped into Rose Cameron, came home, and started doing some work” she replies, you can tell shes not really focused on the conversation.

“Oh cool, okay I’m gonna go for a shower” you walk towards the hall but pause when you hear your mum call out to you.

“Okay, let me know when you want dinner” you continued walking to your room, you put away all the stuff you had taken with you to the beach, then picked out a casual outfit to wear for the rest of the day.

You picked out your favourite sundress, its yellow with white flowers on it, for shoes you decided to go for your white converse. You put the dress on the bed and made your way into the bathroom. You pull the bikini off and look at your tan lines in the mirror. They are literally perfect. You turned on the shower, because your hair had only just been washed you chose to just rinse it out and put some conditioner in. You rinsed your hair, then put some Ouai conditioner. You put it in a claw clip and washed your body whilst waiting for it to soak in. you wash your body with the philosophy vanilla coconut body wash, cleansing every nook and cranny. Once you finished washing your body, you took your hair out of the claw clip brushing it with a comb before rinsing out the conditioner.

Finishing your shower, you changed into the yellow sundress and converse. You love the way the dress looks on you, it sits on all the right places, curving all the right curves it is utterly perfect. You sit down at your vanity, pulling out your Dyson air wrap. You started drying it, then styling it in our favourite way.

You put on your go-to gold jewellery stack that consist of 2 necklaces, one that has a diamond incrusted sun charm and the other with F/L/Y/N charm, then your pura vida bracelets for both wrists, your ring stack for both hands, and finally your favourite chunky gold hoops.

4:30 PM:

“I was thinking about going out for dinner tonight, what do you think?” your mum broke the silence between you.

“Ooh yeah, at the Wreck?” you respond, petting your dog Oakley who is sitting on the couch next to you.

“Yeah, I need to talk to Mr. and Mrs. Carrera anyways. Are you ready to leave now?” She stood up, shes wearing an outfit you hadn’t seen before. It’s a dark navy button up shirt, that’s tucked into high waist shorts. It looks really nice, elegant.

“Yeah sure, are we taking your car?” you stand up, walking over to the sliding glass doors closing them.

“Mhm, I’ll meet you at the car. Thanks for closing up” You continue closing other open windows and doors, once you did that you filled up Oakley’s water bowl. You walk out the front, your mum has already reversed the car out of the garage. You can hear her blasting music in the car. You stroll over to the car, opening the door of the passenger side and scotting in. Shes playing “Young Folks” written by Peter Bjorn and John. A song from one of your favourite tv shows “Gossip girls”.

You sit down at a table, tucking your dress behind your leg before sitting. You put your phone down on the table, looking around at the restaurant. Behind the counter you see Kiara working, she seems to be writing down an order. The restaurant is busy for a Monday night, you pick the menu off the table and read through the items.

“What are you thinking? I was looking at the prawn cocktail for a starter” your mum spoke, still looking at the menu.

“I was thinking some garlic bread” you reply, moving your eyes to the Mains. One thing catches your attention, their crab boil. You’ve heard a lot of good things about it but haven’t had the chance to try it.

“I think I’m going to get the tomato and tiger prawn pasta” your mum said, licking her lips. You put the menu down now that you know what you’re getting.

“I’m going to get the crab boil” you readjust your sitting position, taking a sip of water from the complementary water they gave you.

“Sounds delicious, what are your plans for tomorrow?” your mum questions, putting her menu down.

“I will hit up Sarah or something” Bzzzz, you feel your phone buzzing on the table. You pick it up, looking at the notification. Funnily enough its from Sarah, you open the message reading it.

“Have you spoken to JJ at all today?” the message causing your heart to beat faster, you re-read it thinking back to today.

You start typing “No y what’s happened?” you respond, staring at your phone waiting for her to respond.

“He’s gone MIA, he walked off earlier today and isn’t replying to anyone’s texts” You read through the message, carefully and slowly as to not miss any small details.

“I will lyk if I hear anything” you type out the words and hit sent, putting your phone back down on the table. Your mind rushes with thoughts of worry, you assume its not like JJ to disappear like that seeing as Sarah is asking you about it. You stare off to the distance, thinking about what could have happened.

“You okay princess” the words cut through the air like a knife, you blink turning your attention back to your mum.

“Yeah, just thinking about food” you laugh it off, forcing to push the thoughts about JJ to the side.

Kiara walks up to your table with a notepad and pen, “Welcome to the Wreck, Oh! Hi Miss Palmer” she realised who was sitting at the table halfway through the sentence, she glanced over to you giving you a half assed smile.

“Hello Kiara! How are you?” your mum asks her, she knows everything about Kiara and your friendship and what happened last year.

“Yeah, I’m good thank you! what can I get for you guys?” she asks, tapping the pen against her notepad.

“For starters, can I order garlic bread please” you speak, looking at the menu making sure your saying the right thing.

“Of course, and for you Miss Palmer?” Her voice is different to usual, probably her ‘customer’ voice.

“I would like the prawn cocktail please”

“And for mains?”

“I’ll get the crab boil please”

“Can I please have the tomato and tiger prawn pasta”

“Good choices, those are my favourites. Any drinks?”

“Y/N will have a sprite, and I’ll get a glass of your finest red wines” your mum finished the order, handing the menu over to Kiara. You pick yours up off the table, passing it to her as well.

“Perfect, shouldn’t be to long” you watch as she walks away, and behind the counter. You want to ask her about JJ.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom” you say, sliding your phone off the table. You push the chair back, standing up.

“Okay sweetie” your mum grabs her phone out of her purse. You turn around walking towards the counter. You slow down, your still thinking of what to say to her. You get to the counter, and she looks up at you.

“Hey, sorry I don’t mean to bother. Sarah was wondering if you’ve spoken to JJ at all?” you ask, putting your hands on the counter. She looks at you funny, as if you have spoken to her in a completely different language.

“No, I haven’t. Why?” her words taste sour, she spits them out at you. you clear your throat.

“Apparently he’s gone MIA, walked away from the group earlier today and isn’t talking to anyone” you tap your fingers on the counter and watch as she types your order into the tablet.

“Haven’t heard from him. Look, I’m really busy right now I’ll talk to you later” She turns around, pushing open a door that leads into the kitchen. You stand there like a complete idiot, you decide to go to the bathroom before returning back to the table. You push the door open, and it squeaks obnoxiously as it closes behind you, you don’t even really need to use the toilet, so you just look at yourself in the mirror, fixing your hair.

When you walk out of the bathroom you see Mr Carrera standing at your table, talking to your mum. You walk up to the table, sitting down on your chair observing the conversation.

Its nothing interesting, just about a recent law case that is going on. You go back to your phone, scrolling through Pinterest. Your Pinterest feed is mainly couple photos, the ocean, room ideas, and surfing. You’re still thinking about JJ, your worried about him. Clearly Kiara couldn’t care less, you want to find him and make sure he’s okay.

“And how are you Y/N?” Mr Carrera’s voice booms through your ears, you look up from your phone. He hasn’t spoken to you since last summer.

“I’m really good thank you, how are you?” you return the question, turning your phone off and throwing it onto your lap. He smiles, big white teeth grinning at you.

“I’m doing well thanks, same old” he laughs, gesturing to the restaurant around him. You smile sweetly, snickering, trying to be polite. You turn your focus back to your mum who’s watching the awkward exchange between you and Mr Carrera.

“Well, I hope you enjoy your food. Let me know if you need anything” He places a heavy hand on your shoulder, quickly taking it off.

“Thank you, Mike, talk soon” To your despair, your mum ends the conversation with him. You watch him walk away and through the same door that Kiara had walked behind earlier.

7:30 PM

Your mum pulls into the driveway, the taste of the crab boil still in the back of your throat. She puts the car into park and turns the car off.

“That food was delicious” Your mum expresses, picking her purse up from the floor of the car. You push the seat belt buckle, unclicking it from around your frame.

“Yeah, it was really good, my breathe smells like garlic now tho” you laugh, pulling the door handle to open the car door. You put one foot on the concrete, followed by the other you swiftly get out the car. You mum follows after you, slamming the car door when she gets out. You're stuck in thought, thinking about the way Kiara was so dismissive about JJ. You follow your mum to the front door, watching as she unlocks and pushes it open.

“Ladies first” she giggles like a school girl, standing to the side and gesturing you to go inside.

“Very funny, thank you” you laugh at her joke as you walk inside, the recognizable smell of home wafting you as you stood in front of the shoe wrack, kicking your converse off. Your mum gently presses her hand onto your back,

“I’m going to feed Oakley, then I’m heading to bed” she takes her hand off your back, walking past you and down the hallway into the living space. You can hear her calling Oakley and talking to her in a baby voice.

You slump, finally free from having to act perfect all night. You walk down the hallway that leads to your room, pushing the door open you run over to your bed. Belly flopping on top of it. Your exhausted from today, the sun and water makes you feel so tired. You let your body relax, you lie there fighting off sleep. You groan, pulling yourself up. Sliding off the side of your bed you walk over to your dresser, searching through your pyjama drawer. You pull out a tight cropped grey shirt, and blue and white striped grandpa shorts. You hold the pyjamas in your hands as you walk into your bathroom, placing them on your sink bench. You unzip your dress, pulling it off your shoulders letting it slide down your legs. You step over the dress, leaving you standing in your bra and undies.

JJ’s POV:

I wince for every step I take, exhausted. I have my arm wrapped around my torso, trying to keep the pain as little as possible. I’m on figure eight, walking around in the dark. I hiss at the pain on my face when I wipe the sweat off my forehead. As I walk down the street, I look around me recognizing the houses around me. I’m somewhat near Y/N’s house, I need her, all I want is her right now.

I turn the corner, the smell of the ocean getting stronger with each step I take. I remember that Y/N’s house is right in front of the beach, I have to be close.

At this point I’m practically crawling, I’m hunched over trying to walk as fast as I can. Dad really did some damage this time, hope he’s happy. I force myself to stand up straight, groaning as I do so. I look down the street, noticing a manicured lawn and a big white house. Its Y/N’s. I sigh, relived to know I’m close to some sort of comfort. I can feel the blood drying up on my face, but the pain only intensifies.

I’m on my hands and knees, dragging my body up the lawn to a window. I can see dim lights shining through the sheer curtains, I just have to hope is Y/N’s room. I pull myself up with all the remaining strength I have left in my body, I stand in front of the widow. I stare into it, reluctant to tap on it. But I see a figure walk across the room, a breathy laugh exits me.

I knock on the window.

Y/N’s POV:

As soon as you sat down on your bed, you hear a knock at your window. your heart pounds in my chest, you jump up to your feet but freeze in place. Too scared to look.

Another knock on your window.

You lean to the right, trying to see if you could see who it was but you couldn’t see through the curtains, and its pitch-black outside.

Another knock on your window.

“Y/N are you there?” a voice comes from outside, you can barely make out the words. You wince at the sound of your name falling out of whoever’s mouth this is. “Please, let me in” you hesitate, hearing the words coated in a weep. “Fuck it if I die, I die, its whatever.” You whisper to yourself. You walk over to the window, pulling the curtains to the side. You nearly jump out of your skin when you see a face staring back at you. But your breath slows when you see its JJ’s blue gaze that’s staring at you, with a pleading look on his face. you sigh, shaking your head. You push the window up, opening it. A gush of humid air surrounds your body.

“JJ what the hell, you scared the shit out of me” you step back, giving the blonde room to climb into your room. You watch as he pulls himself in, but gasp as his body hits the floor with a thump. You look over him, his knuckles covered in blood and bruises. You move your eyes further up to his beautiful face, his lip is busted, dried blood under his nose, a black eye, and a huge gash on his forehead just below his hair line. His hair is covered in sweat, and messily dropped over his forehead. You stare at him, confused on what’s going on. You watch his chest rapidly rise and fall, his eyes frantic looking around your room. You drop to your knees by his side, looking him up and down thoughts rushing through your mind.

“JJ what happened?” your words come out harsher than you wanted them to. You look into his eyes, but he struggles keeping eye contact with you, looking down at the floor. You sit in silence, watching his jaw tense up and an angry scowl on his face.

“Nothing” he blurts out, he stands up fast causing you to fall backwards. He starts to climb out the window, “shouldn’t have come”. Your quick to grab his shoulder, his attention turns back to you.

“JJ, stop. What happened?” you tug gently at his shirt, telling him to come back inside. He rolls his eyes, leaning his head up against the window frame.

“Got in a fight” His words are sharp, to the point. Your hand still on his shoulder, you gently rub your fingers in circles. Barely touching him, but touching him enough to feel.

“With who JJ?” you question, watching the blonde swing his feet back onto your bedroom floor.

“Nobody doesn’t matter who” he stands up, towering over you. You place your hand on his chest, you can feel him quickly pull back from pain. You pull your hand off, hovering over where you had placed it. “Shit sorry”, you rush through the words, looking up at JJ.

“Your okay” He looks down at you, you can see his glazed blue eyes.

“JJ let me help you. Here sit down” you point over to your bed, you watch JJ in anticipation waiting to see if he will comply. He nods his head, you watch his as he limps over to your bed. Carefully he sits down on the corner of the bed, he is barely on it. It’s like he’s scared to sit on it. “Take your shirt off JJ, I’m going to grab the first aid kit” you hurry into your bathroom, squatting in front of your bathroom sink you pull open a drawer. You pull out the first aid kit, you kept it in your room because you often had surfing accidents. You stood up, closing the drawer with your foot. You can see JJ in the mirror as he pulls his white shirt off, revealing the mess of bruises and cuts all over his body. You take a deep breath before turning around and walking back to where you had left JJ.

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sitkowski · 6 months

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(IDK WHAT THIS IS AND I KNOW NEXT TO NOTHING ABOUT LORNA SHORE OR WILL BUT)

You know what fic trope itches my brain?

Huddling for warmth.

Because winters on the East Coast are no joke. The cold snaps into place and there's nearly a foot of snow on the ground two weeks before Christmas. Everything is cold and dark. Eventually, the power goes out in your area. You're lucky enough to have inherited your parent's place and while it's out in the woods practically in the middle of nowhere, it's got a wood stove and there's a decent stash of wood in the cellar. As long as you crack a window, you won't suffocate. So you load the sofa up with blankets and grab the portable charger you keep for times like this.

The knock on the door surprises you. Who the hell would be stupid enough to be out in this? When you open the front door, the first thing you see on the other side is a human shaped blob that you realize you know. Will has on at least four layers, maybe more. You see hints of a beanie, maybe two hoodies, all beneath a heavy puffer coat and at least two scarves.

You ask him if he's insane, even as you let him in. Because there's no way he drove here. When he tells you he walked, you start yelling at him. It doesn't matter that your places are only separated by a thin woodline and it only took him about ten minutes. Last time you checked the temperature, it was nineteen degrees out.

He doesn't seem phased by your complaints, standing by the wood stove and shedding layers. It won't be dark for hours, and the living room is the warmest room. You've got water running to protect the pipes, and enough non-perishable foods. It's not the first time you've been in an outage in the winter. You're watching him strip out of hoodies—and three pairs of sweatpants— when you realize: Will walked in nineteen degree weather to see you. When you ask him why, he just says he missed you, that as soon as he got home from tour he wanted to see you but knew there were other things he had to do first. But he was making time for you now, and the two of you could be snowed in together.

By the time he's down to his jeans and a thermal shirt, he's shaking, as if the cold finally caught up to him. You make him get beneath the pile of microfiber blankets and curl up beside him. He's freezing even with all of the layers he had on, and you wrap yourself around him, letting your body heat seep into him. He tips his head back, kissing you softly. When you look out the window beside you, you can see that the snow is starting up again and you pull the blankets up higher. The air between the two of you is humid and relaxing, and he's asleep before you know it. You pull his phone from the nest of blankets and text one of his guys, just in case someone is looking for him. Closing your eyes, you let him burrow closer, tucking his head beneath your chin as you trace your fingers over the ink on his throat.

#lorna shore fanfiction #will ramos fanfiction #will ramos x reader #my writing stuff #i don't really know what this is but here please take it #we had snow yesterday i was inspired

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thatsthewrongwallcraig · 11 months

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babe, first of all, I hope you doing well 🥰 and second, but not least important, i'll do love if write some toxic fluffy whith jack, where, after a argument, she hurts or puts herself in dangerous just to get revenge, but nothing really serius happens to her, they reconizing they're not in a helth reletionship, but they gonna try to be better for eachother, you also can add some smut if you like, but this is not part of the request. hope you liked the idea, but if you don't, let me know

xoxo

My dearest anon...this is a lot of things but not exactly fluffy and I'm sorry if I went too hard on it but toxic Jack Thurlow had me short circuiting 😵‍💫😵‍💫

The Pain Remains

Summary: This time you really lost the plot for good and now all you can do is to clean up your act.

Pairing: Jack Thurlow x fem!Reader

Word Count: ~1.6k

Content Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT! 18+!, Grim Dark Smut, Active Self Harm, Jealousy, Borderline Very Toxic Relationship, Two Idiots In Love Trying To Do Better, It's Very Mentally Ill In Here, Mutual Substance Abuse, Very Shitty Coping Mechanisms, Strong Hints Towards Sex Addiction, Mentions Of Public Sex, Angsty As Fuck, Positive Ending, Tho 🙆🏻‍♀️!

A/N: I know, this is a rather heavy one and if anyone of you feels the need to talk to someone: My DMs are always open. Don't hesitate to reach out!🖤

Tagging The Squad:

@crypticsewerslut @quicksilversg1rl @cc-luvr @icarus-star @milaeth @roryculkinsgf @roryculkinsbf @spookyorchid @arch1viste @whoareyoi @angelsanarchy @b4sementgrl @blueberrypancakesworld

If the past is just dust

Then the future could be our dream

If all we have is now, this eternity

Ignite my satisfaction, engulf me

- The Pain Remains I By Lorna Shore

Before you even really woke up, you were forced to acknowledge the raging hangover headache in your head. With eyes closed shut, you turned to the side, your hand haphazardly roaming over the silhouette of Jack's body, looking for a glimpse of comforting body heat or just anything to get your racing mind to shut up for a second.

How did you get into bed? At what time did you fall onto the mattress next to him?

You had no clue about any of that as you pressed your body against his back, the pungent aftertaste of cheap rum still lingering heavily on your tongue.

"Fucking hell…" You groaned into the nape of his neck, your nose buried deep in his curly, brown hair and yet you could still smell the remnants of last night's pot extravaganza all throughout the bedroom.

What in the everloving fuck had the two of you been up to last night? With relentlessly firing synapses and painfully overdriven neurons you searched your mind for answers, a flicker of a memory, at this point anything, really.

You couldn't help yourself but to let your face contort into various tortured grimaces as the rest of your body slowly came to. Your stomach felt horribly fucked and in dire need for something solid, although the mere thought of food alone had you nearly gagging. No, you needed something else to take the edge off before you even so much as got out of bed.

Whilst inhaling deep, unsteady breaths, you soaked in the calming smell of Jack's body; a mixture of pheromone-loaded sweat, musky deodorant and soft hints of vanilla coke.

Vanilla coke spiked with cheap rum. Your stomach dropped and turned in every possible direction at the reminder. Nearly every weekend played out in the same shit show again and again: Booze to kill the anxiety, weed to elevate your spirit and nearly deranged amounts of sex to eradicate and simply drown out every last painful sentiment that could possibly be felt.

On that notion your lips curled up into a crooked smile whilst your reader fingertips grazed down your boyfriends gently rising and falling again chest, gingerly drawing a circle or two around his navel before eventually tapping down to the waistband of his black and gray checkered shorts, a throbbing case of morning wood straining against the fabric already. Sucking your bottom lip between your teeth in a low gasp, you simply indulged yourself and allowed your hand to slip right past the waistband, fingers wrapping themselves around Jack's girth tenderly.

"Goddamn minx!" Jack hissed into the darkened bedroom and involuntarily jutted his hips against your hand.

"Want me to stop?" You whispered into the soft skin of his shoulder before biting down on it teasingly.

"No, please.", His voice was raspy enough to give you a broad idea about how much the two of you must've smoked last night, "I'm equal parts hungover and horny as fuck."

"Yeah, I thought so." You snickered while you started fisting his cock, generously smearing the pre-cum all over the sensitive tip to not stroke him sore with a dry palm.

"You're a fucking menace, you know that?" Jack stuttered, choking back a breathy moan while rocking is lap in quick rolls, practically fucking himself into your grip.

"Says the lunatic who'll take every and any given chance to fumble me in public? Finger fucking me in the cinema, really?" With a mischievous grin spreading all across your face, you fondly remembered that happening a few days ago.

"C'mon, you enjoyed that, cumming all over the seat like you did." Jack shot right back at you.

"Fair enough." You agreed, tightening the grip around his hard on slightly to drag a shaky sigh from his lips.

"Fuck, you know I can't last long that early into the day." Jack practically whined out, his hips thrusting harshly against your hand while you jerked him off.

"Oh, poor, little Jack." Your playfully mocking voice got lost in the glossy curls of his hair as you felt his entire body turning stiff against your torso.

"Say that again… please!" Jack was clearly about to come undone, needing that little push of humiliation to push past the threshold.

"Oh, you sick fuck.", You sneered into his ear, the tip of your nose hardly touching its shell, "Poor, little Jack Thurlow creaming his boxers just after a few minutes already, huh?"

"Good god, fuck, you're so mean!" It cascaded out of his mouth in a guttural moan as he rutted against your hand in a few last, shaky thrusts before white-hot ropes of cum ruined his boxers and your hand alike.

The milky fluid spouted all over your fingers and eventually down your wrist, causing a very sudden, sharp pinch of simmering pain.

"What the hell?!" You hissed and withdrew your hands from Jack's crotch, raising it up for the both of you to stare right at the scene of the crime.

"What…" Jack mumbled under his breath, his eyes going wide in shock.

Thin yet vigorous cuts thrown all over your wrist, bright red with inflammation and laced with a milky layer of Jack's cum, laughing right in your face about the current state of your mental health.

"What…no…NO!" Your voice flailed and trembled as you stared at your wrist with thrashing disbelief.

"I was clean for a year! This…this isn't happening, no!" A dull pang of pain shot right through your dehydrated head as you basically jumped off the mattress and stumbled towards the bathroom, nearly tripping over scattered clothing and a glass bong.

Unbridled waves of shame and disgusting rippled through your system as a supernova of blacked-out memories decided to implode inside your head. You'd been pissed last night, even furious with Jack about something…yeah..fuck..a call. Was it call? Yeah, of course, a call from is ex-fiancé Cleo, that fucking cunt. Dumped him because she couldn't handle Jack the way you could and now trying to patch things up again. Stupid twat.

"Hey, wait!" You heard Jack calling out to you from behind, coming right after you.

Your out of control body fell against the door frame of the bathroom as you hurried towards the sink, yanking at the faucet for icy cold water to cascade over your violated wrist. It stung and you winced at the sharp pain.

"Are you okay? What the hell happened!?" Jack huffed, only stopping in steps as he was right behind you, making his presence known by cupping your jittery frame with his body, his chin resting on your shoulder as his slender hands wrapped themselves around yours under the running faucet.

His thumb ghosted over the cuts, gently washing himself off of your sore skin.

"Obviously not, asshole!" It shot right out of you and you regretted it immediately.

"Hey, watch that mouth! Right now is not the time for that." He mumbled into the crook of your neck.

"Fuck, sorry… I really lost the plot this time, huh?" Your voice was but a meak whimper.

"Maybe, but I got you. This is a temporary setback, yes, but not the end of the world, you hear me?" His tone rendered soft as he tried to calm you down.

"The cuts are shallow and if we take good care of them they'll heal without leaving a single scar. It'll be okay, yeah?" By now the water numbed your wrist out to the point that you didn't feel his thumb wiping you clean anymore.

"Uh-huh…I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry for being such a fucking psycho, Jack." The shame and self-loathing doubled down on you, dragging you into an inevitable breakdown.

"Stop that right there! You're not a psycho and I don't love you any less, you understand?", He pressed himself to you as impossibly close as he could, "A little slip up like that won't scare me. I'll go through that hell right here with you, I promise. I'll never go anywhere and just leave you like that."

Everything inside of you came falling down, every painful emotion amped up by the raging hangover that ruled over your shaking muscles and you just let yourself fall against Jack in eventual defeat.

"I got you and we'll handle that together!"

#rory culkin #asks are appreciated #asks are always open #jack thurlow × you #jack thurlow x fem!reader #jack thurlow #jack goes home #jack thurlow x reader #jack thurlow smut

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circle-with-me · 6 months

Text

‘tis the damn season - part 2

Pairing: Will Ramos x OFC (Genevieve/Viv/Vivvy)

Content Warning: 18+ MINORS DNI, angst, hurt - no comfort, brief mentions of child abuse, panic attacks, mentions of death/dying, brief mentions of violence/threats of violence, Will Ramos is stubborn as hell.

Word Count: 3.3k

Taglist: @concretenoah @deathblacksmoke @midnight-eternals @bngurngheart @malice-ov-mercy @witchyweeb34 @lyschko666 @cookiesupplier @lilrubles @meekahy

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Author’s note: There’s a lot more Will in this part and I promise there will be even more in future parts. Also, this one is probably going to hurt because it hurt me while I wrote it. Soooo…. Sorry 😬 Enjoy 😊

Will’s POV

The snow crunches beneath Will’s feet as he heads towards the cafe. That morning, he woke up with a sore throat and decided he’d grab some hot tea before practice that morning. He couldn’t afford to lose his voice now. Lorna was going on tour next month and they had a lot of kinks to work out with their set.

Leaving the cafe, Will heads in the direction of the warehouse. Traffic in front of the cafe was absurd. He could walk down the opposite way to a slower intersection, cut across and then walk back up. The only problem was that it would take him past the park.

He avoided the park as much as he could

“Man, it’s been eight years. Get over it.” he says out loud to himself.

As he walks past the park, he sees the gazebo. There was a light dusting of snow on the roof and the stairs. Christmas garlands were attached to each railing. Icicle lights were hanging from the top railings and Christmas wreaths were adorning each post.

It looked like something out of a Christmas card.

Will walks up the steps and stands in the middle of the structure. He couldn’t remember the last time he had come here. It looked the same but had a fresh coat of paint. A moment of panic sets in as he sets his tea down and steps onto the railing. Hoisting himself up he stands on his tiptoes to look into the rafters.

The entirety of the area had been painted white. Fuck, where is it? He couldn’t see it. It had been forever but he knew it was on this side. He couldn’t see it. His heart sank. It was gone. He started to lower himself down but something caught his eye off to the side. A faint etching into the wood that he would have missed if he hadn’t turned just so.

“W <3’s V 4eva”

Will let out the breath he was holding; a sharp pain shooting through his chest. It was a pain he hadn’t felt in a long time. The feeling struck him so hard it made his knees weak and he had to hold on to the post next to him to keep from falling off the railing.

It should have been a meaningless little thing. He had made that mark when he was a teenager, barely sixteen. Thirteen years later and he can still remember every moment of that day. How she smelled of cinnamon and cherries. The way her dark red hair fell in waves and would get tangled in the buttons of her coat. How red her nose and cheeks got from the cold. Her green eyes sparkling as she looked at the Christmas lights.

God dammit, he hated this time of year.

Will arrives at the warehouse to see Moke and Austin standing outside.

“Get here when you can, brother.” Moke exclaims, grinning.

“Fuck are you talking about, dude? I’m early as always.” Will responds.

“Practice was supposed to start 20 minutes ago, dumbass.” Austin pipes in.

Will checks his phone and he in fact was not early at all. His detour took a little longer than he thought. He looks up sheepishly and both guys burst out laughing.

“Sorry, guys.”

Adam slaps him on the back. “Don’t worry about it, man. Adam and Andrew are inside arguing about guitar stuff.”

“That’s why we’re out here.” Moke adds. “If I had to hear them fight like an old married couple for one more second I was going to shove Archey’s drumsticks in my ears.”

Will laughs loudly as they dramatically act out the guitarists argument.

Initially, he doesn’t see the woman with long dark red hair pass by but he notices her stop suddenly. For a split second he figures that she’s lost but then it hits him. The scent of cinnamon and cherries.

The scent is all-consuming. It fills his nostrils and in a millisecond seven years of memories flash before his eyes. She turns around slowly, making eye contact with him and he’s sure he’s fucking dreaming because it can’t be her.

“Shit.” he hears her say and that’s her voice. How is she here? Why is she here? After all this time..

He calls after her and she doesn’t stop. In fact, she picks up her pace. So, he takes off after her.

“Will! Where the fuck are you going?” Austin yells at his friend as he takes off running but it was no use. Will was on a mission.

Will continues to call after her and she refuses to stop. He feels dizzy, nauseated, and desperate because if he can just get a hand on her. Just touch her so he can know she’s real and he’s not crazy.

“Goddammit, Genevieve, stop!” Finally catching up with her, he grabs her by the arm and spins her around to face him.

They stare at each other for what seems like an eternity. He wonders what’s going through her mind. He can’t seem to gather his thoughts because he’s still trying to grasp onto the fact that she’s actually here in front of him.

Somehow, she was even more beautiful than the last time he saw her.

The last time he saw her.

Will recalls the moment she left and the shooting pain in his chest returns. Anger rushes through him and without thinking, his grip on her arm tightens. Tears begin to form in the corner of her eyes and she shifts uncomfortably. Realization settles in and he lets go, internally chastising himself. It doesn’t matter how long she’s been gone. He knows better.

He glances at her again and even though the tears are still there he can tell she’s not panicking anymore. Her tears are for an entirely different reason. The moment is so overwhelming he can nearly feel his own forming but being the stubborn man that he is, he blinks them away. Will is not going to give her the satisfaction of thinking she still has that much of an effect on him.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” she states matter-of-factly.

Will laughs humorlessly. “Seriously? After all these years, that’s all I get?”

Gen narrows her eyes and folds her arms across her chest.

“Right, because ‘what the fuck are you doing here?’ is so much better?”

“I think I have every right to be frustrated, Viv.”

“Don’t call me that.” she says firmly.

Will raises his eyebrows. “And what exactly am I supposed to call you?”

“If it’s all the same to you, Will, I’d prefer it if we just didn’t interact at all. I’m only here because I wasn’t given a choice and I plan to leave as soon as possible.”

A mixture of anger and desperation rises in him again. He wasn’t expecting her to jump into his arms but he didn’t think she’d blow him off like this. He needed something. More than this. He didn’t know how she could just pretend like this moment meant nothing to her when it meant everything to him.

Would he actually admit to that, though? Of course not.

He laughs and shakes his head. “Always in such a hurry to leave. Of course, I'm not surprised. It’s your favorite thing to do.”

This time, Gen laughs, but it’s the coldest laugh Will has ever heard. She steps closer to him and their faces are so close they are almost touching. Her perfume fills his nostrils again and he wishes he could start their conversation over. Tell her he was sorry for everything and kiss her breathless but it was too late. He ruined everything, once again.

All because of his goddamn pride.

“As much as I would love to stand here all day and rehash old wounds, Ramos, I have better things to do. Like bury my piece of shit father, for starters.”

Will doesn’t even get a chance to speak before she’s walking away from him. She never looks back at him for a moment but he watches her until her figure disappears.

Gen’s POV

Gen walks until the tears falling down her face begin to burn and her lungs start to hurt from the cold air. She was two blocks from the lawyer’s office but she couldn’t move anymore. She stops and sits on a bench in front of a random store in an attempt to collect herself.

She scrubs her shaking hands over her face and tries to control her breathing. She’s barely been back home for a few hours and she already ran into him. She hated being from such a small town.

“Always in such a hurry to leave… it’s your favorite thing to do.”

Will’s voice echoes on repeat in her mind until her head begins to pound. He knows damn well why I left. Gen thinks to herself. Who the fuck is he to throw that in my face?

Through the years she must have rehearsed their first conversation upon reuniting a hundred times. It was never something she expected to actually happen, but she was always preparing for shit like that. She knew it would be overwhelming and emotional but when she imagined it, she always handled it in a calm and practical manner.

Clearly, it’s much different when the person who broke your heart is standing right in front of you. It didn’t stop her from regretting the way she reacted. The way he grabbed her and the emotional whiplash from their sudden reunion had her adrenaline pumping. Agitation and being defensive were her go-to responses.

Gen knew that he didn’t intend to grab her like that. He knew better. It was embarrassing that it still affected her the way that it did.

Gen sighs shakily and checks her phone. She had five minutes to be at Mr. Shaw’s office. Her pity party would have to wait until later.

“Ms. Castillo, I’m Nathan Shaw. Thank you so much for coming in on such short notice.” The man extends his hand to Gen and she accepts it. He was younger than she expected, late thirties at the oldest. His dirty blonde hair was slicked back and his eyes were a piercing blue. When he flashes a smile at her, she concludes that feature alone wins a lot of his cases.

“It’s Taylor, actually. I told your secretary that on the phone yesterday. Anna, I believe?”

He glances down at the paper. “Oh, yes! She’s written it right here. My apologies, Ms. Taylor. Or is it Mrs?”

Gen has to bite back a laugh. “No, sir. It’s definitely still Ms.” She holds up her left hand to show him her bare ring finger.

Mr. Shaw smiles softly. “Very good, Ms. Taylor.”

She shifts uncomfortably in her seat. “If you don’t mind. How did you find me? My father and I haven’t spoken in years.”

“He had your phone number and address listed for us to call in the event of his death.”

Gen pauses for a moment, unsure how she feels that he actually had her address this whole time. “It’s just that… I changed my name and my contact information years ago, so that he couldn’t find me. I just don’t understand how he even had that information to give to you.”

Mr. Shaw looks at her over his glasses, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly. He flips back to the front page of the packet in front of him and turns it around to where Gen can look at it. She scoots up to the end of her chair to get a better look as he points to a particular paragraph.

I, Gabriel Fernando Castillo, am a widower. I was married to Margaret Anaïs Taylor Castillo on September 13, 1993, who died on August 9, 2007. We had one child, Genevieve Gabriela Castillo, who was born on August 11, 1994.

Genevieve Gabriela Castillo. Her eyes read the one line over and over again. God, she despises that name.

“What are you showing me this for, Mr. Shaw?” she asks, pointedly.

An amused look spreads across his face. “Ms. Taylor, with all due respect, if you wanted to change your name so your father couldn’t find you.” He pauses for a moment, considering his next statement carefully. “Your mother’s maiden name maybe wasn’t the best choice.”

Three hours, one panic attack, and a lot of kleenex later, Gen’s appointment with Nathan Shaw was finished.

Gabriel left her everything. His house. His car. An oddly large sum of money that was left in his bank accounts that she didn’t dare question its origin. Before she changed her name and number for good, he had called her relentlessly asking for money. No doubt having drunk it all up.

According to Mr. Shaw, that was what killed him. His liver failed and he chose to waste away at home instead of in the hospital waiting for an organ transplant. Mr. Shaw warned her that the house wasn’t in the best shape since he spent the last several months bedridden and would rarely let anyone in. He assured her, however, that “the mess” from his death had been cleaned up so she wouldn’t have to worry about that.

Oh, right. If it wasn’t enough for her to inherit her childhood home that held enough traumatic memories for a lifetime, it’s now potentially haunted by the ghost of her father? Nope. Nothing to worry about at all. She didn’t even believe in ghosts, but if anyone would come back to haunt her, that fucker would.

Considering her options, she decided to sell the house and the car. They were of no use to her. The money in Gabriel’s accounts would go towards whatever repairs were needed to make the house sellable and the rest she’d donate to charity.

Gen didn’t need him or his money. Dead or not she sure as hell wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of thinking she did.

So, now, it would appear that her whirlwind trip home would be much longer than anticipated. The realization of which caused her panic attack. Mr. Shaw’s sweet secretary, Anna, came rushing in his office with kleenex and water to help. Once she calmed down, Gen told Anna whatever Mr. Shaw was paying her wasn’t enough. Anna just smiled sweetly and headed back to her desk.

Another hour and a half later, the funeral arrangements had been made. The visitation would be Sunday at noon with the funeral immediately afterwards. A four hour affair where Gen would have to smile and pretend to care as people she hadn’t seen in years told her how wonderful her father was and how they can’t believe she’s been gone so long.

She felt nauseous already.

She took a deep breath, cracking her neck and massaging her jaw in an attempt to ease the tension from the day. She was in desperate need of food and a shower. She decided to head to her hotel, order takeout, and call it a night. She couldn’t bring herself to go to Gabriel’s house tonight. She would go tomorrow when she was rested and her head was clear.

As Gen laid in bed, she reflected on her day. Now that it was over, it all felt like a fever dream. She thought of Will’s face. The way it shifted from frustration to guilt when she told him why she was there. She had called him Ramos. She only called him that when she was mad and he hated it. She knew that, though, and said it on purpose.

She did it for the exact same reason he took a jab at her for leaving. There’s an ache in her. An ache caused by all the years of pain from her mother dying, her father drinking to cope with the loss and the abuse that followed afterwards. Will became her escape. He was always there to protect and comfort her.

One night, Will nearly beat her father unconscious after he had broken Gen’s ribs again for not cleaning the dishes the way he liked them. He was only seventeen at the time. Gabriel was an asshole, but he wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t going to put himself at risk of an investigation, so he didn’t say anything. After that night, the physical abuse stopped but the psychological abuse became worse. Will promised Gen that as soon as she turned eighteen, he was moving her in with him.

The day of her eighteenth birthday, Will moved her into his apartment. He had saved for months and managed to get one just a few weeks before her birthday. It was small and they barely had any furniture, but she didn’t care. Gabriel tracked her down and tried causing a scene but Will told him if he came near her or touched her again he’d make sure he didn’t wake up that time.

Gen was finally able to heal. She felt safe and secure at home for the first time in five years. They were both working and making enough to pay their bills with a little extra. She started college. For once, everything was going well.

The only problem was that she hated Westwood. It was too small for her and despite the memories she made with Will, it was filled with too many bad ones. She wanted out. She had a degree and had developed a strong skill set in music as an audio technician at the small recording studio she worked at and wanted to pursue a career as a recording engineer.

The owner of the studio had connections all over the country and was able to get her a job in New York. Gen was ecstatic and ran home to Will to tell him the good news. He had been supportive of her dream and told her he’d go anywhere for her.

However, when she told him it was finally happening, his face dropped. A silence fell between them that she had never experienced in all of the years they had been together. He stood from his seat on the couch, looked at her firmly, and told her no.

No? What did he mean “no”?

He meant no. She wasn’t going. He wasn’t going. They weren’t going.

Will’s reason was that she could do the same job in New Jersey that she could in New York. She argued that, while true, New York would give her a lot more opportunities to work with different artists and producers. Not to mention a lot more money.

He continued to refuse. Telling Gen it was a waste of time and attempting to educate her on how expensive New York is but it just came out as condescending. She explained how much extra she would be making and it may be hard at first but it would be worth it in the end.

When that didn’t work, he tried to explain that he had finally become comfortable with his band and didn’t want to mess that up by leaving. He also mentioned his family was in Westwood and they couldn’t just abandon them. She called him selfish and pointed out that New York was less than two hours by train. Not across the fucking country.

Gen was distraught and confused. Where was this coming from? This was not the Will she had known for so long. He had never tried to hold her back or tell her she couldn’t do anything. If she didn’t know any better, he almost seemed desperate to keep her in Westwood with him. But why?

After hours of arguing, he became silent again. He stood in front of the glass door that led out to their patio and just stared into the darkness. After what seemed like forever, he raked his hand through his curls and exhaled harshly like he had to prepare himself for what he was about to say.

“I love you, Vivvy… but you’re not going to make it in New York. You’re good at what you do but they’ll eat you alive up there. You’re not going and that’s final.”

Part Three

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