#the first kiss count of this trailer just keeps growing

[episims]

Sara "Woah. This place is so much nicer than when Cloud lived here."

Irida "Tch... I'm sorry. I've forgotten to make my bed again."

Sara "Eh, what kind of person even makes them? It's healthier to air the mattress."

Sara "Hey, that map! I always wondered what's it about."

Irida "Oh. It shows the evolution of ocean temperatures at the military's measurement stations... at some point in history. Hmh. It must sound weird to you, but I find it pretty."

Sara "Nah, I get it. Really makes you think how huge the ocean is, right? At least that's what I thought when I looked at it as a kid."

Irida "It's huge, indeed. And yet, so distant."

Sara "Aw, I should've realized. You miss it...?"

Irida *hums* "I do, some. But more than the ocean, I miss those who live there. It helps that I've made friends here, too."

Sara "Um, yeah, about that... I know I said we should think the not-just-friends option through. That's the mature thing to do, right?"

Irida "I'm in no hurry. I won't rush anything you're uncomfortable with."

Sara "See? You're the nicest person I know. And you're so damn pretty, too. So I was just thinking that if you ever want to, uh, totally casually, kiss me, or something... I'm not uncomfortable with that-"

Sara "—man. You really do handle your teeth well."

Irida "Tch, sorry. Too eager?"

Sara "No no no, I like eager!! I wouldn't think it was too eager even if we, like. Made out on your bed...?"

Irida "Are you sure? I won't lie; the teeth are tricky, sometimes."

Sara "Then we should totally practice the technique, amirite??"

[garbinge]

Cowboy and Pony

Tyler Owens x F!Reader

Summary: Tyler comes home with the crew after a chase and after a unpleasant run in with your ex. Word Count 4.5k Warnings: Light angst, mentions of parental death, really bad science and tech explanations for the sake of plot lol, anxiety, talk of trauma/guilt/grief, fear of leaving home, kissing and i guess PG-13 sexual situations (not really but like blink and you miss it type stuff). A/N: I saw Twisters last night and cannot get Tyler Owens out of my brain. Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @kmc1989

You knew Tyler practically your whole life. He was the boy next door, but that quickly turned into your friend next door. Throughout all of his crazy life adventures, bull riding, studying meteorology, chasing storms, you were there. Except while he was trying out a million things, you were doing one. Tinkering with shit. Some people probably would have called you a mechanic, but you hated it. Because you didn’t just stop at cars, you were the person that would dig through the garbage to find trashed parts and build a computer out of it. That’s actually when Tyler talked to you for the first time, he stood back watching you pick through his trash just to get a circuit board from an old computer. You just liked to build stuff, you learned how to solder, how to rewire shit, the whole nine yards. 

Tyler wasn’t just your neighbor growing up, he was a friend. One of the best of ‘em. It’s why when he switched up to tornado chaser and asked you to join his crew there was no hesitation in your decision. You also managed to find a boyfriend, two of them actually, a jerk off one, that only lasted a few months and then the one you currently had, who was in front of your face this entire time. 

You were nose deep into some project as you heard the bark from Pony, the rescued Great Dane who you spent most of your days with. It was a miracle you didn’t hear the loud speakers of the truck you knew pulled into the driveway, but then you realized they had probably been broken off or mangled to the point of repair. 

“He-hey Pony, who's a good girl.” His voice was muffled, he had to have been a few feet out from the barn, which meant he was keeping the truck a good distance away from you on purpose. 

Sliding the barn doors open, your eyes first fell on him. Your number one concern always being him. But when you saw that damn handsome smug face on him, looking up at you with the most apologetic smile as Pony licked his face, your eyes jumped to the truck. They were jumping just as soon as they were closing shut. 

The exoskeleton of welded steel had been crushed on one side, which honestly was the least of your problems. The weather station atop had been missing complete pieces versus just a couple dings and scratches. The roof rack lights were broken and the trailer hitch was bent in an unusable position. But the firework launcher was in perfect condition still, of course. 

“I fixed what I could on site.” You heard the statement through gritted teeth as Tyler stared at you knowingly. 

“Oh. There was more.” You opened your eyes and saw him with an expression that could only be described as yikes as he nodded and stood up, Pony attaching to his side instantly. 

“Yeaaaaa.” He was still gritting his teeth as he walked towards you with open arms, knowing he was going to work his way back into your graces. His arms were around you in seconds, and his lips on yours moments later. Reaching to the top of your head, you removed the soldering headband that was resting on the top of your head like a simple pair of sunglasses although was 5x the size. Tyler instinctively grabbed it from you, and moved his hand right back to your lower back while you let your hands cup his face. “I’m sorry.” It was whispered as he pulled from the kiss to rest his forehead on yours. 

You looked up at him and noticed the smallest scratch on his face and wiped your thumb along it in hopes that it was just dirt but when the mark stayed and you felt the rigidness from the skin starting to heal already, you knew it wasn’t. “You know all that shit I build for you is so this doesn’t happen, right?” 

He let out a laugh, and you felt his body vibrate against yours as he did. “It’s barely the size of a papercut, and I, uh, recall you using your wiring tools to stitch up my head one from bull riding so I’d say it’s not too comparable.” His hands were now reaching up to your face to place a swift kiss on your forehead in an attempt to ease you. 

“I don’t compare, I just find a way to make things better. So now you need to tell me what happened to make this happen.” Your hands had moved against his chest. 

“One of Storm Par’s guys didn’t tie down their gear right and it nicked Tyler.” Lilly was walking right by you both into the barn to drop her drone for its own repairs. 

That made your entire mood change. “I’m sorry, what?” Your head jumping from Lilly to Tyler who was smiling with his mouth open readying an excuse.

“It was one of the new guys, didn’t know his ass from the tornado.” This was him trying to simmer the situation with humor.  

“Yea and when you told him that, that David guy got all up in our pretty boy’s face!” Boone was also entering the barn, following shortly behind Lilly with the drone eyes and controller. 

“I’m sorry, what?” That’s when your body got more tense and Tyler did everything to try and shake it off you. 

David. The jerk off ex-boyfriend. 

“Which ones David?” Dani was calling out from the RV, her hat crooked as she hung from the passenger door handle. It was obvious she was probably busy when the situation occurred. 

“The jerk-off one!” You and Tyler both called out at the same time. It earned him a smile, you could always count on being in sync with him. Surrendering from your tension you raised your arms up again to his neck, just below his jawline. 

“What’d he do?” 

“Ah, you know, storm up in my face.” The irony of his statement wasn’t lost on you, it’s why you rolled your eyes which made him explain further. “You know, just said some stupid shit, Boone’s probably got it on video, probably really drive up our views.” 

You didn’t give a fuck about views or watching the footage right now, you wanted to hear it from him what happened. And he read that off you immediately. “He just got mad. I mouthed off to someone in his crew, he said some shit to me and I just brushed him off.” 

Looking over to Lilly and Boone, you were looking at them for the real answer. “I didn’t realize we were calling, pushing the guy to the ground, brushing him off.” Lilly was smirking as she was looking around at the pieces of the drone that were needing repairs. 

“Let me see the video.” You were pushing off Tyler, who was leaning in trying to get you back in his embrace until he dropped his head in defeat. 

Boone was eager to show you the footage he caught, ditching the drone and coming to your workstation to set up his camera for you to watch. 

“Watch your mouth, Tornado Wrangler. One of my guys is worth all of yours combined.” A typical thing to come from David’s mouth. The MIT degree he held must’ve come with a minor in selfish pretentious douchebag. 

You saw how Tyler’s tongue swiped against his bottom lip inside his mouth as he looked out past David, considering he had a few inches of height on him. “See that’s the difference between me and you, Storm Par, we value things a little differently.” 

It was immediately apparent that Tyler was referring to you. Yes, he valued his team way more than David his, but Tyler knew what he was doing when he said it. David put a lot of things before you when you were dating, and the straw that broke the camel's back was when he didn’t show up to the hospital when you found out your mother was sick. This was before Storm Par and Tornado Wranglers though, this was when David was just working tracking storms in the area for his college internship and Tyler was just starting to get over taming bulls and more into taming twisters. 

When David joined Storm Par, you were already with Tyler for about a year, so it was much to his surprise when he saw you at one of the many motels on the storm trail in Oklahoma not only on top of the red dodge RAM truck fixing something, but also on top of Tyler at the little bonfire gathering in the field adjacent to the motel later that same night. 

But it wouldn’t have mattered if you were together with Tyler or not. The two never got along, when he first met David from when they both started chasing the same storms, there was always something in the air. 

“Yea, we do. Extremely difficult and exhausting emotional baggage weren’t high on my must-haves when I was looking for a girlfriend.” It was the exact words he used when you broke up with him. Correct, you broke up with him, and he hit you with the yea this isn’t working, you’re extremely difficult and the emotional baggage is beginning to exhaust me line. The extremely difficult line was probably in reference to not wanting to build machines for him to use to track the weather, modeling equipment, etc. And the exhausting emotional baggage was the whole your mother being sick thing. He clearly was still using the statement which meant he thought it was effective. And it was. At getting pushed to the ground. 

After the words left his mouth, Tyler’s hands were on David’s collar bones and shoving him with such little effort but enough to get him to stumble to the ground. Tyler smirked, a fully sarcastic look as he shrugged his shoulders and lifted his hands. Very that’s what you get of him. “Told you not to talk about her, Storm Par.” 

“You told me not to say her name.” David was annoyingly dusting off his shirt, knowing that physically he couldn’t take Tyler even on his best day. The secret was, you knew he couldn’t outsmart him even on his worst day either. 

“Hm.” Tyler was taking a couple steps closer now, really towering over him now, blocking any sun from David's vision as he stood tall looking down at him. “Well let’s just add it to the list, huh?” Just as Tyler was about to step away, the smirk on his face went from sarcastic to a full blown smile as he grabbed the ‘not my first tornadeo’ t-shirt that was on Boone’s shoulder and tossed it down to him. “Here, something to change into, you got a little dirt.” He pointed to his own torso when he said it.

That’s when the camera flipped to Boone raising his eyebrows, “you mess with the bull you get the horns!” His fingers raised to his forehead where his pointer and pinky finger were extended in the rocker sign and his teeth gritted to imitate a bull. 

“Classy.” You looked up to see Tyler still in the same spot, at the entrance of the barn leaning against the door frame, arms crossed. “Maybe next time we can get you both knight costumes and we can make it a true fight for my honor.” 

Despite your satire, he knew you weren’t mad. “Next time, huh? That mean you comin’ on the next chase with us?” 

That was the question. It was so much the question, that everyone was looking at you now. Lilly, Boone, Dani, and Dexter. After your mother got really sick, it was hard for you to leave the house, when you needed time for yourself, you’d come to the garage barn and work, that way when she needed you you weren’t too far. When she passed, you were away, on a chase which held enough guilt to basically move you into your barn. The house was merely a place for you to eat, sleep, and shower. And have sex with Tyler, although the barn had seen its fair share of that as well. Now, you had explained it as a habit–preference even, you preferred staying home, it was habitual. But everyone really knew… it was that emotional baggage. 

Even though he was mentioning it now, you knew there was never any pressure to go. You used to go. But ever since you got that call from the nurse’s aid that your mother had passed in her sleep while you were 75 miles away, it was hard to pull yourself from here. 

“Let me bring the truck in here.” Avoidance.

The keys were being dangled from Tyler’s fingers before you could say another word. As you jumped into the driver’s seat of the truck, you looked down to see a note on the odometer with your name on it. 

She got a little more mangled than expected. But can’t wait to tell you about the chase. Give you a little sneak preview, twins, changing wind shear and a surprise. Did what I could on site to fix the ol girl but no one’s as brilliant as you, especially with the vehicle sonar. You probably didn’t notice the vehicle sonar was broken. I’m sorry, did I say that? I don’t think I said that. I love you, I’ll say that too, in hopes that it’s enough for you to forgive the state of the truck, and if not, I brought back barbecue to win your love back. 

T 

These were your favorite; they made you feel included, like you were there. And Tyler knew that. Tucking the note into your jacket pocket, you pulled into the garage barn and got to work. About an hour in was when you were interrupted by the smell of barbecue and Tyler attached to the plate. 

“Winning back my love?” You called out with a smile, your legs extended out on the roof of the truck as you installed the new-old weather station to it. 

He placed the plate next to you, barely needing to reach up to get it that high and jumped into the bed of the truck. “And if not yours then Pony’s.” He was picking a piece of chicken off the plate and tossing it to the Great Dane who was nestled in the corner of the truck bed. “You get my note?” He was standing in the bed now, leaning against the back of the truck cap, his arms crossed on the roof as he watched you work. 

“Of course I did. You gonna tell me about,” You pulled the wrench away and looked in his direction while trying to remember the keywords he gave you from the chase. “Twins, and the shifting shear.” 

“Don’t forget the surprise.” He was picking up the fork from the plate and waving it as he spoke. “Yea, so we caught twins, although they didn’t look like twins, one was thin, small radius, the other was growing, kickin’ up a lot of dirt.” 

“Which one did you follow?” Despite not being much into meteorology, Tyler talked enough about it for you to learn a lot, and even though you hadn’t been on a chase in while, you knew the ins and outs pretty well still. 

“The wrong one.” Now he was pushing the fork in your direction, knowing you wouldn’t stop what you were doing long enough to relax and eat. 

“The shifting shear.” You mhmed in acknowledgement to the word in his letter about the wind change and also as the taste of your favorite Oklahoma barbeque spot filled your taste buds. 

“Yep.” He nodded, “We lost it and Storm Par didn’t.” 

“Before or after your run in with David.” 

“Before.” 

“Then, Tyler Owens, I think you still came out on top.” You said it while still looking at the plate, about to grab more food but the interruption of Tyler’s arms pushing him up on the truck roof, his boot stepping up on the fixed exoskeleton to boost him up so he was on top of you. 

“You’re damn right.” He was leaning his face dangerously close, as if his body atop of yours wasn’t dangerous enough. The slightest touch of his lips met yours and any thought of barbecue and fixing weather stations was out of your brain, in fact any thoughts at all were gone from your head aside from the many thoughts of Tyler caressing you.  “I missed you.” That was until he said that. 

He meant well, and you missed him too, but it just reminded you of not being there. Tyler picked up on your change in mood immediately, his left arm pressed against the metal of the car so he wasn’t as on top of you anymore, his face twisted in concern as his eyebrows raised in a way to ask you what happened but as you thought about how you wanted to explain he got it without you needing to share a word. “Fuck.” Dropping his head and the confused concern, his head fell on your shoulder. “I didn’t mean it that way. Even earlier today, I just–” 

“Miss me. I get it.” Your hand fell on his head, your fingers getting tangled in his blonde locks, your mouth moving to pepper kisses on his head as well. “I missed you too, for the record.” You mumbled it against his head. 

He moved off you and fell next to you, his hand cupping your head as he placed a kiss to your forehead as he moved. “There’s never any pressure. At your own pace.” 

“Says the guy who faces his fears by riding them. If I was anyone else, you’d laugh and scream cowboy obscenities as you walked away from me.” 

That caused Tyler to laugh out loud, his body vibrating against yours as his laughs fell in the crook of your neck. “You’re not scared.” 

“I’m scarred.” Making jokes was the only way you felt comfortable really talking about it. 

“And for the record, you’re you, not anyone else, so yes I treat you differently.” He left a kiss in the crook of your neck as he left it. “And what are cowboy obscenities?” 

You cleared your throat and began hollering typical midwestern slang and finished it off with the Tyler Owens tagline. “Woooohooo, if you feel it chase it!” 

There was his laugh again, buzzing against your body, making you miss him even when he was right damn next to you. 

Things quieted down for a bit and the two of you sat up and finished off the plate of barbeque on the picnic table you turned the roof of the red dodge into. “So, I was thinkin’ you know how you have the buttons in the truck to release the rockets and drill in and all that.” You spoke like you weren’t the one that helped him install all of those gadgets. 

“Mhm.” He smiled thinking the same thing, his arm propped up on his folded leg. 

“Well, Storm Par they have those data trackers, the things they gotta get out of the car and place down around the vortex.” You explained. 

“Think it’s the PAR in Storm Par.” Tyler teased.

“Exactly, Phased Array Radar. And I know we have the drone, which is great but what if we could have both? Footage and data.” Before Tyler could answer you were jumping back down to your work station and moving some things around to pull out a mechanism you had been working on before the group arrived back. 

Tyler was following behind you, not as quickly paced but still intrigued. “Okay so this we could install in your truck and attach it to this.” You were now showing a large panel that had hydraulics on it. “And basically, you press this and the truck bed flap will open and this will move out, dropping whatever you want out, you guys won't have to leave the car.” 

Tyler nodded as he took it all in, impressed, as always. “Pretty sure the handsome fellas at Storm Par use 3 of those bad boy radars though. Don’t think we could get the RV that close to a twister.” 

“I’d build you a data catcher where you’d only need one.” Already having the answer to his question you folded your arms and smirked. You had the mechanism to release it pretty much done, now you just had to build the radar, no biggie. 

“How?” He copied your pose, arms crossed, leaning more on one leg than the other, although his eyebrows were frowned while yours were raised. 

“Because you just have to drop it in the vortex.” Now his eyebrows raised and before he could ask his one more follow up question, you were answering it for him. “And I’m planning on building one that shifts its panel, so even when the twister passes, you can still track it for up to 5 miles. Dorothy reimagined.” You were referring to the hundreds of sensors people would generally have zipped up into a tornado to radio back data. 

“We’d have information on the twister way quicker.” Tyler’s brain was starting to wrap around this idea. 

“It’s not perfect, it’s not going to change much but–”

“It’s a way to get more information faster, that’s pretty big.” He stopped you from doubting the idea. “And keeps us from needing to race against the twister outside the truck. 

“I’m nothing if not concerned for your safety.” You pointed at him with the large switch in your hand while he walked over to start helping you piece some more things together. The two of you fell into a silent groove, working on the idea you had just shared with him, rewiring things and going over different equations to best prepare the data capture radar. As time passed, Tyler looked over at you from across the workstation and spoke up. 

“You know, I get why you can’t come out. I know prolly better than anyone how much your mom meant to you, what seeing her get sick did to you.” 

Shifting your focus from the lamp lit table covered in wires in front of you, you looked up at him. His eyes were staring at you, softly, it was something he seemed to want to share for a while and was just waiting for the right moment. And he was right, Tyler did know. It was the perk of growing up with him as your neighbor, he just knew things because he was there. Not only did he know, but he experienced them with you. He’d come by for dinner, bring you any piece of tech or electronics him or his aunt didn’t use anymore. When you popped your bicycle tire riding home from school, he picked you up in his aunt’s truck even though he didn’t have a license. On those weekend trips you’d so often take with your mom, he’d come by and check in on the barn, on your family pets. When she was sick and 90% of your time was spent making sure she was okay, he was making sure you were okay. And when your mom passed, he was the one who drove you the 75 miles back home in the same red pickup truck when one of the most historical twisters touched down. 

It was memories and thoughts like those that always made you wonder what took you so long to realize you were in love with Tyler Owens. He’d love to tell everyone now that he knew from the moment he saw you picking through trash that he loved you. That when you were rushing down the high school hallway with some contraption you made explaining to him that you made it to help him with the focusing issue he had casually brought up to you was when he realized he could never lose you. This person who knew neither of them had the money for noise cancellation headphones and just decided to make them herself with a playlist of his favorite songs in one night to help him focus? You cared about him. And he could never lose that. Which is why he could never tell you that he was in love with you. He watched you date losers, even went on his own dates too sometimes to see if he could get over the feeling. The only thing comparable was bull riding. Or storm chasing. And with that came you, because as much as you didn’t realize you loved Tyler, you knew you loved being around him. 

“We can start slow if you want to get out, maybe we can go away for the weekend, go to that town you and your mom used to drive out to in Texas, Sun Valley, right?” 

It was honestly the perfect idea. Getting out and doing something that reminded you of your mom. “Yea that’s a good idea.” 

He sensed the hesitancy in your voice though and changed the topic quickly. “Never asked me what the surprise was.” 

“What’s the surprise?” It was spoken in a mockery tone, you knew he’d get around to telling you. 

“Be right back.” He was eagerly standing up from the table and lightly jogging down the driveway into the RV where Dani and Dexter were probably working on making sense of the data they had already captured. 

As Tyler came back into the barn, Pony whined and tilted his head as the scent of what Tyler was carrying entered the barn. He had a young dog in his hands, although the dog was big enough to likely not be a puppy but you could tell from his face, he still had a few more young months ahead. It was a real dog and pony show, literally. 

“Found him in the aftermath rubble, pretty sure his owners didn’t make it because no one claimed him.” The heaviness of his statement hit you as you stepped out and made your way towards both Tyler and the dog.  “Didn’t have a nametag on ‘em.”  

“Cowboy.” You grabbed the dog from Tyler’s hands, giving him his name, and scratched him behind his ears before putting him down on the ground to meet Pony. 

As you looked at both dogs, now curiously sniffing and playing together in your workshop barn, Tyler tossed his arm around your shoulders and kissed your head. “Pony and Cowboy.” He nodded. 

“You bring him home because you don’t think Pony has it in her to protect me all by herself?” 

“Somethin’ like that.” He smirked. “Plus now, you got an excuse to stay home more. You got a puppy to raise.”

[fae-of-prey]

sugar plums ⏾ ˖ ࣪⊹

❥. ݁₊ inspired by this + me rewatching obx before the new season

❥. ݁₊ word count: 1138

❥. ݁₊ warnings: barry’s little sister reader (kinda naïve + v sheltered); w*rd cameron; brief mentions of murder as per canon events of the show; sorta dubcon kiss but reader doesn’t mind; i think that’s it? feel free to lmk if i missed any

❥. ݁₊ notes: this is v much baby’s first official fic so pls be nice to me:3 i also wanna thank my beautiful beautiful moots for supporting me + beta reading this for me, love y’all to death<333

rafe loves nighttime; it’s peaceful, quiet, it feels like he has the whole world to himself, and most of all you. he fights hard to keep you as blissfully ignorant and unaware as humanly possible, so you can sleep peacefully next to him. rafe can’t sleep tonight though, how could he? he’s haunted by the consequences of his own murderous actions. he lays awake watching you instead just to feel a tinge of pride from how well he’s kept you safe and happy despite everything. rafe always thought you were an angel, his angel, sent straight from the heavens just for him, and you‘ve never looked more heavenly at peace than you do now.

you’ve certainly come a long way from a drug dealer's little trailer park princess sister, busting your ass working at the country club hoping you’ll eventually save up enough to afford college someday, to spending your days living the kook life at tannyhill and being spoiled absolutely rotten. although your big brother was apprehensive at first to your courtship with the kook king himself given the fact that he knows rafe, he eventually came around to the idea; he even lets you live with rafe now for the most part, i mean you get to live in a mansion more comfortably than he’s ever been able to provide, so he had to be a little selfless. barry’s always been a little overprotective and very strict with you to keep you safe from the dangers of his lifestyle, but now so is rafe and he’s happy to be responsible enough to keep you out of trouble.

on the surface it seems like the most dangerous place you could be (well, right next to the dingy trailer of your drug dealer brother), but rafe promised your brother you’d be in good hands, a promise he fully intends to keep even if those hands are now covered in blood. all so you can sleep soundly in his arms dreaming of sugar plums, while rafe’s father pulls into the driveway with a dead body in the trunk.

‘rafe’ even his whisper startles his son and causes you to stir a little bit when he jumps, though he quickly rubs your arm with his thumb soothingly as he turns just slightly to face his father, careful not to wake you in the process ‘what? what is it?’ so eager to help, yet there’s a small part of him deep down dreading leaving the comfort of your presence for what he’s sure can’t be anything good. but ‘i need your help’ is still enough temptation from the devil for him to get out of bed and smear a kiss to your hairline before following his father out to the driveway ready to do anything for daddy’s approval.

sometime in the middle of rafe carrying gavin’s body to the druthers, you stir from your slumber, searching for rafe in the covers only to come up empty, prompting you to open your eyes in hopes you’ll have more luck with your sight, but he’s still nowhere to be found. you creep into the hallway ‘rafe?’ nothing but an echoing sense of unease. not just at rafe’s absence, but the feeling of trepidation in such a large house; you’re still not quite used to it from growing up in a tiny trailer (because despite rafe’s efforts, you’re still not quite a real kook just yet, and other kooks don’t shy away from making it clear behind rafe’s back). that and you can’t help the nagging sense that something is wrong.

you go downstairs for some water while you wait for rafe to come back from accessorizing a murder wherever he is. and as soon as you’ve finished filling your cup you turn around to see your boyfriend walking in suddenly scaring the hell out of you, you didn’t even hear him come in ‘hey baby, what’re you doin up?’ his voice still so raspy ‘i woke up without you, where’d you go?’ you pout, setting the glass down to wrap your arms around him but you still look up at him with those big doe eyes, and he can’t help but feel a familiar pitter patter in his heart at your clinginess; he quite literally just buried a body but less than a minute with you sends him right back to cloud 9 because fuck you’re the light of his goddamn life, and more than that you’re the only light in his goddamn life ‘just uh, had to help my dad with som‘in on the boat, nothin fancy. let’s getcha back to bed, yeah?’ you smile and nod before taking your water with you as he leads you back upstairs.

once you’re all settled in again, so does grim reality when rafe remembers he still has to find the gun in the drain ‘shit, i’m sorry baby, i gotta go take care of somethin else’ ‘what? more boat stuff?’ you’re joking but still he’s never been more grateful for your lack of knowledge on boats before ‘yeah, yeah, uh, i’ll be back soon as i can though okay?’ ‘okay’ you’re pouting again ‘aw c’mon don’t give me fuckin that look’ he starts rummaging around in his closet for some real clothes to wear just to avoid it ‘what look?’ you feign innocence ‘those fuckin bambi eyes you give me whenever you want somethin’ ‘i dunno whatchu mean’ ‘yeah sure you don’t, fuckin smartass’ you giggle at his grumbles, he comes back dressed for the day since it’s morning now and he still has to go find a murder weapon.

‘cmere gimme a kiss fore i go’ ‘promise not to be gone long?’ you look up at him with those big doey eyes once again, you need to make him promise so you can sleep easy knowing he’ll be there when you wake up again, but rafe just sighs ‘ion know how long this is gonna take baby, i said i’ll be back as soon as i can, can’t make any promises okay?’ you’re still pouting at him so he rolls his eyes and grabs your face, squishing your cheeks, and kisses you himself, grumbling about how he has to do everything himself ‘just go back to sleep and i’ll see you later aight? promise’ ‘okay’ you huff in defeat ‘good girl, i love you’ ‘i love you too’ when you kiss him once more he has to refrain from kissing you again or else he’ll never leave the damn house.

eventually he manages to leave you and rides off on his motorcycle while you watch from the window. after he’s gone you flop back into bed sighing, maybe you can at least dream of him to keep you company while he’s out wondering how the hell he’s gonna explain this to your brother.

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed, likes / comments / reblogs of any support or feedback is the best way to show your appreciation, either way i’m so happy to have you here; i feel like there’s more i can explore with this so i’m down to write more of it if you guys want; but other than that i hope you have a lovely night, muah!

© FAE-OF-PREY 2024

[jamdoughnutmagician]

Do Ya Wanna Taste It?

Eddie Munson/Reader

Summary:Eddie gets the chance to spend some time with the girl of his dreams and treats her just how she deserves to be treated.

Warnings:18+, Smut, Kissing, Body Worship, Teasing, Oral Sex (F recieving), Fingering, Nothing else that I can think of (unless you wanna shoot me a message to say I missed something) 

Word Count:822 

Authour’s note:This was my first time writing something spicy with Eddie Munson in mind, and basically I’m just pulling this from my AO3 account and posting it here too. And yes I’m using the Peacemaker theme tune as a title for this fic you can’t tell me what to do

Laying on your back against his bed, you feel the press of his soft lips pressing against yours, tongues tangling together. His large hands cradling your head, his long fingers working their way to weave in your hair.

Slowly you pulled away from him as he chased your lips for one final taste before you broke the silence.

“Y’know you are just full of surprises, aren’t ‘ya Munson?”

“Oh Baby, you have no idea.” Eddie chuckled as he continued to kiss his way down your body.

If it’s one thing that Eddie loves (well really it’s two things, but the best things, as he’s told you many times before,come in pairs) it’s your tits.

As Eddie gently places tender kisses all over your breasts, his pink tongue darts out to slowly drag its way around one of your nipples. Teasing the bud into a hardened peak before he wraps his lips around it and sucks it into the warm heat of his mouth. All the while, with his large calloused hands, he holds the weight of your other breast in his other hand using his skilled guitarists fingers to pluck and pinch your other nipple.

Suddenly you feel his lips descend lower down your body, whilst still placing kisses on any and all exposed soft skin that he could find.

Soon you felt the graze of his teeth nipping at the elastic waist of your yellow and black polka dot patterned cotton panties.

“Gotta say babe, these cute little panties of your are really doing it for me, they’re so sexy” Eddie smirked as his lips placed kisses along your inner thigh

You felt your face heat up with embarrassment, giggling behind your hands.

Lifting your hips up, so that Eddie could hook his fingers into your panties and drag them down your legs. You didn’t miss how he tucked your panties into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Just keeping them for later, baby, I hope you don’t mind” he winked at you.

The thought of Eddie being by himself in his trailer bedroom lining his fist with your underwear as he works over himself is something you’ll be keeping in mind for when you're alone as well.

“There she is, my pretty girl” he all but almost purred out as he was greeted by the sight of your exposed pussy.

Leaning forward, Eddie anchored his arms under your legs to throw them over his shoulders. His tongue darts out to briefly wet his lips, giving you a moment to gather your thoughts, before his tongue licks a long slow stripe along your pussy.

Eddie prided himself in his oral skills, and he delighted in showing off his talents to you any chance he would get.

He absolutely loved having his tongue buried in your pretty pussy, drinking in your sweet juices. He was teasing one single finger inside your tight wet heat, pushing until he could feel that soft spot inside you that had your squirming on his bed. Wrapping his lips around your clit, he gave it a few quick flicks of his tongue before going back and sucking it between his pink lips

Whether he realised it or not, the sounds of your delicious whimpers, had his hips grinding into his mattress in a futile attempt to relieve some of the pressure of the growing hardness in jeans.

Your hands that had previously been grasping at the sheets of Eddie’s bed, somewhere down the line, had found their way to tangle in Eddie’s mess of curls. Tugging the soft strands between your fingers as he continued to slip another finger inside you, and press into your sweet spot.

The knot in the pit of your lower stomach was tightening even more, as you rocked your hips against your boyfriend's face.

“You taste so good, babe” he slurred out against your wet heat.

With Eddie’s constant stimulation on your pussy, it didn’t take you very long before the knot in the pit of your stomach finally snapped as you rode out your high, hands tugging deep in your boyfriends as your hips thrashed against his face. Placing his hands on your lower stomach, Eddie drank down everything that your sweet pussy would give him, slurping up your release.

With you gasping for breath as the aftershocks of your orgasm subsided, Eddie came to lie next to you, holding you in his arms on his bed.

“Wait...what about you? Isn’t it my turn to go down on you now?” you teased with a laugh.

“Oh we don’t have to worry about that, right now. I actually kind of already came.” he shyly admitted with a blush. “You know I always love eating your pussy, babe. I guess it just gets me going.” he smiled.

“Okay, but as soon as your good to go again, I am so going to ruin you, Munson, just you wait”

“Can’t wait, babe.”

[dakotalun]

More Than Friends Part 2 | Eddie Munson

pairing: Eddie Munson X Fem Reader

summary: PART 2-- You and Eddie have been "friends" for a while, but you can't help but notice something off between the two of you lately.

warnings: oral (f. receiving), praise kink, pet names (good girl, baby, sweetheart, good boy, pretty boy, princess), switch!eddie, fingering

word count: 4.1k

a/n: sorry it took me so long to get to this, shit's been busy.

*******NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS*******

You drive the empty roads until you reach his trailer. You notice that his uncle’s truck isn’t outside like it normally is, guess he’s at work. Eddie parks and hops out before running to your side of the van and opening the door.

“Come,” It’s not a request, it's a command, which you follow obidiently. You take his outstretched hand and let him help you out of the car and towards his home. You grow more and more impatient the longer he takes to open the door. All you want is to kiss him and claim him as your own.

Finally he opens the door and pulls you inside, not even closing the door fully before pushing you against it and capturing your lips in his. The kiss is more heated than last time and it makes your core tighten at the feeling of his tongue with your own.

His body pushes against your own, shoving you further into the solid piece of wood on your back. You can’t even focus on that because this feels too good to stop.

The way his lips move over yours is so captivating and wonderful that you start to lose balance. Luckly Eddie was holding onto your waist to keep you upright. The grip he has on you is strong for him being such a skinny guy, but you prefer it this way. Secretly muscular but doesn’t show it. It’s sexy in a way, it’s what drew you to him sexually in the first place.

Eddie slowly starts to glide his hand under your shirt and glide his fingers across your hot skin, tracing with a feather light touch. He’s going slow, memorizing every dip and curve of your body, engraving it to memory. This is one thing he never wants to forget.

“Bedroom,” It’s all you can utter as your mouth pulls back for a split second to breathe.

“Up,” Eddie bends down slightly to lift you off the ground and carry you into his room. The walk isn’t long but it feels like forever when all you want is for this man to tear your clothes off right now and take you and mark you as his own.

Eddie kicks his door open and closes it the same way, you still being held tightly in his arms. Your head is near his neck, face buried in his hair, which still faintly like his coconut shampoo. You trail your lips down the side of his neck, trying to leave a few bruises in your wake. He clearly isn’t going to let you get that far because just as you start to make progress on one he throws you down on the bed.

You bounce slightly upon impact and adjust yourself to be further towards the headboard. Eddie is standing at the edge of his bed, not moving a muscle, staring. He’s taking in this moment and preparing for all the ones to come. You notice the look in his eyes and decide to give him more to look at.

You grip the hem of your shirt and pull the thin, loose piece of fabric off, tossing it somewhere in the room to be searched for later. Eddie’s eyes nearly pop out his skull at the sight of your red lace bra. You didn’t think this was going to happen, today or anyday soon, but still you felt cute so why not dress it too.

“Shit,” Eddie is at a loss for words. The way your boobs aren slightly peeking out over the top of your bra and the roundness of it, if he could get any harder he would.

“Like what you see?” You whisper seductivley at him.

“Damn right I do,” He crawls over your body, hovering over you and not taking his eyes off your breasts.

You put a finger under his chin and lift it to face you, “Eyes are up here baby,” The nickname just came out, something you would say on any other day, but the way he shutters under your touch is unimaginable. 

“Aw pretty boy like it when I call him baby?” Eddie nods rapidly. The speed that he can go from domineering to submissive is quick and simple, just like you like it.

“Want me to take it off?” Once again he nods, “Words pretty. I need words.”

“Yes. Please, Jesus Christ please,” He nearly moans out the words, too far gone mentally to cope with your teasing.

You reach your free hand behind your back and unhook your bra, letting it drop from your body. Eddie tries to veer his focus there but you keep his face still before he can.

“Not yet. You next,” In record time Eddie has tugged off his shirt and thrown it across the room, “That’s my good boy. You can look now.”

Eddie doesn’t wait a second longer, his eyes are magnetised to your chest. The flesh there is the perfect color and size for any man but Eddie isn’t picky, not with you at least.

“You're perfect, baby. Can I touch you?” “Sure, only since you asked so nicely,” You plant a kiss to his lips before laying fully on your back. 

He takes his calloused hands and roams them up your body, finally being able to envision the curves he traced just minutes earlier. His hand grabs and squeezes your breasts, massaging them which causes you to moan.

“Oh, did I find something that you like?” His voice is slightly condescending.

“Mhmm,” You pull your bottom lip into your mouth to stifle the moans.

“No. No muting those pretty little moans baby, I need to hear you fall apart under me.”

He dips his head down to lick your nipples, taking one in his mouth and nipping it lightly. Just to test the waters. You’ve never had someone tease you like this so this is foreign territory for you, the feeling making your back arch. He massages one while using his mouth on the other before switching.

The things he does to you makes your eyes roll in the back of your bed and stars to appear in your vision. The time and care he takes into making you feel good before himself is more than anyone before.

Once fully satisfied with the bruises he left behind he trails his kisses downt he length of your body.

“Eds, what are you-” He shushes you.

“I gotta take care of my baby. Let me do this, please. I might want this more than you do right now,” His eyes are soft and gentle again, showing the vulnerability that only you get to see.

“Okay,” It’s barely audible but he hears it, and that’s enough for him.

His fingers go to the waistband of your shorts, his eyes never leaving yours, silently asking if everything he’s doing is okay. You don’t complain to anything, you nod along because you too need this release.

Eddie unbluckles your pants and slips them down your legs along with your underwear, leaving soft kisses in the path. Once the shorts are off he looks at you, like really looks at you for the first time tonight. The emotion he feels is inexplicable and he doesn’t want to change that for anything else in the world.

His hand are rubbing your thighs, soothing the anxiety he knows you feel at the moment.

“I need you to relax sweetheart. This is only gonna hurt if you don’t relax,”

“Mhm okay,” You try your best but the throbbing is too intense.

“Hey look at me,” You continue to look at the ceiling, “Look at me,” Your eyes drift to his, “You trust me don’t you?” You nod, “Then let me do this for us okay? I will make you feel so good.”

The mixture of love, lust and trust you feel for the man laying between your legs right now is palpable. His hair is messy from your hands and his lips are swollen from all the kisses. He looks so love drunk that you almost wanna giggle at him.

“Alright. I trust you, always have.”

A smile breaks out on the brunette’s face, his dimples coming out of hiding. “That’s my girl,” He comes up to give you a kiss before returning to his previous pootion between your thighs, “Tell me if you need me to slow down or stop or anything. You say it and I’ll obey.”

Before you can protest or even reply back he starts kissing your inner thigh, the flesh being an easy material to bruise. Slowly the kisses trail higher and higher getting to your core. The anticipation is killing you, you need him on you and now. 

You whine out loud, hoping he will take the hint and use you like he wants but this seems to only spur him on to tease you more. The feeling of his tongure just barely on you, so close yet so far is aganizing. You buck your hips up on impulse, unable to control your body movement anymore.

“Patience baby, patience.”

You groan and flop your head back on the pillow below, knowing that he’s not going to give you what you want anytime soon. But to your surprise he dives in once your head hits the pillow. His tongue laps at the juices dripping out of you and he takes every last drop like a starved man. 

The moans you let are near pornographic, they sound so fake that even you can’t determine if they’re really coming from you or not. Eddie is hearing you and puts more force and effort into his minastrations. Pullling gasps and moans and begs out of you every second.

“There you go baby. Fall apart for me, you’re doing so good,” He praises you and talks you through the entire thing. It calms you but you also wish he would just shut up and continue working. Just as the thought enters your mind Eddie takes one of his fingers and inserts it into you.

“Still with me baby?”

“Mhmm.”

“Alright. I’m gonna add another now. IS that okay?” His voice is soft again, gentle.

“Please,” It’s the only thing on your mind. Eddie takes his finger out just to indert it and another into you a second later. He keeps a steady speed, not overworking you just yet he’ll save that for another day.

The feeling is making you fall apart around him now, moans falling from your lips at a rapid speed. Eddie is listening to not only the moansm but they way your body reacts to his movements, trying to pull this orgasm out of you quickly. He’s rutting against the bed trying to fight off his own. He needs you to come first.

He picks up speed a littel bit, feeling your wall contract around his fingers.

“Cum for me. Come all over my fingers like the good girl I know you are,” You can’t tell if it’s his words or his fingers that make you fall over the edge but you get there and it is earth shattering. Stars fill your vision and your back arches high off the bed. Eddie talks you through it, all the while still pumping his fingers in and out, trying to extend it for as long as possible.

As you start to come down he pulls away from you and stand back up. His pants now have a large cum stain on them but he could care less, as long as it was caused by you. Eddie changes into a new pair of boxers while you lay on his bed, still feeling the after shock of the orgasm.

“Fuck,” You’re out of breath and panting, “Why didn’t we do that sooner?” “Probably because you tried to hide your feelings for me?” Eddie crawls into bed next to you, pulling you close.

“Oh shut!” You hit his chest, “Do you need me to…” You glance down to his now covered bottom half.

“No need, I already did that while I was taking care of you.”

“REally? You came just from eating me out?”

“I could cum just from staring at you princess. Now let's get some sleep, you’ll need your energy for the next round.”

“Next round?”

“I’m not finished with you yet,” Eddie kiss your forehead as you snuggle up close to him, loving the way the two of you mold together.

---

You open your eyes to see the sun pouring into the room, lighting up the bed. You rub your eyes and get used to the bright light. You can feel Eddie’s arms wrapped around your waist and look back at him to see him sleeping soundly, he always looked so peaceful while he slept. You stared at him for a moment longer taking in the moment; the quiet, the calm, then as softly as you could you moved his arm off of you and slid out of the bed.

Almost immediately after you leave the bed he rolls over and starts cuddling the pillow next to him, how cute. You start to look around the room for a shirt to put on but all you can find is your fancy clothes from last night so you go into one of his drawers and pull out a casual t-shirt and slip it over your shoulders. He’s so much bigger than you so the shirt is almost a dress on you, you find the underwear from last night and put those on as well.

You walk towards the door ever so quietly, trying not to make a single noise in case it wakes him up. You get to the door without a sound, and just as you’re about to open the door to leave you hear voices outside the door, they’re quiet, almost a whisper. You put my ear to the door and listen in on them;

“Honey, do you want me to start the coffee for you?” A deep and rugged voice says.

“Yes please, that would be wonderful!” The other voice replies, this one more light and airy.

“Ok it should be done in about 10 minutes, I’ll make some breakfast while we wait.” The voice gets quieter as you hear the footsteps retreat further from the door. You assume the voices are Eddie’s uncle and someone else, you just couldn’t figure out who. One thing you did know about Eddie’s uncle is that on Sunday he would make a big breakfast for the two of them, it was the one day Wayne had off and he wanted to give Eddie a bit of normalcy.

You always loved how they ate together on Sundays, it’s one thing about their family that you’re jealous about. You decide to go back to the dresser and find a pair of pants to put on. Going back over to his dresser and just taking a guess at where he keeps his pants, you grab a pair of his sweats and put them on, tying them tightly around your waist. You look back at the sleeping boy for a moment before walking back to the door and opening it, you hear the gruff voice again,

“Oh that must be Eddie getting up finally!” He sounds happy when he talks about his nephew, almost like a dad talks about his son. He peeks around the corner of the kitchenette to see if he was correct, “Oh! It’s y/n, hiya darlin’. I haven’t seen you around here in awhile. How have you been?” He stops what he’s doing and heads towards you, bringing you into a tight hug,

“Oh hi, yea I’ve been good just really focused on school right now,” He releases you from the embrace, “you know how it is, gotta get prepared for college.” You smile at him as his hands fall into his pockets.

“That’s good, that's good, well I’m just making breakfast right now, I wasn’t expecting another person today but you’re more than welcome to join us if you would like.” He walks back into the kitchen to resume cooking, I follow behind slowly. 

“Uh I wouldn’t want to intrude, I know that Sunday is designated family time,”

“Oh don’t be silly, you are part of the family, of course you’re welcome to stay!” He sends me a big, bright smile. “Ok then I guess I’ll stay but only for breakfast, because I really should head back home before my mom starts to worry about me.”

“Of course, you aren’t allergic to anything right?”

“Nope, nothing food related anyways.” You sit down at the countertop and watch as Wayne flows around the kitchen effortlessly.

“Good, good.” As he puts the eggs onto the counter the bathroom door opens up and a woman comes into the kitchen.

“Oh hi, I wasn’t aware there was anyone else here,” The woman is short, with long blonde hair all the way down her back. Her eyes are bright and bold, reminding you of a princess of some kind.

“Laura, this is Eddie’s friend. You know the one I was telling you about, they’re gonna stay for breakfast.” You give a small smile and wave before properly introducing yourself to her.

“Well it’s great to meet you. Wayne has told me all about you and Eddie, you two seem like the perfect couple.”

Your cheeks flush and your mouth gets dry, “Oh Eddie and I aren’t- We’re just friends.” You say quickly. But inside you wish you were more, maybe last night changed a few things.

“Well why don’t you go try and wake up Eddie, he can be quite a handful to wake up. Breakfast will bne ready in a few” He laughs at his words, you laugh as well knowing it’s harder than he puts it. You open the door to find Eddie still fast asleep while cuddling the pillow. You walk over to him and sit on the bed, softly you brush the hair away from his face and smile at the little baby face he has whenever he sleeps. You lean down and kiss his forehead. “Wake up sleepy head, it’s already 11:00,” You hear him mumble something incoherent, “I’m sorry what was that?” You ask leaning your ear closer to him.

“I don’t wanna,” He buries his face deeper into the pillow.

“Aw, how come? Wayne’s making breakfast…” You know that food always gets his interest, and like always you were right. He opens one eye to look at you but rolls it and goes back to sleep. “come on Eds, get up!” You shake him to try and get him to acknowledge your exhistance. He groans and flips over to his other side so you can’t see his face anymore. Oh wrong choice buddy.

“Okay so that’s how it’s gonna be huh? We’ll see about that,” That causes you to get up onto the bed, sitting on your knees, and start jumping up and down. You could hear his groans protesting your movements, but you didn't stop. The more he grains just prompts you to jump up onto him and end up straddling his waist while you shake him to get up.

“I said get! up! I won’t ask again!” You rest your hands on his shoulders. He opens his eyes and glares at you for a second contemplating whether you would really do something or not. As you look at him you see his eyes darken and I get sort of scared for what’s about to happen next. He grabs your wrists and flips you both over so he’s now on top and your legs automatically wrap themselves around him to not fall.

“I said I didn’t want to get up. Why can’t you just let me sleep? Huh?” His face is inches away from yours, and you look up at him with a straight face.

“If you want to sleep so badly, why don’t you make me stop,” Putting emphasis on the “make me” part of it. And fully knowing what those words do to him, you brace yourself. He moves his hands so that one is holding both of your wrists and the other can gently wrap around your throat. Eddie crashes his lips into yours and forces his tongue into your mouth. You just kiss him back and allow him in. You moan quietly as he moves to kiss your neck, making him smile at the noise. You quickly try to move your hand over your mouth to stifle the noises but he has then pinned down tightly.

“No, no moving. This is what you get for waking me up,” Your breath hitches at his words and you bite down hard on your bottom lips as he continues kissing down your neck. You can feel him leaving behind a bruise but you don’t care right now, all you care about is him, and how he is making you feel. He starts to pull up your shirt but then there’s a knock at the door. “Did you manage to get him up? Breakfast is almost ready,” He quickly gets off of you and walks over to his dresser pulling out a pair of sweats and putting them on. You sit up and try to look decent enough for whoever not to suspect anything.

“Eddie?” The voice calls again to see if we’re both in here. Eddie swings open the door just as the knob turns.

“Yea, we’re up, we’ll be out in a second okay?” His face is flushed slightly and he’s breathing quickly.

“Okay, son but you guys should hurry up before everything gets cold, and put on a shirt please, we have company today.” He looks into the room to see you sitting up on the bed and sends a smile before heading back out, closing the door behind himself. You both let out a breath of relief that he didn’t stay long. Eddie walks over to you and crawls on top again, planting a quick kiss before lying down and wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Holy shit that was close. Why didn’t you warn me that he was up, and someone’s here?” You slap the top of his head.

“I did you jerk! You just chose not to listen to me!” You start to run your fingers through his hair, soothing the spot you just hit and getting out any knots you encounter along the way.

“Mhm sure whatever makes you sleep at night, but I definitely don’t remember that,” He looks up at you and smiles. You give him another quick kiss before trying to get out of bed.

“Haha very funny, come on get a shirt on and let’s go eat,” You try moving off the bed but he tightens his grip around you.

“But I wanna stay like this forever. Can we do that?” His voice is sweet but you don’t buy it for a second.

“Nope we gotta at least try and make it look like we are just friends right now.”

“But why? I’m sure they already think something happened last night, seeing as though you’re here,” He releases his grip on you and gets out of the bed. WHile he searches in his closet for a shirt you walk over to his mirror to look at the damage he made.

“And if they do then that’s on them and their hunches but they don’t know shit, and we will keep it that way. Alright?” He groans and flops back onto the bed.

“Alright, fine,” He then gets off the bed and walks up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing the bruise he just made. You start to pull your hair out of its bun and wrap it around your neck to try and cover it up.

“I like when I can see my marks on you, keep your hair up.”

“No way, did you not hear what I just said? If they notice then they will 100% know we did something last night.” You find a way to cover the marks and start walking towards the door, “So no, they stay covered,” You turn the knob and start to walk out but Eddie pulls you back in and plants a long kiss onto your lips.

“Fine then but you will keep your hair up once you leave here, no exceptions,” You just roll your eyes at him but agree and start to head out of the room again, him following right behind.

“Hey go put a shirt on,” You push him towards the dresser, “Wayne wants you to be decent since you have company today,” You say the least part like he did. He leans his head back exaggeratingly but puts one on before walking back to you.

“Is this decent enough, m’lady?” He makes a large bow towards you.

“I would say yes, kind sir. Now shall we go and enjoy a wonderful meal prepared by your parental figure?” He nods his head and opens the door for the both of you.

[featherandferns]

slipping (fic)

jj maybank x fem!barry's sister!reader | the reader is canonically adopted so all my POC lovelies aren't left out!

content warning: drinking; brief mentions of drug abuse and suicide; sexual content (p in v, oral, hand-stuff)

word count: 18k.

blurb: you and JJ have been in a secret relationship for seven months. And it's great. It's perfect. It's just what JJ's always wanted. Except, you don't want to be a secret forever, and JJ can't risk you finding out his history with Barry.

Barry’s house looks like a crack den. To be frank, the word ‘house’ is rather generous. It’s a run-down trailer which looks half-abandoned: surrounded by ditched appliances (like busted washing machines that people had driven out to the farthest stretch of the marsh rather than making the trip to the rubbish tip); overgrown grass and unkept shrubs; a car that no longer runs, pawned off for the valuable parts, now claimed by nature as roots grow within. The only sign that there’s life at this place - outside of the rats and critters and birds - is the tire-tracked make-shift driveway along the grass, so deep that it’s clearly well used.   

JJ parked his bike near the road, hidden in the trees of the marsh. His heavy boots sink into the grass - damp from the rainfall last night - and he shoves his hands in his pockets as he works his way up the drive. He knows he’s being somewhat brazen about the whole thing, heading up to the house in clear view, but he has good reason to. As he gets nearer, rounding to face the netted porch, he feels his smile beginning to show.

“Hey,” he calls.

You look from the motor you’re tinkering with. Smile pretty like the first sunrise of the year.

“Hey,” you say.

JJ steps up the three stairs in two steps. Leans against the frame of the porch.

“You here to pick up for your dad?” you ask. You’re wiping your hands on a rag that’s tucked into your short’s pocket.

“Not quite,” JJ says, watching as you stand. “Your brother home?”

“Who? Barry?” you wonder, playing dumb.

JJ rolls his eyes and smiles wider. “That one, yeah.”

“Nah,” you say casually, sauntering towards him, hands tucked into the back pockets of your shorts. “He’s running an errand.”

“Damn. Guess I came at the perfect time,” JJ plays along.

“Almost like someone tipped you off,” you reply.

You’re standing in front of him now, a little shorter than him. He can’t keep his hands to himself any longer. Hooking one around your waist, JJ leans down to press his lips to yours. The abruptness makes you giggle against his mouth and it keens him on. One of your hands lifts to stroke at his face; your fingers gently tracing over his stubble that’s coming through since the last shave. Pulling back, you smile up at him. That sweet, soft smile that he’s privy to.

“Thought you weren’t gonna get here ‘til later,” you quietly say. He notices that your eyes keep flitting down to his lips, half-distracted.

“Missed my girl.”

“Your girl?” you echo, quirking a brow.

JJ doesn’t reply outside of a shrug. You chuckle, blinking up into his eyes. He feels like he could drown in yours. Bathe in the endlessness of them.

Your arms loop around his neck, tugging him down nearer to your face. JJ lets his hands rest on your hips a moment before swooping down to find home just under your shorts. His fingers tease under the denim, tracing the soft skin of your backside.

“You gonna take care of your girl or what, then?”

“Impatient, huh?” JJ chuckles. He cuts off his own laugh by pressing his mouth to yours once more.

You mould against him as if the two of you were made to be together. Follow the tilt of his head with yours as he deepens the kiss. Lusciously tease your tongue against his, pulling back enough to have him chasing your mouth. If he could – if there weren’t too high a risk with him doing so – he’d take you right here on the porch. Bend you over the abandoned entryway table or have you atop of him on the couch. But inside is better and safer, so he lets you guide him in, fingers dancing through yours as you flash a smile at him over your shoulder.

He can remember a time you used to be embarrassed of the interior of your house. JJ knew rough living – his dad was far from house proud – but Barry’s place was a different level. The stove didn’t work and the door hung forever open, broken on the hinges. Half the cupboards didn’t shut right and roaches were so frequent they may as well pay rent. But he never judged and never commented. Especially now, as you pull the two of you into your bedroom, pushing him against the wall with that contagious laugh of yours that makes him smile.

“Was thinking ‘bout you this morning,” you tell him. Your hands are working at the fly of his shorts.

“What about?”

He’s watching the nimbleness of your fingers as you pull down his zip. Has him grinning, body tingling at the thought and the excitement. Being wrapped up in you is like opium: euphoric and addictive.

“Just how good you fucked me last time,” you casually sigh.

JJ gasps through his brimming grin when you shove a hand into his boxers, rubbing at his semi. The way you look up at him, innocence faked on your expression like butter couldn’t melt in your mouth…it’s a deadly trap.  

“I got a little impatient waiting. Had to take care of myself this morning. All alone,” you go on, coiling a hand around his neck to coax his mouth nearer to yours.

Your hand is still working at him, pulling him out of his boxers now, and JJ stammers a moan against your grinning lips as you squeeze gently around the head.

“Guess I gotta make it up to you then,” he somehow manages.

“Guess you gotta.”

Moving to kiss him again, you move your hand faster. Take a moment to spit on your palm, to help it slide easier. JJ lets his hands roam your clothed body (why are you still dressed?) and settles on palming at your breast under your t-shirt, touch half-restricted by your bralette. As he feels himself edging, he groans against your mouth, breaking the messy kiss.

“’M close,” he sighs, eyes slipping shut.

The way your spare hand caresses his jaw is a stark juxtaposition to what you’re doing to him, under the belt. It reminds JJ that it’s you – familiar, perfect, wonderful you – and that only drives him closer. Has him moaning out, unashamed for you to hear the sounds he makes. Only for you.

“We got time,” is all you say, voice quiet like it’s a secret, and JJ knows that he can let go.

We got time for more.

He comes with a shudder, groaning against your mouth, eyes clamped shut as he pumps himself in your closed fist, chasing the pleasure. You kiss him through his orgasm, trailing them along his cheekbone and eyelids. He chuckles as he comes down, opening his eyes to take in the mess on your shorts.

“Fuck. Sorry,” JJ mumbles.

You shake your head. “They needed a wash anyway.”

The two of you laugh, prompting his eyes to meet yours once more. You’re smiling at him, leaning forward to kiss him again, like a diver coming back for air, over and over. JJ’s impatient now. Tugs your tee-shirt over your head and shucks down your shorts and panties, following them to the floor as he lowers onto his knees. Your skin smells like rose and bergamot from your lotion. The smell screams of you and makes him smile against your skin, leaning his face softly against your thigh as he presses kisses, teething gently at the skin. You sigh out a moan above him, leaning your hands on the wall for support. JJ eases your legs open wider, mumbling playful demands under breath that have you lustfully giggling. Then he’s going at you, eating you out like a man starved for dinner, and the sounds you make are fucking heavenly. Gasping out his name, your moans are cutting into each other like there’s two sides of your brain competing. He’s only motivated more, lifting higher onto his knees, moving a hand around to roughly grasp at your cheek, manhandling you to appease his hunger. Fingers dig deep into the flesh. He could quite gladly die here, JJ thinks, as he goes down on you. Sinfully sweet and salty on his tongue, like a forbidden fruit. The tell-tale squeak in your voice is his signal that you’re close, but JJ doesn’t want you to come yet. Not yet.

He pulls away with a breath. You whine in protest, one hand even trying to shove his face back on you.

“JJ…”

He can’t help but laugh. Teasing and dark. He gets to his feet.

Your hands are shaky as they cup at his face, pulling his lips to yours. JJ pulls you off him, forces you so your chest is against the wall. The hastiness has you panting. All of your snarky quips are gone, lost to his mouth and tongue. Shoving his boxers down and pulling off his shirt, JJ grabs one of your hands in his, holding it against the wall, fingers interlocked. He’s already hard again, guiding himself to your entrance, forcing your legs apart wider once more with a foot against yours. Eases in with a groan, collapsing his head against your shoulder, fixated on your wanton moan.

JJ fucks you good and hard. He knows how you like it and what you want. His finger slips down to your clit, rubbing fervently, and you whine against the peeling wallpaper of your bedroom walls. His other hand never leaves yours. Squeezing at your interlocked fingers lovingly, strikingly different from the painful pace he’s set.

“Feel so fucking good,” he pants against your clammy skin. Your only reply is a whine. “You getting close, baby?”

“Fuck, yes,” you shiver.

It spurs him on. Makes you louder. It’s obscene and filthy and…And it’s over too soon.

You collapse against the wall when you come, voice so loud he’s only half-worried it might carry across the marsh. JJ shifts his hand away from your bruised clit to help hold you up. It’s like your limbs have turned to jelly. You let JJ use you to find his own relief, groaning against your clammy back as he finishes inside you and thank Christ for the pill. Through the euphoric haze, he half registers your fingers teasing softly at his hair, soothing him through it.

Breathing heavy, he lifts his head to find yours glancing over your shoulder, eyes watching him. You’re veering for a kiss and JJ gladly indulges.

“Jesus fuck,” JJ dozily mumbles against your swollen mouth.

“Language,” you reply with a small, breathless laugh.

The two of you can’t help but groan as he slides out. You wiggle your fingers against the wall.

“My hand’s going dead, JayJ,” you mumble, almost apologetic.

He lets go. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you chuckle.

Turning around, back now against the wall, you loop your arms around his bare chest and lean against him, the way a sloth might wrap itself around a tree. JJ sniggers, brushing a hand through your hair. He feels you press a tender kiss to his chest that’s still struggling to catch breath.

“You tired, huh?”

“Mhm,” you hum. “You came at the perfect time. I was like one minute away from throwing that motor out into the marsh.”

JJ quietly grunts as he lifts you up – your legs hooking loosely around his waist – and he walks the two of you back to your bed. The pair of you cuddle up atop of the sheets, letting the few rays of sunlight that leak into the room warm strips of your skin. He finds himself drawing mindless patterns on the skin of your thigh, and you appear to be doing the same on his chest.

“Who you fixing it up for? The motor?”

“You know Mr Lewis?”

“Is that the guy who works at the deli?” JJ checks.

“Mhm. It’s from the delivery van. I told him I’d have it done by Thursday,” you reply, yawning. It’s currently Tuesday.

JJ forgets sometimes that you’re a high school dropout. You’re smart enough to graduate. Easily smarter than him. One time, when he was losing his mind over some algebra homework that his teacher insisted he do (that was, if he wanted to skip out on retaking a year), you had taken the time to explain it to him. The way you laid it out was so simple and easy, like reciting the alphabet or counting to ten. But whenever he asked why you dropped out you would just reel off the usual self-deprecating excuse. That people from your family don’t get high school diplomas - it just wasn’t a thing.

“How’s school?” you ask as if you’d been following his line of thought.

“Boring,” JJ sighs. “Bit more fun now that John B’s back though.”

“Still can’t believe they survived,” you say. Then, shifting to meet his gaze, you add, “not in a bad way, just-”

“No, no, I know what you mean,” he eases. One of his fingers comes to tease at a strand of your hair, smiling down at you. “I mean, I wouldn’t believe it either. Hell, I didn’t, for a while.”

You chuckle at that, nodding, lowering your head back down onto his chest.

This is good. This is good for JJ and good for you. Not only is it good, but it’s fun. A secret is fun. Nobody else knows: not even the Pogues or your brother. These clandestine meetings and rendezvous and unknown dates are the definition of excitement. Nobody knows that JJ spends nearly every night buried in you, and that the unsaved number on his phone is filled with sweet, soft and sometimes sensual texts that came from you. Inside jokes than have accumulated over the seven months of your relationship. Nobody knows that JJ knows Barry’s younger sister as more than just that flippant title. That he knows your favourite television show and your favourite singer, and he knows the way to twist his fingers just right to have you bordering on screaming. He knows what it feels like to have your mouth on him and your teeth biting down onto the skin of his shoulders, but also what it feels like to make you laugh and to see you work. What it feels like to be at the mercy of your stare. He’s lucky enough to be in your light and be acknowledged by someone so strangely pure for all the shit the universe had thrown your way. If JJ got dealt a bad hand, then you got dealt fake cards. But all the darkness and grit hadn’t made you mean or distant. Instead, it made you glow, like tossing logs into an open flame.

“Wish I could meet him.”

“Who?” JJ asks. He’s lost in thought, eyes staring up at your ceiling. There’s a patch of mould in the corner that you’ve tried to conceal with some cheap, fake ivy vines.

“The president.”

“Really?”

You snort. “No, you moron. John B.”

JJ’s attention comes back to the conversation. He swallows, somewhat nervous. He hates when you bring this stuff up.

“I mean, you have met him.”

“Sure, like I’ve spoken to him at a kegger like…Two years ago?”

“He’s really not that interesting of a guy so,” JJ lamely says.

“Not that interesting? JJ, John B was a wanted fugitive who lived in Nassau with Sarah for like a month or something? Come on!” you reply with a laugh.

He closes his eyes at the sound. You sound so light and cheerful. He just knows whatever he replies with is going to crush it, like treading on a freshly blossomed flower. Why did you have to bring this up?

JJ shifts so he can slip out of your hold. You move to sit, legs half crossed, and he can feel your eyes watching him as he leans to your bedside table for the box of cigarettes you keep there.

“It doesn’t have to be soon,” you quietly say to his back.

He retrieves a cig and slots it between his lips, reaching for the lighter. He’d engraved your initials in it the same way he had ‘JJ’ engraved on his own. Please, please drop it.

“Just…Maybe sometime this month?”

“They’re not very interesting people,” JJ manages out, voice muffled by the cigarette as he flicks at the lighter. He hopes it’ll discourage whatever interest you have in meeting his friends. Hopes his voice sounds casual. “We don’t do much, either. Just sit around and surf and stuff.”

“Well, same,” you eventually reply, happiness already dwindling. “So, I guess I have that in common with them.”

JJ leans against the creaky headboard of your bed and takes a puff of the cigarette. He looks down at the lighter as he fiddles with it in one hand. It seems you won’t let the topic go (not that he expected you to, if he’s being honest with himself). You grab at his attention by taking the cigarette from him, having a drag yourself. He watches as you exhale, smoke filling the space before you as you sit, naked and sweet. Holding it out to him, your smile is now gone. Instead, there’s this shadow of anxiety looming over your features.

“We’re together, right?”

JJ takes the cigarette back. “Yeah?”

“Is that a question or an answer?”

“An answer,” JJ clarifies. Then, “Yes, we’re together.”

“And we have been for seven months now, right?”

JJ takes another pull, looking away from you and to the doorway. “I mean, I don’t know the exact length of—”

“We have,” you interrupt, firmly. “Seven months, one week and two days.”

Crap.

“Didn’t know we were keeping score,” JJ nervously chuckles, hoping to lighten the mood somewhat.

But when he looks to you again, you’re not smiling. You’re shaking your head.

“I don’t want to be a secret forever, JJ,” you say. “I understand why you wanted to keep it quiet at first. I mean, I did too. Whilst we figured it all out and what this actually is.”

As you speak, you gesture between the two of you.

“But…I’m tired of sneaking around, JayJ. Of lying to my friends and my brother. Of not being able to talk about you to them. Because…Well, because I want to,” you meekly admit, shrugging. “I want to kiss you when everyone’s watching, as fucking dumb as that sounds, and I wantpeople to know that you’re taken, and that you’re taken by me.”

It takes everything in JJ not to wince at that. He swallows down your words with an inhale of the nicotine. Doesn’t hold your gaze because how can he? He knew his lie would catch up to him eventually. JJ has a bad habit of spinning these fables as if he won’t get tangled in the mess of it. Hell, his bad habit to run his mouth is the reason why JJ can’t let you two come out to anybody, not even the Pogues. If even one person knows about the pair of you, then Barry will find out. It’s inevitable. The Outer Banks is a small place and news travels fast. The moment Barry finds out is the moment you find out what he did. It’ll be the moment he’ll lose you, forever. And that fear – that genuine risk – is far worse than having to sneak around, in JJ’s world.

“Hey.”

Your fingers brush against his, coaxing his hand into yours, intertwining the digits until you’re holding hands. He looks up at that, looks into your eyes. You’re smiling again, soft but solemn, like you’ve read some mellowing news.

“I don’t wanna rush you, okay? I just…I need to know that eventually, we won’t be a secret anymore,” you say quietly.

JJ smiles at you – the best smile he can manage – and nods. Lifts your interlocked hands to his tobacco tasting lips, pressing a kiss against the skin. Rose and bergamot.

“We won’t be,” JJ tells you. Nods, affirming it. Almost willing it into reality. “We won’t be, alright? Just a little more time.”

When you smile, he swears he feels his heartbeat ease. JJ’s thankful that you kiss him, because he can’t keep looking you in the eyes and act like it doesn’t kill a part of him to lie, straight to your face.

~*~*~*~*~*

U lol

JJ can’t help but smile at the meme you’ve sent him. It’s so stupid, hardly even a joke, but somehow it taps into his sense of humour perfectly. JJ sniggers as he replies.

“What you smiling at?” John B wonders.

JJ looks up from his phone. Instinctively turns it off before anyone can catch a glimpse of the screen.

“Just this thing,” JJ shrugs.

Kiara’s plucking the strings of her ukelele, lounging in the hammock that JJ nearly fought her for. He’s taken one of the deckchair loungers instead. Pope’s sat by the tree. He’s flicking through local history books, trying to see if there might be any clues in there about the island room. JJ thinks it’s a lost cause but got shut down the moment he started to say so. John B is still brooding from his break-up with Sarah. At least the boy wants to drink – now that’s something JJ’s glad to get on board with.

“You’ve been texting someone for the past half hour,” John B says.

“You stalking me or something?”

“It’s hard not to notice when you keep giggling like a girl at your phone.”

“Since when do I giggle?” JJ counters.

“Since today,” John B quickly replies. Then, he pulls out his phone and gives an award-winning impersonation. JJ gladly flips him off.

“I think our little playboy is whipped,” Kiara says from the hammock.

“I’m not whipped,” JJ says.

“But you are talking to someone?” she checks.

JJ rolls his eyes. He hates the grilling. Wishes they’d all back off. Despite his lack of an answer, it seems to be more than enough for Kie.

“Who is she?”

“Nobody. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” JJ says.

“Those are two different answers, man,” John B tells him.

“I thought JB was bad at lying but that might’ve been your worst,” Pope indirectly agrees, not looking up from his book.

“Look, the important thing right now is getting John B macking on someone else, alright?” JJ redirects, pointing to his best friend. “The fastest way to get over someone is to get on top of someone else, I’m telling ya.”

“Spoken like a poet,” Kie comments.

“I’m not interested in anyone else, JJ,” John B says. “Sides, even if I wanted to hook up with someone else – which I don’t - who the hell would it be?”

“Bro, I’m telling you, that chick in English is totally into you,” JJ says. “Like she’s practically drooling at her desk whenever she looks at you.”

“Is she now?”

“Yeah, man. I’ve got eyes, don’t I?”

“Debatable,” John B mutters, looking back to his phone.

JJ feels himself relax back in his chair again.

After the conversation the two of you shared the other night, JJ’s feels haunted. The way that you kissed him, all happy and sweet, when he’d just lied to your face…Kie would tell him that karma was waiting at the ready. That is, she would if she knew about it. JJ didn’t like lying to you. If he could, he’d go back in time and he’d leave the house and the money like the rest of the Pogues said he should. He’d do the right thing for once his sorry life.

Sighing, JJ rocks his head backwards and glances absentmindedly to the hammock. He’s a little surprised to see that Kie’s already looking at him. She’s watching him, practically studying him, and has this expression on her face that makes JJ swallow nervously.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she shrugs. Looks back down to her ukelele.

JJ watches her a moment longer before finally looking away. It takes a liar to know one.

~*~*~*~*~*

The tide’s come in.

There’s barely any beach left and it’s pushed you back to the sand dunes. JJ cusses as he spots you, sat with your knees near your chest, staring out to the water like something from a poem.

“Hey! I’m here! I’m here!” he hollers, jogging over.

You turn around at the sound of his voice. No smile. “You’re late.”

“I know, I know,” he says, coming to a stop before you. “I’m sorry, alright? This thing, with the Pogues, it just ran over but—”

“And you didn’t think to text me?” you sigh, holding up your phone. “I mean, my legs are bitten to hell now by the skeeters.”

“I’m sorry,” JJ repeats, dropping to sit beside you. You shake your head, looking away, but don’t move your hand from his when he reaches for it. “I should’ve made up an excuse or something to leave early.”

“Or you should’ve just told them the actual reason why you needed to leave,” you mumble, ticked off.

JJ sighs and leans over, pressing a kiss to your exposed shoulder. It prompts you to look to him. Your lips are still pressed in an unimpressed frown. He gazes into your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” JJ tells you once more, sincere and genuine.

You deliberate it over with a small sigh, rubbing your lips together in thought. Eyes scan his face and his features.

“Okay,” you relent. A twitch in your cheeks, teasing for a smile. “You’re off the hook. Don’t do it again, though.”

JJ nods, smiling too. “I won’t. I won’t, alright?”

“Okay,” you smile, properly. He kisses you, making you chuckle through your nose.

“You look cute, by the way. I like this,” he says, thumbing at the fabric of your top.

“Thanks,” you say. “If you weren’t late maybe I’d tell you that I like your shorts.”

“I thought that I was off the hook!” JJ loudly returns, making you laugh.

He grins at that. He likes when you laugh, and even better when he’s the cause of it. It makes your eyes go all crinkly and cute.

“Not all the way,” you playfully reply. “What were you guys caught up with, anyway?”

JJ shrugs and leans back on his elbows. The sunset looks pretty from here, over the horizon. It shines a tapestry of colours on your legs.

“Nothing important.”

Nothing important, asides from trying to figure out what the hell an island room might be.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re lying to me?”

JJ’s head darts round to you with that, but you’re grinning at him, dispelling his worry that you’re onto him. There’s a smudge of oil near your eye from the latest handy-man job you’ve taken on. He licks his thumb and moves to wipe it away, smiling when you cringe.

“Like I would ever lie to you,” he jests as he wipes at your face.

You bat his hand away. “Ah, the thing every girlfriend wants to hear.”

JJ leans in to kiss you, unable to help it as if he’s craving another hit. He’s gently grabbing at your face to draw you closer. He swears he could make-out with you forever and never get bored. Screw food and screw water and screw air. This. This is what livings about. Humming out a moan, JJ eases you onto your back on the sand, hovering atop of you. His lips leave yours to trail delicately down your jawline. He practically purrs when you bring a hand up to play with his hair.

“You know the bonfire’s this Friday?”

“Mhm,” JJ hums against you, half-listening. His senses are flooded by the smell of you: roses and bergamot.

“You busy that night?”

“Don’t know yet,” he says, barely breaking away from the hickey he’s started working on, at the underside of your jaw. One of his hands slips under the pretty top you’re wearing, palming at your breast.

“Well, I think I’m gonna go,” you tell him. Your voice is a little breathless now. “I was wondering if you wanted to come too?”

“As in whether I’m going or…?”

“As in us going together,” you correct.

JJ slowly eases up on his assault on your throat. He closes his eyes, briefly tensing his lips together. Fuck.

“Well, I don’t know if I’m gonna be free that night,” he says, hoping to sound casual.

Your fingers tether in his hair enough to pull him away from your neck. It’s like you force him to meet your gaze.

“Well, if you are free, then do you wanna? I don’t know, I thought it’d be kinda nice? Could meet your friends and stuff, and you could meet mine,” you say, smiling bashfully.

And it’s sweet. It’s so sweet, and thoughtful, and if JJ wasn’t such a fucking idiot, it’d be the perfect way to publicise your relationship. It isn’t that JJ doesn’t want to. He wants to, more than anything. To have your hand in his in front of everyone at school, and to have you dancing with him and drinking with him, and to let everyone know that you’re his as much as he’s yours.

It isn’t that JJ doesn’t want to. It’s that he can’t.

“I, um,” he pulls away, resting back on his haunches. His hand slips out of your top.

You shift up to sit, watch as he looks away, down the beach. There’s nobody else around. The only thing you can hear is the lapping of the waves, the steady crash and break of the tide, and the distant calling of birds.

Clearing his throat, JJ rubs at the back of his neck and fixes his cap.

“I think if I go, it’ll, uh, be with my friends, you know?”

Quiet. Another bird. Another wave.

His heart clenches at the sound of your sigh. It’s heavy with disappointment.

“Yeah. Uh, right. Of course,” you mumble.

“Just cause like, it’s like a tradition that we go together, you know?” JJ tags on, looking to you. “And John B’s proper losing it with this whole Sarah shit-show.”

You’re nodding, lips pursed, staring down at your hands that twiddle together in your lap. You sniff sharply and force your face up to meet his. The smile you flash him is brief and fake. He can see right through it, like you’re made of sea glass.

“No, yeah. It was a dumb idea anyway,” you chuckle dejectedly, shaking your head. JJ frowns.

“No, hey, it wasn’t dumb—”

“—Look, I gotta be heading back soon. Well, now, actually,” you say, moving to stand up.

JJ watches you do for from his spot on the ground. From here, under the light of the setting sun, he can see the sheen to her eyes as if there are tears welling. Fuck.

“Baby, no, you don’t—”

“—No, no, it’s just cause it’s late,” you weakly continue, grabbing for your cardigan. You wrap it round you and glance behind you. “And I told Barry I’d help him with some stuff tonight and…”

By the time JJ’s on his feet, you’re already starting to walk backwards. You flash him another tense, painful smile.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Well, I’ll…I’ll see you soon, right?”

You nod. Give an awkward wave, in a way you never have with him before. “Yeah. Um, have fun at school tomorrow.”

Then you turn your back to him and walk away.

JJ watches after you, frozen in place like he’s stupefied until you’re out of sight, heading around the bend of a tree. He sighs loudly. He’s mad at himself. Frustrated at the bullshit of the whole situation. Why did he have to steal that money, all those months ago? John B tried to warn him off it but at the time, it just seemed so simple. He didn’t know you then. You were just Barry’s sister: a name in an anecdote, usually revolving about how you dropped out of Kildare High. But now…Now you’re you.

Yanking off his cap, JJ tosses it on the ground, grunting. Rakes his fingers roughly through his hair. He looks out to the water and the dusk-painted sky. Once he’s gathered himself enough to walk home, JJ leans down to collect his cap. He brushes some sand off it and watches how easily it slips away, and how much it resonates with the feeling that you’re slipping through his fingers, too.

~*~*~*~*~*

The bonfire is swarming with people. They stand in crowds and droves, chatting and laughing and heckling one another. Empty bottles and cans lay scattered around, making Kiara sneer and roll her eyes. JJ follows his friends out the van, hooking an arm over John B’s neck. It still feels a little surreal to have him close again and to be able to lean on him whenever. Part of him wonders if he’s still in shock, of having his brother back.

As they walk past Kathy, she’s handing over a red solo cup to John B with a smile. JJ smiles back at her, grins as John B takes a sip, and tries to pretend like his heart isn’t going to beat out of his chest with the anxiety that you might be here tonight. He hasn’t spoken to you since the evening on the beach. Doesn’t really know what to say or where to start, and you haven’t reached out to him either. JJ’s not sure a silence has ever stretched so loud.

John B’s still complaining about the break-up with Sarah. JJ tunes back in and forces his mind away from the incident on the beach. Thinking about it only makes him feel sick.

“So she’s like, ‘that’s it’.”

“I know. I know, I know, but dude, her father blew up right in front of her,” JJ reminds him, moving to stand to his side. “Just give her a minute, alright?”

Ironic, spewing dating advice whilst his own secret relationship is falling apart behind the scenes. But, hey, nobody sees you lose when you’re playing solitaire.

JJ’s eyes catch on to a small pile of cans of larger. Hell yes, he could do with a drink. He swipes a couple of beers and passes one to John B.

“In the meantime, shot gun, right now. Like the old times.”

“Hey derelicts!”

He spins around as an empty cup hits him on the back, coming face to face with the girl that had been eyeing up John B in class.

“Hey! There she is! That’s you,” JJ says, gesturing to John B. He whips out his pocketknife, slicing into the can. “I’m outta here.”

 JJ hunches forward a moment when John B jabs him low, making him spill his beer. Turning away, taking a swig, JJ looks around. No sign of you so far. Maybe you didn’t show up. Sighing, he glances down at his phone. No texts, no calls. Nothing. Pocketing it, finishing his beer and already starting on a second that he swipes off a pop-up table, JJ moves to make the most of the night and to get his mind off you.

The drinks continue to flow and the conversations come and go. The warmth from the flames of the fire lap gently at his skin, keeping away any summer night chill. About an hour in or so, he’s leaning against the wall, chatting to Pope and Kiara.

“What I don’t understand is, if Karen’s a computer then how come she still works under water?” JJ says.

“JJ. It’s a show about a living sponge at the bottom of the sea,” Kiara deadpans, raising a brow.

“Yeah, I don’t think it’s aiming for realism, dude,” Pope agrees.

JJ shrugs and looks out to the bonfire, absentmindedly scanning the crowds. There’s a nice buzz to him, helping the drinks go down smoothly. “Just always bothered me is all. Like whenever Sandy—”

JJ could recognise you anywhere, even blind. You’re looking at him too. He freezes, beer halfway raised to his mouth.

You look pretty. A pair of shorts – the pair of shorts – and a t-shirt, tucked in. Hair styled all nice, with colourful grips that he can make out, even from over here. There’s a bottle of beer in your hand. At the sight of him, you seem to take a swig. It’s almost like you scoff, but JJ can’t be sure. Then, one of your friends seems to be gathering your attention and you don’t spare another glance to him. Strange, how awful it feels to have you look away from him; to act like you don’t know him from Adam.

“That Barry’s sister?” Kiara asks.

JJ comes back to reality. Looks to his friends to see their eyes on you, too. He takes a swig of his drink, digging in his brain for a new conversation starter to drive the attention away from you. He really doesn’t want to think about all of that right now.

“She the one that dropped out?” Pope checks.

“Yeah. Probably a junkie like her brother,” Kie says.

“She’s not a junkie,” JJ can’t help but defend.

She frowns at him. “How’d you know?”

“Well, cause, like…My dad buys from her brother, right? So, he’s seen her around,” JJ shrugs, cutting himself off with another swig of his drink.

She raises a brow. “And he’s told you that she’s not a junkie? How does that line up?”

“Didn’t you used to have calc with her?” Pope asks Kiara, accidentally saving JJ in the process.

“Yeah. She was actually kinda brainy, too,” Kie replies, glancing back to you.

You’re laughing. JJ’s not sure if he’s imaging the sound or if the noise is carrying.

“I’ve gotta say, didn’t expect someone who looks like Barry to have a sister like that,” Pope mutters.

“Well, she’s adopted, so,” Kie explains simply. It wasn’t a secret, exactly. People just seemed to know that about you. “There used to be three of them: her, Barry and Louis.”

“Louis?”

“The eldest,” Kiara says. “He joined the army too but died in action or something.”

He didn’t die in action. JJ knows that for a fact. He killed himself from the trauma of shooting a man dead-on, leaving a suicide note to explain. He also knows that’s what drove your mom to start abusing pills, becoming hooked on oxy and eventually heroin, until she died with a needle in her arm. He also knows that’s what brought Barry back home, from the army, to take care of you, as a minor, so you didn’t have to go into foster care. Only knows that he did it because it was his mom’s dying wish. He knows that you don’t do drugs, outside of drinking and cigarettes - not even weed. He knows it’s because you’re scared of becoming a junkie like your mom and dying like she did. He knows you didn’t join the army because of what happened to your eldest brother. He knows you prefer to do handy-man jobs instead of following after Barry with the drug-dealing business. That you try to talk Barry out of it almost every day because of all the shit hegets into. Like being involved in fights and helping fugitives and being robbed of twenty-thousand dollars.

JJ finishes his drink in two large gulps.

“I need a refill,” he mutters, crushing the can in his grip.

Pope and Kiara aren’t listening though. He looks up to see they’re now watching something else. He follows their gaze to see a fight breaking out. Squinting through the flicker of the embers, he recognises the flash of blonde hair and the dart of brown. Topper and John B. The trio rush over to help.

It seems the fight with John B and Topper is the warm-up act to the large tiff coming. Before things can get anymore ugly, the Pogues are rushing away from the rowdy crowd, back to the Twinkie. JJ leans against the open window, finishing his beer with a burp.

“Well, that was a little unexpected,” he sardonically quips.

“Was it?” Kie asks from inside the Twinkie.

JJ shrugs, bobbing his head from side to side in deliberation. Then, his eyes catch someone moving in the distance. It’s like you’re a magnetic, always grabbing his attention. Wiping the back of his mouth, gaze still fixed on you as you seemingly mess with your backpack, as if preparing to leave, he deliberates going over. JJ has enough alcohol in him to swallow his pride and do so.

“Hey, I’m gonna be right back,” JJ mumbles, stepping away from the van.

Kiara frowns at him. “What’re you doing?”

“I need to ring it out,” JJ casually lies.

Kie rolls her eyes. The other Pogues are too distracted by discussing the fight to pay too much mind. JJ slips away and follows you out of sight. Then, he quietly calls out your name. You turn around on reflex.

“JJ?”

“Hey, I just…Are you leaving?” he asks, stopping a safe, unnatural distance from you.

Your backpack is slung over your shoulder. You shrug. “Well, you and your friends kind of broke up the party.”

“Topper started that, actually, so,” JJ lamely corrects, gesturing back to the fire.

You roll your eyes. “What do you want, JJ?”

“I wanna talk,” he says, stepping closer. “About what happened at the beach and everything.”

“It’s whatever,” you sigh. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, almost nervously. “It’s in the past now.”

“Is it? Cause we haven’t spoken since and…”

You quirk a brow as JJ trials off. “And?”

“Well,” he sighs, sticks his hands in his pockets. Strange, how after being with you for nearly eight months, it still feels abnormal to be so affectionately open. “Well, I miss you.”

“Wow, what lovely luke-warm sentiment.”

“Look, I’m serious, alright?” JJ says, walking over to you. He grabs for one of your hands and fights to keep it in his hold. You’re obviously reluctant to talk to him but JJ knows you have a weakness for him. That he can sweet talk his way out of anything with you. Part of him feels guilty for it, but the other part is nothing short of relieved. He battles to try and have your gaze meet his. “Where’s your brother tonight?”

“I don’t know,” you mumble.

JJ’s pretty sure you’re lying. He gently cups at your jaw, coaxing you to look up at him. The two of you hold the gaze for a while. There’s a plethora of emotions swimming in your eyes.

Sighing, relenting, you confess, “he’s collecting. Won’t be back until early morning.”

“Like six-ish?”

“More like eight-ish,” you reply.

Leaning down slowly, pressing his forehead against yours, he lets his eyes slip shut. “I’m sorry for being an asshole on the beach, okay?"

Nothing. Then,

"Asshole’s a strong word.”

JJ smiles. If you’re cracking jokes in his favour, then you’re warming back up to him already. The spool isn’t too far unwound to be past the point of repair.

“I have to go deal with John B, but can I come by afterwards? Make it up to you?”

“There’s a lot of making up you have to do,” you tell him.

JJ grins. “Well, we’ve got a lot of time to get it done.”

His smile dwindles only slightly when you pull your face away from his. He opens his eyes into yours. You’re gnawing on your lower lip, deliberating.

“You hurt me, JJ,” you whisper.

He looks down. Nods and purses his lips. Hearing you say something like that to him feels akin to you hurling a well-deserved insult.

“Don’t do it again, alright?”

“Okay,” he nods. At the squeeze of your hand in his, he finds himself looking back up, meeting your gaze. He nods again, firmer. “I won’t.”

“Okay,” you nod back. There’s a hint of a smile peaking through again, like rays of sunshine breaking through clouds on an overcast day.

Kiara hollers JJ’s name from the Twinkie, in the distance. You lean up and press a chaste kiss to his lips. It’s rude how quick it is.

“Come by later.”

JJ nods. Kisses you back, harder, making you chuckle. Then he’s heading back to his friends, sending you one last smile over his shoulder. It feels so secretive as if something taken from Romeo and Juliet; it’s almost exhilarating.

When JJ gets back to the van, Pope is sat behind the wheel, drumming a tune on it. Kiara and John B are talking in the back, the latter holding a cold can against his banging head.

“Where the hell were you, bro?” Kie asks.

“Did you take a dump in the woods?” John B adds.

JJ clambers into the front seat. Pope starts the engine.

“All them cans, man,” he lies, glancing out the window. “We heading back to the chateau?”

“Uh-huh,” Kie affirms. She sounds sceptical, like she’s deep in thought.

JJ doesn’t pay much mind to it. Instead, he nods and hides his smile behind his fist, leaning an arm against the open window frame.

~*~*~*~*~*

Echoing around JJ’s head is the preen of your voice from when you came. Sedated and spent, it almost works well as a lullaby, soothing him as JJ lies on his back on your bed. Your head has found home in the nook beneath his collarbone, tucked under his arm, nestled like a bird on its favourite branch. He leisurely strokes his fingers against the bare skin of your back, drawing patterns, writing incoherent sonnets. You’ve taken to joining his sparse freckles up by an invisible line, traced with your finger. It’s peaceful and perfect, and you’re not mad at him anymore, and JJ feels as though he can breathe right again. He sighs. Stares at the ceiling.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“What the hell am I gonna buy with a penny?”

“Fine. Quarter for your thoughts?”

“Do I get that now or should I request a down-payment.”

“You know what? Forget it,” you huff, amused, nonetheless.

JJ sniggers. Gently presses his fingers into the flesh of your back as an undefined apology.

“What do you wanna know?”

“What you’re thinking about,” you quietly reply.

“I’m thinking about us,” JJ privately returns.

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

And he is. Thinking about the way you were crying out his name, tears in your water line that only turned him on more. The way you whined when he roughly grabbed at your hips, pulling you any which way to appease the both of you. He’s still replaying back the crack in your voice when you came around him. After sleeping with you, JJ’s not sure how he can be expected to think of anything else.

“So, I wanted to ask you something,” you say, pulling away from his hold.

JJ’s peaceful threatens to break, like a truck rattling through a country line road. Please don’t let it be about the Pogues again.

“Yeah?”

The two of you naturally shift so you can look eye to eye, bodies now only connected by JJ’s lose hold around your waist and your entangled feet. It takes all his will power not to stare at your exposed chest. Namely, at the love bite he’s left on your clavicle.

“It’s my birthday next week,” you tell him, voice a little reserved, “and I thought we could celebrate together?”

“Oh yeah? I might have a few ideas on how,” JJ slimily jokes. He suggestively squeezes your hip as a smirk grows on his face. You roll your eyes and flush under his stare.

“Well, yes, that, but also…I was thinking a picnic? On the beach, at our usual spot? Just the two of us.”

JJ’s expression softens. He nods. You grin back in reply.

“Yeah?”

“Sounds good, pretty thing,” he says.

You laugh, raking a finger through your hair. “I don’t think I look all pretty like this but—”

“—I think you look the prettiest like this,” JJ grins in disagreement, leaning up to nudge his nose against yours.

Your laugh bounces off his lips.

JJ’s not lying. Seeing you post-sex is like seeing a Greek goddess in the flesh. Better, even. You sit bare for him, no shame in your figure and any of the so-called imperfections it holds. At the thought, JJ suddenly becomes more aware that he’s naked, too. To be so casual about it requires a trust between two people, surely, and JJ’s never been good at trusting. You, however, are trusting from the get-go. Naïve might be a better word, but that implies that you’re dumb and foolish, which you aren’t. You just have this hopefulness that everybody has a goodness to them, somewhere, deep down. Maybe living with Barry and his crowd drives that trait for you. People do bad things but they’re not bad people was the quote JJ knew you lived by.

JJ kisses you, sliding a hand up your thigh, chasing what the two of you had shared only ten or so minutes ago. You don’t seem to complain. You melt into his touch, kiss him back gladly, hook your arms around his shoulders.

“Wednesday. Next week.”

“Mhm,” JJ hums. He guides you to lay down, clambering atop.

“I’m serious. Seven P.M.”

“Yeah, yeah, seven,” he repeats against the flesh of your neck. He starts kissing down your sweat-sheened body.

Sighing, your fingers loops into the strands of his hair, tugging him to look up at you. JJ can’t hold back the quiet groan it elicits. He loves when you do shit like that. He meets your gaze and this might be the best angle he’s ever had of you, looking up from down below, making out your hooded gaze past your breasts. He feels himself harden at the sight.

“Tell me when and where,” you demand.

JJ manages not to roll his eyes. He presses a kiss to your tummy. “Seven P.M.”

A kiss to your abdomen. “Wednesday.”

A kiss to your pelvic bone, that has you exhaling in bated anticipation. He grins. “At our spot on the beach.”

“Thank you,” you smile.

With that, JJ goes down on you. He’s insatiable.

You’re still soaked from the last time you two fucked. The flavour of your cum mixed with his is fucking pornographic. Pair that with the sounds JJ spurs from you and he’s sure that the two of you have your tickets for hell already in your wallets. No complaints. If this is hell, JJ will gladly burn, all day long.

“Stop wriggling,” he says, lips wet.

“‘m sensitive, you asshole,” you slur.

“That how you should be talking to the guy eating you out right now?”

“Shut up and fuck me.”

You hook a leg over his shoulder, urging him back to your cunt. JJ chuckles darkly before pushing your legs open wider, going in again with newfound hunger, bathing in your cries and cusses. He’s only known religion when he’s lied with you. As he lips suckle at your clit, he teases your weeping entrance with his finger. Pushing in, his silver ring cooly slides against your walls. You whine out, fucked up and pretty, and JJ rocks against the mattress, hard again.

“Fuck, JJ,” you whimper.

He glances up a moment to see you’re rubbing a hand to your forehead. Face contorted in overwhelming pleasure, there’s tears in your waterline again for the second time that night, and its JJ’s doing. It feels fucking fantastic.

“You close, baby?”

“Mhm,” you moan.

He uses his other hand that isn’t finger fucking your pussy to hold your hips down to the mattress. Picking up the pace, JJ works at you, watching your face as you teeter closer and closer to the edge.

“Come on, baby. Show me how fucking pretty you look when you come,” JJ grins.

Your body swallows at his fingers when you finish. Walls contracting again and again, JJ mouths swears against the soft skin of your stomach as he gently eases you through your high. There’s a quiet sob of euphoria.  

“Nobody fucks you as good as I do,” JJ can’t help but boast, slipping his fingers out of you. “Gonna fuck you so good baby.”

He’s shifting you onto your stomach. Your body’s pliant like a rag doll but he knows you can take more. You’d tell him if you couldn’t; if you wanted him to stop. But as you raise your hips up for him, body dripping with cum that has JJ almost falling over the edge himself, he knows you want more. It’s like you were built for him or something. The yin to his libido-oriented yan. When JJ fucks you into the mattress, your face is mushed against the pillow. Wailing and moaning and fucking desperate. JJ finds himself coming all too soon and he does so with a groan of your name.

~*~*~*~*~*

In between school and treasure hunting and sneaking to and from your house, life still happens. Bills still need paying and food still needs eating.

JJ became used to working like a grown man ever since his mother left. His dad was less than reliable so if he wanted a full stomach and a roof over his head (unless he took advantage of John B), JJ had to start earning. Mostly odd jobs and side hustles to prevent the pockets from going empty. Running groceries to figure eight with Pope always helped. The other Pogues decided to tag along for the ride, too. They’re lounging on the boat, waiting for Heyward to finish bagging up all the produce they needed to deliver.

Sound carries easy on open water. It’s the sound of your laughter that catches JJ’s attention. He glances over instinctively. There you are, stood with three people along the jetty. You’re wearing a pair of denim-short overalls with a tee-shirt underneath. Not any tee-shirt: his tee-shirt. It sits a little big on you. Your hair is pulled back and you’re smiling. One hand in a pocket and the other holding a screwdriver. You must be doing an odd job on one of the local’s boats.

“I didn’t know she worked on boats,” Pope says.

JJ looks to him. He hadn’t realised that the others had clocked you too.

“Junkies gotta pay for their stuff somehow,” John B mutters.

“She’s not a junkie, dude,” JJ sighs. “Just cause her brother is don’t mean the whole family is.”

“Why’re you getting so mad about this?” Kiara wonders, glancing to her friend.

JJ shrugs. Shoves his hands in his short’s pockets. “Jus’ don’t think it’s fair talking crap about someone when there’s no need.”

“Not just anyone though, JayJ,” Kie says.

“Yeah. I mean, did you forget the fact that her brother literally robbed us at gunpoint?”

“And that you stole from him?”

“And that he laid you out for it,” John B finishes.

“I don’t need reminding of all that crap, alright? I’m perfectly aware. Damn,” JJ snaps, shooting the trio a glare.

Pope and John B seem to shrug it off. Kiara’s watching JJ again. It’s starting to become irritating, like a pebble that you can’t get out of your trainer.

“Kie what?”

“Nothing.”

“If you’ve got something to say to me, just say it,” JJ tells her.

She shrugs and glances back to you. Then, she shakes her head.

“Doesn’t matter.”

JJ can’t help but use the opportunity steel another look of you himself. You’re nodding at something one of the fisherman’s saying. Taking a glance over your shoulder at the boat, you point at something. It must be about the job they’ve asked for you to do.

“I wouldn’t trust her to work on my boat,” Pope says. “All I’m saying is, that family is bad news.”

“Since when did we judge others from the cut?” JJ mumbles, looking to his trainers as he scuffs them on the boat floor.

“Since their brother attacked us,” Pope returns.

JJ decides keeping quiet is best. It has to be, because if not, he won’t be able to hold his tongue any longer. He’s going to fly off the handle, in your defence, and they’re going to catch on. Worse, it might catch your attention, and you might just come over and casually introduce yourself to his friends, as if they hadn’t been speculating about you behind your back. The whole situation fills JJ with anxiety. The secret isn’t feeling so fun anymore. It’s bordering on dirty work, pummelling him with dread and shame, the same way a dealer might sleep with one eye open.

Heyward is JJ’s saving grace. He appears with reams of carrier bags in a small cart, calling out for the Pogues to start loading up. Later, as they set off towards figure eight, JJ glances your way one final time. You’re watching him. The smile on your face is gone and JJ’s never wanted to see it more.

~*~*~*~*~*

Time always passes quickly with you. It feels to JJ as though you’ve both been sat on your bed playing board games for less than an hour when two have passed. He sits across from you, messing with his lighter, as you deliberate over your concealed letters. He loves the way your brain works. You always have the most creative mind. It’s a shame it’s going to waste, out here, in the trailer.

A small grin comes to your face. You gather up your letters and lean forward to reach the board that sits atop of your duvet. JJ shamelessly glances down your tee shirt as it gapes open by the collar. It used to be his but you’d claimed it a month into dating him. He didn’t much mind. It looked better on you anyway. It was the one you were wearing at the docks, yesterday. Neither of you had mentioned that though.

“Zealous,” you say as you spell it out on the board.

Your fingers tap on each block as you count up your points. The chipped blue nail varnish shines bright in the sunlight streaking through your bedroom window.

“16 points with a double letter score on the ‘s’, making it 17.”

“17 big ones,” JJ mumbles as he writes your score down.

“Read it and weep, baby.”

JJ sighs in thought and leans back on his arms, deliberating over his letters. The room smells like incense, done to counteract the stench of mould, damp and cannabis.

JJ didn’t even know ‘zealous’ was a word. He debates on asking you what it means but decides against it. He sort of wants you to think he knows the word like you do, well enough to pluck it easily from your mind. It’d be funny to see you and Pope go head-to-head in this game, JJ comes to think. It’s a shame that’ll never come to be.

“Okay,” JJ says after homing in on his word. He begins to spell it on the board. “Asshole.”

“JJ, curse words aren’t allowed,” you tell him.

JJ glances up at you, midway through spelling. “Since when?”

“Since always. It’s in the rule book.”

“Who actually reads the rule book?” JJ snorts. He keeps spelling. “Sides. It’s not a curse word, it’s a factual term. The hole of the ass: asshole.”

“Thank you for that definition,” you sarcastically reply.

JJ finishes spelling and he begins to count up his points. He feels his grin begin to morph into a cocky smirk as he totals up.

“10 points anda triple letter score and a double word score, making this…”

He drumrolls on his knees as he takes a moment to do the maths in his head. “44 baby.”

“What?” you bark, leaning over to check.

JJ sniggers to himself as he goes to write his points. The pen is snatched from his hold.

“Hey!”

“You’re cheating!”

“How am I cheating?” JJ laughs.

“Swear words aren’t allowed!” you loudly tell him. You begin to remove his letters from the board.

“Hey!” JJ repeats, lunging over to grab them off you. You refuse to yield, holding them against your chest. “Gimme them!”

“You’re such a child!” you say, beginning to laugh.

JJ glances up to meet your gaze as he replies, “and you’re not? Stealing my letters from the board cause I got a better score?”

“I can’t give up my ‘z’ just for you to get more than double the amount of points with ‘asshole’!”

“Sore loser,” JJ mutters.

He’s still battling you for the plastic letters. In the process, he ends up knocking the board, sending all the other letters out of whack.

“JJ!”

“That was technically you, bro…”

“Let go!” you laugh.

You’ve tumbled onto your back now. JJ’s laughing too, trying to prise your hands open. He grins as he moves a hand under the shirt to tickle at your rib cages. Now you’re in hysterics, crying out, shaking from the humour.

“Stop! Stop! You win, alright! You win!”

Your hand tumbles open and JJ steals the letters back. He lamely tosses them onto the ruined scrabble board with a chuckle, instead leaning down to kiss your giggling mouth. You barely kiss him back through your laughter. JJ doesn’t much care. Hearing you laugh might be the best sound on earth.

“You can’t just kiss me and think you’re off the hook for ruining the game,” you say, opening your eyes into his.

JJ rolls his eyes mirthfully, propping himself above you with one arm. “Well, I didn’t ruin the game—”

“—You messed up the board!”

“Because you wouldn’t give me back my letters!”

You’re vivaciously laughing again, prompting JJ to do so, too. He presses wet kisses to your jawline. Breathes in the scent of you – rose and bergamot – and wishes he could bathe in the smell. Wishes he could bottle it up and carry it around with him, so he never has to be without. He doesn’t say that though. Knows you’ll laugh at him if he does. Instead, he kisses you once more before pulling back to meet your gaze. You’ve mostly calmed your laughter now. Reaching up a hand, you steal his skew-whiff cap and place it on your head with a playful grin.

“How’s it look?”

“You’re almost as handsome as me,” JJ returns, flicking at the lip of it.

You snort. “Impossible.”

JJ can’t help but kiss you again. You sigh into it. Stroke lovingly at his jaw. The moment he pulls away for breath, you’re talking again. He thinks he could listen to your ramblings and never get bored.

“Can you sleep over tonight?”

Plucking out a strand of her to mess with, JJ replies, “what time’s your brother home?”

“Why? You wanna sleep in his bed instead?”

“Har har,” he deadpans. Blows a raspberry against your throat, making you laugh. “Seriously, though. What time?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “Maybe one-ish, in the morning?”

JJ nods. He tucks the hair behind your ear. “I don’t think I can.”

You sigh, not particularly irritated, smile still on your face. “He’s not that scary, JJ. I don’t get why you won’t just meet him. When you talk to him, you’ll be fine.”

“I just don’t want him thinking I’m treating his little sister badly. Gotta wine and dine you first,” JJ returns teasingly. He lies through his teeth as if it comes as natural as breathing.

“We’re not Catholics, JayJ,” you snicker. “I don’t think he’d drop dead if he knew there was a guy in my bed.”

“Still,” JJ says. “I don’t want to meet him by bumping into him in the morning.”

You sigh. You run your fingers through his hair in a way that has him weak in the knees. JJ loves how you touch him like he’s something precious; dote on him like a rich parent might to their only child. The way you look at him, it makes JJ feel somewhere between a young God and an innocent man. It’s like he couldn’t do wrong in your eyes. The thought shouldn’t bring as much dread to JJ as it does.

“Could you at least stay over on Wednesday night? Barry’s out of town for a couple of days, then.”

“Sure,” JJ shrugs. “Why Wednesday?”

Your smile momentarily falters. “Wait, for real?”

Oh. Fuck, of course. The picnic. Your birthday. His mind has been so scattered lately, with sneaking around and throwing the Pogues off his scent, and the chaos with the cross and the island room and Sarah and John B…Days seem to merge into one. It’s hard to keep track sometimes.

JJ hopes he plays it off well as he grins. “I’m just messing with you. I know it’s your birthday.”

Your sigh of relief is a little too real. It makes him feel guilty like a man on trial. You gently bat at his chest. “Asshole.”

“Hey! That’s a 44-point word,” JJ winks.

You roll your eyes and smile up at him, and JJ considers staying like this forever.

He doesn’t miss how your smile doesn’t stretch all the way like usual.

~*~*~*~*~*

It’s starting to feel like JJ needs organisers for his mind and thoughts. They’re racing, twenty-four-seven, robbing him of sleep. Daydreams about the cross and what the hell the island room might be. Daydreams about riches if they somehow find it. Daydreams about the future, with you always finding yourself at the forefront. White dress, gold ring, swollen belly…Thoughts about you and fears about people finding out. About the robbery that haunts him and how, because of his own stupid choices, the two of you may never reach that future. How he knows that you’re slipping away from him, slowly but surely, like sand falling through his fingers, grain by grain. How he might not be able to keep his grip. How it might all have been inevitably doomed from the start. I mean, aren’t all the greatest love affairs?

“You’re thinking an awful lot over there, JayJ,” Kiara says.

“Yeah. You’re probably gonna end up hurting yourself,” John B adds.

“Charming, man. Thank you,” JJ sighs.

He tugs off his cap and tosses his head back with another deep exhale. The Pogues are lounging around at the chateau.

“What’s bothering you so much?” Kie wonders.

“You know, just…” JJ gestures lamely. “All this bullshit cross stuff. No offence, Pope.”

“None taken, I don’t think,” he replies.

“I mean, couldn’t Denmark have just written co-ordinates or something. And made a spare key,” JJ mutters. He’s aware of the glare Pope shoots his way. “Jus’ saying.”

“It is a bit cryptic,” Kie backs.

Pope sighs. “Look, it’s somewhere on this island. If we get to it first, then the key doesn’t really matter. All I know is that it’s somewhere on this island.”

“Great. That narrows down our hunt,” JJ says under-breath.

“So broody,” John B teases.

“Yeah. I refuse to believe the cross is bothering you this much,” Kiara says.

“Why’s everyone on my back all of a sudden?” JJ snaps, looking to his friends. “Like, can we all just back off for now, alright? I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

John B holds his hands up as if he’s surrendering. “Easy, JayJ.”

“We’ve woken the beast,” Pope mumbles, making the other two laugh.

JJ rolls his eyes. He lays back on the hammock and folds his arms under his head. The weed and the liquor haven’t made him loosen up. His eyes trace the clouds in the sky above, through the canopy of the tree. Somewhere in his daydreams and thoughts, as the rest of the Pogues chatter, he ends up closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.

When JJ comes to, it’s with a start. It seems to startle Kie, too, who’s sat on the grass, lazily thrumming her ukulele.

���You good?”

He sits up slowly. Rubbing his face, JJ retrieves his cap. “How long was I out for?”

“Three hours.”

JJ is suddenly awake, any drowsiness gone in a second.

“What?”

Kiara shrugs and keeps plucking out the easily melody she’s invented.

“We tried to wake you up but you just shrugged us off, so we thought it was better if we just let you sleep. Seemed like you needed it.”

JJ only half hears her. His mind is still reeling from the reality that he was asleep for three hours.

“Wait, what time is it?”

He retrieves his phone from his short’s pocket. Pressing the power button, JJ cusses when he realises it’s dead.

“What’s the big deal?” Kie mutters, watching him get to his feet in a hurry.

“What fucking time is it?” he sharply returns. He’s lacing up his boots again.

She mumbles a less than needed comment under breath but pulls out her phone nonetheless, glancing at the screen.

“Almost nine.”

No.

No, no, no.

It must be written on his face, the soul-crushing, body numbing horror overcoming JJ. The kind of dread one gets when they remember on some idle Thursday a piece of paperwork they needed to do the previous day, though only worse. A million times worse. Kiara frowns up at him in concern.

“What is it?”

“It’s nothing,” JJ mumbles darkly.

He yanks his cap off and paces the garden. He can’t call you – his phone’s dead. Would you even answer anyway? Will you still be at the beach? Should he go? No, of course, he should go. He has to go.  

“JJ, it’s clearly not ‘nothing’.”

“It’s none of your goddamn business, Kie, alright?” he snaps.

JJ doesn’t have time to feel guilty for snapping at his friend. He has to see you. He has to make this right. The sand is falling through his fingers now, the gaps between digits nothing more than gaping caverns.

JJ pulls back on his cap and heads straight for his bike. He kicks off the stand and starts the engine in a hurry. Then he’s hurling towards the beach-spot; secluded and quiet and serene - everything JJ feels as though he’s not. He practically dumps his bike in the process of rushing to see you, racing down the familiar track to the dunes. He’s panting, panic deep in his chest, a hand coming up to rub at his heart as if worried it might beat out his body. He looks up and down the beach, searching for any sign of you, and then his eyes fixate on something. He runs over, ducking down to see it’s your cardigan.

“Fuck,” JJ mumbles.

He looks out to the water. It’s sunset. Reflects on the water, shimmers on the sand.

“Fuck.”

JJ tightens his grip on your cardigan like it’s a part of you and heads to the house without thinking. He needs to find you and make this right. The stairs creak under foot as he hurries up them, onto the porch and inside the house. Ditching the cardigan on the kitchen table, he makes a b-line for your bedroom. The door’s shut. Rapping twice on the wood, quick and short, impatient, JJ leans against the doorframe. Calls out your name.

“I know you’re home, okay? Look, can we just talk?”

Knocks again, louder. Tries the handle. Locked. He repeats your name, calling out to you, tone desperate.

“I just wanna talk, alright!? Please! I know I messed up but just hear me out and—”

The door swings open. He’s breathing heavy, trying uselessly to alleviate his anxiety, and looks down to meet your gaze. His stomach constricts like a boa snake. You’re crying. Shoulders hung like you’ve lost a battle and body sagging like you’re exhausted.

“I…”

JJ’s words die on his tongue. An apology seems so minuscule now. It’s like trying to put out a dumpster fire with a glass of water.

“I lost track of time.”

You scoff. Shake your head, breaking his gaze.

“You lost track of time,” you repeat, under breath, voice unfamiliar.

“I did and…I know I messed up, okay? I’m sorry I just…I forgot and--”

“You forgot? You forgot, huh?”

You’re looking up at him now but your eyes are narrowed. The pain has morphed into anger. Lips are downturned into a disapproving frown.

“Did you think that’s how I wanted to spend my birthday, JJ?”

“I know, but I—”

“No,” you interrupt, holding up a hand. The tears are still falling and each one feels like a pinprick to JJ’s chest. “I’m talking now.”

JJ swallows thickly.

“Did you think that I wanted to spend my eighteenth birthday on the beach having a picnic? I mean, did you think I didn’t have better offers? That my friends didn’t want to throw me a party, and that I didn’t want to get drunk and celebrate with the people in my life that care about me? No! I wanted to go for a picnic because I wanted to spend my birthday with you. And you don’t even show up! You don’t call me, you don’t text! You just leave me, sitting there, like a fucking idiot, on my own. And do you know the worst part, JJ?”

He can feel his own lips quivering. Purses them together to fight back the tears. He can feel the tapestry ripping.

You hold his gaze as your lips form a demented smile. A solemn laugh accompanies your confession. “The worst part is, I wasn’t even surprised when you didn’t show up. In fact, I had a feeling that it would happen.”

“Don’t say that,” JJ whispers.

“‘Don’t say that?’ What? Say that you treat me like shit?”

“I don’t treat you like shit,” JJ argues back. Because he doesn’t, does he?

“You don’t—JJ! What can’t you see here?” you snap at him, gesturing around you. “You’ve been losing me for a long time and you’ve just let it fucking happen! It’s like you knew you were on thin ice and you just kept on jumping! I mean, did you want us to fail? Was it easier than just breaking up with me?”

“Why would I want us to fail!?” JJ shouts back.

You turn around and retreat into your bedroom, shaking your head. JJ finds himself following.

“Answer me!”

“I don’t have to answer you, JJ!” you scream at him, spinning around. “I mean, how else am I supposed to interpret this whole situation!?”

“I love you, alright? Isn’t that enough for you?” JJ yells. His tone is angry but his face is crumbling.

You shake your head. Wrap your arms around yourself like a hug. “No! It isn’t! It can’t be, okay? I told you before: I don’t want to be a secret forever, JJ.”

“You’re not a secret—”

“Then tell me why I can’t meet your friends? Why you can’t meet my brother? I know I don’t come from the best home, JJ, and I know my family is a mess and I’m probably gonna end up in an early grave like the rest of them—”

“-Don’t say that—”

“And I know I’m not the kind of thing that people want to show off but…” You catch your breath through your sobs. Steel yourself. “But I’m a good person, JJ. I know I’m a good person, and I deserve good things, and I deserve someone who makes me feel good.”

“I can,” JJ pleads. He clears the space between you. Grabs for your hands. Feels the ground break beneath him when you fight out of his grip. “I can make you feel good.”

“You don’t, though,” you cry. “I don’t feel good, JJ. I feel fucking used.”

No.

No, no…It’s falling apart and JJ can’t lose you. He can’t…This can’t end like this. He feels like he’s a kid again, begging for his mom not to walk out, begging for forgiveness from his dad. It’s screamingly familiar. He can’t lose another thing. He can’t lose you. Wasn’t that what all this was for? The lying and the secrets was all some desperate attempt to keep you. JJ had to keep you.

JJ pants, stood before you, feeling more vulnerable than he ever has before, even more so than when he’s laid bare in front of you. You’re still crying and it’s because of him, and that hurts worse than any punch JJ’s ever had thrown at him.

“Tell me how to fix this,” JJ begs.

You shake your head.

“Tell me how to fix this,” he repeats, demanding it. “I need to fix this!”

You lift your head slowly to meet his gaze. He knows he looks desperate. Sounds it, too. But he doesn’t care. Hell, he is. He needs you in his life. With everything else that has been going on, you’re the one ray of sun, always warming his soul. His smile and his shine. JJ doesn’t know joy without you. Doesn’t know love or pleasure or trust, like he does with you. His daydreams of the future are falling apart in this moment. No dress and no house and no family. Nothing. Just him and a bottle and his wasted heart.

“Let me meet your friends,” you manage out. “I meet your friends, and you meet my brother and meet my friends, and we go on dates together like normal people, and we don’t keep this a secret. And you show up to my birthdays and you’re not late to our dates and you stay overnight and…And I get to have you. All of you. Just…Just do that and we can try and make this work, JJ.”

JJ starts crying. He’s sobbing, stood before you, because he knows that this is over now. It’s over.

You nod. It seems his tears are answer enough.

“You can’t,” you whisper. You say it, as though something has just become clear to you. Shaking your head, taking a step away from him, the distance is already gaping. You cry. “Even when you know you’re going to lose me. Your reputation is still more important to you than I am.”

“That’s not it,” he argues, wiping at his face. “That’s not what it is.”

“I don’t care, JJ,” you confess in a breath. Wipe furiously at your cheeks and stare up at the ceiling. “I don’t have the energy to care, anymore.”

JJ hadn’t experienced heartbreak before. The songs and the films lied about it, though. They play it down. It’s torturous. Slow and cavernous and insurmountably painful. He clutches at his t-shirt, over his chest, as if thinking he could make the pain stop. He wants all of this to stop. And with the next words you utter, he feels as if it does. He feels as if his whole world stops.

“We’re done, JJ.”

 ~*~*~*~*~*

Since the break-up, JJ feels as though he’s sailing through a storm-ridden sea without a compass or guide. No direction and no sign of freedom from the turmoil. He’s drowned his sorrows and anxieties with drugs. Booze for the tears and cannabis for the regret. Numbs the anger with nicotine and waits until he’s exhausted to drop to sleep for fear of dreaming about you, in any capacity. He can’t decide which dreams are worse: the ones where you’re mad at him and crying, or the one’s where you’re happy and laughing over a scrabble board. All of them feel like nightmares.

The group must’ve sensed a difference in him, but if they have, they don’t bother to mention it. JJ’s grateful. It’s not like he could talk about it anyway.

“Wake up, JayJ,” Kiara says. She kicks at his feet.

“Quit it,” JJ mumbles into the pillow.

“Come on. We’re going on a walk.”

“Have fun,” JJ sighs. He’s been awake for about five minutes and can already feel the craving for another beer starting up.

Kiara keeps kicking at his feet. It’s starting to tick him off.

“I mean me and you are going for a walk. Now get up,” Kie tells him.

“I don’t feel like walking, Kie,” JJ says impatiently.

“I don’t care, bro. I’m sick of seeing you wallow in the chateau. We could find the island room at any moment and we don’t need you like this when we do.”

He knows that’s not the truth. JJ knows his friends care about him (as hard as it is to fathom sometimes) and he knows that the way he’s acting must be of concern. Especially because they don’t know why. Who would suspect a break-up for a guy who’s been nothing but single his whole life?

But JJ doesn’t feel like pity. He doesn’t feel like talking or spending time with anyone else but a bottle of corona. His plans to fall back to sleep and ignore Kiara’s demands are thrown out the window, however, when she dunks a pint of cold water on his back. JJ cusses out, shooting up, feeling his head pound at the motion. Still a little drunk.

“What the hell Kiara!”

“Rise and shine,” she smiles in faux sweetness. She ditches the glass on countertop and heads out the front door, onto the porch. “You got five minutes, princess.”

“Fuck off,” JJ mutters under breath.

Clearly, Kie’s not going to lay off anytime soon. If he goes on this walk, even for five minutes, maybe JJ can be left in peace for the rest of the day to drink himself stupid. Besides, it would work as a nice distraction from falling into thoughts of you and checking his phone every five minutes in case you decided to text him. With that motivation, JJ tugs on a muscle tee and ties up the laces on his boots. Kiara holds out a joint in an act of peace when he steps onto the porch. It works in moving her back into his good books.

“Come on, man. Let’s go into the marsh,” Kiara says, standing up.

JJ walks by her side, smoking the blunt, passing it to her now and then. The sounds of the world somewhat mellow out when they pass the threshold into the marsh. Trees and shrubberies and bushes surrounding them. Their feet follow a path made purely from being trodden so many times. JJ kicks at a nettle plant as they pass. He’s taken to trying to distinguish the different birds around them purely from their calls.

“I know, by the way,” Kiara says, breaking their silence.

JJ looks at her. “Huh?”

“I know. About Barry’s sister,” she tells him.

JJ’s stomach drops. He’s surprised he doesn’t lose his footing. Clearing his throat, looking ahead again, he shrugs.

“What are you talking about?”

“It was kinda obvious, JayJ.”

JJ clenches his eyes shut. “Kie…I really don’t wanna talk about this, alright?”

“I had a feeling about it at the bonfire,” she says, ignoring him. “I mean, I knew you were into someone that day at the chateau, but I didn’t know who. And then you were jumping to her defence for like no reason. The real clue was when you went into the woods literally right after she did. Like, seriously, bro? Subtle much?”

“Did you not hear what I said, Kiara? I don’t wanna talk about it,” JJ hisses.

Kiara continues, nonetheless. “Then at the docks, you were defending her again. That wasn’t the giveaway though. The giveaway was the fact that she was wearing your tee-shirt, bro. That just sealed the deal for me.”

“Congratulations, alright? You solved the mystery. Now can you please just let it go,” JJ sharply tells her. He takes another hit of the bud, hoping it’ll help to calm him down.

“I just don’t understand why you didn’t tell us,” Kie says.

“Kiara-”

“I mean, I get wanting to keep it on the downlow maybe, but we’d have been cool with it,” Kiara tells him.

“I don’t wanna—”

“I haven’t told the others yet but—”

“Just shut up, alright!? Shut up!” JJ snaps.

His patience snaps like the fraying rope of a river swing. Plummets him into anger and drenches him in regret.

“What the hell, JJ? I’m saying that we support you, alright?”

“It doesn’t fucking matter, Kiara,” JJ shouts. He tugs off his cap and wrings it angrily in his hands. “None of it fucking matters!”

It seems as if he’s yelling at her, but he isn’t. Not actually. He’s mad at himself. Furious at managing to muck up one of the only good things in his life. JJ meets Kie’s gaze dead on.

“She left me, alright? It’s over. So, it doesn’t matter anymore, okay? So just drop it.”

Saying it out loud feels as though JJ’s shoving his nails into an open gash.

He collapses onto a fallen tree trunk, dropping his cap and hanging his head into his hands. When he rakes his fingers through his hair in frustration, it isn’t sweet like when you do it, and it only makes him miss you more.

JJ hears Kiara sigh. She sits down next to him and he watches her in his peripheral a moment.

“Is this why you’ve been acting the way you have?”

JJ doesn’t reply. He only sighs deeply into the clamminess of his palms. It seems to work as an answer in and of itself.

“Shit, JJ.”

“Don’t pity me.”

“Too late.”

He sighs again. Slowly, he lifts his head out his hands, keeping his fingers pressed near his lips as if in silent prayer.

“Can I ask how?”

“How what?”

“How it all ended,” she clarifies.

JJ glances to her. Kiara’s eyes are soft with sympathy. JJ shrugs as if he doesn’t know. As if it’s a mystery why you up and left, when the clues are as a clear as a confession note.

“I fucked it up. That’s how.”

“I feel like that’s not the whole truth, JayJ.”

“But it’s the point, okay? I fucked it up, like I fuck up everything, like I knew I would. It was a fucking pipe dream anyway.”

“I don’t understand,” Kiara mumbles.

Leaning down, she retrieves his cap and dusts it off. It stings just to look at it. It’s the same one you stole from him during one of your usual scrabble-offs. You always beat him. Always.

 “Can you just tell me what happened?”

“Why?” JJ sighs tiredly.

“So I can understand why you didn’t trust us enough to tell us,” she replies. JJ hates the momentary hurt that swipes across her features. “Pogues don’t keep secrets from Pogues.”

JJ shakes his head smally, like a boy in confessional. “It wasn’t because of you guys.”

“Then…Why?”

“It’s because of me,” JJ admits.

“JJ. Self-blame isn’t going to work—”

“No, Kiara. I actually mean it this time, alright? It’s because of me,” JJ doubles-down, holding her gaze. It’s suddenly exhausting to try and keep a lid on his emotions. “She didn’t want to keep it a secret, okay? She wanted to meet you guys, and for me to meet her friends and stuff. And it wasn’t that I didn’t want to. She’d get along great with you lot. I mean, she’s as damn smart as Pope and funny as hell. And she’s kind. Like actually kind, but not in a boring way, or in a push-over way. Just in a pure perfect kinda way. When she looks at me…God, this is going to sound corny as hell, but she makes me feel like I’m a good person. Like I can’t do anything wrong in her eyes. Least, she used to.”

A consoling hand is placed on his shoulder. It spurs him on.

“In all honesty, it started out as a secret because I didn’t think it’d last longer than a month. But then I started to fall for her, so hard and so fucking fast, and it scared the shit out of me. And I knew that if I wanted to keep her around, then she couldn’t ever find out about what I did to Barry.”

Kiara frowns as he says that, as if trying to follow. “Wait. Do you mean with the money and stuff?”

JJ nods, pursing his lips.

She shakes her head with a deep sigh. “JJ. That shit was so long ago—”

“It doesn’t matter. I still did it, alright? Barry’s all she’s got in terms of family and I stole from him. And not just a little bit. A lot. So if she ever found out; she’d leave me.”

Kie holds his gaze. “‘She’d leave you’? How do you know that?”

“I just do, okay?”

“No, JayJ, you don’t,” Kie tells him. “I mean, if she’s as good a person as you say she is, then how do you know she wouldn’t look past it? I’m sure she’s not blind to the fact that you do stupid shit, bro. Or that her brother isn’t the nicest of guys. He had a gun to our head, man.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter anymore, does it? Cause I lost her anyway,” JJ returns, perhaps a little sharply.

Out of guilt, JJ looks away from his friend’s eyes. He rubs at his face, perhaps in an attempt to distract himself from this pitiful conversation. JJ could do with a shower and a shave. Didn’t seem all that important in the last week, though.

“Can I say something?”

“I have a feeling that you’re going to anyway,” JJ mutters.

“Is there a chance that you were using the thing with Barry as an excuse?”

JJ face darkens into a deep frown. Looking to her, he asks, “what?”

“I mean…I don’t think it’s exactly a secret that you aren’t good at accepting love.”

“Gee, thanks, Kie.”

“Just, hear me out,” she says, stopping him before he can go off in a huff. JJ does so reluctantly. “Telling her about Barry means that she sees you for your good and your bad, and keeping it from her, and from us, and from everyone really, means that it doesn’t actually become real.”

“I’m not following,” JJ mumbles.

“Lemme put it another way then,” she replies, rolling her eyes. “Maybe – on some level – by keeping it a secret, you felt like you couldn’t really lose her if things turned out bad.”

JJ frowns again, though this time, it isn’t out of offence. Instead, it teeters on the line of confusion and understanding.

Kiara doesn’t expand more. Just lets him sit with it for a moment. JJ looks down at his feet, skimming at the overgrown plants.

Was that it? Was the thing with Barry – JJ’s big motivation to keep your relationship a secret – mostly an excuse?

He didn’t want Barry to find out because he’d definitely beat JJ’s ass again and hound on him for getting with his sister, and you probably would be crushed to know he stole from your brother, but…But then what? Then things would surely move on. He’d either have you or lose you, but it’d be reality. By keeping things secret, it was as if JJ was only playing half his hand. That maybe the stakes would be somehow smaller if he didn’t have you completely, because then he wouldn’t lose you completely either. Ironic, how wrong that was. How it didn’t matter in the end.

JJ had taken beatings before. He could stomach another from Barry if it meant he got to have you in his life. He knows that now. In fact, having you leave him hurt worse than any right-hook Barry could send his way. Being down in the dirt wouldn’t matter all that much if you were there to pull him out and dust him off. It wouldn’t matter if you were just there.

Looking to Kiara, JJ swallows his pride. “I don’t know how to fix it, Kiara. I…I don’t know if I can.”

She sighs and nods in thought.

“Tell me what the last straw was.”

“The last straw?”

“The thing that made it all end, for good,” Kie says.

JJ purses his lips. The shame comes slow and simmering when he replies. “I stood her up. On her birthday. Her eighteenth birthday.”

“Ouch,” Kie eventually whispers.

JJ nods, looking down at the ground. “Yep. ‘Ouch’.”

“Okay, you know what you gotta do then,” she sighs, hopping to her feet. JJ looks up and takes her in.

“What?”

“You gotta go all out.”

“Excuse me?”

“You gotta swallow your pride and pull a romantic gesture.”

JJ doesn’t have it in him to burst into fits of laughter. Instead, he stares at Kiara as if she’s sprouted an extra head. All he can do is repeat himself.

“Excuse me?”

“We’re righting your wrongs and throwing her a birthday gesture, and you’re going to do some serious sucking up and swoon the shit out of this girl,” Kiara instructs. She holds out his cap for him.

JJ eyes it as if it might be laced with chloroform. “She’s really not the romantic gesture type, man.”

“Every girl is, deep down. Sides. Not like you have anything much to lose now.”

His eyes dart back up to Kie’s. She’s not wrong.

With that numbing thought, JJ grabs his cap back, shoves it on, and jumps onto his feet. “Fine. Fuck it.”

“Atta boy.”

~*~*~*~*~*

It was nice to realise that JJ’s week in purgatory hadn’t impaired his planning capabilities. Once he’d finished confessing to the rest of the Pogues about his nearly year-long secret relationship with Barry’s sister (and taken the brunt of the onslaught of questions, teasing and berating), they were more than willing to help out their friend.

JJ took advantage of your trustworthiness and willingness to help others to lure you out, with Kiara as bait. She’d go to your trailer, sneak to your bedroom window (which JJ identified in his incredible, Louvre-worthy drawing) and lure you out to ‘help with her faulty car motor’. JJ knew Barry was out collecting until later that day, so it was fairly safe to send Kie out there. She was more than willing to do it anyway. In the meantime, John B and Pope helped JJ set up some romantic gesture per Kie’s instruction. He felt like an idiot as he did it. This wasn’t your style or his, but he was throwing the hail Mary now. In for a penny, in for a pound.

I.E. Fuck it.

But now that everything is set up, JJ feels like he might throw-up with nerves. He’s already ran his vape dry and it feels like the nicotine has hardly touched him. Sat on the jetty, illuminated by a myriad of candles which are definitely a huge fire risk, JJ meddles with his lighter anxiously as he waits for Kie to come back with you on the boat. The water laps at the rotting podiums, holding him up. He sighs and listens to the sounds of nightlife, as the clock nears midnight. Whenever he closes his eyes, he sees your tear-soaked face, the moment before you broke up with him. JJ doesn’t close his eyes.

The symphony of nature is broken apart by the hum of a motorboat. He glances to the sound to see Kiara stood behind the wheel. You’re sat in the back, legs crossed; face the look of scepticism. It morphs into daylight-clear betrayal when you spot JJ.

“Wait. What the…”

JJ shakily exhales and gets to his feet. He’s not used to feeling this nervous around you. Kiara slows the motor to a stop at the jetty, but you don’t move.

“You said you needed help with your motor,” you say to Kiara.

She smiles apologetically. “Well, JJ said you were pretty trusting.”

“I don’t want to see you,” you say to JJ now.

JJ nods. Instinctively he shoves his hands in his pockets, letting his nails anxiously dig into the flesh of his palms. “I know. I know you don’t but I can’t let you have a shit birthday, no matter how things go between us.”

It seems with that; you take in the sights of the jetty. The candles placed around the peeling-paint wood. Two pillows to save you both from splinters. Between them sits a scrabble board, already set up. You gnaw at your lower lip. There’s the smallest movement of your head as you try to shake it.

“Just…Just give me this, and then you don’t have to talk to me ever again, if you don’t wanna. Okay?” JJ sighs.

He extends out a hand for you. His heart thrums with anxiety as he waits for your reaction.

Your eyes move up to his. You regard him a moment. Then, with a sigh, you’re getting to your feet and taking his hand, letting him help you onto the jetty. Kiara flashes JJ a small, reassuring smile, and then she’s making off into the night.

“This might be the corniest thing you’ve ever done, by the way,” you mumble.

You remove your hand from his and stand defensively on the edge of the wood, making him a little nervous that you might fall in.

“I know,” JJ chuckles uneasily, glancing down to the set-up. “Don’t bust my balls yet though, alright?”

He sits down on one of the pillows. Nods for you to take the other spot. After a moment’s consideration, you do. You bring your cargo-covered legs near to your chest as if closing yourself off from him. He watches as your eyes dart down to the scrabble board, void of letters, and then down to your selection.

“What is this?”

“One last game.”

“JJ…”

“Just one,” he almost pleads. The two of you look at one another. Sighing, he shrugs. “I can’t let our last conversation end the way it did.”

“I don’t feel like scrabble,” you say.

JJ nods and looks down to pick at his fingernails. This was such a dumb idea. Why the hell did he let Kiara talk him into this? John B and Pope are probably watching from the chateau, placing bets on how long it takes for you to leave him there, sniggering at his uselessness.

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t wanna do this, JJ,” you tell him, glancing out to the water.

“Just please let me get this out,” JJ says. “Then I can get John B to drive you home, if you want. Or Kiara can come back with the boat. Whatever you prefer.”

You swallow. “John B knows I’m here?”

“Yeah,” JJ nods. “They all do. They all know.”

“Know what, exactly?”

“That I’m a fucking idiot, for starters,” JJ tells you. “And that I was dumb enough to lose you.”

“The pity parade isn’t going to win you points, JJ,” you say.

JJ shakes his head. “I’m not trying to win anything.”

“So this isn’t a ploy to try and win me back? Shame. You had me going for a second.”

“I’m a fucking idiot.”

“So you’ve said.”

“I am,” he affirms. It makes you chuckle quietly. He can’t tell if the humour is genuine. “This whole time, I was telling myself we had to stay as a secret because of something I did, but I was bullshitting myself. I just…Well, I think a part of me just wanted you to myself, and none of the pressures of everyone else, but I think another part of me didn’t want to risk losing you.”

You frown.

“Yeah, dumb, I know, cause I did anyway,” JJ mutters. Makes your smile halfway return. “But then you thought that it was because of you, for some reason. That it’s because of who you are. That’s not it. That was never it. It’s just…It’s hard to explain…”

“You don’t have to explain it, then,” you say. JJ closes his eyes at the sound of your voice, sweet with understanding. “But you do have to explain this thing you did. The thing that made you want to keep us a secret.”

JJ shakes his head and purses his lips. “You’re gonna hate me.”

“I don’t hate anyone,” you tell him.

Shakily exhaling, JJ looks out to the water. He steadies himself like a first-time surfer, then looks to you. You’re watching him expectantly, waiting.

“I have a past with doing stupid things. I mean, I think you know that but…I can do really stupid things sometimes. I don’t think ten steps ahead and I make bad choices and I can’t be talked down from them. And it makes messes. I’m not proud of it, I need you to know that.”

You nod.

JJ sighs. “Do you remember when I told you about the gold?”

You nod once more.

“Well, we tried to pawn some of it off one time. We got sent out into the middle of nowhere on a fake-out and this guy stops us and robs us all at gunpoint.”

“Wait, what?”  

JJ swallows and nods. “Somehow we got the upper hand and it turns out to be Barry. I recognised him as my dad’s dealer, you know?”

You’re shaking your head. “He wouldn’t…Why would he do that? He wouldn’t do that…”

“I got angry, like a fucking idiot,” JJ sighs, dragging his fingers through his hair as he hangs his head a moment. “So I take the wheel and take us to his house and…And I rob him. Twenty-thousand.”

There’s no reply for a while. Merely the lapping of the water and the faint crackle of the candle’s wicker as it burns.

“You robbed him?”

“Eye for an eye, you know?” JJ mumbles, no conviction to his words.

“Why…Why didn’t you tell me this?” you can’t help but ask.

JJ swallows thickly. He shrugs as he raises his head to look at you.

“I don’t know. I guess because I wasn’t sure if you’d tell Barry, or if you’d leave me, maybe? Or maybe I just…You always do the right thing and you have this way of looking at me like I’m this good person. I didn’t want that to go away.”

Your expression is stoic. He can’t quite read the emotions on your face, as each seems to come and go so quickly as you process JJ’s big confession. It’s like trying to understand a story from a torn-up foreign book.

In the silence of your deliberation, JJ feels himself shrug again. He meddles his fingers together, gazing down at them; his forearms resting atop of his knees, legs brought up to his chest similar to your own.

“I’m not a good person. I do bad things and I make bad choices and I suck at doing the right thing.”

“Stop it, JJ.”

He looks up to you with that. You’re shaking your head.

“There are no good people and bad people, so don’t start falling into some self-destructive spiel thinking it’s going to make me feel better about any of this,” you tell him.

JJ nods. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“I just…Why would Barry…I don’t understand,” you sigh. You clasp your hands over your face.

In that moment, JJ’s nearly certain he’s lost you for good. He half wants to gloat to Kiara that he was right; that you saw the real him and didn’t like it. But it isn’t a nice feeling. JJ hangs his head and prepares himself for the final blow. He’s already planning his request for John B to drive you back home. Debating if he’ll try and kiss you goodbye. Wonders which alcohol to wash it all down with.

“I’m sorry he did that to you, JJ.”

JJ’s head nearly flies off his head with how quickly it darts back up.

“What?”

“He told me he doesn’t do shit like that anymore,” you’re saying. JJ’s taken to watching your mouth, like he’s having trouble following your words in the silence of the night. “I told him I didn’t want him doing shit like that anymore. He lied to me.”

“I don’t understand,” JJ manages out.

You shake your head. “I’m not mad at you, for robbing him. People make bad choices, JJ, but that doesn’t make them bad people. The same way he went after you guys first. The same way I jumped to conclusions about why you wanted to keep this a secret.”

“How is that a bad choice?” JJ frowns. “I didn’t give you any better explanation for why. I was just so fucking scared that I’d lose you if you knew the truth.”

“Because I knew you weren’t the type of dumbass who gives a shit about family and reputation and appearances, but I still let my own fucking insecurities lead me to think that it was because of me. That you didn’t want to be seen with me because of my family, and all of their shitty choices. Including the gunpoint bullshit thing he pulled on you and your friends.”

JJ shakes his head. He instinctively reaches a hand out to you, grabbing at your trainer clad shoes and squeezing.

“I know more than anyone that people are more than their dumbass families.”

You chuckle solemnly at that. Moving your hand, you lay it atop of his and you don’t pull away when he flips his, palm up, and intertwines your fingers. It feels like you’re mending all his gashes from that single touch alone.

“I know you have every reason to say no to me here,” JJ begins. “I mean, I’ve been nothing short of a dumbass and…Well, I’m kinda beating around the bush here, but…”

You quirk a brow. There’s that smile he loves. Teasing and playful and perfect. You’re so fucking perfect.

“But here’s a crazy idea. How about we date, like normal people, and I don’t forget your birthdays, and I’m not late for our dates, and I sleep over at night. And you meet my friends, and I meet yours, and maybe I steer a bit clear of your brother still. Just to be safe.”

“Just so you can keep your balls.”

“Ideally, yeah.”

You both laugh at that. Both somewhat tearful.

You squeeze his hand.

“Well, if your friends know about us, we can just crash at the chateau more, I guess,” you say, voice reserved still, as if he might laugh in your face.

JJ doesn’t though. He smiles wider. Nods. “Now there’s an idea.”

“I think I’d be cool with that, then,” you half-whisper.

JJ smiles at you like you’re the sun and he’s the moon, and he’d spend forever in your orbit if you’d only let him. You might just.

Leaning forward, he kisses you, sweet and tender. You don’t let him pull back; moving to slide a hand around his neck, another slipping along his jaw like a priest’s gentle touch during baptism. This close, he can smell your perfume: rose and bergamot. And this; this is what living is for.

“I love you,” JJ confesses, the moment your lips break apart.

You laugh smally; your cherubic voice easing the cacophony of thoughts that had been plaguing JJ for the past month or so.

“I love you too, you idiot,” you return. Swiping your thumb over his cheek, smiling wider as he leans shamelessly into your touch, you add, “just stop doing stupid things, please.”

“Darling, there’s no way I can promise you that,” JJ returns.

He cuts off your wonderful laughter with a grinning kiss. He doesn’t care if his friends can see. If they’re making fun of him for how much he’s at your mercy. Afterall, JJ is in love with you. It’s not like it’s a secret or anything.

[majestyeverlasting]

A Sure and Steady Thing

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: A rainy evening in Hawkins sets your lake plans awry, but brings you closer together back at his place through a confession you didn't quite see coming.

Word Count: 2k

Features kissing and big feelings.

Relaxing into the passenger seat, you close your eyes and listen to the pattering rain. With how clear and blue the sky had been, doubting the weatherman hadn’t seemed so bad. He’d been wrong before, speaking of storms that never reared their heads. Except this evening, as dark clouds settled over Hawkins, that was far from the case. 

Eddie can’t keep up with all of the fat droplets rushing down the window but he sure does make a game out of it like when he was a kid. 

He doesn’t stop until he feels the gentle pull of you wrapping one of his curls around your finger. Wash day was two nights ago, so it’s still soft as silk. Curiosity glimmers in his eyes as he directs his gaze to your careful movements. 

You smile at him. “Remember when I used to do this in Mrs. O'Donnell's?” 

Halfway through senior year, the guy who sat behind him dropped out and you took his seat. Eddie had seen you around before, but only enough to offer nods of acknowledgement. The day you finally gave into the urge to play with his hair he didn’t tell you to stop. 

“You were in that class with me?” A smirk pulls at his lips. 

“Yeah,” you play along. “Had a big, fat crush that took you about five hundred years to see.” 

Chuckling, he looks down and begins turning one of his rings. 

Touching his hair expanded to drawing shapes on his back to passing cutesy notes. Somehow he’d still convinced himself that it was all some trick of the fluorescent lights. It wasn’t until you admitted your feelings straight to his face that he stopped holding back from expressing his. 

“I got there in the end, though,” he says as you uncurl your finger. 

Looking out the windshield, you can barely make out the line of trees before you. Let alone the trail that leads down a small hill to the lakefront. The rain showed no immediate sign of letting up, and there was only so much to do bound to a couple seats. 

“Maybe we should plan for another day,” you suggest.

“If you’re tired of sitting here with me, you could just say so.” If it wasn’t for the lilt in his voice you would’ve believed his sincerity.  

There’s fondness in your eyes as you meet his gaze. “When did I say that, hmm? Just don’t wanna be cramped in a van, is all.” 

His eyes flit down to your lips when you offer a sweet smile that’s convincing enough. The console creaks as he braces a forearm arm on it to lean closer to you. 

You melt a little when he presses his lips to yours. Your first kiss had gone something like this, just moments before he’d pulled out of the bustling school parking lot to drive you home. It was over before it began, rendering you both silent and grinning like fools under the spell of love. 

It was nothing like the kiss you shared now that was as sure and steady as the falling rain. 

There’s a tender depth to his eyes when you part. Like you’re staring straight through to an unbarred part of him that was just for you. 

“We take the long way home if you want,” you say. 

He smiles at that word. Home. 

With how often you found yourself at his trailer, it was just as much yours. Any place was capable of feeling like home when there was love within its walls. He found that out for himself the day his mom dropped him off at Wayne’s trailer with a trash bag, a suitcase, and wide eyes. He eventually wanted to go off and grow into another home with you. 

“What’s that look for?” You tilt your head. 

Instead of answering, he gives your chin a gentle pinch between his thumb and forefinger before starting up the engine again. 

•••

The streets of Hawkins are quiet and empty. Even more so than they usually are. By the time he pulls into Forest Hills trailer park, your hand has long been grasped in his. He gives it a gentle squeeze as he comes to a stop in front of his place. 

“On my count?” 

You nod, grabbing onto the door handle. 

“Three…two…one!” 

Both of you hop out of the van at the same time, weaving towards the front door. Warm raindrops immediately begin darkening your clothes and wetting your skin. Muddier parts of the ground give under your footsteps, but you’re careful not to tread too heavily. The wind picks up, thick with the sweet scent of the earth. 

You stop behind as Eddie as he pushes the key into the lockhole—or so you thought. They fall out of his grip and clink to the wooden steps as he curses. The first streak of lighting lights the sky, followed by a low rumbling of thunder.  

He snickers as he tries again. “Take two.” 

Both of you clamber inside this time around. Thankfully, it’s warm and you aren’t met with the chill of the AC against your wet skin. There’s an intimate promise in being back. Everything is just as you left it, your belongings mixed in with his and Wayne’s and almost blending in. You take off your shoes and leave them on the mat by the door. 

“I’ll bring everything in later,” Eddie says as he rubs the moisture on his arms. 

The shrill ring of the landline interrupts his next thought. 

“Hello?” he says upon answering. “Hey, Jess, what’s up?” There’s a curious furrow between your brows as you walk over to hug him from behind. 

When he peeks back at you, you kiss his shoulder. 

“And he just told you this today?...Yeah, no, I’ll be able to come in then.” You perk up in interest. 

“Really, it’s no problem, man. Shit happens.” Eddie looks down at your fingers as you slip them under the hem of his shirt, gracing over old scars. 

“Alright, see you tomorrow.” 

When he puts the phone back on the base, you make an inquisitive sound. 

“I gotta go into the shop early,” he tells you. 

Humming, you splay your fingers over the warmth of his stomach. “No staying up late then.”

A hard feat when he was with you. There were always more conversations to have, more kisses to share, another movie to watch. Time always escaped from you, if you ever had a grip at all. 

As Eddie turns around in your hold, you wrap your arms around his neck. 

“What now?” Your question is light. 

“I dunno,” he murmurs, drawn in again by your nearness and the sweet scent of your perfume. “I mean, I’ve got a couple ideas…”

You smile against his lips when they meet yours. 

It’s a feeling you get lost in, letting yourself sink and then rise up again. There’s a warmth that builds and builds, and because there is no place for it to overflow you have to contain it all. It’s the only type of burning that’s ever felt good. 

Eddie pulls away just long enough to lead you over to the couch. After he sinks down into the plush cushions, you straddle his thighs like they’re the best seat in the house. The weight of your body makes his head spin, and the way your chest brushes his as you lean in again makes him thirst like he’s gone without.

So he drinks and drinks and drinks more of you in.

For the longest time he swore the universe kept the sweetest things in life tucked away from him. Somehow you’d slipped through the cracks and found your way to him against the odds. 

A sudden gust of wind blows, and the trailer walls creek in a way that makes you pull away. As you take a look around, you realize the warm glow of the lights have disappeared. All that’s left is the soft natural light pouring in. 

Eddie watches the skin of your neck as you look everywhere but him. 

“Power’s out,” you note, voice thick. “Should we turn on the radio in case they’re saying anything important?” 

His hands squeeze your waist in what you assume to be an acknowledgement of your words. But it's really because you’re sitting so pretty with bright eyes and dewy lips. Turning back around to the sight of him staring so intently makes warmth rise to your cheeks. 

“There’s that look again,” you softly accuse. “What’s going on up here?” You tap your index finger against his temple before trailing it down under his chin, making him shiver. 

He purses his lips and shrugs.   

“Try me.” 

He squeezes your waist tighter, this time to stay grounded to earth. Outside, the storm begins to wane as if the universe is setting the stage for him. 

“You’re it for me,” he finally says. “There’s a bunch of stuff I haven’t done and a bunch of stuff I still need to learn, but I’m sure about you.”  

It feels like a garden begins to bloom within you, right down to the bone. 

Being sure about anything was a risk. It took the type of faith that asked you to walk blindly into the future, relying only on what you knew in the now. If he didn’t know anything else, he knew that life without you wouldn’t be half as worth living. The happiness you drew out of him was immeasurable day after day. He’d stopped trying to make sense of it. 

Wayne had warned him about a love like this one evening as they were looking through pictures of his late wife when Eddie was still a boy. He’d told him that one day somebody would come along and knock him off his feet in a way that made him question everything he thought he knew about himself—but in the best possible way. 

It sounded obscure at the time. Eddie didn’t want to fall or be forced to rethink anything. At eleven-years-old, he swore all he needed for the rest of his life was his guitar. Wayne had laughed at his nephew’s confidence, but still made him promise that when that type of love came around, he didn’t run from it no matter how much it terrified him. 

Eddie found himself running from a lot thereafter. All he seemed to do was run, and run, and run. It wasn’t until he officially met you in Mrs. O'Donnell's English class that he slammed on the brakes for one of the few times in his life. 

You lean forward until your forehead touches his. “I love you so much it hurts sometimes,” you whisper. 

Eddie laughs a little, overwhelmed. “Good to know we’re in the same boat.” 

He takes hold of your left hand and blindly runs his thumb over your ring finger. 

You were a couple of kids from Hawkins, Indiana, who’d seen the impossible, falling in love and drunk on the thought of forever—the world would’ve never thought. 

The storm has rolled out by the time the sun begins to set, and fleeting daylight cuts through the clouds in defined golden streaks. It looks like heaven has been cracked open over Hawkins. As the two of you take it all in from the front porch, you can’t help but suppose it has. 

Come the next weekend as you’re sitting beside Eddie on the shore of Lover’s Lake, you can’t take your eyes off the way your engagement ring marvelously catches the light. 

-

Thanks for reading! I promise I see and appreciate every like, comment, and reblog. <3

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[idolatrybarbie]

series masterlist | main masterlist

pairing: francisco "frankie" morales x f!reader, marcus pike & f!reader

word count: 7.8k

rating & summary: mature - 18+ only! | You can finally put a name to the feeling that’s overtaken your gut.

tags: heavy dubious consent - kissing, lies and manipulation, toxic relationship dynamics, emotional abuse, discussion of canon acts of violence, obsessive behaviour, controlling behaviour, misogyny, allusions to stalking. dead dove; do not eat.

notes: the behaviours of marcus pike are based upon the misogynistic and predatory philosophies of pick-up artists (link) and personal experiences with stalking. i would like to emphasize that these are bad people doing bad things. thanks to @wannab-urs for the beta and for being my revisionist history expert.

You drive to the car rental business housed in a hovelling little building next to the runway. The airport itself is huge for such a small place devoid of anything else, though you figure things worked out that way for that very reason. Lubbock Preston Smith treats you just fine, and your short flight to Dallas is distinctly unmemorable. The layover lasts a little over an hour before Southwest Airlines is herding you back onto another airplane.

It’s been a day and a half. You haven’t called Marcus back yet. What are you supposed to tell him?

Hey, I’ve decided that I want to help this criminal because…it’s what I want to do?

Terrible.

You wonder what Frankie’s life would look like, now that you’ve been in it for all of one week, if you weren’t in contact. Probably the same as it has been for the last eight months: quiet. Blow-your-brains-out quiet, solemnity trapping him inside his busted trailer. Seriously, that thing needs a bath.

The moon keeps you up. Truly, you let it. One slide of a curtain and you could fall asleep in half darkness, dead to the world. But you can’t. You don’t want to. Growing back into having that word—want—after years of doing what’s best is about as strange as Francisco is.

Somewhere between twinkling stars, your phone buzzes next to you on the nightstand. It usually stays silent, your alarm the first thing to wake you right before sunrise. When you pick it up, an unknown number is scrawled across the screen. You can’t quite place the area code.

“Hello?” you ask hesitantly.

“Hey.” Frankie.

“How did you get this number?”

“Luck?” he asks. When you don’t say anything, he gives you a real answer. “Aren’t too many of you in this digital copy of the New York City phone book.”

Setting that aside, you say, “It’s late, Frankie.”

“I know that.”

“Why are you calling?”

“Can’t sleep.”

“That’s what television is for,” you say. “Or…porn.”

“Trust me, you’re a last resort,” he says. Then he asks, “Is it weird for you?”

You resign yourself to having this phone call. “Is what weird?”

“Knowing I’m guilty.”

Is it? Surprisingly, no. In the eyes of the law, you’re just about as bad as him. Just about.

“What answer will make you sleep better?” you ask instead.

“I don’t know,” Frankie says. “Honestly, I had no clue what was goin’ on. Will told us to lay low for a while—”

You want him to continue, but you have to stop him. For both of your sakes. “Stop.”

“What?”

“You have to stop. Might not want to incriminate yourself over the phone. It’d be better if you—”

“Stop? Yeah,” Frankie agrees.

“What else can I do?” you ask him.

“Well, if you can’t listen,” he says, “…stay. On the line. Just like this.”

“Okay. I can do that.”

For an hour, you listen to Frankie Morales breathing. You can tell when he slips unconscious, exhaustion winning out. Your heart beats a little faster when you hang up, tempted to re-dial only to hear him pick up. You don’t, of course; doing that would wake him. When you fall asleep, you picture Frankie dreaming. It’s peaceful.

In the morning, you gather your notes on Frankie Morales together. Here is what you know so far:

The government is planning to extradite him and his retired special operations team members and friends, Will and Benny Miller, and Santiago Garcia for their illegal actions in an unsanctioned operation in Colombia. Their travel spanned into the Peruvian Andes, leaving jurisdictional territory a little murky without legal help.

Frankie Morales is single, fourty-two, living (or hiding out) in Lubbock, Texas. He’s lived there for eight months after having his pilot’s license revoked a second time for an apparent relapse using substances. So far, you haven’t noted any signs of addiction or using, but he could be hiding it. God knows his closet is crammed full of skeletons already.

He grew up in Texas, just like you did. He had a little brother (status and whereabouts unknown) and a mother (deceased). He was in the flight academy straight out of basic training, finishing his degree in mechanical engineering at the University of Texas Rio Grande Valley. Frankie’s mother died two months after he got home from a second tour in Iraq.

He’s guilty: of the espionage, the theft, the murder. All of it. The government has photos, surveillance footage, and probably a haul of eyewitness testimonies. The odds are unequivocally stacked against you—against him. Yet for some reason, you still want to try and save him.

This is it. You’ve officially gone insane. You’re going against everything Marcus has ever told you, any reason you’ve ever learned or logic that has managed to worm its way into your head. All on a whim. What? Because he’s nice to you sometimes? Anyone can whip out a pitcher of fucking lemonade!

No, this is something else. A pull, a fascination. The darker parts of you are drawn to him. You are so sick and tired of everyone else saving you. You want to be good because you are good. Not because Marcus tells you so. Not because your mother can finally bear to flash you a smile at annual family dinners these days. Because of something you have done; earned and given to you by yourself.

A text from Marcus interrupts your thoughts.

Are you still alive?

Rolling your eyes, you pick up the phone and call him. It starts to ring. For some reason, you seem to be able to hear both ends: your dialing, and his obnoxious Mick Jagger ringtone. The song is muffled, sketchy pop beats stowed away by the limits of sound travel.

A knock at your front door surprises you. Getting up, you tie your robe at your waist, unlatching the deadbolt before unlocking the door.

“Marcus?”

"Would it kill you to answer your phone?" he asks.

"What are you doing here?"

"You didn't call me back."

"I was getting to it."

"I thought you were dead," Marcus says. "You hang up on me, and you were still at that Francis guy's place..."

"Frankie," you correct him.

"Yeah, him. Whatever." You don’t know why the dismissal in his tone irks you so much.

"I can't talk about this right now."

Marcus huffs out your name, staring out at your kitchen before facing you. Him in his work suit and you in pajamas, you rest on uneven footing. “I told you he’s bad news. Get yourself out of this.”

“Can we reconvene for this lecture later? I have to go to work.”

“I’ll come with.”

“Marcus—” You already know he won't budge.  “Okay. Fine,” you say. “But you have to behave.”

“Me? Always,” he says.

You roll your eyes, shooing him to the couch as you start to get ready.

There are two sides to your identity as a journalist now: what you’ve been sanctioned to do, and everything else that you haven’t. The job you fill at the Post is pretty mindless. You’re a staff writer, barely entry-level enough to get you acknowledged by upper management. You write up quick stories pulled from blind lead wires about how the economy isn’t doing well, or submit story ideas on housing that always get shot down. All of this means it lets you focus way more time on Frankie than you should.

When you're ready, Marcus takes your purse from you, freeing up your arm. He leads you to the street, hailing a cab. When the vehicle rolls up to the curb and sloshes a mix of rainwater and slush onto his shoes, Marcus doesn’t even blink. He opens the door for you, letting you get in first. Chivalrous, gentlemanly. Laying it on a bit thick, but when is he not?

The ride is quiet. You watch slick streets pass by from your window, listening to the cab’s tires rolling through dirty snow and pools of water. When you glance over, Marcus is doing the same. You're dreading the conversation waiting for you, but you can't bring yourself to regret the decision made. Marcus was right about your gut. You believe that Frankie deserves a shot at redemption. Each piece of the puzzle pulls you closer to him. He reminds you of yourself. The road ahead won’t be easy, but with the help of people like you and Marcus, maybe he can rebuild a life after all this—whatever is to come.

You get out of the car first, leading the way inside the statuesque building as you shake off the soggy snow that’s settled over your jacket. Taking the stairs two at a time in your shoes is a struggle.

“Here,” Marcus says. He offers you his hand halfway up to the second floor.

Seven flights of stairs later, you welcome him to the Post’s offices. The floor is barren of another living soul, just as you’d predicted.

Marcus stops short, standing next to the Tetris maze of cubicles. You shake your head, beckoning him around a shadowy corner to your cozy nook of the building.

“An office?” he asks.

“You're surprised?”

“Is it bad if I say yes?”

You put on an exaggerated frown, unable to keep a straight face when he holds his hands up in surrender. “They seem to like me around here.”

“You make that part easy.”

“For now,” you say. Taking a seat in your plush rolling chair, Marcus sits down across from you. “I have a feeling the story ideas I push aren’t exactly winning me any favours.”

“‘Cause you want to write about something real?”

“Exactly,” you say. “I’m sick of business puff pieces and reports on the next Amazon stock shift. I want to write about the people. What’s going on, what they’re going through? I’m working at the fuckin’...diet Financial Times.”

“When what you want is full sugar Wall Street Journal,” Marcus says.

You sigh. “A pipe dream.”

“Not for you.” Fixing him with a hard stare doesn’t stop him. “Look at what you’ve done with only a couple years under your belt. In another five? Ten? You’ll be running this place, babe.”

You let air punch out from your nose, ignoring the pet name. “I don’t know.”

“I do,” Marcus says.

He sounds so confident, unshaken in his sureness. But you don’t live in Marcus’ world. You don’t get the things you want. You work for them. Not that he doesn’t, but of course Pike’s the guy to get a promotion that seemingly falls from the sky.

“Alright, Mr. Agent Man. Enough optimism from you,” you say.

The next hour is all but silent as you open up a spreadsheet, scrolling through digital receipts stored in your work email. You continuously switch between the two browser tabs, reading numbers and typing them in. The expenses of your White House trip trickle into their appropriate boxes as software organizes everything automatically. Marcus sits with you, eyes caught on something through the glass side wall of your office. He gets up and leaves, returning moments later with red licorice vines.

“Want some?” he asks, offering you the bag.

You bite your tongue between your teeth, dialed into your task. “Pass.”

“More for me.”

When your neck starts to hurt from hunching your spine, you sit back, shoulders stretching wide. You don't know if Marcus has been watching you this whole time, or if the movement caught his attention. The intensity of his gaze has your heart jumping to your throat. The moment you take notice, the force in his stare melts away.

"What?" you probe.

"You ditched the case, right?”

"Seriously? Right now?" Marcus doesn't speak, waiting for an answer. "I didn't. We can’t just give up on him.”

"You never listen to me."

“Since when have you been my boss?” you ask.

A beat of silence. “Since when have I not?” Marcus retorts.

You scoff. “You’ve got some nerve.”

“It’s always—Marcus, I don’t know what to do. Marcus, please help me. And it’s fine—”

“Sounds like it isn’t. I thought we were friends,” you say.

“You’re missing the point.”

“Which is?”

“This is my wheelhouse. You don’t want to hear it, but I’ll say it anyway. On this, I know better,” Marcus says. “And honestly? You know it too.” 

You know what I’m talking about.

“That’s low,” you say.

“But it’s true.”

You stand up, walking away from your desk—from him. He follows you out of the office, his dress shoes catching on the carpet tile. Marcus won't let up that easily.

“I want to make it all go away,” you say. “The indictment, the investigation. All of it. And if we can’t do that—”

“We can’t,” Marcus interrupts you.

“Then I want to make sure that Frankie stays here. In America. No extradition.”

"I don't think you know how this works," he says.

"I've worked in this business just as long as you have.”

"As a journalist. You are not a political animal. You are not a monster. You can't rip this apart for yourself. For him."

"And you?" you ask.

"This favour stopped being for me the moment you stepped on his porch," Marcus says. "You are not one of them—you are not a senator, you are not the District Attorney. Most importantly, you are not a lawyer. The girl who gets the congressman of Rhode Island's coffee every morning has more political clout than you do."

"Well I'm glad to see you have so much faith in me," you say.

"This isn't about faith! You think this is about belief? It's about not getting yourself fucked over in the process. You are not the thing that goes bump in the night, or makes a phone call to execute a cell block over in Oklahoma. You play the game. I play the game. Frankie played, too. And then he stopped playing, and he went against their rules which is why we're standing here, discussing whether or not we can save him when that's not for us to decide!"

You've never seen Marcus this angry. You've never seen him this anything. His emotions never really leave gift box range: happy, nicely wrapped, and convenient when you need them.

"You imagine yourself as the immovable object to the unstoppable force. You're not. You're a little girl who has no clue what she's doing."

"And you do?" you spit back. "You did? Didn't we all learn our lesson the first time? Or is your memory so short that you've forgotten sitting at that table with me."

He remembers. That temper of his liquifies, Marcus' eyes soft before he coaches his face into a hard mask once again. "An innocent man doesn't run."

"Bullshit. Innocent men run all the time. It's how they get shot in the back," you say. "Just because you have made up your mind about what he is doesn't mean that I have to."

"You should. It's all laid out there in front of us both."

"You are the one who led me to this case."

"I didn't have all the facts then. Going to San Antonio was rash. I wasn't thinking," he says.

"You were thinking. You were thinking that these men didn't deserve extradition. You were thinking that I owed you a favour, and it was the perfect time to call in. And now what? Now that you know they're not cookie-cutter American patriots, what? This is what they're owed?"

"Yes."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"It's what he deserves. All four of them. It's what's right. What's fair."

"When has anything we've ever done been right or fair? You think what I do here is saving lives? Feeding the public articles about how billionaires fucking the everyman is a good thing?" you demand. "And you? Is sending another crime boss for a cushy plea stint at club fed saving the day? We aren't in the business of right or fair, Marcus. I thought you knew that."

"So what, you and this pilot? You think saving him is gonna right all your wrongs?" There's an edge creeping into his tone. He's hedging too close into the territory of implication.

"I never said stopping that extradition order was the right thing to do," you say.

"It's selfish," Marcus says.

"And so what?" you ask. "We're already here, aren't we?"

The two of you in this room, you're both shiny and candy lacquered to hide the filth on the inside. Sometimes you used to wonder if Marcus was the exception to that rule, but you know better now. Good people don't do what you do. They never make it this far.

Marcus is simply better at hiding it.

He shakes his head. "You're unbelievable."

"Roles reversed, you would do the exact same thing."

"Hell would freeze over first." He spits your name out with an edge that's not an edge, but a tender hint of concern—no, pity. A dichotomy only Marcus Pike could manage. "You're not a fixer. You can't fix this."

"And you're not my keeper. I'm not asking you to save me this time, Marcus. I'm asking for your help."

"What if I say no?"

"You don't want to do that. You don't want to make me do that."

Marcus scoffs, walking towards you. He's in your space in an instant. Instinctively, you step back. He meets you there despite it. Marcus is so close now; you've never seen him like this. You don't want to.

"So you're all big and scary now?" he asks. His whispered breath over your lips makes your skin crawl.

He takes your jaw between two fingers, forcing you to look at him. The touch prods at that empty part of you, dark and deep, exposing you. When Marcus kisses you, a ghost of connection, you let him. It feels wrong; your stomach churns in the two seconds between its start and end. Marcus doesn't kiss you like he wants you—at least, not in the traditional sense. This isn't about love. It's for power.

He lets you go, walking away without another word. You hear the door to the stairwell swing open with a whine. You can only breathe again when it clicks shut.

You stay frozen in time for the next twenty days. Every blink has you reliving that moment. Your dreams are precariously empty. Marcus is gone again.

Hot breath chafes at the back of your neck, a delusion your mind has concocted to justify the fear that pumps through your blood at a constant. You can finally put a name to the feeling that’s overtaken your gut, swaying every thought and decision you make. Marcus has you, but not in any way that’s comforting.

He doesn’t call. Frankie does. A lot. Twice one week grows to twice a day. The worst starts when he grows bolder, leaving messages. He sounds about as scared as you are, more desperate with each voicemail. You start to really worry when he stops calling altogether.

You find a little bit of wiggle room in your vacation days, flying back to Lubbock close to Presidents’ Day. Texas has taken on uncharacteristically moody weather, the sky swampy and grey as rain drowns out any hope for sunshine. You get the same truck to rent, filling it at a Gas n’ Sip on the way out of town.

The backroads flood with rainwater, puddles gathering into small ravines on the scarred asphalt. You splash through them at sixty miles an hour, racing in the rain. After taking your sweet time to get here, a sense of urgency floods you. Scraping together the last minute trip, your mind filled itself with nightmare scenarios. Maybe he’s gone even further off the grid; maybe you’ll never find him again. Or worse, maybe he’s taken up all of that mindblowing quiet literally.

The trailer park is about as flooded as the roads, if not worse. The sea of gravel has been swallowed up by water. All you can see in pretty much every direction is a gathering of murky liquid. The truck is absolutely drenched by the time you park in front of Frankie’s home. His own truck is there too, a weak flicker of hope.

Stepping out of the truck, your shoes are immediately submerged. It soaks through to your socks, but you can’t muster up enough care to notice. Trying to dodge the wind, you rush up the steps of the trailer and pry the screen door open. You knock five times in quick succession, then step back and wait. Air blows violently against the right side of your face. Squeezing your eyes shut only does so much; you’d rather press your face against grimy siding and get out of its path entirely.

When the wooden door behind the busted screen opens, Frankie’s face goes on a journey. Moody to shocked in a millisecond, and shocked to something you can’t quite parse in the next. He’s still in his pajamas.

“Hi,” you say. His eye has recovered, for the most part. The last remnants of a yellow-green bruise smear his skin.

“You’re back,” he returns.

“Can I come inside?”

Frankie seems to think about it, giving you a onceover. You almost think he’ll tell you no. When his eyes land on your sopping wet shoes, he frowns. Leaning forward, he opens the screen door towards you.

Inside, you take your shoes and socks off.

Frankie says, “I guess you got my messages.”

“You stopped calling.”

“You stopped answering.” Touché.

“I got worried,” you say.

The words make Frankie freeze, pausing his ambling through the kitchenette. Facing the broad expanse of his back, you watch his shoulders relax. He turns to you. His jaw ticks before he sighs.

“If you don’t wanna help me, you could just say that. Not hearing from you—”

He worried. Well, you knew that. But this is different. Nothing selfish here, it’s not anxiety over the situation at hand. Just you. Frankie worried about you.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “Things got complicated.”

“In New York?” Frankie asks. “City girl too busy for a poor old country bumpkin, eh?”

It’s a joke, you realize, a laugh hiccuping from your chest. “Something like that.”

Frankie smiles then, mustache hiking his lip up to show you a flash of teeth. “I was just about to make lunch,” he says. An offer.

“Sure,” is all you give him.

You sit at his table once again, flipping through notes stuck together with raindrops. Frankie silently cuts up part of a head of iceberg lettuce right against the peeling surface of his countertop, the thick noise of chopping lulling you into focus. You haven’t looked at any of this in a while; time to play catch up.

A light clatter distracts you. By the time you look up, Frankie’s already standing at the sink, water running. A plated sandwich sits in front of you, lettuce and lunch meat jutting out at each side. Frankie finishes up in the kitchen, wiping his hands off on his jeans as he finds you staring.

“What?”

“You didn’t make one for yourself?” you ask.

“I’m not that hungry,” he says.

Disregarding any manners, you pick up the sandwich—already sliced in half—and take a bite. It’s a little more leafy greens than anything else, but you aren’t one to complain. Frankie sits across from you, waiting.

You say, “I wanted to circle back to what you said on the phone,” with bread still in your mouth.

Frankie shakes his head. “Don’t chew with your mouth open,” he says.

All you do is blink at him, swallowing the bite before you speak again. “You mentioned something about Will Miller a few weeks ago.”

“Right. Will, he told me to get outta dodge for a while. All of us to go dark. I’m living my stupid fuckin’ life, and then a few hours later my sergeant is giving me orders again.” Frankie prods his tongue into the side of his cheek, silent in thought. “I did it. Of course I did it. You get an order, you take it.”

“Even if you’ve been retired from Special Forces for almost a decade?” you ask.

“It’s not an if,” he says. “It’s an always.”

“And why is that? William Miller hasn’t been your army sergeant in—”

“Look, I’ll level with you. I get that you don’t understand. It’s not something I can explain for you to understand,” Frankie says.

You like a challenge. “Try me.”

“The training…it’s like a switch. Once you turn it on, you can’t—The people, your team. They’re family. They’re more than family. Your mother isn’t operating an AR-15 to save your life or dragging you to safety from a frag. I owe that man my life. That’s never going to change. They are the men that will always have you, no matter what. So when he asks you to do something, you do it.” He pulls at the whiskers of his moustache. “There’s no turning that off.”

Hot pants of breath beat down the stretch of your neck, your eyes stuck wide as you try to reign in the flood of sick crawling up your esophagus. Frankie looks confused as the quiet draws on longer than socially appropriate. Clicking your pen once, twice, three times, the beast at your back disappears.

“Could I use your bathroom?”

“Uh, sure,” Frankie says. “First door that way.”

He points further into the mobile home, down what’s barely a hall with two doors on either side. Spotted wood flooring turning to chipped tile as you step inside, the door pulled shut behind you. Your knee knocks against the lip of the sink, oddly low to the ground; you have to hunch to reach the tap. Cool water pours over your hand after a moment of anticipation.

The cold flow relieves some of the burning in your body, splashes of it against your eyelids running to your lips and tongue. Your mind is scattered, heartbeat in your ears. You can only grasp one thought through all the noise. This is what it feels like to be haunted.

Marcus owns you. You aren’t sure when exactly that happened. When you let that happen. So many moons ago, back in Austin? Or that diner, maybe, when he got you back after years of interim silence.

He was right. You are not a monster. He is. The world of politics is an ugly one, full of ugly people. Still, you don’t like to get acquainted with things that go bump in the night. You never noticed there was already something under your bed.

The door opens again with a creak. Frankie slouches in his seat, chin resting against the heel of his hand that’s propped against the table. You watch him, spotting the way he shakes out his shoulders. His arms let the fabric of his t-shirt loose before pulling it taut again. You want to trace your hand along the line of his spine.

Frankie refuses the rest of your sandwich, so you finish it alone. You ask him to recount the whole story, beat by beat: how he got involved, when, what the original plan was. He says that after the recce, they were supposed to hand off their gathered intel to Colombian authorities, but Santiago—Pope, he calls him—had other ideas. They went into Lorea’s estate expecting your average narcos cash stash, and wound up with a mansion spilling American dollars from the drywall.

You can see the anger in his eyes when he talks about the helicopter, the crash. Frankie slips in a mention of some pretty Colombian girl, but she’s gone from his story as quickly as she appears. The helicopter was overweight, sending them into a tailspin over the grassy plains of Peru.

“There were people there—villagers. We, uh… They were scared. A bunch of big Americans drop down from the sky with guns yellin’ English at them.” Frankie takes a long pause, staring at his hand. “I don’t know if Tom shot first, or if I—”

Oh god.

“There were a few of them dead. Pope worked out a deal with their leader. Gave him some money. We took a pack of mules, and we were on our way.” Frankie looks up at you. “I thought I’d never think about it again, I thought… I don’t know what I thought. And then Tom died. It all just went to shit.”

“Your friend died. You killed some people. In the process of all this, you broke some laws. From the sounds of it, that’s been your whole life. So what makes this different?” you ask.

“We didn’t…” he trails off. “There was no flag on our shoulder this time.”

“No.”

“No?”

“That’s not it,” you say. “That’s the reason the government is after you. That’s not why you are the way you are about it.”

A well of anger and loneliness. Self-pity has stained the man known as Francisco Morales.

Frankie bristles. “Maybe it’s just sad, hey? Maybe I wish I’d done better. Been better. Maybe Redfly wouldn’t be dead.”

Redfly. Tom Davis. From what you could unearth of the man all those months ago, you don’t think it would have mattered. He seemed more likely to stick a shotgun in his mouth than Frankie, probably in one of those shit condos he was trying to sell. Better to die in those mountains.

“What happened to the money?” you ask.

Frankie shakes his head again. A silent no.

“You know I could just find it. Make this easy.”

“We gave it to his kids. Two daughters.”

“Offshore accounts?”

Frankie gives you a look: what do you think?

You hold his gaze, half challenge and half fascination. Abruptly, you switch gears. “I’ve got one rule.”

“A rule?” Frankie asks.

"I don't give a shit what you tell the D.A., or your lawyer, whoever. But you don't lie to me. If this is going to work, it's because you're honest. And I'll be honest too."

"Fine," Frankie says. "But I have some terms of my own.”

“Such as?”

“I show you mine, you show me yours.”

“Excuse me?”

“You haven't told me a thing about you and this case," Frankie says.

“There is no me and this case, Frankie. I didn’t do anything illegal here.”

“But you know about it,” he says. “If the government was going to move on me right now, I’d already be in a cell somewhere…which means they haven’t. And yet, here you are.”

You wish he was as stupid as he looks.

“And?”

“How do you know about this case?”

“I know someone at the Justice Department. He brought the case to my attention,” you say.

“Brought it to your attention,” he says flatly.

“Yes, Frankie. He brought it to my attention.”

“Bullshit.”

“Frankie—”

“I think that your friend went looking for something he shouldn’t have. And fuck, did he find it,” he says. “The only thing that doesn’t make sense to me is how you’re the one sitting here, not him.”

“It’s complicated,” you say.

“Don’t lie. You’re bad at it.”

Fuck. Fuck. You’ve painted yourself into a corner here, no way out.

You deflate, tired of keeping up the brave face. “Everyone’s got their marching orders.”

Anything left of that unsure sense of judgement in your chest melts away as Frankie’s face falls. He’s a good little soldier. So are you.

“Marcus Pike…he wanted me to drop this. You. He thinks you deserve jail, that you aren't any better now than the man you were in Colombia. Probably worse. He says it’s the right thing.”

“And what do you think?” Frankie asks.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

You don't want to see him go away for it. The Colombian government will demand to see him rot, but that's never sat right with you. Now the thought makes you sick, gut rolling whenever it crosses your mind. But like it or not, Marcus has gotten into your head. You need something to drown him out.

Frankie takes your empty plate and puts it in the sink. He pulls a bowl out of his cupboards. You grab your phone, tapping at the screen to wake it up. No messages, no missed phone calls.

“I should go,” you mumble, already reaching for your shoes. A warped water line has formed on the canvas upper, like brown and grey watercolour paint. You shove your damp socks in your pocket.

Frankie stops what he’s doing, pouring milk into floating bits of instant oatmeal.

He says, “It’s still raining like hell out there.”

“I’m not made of sugar.” Frankie doesn’t have a pithy comeback for you, simply standing by. “I’ll be back tomorrow—early. So be up this time.”

Frankie nods wordlessly, putting his bowl of brown sludge into the microwave. He stands in the kitchenette, watching it spin and spin behind glass. You head for the door, looking down into your purse in search of the truck’s keys. When you look up again a few steps from the exit, Frankie is there too.

His nose is inches from yours now. Frankie looks at you with something—a feeling you can’t quite grasp. It rolls off him in waves, overwhelming. He’s standing just out of reach. He is always standing just out of your reach.

When you stretch a hand up to his jaw, it feels normal. Natural. Like you were meant to hold him, like he was meant to be held. His stubble is prickly against the skin of your palm.

Frankie leans into your touch, his hand moving to hold your own in place. With your fingers splayed across his cheekbone, you can feel the fine lines around his eyes. Up close you can see the tiniest of sun spots along the column of his throat. The loose collar of his shirt creeps up and back down again with every rise and fall of his chest.

He turns his face, still in your grasp, and presses his lips to the skin of your wrist. Immediately, you yank the limb back to your own body. Like a jolt of sparking electricity, his face flashes through your mind. Marcus and his ugly, docile kiss. The scent of his cologne, eyes so close they could burn through flesh.

The memory of him this close, closer… It holds you in a tight grip, overtaking the present and launching you into the past. Back to the cost of doing business. The price of helping Frankie. But you cannot do this—this with Francisco Morales. Neither of you get that luxury.

You say, “Tomorrow. Nine o’clock.”

Then you watch him expectantly, waiting for Frankie to step aside. The trailer door squeaks open at your pull, whining when it slams shut again. You feel eyes at your back crossing the short distance to the truck. Whether they belong to Frankie or Marcus, you aren’t quite sure.

You eat again at a place called Taqueria Jalisco. The chicharron en salsa feels like an undeserved treat. You eat half of the food, washing it down with two strawberry mojitos.

Your waitress—Carla—comes back around to your table in the middle of a staring contest with the remnants of dinner. You order a Long Island Iced Tea for dessert, smiling politely as she clears your dishes. The alcohol settles a hum in your body. You feel like a live wire, unrestrained in your power to damage and destroy. So far, you seem to be your only target.

The Palm Tree Lodge happily accepts your business again, even giving you the same room as your last stay. Wrapping yourself in bedsheets, you close your eyes. The first thing that appears behind them is Frankie’s face, soft and careful as you held him. You feel a whisper of touch where his lips had been against your skin, rubbing over the spot with your thumb.

You should be scrolling through your phone, dredging your mind for any of your old classmates that went on to law school and owe you a favour. You should be thinking about any lawyer at all, but you aren’t. You can only think of him. Sweet brown eyes staring out from that despairing face. The look that makes you want him.

He is failure, primed and bottled. That makes you want him more.

Focusing, you find a place for his trailer in your mind. You’re standing by the steps, but it isn’t raining here. The sun-mottled sky shines blue and canary yellow as a glass of something cool sweats in your hand. You urge yourself to advance, taking careful steps up to the door. Before you can pull it open, you slip inside all on your own. Frankie sits at the kitchen table with his back to you, shoulders stretched beneath the thin fabric of an undershirt.

You go to him, taking a sip of the drink you’re carrying before you set it down on the table. Candied cranberries wash onto your tongue, fizzing up in your mouth. Hands empty, you rest them over each one of Frankie’s shoulders. He leans into the touch, the whiskers of his moustache brushing against your fingers as he sets a kiss to your skin.

You’re chasing a disaster. You shouldn’t want him. Wanting has only ever brought you bad things. You get the sense that if you told him to, Francisco would do it, no matter the ask. It’s hard to tell if that is a scare or a solace.

You and Frankie are the same in the exact way that you and Marcus are two of a kind. Fair is foul and foul is fair.

It continues to rain, worse today than before. You make good on your promise, knocking on Frankie’s door again at nine o’clock sharp. The door opens two seconds later. Frankie is dressed, just like you’d told him to be; a pink button up that’s been through the wringer, unbuttoned to the middle of his chest as it reveals a white undershirt like the one haunting your imagination. He lets you in without much fanfare, offering you something hot and warm from the brewing pot of coffee.

“Yes, please. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Frankie says. “I don’t have any creamer, only sugar. It went bad a few days ago.”

“No worries. I like it black.” You do not, but you’re not about to tell him that.

You and Frankie continue this stilted little dance as he sets down the mug on the table, not even trying to hand it to you lest your fingers touch. He seems to sit a little further out from the table today.

From your bag, you produce a scribbled list of twenty names you could scrape up on the drive here, eyes dividing their time between the paper and the splashy roads ahead.

“What hoop am I jumping through today?” Frankie asks you.

“No circus tricks for you. It’s all on me right now.”

“That’s a relief.”

Typing out the first name to locate them in your contacts, you say, “I’m sure it won’t stop you from being a clown.” You hit dial as a snicker wriggles its way out of him. Let’s hope you can find Chuckles a lawyer.

By the fifth phone call, neither of you are laughing. Pacing across the stretch of floor between the kitchen and the living room, you listen to another one of your peers professionally shoot you down.

“No, Alex. I get it. Thought I’d try anyway, right?” you ask. “Thanks. Yeah, bye.” You hang up, hand sliding from your forehead to your jaw. “Fuck.”

Frankie’s crossing out the names on the list for you, drawing a squiggly line through the name of your old friend from Rice.

“Who’s next?” you ask.

“Aditi Patel. Oregon area code,” he says. Frankie feeds you the numbers as you type them in, both of you waiting on the dial tone. She doesn’t even pick up, sending you straight to voicemail.

This cycle continues for the better part of two hours: another phone call, a rejection or an answering machine, followed by another line on the page.

Hanging up again, you ask Frankie who follows Ryan Treho on the list.

“No one,” he says. “That’s it. That’s all of ‘em.”

“Let me see.”

He hands it to you, gazing up as you look it over. Frankie is right. Every name on this list has been called, every one giving you some variation of no. The hum you thought was Frankie’s ancient-looking fridge ratchets up an octave in your ears, noise crowding around you as you stare at the piece of paper.

You can barely hear Frankie’s question of, “What do we do now?” as the rattle reaches a peak, squealing like static. You’re drawing a complete blank, breath halting as you will yourself to fix this.

Frankie grabbing your hand pulls you out. You’re standing beside his seated form, facing forward while he slouches in his chair at an angle.

“I’ll figure something out. Call some people. Don’t worry about it.”

“A little difficult, don’t you think?” Frankie asks. “What are you going to do?”

Call Marcus.

You don’t want to tell him that, though. You know your eyes are glossy, hot tears threatening to spill at any time as you try to put on a brave face. Cool, calm, and collected; that’s who you are supposed to be. Strong in the face of an adversary. So why do Frankie’s brows knit together, his face coloured in concern?

“I don’t know.”

The chair drags loudly against the floor when he kicks it out, nodding at you to take a seat. You do, folding yourself in half the moment your ass hits the chair as you duck and hide from him. Saltwater streaks down your cheeks, never making it past your lips as you wipe harshly at your skin.

“I’m scared,” you say.

“Everything is gonna be fine,” Frankie says. It feels warped for him to be comforting you.

You shake your head. “I don’t know. I don’t know, I just—”

You can call him. He could help you. You already know he would.

“What are you afraid of?”

“Him.”

Living in this blink-and-you’ll-miss-it nightmare has turned your life inside-out. There’s nowhere to run, no one to go home to. There is no home anymore.

You try to backpedal, mumbling a quick, “I’m being dramatic,” as Frankie takes in your broken face. “It’s fine. I’ll have to call Marcus. Figure out a new game plan.” The very last thing you ever want to do. More likely than not, you’ll have to see him; he’ll want to see you.

“I never told you why I punched out my neighbour’s grandson,” Frankie says.

“You didn’t. What does that matter?”

“Can you just—?” Frankie purses his lips, restarting his story. “He was talking about…you. Calling you names and—it was offensive.”

“So you beat the shit out of him,” you say. “That’s great, Frankie. I can’t pummel the fact that no one wants to represent you.”

“This isn’t about that. I’m saying, if your friend at that fancy Justice Department ever did anything to you…y’know.”

“You’d go to prison for assault on a federal officer,” you say.

“Seems like I’m headed there regardless,” Frankie says. He waits on you for an answer.

“I’m fine. The stress is fucking with my head.” Lie. You know it, and Frankie knows it too, judging by the scowl on his face. “I’ll be okay.”

You grab your things, making for the door.

“What happened to being honest with each other?” Frankie asks.

“This is me being honest. And the truth is, I’m going to be alright. Okay?” He doesn’t anything. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Rushing to the truck, you yank open the door to get out of the rain. Settling yourself, you put the keys in the ignition. You reach to turn them…and then you don’t. Nothing you want is at the other side of this truck’s engine rumbling to life. You don’t want to think. You don’t want to leave. You don’t.

Time passes blindly, the rain and the sky staying the same as water beats against metal. It seems almost everflowing, like it has always rained and it always will. The sound of precipitation lulls you into a dead stare, the upholstering of the steering wheel suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. You don’t notice Frankie at the opposite window until he pulls the passenger side door open, scooting in along the leather bench seat.

“What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” he asks.

Frankie runs a hand through his hair, dotted with wet drops as he smooths it over. This is the closest you two have been physically since yesterday, heat from his thigh radiating against yours. With the crown of your head against the headrest, you watch water through the windshield. 

“I have a wife. And a kid.” The words appear from nowhere.

“Oh.”

Frankie clears his throat. “Well, had. I’m sure they think I drove off to shoot myself, wash away on the beach. We lived in Florida…Miami. Not great for the recovering addict.”

“Okay…”

“I thought I’d tell you because of the whole honesty deal. You know, and not to say—fuck.”

You start to ask him if he’s alright.

“Are you a friend?” he blurts out.

“Uh…” You fix your gaze on the dashboard.

“Sorry. Thought I’d ask.”

“I don’t know what I am. To you or to anyone else.” Dragging your eyes to his face, you meet Frankie’s baby browns. “Do you want me to be that? A friend?”

“I want to turn back time and never have to meet you like this,” Frankie says.

The sky continues to pelt the truck with rain at all sides, heavy drops sounding off against the roof. Reaching up, you smooth out a crease in his forehead with your thumb. Worry ages him.

Your ring and middle finger cradle the ridge of his jaw. “You smoke?”

A curt nod. “They’re back inside.”

Next thing you know, Frankie’s jogging to the trailer as you wait under the short overhang, out of the wet. He comes out with a carton of Camel Lights. You take it from him, along with the butane lighter he offers. There are no chairs on his tiny porch. You opt for sitting right in front of the screen door, spine sliding against the mesh.

Frankie joins you on the ground. It doesn’t really surprise you. Keeping a cigarette pinched between your lips, you hold it between a peace sign and light it with an inhale. Then you put the lighter back in Frankie’s hand. After the first few drags, Frankie takes it from your lips with careful fingers. You watch him smoke, lips wrapping around the stains of your saliva. Instead of handing it back to you, he slips the cigarette back into your mouth.

When he lays on his side, head falling softly into your lap, you don’t even blink. A puff of white smoke leaves your lungs, the slow wind taking it up into the clouds. Frankie’s coarse curls slot easily between your fingers.

I want to turn back time and never have to meet you like this.

Wouldn’t that be nice?

[spicy-picklez]

Rainbow after a Storm P12

Includes:

Soft Larissa 🤭

Characters:

Larissa Weems x 18yo female student

Summary:

After nearly missing school due to oversleeping, Y/N makes an impulsive decision to stop her day from spiralling drastically downhill.

Word Count:

3.4k

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A/N: I’m so sorry for such a long time between chapters nowadays. We’re currently in a state of emergency due to insane flooding and landslides and my power keeps going out. It makes it extremely difficult to write when you don’t have Wi-Fi. My mates are completely blocked in so we’ve been out most of today giving them extra supplies and food because we don’t know when it’ll clear up.

I’m safe here so don’t stress, you will still be getting your dose of Larissa x Y/N. It’s just whether Mother Nature decides it wants to let me write.

———————————————————

A smile grows on your lips as Larissa begins to wake from her nap. The phone you’d been scrolling through while your arm lazily hung over her is now discarded beside you as you wrap both your arms around her. The last few rays of the sunset softly land on her face, illuminating her pale-skin with a golden glow. “Morning.” She murmurs, pushing her head into your chest. Placing a gentle kiss on the top of her head, you let off a soft chuckle. “Not quite darling, it’s 7.30pm. Are you feeling any better?” She nods against your chest and you smile. “Good, are you hungry? I remember someone mentioning you loved lasagna so I made some while you were asleep.” Her eyes fly open as you say this. “You didn’t-.” A smile grows on her face as you nod.

“I’ll take that as a yes you’re hungry and would like some.” You laugh as she shoots out of bed and heads to the kitchen. You quickly follow in pursuit. Taking a seat on the couch, you turn on the TV, putting on Trailer Park Boys again. A soft moan escapes her as she takes her first bite, a grin growing on your face as her eyes widen at the noise. “This is amazing love. You’re way too good to me.” A soft chuckle escapes you as you shake your head. “I’m just paying you back for everything you’ve done for me, my love. You’re too worried about me to even consider yourself into it, Riss. You can’t keep running yourself ragged for me darling.”

“Darling, it wasn’t over you. I will never get tired of worrying about you. I only want the best for you and I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you get it. I was just overwhelmed because we decided to go with the theme for the RaveN that takes the most amount of planning and time.” She says, her hand reaching out to comfortingly squeeze your thigh, a reassuring smile on her lips.

“Well, what is it? I can help. There’s only one person I’d ever consider taking and unfortunately, I can’t. So I don’t even know if I’m going to go.” She chuckles softly as you say this. “I appreciate the sentiment but as you are still a student, I’m sworn to secrecy I’m afraid.” You sigh, taking a bite of your food. “Alright fine, just make sure you’re looking after yourself, love. It’s ok to take breaks.” She nods as you say this before the both of you flick your attention to the TV, eagerly digging into your lasagna.

After washing your plates, you return back to the couch, Larissa’s arms already open for you to fall into, barely managing to stifle a yawn as you snuggle into her warm embrace. Your cheek against her chest, she wraps her arms around you, gently tracing shapes into the small of your back. Tilting your head up, you can’t help but smile. How did you get so lucky to be able to call this goddess yours? Her breath-taking blue eyes are locked on the screen as she gently bites the inside of her lip. A soft moan escapes her as you place your lips on her exposed neck, slowly trailing tender kisses from her jaw to her collarbone.

Placing a finger under your chin, she lifts your head up to place a loving kiss on your lips. Your hand comes up to the back of her neck, pulling her closer. One of her hands staying on your lower back, the other trails down your hip to your thigh, pulling it over her legs, helping you sit up to straddle her lap. Pulling away, you flick your hair out of your face before reconnecting your lips. Your tongue slowly runs over her lower lip, grinning as she opens her mouth for you. Moans are elicited from the both of you as the kiss grows deeper. Her name falls off your shaky breath as she draws your lower lip into her mouth, lightly grazing her teeth over it. Gently resting her forehead against yours, the two of you gasp for air, giddy smiles on your faces. “You mean everything to me, Riss.” You say, placing a gentle kiss on the tip of her nose. “And you mean everything to me, my love.” She whispers, her eyes looking caringly into yours with an unspoken love.

Resting your head in the crook of her neck, she pulls her arms tighter around your waist as you both let out a contented sigh. Neither of you are watching the TV at this point, instead you bask in each other’s comforting embrace, warmth and affection filling every inch of your bodies. It isn’t until the episode’s credits begin to roll before you attempt to stifle another yawn. Larissa chuckles, placing a kiss to the top of your head. “I think it’s time for us to turn in for the night darling. I’m not the only one who needs rest.” She murmurs as you nod against her shoulder.

Getting up from the couch, she slowly starts undoing the buttons on your white button-up shirt, placing soft tender kisses on every inch of skin revealed to her. Slowly unzipping her dress, you help her step out of it as her hands expertly loosen your tie. You continue the process of removing each other’s clothing, showering each other with caring kisses and compliments. Once fully undressed, she pulls you under the covers of the blanket, placing her bare front against your back. One arm slips under your head as her other wraps over your hip, pulling you against her as she gently cups your breast. Tilting your head back to face her, she places a soft kiss on your lips. “Goodnight my love.” You whisper, earning a soft smile from her. “Goodnight darling.”

You love sleeping exposed with her. It feels so vulnerable but yet so safe. The feeling of her warm skin against yours was so intimate and comforting. You feel your eyes growing heavy as you relax into her arms, breathing in her scent. It isn’t long before you drift off to sleep. Placing a gentle kiss onto your shoulder, Riss smiles against your skin, hypnotised by the way your body feels so perfect against hers. A soft sigh escapes her as she closes her eyes, letting the tiredness take over her body, falling asleep not long after you.

—--------------------------------------------

“Y/N darling, time to get up.” Larissa’s gentle voice wakes you from your sleep as her hand trails up and down your hip. Letting out a whine, you bury your face into the pillow. “No.” She chuckles. “You have class in 20 minutes.” Hearing this, your eyes shoot open, muttering a string of curses under your breath. Larissa laughs as you throw back the covers, dashing past her to grab some saline wipes and bandages from the bathroom. Following you, she stands in front of the mirror, continuing to dab at the half-blended concealer on her neck as you pull on your dressing gown. Sliding down to sit on the cool tiles, you begin to unwrap the old bandages from around your arm. Your arm was already beginning to heal over, the stitches starting to dissolve in your skin.

“Love?” Larissa flicks her eyes to meet yours as she hears this. “Darling?”

“Do you think I’d be able to leave it unbandaged now?” You ask, holding your arm for her to check. Gently picking up your wrist in her hand, she nods. “Yeah if you’re comfortable, I’d say it’ll be fine.” She places a soft kiss on her lips as she finishes speaking. “Good morning by the way.” You grin, quickly kissing her again. “Good morning love.” Standing up, you return the clean bandages to their drawer before turning the sink on, trying to splash water on your face to wake you up more. Grabbing your toothbrush, you add a layer of toothpaste before running it under the tap. Quickly brushing your teeth, you return back out to the living room, heading over the drawers by the bed. You drop your dressing gown over your shoulders, pulling on your school uniform. Checking the time, you return to the bathroom, adjusting your blazer over your shoulders. “Right, I have to go. I can’t be late to history of outcasts, we’re doing a group project and I’ll feel bad if I’m not there.” You say as Larissa nods, finishing applying her makeup before turning to you. “Be safe. If you need a break-.”

“Come back here. I know love.” You say, a soft smile pulling at your lips before leaning forwards to place a soft kiss on her cheek. “The same applies for you darling. Don’t overwork yourself. Take breaks, make sure you’re looking after yourself while I’m not here.” She nods, giving your hand a comforting squeeze before you head to class. Exiting through her office, you walk through the corridor before joining the frenzied mess of students in the main school hallways.

You barely make it to class, taking your seat just as the bell rings. Eugene and Nesie both raise an eyebrow as you sit down, your cheeks red from battling through the sea of students. “Sorry, I overslept.” You say as Nesie just rolls her eyes, Eugene unable to hold back a grin. “That’s ok Y/N, you didn’t miss anything.” He says as Wednesday pulls out the papers from yesterday. “Ok so we have the pricking test, witch’s mark, witch’s cake, literacy test, and the weight test. Can we think of any others?” Nesie spreads your notes over the table as she says this. “Well there’s the swim test which also links into the dunking method.” You say, leaning back on your chair as Wednesday writes it onto the paper.

That was how one of your distant relatives had died. The person who had controlled the dunking chair took too long to bring him up. When they finally did, your uncle of many greats had drowned. Since he was dead, he was instantly cleared as innocent, not that that was much help to him after that. The trials were absolutely stupid, he was indeed a witch but that didn’t mean he couldn’t drown. There’s not much you can do to save yourself when your arms and body are bound to a chair, even if you are a witch.

“There’s also pressing, isn’t that how that Giles Corey person died?” Eugene quips as you nod. “Yeah, I didn’t think you’d know who Giles was, I thought your family weren’t allowed to talk about the trials.”

“Well we’re not. I just went through a phase where I was really interested in medieval torture methods and I remember reading something about him dying during the trials due to pressing.” Wednesday smirks as he says this. “Didn’t think you’d be the type.” You have to agree with her on this one. Medieval torture methods isn’t something you’d expect the small and sweet beekeeper to be interested in.

“We should have plenty of tests, that's seven methods now, I don’t particularly want everyone’s eyes on me for too long.” You say, a nod of agreement coming from both Eugene and Nesie. “Right, there’s three of us so we should both get two methods each to present and we can all do the third together.” Eugene says.

“Well, the swim test also leads into the dunking torture method so it’ll be more work to do. Maybe we make that the one we all research and present together and we can split the others.” Both of them agree with you as you suggest this.

“Right, Y/N, did you want the witch’s cake and literacy? Eugene, since you know a bit about pressing already, did you want that and the witch’s mark? I’ll take the pricking and weight tests.” Nesie says, Eugene nodding in response. Sitting up in your chair, you sigh. “Of course, I get the piss one.” This earns a chuckle from Eugene as you grab two sheets of paper, writing one of your methods on each of them. The three of you pull out your headphones, jotting down notes as music fills your ears.

None of you really spoke much apart from idle conversation when one of you had a question or a random thought popped into your head. It wasn’t until the bell to dismiss the class sounded before any of you noticed just how long you’d been working. You couldn’t help the smile creeping across your face when you realised you and Nesie have a free period next. Picking up your notes, the three of you leave the classroom. “So what do you guys have next?” Eugene asks, pushing his glasses up his nose as you step into the corridor.

“Free period, you?” The little boy sighs as he hears your response. “Botanical science. I don’t want to go but Ms Thornhill’s terrifying.” He replies, both you and Nesie nodding in agreement. “That’s our last class, I’m tempted to just not go. I’m just going to end up kicked out part way through the class anyways. She hates me for some reason.” You say as Wednesday raises an eyebrow at you.

“Yeah ‘for some reason,’ I wonder if it’s got anything to do with the whole destroying her greenhouse thing, or any of the other unrelated incidents over the past year.” Eugene laughs over his shoulder as he heads to class. Falling into step with Wednesday, you sigh. “He does have a point, I may do well academically but I’m an asshole student.” You laugh as you head towards the lake to meet up with Enid who just finished her Werewolf Reproduction class. “Well why would you be nice to her? She hasn’t given you any reason to.” Nesie does have a point there. The fresh morning air hits your face as you exit the school building, heading through the gates past the greenhouse.

The familiar blonde figure, sitting up against a tree, comes into sight as you round the last corner through the trees. “Hey.” You smile, sitting down opposite her as Nesie places a soft kiss on E’s cheek. “Finish the lyrics, anyone?” Enid says, pulling out a speaker as Nesie sighs. “I always lose.” You can’t help but grin as you respond. “I’m not much better but it’s fun.” Enid lets out an excited squeal as you both agree, the first song sounding. “Y/N, you’re up.” You recognised the song, the lyrics? That was a different story. “I wanna be a billionaire so fucking bad, buy all of the things I never had. I wanna be on the cover of Forbes magazine, smiling next to Oprah and the Queen. Oh everytime I close my eyes…” It’s at this point the music cuts off. “I see my name in flashing lights?” You had no idea, just saying what sounded right. Enid gives you a round of applause. “Yep! Nes, your turn, you’ll know this one.” The music sounds and you grin, hearing the lyrics of There isn’t any God by Rusty Cage. “Some songs are made to help you wake up in the morning. Well, here's a little song to help you go back to sleep.”

“There isn’t any god and when you die, you’re just dead. And Heaven’s just a fairytale to put you to bed. Sometimes I think about the chance that I’m wrong, and then I close my eyes and just remember this song.” Wednesday says, proud that she got this one. Taking the phone from E, you search for Lana Del Rey’s Jealous Girl, knowing she went through a phase a couple months ago where she was obsessed with this song. “Show him what you're all about. Whoop, burn the house down, show him who's the leader. Bring ya baby down, down, go cheerleaders.” Enid’s face shows pure panic as you stop the music. “Baby I’m a gangsta too and it takes two to tango. You don’t wanna mess with me, mess with me?”

“Eh, close enough. It’s dance with me, dance with me.” You laugh, handing her phone back. The next forty minutes was spent full of laughter and many failed panic attempts at lyrics from all of you. By the time you made it to the quad for interval, it was your turn. “OHHHHH WE’RE HALFWAY THERE, OHHHHHHHHH LIVING ON A PRAYER.” The three of you scream as the music for Bon Jovi’s Living on a Prayer stops. A fourth voice continues singing as you look over to see Xave coming over to the table, grinning. “Finish the lyrics?” You ask as he laughs. “Count me in.” Eugene and Ajax were the last to join the group, both having to come from the greenhouse. “Ooh, is this finish the lyrics?” Ajax says, plonking himself down beside you. You nod. “You guys playing?”

After a while, you have to head back to classes, pausing the game but it resumes again at lunch. Wednesday was doing surprisingly well compared to her last few attempts at the game. None of you were even trying to be quiet anymore, all of you screaming out the lyrics you knew. Ajax and Xavier often butchered the lyrics to hell and back but it was rather entertaining. Your phone vibrates on the table, a grin appearing on your lips as you read the text.

L♥️: Good to hear you’re having fun, love. Though I am rather upset Xavier didn’t know Meet me Halfway.

You: All of us were, how could he not? Even Wednesday knows it. I didn’t realise you could hear us though.

“Xave, Larissa would like me to let you know she is very disappointed in you for not knowing Meet me Halfway. Also, she can hear us guys.” You laugh as the others look at you in shock. “Oh God, she can hear my horrible cat in a blender style of singing.” Eugene’s face shows nothing but horror as he says this.

L♥️: You do realise you’re screaming at the top of your lungs and my office is just above the quad right?

You: Well, yes and yes. But I didn’t think we were that loud.

L♥️: Your beautiful voice carries my love, it's enchanting and damn near impossible to miss.

“Oi Y/N, did you wanna stop making lovey-dovey eyes at your phone? It’s your turn.” Ajax laughs as your cheeks heat up. Turning your phone over, you nod. “Sorry, go ahead.” The first few chords of ABBA’s Slipping Through My Fingers play and you can’t help but grin. “Oh I got this in the bag, I grew up on ABBA.” When the music finally stops, you perfectly sing the lyrics off by heart. “Slipping through my fingers all the time, I try to capture every minute, the feeling in it. Slipping through my fingers all the time. Do I really see what's in her mind? Each time I think I'm close to knowing, she keeps on growing. Slipping through my fingers all the time.”

“You know, you’re a better singer than the Queen of Nevermore herself.” Xave says to nods of agreement from the group. “Just don’t mention that to her, Bianca already has enough reasons to hate Y/N.” Enid laughs. It wasn’t much longer as the end of lunch bell sounds, everyone groaning as they start going to the last class of the day. Getting up, you fall into step with Wednesday and Xave, heading to botanical science. As the greenhouse comes into view, you stop. What was even the point of trying to attend class? You’d just get sent away to Riss before you can even begin to catch up on the amount of work you’ve missed.

“Can you guys take notes for me? I’m not exactly wanting to endure the embarrassment of being sent out from class again so I’m not going to go.” Xave just looks at you in shock while Nesie nods, a smirk growing on her face. “Fair enough… we’ll catch up with you later.” She says as Xave reaches out, giving your hand a gentle squeeze before the two of them head inside. Putting your headphones in, you head in the opposite direction, pulling your blazer closer to your body as the cool winter’s wind begins to pick up, nearly blowing you off your feet.

You didn’t really know where you were going but you doubt Larissa would accept your reasoning for not attending class so you just keep walking.

———————————————————

[love-kurdt]

Beat You to the Phone (steddie)

@cosmos-lore asked: 40 steddie

Prompt: “I want a baby.”

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: homophobic slurs, grooming (in the context of eddie’s parents), parent death, parental abuse and trauma

A/N: i hope this is what u wanted! i took this in the angst/fluff route. for all my other readers who have sent in asks, fear not! i’m working on all of them as we speak. they’ll be rolling out soon, slowly but surely.

For as long as he could remember, Eddie Munson had sworn to himself that he would never, ever become a father. It wasn’t in his blood. It made sense, since his own dad didn’t have a cell of paternal instinct in his body, and the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

Charles Lancaster had never been a good man, let alone a good parent. After all, he had met sixteen year old Marie Munson when he was twenty-five. He groomed and brainwashed her into thinking that she loved him before knocking her up. After Eddie was born, he was barely present, citing work as his reason for being an absent father.

The first five years of Eddie’s childhood were good. He never went without, and always felt safe. His mom was an angel on earth. She was the one who bought Eddie his first guitar, and taught him “Here Comes the Sun” by the Beatles for his first tune. She was the one who brought Eddie to have picnics in the park, with peanut butter and honey sandwiches. She was the one who’d tuck him in at night, say a short prayer, and kiss him on the forehead. She was always there for him, until she wasn’t. He had found Marie dead on the bathroom floor after his first day of kindergarten, and it was all downhill from there.

Charles had been selling drugs to keep himself (and Eddie, of course, how could he ever forget) afloat. It wasn’t long before he got caught carrying copious amounts of cocaine over state lines and was sent to prison, meanwhile Eddie was on the brink of being registered into the foster care system. That was, until Wayne Munson swooped in and saved the day. Or rather, saved Eddie’s entire future.

Wayne hated the phrase, “like his own.” He did not raise Eddie “like his own,” or love Eddie “like his own.” He raised and loved Eddie as his own. He saw his nephew as a son. From the first day that little Eddie ran into the trailer, stood still for a moment, then ran right back to Wayne to jump into his arms squealing, “Thank you Unc’o Wayne,” Wayne knew that he’d made the best decision of his life.

He watched Eddie grow up. Eddie became fascinated with fantasy and mythology, and Wayne watched him spend hours upon hours creating characters for that dungeons game he was always talking about. He watched Eddie play his acoustic guitar, scribbling lyrics into his marble composition notebook. Wayne always felt as if he was looking right at his sister whenever Eddie would play. He watched Eddie approach the trailer with a black eye, asking Wayne what a “faggot” was. They had a long talk that night, filled with hot cocoa and tears.

Years later, in 1986, he watched police carry a girl (Chrissy, they called her) out of his home who looked like she’d been tossed off a cliff. He watched the entire town lose its collective mind and accuse his nephew, his son, of murdering that poor girl. He watched Eddie return home, half dead, carried on the back of a kid with the most terrified look on his face, as if he were to say, “I need him alive just as much as you do.”

He watched as Eddie brought that same kid home one sunny day in 1987, and his suspicions were right on the money. His name was Steve, Steve Harrington, and he had the tallest hair that Wayne had ever seen. “He’s my boyfriend, and I love him,” Eddie had said. Wayne could have been skeptical; after all, he was a Harrington, but he had saved Eddie's life. And for that, he loved him too. He didn’t even hesitate to say yes when Steve was kicked out of his parents' home for his sexuality.

Though they were young, they got married in a small ceremony in the company of friends and family in May of 1989. Eddie and Steve moved into their own trailer, right next to Wayne. That way, he was close by if they needed anything, and could also maintain some sense of safety for his nephew and his illegal husband.

The topic of grandkids was never really discussed. Wayne knew how adamant Eddie was about not turning up like his father, and if not having kids was part of that vow, then so be it. He respected that. However, Wayne had absolutely no idea about the conversation that was happening next door.

—

“I want a baby,” Eddie heard Steve whisper in his ear. They’d been cuddling that morning for the past half hour and Eddie was just about to fall back asleep. His eyes snapped open at what his husband had just suggested.

“Jesus H. Christ, Steve, warn a person!” he turned around from his little spoon position to face Steve, who was blushing red and removing his hands from Eddie’s waist to cover his face in embarrassment.

“Shit, I should have prefaced it or something,” he shook his head. “Sorry. It’s not like it could actually happen anyway, because… well, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Eddie chuckled, reaching up to caress Steve’s cheek with his cold rings, which he knew he loved. He leaned into the touch as Eddie continued, “And that’s kind of a blessing in itself, because I honestly don’t want kids.”

Now it was Steve’s turn for his eyes to snap open. “But like, you know I’ve always wanted a family. And I want it with you. I want to have it all, the six kids in a Winnebago, the dog and cat, the whole nine yards.” Steve rolled away on the bed, laying on his back, leaving Eddie feeling colder than before. “And I swear to god, ever since Nance and Jonathan had Austin, I’ve had the worst baby fever that any man has ever had”

Of course Steve was jealous of Nancy and Jonathan. Who wouldn’t? They’d rekindled their relationship over the winter break of Nancy’s sophomore year at Emerson, and she wound up getting pregnant after one time of having sex before going back to school. But she persevered through school and endured the pregnancy, because she and Jonathan both wanted to start a family, even if she was only twenty and Jonathan was twenty one. Both of their families had been extremely supportive and accepting as well, which made things even harder for Steve to watch, because, why couldn’t he have that? Oh, right, because he was gay, and now because his husband didn’t want children.

“And you think I haven’t had it too?” Eddie sat up, running his fingers through his messy hair and looking down at Steve, whose face implied shock. “Believe me, I have! Do you know how much I want to be the dad I never had?” Eddie’s voice got wobbly. “To teach them D&D and guitar, to make funny voices for every single one of their stuffed animals, to make ring-o-noodle soup when they’re under the weather, to watch them standing backstage at one of my shows when they’re old enough?”

He cleared his throat before continuing. He could not cry. Not over this. “I want that more than anything! But what you don’t know is how sick to my stomach that makes me feel. The thought of me, Eddie Munson, as a fucking father? No way! It’s not in my genes, man.”

Steve sat up now, scooching towards Eddie and pulling him into his chest. Eddie obliged, because he could never resist Steve’s chest hair. It should have been illegal. “Well, man, will you maybe at least think about it?” Eddie shook his head and went to talk, but Steve spoke again, “It doesn’t even have to be through surrogacy, so it wouldn’t be biological if that’s what you’re worried about. I found this adoption agency in New York that just opened their doors to same sex couples—”

Steve was desperate. Eddie couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “No. I can’t. I just… it’s a whole thing. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” Steve exhaled into Eddie’s hair, pulling him closer and squeezing his heavily tattooed bicep. “We can revisit this ‘whole thing’ another time.”

At that, Eddie pulled away once more, standing up next to the bed and looking down at his lover with disdain. “I don’t think you’re understanding what I’m saying. I don’t want a kid, I will never want a kid.” He paced for a few moments. “I can’t end up like my dad. He already haunts me, and he’s in fucking prison.”

“But you aren’t your dad!” Steve protested. “I for one think you’d be a great one! You’re so good with the teens.”

“Yeah, because I’m their dungeon master,” Eddie laughed incredulously, “I’m not feeding, clothing, and tucking them into bed every night.”

“Baby,” Steve said, standing up to join Eddie on his side of the room, “I know you’re scared, and I know you’re hesitant to even consider the thought of being a dad, but this is… fuck, this is everything I’ve ever wanted.” He took Eddie’s left hand in his own, rubbing his thumb over the black band on his ring finger. He heard the familiar clinking of metal against metal when his silver band collided with Eddie’s. “I lost my parents, and regardless of how shitty they were, they were still family. I lost the house, which was supposed to be in my name until I came out to them. And I lost my reputation, which I’ve been working for years to improve.”

Eddie dropped Steve’s hand, taking a step back. “Why, because King Steve can’t reign over his kingdom if he’s a fag, right?”

“King Steve died the moment Dustin dragged me back to my car in 1984, you know that,” Steve snapped. “You know damn well that’s not what I meant.”

“…But you thought about it,” Eddie replied in a deeper tone than usual that made Steve’s skin crawl.

“No, I—” he threw his hands up in the air, “I mean that I’m tired of sacrificing! Jesus, Munson, I gave up everything for you! The least you could do is put your feelings aside for this one thing!”

“Like I said, Munson,” Eddie retorted, their shared last name rolling off his tongue with fire, “I cannot, and will not change my mind about this. I am not fit to be a father, and to be honest, I don’t think you’re meant to be one either.” Eddie finally broke, feeling a tear run down his face.

“How can you say that to me?” Steve crossed his arms against his chest. “You’re just projecting your own insecurity onto me. That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it, though? If you’re so upset about making sacrifices, good luck having kids. Because that’s what parenthood is alllll about. You put your own ambitions aside and support your kids through everything. You give them what they need, and even if you can’t, you find a way,” Eddie let out a choked sob, not even caring at this point. “You find a way, because your kids are not supposed to do it themselves. They’re supposed to be happy, carefree, stupid, funny, ignorant little shits who just want to be loved.” His heart was breaking with every sentence he spoke and the walls he’d constructed to protect himself were now crumbling to the ground. “No kid deserves to find their dead mom at home with her eyes still open. Steve, I see her eyes all the fucking time. They were bloodshot. I can’t listen to the Beatles, not because I hate them like I told you, but because my mom taught me all of their songs on the guitar and I can’t bear to hear them. I still feel the metal shears against my head from when my dad shaved it, telling me to ‘man up, I didn’t raise a fairy.’ I remember the way my dad would lose his temper and beat me until I passed out. I don’t want my past to affect how I would raise them. Like, what if I get angry and hit my own child? What if I make rash decisions and end up causing more harm and trauma than good? I’m absolutely terrified of being the antagonist in my kid’s life. And I’m absolutely terrified that you’re going to leave me for someone who can give you what I can’t.”

Steve’s expression softened, feeling absolutely horrible. He slowly moved back towards Eddie, who was trying his hardest to stop the flow of tears, but it wasn’t working. When Steve pulled him in for a hug, Eddie didn’t even object. He cried and cried into Steve’s shoulder, grasping onto the back of Steve’s shirt for dear life.

“I’m so, so sorry, my love,” Steve pulled back the slightest bit and kissed Eddie’s temple. “It’s okay, I understand. We don’t have to have kids. It’s okay, I was being selfish and wasn’t willing to listen to your side. I’m sorry.”

Eddie only shook his head. “No, you’re right. You’ve sacrificed so much for me, and I don’t want something like this to cause me to lose you.”

“You could never lose me, even if you tried,” Steve replied, to which Eddie barked out a laugh.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that. Robin literally got us shirts that say ‘If found please return to Eddie’ and ‘I’m Eddie.’”

Steve pulled back and held Eddie’s face in his hands, wiping the stray tears off his cheeks. “We really are meant for each other, aren’t we?” he asked. “I can be okay with just us two. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Eddie replied, and leaned forward to kiss Steve. He wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck as Steve’s met his waist, pulling him in closer. Steve swiped his tongue over Eddie’s bottom lip, and he let him in, gasping for air while Steve let out a low moan. Eddie tugged at Steve’s hair, making him pull his head back from Eddie’s, feigning a pout.

“Eds… lemmemakeoutwithyou,” Steve whined, going to kiss Eddie again, but was stopped with a bony hand on his sternum.

“Before things go any further, I… I think we could maybe give that adoption agency a call.” Eddie said, and Steve’s eyes widened.

“Are you serious? Like, I don’t want you to do something you were very much against barely ten minutes ago. But if you are serious… can we?”

Eddie smirked, twirling a piece of Steve’s hair at the nape of his neck. “Beat you to the phone.”

[moefling]

ok i’m gonna talk about the RWRB Movie...

SPOILER: i’m gonna be negative and i’m not planning on watching the movie (i guess that means ppl are gonna block me??? idk why ppl are just mass blocking because of this but whatever) (edit: per a suggestion I swapped the tag on this post so it isn't tagged under "rwrb movie")

so i’m gonna start by saying that i’ve watched the trailer a few times and honestly i love the vibes, it makes me smile ever time.

-the kiss is great

-the butt slap is everything

-Henry’s facial expressions *chefs kiss*

-the visible chain around Alex neck. yes

i’m also gonna say that its great that people ARE going to see the movie, we need more queer movies and the only way for that to happen is if ppl watch the ones that are being made now.

so the bad.

honestly i could deal with a lot of the little things.  like they make my eye twitch a little but i do actually understand that you can’t 100% remake a book into a movie.

 BUT

it’s June that i can’t forgive.

if i’m wrong and she is in the movie than amazing and i redact everything but it doesn’t seem to be that way.

removing June makes me SO angry.  its like removing Alice from Twilight or Sam from Lord of the Rings.  if Main Characters are just the romantic leads (Alex and Henry) than June defiantly falls into secondary tier - all the Super Six kinda do (Bea would be the most removable for me but is is also necessary for Henry’s development as much as June is for Alex.

June balances Alex out.  the book even specifically states WHY all of the White House Trio are needed (page 28: “Alex pushes them. June steadies them. Nora keeps them honest.”) She keeps him sane and she put her life on hold to watch out for Alex, and Alex knows this!

the idea of Alex being an only child is terrifying.  he is already kinda selfish (i say that lovingly) and “a little shit” without growing up with an older sibling to shut him up he would be a monster (and Nora doesn’t count because first they don’t actually meet until Ellen is running with Mike as VP and second Nora’s personality is to “go with the flow” to really steady Alex)

June also has some important moments that happen in the book! like it doesn’t really work to have Nora be fake dating Henry for the like 2 days that that happens and no June means no Magazine moment (i know that isn’t really directly in the book but its a fav for everyone).  no June also really changes the tone of the Lake House....

ANWAY, moving away from June here is some other things that i don’t like (because its my rant and i want to, feel free to change my mind)

- the height difference (i did love the lifts comment in the trailer but idk if they’ll be able to keep that up in a way that makes since - that means that if they are every barefoot Alex would have to be shorter *cough* like swimming)

-the actor for Alex is to old.  i know ppl are really split about this but the actor feels put together and like an adult to me (vs. book Alex feels very young - or he honestly acts his age of 21/22).  i think the polo match scene says a lot for me in the postures of the 2 actors, Henry is ok (tho honestly i think he wouldn’t have the loose posture once he rejoined ppl but its cute so pass) but Alex is to stiff, he should be almost bouncing as he walks.

-WFT is Ellen’s accent in the trailer???

-i heard a rumor that Raf and Liam are merged and redone.  Gross and big no.

-King instead of Queen.  i understand why this was done but the tone changes a lot in my head of abusive Grandpa vs. Grandma

-Zahra.  don’t like, the vibe is off with the actress... can’t explain why except the smile in the photos and the bow in the trailer

 -i feel like some of the scenes feel still (this is 100% my opinion and i could be reading this VERY wrong so ignore this if you interpret it differently)

i really wanted to like the movie but realistically i probably wouldn’t watch the movie anyway because i have issues with that so..... i guess it doesn’t matter.

i hope ppl who watch it enjoy it and please separate tags of movie vs book, thanks

[thruheavenandhighwater]

Pairing: Robin Buckley/ Female OC

Requested By: NA

Word Count: 1,097

Summary: Robin is struggling to cope when her first love suddenly leaves her heartbroken and lonely.

Inspired by the song Amnesia by 5 Seconds of Summer

Robin Buckley Masterlist

Stranger Things Masterlist

~~~~~

Suddenly driving home on Cherry wasn't the easiest route for Robin. It was still the quickest. But it was also the most heart wrenching. She'd have to drive past the Cherry Street playground. She just couldn't. Not anymore. Not since she was gone.

She'd tried, a few weeks after the girl she thought she'd grow old with called it quits. But as she parked her car all she saw were memories. The old swings where they'd shared beers stolen from their parents. The jungle gym under which they'd had their first kiss. The rickety old merry-go-round that they'd laid on, late into the night last summer telling each other everything. Well, almost everything.

And now, months later, it was no easier. The Cherry Street playground was just one stop on a list of places that Robin used to love, but now avoided like the plague. The old, one room schoolhouse on Dohoney road. Mac's gas station. Forest Hills trailer park. The seedy bar 20 miles out of town that never carded minors. That one was, admittedly, easier to avoid than the rest.

Some mornings as she drove to work, all she thought about was her. She thought about her laugh. She thought about their first kiss. She thought about their last kiss. If she'd known it would be their last, she would have done a better job of memorizing how her lips felt. She would have committed to memory everything about the moment. But as it was, all she could remember was the taste of the fresh raspberries she'd eaten.

All of her friends avoided the subject of the break up. They knew how hard it has been for Robin. It was easy to see how raw it still was, even months later. But she would come up in conversation occasionally. In a town like Hawkins, where everybody knew everything about everyone, it was bound to happen.

They'd say that she was doing well. They'd say that she seemed happy with him. It cut like a dagger every time. Like a brand new wound when the old ones weren't even healed yet.

Robin often wondered if she was really happy. She wondered if she'd actually found everything she was looking for in the arms of some boy on the basketball team. She liked to think, probably foolishly, that she was secretly just as unhappy as Robin was. She pictured her pulling out the little notes Robin had written her while they were together. She wondered if she still had them at all, if she still read them when she missed her like Robin did. But she knew that that probably wasn't the case. She knew that she had somehow moved on.

But how? How could she go from stolen kisses with Robin to profound acts of love in the hallways with that guy? That was the part that kept Robin's broken heart festering in her chest day after day. Was it a lie? Did Robin imagine it all? It just didn't make sense to her that after everything they shared together, she could be fine without her. Because Robin was definitely not fine. Not at all.

She would lie awake in bed at night replaying the moment her world seemed to stop. The moment that she ended things. She'd started crying as she explained that she was leaving. In the moment, Robin was angry. But now as she thought back to it, she wanted to be angry but all she could think about was the way her mascara looked as it ran down her face. The way it streaked before the lines met beneath her chin.

She couldn't keep her mind from wandering during school. She thought so often about all the plans they'd made for after they graduated. They'd move to the coast for college. Rent a little house, maybe they'd get a cat. Endless trips around the world had been planned during late night phone calls and stolen moments during study halls. But it seemed that Robin was the only one who still yearned so desperately for those things. The girl who'd broken her heart didn't seem to need them anymore.

The nights she was able to cry herself to sleep seemed merciful. And Robin supposed they were, in comparison. The nights that she ran out of tears but still couldn't sleep were the hardest. She'd stare at her ceiling with blurry eyes, praying to whatever entity might be listening that she would wake up and not remember. Amnesia, Steve had called it.

It was easier to hope once she had a word for it. Amnesia. A partial or total loss of memory, according to Miriam Webster. That's what she wanted. She wanted to wake up with amnesia and not remember anything. She wanted to forget every stupid little thing that seemed to be on a never ending loop on her mind. Like the way it felt to fall asleep next to her in her bed, the same bed that now felt like it swallowed her whole amongst its linens.

But that wouldn't happen. It wasn't possible. And as she lay awake night after night, she knew that she wasn't okay. The girl who'd ripped her beating heart from her chest seemed to be just fine. But Robin wasn't fine. Not at all.

The same box that held all the notes Robin had kept also held the photos. Blurry polaroids with hearts on the borders. A crisp, clean shot Jonathan had snapped at one of Steve's pool parties. Robin had admitted to Nancy one night that she did still pull them out some days. She admitted that she liked to see them. She liked to see how happy she used to be, even if they made her feel even more alone.

As the days wore into months her friends tried to pull her out of her self induced isolation. They'd invite her out. They'd offer to come to her. But she preferred solitude, at least for now. They all asked the question that she thought they should know the answer to by now.

Why hasn't she been around? The truth was that being around was painful. It was like an emotional hurt that echoed from her chest into physical pain at the mention of her name. It hurt to hear that she was happy. It hurt to know that she's moved on. It really just hurt to hear her name when Robin hasn't seen her for so long.

It hurt that she seemed to be fine. Because Robin was definitely not fine. Not at all.

~~~~~

Feedback is always appreciated! Requests are open! Have a great weekend! 🥰 If you'd like to be tagged in my Stranger Things fics, please let me know. I also have individual tag lists for Steve, Eddie, Robin, Nancy, and Steddie.

Tag List: @redwineanddnicotine @renaissan-vvitch

[strangerobsession]

Permission to Rage

This is entirely self indulgent. Sue me.

April Jenkins OC Bio

Masterlist

Warnings: Swearing, minor sexual implications. Mentions of the books 1984 and The Handmaid's Tale (idk if those even need a warning, I'm just being safe)

Word Count: 680

Summery: Eddie and April read a commentary on totalitarian and gender roles and get mad together

Eddie loved reading with his girlfriend.

A couple times a week April would arrive at his trailer with a book in hand. Eddie would whisk her to his room, and offer her a seat on the bed (which was always newly fitted with clean sheets on before she got there). They’d settle in together, Eddie- usually with a blunt or can of beer in hand- sitting with his back against the wall, arms wrapped around April’s waist, who sat between his legs leaning against his chest. 

“I’m continuing on our dystopia theme,” April held up the new book, entitled The Handmaid’s Tale.

“More totalitarianism?” Eddie aske with a slight grimace “I don’t know if I can handle any more of that shit, 1984 had me depressed for days.” 

“Oh this is so much worse.” She assured him. “We’re not oppressing everyone, just the women!”

And so they were. April read the first chapter aloud, Eddie hooking his chin over her shoulder to read along. He could feel her body tensing with every page she turned. When they switched off and Eddie read the second chapter, he couldn’t keep the ironic tone out of his voice.

“Okay, so, I get it, right?” He said suddenly mid paragraph. “I understand the point, I understand the concept, but I can physically feel the rage building up inside me.”

April laughed, nuzzling into his neck. “Me too,” She admitted.

“Why do you force me to read these infuriating things?” Eddie burst out incredulously. “They’re making me mad!”

“Because they make you think! I figured you’d at least like 1984, it’s literally a cautionary tale against mass forced conformity and the absence of personal freedom.”

“I did like it, but it also made me irrationally angry. This is making me irrationally angry”

“I would argue that it’s more than rational to be angry about a concept like this.”

“I guess," Eddie chewed his lip, guilt scrawled across his features. "But now I feel bad."

“Why?” April brushed his hair out of his face.

“Because you seemed genuinely interested and passionate in this, and I don’t wanna ruin it with my random outbursts.” His voice quavered and he shrugged his shoulders, eyes cast to the ground.

“Have you not met me? I love your random outbursts!” She poked his shoulder teasingly. “And getting angry means that you’re passionate about it, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah." She gently hooked a finger under his chin to force him to look at her. "It’s also kinda doing something for me.”

“Is it?” Eddie rubbed his hands up and down her arms, a roguish smile growing across his face as his confidence rose.

“Nothing’s sexier than your man showing genuine passion about the things you’re interested in.” April agreed, shrugging almost bashfully.

“Hey, I mean, you sat through me and my Lord of the Rings nonsense. This is the least I can do.”

“I liked Lord of the Rings,” April insisted, shifting in Eddie’s arms to pout up at him. “It’s just hard to get through those books.”

“Which is why I read them to you.”

“Mm-hmm.” April set The Handmaid’s Tale aside, and turned fully in his arms so she could face him. “I’ve also learned something just now.”

“And that is?”

“You are a raging feminist.” She held his face in her hand, trailing her lips across his brow. “And it’s incredibly hot.”

Eddie laughed at that, pulling her into a hug. "Shocker, huh? The scary metal-loving freak respects women."

“I'm serious, your attractiveness has increased at least forty percent in the past fifteen minutes.” April replied through giggles.

He laughed harder, kissing her again and again. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, my hot feminist boyfriend.”

Eddie picked the book back up, flipping to the page they’d left off on. “If we keep going, do I have your permission to rage as much as I want?”

“Permission granted, Munson.”

“Excellent.” He kissed April again as she shifted back to her original position with her back to his chest. “Then I’ll continue on, my hot feminist girlfriend.”

[eddiesbigolepp]

its just what you do

synopsis: your occasional hookup is so good that you think you’ve fallen for him, he didn’t know til he got you high.

pairing: eddie munson × cheerleader!reader

warnings: mentions of sex, flirty characters, swearing, suggestive language and behavior, pining, slight angst for like a thirty seconds

word count: 919

a/n: continuation of “goddamn man child”

tags: @myfavoritesareproblematic

you didn’t know what came out of your mouth until you locked eyes with him again.

he was frozen.

whether that was in shock or surprise, you’d never know. he was sure it was your high talking. you honestly couldn’t feel that way about him.

then he laughed.

in your face, he laughed. and your heart dropped to your stomach. your eyes closed, then stayed shut for what felt like forever. then you shot up, straight up, sitting in his bed as you shook your head. you scanned the room searching for cheer uniform he discarded across the room earlier.

he could hear you muttering to yourself, but couldn’t quite make out what you were saying. he was more than concerned now, he was nervous. had you really meant what you said? people always said something about drunk actions sober thoughts but he never really believed them.

you stood off the bed, collecting your things and pulling your skirt up quickly. the stark contrast between the dark band shirt and your bright uniform juxtaposing each other.

“i’ve got to go.” you mumble snatching your bookbag off the floor.

“what?” he stands up, off the bed, and follows you out of the room. you pull on the clean white sneakers you left neatly by the door and ignore him.

“i drove you here, what are you going to do? walk?” he says voice getting louder as he grows more worried. he didn’t even know what problem to talk about first.

“i have two perfectly good legs.” you retort, tying your laces tightly.

“thats like four miles! and its the middle of the night!” he exclaims grabbing your bag to keep you in his trailer.

“let me leave, munson.” it leaves a pang in his chest. you always called him eddie, with that sickly sweet voice. never full of malice or annoyance. but munson? munson was too formal.

too degrading coming from you.

“please, i’ll drive you in the morning. i don’t want you out there alone, and high.” he says, coming close to your face, voice wavering as worry overcomes him.

you don’t dare look up. you don’t want to. you can’t even if you tried. if you did, what you said would be real, and the embarrassment would multiply, tenfold.

instead you grab your bag that hung loosely from his hand, and head straight for the door.

“goddamnit!” he shouts, trying to tug his reeboks on. they were haphazardly thrown about and he couldn’t find the second one.

he chased you out into the trailer park. the cold autumn air nipping at his shirtless torso as he raced to catch up with you.

you practically ran away from the trailer, from the situation, from him.

you knew from the moment he touched that lunchbox it would be a bad idea. he didn’t even mention what you said, he just laughed at you. he didn’t even have the balls to reject you with words. but despite all that, you still longed for him to change your mind.

and the moment he caught up to you, things definitely changed.

he grabbed your arm, and before you could protest, his lips met yours. a rule he created when you first started this situation-ship, no kissing. neither of you were allowed to kiss the others mouth, only the neck down.

he broke his own rule.

his right hand fell from around your elbow to your your own hand, interlocking his fingers with yours. the left finding its way to the back of your neck, pulling you impossibly closer to his body.

when you pull away, your gasping for air. its like he kissed all the air out of your body. you stand with your eyes closed for a moment, catching your breath, hands still intertwined together.

“you didn’t even let me say it back.” he whispers, making you open your eyes. you look up, eyes meeting his as your face softens.

“you laughed.” you mumble, lips turning into a frown.

“hello? im high.” he answers, bringing his left hand to your cheek, “how was i supposed to know you weren’t pulling my leg?”

“by knowing, idiot,” you joke, looking up at him with big eyes.

“kiss me again?”

he chuckles, leaning in to press another passionate kiss to your lips. its slow, and sweet. all the heat behind it fueled by his feelings for you.

“you don’t know how long i’ve waited to do that.” he says, pulling away with a lovesick grin on his face.

“you’re telling me,” you giggle, putting you free hand on his chest. “oh my god! you’re freezing,” you speak, using your intertwined hands to drag him back to the trailer.

“get in the bed, you need to warm up before you get sick,” you shoo him to the room as you pull off your shoes and place them in their designated spot. you walk back to the room, shimmying your skirt down once you step through the door.

“you drive me crazy.” he says, watching as you bend over to lift the skirt off the ground. its a view he could get used to, favorite cheerleader in his favorite shirt hanging out in his room.

“i drive you crazy?” you question, sweet smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. you turn back, after placing your skirt on his dresser, and start crawling into bed with him. once you lay on his chest theres a lazy smile stuck on his face.

“its just what you do.”

[love-toxin]

song of styx - eddie munson

plot: your boyfriend has a request for you, one that you never would've imagined he'd try to talk you into--Eddie Munson, the satanic freak of Hawkins, wants a baby.

cws: fem reader, pregnancy talk, eddie's got baby fever, angel airs her insecurities, mentions of postpartum, dryhumping, breeding kink, implied post-s4, fluff

word count: 2.8k

spice level: 1/5

"I want a baby."

Eddie has his head laid out on your chest when he finally pipes up, his arms around your midsection, his voice clear and loud in your ears and in the otherwise quiet hum of the trailer. He'd invited you over for snuggles, and pizza, and conversation–but not that kind of conversation, at least not that you were expecting when you came over.

"You want a what? A baby?" You repeat it incredulously, trying to give your brain time to catch up. But it's really no use, you have no idea how to process that, so you just stare wide-eyed at your boyfriend until he hums his answer.

"Mhm." Eddie nods. You break out in a laugh, partly in shock and partly in disbelief.

"Uhh, this is kinda coming out of nowhere, honey. What do you-" He cuts you off by squeezing you tighter, reminding you of the stiffness in his pants that he's worked up by nuzzling into your side for the last hour. He's always been pretty easy to please, but a kid? That's not something you're so sure you can pop out easily.

"I just want a baby. Your baby." He mumbles into your chest, his eyes glazed over and doe-like when he looks at you over the bunched up fabric of the old band shirt of his you're wearing. If it were literally anything else, that would be enough for you to say yes, of course, anything he wants you'll give him. You really can't resist those big, brown eyes, most of the time.

"You do realize we're both broke, right? And Hawkins has a history of psycho Russian scientists and alternate dimension monsters and mind-controlling sorcerers popping up at random?" Eddie kisses you so gently, his lips soft like the cotton fluff of your pillow and warm like the spoonful of honey he stirs into your tea when you have an icky tummy. It's kisses like that that help you forget about everything, that help you deal with whatever else you have that lies ahead. It softens you, even just a little bit, and you can't help but keep an open ear to him for a while longer.

"Yeah. Still wanna knock you up, though." He starts rubbing your belly over your shirt, before getting a little more antsy and slipping it under the hem so there's nothing between his palm and your soft skin. He touches you like you're already pregnant, like this dream of his is a reality already and it's just a matter of time before you give him what he wants.

"D..Don't say it like that, Eddie.." You shift a little bit underneath him, your panties a bit wetter than they were before because of how low his voice just got. It's embarrassing how easily he can unravel you into a needy, greedy mess for him.

"Why?" He moves in closer, hips starting to roll against you for him to slowly start humping your thigh. "You getting bothered, pretty girl? Likin' the idea of me being your baby daddy?"

"We're broke," You repeat, a soft gasp escaping you when his fingers ghost over your clit, covered only by a thin layer of cotton from your panties–and while your first instinct is to clamp your legs shut, Eddie's looped his legs around one of yours and clamped it firmly between them, so you can only squirm in his hold. Plus, it only makes you more intimately aware of how much his cock is straining against his boxers, waistband pulling away just the smallest bit from the weight leaning against the front of them.

"We can figure it out. I'll get a job at the garage, sell a little extra on the side. Make some money for a crib, and bottles, and blankies." He smiles at the thought, head tilting and his tongue darting out to wet his lips in a hunger-fueled way.

"You're making it seem so simple. And what will I do, in this hypothetical scenario?"

"You'll grow our baby in that belly of yours. Be all cute and cranky and pregnant." You slap his arm, but it just makes him move in closer to your ear, murmuring all low and soft because he can tell that it's getting you all hot between the legs. Eddie knows it all, and it's frustrating…at least in the sexual way. "Get all needy when you can't touch yourself, cause you can't reach. I'll have to take care of you every single night. Hafta fuck you to sleep." As he speaks, his hand moves from above your shorts to beneath them, pushing the waist of your panties to crest over his knuckles and the rings he still has on as he slides one right in that crevice where he swears all the magic happens. He nudges the tip of his finger against your clit, staring down your underwear in wonder as he runs two of them through your slit to slick them up–but when he starts pushing them inside you and moaning quietly at the view, you press on his wrist and he draws them back, but doesn't take his hand out of your panties.

"S-So I'm gonna be a stay at home mom, then?"

"Don't have to be. But you could, if you wanted. I could make that happen." He presses another kiss to your jaw, offering a little comfort in the form of a sweet smile. He rubs the heel of his hand gently against your clit, just to remind you he's still there and for the pressure to curl your toes in your socks.

"Edward Munson, you can barely take care of yourself. How are you gonna take care of a baby?"

"I'll learn. We both will. And my uncle's pretty good with babies–he'd be happy to teach us. And babysit." He winks, like he's got this all figured out already. And in his mind, you're sure he's probably certain of that. His confidence is something to be admired, even when it is severely misguided.

"I dunno, Eddie…I don't want you to get all excited just to be disappointed when it's not fun anymore." He cocks his head, and you let out a sigh before elaborating a little more. Hard conversations really aren't your forte. "Babies are hard work. And staying together with a kid is hard, too, and I…"

"...You think I might leave you after the baby comes?"

Well, there it is. Sometimes you wish your insecurities weren't so transparent, your mind like a fishbowl for Eddie to peer inside and stick his fingers into to swirl it up. "I don't think you would, but it's a possibility. I'm not gonna look the same, and we'll be taking care of it constantly. It's…stressful." Eddie's eyes turn downcast. He's gentle in pulling his fingers from your panties, and plays with your hands absentmindedly. "I don't wanna disappoint you, honey. But I don't want to go along with something that you might not really want, either."

There's a few beats of radio silence then. The soft music from his stereo is barely audible over the sound of his fan weakly blowing slightly cooler air throughout his room, and neither of you have anything to break it. Until Eddie pipes up with a question you weren't expecting.

"Will you still love me after we have a baby?" He doesn't even turn his eyes up to meet yours until you tilt your head down at him, but when he does, they're so big and brown and soft. So sincere and lovely. You can't resist those–how could you?

"What? Of course I will. I always will. And seeing you with a baby would be…really sweet. Watching you feed them, and bounce them, and play your music for them, I think…" All four of your fingers curl around two of his, and you rub your thumb over his stubby nail before you pull his hand up to kiss his fingertips. "...it would probably make me fall in love with you all over again."

"Then why would you be any different?"

"I…I don't know. I guess…" You're struck a little dumb by that query, bumbling and averting your gaze from him until Eddie climbs over you, looms above you with his brown eyes filled with something akin to passion. Very, very heated passion.

"Pushing out our son would be a fucking miracle, angel, and you think I'd just say 'seeya' cause you look different?" While the serious tone he has makes your heart skip a beat, your first reaction is still to deny it. Eddie romanticizes things a lot, and it's easy for him to say that when he has no clue what it actually entails. He hasn't ever stayed up to feed a newborn or endured hours of screaming and soothing attempts.

But it's Eddie. You can feel the sincerity in his eyes, the love in everything he does, even in something as simple as breathing. When he looks at you, he loses air so easily–he just can't help but be mesmerized, even when he's being tough.

"I don't care what you look like–if I did, I'd be too much of an asshole to ever deserve you. And I already am."

"Eddie-" You raise a hand to cup his face, but he grabs your wrist and pins it back to the bed, his dark gaze never leaving yours.

"But you're my girl. I won't run away from you, and not from our little boy either." From here, the tent in his boxers is painfully obvious. But he pays his own discomfort very little mind, too caught up in the doe-like shimmer of your pretty eyes and the soft curve of your lips as they sit half-parted. "I would fuck you into absolute bliss. I'd make you forget all about the labour pain just so you beg me to put another baby in your belly."

His breathing fills the space between you, heavy and hot against your skin, giving off the image that he's only moments away from pouncing on you. He is. But he would never do so if he wasn't sure you wanted it, and until you finally speak up, he isn't.

"Our boy..?" Eddie's lips split into a smirk. The fingers he has twined tightly around your wrist venture down your arm, ghosting light touches over the delicate skin until he reaches the end and slides them absentmindedly over your ribcage.

"Munsons always have boys. And you'll be a Munson soon, if I have anything to say about it–with a little Munson inside you, too." His hand darts sideways to the hem of his shirt you're wearing, and he slides it up high enough to see that belly he's been talking about putting a baby into. That mention of making you into a Munson rings in your head and moves your focus away though, because while you love Eddie and you're sure you always will, neither of you have ever really brought up the idea of marriage. Babies neither, but a wedding with Eddie…that's a visual you're not sure you'll get out of your head anytime soon.

"Do you…really want a baby, Eddie? That badly?"

"Yes." He breathes instantly, without an ounce of hesitation. His hand hovers no longer, and he rubs over your bellybutton with a warm palm. "I want proof of our love. I want to show off to the whole town that you're mine, that you're having my baby, and that you're so happy with the freak of Hawkins that you'll let him be the father of your child."

"You're not a freak, Eddie. You're perfect." The words escape you just as swiftly, let out in a single breath that he swallows up in a kiss as warm as his hand on your belly.

"I'm a freak for you, baby." You can't help breaking out into laughter, and it makes Eddie's smile even wider. Sometimes you don't realize how much love is in his gaze when he looks at you, how much of you bubbles up in his mind and comes out in the most tender lyrics of the songs he writes and the ones he blasts in his ears when he's high. How much more of you he wants, to the point of asking you for something he once swore he'd never want, for fear of fucking something up he can't take back. But he could never mess something up if it's part of you. "There's my beautiful mama. He's gonna have your laugh, I can feel it."

"I hope he has your eyes." You caress his cheek, and he nuzzles into your touch, turning his head to kiss your fingertips. If you could feel how much his heart soars when he hears that, you might think he's having a heart attack. But he's just so in love it aches in his chest, makes him want to collapse into you and never pull himself out of your embrace. He takes your hand in his, and squeezes it like he's trying to convey how much he wants the same thing. "You'll be a fucking amazing mom. And I'll be a better dad than mine ever was. I'll play ball, and give him snuggles, and teach him how to sing."

Eddie's lips steal away everything else that you want to say, every thought that your mind is running wild with now that he's pried open those floodgates. You can imagine the afternoons spent out in the yard, watching Eddie chase your son through the sprinkler with laughter filling the summer air. The glint of the ring on his left hand as he snatches your toddler up and bounces him in his arms, his shirt soaked through and his shorts covered in grass stains. The squeal of your little boy as his daddy tickles him before rushing back through the spray of cool water to hurry towards you, your arms outstretched to capture both of them in a wet, giggly hug with Eddie's arm sliding around your waist to pull you close and kiss you. The need for that fantasy to be your reality isn't something you've felt before, but it's not something you want to push away. You don't think you can.

"He'll be so damn cute. We'll take a million pictures and annoy the hell out of everyone when he's born." Especially not when Eddie's so giddy about it in the same way, your giggles sparking an even more passionate exchange of kisses that quickly grow more heated, his tongue making way past your lips to find a home against yours.

"Now c'mon, this baby isn't gonna make himself. You in?" He whispers against your lips when he finally manages to extract himself from you, sitting back a bit on your legs to let both hands roam down to your waist. You raise your hips with a smirk, and grind against him through his boxers, drawing his nails down your sides and a groan from his throat.

"You want one so bad, then breed me like you want it." Eddie growls at that, really growls, the rumble deep in his chest and his eyes screwing shut like just looking at you will make him bust a load in his pants. You've never pegged him as having a breeding kink, he's never brought it up–but if you can expect more of that possessive grabbing at your hips by saying stuff like that, you know you're gonna do it.

"Can't wait to make you a mom. You're gonna be the hottest little milf in Hawkins," He paws at the waist of your bottoms, fumbling with the buttons and the zipper to get at what lies underneath–but he stops when you sit up on your elbows and distract him with a kiss, your hand on his chin as you whisper back into his mouth.

"And you're gonna be the coolest, bestest, most metal daddy ever." You giggle, and Eddie groans as you start rubbing up against him again, your hands sliding up around his shoulders before they clasp around the nape of his neck.

"That's right," He sighs with pleasure, and lowers himself until you're laid back against his sheets again. "M'gonna be a daddy. A real one."

It seems like he's lost himself a little in that fantasy, until he looks down at you with an intensity the likes of which you've never seen, passion burning behind his eyes like a river of flames. Like Styx.

"I can't fucking wait. Gonna fuck the baby fever into you til you can't get enough." Finally, he manages to get those wretched shorts off your hips, and rips them down your legs like he's tearing the wrapping off a long-awaited present. He moves himself aside only to get them off your ankles and throw them somewhere into the mess of his room, your bare legs caressed with a cool breeze from the fan until he's on top of you again. Eyes spelling out his need like words never could. "Now, show me just how much you wanna be a mommy, angel, and spread those pretty legs for me."

[starsthatpiercedthesky]

okay so.i was thinking about this and it pulled at my heart strings

imagine eddie dating a girl who lives in like the SUPER rich part of hawkins, and they always go over to his house because he’s like really  insecure about where he lives :( all fluffy 

word count: 1.0k

warnings: slight smut, mentions of being ashamed of lower class title, very fluffy

pairings: Eddie Munson x Rich!Fem!Reader

a/n: Thank you for the request! Hope you enjoy!

You met Eddie in the second year of high school. He was so sweet. You fell for him so hard. Everyone thought it was silly considering who he was and who you are. But he fell for your charm. Your parents may be rich, but you never hung around the popular crowd. You made Eddie laugh all the time, and it wasn’t long before you begged him to let you join the Hellfire club. As the years went on, you and Eddie fell for each other.

And though it’s pretty well known that the two of you are almost officially an item, Eddie never takes you to his place. You know it’s mostly because he’s ashamed of his background. You know Eddie didn’t have a good homelife. Especially not before he moved in with his uncle. But that’s all you know about where and how Eddie lives.

Eddie always comes to pick you up at your place. If you guys want a place to stay, he’ll always suggest your place. After some time, your parents have come to really like Eddie. They think very highly of him, which really flusters him. But he’s always a perfect gentleman with you. Your mother thinks he is very charming and a good match for you, despite the other mothers in the neighborhood being afraid of him.

And with every passing moment you spend with Eddie, the harder you fall for him. Eventually, he just asks you to be his girlfriend. Of course, you accept. But you do give him one condition, to which he’s so quick to say yes.

“Ah, but you haven’t even heard what it is,” And he looks at you with his big doe eyes.

“Anything. You name it. It’ll happen. I’ll make it happen, baby.” He wraps his arms around you and pulls you in for a very sweet kiss.

“Take me to your place,”

Eddie freezes when he realizes what you’ve just said. Of course you would want that. He groans and presses his face against your neck. Eddie inhales deeply, trying to keep your scent in his memory. When you see where he lives, you’ll dump him like a ton of bricks. But you really don’t believe it’s that bad. You know he’s not homeless, but he is so ashamed of where he lives.

“Shit, fine. I’ll bring you to my place. We can even go now and catch my uncle before leaves. He’s been wanting to meet you.”

So with shaking hands and nervousness building up in his tummy, he drives you both to the trailer park. When the sign comes up, his cheeks burn. It’s nothing like the sign that’s situated right outside the gated community you live in. It’s decrepit and sad. He feels so fucking pathetic right now. But when you get out of the car, you take in the scenery. It seems like a good place to grow up. It probably beats the monotony of the rich part of Hawkins. You’re actually in awe at the livelihood of the people that live here.

“Is this really all it was, Eddie?” You ask him, and he looks down at his feet. 

“Yeah, baby. I’m ashamed.” You cup his face and you reach up on your tiptoes to kiss him.

“Baby, it’s fine. I don’t love you for your money or any kind of lack of money. I’m crazy about you, Eddie Munson.”

His cheeks heat up, “R-really?” He holds onto you a little tighter.

“So crazy about you. Even my parents like you, Eddie. You should know none of this bothers me.”

He takes your hand in his and he leads you up the stairs to his trailer. He unlocks the door and smiles widely at his uncle. His uncle sits at the table, and you can see his eyes light up when he finally sees you. Eddie has been talking about you nonstop since the first day he met you.

“So this must be your girlfriend,” Wayne steps forward and he extends his hand to you. You gladly shake it and introduce yourself.

“I’m Wayne. Eddie must have told you about me. I was starting to wonder when he might bring you over.”

“Shut up!” Eddie spits out, but Wayne just laughs at his nephew’s antics. Eddie blushes at the attention he’s getting.

“Anyway, I was about to head out for my shift. It was really nice meeting you. I’m glad Eddie found such a nice girl.” This makes Eddie blush even more.

It’s not long before it’s the two of you alone. Eddie shows you around the trailer. Then he finally brings you into his room. You finally get to be in his lair. The walls are covered with all kinds of band memorabilia and posters. The famous guitar you’ve heard him play so much sits waiting for him. He goes over to it and blows a kiss to it. Eddie smirks when he realizes that you’re finally in his room.

“Ah, if only you knew how long I've been waiting for this moment.” He comments, and wraps his arms around you again.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you tell me how you pictured it?”

He chuckles darkly, “Well baby…I’ve always pictured you here with me. My uncle is always gone and we have the whole place to ourselves. I throw on your favorite album,”

You smile when he picks up the familiar tape. The prism and the refracting light as the cover art really makes your heart skip a beat. Eddie remembered your favorite album is The Dark Side of The Moon.  You sigh softly before he kisses you sloppily. He takes off your jacket for you.

“Then, maybe I roll us a joint after you get nice and comfortable on my bed. We smoke a little weed, and we get high.” He sits at his desk and he points at the bed for you to sit on. You do as he instructs and you remove your shoes.

“Once we’re nice and high, then I lick your little pussy until you can’t take it anymore.” He looks at you, his eyes dark with lust.

“Eddie!” You squeal before throwing a pillow in his direction. He smirks at you. “Sounds like a nice time. It’s a pity you waited so long to invite me here. We could have been doing that for a few years now.”

Eddie comes over to you and kisses you hungrily. “No time like the present, darling.”