#low key feel like all this ends with John at the very least sleeping with Valerie's dad if not outright dating him

[spacedace]

John Constantine knew what he was. Knew he wasn’t a good man. He tried, sometimes. Got credit for it more often than he should. But at the end of the day, he was a bastard of the highest sort and nothing was going to change that fact. A rogue and a rake through and through. He lied, he cheated, he stole, and delighted in doing so. Cut from the same cloth as ol’ Stingy Jack who tricked the devil into letting him live longer than he should and managed to keep himself out of hell to boot after he’d finally shuffled off his mortal coil. John liked to think his cloth had been sewn into a much sharper suit though. He’d been clever enough to avoid the dying altogether, no carrying around smoldering turnips in the bleak between of closed-off afterlives for him, thanks. He was a charlatan and a scoundrel, and many, many worse things besides. John knew what he was. The woman who appeared in his dank and stinking flop house room in the middle of the night knew what he was too.

The Wild Hunt calls. For better or worse, John Constantine answers.

-

Chapter 6 is up! 😄

#dpxdc #john constantine #valerie gray #leader of the wild hunt valerie gray #liminal valerie gray #names have power #the wild hunt #the reluctant war #reluctant war au #ghost king danny #the ghost zone goes to war #ancient of the speedforce dani phantom #love me some putting two characters who never spend any time together even in fandom in a buddy roadtrip comedy #low key feel like all this ends with John at the very least sleeping with Valerie's dad if not outright dating him #Val would hate it lol

[bisluthq]

Also I was curious about John since I know you've said in the past that you don't think it was very good for her, and while I agree that them having sex was bad, I don't think that means the sex itself was bad.

I mainly think that because there seems to have been a mutual obsession prior to them going out. She had obviously admired him/had a crush on him for years at that point, which I would imagine would make her pretty into it, even if he didn't have the skills to back it up.

On his end, I think back to Jessica's book and how she describes their relationship, and a lot of it matches with how Taylor describes theirs in Dear John. In her book she says that he would like watch her TV ads and get obsessed, and then call her, fuck with her emotionally, and then dump her, rinse repeat. She also says that he was obsessed with her sexually:

"The connection was so strong that he made me feel seductive, and he spoke about sex and my body in a way that made me feel powerful, at least physically. Where I felt insecure in the beginning was that I always felt I was falling short of the potential he was in me. I constantly worried that I wasn’t smart enough for him.”

So his vibe when he's obsessed generally seems to be "your body is a Wonderland" (but like actually). And unfortunately, based on the way he talked about her as if she was a fictional character, and based on the fact that he asked everyone he came into contact with if she actually wrote her songs prior to meeting her, and the fact that he met her before she had fully blown up (post the success of debut, prior to the fearless takeover which REALLY "put her on the map") and stated that he'd "enjoy watching her career blossom" it very much seems like the whole "I saw you on TV and now I want to fuck you" thing happened with Taylor too (even though that moment likely occurred when she wasn't 18... 🤢).

Also Katy said he was really good, and I know you said Taylor probably wouldn't have been into the weird shit he likely wanted to do, but honestly, the way she describes all his other red flags makes me think she would've kind of looked past it.

Also, like I said, she seemed VERY into him, so if the weird shit is true (the only thing I've definitely heard was the piss kink thing, which if I'm not mistaken was mainly spearheaded by DM who generally isn't very reliable, and Lainey but like .. as a joke and without any real evidence outside of vibes) and like... I cannot over emphasize the obsessive factor. Girlie admitted she acted like a stalker when they met. I Can See You low-key has kind of a stalkery vibe.

But I also think that he would've been a real asshole had she not wanted to sleep with him/go all the way. Like truly. But I'm not convinced that's what happened. Anyway, I'm going to stop talking about whether she enjoyed his white supremacist dick now. The fact that they likely did sleep together grosses me out, and I think in retrospect, probably grosses her out, just not at the time.

Yeah I think John was just a creep tbh. I actually could buy they never had PIV sex which is why he might say they never fucked and where the “it’s PR!!” rumor stems from but idk if your 18/19 year old fan girl gives you a blowjob she’s allowed to be upset about how it’s all developing especially when you’re sending super mixed signals. I think John was gross for what he did and said and his overall vibe and yeah I think she thinks so too at this point. Like I think she realizes how messed up it was. But yeah obviously in real time she didn’t.

[tommyspeakycap]

travelling england squad headcanons my exhausted brain just thought of

jordan pickford - won’t forget anything important but will get very confuddled and mixed up with stuff when he gets to boarding. hands his passport at the wrong time, can’t find his boarding pass when it is actually in his hand etc. talks really loud and does not stop talking to the person next to him on flights

harry maguire - won’t let anyone carry his bags for him bc he doesn’t want to be a bother. will have his boarding pass and passport ready to pull out whenever needed but will never just carry it in case it gets lost. mild dad on holiday vibes but discretely and will often be found in disbelief that some of these boys have survived as long as they have. will barely speak on the plane, doesn’t mind being sat next to jp bc he’s learned to tune his voice out.

kieran trippier - dad on holiday™️. will always have his passport and boarding pass at the ready, no muss no fuss, will go at the back of the group to make sure his children (he is responsible for mason, declan and jadon. also jesse but only when marcus isn't there) and he will inevitably pick up mason's passport when he drops it while being an idiot with declan and doesn't notice. will sit with the quietest person and/or alone so he can sleep. will under no circumstances sit with pickers - has to be at least three rows away and will be monitoring behaviour.

jordan henderson - another dad on holiday™️ but funnier (he is instead responsible for jack, phil and trent). gets annoyed when other people are messy/leave mess. probably takes passports off those likely to lose them right after they pass through customs and gives them back only when they approach customs at the other airport. will sit at the back of the plane alone so he can listen to alicia keys in peace.

harry kane - never late but also never quite on time but nobody says anything because he’s never the last one there. will usually congregate with The Dads and doesn't say much (read; he is usually found next to harry maguire both standing and enjoying the silence bc girldads)

mason mount - chronically late, always last to catch up while trippier taps his foot and checks his watch. will do the innocent mason giggle and get away with it. flight attendants think he’s adorable and airport workers love him because he travels with two basically empty bags cos he travels so light. will sit next to declan to begin with and eat all of his snacks while dec sleeps. they end up getting separated by one of the dads when they’re being too loud and/or fighting over the snacks mason has already devoured.

declan rice - waits for mason no matter what, packs extra snacks because he knows for a fact mason will (and does) eat most of his. is slightly scared to sleep on the plane bc of all the things they do to wake each other. he and mason somehow end up with each other’s passports and nearly don’t get through the border. defo has passive aggressive fights with ben over who gets to sit with mason and declan plays the 'I've known you longer' card that gets mason every time.

jack grealish - gets upset when ben and declan fight over sitting next to mason because chilly is supposed to be his bestie so he goes in a huff that hendo has to sort. 100% always has his passport in the front pouch of his bag (put there by hendo) so that when they get to security and he starts patting himself down freaking out and thinking he’s left it somewhere, his dad Hendo can tell him exactly where it is. annoys trippier because he drags his heels everywhere he walks and is constantly found asking; “hey has anyone seen my hairband” when it’s on his wrist.

ben chilwell - very easy going yet simultaneously anxious traveler. does not like how late mason leaves every, is NOT fond of how little he packs and will get antsy when take off time is near and people are still mulling around. he also gets annoyed when people ask him to borrow stuff but will never outwardly show it. he packs for every eventuality and believes everyone should be doing the same. films everyone, is low-key everyone’s favourite to sit with.

phil foden - gets upset when he’s told he not allowed to do keepy ups on the plane, absolutely will not have anything but a window seat, gets funny looks going through security and people often mistake him for much younger than he is. doesn’t mind who he sits next to as long as it’s not someone boring. is generally not a problem for The Travelling Dads except he's easily distracted and is susceptible to being left behind as he is smol plus mason and declan are hard work for kieran.

marcus rashford - oh my days when he’s alone he’s so quiet and then whenever jesse is there as well the two of them are insufferable. between mason and dec and jesse and rashy, jordan is glad for alicia keys through those noise cancelling headphones. will get annoyed with jesse and they WILL end up hurting each other and making up multiple time.

jesse lingard - so fully of energy at all times and nobody can figure out why. annoys rashy when he’s trying to sleep and that’s when they always end up in fights that nearly get them separated by harry maguire who is very used to putting up with their antics anyway. tries to convince them all to learn his celebration and spends the whole time messaging marcus and pouting when his bestie isn't there with him.

john stones - him and Kyle are basically joined at the hip as they r best friends. they always pre-anticipated and planned to sit together on the plane. he has a sixth sense and will physically be able to feel it when they lose phil (was an issue for the time he wasn't in the squad and John was like oh my god we've lost phil!) only to realise he wasn't ever with them. is very protective and always worries about forgetting things that he definitely has.

kyle walker - rarely acts his age but is kind of levelled out by john and can sometimes be very irritating in the same way that people get irritated with jesse because they're very loud. can often be found next to john and reassuring everyone he's faster than Raz. will forget things he define tally needs which pisses off John (because he asked a million times to make sure he had his boots) and gives chilly so much second-hand stress that he gets chest pains.

trent alexander-arnold - probably wants to sit next to hendo but he completely refuses (and sometimes feel guilty for it but he needs his alicia keys alone time). is quite quiet in comparison to some of the other younger ones but is equally as forgetful. will fume about the 'inflation' of the meal deal prices in the airport whsmiths and despite knowing he probs shouldn't cos international rivals, he spends a lot of time texting andy robertson.

#jordan pickford #harry maguire #jack grealish #john stones #kyle walker #marcus rashford #jesse lingard #mason mount #declan rice #ben chilwell #phil foden #harry kane #kieran trippier #jordan henderson #trent alexander arnold

[julesclues]

She Wasn’t You

Warnings: nothing that I can think of

Word count: 2.03k

Pairings: jj maybank x reader

Summary: JJ goes on a date with a girl but when it ends early, you ask him why and hidden feelings arise.

You and JJ have known each other for years. In a way, he was your first friend. You had met him in the playground when you were only 5 years old. You had slid down the slide, but winded up busting your ass on the way down. John B and JJ came running up to you, as tears fell down your face. Ever since then, the three of you were inseparable. A couple of years later, you met Kiara and Pope. But it wasn’t until a year ago where you had developed a crush for the blonde surfer. And it has only gotten worse over time.

“You have a what?!” Kiara yells, making you slap her mouth shut. “Yes Kie, okay? I have a crush on JJ! Please just don’t tell anyone, okay?” She paces around her room, running her hands through her hair. But because of her curls, she didn’t really get very far. “Y/n, this is crazy. You know the no-pouge-on-pouge macking rule! Why would you do this?” You sigh and fall back on the bed. “I didn’t want to Kie! It just happened. Besides, it’s not like he likes me back. It’s just a stupid crush, it’ll go away eventually.” But it didn’t. Days turned into weeks, which turned into a year.

1 year, 7 months, and 12 days. But who’s counting, right?

You had no idea if the boy liked you though. JJ Maybank was a boy of flirting. If she had boobs, she had JJ’s attention. Kiara says it’s different with you, but you can’t really tell. You love JJ to death but whenever he flirts with you, you can’t help but think it’s just a joke. That’s his personality. It’s who he is. Sometimes you think he can’t help it. He had always been there for you, no matter what. You had only gotten into a small fight once. It wasn’t even that major.

6 months ago

“John B, relax! If I wanna fuck around, let me fuck around! I’m not hurting anyone!” jj screams at John b, while the rest of you just watch. “Why do you keep doing this, huh jj? Why don’t you try to get your life together and maybe settle down!?” John B yells back, causing your heart rate to pick up. You saw both sides of the argument, but you didn’t want to pick sides. “Fuck off John B! Let me do what I want to do!” jj heads toward the door, but John B winds up saying something that tips jj off like you’ve never seen him. “If you keep going down the road you are now, you’re going to end up just like your dad!” Everyone gasps in disbelief as jj runs toward John b and slams him against the wall. “jj stop it!” You yell, but he turns back to you. “Stay out of this Y/n!” This causes John b to get an upperhand and he pushes jj to the ground. You run up to them, throwing John b off of him. “What is the matter with you two?!” You scream, as Pope comes up behind John b and grabs him. Neither one of them respond. “Pope, get him out of here. jj,” you say, as you grab his hand to help him up. “Come with me,” you say with anger. “But-“ he starts, but you shoot him a glare that shuts him up almost immediately.

Shutting the door behind you, you hear the bed creak as he sits down. “What’s the matter with you?” You yell, as he runs his hand down his face. “What’s the matter with me? Did you hear what John B said to me? Why is it any of his business what I do?” JJ huffs, crossing his arms in front of him. His eye follow you as you pace back and forth across your room. You stop in your tracks and walk in front of the blonde. “He’s just looking out for you! I get it’s your life and the thing he said about your dad was shitty, but he’s your best friend. He needs to understand your point of view, but try to understand his too.” You finish talking, and sit down next to him. He stays silent, but his eyes are screaming. “I hate when you’re right,” he smiles, making you chuckle. “What can I say? It’s the worst thing about me.”

“And the best,” he adds on. You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the butterflies that almost made you throw up. JJ gets up from your bed and puts his hand on the knob. Before opening it though, he turns to you. “Thank you Y/n.” And with that, he exits your room to go talk to John B. You couldn’t help but feel kind of upset. You didn’t want JJ to settle down with anyone. You wanted it to be you. But if he was happy, then so were you. And that was enough in your book.

So now, 6 months later, JJ has rarely been sleeping around. He actually listened to John B, which confused all of the Pouges. It might have even confused JJ a bit. You were all at a kegger. Smiling, laughing, and definitely drinking. You were having a blast. Until you weren’t. “Guys!” JJ runs up, panting. “Woah blondie, relax. What’s going on?” You ask, and he turns to you smiling. “I’m going on a date tomorrow at 1 o’clock! Met this hot chick! Her name is Leslie and she...” JJ’s voice fades out from your ears and you just stare at the fire in front of you. He met a girl. A hot one. He even knows her name. And he’s going on a date with her. There was no chance for you. You get up from where you’re sitting, feeling Kie’s eyes on you the entire time. JJ abruptly stops talking and turns to you. “Where are you going y/n?” He asks, and you turn to him. “Gotta go. See you guys tomorrow. You know, family stuff,” you say, trying not to make the pouges suspicious. But Kiara knew the real reason. And JJ definitely wasn’t buying into your story. He stopped talking about the girl and sat down in your previous spot next to Kie. “Is she okay?” He asks with sincere eyes, looking at the group. “I’m sure she’s fine,” Pope says while taking a sip of his beer. “No she wasn’t, didn’t you see her face? She looked really sad,” Sarah says, countering Pope. “Maybe I should go after her,” JJ whispers loud enough for everyone to hear. As he gets up, Kie grabs his hand to stop him. “Don’t,” was all she said. JJ didn’t question it, but he sat back down. He knew that Kie knew what was wrong with you, but didn’t want to pry. You would tell him eventually. You were his best friend afterall.

Tomorrow eventually came. After a night of crying your heart out for a boy that you considered your best friend, you checked your phone for the time. It was 1:03. JJ was probably on his date by now. You hated how infatuated you were with the Maybank boy, but you couldn’t help it. He made you feel things you’ve never felt for anyone else. You couldn’t explain it, but you loved him more than you loved yourself. And it made you crazy.

It was now 2:19 and the boy was still on your mind. Your parents were home, so at least you could wallow in self misery by yourself. You jump on the couch and turn on the tv, trying to find anything to distract you from JJ. From the girl he was with. He was probably kissing her. Maybe they’ll get married, you think. But you laugh at your mind and it’s restless thoughts. This was JJ you were talking about. Dating was barely on his mind, let alone marriage! You were getting ahead of yourself. You finally find a movie you want to watch, and hit play. Not even 10 minutes into the movie, someone was knocking on your door. With a loud groan, you pause the movie and walk over to the door. Maybe your parents were back and forgot the keys. Opening the door, you made eye contact with the one person you were trying to avoid all day.

“JJ?” You ask in disbelief. Looking at the clock next to you, you realize that the date only lasted an hour. Which was practically nothing. “You’re back so soon?” You say more like a question. “Can I come in?” He asks in a low voice. You move out of the way so he could walk in. He goes straight for the couch and plops down on it. Confused, you follow him and sit right next to him. “JJ what’s going on? How was the date?” He sighs and looks up at you. “Can I be honest?” He asks, making you nod. “It sucked.” A part of you wanted to jump up and down and throw a party. But you kept it cool, trying to conceal the excitement you felt. “What? Why? You seemed so excited last night?” JJ starts tracing circles along your couch with his finger. Something he did when he was nervous. You noticed.

“I know but I realized she was just.. hot. Her personality wasn’t really what I was looking for, I guess? I don’t know Y/n. She wasn’t what I wanted.”

“What was wrong with her?”

“Nothing was wrong with her at all. It’s just.. she wasn’t..” he stutters, trying to find the words to explain why she wasn’t enough for JJ. But the truth is, she probably was enough. She was pretty, she made JJ laugh, and she was actually very loyal! But in JJ’s mind, he just wasn’t feeling it. It wasn’t right. “I– ugh. I don’t know.” He runs his hands through his hair, which was something he did that always gave you butterflies. “Well maybe you need to just meet someone else!” You say with enthusiasm, trying to cheer JJ up. But he shakes his head with a “tsk” and stands up quickly. You look up at him with confusion. “Why JJ?”

“Because I know they wouldn’t be good enough.”

“What? JJ listen to yourself. You’re saying some girl wouldn’t be enough, yet you haven’t even met them yet!”

“She just wouldn’t be, okay Y/n? Quit it. I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.”

“No JJ, I won’t quit it!” You yell, standing up to face him. “She was good for you! You were so excited! What happened? Just tell me, you know! Deep down you know. You wouldn’t just waste a date on some–“

“She wasn’t you.”

You stop talking and just look up at JJ in disbelief. You couldn’t believe it. JJ Maybank was actually into you too. He ditched his date because she wasn’t you. “I’m sorry if you don’t want to hear that y/n, but it’s you. I love you and she wasn’t you. The thing wrong with her was that it wasn’t you sitting across from me in the diner. It wasn’t you telling me jokes. It wasn’t you telling me that I was handsome. I want it to be you.” You smile and chuckle softly. “I thought you didn’t like sharing your feelings,” you whisper, talking a step towards the boy. “Only for you princess.” He puts his left hand on your right cheek and looks deep into your eyes. “Can I kiss you y/n?” Without answering, you slam your lips into his, making him stumble a bit. You smile to yourself as he wastes no time kissing you back. You couldn’t believe in a million years that he would like you back. No, not like. Love. He was in love with you.

And this kiss was one of the many things he would do to prove that to you.

#jj maybank #john b routledge #kiara carrera #outerbanks #pope heyward #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank obx #jj maybank x reader #jj outer banks #obx jj #jj maybank outer banks #jj maybank smut #sarah cameron #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron #topper obx #rudy obx #rudy pankow x reader #rudy pankow imagine #rudy pankow #rudy x reader

[hopeamarsu]

Hi lovely!

Congratulations on your milestone. It is very well deserved. You are a beautiful storyteller.

I am requesting:

For all it's worth /Santiago Garcia

Because I am stupidly in love with him.

Thank you my friend. xo!

My darling Marie, thank you so much ❤️ I’m honestly humbled by this praise, but truly, you lovely words and support mean so much to me.

So I can tell you I'm so happy you sent a request in! I know the title sort of screamed angsty, but I accidentally on purpose went a little horny and a little sweet, a meet-cute of sorts. I'm still learning my way through writing Santi but I hope this humble fic makes him justice.

For all it's worth

Santiago "Pope" Garcia x reader

Word count 1,1k

Warnings: Airplane turbulence, some hints towards spiciness

A/N: Your seatmate at the airplane is gorgeous but he seems to be in some pain.

You sneak a glance at the gorgeous man next to you as he tries to get comfortable in the small airplane seat. His left hand rubs his knee in a soothing motion as he wiggles to find a good position and his elbow bumps into you by accident. “Sorry,” He mumbles with a low tone, casting an apologetic look at you.

You shrug it off, trying not to get too distracted by the handsome features, the soft salt and pepper curls and the intoxicating dark eyes looking at you. It’s hard but you manage somehow.

“It’s okay, these things happen.”

Airplanes are tight in general and this particular flight from St John’s feels even more so. You’ve been crammed into this metal tube for a couple of hours now and you know there are several ahead of you still, which is why you have been grateful for the aisle seat you had managed to snag during booking.

He nods at your dismissal and tries to move his body a little more, mindful of the old lady sleeping on the window seat. The turn doesn’t seem to do good for him as you can clearly see the wince flash across his face as his knee twists as a result.

He rubs the knee a little more forcefully, bending forward and you can clearly see more of the curls and a puckered scar on his neck. You wince in sympathy as it disappears under the neckline of his dark shirt.

“Would you want to switch seats? For all it’s worth, you could stretch out your legs on the aisle at least.” Your words escape you before you can grasp them properly. He turns to look at you with a grateful expression.

“You would do that?”

“Yeah, the extra space is - uh - would be good for you, right? For the knee.” You gesture at the limb and the hand still rubbing the spot. It must feel quite painful from the look on his face.

He agrees, slightly sheepish, but you just wave it off. You know what a knee injury looks like and the best help is getting it as much space to stretch out as possible. You click off your seatbelt and shuffle out of your seat, but just as he is about to move into the aisle himself, the turbulence in the air shakes the plane.

“Shit!” You yelp as you fall forward, hands in front of you as you grasp the headrest of the seat next to you. The plane jumps up and down a little as it moves through the air and you lose your grip, swinging on your feet and another shake makes you stumble again, falling until you land on something soft, the person underneath you letting out a small “oomph” at the surprise.

“Hi.” You grin meekly at him, embarrassed at finding yourself perched on his lap. You feel the powerful muscles tensing under you as he adjusts you to sit more comfortably. Something decidedly delicious presses against your ass but another violent shake makes you forget all that as you pin your bodies flush together in order to keep still.

You feel his hand wrap around your back, keeping you locked in his embrace. Finally the plane steadies itself and he slowly helps you shuffle into the middle seat. He doesn’t lose the connection though, keeping one hand on your elbow as he peers into your eyes.

“Are you alright?”

“I hate turbulence.”

“Mhmmm. Are you scared of flying?”

“A little I guess. All this shaking doesn’t feel too good.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Would you, uh… Would you keep holding my hand? It’s silly I know, but having something to focus on helps me.” You should perhaps feel a bit embarrassed about asking but something in this gorgeous gentleman pulls you in and doesn’t want to let go.

He doesn’t answer you verbally, only gathers your hand into his. His palm is warm and dry and you can feel the callous spots in the skin as his thumb slides over your knuckles as he runs it across your skin.

The plane shakes again and you grip his hand tighter, grateful for the extra support. He leans into you, his warm breath on your ear feeling like smooth velvet, “I’m Santiago, or Santi. What’s your name?” Breathless, you give your name and he repeats it, the letters vibrating as they leave his mouth. There is something promising in the way he rolls your name around his tongue and your eyes are drawn to his lips.

They look plump and so inviting, but the thought of how they would feel against you is soon wiped from your mind as the plane shakes rapidly again and you let out a small shriek as it drops in altitude. “Hey, hey, querida, it’s alright. Look at me, it’s going to be alright.”

You lift your gaze to meet his and the dark eyes drill into yours. You can see how the light is reflected off of them, how something ravenous flashes in them as he keeps looking at you, the smoulder in the low-lidded eyes very evident. You watch his eyes drop to your lips and you wet them unconsciously. The tone of the orbs turn even darker as he follows your tongue poking out from between your lips.

“Do you mind if I try something?” Santiago mumbles, his voice low and husky. The something in his question is obvious as he devours you with his eyes and you nod minutely. He leans forward a little and your eyes flutter shut in anticipation and just as the plane shakes again, he captures your lips in a kiss to end all kisses.

He fits against you like a key slipping into a lock, so perfect. He tastes of warm honey and warm summer air as he places a hand on the back of your head, drawing you even closer as he slips his tongue into your mouth. A small groan leaves him as he registers what you truly taste like and when he nibbles on your lower lip, the whole world slips away.

It’s just you and him, 10 000 feet in the air, but it feels like he is taking you higher and higher as he kisses you deeper and deeper. There is no time, no knowledge of the shaking of the plane until it settles down and he releases your mouth.

Santiago’s eyes are hungry as he plucks at his lower lip with his thumb and forefinger. “May I do that again?” You answer him by tugging him forward from the neckline of his shirt, more than happy to lose yourself within him as the plane flies forward.

*

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this!

Everything taglist @clydesducktape @wayward-rose @themuseic @miraclesabound @clydesfavoritegirl @a-true-janian-reply @10blurredsmoke10 @caillea @mariesackler @princessxkenobi

#hopeamarsu milestone celebration #my writing #santiago garcia #santiago garcia x reader #santi garcia #santi pope garcia #santi garcia x reader #meet-cute

[sly-merlin]

KILLING ME - 12 |n.y

pairing : law student!reader + yuta

genre :    angst , mafia au/ arranged marriage au.

warnings of this chapter : mentions of blood and brutality. For future chapters, major character death(s).

words : 

summary : “life’s never fair y/n. realise it as soon as you can . it is the only secret for living a regretless life.”                                  

or              

“  curiousity got the cat hitched”

K.M masterlist

A/n : this was supposed to be a longer chapter. The Tumblr was bring problematic since three days. This is not how the chapter was supposed to end but i couldn't post anything longer than this so i had to make changes to end it on a surprise tone like other chapters. I hope you still enjoy it.

Was he asking for too much?

His unsteady hand rose and fell, internal monologue stopping him from knocking on the door. Johnny wasn't sure how he even ended up outside taeyong's door. One second he was fighting with his thoughts and the next second he found himself jumping out of his car, almost ready to confront the person behind the door. 

He took a deep breath and was about to drum the wood when the door opened from inside, taeyong's sleepy figure greeting him instantly.

"John. Why are you here so late? Do you need something?"  from red pressed strikes on taeyong’s face, anyone would have guessed that he had been sleeping.

“Johnny! I’m talking to you.” he waved his hand in front of johnny’s distracted eyes.

“Huh” 

“Do you want something?”

“y/n.”

Your life was back on the wagon. Not truly but with a few exceptions here and there, it certainly felt like the old days. You were in chois on weekdays and took tuitions on the weekends. You met your friends while visiting the library and everything felt quite normal. Even with a few oddities, that being the five day training sessions with Jungwoo, some new people in your life, a residence that you felt happy coming back to, absence of someone that you’d never grown a liking for, everything was smooth. Just like before. The only thing you missed was some time. Time for yourself. Though you lived alone, which was a luxury nearing its end, you barely got a few minutes alone with your mind and that was something you craved more than the drink shoved in your hand at the moment. 

You loved your friends, without any doubt, but they lived with the bad habit of disregarding your feelings, feelings that said you would be anywhere but the restaurant you were sitting in. 

“y/n is going into hibernation again.” minjun’s voice broke your trance.

“What did you say?" You challenged him but he cowered in his seat and turned his focus on the soggy french fries instead. When he silenced, yugyeom spoke up, 

“Yo y/n. Don’t scare the child. Just drink away your sorrows. The wine is quite expensive here. If you are making me pay then at least make it worth it."

Suddenly, Jungkook's loud snorting caught everyone's attention as they all quietened, waiting for him to reveal the reasons for his action. Swirling his burgundy glass, he chugged the last bit of the drink before leaning backwards in his chair, relaxing himself.

"Now what's the drama with You" Yeong grumbled, clearly intoxicated. 

"She's already hammered" minjun giggled. 

"When are you going to invite us to your house y/n?" Jungkook chimed in, a smirk plastered on his blushed face. 

"Oh yes. Ms. Lawyer no more l-lives i-in the d-dorms." Yeong hiccupped, losing the grip on the bottle of soju. Yugyeom chuckled at her antics before snatching the bottle away to avoid any fuss.

"I also meant to ask you but you are never available for more than an hour or so. Are you doing alright" gyeom shifted his chair towards you while keeping a hand on his girlfriend's back.

You didn't know how to reply or what to trump up so they'd stop pestering you. However, you had no other choice than to continue with the streak you had started a few months ago.

"Of course i want to have you there but my roommate is very, how to explain, very bitchy. He got this corporate job and he-he works from home so I'm supposed to pretend like I do not exist and keep quiet. That includes no outsiders as well. It's gonna be like this for a few months i guess"

You mumbled the last part.

 You averted your eyes but didn't mean you could've escaped their intense judgemental gaze. You repeated the whole lie that you recited to arrange it in the box of deceit that you were filling since the commencement of these stories. Forgetting any of these would mean shattering their trust. And that was exactly what you were supposed to protect.

Once reiterated, you gathered how foolish the sentence was. Had it been said to you, there wasn't a chance of putting your belief in it. But your company was drunk enough to believe it; two of them were enough to carry the whole table.

"Wow. How horrible of him. We should take y/n with us yugy. She'd be happy and she can invite anyone." Yeong low-key let out a little drunk growl to press her point. 

Yugyeom cooed at her before replying,

"And where will you live? Our apartment has only two rooms and both are occupied. Where do you plan to settle down instead?"

His question made her think harder than she ever had in life as she picked at her jutted out lower lip. 

"Laundry room. You and me, will live in the laundry room because y/n needs a nice home."

"I already have a nice home yeongie." You took the opportunity, got up and reached out to pinch her cheeks, "but you won't know unless you are sober. Take her home, yugy. I'm also sleepy so I'll get going. See you on Tuesday." 

" It's already 11. Let me drop you home." Jungkook suggested, startling you.

"No It-

"Yeah you drop her. I'll take Yeong and minjun home but help me in carrying their asses to the car please." Yugyeom pleaded. He left the bills on the table and took Yeong in his arms. You expected jungkook to do the same but he passed minjun your shoulders instead,

"Wait for me outside. I have to call someone first." and he walked away, his lover grinning on your shoulder like it was the funniest thing in the world but you were fine as long as their drunken state saved you from some heavy confrontation. The only person left was jungkook and you had the perfect idea to dodge him as well. 

"So the same place or are you staying in the dorms this weekend?" He asked, driving out of the busy street.

"Just drop me at the nearest bus station. I'll ta-

"Nakamoto residence or the dorms y/n" you almost choked on the air as the word left his lips. Taking a bus home had seemed like the perfect plan but you had overvalued your common sense. Again.

"What are you talking about?" With hesitation evident in your voice, you muttered.

"Do you really think you'd go to a random house in front of me that I know nothing about and you'd be left alone without questions. I was there until the door was opened by someone. You really thought I'd have left you with a stranger. But i knew something was fishy when the receptionist told me that it's a home sweet home of Mr and Mrs nakamoto. Now spill before I get yugyeom to ask in his own way." He shifted the gears in frustration, your relaxed persona bothering him to no end. Getting jungkook wokred up wasn't a grunt work. He was like a matchstick, always ready to be ignited by any possible frictional surface. 

"It's not what you are thin-

"Don't lie please," he started, words dangerously polite, "If he's your boyfriend then there's no need to hide y/n. We would always be there to support you. When, how, why, i don't want you to feel pressured to answer me. Just because you go around with no commitment tag doesn't mean we'd judge you if you ever got in a relationship. We love you. Make us part of your life like we do. Can't we just expect that much." 

You gulped at how disappointed he sounded. He was right. You needed to include them in your life adventures but how were you supposed to explain him the riots you were dealing with. How were you supposed to spill everything without him getting his sword out. That would only lead to more troubles than you had the power to deal with. Trouble for you, him and for everyone who'd be passed that secrecy. 

So you begged, for some more time until you'd be more than comfortable to let all of them into your present life. 

Like every other word, this was also a lie that, in the first place,  you never chose to proceed with. 

He might have give in to you, but you knew eventually you'd have to muster up the courage to answer him and that day would decide another turn of your future. 

And you would make sure, inter alia, to shift the wheels in a more likeable direction.

“Use your fists!” 

Jungwoo’s grip was strong. His one arm was holding your waist and the other was around your neck. It was painful but you knew he wasn’t going to let go easily this time. This was the third consecutive scuffle or demo fight with him within the span of the last forty five minutes and having lost the last two, awfully at that, expectation of some mercy was not very demanding on your part. But only if he would grant that! You heard his chuckle as you wriggled in his hold. He was clearly having a lot more fun than you were. There was no way you could’ve applied renjun and hyuck’s advice but you still tried to follow their vague instructions.

“Bit his arm and turn.”

“No, don’t. Turn around and hit his torso with your knees.” 

Bit him?

Halting your movements, a low grunt left your lips as you lowered your body and pressed your teeth on his flesh. He screeched and immediately retracted his arm. Taking advantage of his loosened grip on your waist, you whirled around and raised your knee to strike at his upper body. In an instant, your hands fell on your knees and you inhaled a harsh breath, regaining your strength. Jungwoo, on the other hand, was curled up on the floor like a baby. You wanted to laugh at him but the more astonishing thing was the lack of any noise from your cheerleaders. Right from the start, they were rooting for you like you were earning them some hard cash and now that you had done exactly what they had wanted, they were silent. 

“Wha-

you opened your mouth to speak but their lack of attention held you back. Their eyes were fixed at Jungwoo,who still laid where he had landed. 

“What did you do?” renjun shrieked.

“Exactly what you told me to!” you replied with heavy breathing.

“We said torso!”

“Yes and i hi-

Mechanically your hand slapped your face as you noticed the position of jungwoo’s hands. You had, mistakenly, kicked him in the groin which only meant more trouble for you. 

“Save me.” you mouthed to hyuck and renjun while approaching jungwoo. 

“Sorry teacher.” you mumbled.

He remained quiet for a few seconds and didn’t make any movement. When he did, you took a few steps back, afraid of his wrath. Palms down on the mat, he sat up and with painfully quiet voice spoke up,

“Looks like you won. Good j-job. I think i need to visit the medical room. You can go and celebrate.”

“Does it pain too much” pointing to his crotch and averting your eyes, you asked.

“No. not at all but i might need to adopt your kids someday. You know if i can’t make my own.” 

“Sorry” you cried.

“Dismissed.” his civil tone, probably due to the ache, glued you in the position.

When you didn't move, donghyuck came, took you by your arm and guided you for the door.

"He's just being dramatic. Just chill. Another hit and he'd be good to go." He giggled and was soon joined by renjun as well, who was now crouching down in front of jungwoo. 

"You sure?"

"If he doesn't then you can always give him your baby. Ofcourse after asking your husband." Only after he rambled, he realised what he had actually said. His face screamed surprise. To save him from spiralling into deep shame, you eased him by cutting off his apology,

"Ew hyuck. Give him one of yours if you want. Don't come for mine!" And you exited the door.

You were halfway through the basement when you realised the lack of your device. Running back, you were about to shout when you overheard their gossip.

"No, I'm telling you she meant to injure me so i won't teach her anymore or this might be the revenge of all the weapon training. Her knee is stronger than jeno's punch. Don't laugh at me you shits."

Jungwoo was whining. 

"Haha. Yeah ok. But i told you renjun, she's physically stronger than her. Kind of totally opposite." Hyuck's voice quietened at the end but before he could speak further, you interrupted,

"Like who hyuck?"

Their faces went blank at your question and the reason of sudden heaviness in the air was beyond your contemplation. 

"You don't want to answer? Fine. Maybe it's not my place to question." You simply stated before circling the mat to pick up your phone from the chair.

"No. It's not li-

"It's fine hyuck. Chill." You shrugged and walked away, deciding against pestering them for information that they clearly felt too uncomfortable to share. 

"You need a fucking lock on your bloody mouth." was the last thing you heard before they were out of your hearing.

What was the need to ask something when you knew you won't ever get an answer out of them. Everyone was beyond friendly with you but still, there were some borders that nobody dared to cross. Maybe the mention of that woman was one of them. Fear of some unknown ghost of embarrassment was swallowing you whole when you heard grunts. Loud ones. You were still in the basement, the scuffle center being at the far end. The stairs were in front of you. The  snarls and growls were coming from the other end of the basement. The election wasn't hard and you didn't want to give in to your curiosity but you did. Your feet, not cooperating with the voice in the back of your head that told you to turn away, took you ahead in the direction of the noise. Though the residence consisted of only one plot but the basement covered two. Unknown to everyone, the house next to B.N was also their property and it was only utilised for the underground space. Hence the never ending lane and the countless closed metal doors.

The echo got louder with each step you took. It’s been more than a month since you were visiting the basement but those noises had never crossed through you until today. The end doors were forbidden for you, according to what you were told but now that you were exposed to it, there was no chance of ignoring. No prudent person would ever overlook such a thing. That was the justification you were repeating as you took baby steps.

All the doors were closed except one at the very far end. You thought about peaking inside then halted as if your conscious called you. The whimpers also stopped for a minute or so but your heart skipped a few beats when a collision following with painful shriek reverberated in the empty space. The door, slightly ajar, was just a few strides away but you were too startled to even back away from your position. Same pattern of hit and shouts continued again. Unaware of the happenings, you stood there as If you were waiting for someone to separate you from the concrete beneath your feet.

Adding to your distress, the metal door opened abruptly and you realised, you were again at a place where you weren't meant to be.

"What are you doing here?" Jaehyun's growl broke you out of the unconscious state you had fell into. Mechanically, you eyes roamed across him to notice a body lying on the table inside the room, strained cries escaping his lips. The limp body was enough to put two and two together to conclude that he was being tortured. He was a victim of jaehyun's wrath. 

"I asked what ar-

"Y/N!" he picked up his hand to touch your shoulders but you distanced yourself when you noticed the stains covering his clothing and hands, the blood red prominently visible even under the low light. 

His gaze caught yours in time and his eyes softened noticing the fear in your body. 

Very slowly, he reached out for you but immediately stopped, taking a note of your quivering lip.

"Hey. It-its not blood. I ca-can explai- Y/N!" 

The yells of your name covered the whole arena as you rushed away, leaving a dazed jaehyun behind.

"Who was it jae?" 

Jaehyun saw your trembling figure diminishing while you ran away from him as if you were disgusted by him. Not that he expected any other reaction, some good time has passed since someone innocent had came across their work. To say the least, it was never pleasant to have someone witness their harsh manners.

"JAE!"

"Y/n. She saw the body and also the blood."

He mumbled to ten whose visage, upon hearing, instantly mirrored jaehyun's.

"What about him?" Ten pointed to the man, "he's not speaking shit"

"Finish him off if you want. I need to handle something else now"

You raced as fast as you could have. You had never thought of yourself as a weak person but the sight was gruesome to just disregard and walk off. With shaking legs, you finally made it upstairs but the ringing, only became more earsplitting. Your hand harshly rubbed at your chest as you tried to defuse the tension bubbling in your whole body. After what felt like minutes, you covered your ears as if it would stop the ringing. It certainly did not but surprisingly it was muffled. You removed your hands and the blaring returned again. But this time, you laboured yourself to look into your surroundings. You saw chenle, jisung, jaemin running back and forth from the kitchen while doyoung seemed to be scolding jeno for something. Few others were also there, cleaning the couches and spraying some fragrance in the air. Everyone seemed to be their own turmoil, origin was which was yet to be known.

That's when it hit you. Maybe your ears weren't booming due to fright. 

"Chenle"you screamed at the passing boy, "do you hear this sound?" You pointed your fingers in the air to exaggerate your point. He merely nodded before he went past you and the very next second the noise was reduced to mere buzzing. You inhaled sharply to regulate your heartbeat but failed due to the ruckus  that enclosed you. Suddenly jaemin emerged, 

"Why are you so disheveled? Go and change from these workout clothes. Uncle is outside. Didn't you hear the alarm." Only Half of his words entered your head and before you could come to your senses, you were interrupted again.

"Y/n my girl!" Whipping your head, you saw a familiar figure entering the threshold. 

An old man that you surely had seen somewhere. 

His voice was a lot stronger than his aged body which he was dragging along with the help of a walking stick. 

Jaemin nudged you to greet him and you complied as soon as could have in your current state. Only when you got closer, you realised he was the same man you had met in the office celebration. You haven't seen him since then but he looked significantly weaker than before. Even with dark circles present, his face still was still shining with the smile he wore as he staggered inside. 

"How's life treating you my kid" he asked, patting the empty space on the couch. You took the seat and replied in a small voice,

"I'm good. Everything is nice." 

"Why am I smelling Jasmines this late in the evening?" He sniffed the air and galred at doyoung, " Do you take me for a fool? One thing! Cleaning. that is the only thing i ask of you. There are- how many of you are present since the morning. Answer me doyoung." 

The man barked and doyoung muttered a sheepish apology, his head dropping with shame. 

"Each one of you is nonsense. If you'd just clean up your stink once in a while, you'd save your money on the thousands of spray bottles you buy every month. But you thick heads only know how to shoot and punch. Now get me a glass of water before i die of this fake flowery smell"

He shouted like he owned the place and Maybe he did. Your mind and heart were not aligned up to comprehend the simple scenario that took place before you, the dizziness coming and going with intervals.

Then you were called again. 

Looking at your right, your saw jaehyun standing, his face ridden of any colour.

You noticed his new shirt. There was no blood on it. His hands were also cleaned and you were stunned at how quickly your eyes were running on his body to find any trace of what you saw in the basement a few minutes ago.

"y/n, i need to talk to you" 

For the first time, jaehyun's words were directed towards you without any poison in them. 

You still didn't wish to face him so you moved yourself to face the old man.

"Y/n ple-

"Now you don't even greet your own father jung jaehyun."

He spoke with a steadier and louder voice that felt like it was only meant for jaehyun. The contrast in his tone was striking. 

He was jaehyun's father.

"Sorry dad. I have something imp-

"I called you in the morning to inform yuta and taeil and yet i do not see anyone here. Do i need to die for you to respect me!"

You couldn't believe your ears when jaehyun answered in shuddering tone. 

"Yu-yuta is not here." 

He sounded like a child responding to his teacher, scared of some evaluation.

"Then call him."

"I mean he's away on business dad."

"Civil?"

It was like hearing Morse code.

"No."

"You sent him on a target place?"

"No. He's in Nice to collect information."

"Wow. Can you please clap your back for breaking the only sacred rule this family lives by?"

The silence in the extremely large living room was suffocating. This time, except you, everyone else was scared. And it still wasn't of any help.

"How dare you send a family man away on anything remotely dangerous. I thought you all were careful after taeil's incident but no. Nobody cares enough t-

Before he could complete, shaky coughs engulfed his body. Somehow, jaehyun grabbed him the moment he was about to fall from the couch. Doyoung ran for the kitchen while xiaojun, who was always too swift in his movements, came to the living room with a medical box.

You weren't sure what was happening with him or why he was being treated like some high mighty force or why he was so adamant on bringing yuta back but you could only pray that his wish won't be granted.

You weren't cruel but you were sure he'd be able to survive without that piece of shit roaming around.

You couldn't lose the few weeks you had without him.

Taeyong hands clutched yours like his life depended on you.

"Please please please y/n. It's been over a month since he's gone. I never withdraw from a deal. But this is an emergency. Uncle doesn't know you both were forced. He is a soft and weak hearted man. We cannot afford to tell him anything like this and clearly this would be seen as a betrayal to him. You both are nothing like what he's told but he doesn't need to need. He's the only father figure we have. Please just this time. I promise I won't ask anything from you after this. You do not need to live with him. he'd be here until two months are over. Please."

You lifted your brow at his last sentence and liberated your hands from his, feeling his trembling fingers. 

"I don't see the need to lie anymore, taeyong. You can tell him the truth and be over with it. If he has jaehyun as a son, he must be used to hearing blatant lies. This won't be the only one, I'm sure of that." Crossing your arms, you coldly said.

"I know you hate me but please y/n. You know how it is to lose the only family member you have. We have no one besides him. Never had anyone before him. The least we can do is keep him happy until it's too late. Please. Just this time."

Gobbling down each word, you merely nodded at him. If it weren't for his glossy eyes, you'd have threw up on him right after the first pleading but you weren't heartless like him. He was right. You knew how it felt to lose your loved ones, a fate you would never wish upon anyone. Not even the person you despised the most.

"Thank you. I owe you this one kiddo." He hugged you and you pushed him away. 

"Let me call him."

"Yuta!"

"Hmm"

"You need to come back immediately "

Taeyong spoke with urgency.

"Nope. I still have Three weeks and two days left." You heard his non-chalant words through the speaker.

"Yuta it's abou-

"Sorry I'm busy with my french girls. Call you later and please forget to take care of yourself."

And he hung up. 

A smirk formed on your face watching the grim expressions of taeyong.

"Good luck convincing him and while you are going to explain him the difference between the French girls and the French monkeys he has mistaken as women, why don't you explain me what exactly jaehyun does in that other end of the basement. I love some good stories, taeyong. So let's hear how good of a storyteller are you!"

taglist :: @kpop-choco @moon-yuta @kawaiiayasan @btm-taeyong @exfolitae @lanadreamie @cheersskznct @hyuckiesgf @theworld-accordingtocasey  @yiyi4657 @sorrywonwoo @sillywinnergladiator @minejungwoo @leesalts  @mal-nakamoto23 @ro2424 @itlittlefangirl @nctzens-world @bl--ankhaeji @simplybree @ncttboo @jeaneteflo @nuoyii @/bralessmermaid

#neowritingsnet #nct-writers #kafenetwork #nct #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct x reader #nct mafia #nct 127 scenarios #yuta scenarios #yuta imagines #yuta mafia #yuta #yuta arrange marriage #nct arrange marriage #yuta fluff #nct angst #yuta angst #nct reactions #nct 127 reactions

[thatshiscigar]

Enough

JJ Maybank x Reader

Requested by Anon: Hi! I was wondering if you could do a JJ imagine where the reader has never been in a relationship before or has even had her first kiss yet. And one night when she's drunk she breaks down and confesses to jj that she just never felt enough (not pretty enough, funny enough, you name it she doesn't feel it) she always thought everyone could do better than her. If you don't feel comfortable writing this I completely understand!

Warnings: underaged drinking, feelings of anxiety, slight angst

Word Count: 1.3k

Masterlist

Let me know if you wanted to be added to my obx taglist!

There are multiple stages of “Y/N’s drunk”, as your friends call it, and the first stage is “the flirting, dancing drunk.” And it was holding up to its name.

You were out in the crowd, dancing with Kie and JJ, having some well deserved fun. Your cup was getting noticeably empty, so you made your way over to the keg, where John B and Pope were hanging.

“There she is!” John B called.

“We were wondering when you’d be back,” he finished as you walked up to them.

“Just pour me another one.” Your words were far passed slurred. Pope looked at John B, silently asking if it was okay to fuel you up. John B gave the green light , and Pope filled your tank. You thanked them and turned back to the crowd. You found Kie and JJ again after not too long, and continued to dance.

You felt the energy of everyone around you. It was insane. You started to feel every bead of sweat as it fell down your body. The feeling of feeling everything was far too overwhelming. It panicked you. Your head felt heavy, and you stared to get dizzy. JJ, being a couple drinks in, barely even tipsy, noticed your state. He grabbed your shoulders, trying to stable you.

“You okay?” He screamed in your ear, making sure you heard him. You shook your head no, and he lead you away from the loud mass of people. Kie noticed, and followed.

“What’s up?” She asked as you sat down on a log.

“She doesn’t feel well,” JJ answered quietly, worried for you. You were bent over, holding your head in your hands. JJ sat down next to your and started to stroke your back, soothing you.

“I’m gonna take her back to John B’s, clean her up, y’know,” JJ said to Kie, eyes not leaving you. He wasn’t gonna let you out of his sight til you were okay.

“Yeah, I’ll go tell JB and Pope.” She ran off to go tell the boys, leaving you and JJ.

“Let’s get you outta here, pretty girl.” He guided you up, slinged your arms over his shoulders, and wrapped his arms around your waist.

The world still felt like it was spinning, though slightly less than just a few minutes before. Before you knew it, JJ was opening your passenger door, and guiding you into the seat. He started digging in your pockets to find your keys.

“Relax, slick, they’re right here, at least take me to dinner first,” you slurred, pulling them out. JJ snickered as he grabbed the keys and closed your door. You felt way better. Your second wind was hitting and it made you want to get out of the car and run back to the keg. The confidence the alcohol gave you was addicting. Before you could act on your impulses, JJ was pulling out and driving away, making you leave the only thing that made you feel like you could do anything. JJ noticed your pouting as he pulled into the Chateau. You were into the next stage of “Y/N’s drunk”, the sad, crying stage. He knew what was coming, but he wasn’t sure he knew how to deal with it.

You stumbled into the shack, JJ helping as much as he could. He set you down on the couch, and went to the kitchen to fill you a glass of water.

“How ya feelin,” he asked, genuinely concerned.

“I’m okay,” you said lowly, head hanging low. You didn’t want to let JJ see you like this. You didn’t want to let the boy you love see you like this. You felt pathetic. You had loved JJ for as long as you had been a part of the group. His goofy smile and reckless antics were enough to make you fall, but you were sure JJ wasn’t interested in you. All the girls he hooked up with proved it. They were beautiful, and you felt there was no way you could compare to them. You never felt pretty enough, smart enough, experienced enough, or funny enough to have JJ. You haven’t even had your first kiss yet, but here you were falling for a boy who has done it all. You felt like such a child.

JJ sensed your sadness, something he had become very good at. He knew all of your little cues to tell your emotions. He knew everything about you. He knew how you ran your hand through your hair when you were stressed. He knew how you playing with the ends of your hair when you were anxious. And he knew how you bit the inside of your cheek with you were about to cry.

He sat down next to you, pulling you into his side. You rested your cheek on his shoulder, letting the tears drop.

“What’s up, pretty girl?” He asked, not wanting you to keep everything bottled up. You rolled your eyes before you stood up.

“Don’t call me that,” you muttered, your back to him as you walked to the kitchen.

“What?” JJ was dumbfounded at your actions.

“I said don’t call me that, okay?” You said louder, slamming your hands on the counter. You didn’t dare look up at him. He couldn’t see your tears. JJ stood up from the couch slowly and stood in his place.

“Y/N, I call you that all the time, I don’t understand-“

“You don’t mean it!” You looked up at JJ, letting him see the damage he’s done. Your eyes were red, your face was puffy. His face softened when he saw you. He felt guilty, but he wasn’t sure for what.

“You know, you run around sleeping with every girl on this damn island, but you don’t even look at me! I’m right here JJ, and I love you!”

You were surprised at your own words. You didn’t mean to let it slip, it just did, and you couldn’t stop yourself.

JJ didn’t know what to do. The girl he’s loved for forever just confessed her love for him. He’d been waiting for this moment forever.

“Please, say something,” you pleaded. You couldn’t look at him. You didn’t want to see his face as he rejected you.

JJ snapped out of it when he heard you. You sounded sad, and it broke JJ’s heart. JJ was never good in sad situations. He never knew what to say. His body took control of his mind as he walked up to you. You slowly looked up to him, and met his eyes. JJ was staring at your lips, thinking about his next move. He slowly moved towards you, and when you moved towards him, he knew it was okay.

He smashed his lips onto yours, wrapping his arms around your waist. Your arms found their home around his neck. Your lips were made for each other. You were made for him, and he was made for you. You belonged together.

You broke apart for air, and here came the next stage of “Y/N’s drunk”, the giddy, laughing stage. You giggled as you broke apart, resting your forehead on his.

“That was your first kiss, wasn’t it?” JJ knew the answer, but he wanted you to admit it. You bit your lip to stifle another laugh, and you nodded yes.

“Good, glad it was me,” JJ breathed out. He immediately connected your lips again. He couldn’t get enough of you. You were far more than enough for him. You were perfect to him. Everything you were was perfect, and from that moment on, he would make sure you knew it. He wouldn’t let a day go by without reminding you of how much he loved you. He didn’t deserve you, and he knew it, but he was thankful you decided he was enough for you.

Taglist: @supremestarkey @lovelymaybankk @blueeyedbesson @whormotional @classywaves @sexytholland

#jj maybank blurb #jj maybank angst #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank outer banks #jj maybank obx #jj maybank #jj imagine #jj obx #jj outer banks #jj x reader #obx #obx netflix #outer banks #outer banks netflix #obx imagine #outer banks imagine #outerbanks imagine

[annab-recs]

Can’t Be Trusted - JJ Maybank

Kooks have never really trusted pogues, but you have gained the trust of some as you babysit and dogsit for them. After inviting JJ over as you are dogsitting, a necklace goes missing and who else would have taken it other than the infamous kleptomaniac, right?

Warnings: some curse words

Word Count: 2.9k+

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"I think someone's mom is home!" You shout from the back door. After playing little game of hide and seek, Austin and Ava wanted to play in their treehouse, so you went inside and chilled out until their two-year-old sister, Aubrey, woke up.

"Okay! We will be out in a minute!" Ava shouted to you as she poked her head out the treehouse window. You rolled your eyes playfully before returning to Aubrey who was still a little groggy from her nap. All she wanted to do was lay in your arms and watch Trolls.

"How were they today, y/n?" Sadie asked you when she walked into her home.

"Absolute angels as always. This one is a little sleepy from her nap, but she just needs cuddles and she'll be fine. The other two are in the treehouse," you tell her as you walk over to where she was standing by the kitchen counter. Aubrey makes grabby hands at her mother and you lean forward to hand her off.

"Hey, I meant to ask you this when you were here last week but how would you feel about dog sitting?" You shot her a weird look as she did not have any dogs, but nodded, nonetheless.

"My sister, Savannah, has three dogs and she and her husband are going on vacation for a week. She just needs someone to let the dogs out and feed them and stuff. I told her about you because you are so great with the kids and I knew that if I can trust you with them, she can trust you with her dogs," Sadie finished.

It was nice to hear a kook say something so kind about a pogue. The adults don't seem to have as big of a problem with pogues as the teenagers do. You were happy to hear that she trusted you so much with her children because you love her kids so much and would do anything for them.

"You can tell her I'm interested," you tell Sadie and she nods.

"Okay, I'll send her your number. Thanks again y/n," she spoke as she handed you some money for your service and you walked out after hugging each of the kids goodbye. 

...

"Okay, so that's all that you really need to know. You can stay here if you want so that you don't have to travel back and forth across the island. Let me show you the guest room." You follow Savannah through her house and to the guest room.

"You can invite your friends like Kiara or Sarah to stay with you, so you aren't too lonely. You can literally do whatever as long as you clean up after yourself, but I know I don't have to worry about anything with you. Sadie talks very highly of you." You blush at the comment and send her a smile. "Do you have any questions?"

"No ma'am. I think I got it all." She smiles at you as Bo, her golden retriever, licks up your leg. The two of you chuckle as you head back to the kitchen.

"Okay well here's the key and the code for the alarm system is 1742. I'll turn it on when we leave and when you get here, just turn it off and then turn it back on at night. Once again, thank you so much for doing this. I could not find anyone and the girl who normally keeps the dogs is going to be gone as well."

"No problem, Mrs. Savannah. I'm extremely excited to get to be with these pups all week next week," you say as you ruffle your hand through Bo’s fur. Her other two dogs, Bleu and Bailey, have been chilling but Bo has been following you everywhere. You said your goodbyes before heading over to The Wreck where your friends were.

"Hello everyone," you announce your presence as your friends greet you. You take the only empty seat at the table that sits between JJ and Pope and sneakily snag a fry from JJ's plate.

"Hey!" He shouts and attempts to grab the fry back, but it is already in your mouth. A giggle escapes your lips as he pouts about his stolen food.

"You owed me that one after all the food I share with you. At least, I have Pope. You'll share your fries with me, won't you buddy?" Pope grins at you before nodding.

"Of course." He slides his basket of fries closer to you and you gladly take one before Kie offers to get you some. You decline, saying you just wanted to tease JJ to which he frowns before ruffling with your hair playfully. After you fix your hair, the pogues ask you about your day.

"I was actually at Savannah's house, Sarah." She shot you a confused look before telling you to continue. Savannah and Sadie are cousins with Ward, so they are related to the Cameron’s. That's how Sarah knows her.

"I thought you babysit for Sadie," she wonders, and you nod.

"I do but Sadie recommended me to Savannah as a dog sitter, so I'm going to be staying there next week while they're on vacation."

"You're basically a kook now, y/n," JJ jokes as you roll your eyes at him.

"No, but I'll be living in the house of one for a week. I'm a full-on pogue right here and you know it." You say as you point to your heart. You had too many responsibilities to look after and pay for to be a kook. You have to help out your dad with money because your mom left you two when you were seven. Things would be a million times better if you were actually a kook but living like one for a little bit would be nice.

...

It was not long before you were living that dream. Savannah left a few days ago and you have been waking up to Bo’s adorable face next to you every morning. As you watched the dogs run around in the backyard, you decided to invite a friend over. You were getting kinda lonely and Savannah said you could invite someone like Kie or Sarah, so you shot Kie a text first.

Y/n: what are you doing tonight? I'm kinda lonely and wanna sleepover with my girl

Kie: my dad has me working all night and then Sarah and I are going to the mainland early in the morning

Y/n: okay I'll ask one of the guys, thanks though

You can't ask John B because you don't want Sarah to get the wrong impression and Pope has work early in the morning with his dad, so your only option is JJ. There is nothing wrong with JJ. You love him to death, but he tends to slip things away without anyone noticing. You want to make a good first impression so that Savannah will want to use you again in the future. You let out a sigh before calling JJ.

"Hello?" His voice sounded through your ears.

"Hey, are you gonna be busy tonight?"

"No, what's up?" He asks as he makes sure to pop the 'p' at the end of his sentence.

"Well, I'm kinda lonely and Savannah said I could invite a friend to stay with me, so I was wondering if you wanted to." You were kind of nervous he would say no but he didn't.

"Yeah sure. I'll be over at like seven and I can bring a pizza."

"Ooo, sounds good. I'll see you then," you said as you salivated at the sound of pizza. You two ended the phone call and went on about your days until he came over. You showed him around the house and introduced him to Bo, Bleu, and Bailey. You made sure to keep a close eye on him the whole night to make sure he didn't snag anything without you knowing.

"Okay I'm stuffed," you announce as you set you unfinished pizza slice down.

"Well, I'm not so..." he trailed off as he grabbed your slice and finished it. You playfully rolled your eyes as you hopped off the barstool and threw the pizza box in the trash. As he finishes, you let the dogs out one last time for the night before bringing them back in, locking the door, and turning on the alarm.

...

After a while, the two of you both get showered and ready for bed. JJ takes one side and you take the other before turning to face him.

"Thanks for staying with me tonight," you whisper, careful not to wake the sleeping Bo that laid between the two of you.

"No problem, y/n. You know I'd do anything for you." His words bring a smile to your face that he can barely see in the low light. You mutter another 'thank you' and then a 'goodnight' as you press your lips to his cheek before turning around and falling asleep.

...

Though the two of you fell asleep separately with Bo between you, you woke up snuggled into JJ's side, your head resting on his bare chest. Bo laid on the other side of him by his leg. You smiled down at the dog as you slid out of JJ's arms. After admiring his sleeping form, you turned off the house alarm and let the dogs out to do their business.

While they were out, you found some eggs and decided to scramble them for breakfast and serve them with some toast. A shirtless sleepy JJ appeared in the doorway as you cooked the eggs. He rubbed his tired eyes before leaning against the counter next to you.

"Whatcha cooking?" He asks as he looks out the window to watch the dogs run around.

"Some eggs. If you want to help, there's bread over there that you can pop in the toaster," you tell him, pointing in the direction of the bread. He nods and does as you asked of him. He looks around in several cabinets before finding the plates and he pulls out two for y'all. He places them down next to you as you finish the eggs and put them on the plates. As soon as you finish with that, the toast pops up.

"Do you want grape or apple jelly?" He asks as he holds the two options up for you to see.

"Grape please." He takes care of the toast as you get two forks and set the plates down on the counter where you two ate last night. You grab two cups and fill them both with some orange juice to complete your meals.

"We do pretty well together," he boasts looking down at the finished product of your work. You laugh and agree before sitting down next to him. As you eat your breakfast, you look around and really take in the beautiful home you have been staying in.

"This place is really pretty," you say softly, still looking around at everything.

"One day, I'm gonna get you a place like this," JJ says as you giggle. He's always joked that you two were going to end up together and that y’all would go full kook. You had always liked JJ but never tried anything. He never initiated anything either, so you just stayed friends. You nodded at him in agreement.

"One day, we will have a huge house and we'll have dogs too," you add on to the dream. JJ wanted to add kids to the dream too but was not sure how you would feel about it, so he kept quiet.

"Yep," he spoke before filling his mouth with eggs again.

...

"Hey y/n! Sorry to bother you but I was wondering if you had anyone over," Savannah asked you through the phone. You felt tense and unsure about what she was getting at.

"Kiara and Sarah stayed with me one night, but that was it. Do you mind me asking why?" You weren't completely lying. After JJ stayed with you, Kie and Sarah spent the night two nights later.

"Well, I can't find one of my necklaces that I thought I had left in the living room on accident before leaving. It was worth a lot of money and my husband gave it to me. I was going to ask if you had seen it and if you had anyone over, would you please ask them if they had seen it too?" JJ's name ran through your mind constantly as she spoke. That little kleptomaniac probably stole it.

"No ma'am. I didn't see it, but I'll ask the girls and get back to you. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Just please let me know as soon as possible," she said before hanging up.

"Fuck," you mutter as your mind races. She probably thinks you stole it and she'll probably tell her sister and you won't be able to babysit anymore which is your most steady and good-paying job. You don't even bother asking the girls. Your first priority is JJ.

...

When you walk up to the chateau, you notice JJ laying on the hammock in the back.

"Hey y/n! What's up?" He asked happily but his face changed when he caught sight of yours. "What happened?"

"I'm going to ask you something and I want you to be completely honest with me." He nods, waiting for you to fill him in on what is bothering you.

"Did you steal anything from Savannah's house?"

"What the hell, y/n?" He asks, anger lacing his voice.

"That wasn't a no."

"No, y/n! I didn't steal anything. Why would you ask me that?" He seethes. He's stood up from the hammock now, too angry to sit.

"Because she can't find an expensive ass necklace and you normally like to steal things. Sorry for automatically thinking it was you," you speak sarcastically.

"I didn't steal it, y/n. I never saw a necklace the whole time I was there. You were with me the whole time. The only time we weren't together was when I was in the shower and when you were in the shower, I was in bed. I promise I didn't leave or go anywhere while you were gone." He stops for a minute as he thinks.

"Is that why you watched my every fucking move while I was there? Because you thought I would steal something?" You stayed quiet which gave him the answer he was looking for. He let out a scoff before continuing to speak.

"You know what? Fuck what I said. That whole dream of you and I getting together one day and living like that. I can't do that with someone who doesn't trust me." His words hurt but you shrugged it off as if it did not matter to you.

"That's fine with me. It was a dumb dream anyway. Like we could achieve that." You scoff before turning around and walking home. Tears streamed down your cheeks. You probably just lost your favorite job and your best friend. Could life get any worse? Your phone buzzes in your hand. Reluctantly you look down at it, hoping it was Kie or Pope or Sarah. Someone who could make you feel better, but it wasn't. It was Savannah.

Savannah: hey just wanted to let you know I found the necklace

"Shit," you muttered under your breath as guilt washes over you and you bolt back to the chateau. You had royally screwed up everything and have to fix it. When you walked to the back where JJ was, you saw him sitting in the hammock with his hands behind his head. He glances over at your approaching figure before returning his gaze to the tree above him.

"You here to accuse me of some more shit I didn't do?" He asks bitterly. You deserve it. You were a shit friend.

"Um, no," you whisper as you shake your head and more tears prick your eyes from all the guilt and shame you felt, "I'm so sorry JJ. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions and I should've believed you. I know you wouldn't lie to me. I was just scared that I would lose my job with Sadie. You know how much I love those kids. I thought I'd never get to be with them again. I know that doesn't justify me accusing you of stealing but I love you and hope you can forgive me."

You wipe away the last of your tears before JJ stands up to pull you into a hug. You wrap your arms tightly around him, glad he seemed to forgive you for your crappy actions.

"I couldn't have stayed mad at you if I tried. I just wish you would trust me more," he whispered in your ear before pulling away from you.

"That's the thing JJ. I trust you so much, with my life and everything, but the things just added up and you'd be lying if you said stealing isn't something you would totally do." The two of you laugh together before JJ pulls you down onto the hammock with him and you lay together, looking up at the sky through the tree branches. A comfortable silence fell over the two of you before JJ decided to speak.

"You stole first," he said softly. You turned to look up at him with a questioning look upon your face.

"What? No, I didn't. What do you mean?"

"You stole my heart," he smiled goofily at you before you roll your eyes and cuddle into him.

"Oh, shut up." You feel his laugh vibrate through his chest.

"I love you, y/n," he whispered as his fingers ran through your hair.

"Love you too JJ," you hummed.

#outer banks #obx #jj #jj maybank #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank fanfic #jj maybank fanfiction #jj fanfic #jj fanfiction #jj imagine #jj x reader #jj obx #jj outer banks #jj obx imagine #outer banks fanfiction #john b #john b routledge #pope #pope heyward #kie #kiara carrera #sarah #sarah cameron #the pogues #outer banks pogues #pogue imagine #kooks #outer banks kooks

[missroserose]

Summertime Thing

Okay, so really I should be working on the first chapter of this (which I actually have a hard deadline for on the 18th, sorta—more on that later), but I promised @laveracevia and @redmyeyes and @notwhatiam (and also an anonymous Tumblr person) that I'd post the bullet point outline for my angsty wincesty teen Sam novel so here it is, all three-thousand-plus words of it. Still tentative and with a fair amount to fill in, but that's what makes it an outline. (Has anyone yet beatified the SPN showrunners for setting the bar for research so ridiculously low? Praise be unto them! 😂) So, without further ado:

• It’s the summer of 1999 and Sam is sixteen.

• They’re living in rural Arizona for the summer, in a little town in the Chiricahua Mountains called Bisbee that I definitely didn’t live in for three years.

• Bisbee’s a weird place. It used to be a wealthy mining town, but in the ‘70s the company pulled out and the economy crashed. Some of the residents are old mining families, some are old hippies and artists who moved there due to the picturesque scenery and bargain-basement real estate, some are early baby boomers looking for an inexpensive place to retire. There's a surprising amount of live music, an absolutely thriving conspiracy scene, and the local police blotter is a smorgasbord of weirdness.

⁃ John picked it because it’s the county seat (which means lots of local records) with cheap housing and residents who don’t ask too many questions. Dean loves it because it’s straight out of the a Western—several famous movies filmed on Main Street, and the theme-park-town of Tombstone is half an hour’s drive away. Sam hates it, but in fairness, Sam kind of hates everything right now.

• Sam’s getting regular beatdowns with the puberty bat—he’s growing what feels like an inch a week, his voice is randomly cracking, he’s ravenously hungry all the time, and his moods go from happy-go-lucky kid to moody teen to full-on young-adult angst on the turn of a dime.

• Most terrifying of all, his relationship with Dean is fracturing. Dean can tell he’s having a hard time of things, of course, and tries his best to cheer Sam up. Sometimes they get on great; other times, even being in the same room as Dean makes Sam feel like his skin is three sizes too small.

• The frustrating part is, no matter how much of a shit Sam is, Dean won't give up on him entirely, just gives him space for a day or two and then reaches out, like—“hey, come keep me company while I give the car an oil change,” or “hey, sounds like there’s a hell of a party going on up the gulch—let’s go sneak in, I bet they have booze, maybe we can get you laid,” or “hey, Dad said we can take the car, let’s drive to the new mall in the next town and go see a movie. Anything you want.”

⁃ Sam definitely picks Cruel Intentions, intending to make Dean sit through something he’d find boring, but it backfires—the incest subplot ends up making him even more uncomfortable and Dean, predictably, digs watching Sarah Michelle Gellar and Selma Blair make out onscreen.

• Dean is having the time of his life this summer. The town is picturesque, the bars don’t look too closely at his fake ID, Sam’s old enough to fend for himself mostly, and he even gets an evening gig as a bar back a few nights a week, which means he has a little cash. Sure, Sam’s been weirdly moodly lately, but it’s just puberty, it’ll pass.

• Sam, meanwhile, is on his own a lot, with John either out working, out drinking, or buried in his notes; he spends a lot of time walking down to the library over the post office, which is surprisingly extensive, but more importantly, air-conditioned. If he has a couple bucks he might go to the new coffee shop by the library and buy an iced tea for lunch.

• At some point when John’s gone, Dean brings home Tina, a local bartender. Weirdly, they don’t seem to be sleeping together, at least initially; mostly they just hang out, easy with each other in a way that makes Sam jealous.

⁃ Sam hates it when Dean brings home girls (for the obvious reason that he gets kicked out of the house, of course), but he actually hates it more when Tina starts hanging around regularly, all the more so because she’s always very sweet to him—but Dean’s into her and that means Dean’s attention is on someone other than him.

⁃ Tina keeps working on Sam, and eventually he confides in her—he hates their life, hates lying to people, hates the ceaseless travel and string of anonymous motel rooms and constant scrambling for cash, but Dean loves it and he loves Dean. She mentions having a sister that she has a complicated relationship with, too.

• One day John announces that they’re taking a day trip as a family together, and they drive up to the Portal-Paradise area, which is a sky island—a mountain forest surrounded by desert, surprisingly lush and peaceful, with stunning views from the peaks.

⁃ It’s also a fairly cursed place, with bullet-riddled “KNOWN HUMAN TRAFFICKING AREA” signs and a cluster of boarded-up hovels from the ghost town of Paradise that definitely don't look like a Bender compound waiting to happen

⁃ After they've wandered around a bit, taking in the gorgeous landscape and sheer relief of being amongst so much green after months in the desert, John has them all pile back into the car and takes them up to Sugarloaf Peak. As they're climbing the mountain, he mentions that the fire watch station at the peak is a great place to watch for {insert signs of supernatural phenomenon here}. Sam gets upset at that, accuses John of using their family time for hunting. Dean points out (quite reasonably) that their family time has always been hunting together. John goes into Marine mode and shuts down the conversation, Sam grumbles something about "just because it's always been that way doesn't make it right," and goes into a sulk.

⁃ As he's sulk-climbing up the peak, Sam becomes convinced at one point that he hears running water. John tells him that’s unlikely before monsoons start, and to keep climbing. Sam keeps hearing it, though, and asks Dean whether he hears it; Dean listens, but doesn't hear anything. Sam falls further behind, trying to see the source—he catches a glimpse of something shimmering amidst the few trees and strikes off looking for it—but there’s nothing there, only a cliff that he nearly goes over. Dean comes up behind him a minute later, urges Sam back up the trail.

• The next day at the library, perhaps driven by Dean giving him shit about hallucinations, Sam starts looking into the history of water in the area—they’ve driven over the San Pedro River but it always just looked to him like a muddy creek. He learns about the 1877 earthquake that broke the water table and reshaped the water in the area, lowering the San Pedro's level and transforming St. David from a malaria-ridden swamp into a town of artesian springs.

• Later that week, Sam’s sitting outside the coffeeshop possibly reading Flowers in the Attic when he hears the older woman at the table next to him insisting that mutants are living in Paradise, only coming out at night, kidnapping people and murdering them, mutilating their bodies and leaving them for the sheriffs to find (and cover up, naturally). Sam is only half-listening—conspiracy nuts are a dime a dozen in this town—until the woman's friend asks patiently where they're getting water from, and the woman says something about haunted springs in the forest. He pretends he’s Dean for a moment, cuts in on the conversation, says he’s doing an independent study project over the summer. The woman fills him in on not just the one disappearance, but several over the past decade, mostly border-jumpers and itinerants.

• Reading between the lines, Sam starts to wonder if there’s a vampire nest in Paradise; he takes down some names, starts putting the research skills he's been learning to good use. He looks up some of the newspaper records on microfilm, finding records—occasional mentions in the Bisbee Observer (and before that, the more legitimate and much less typo-filled Bisbee Daily Review) of people missing, reading up on the history of Paradise.

• He comes back from the library, excited to tell Dean and John what he’s found, only to find John gone and Dean and Tina halfway through a case of beer she brought; they invite Sam to join them, and Sam does. Drunk!Sam ends up talking a lot about how cool the sky island forest is and trying to convince Tina to come with them to see it, but Tina seems oddly resistant. She changes the subject, tells them about her sister, how she was so dominant that she couldn’t tell where her sister ended and she began. Sam starts to feel a sort of kinship with her.

• The next morning he wakes up, discovers that Tina and Dean are gone. He wanders out to where John’s working in the living room, tells him what he’s found. John, who got in late the previous night and is singularly focused on demon activity, is a little condescending towards Sam—there’s dozens of conspiracy theories circulating through town, and besides, if there were actual vampires in Paradise he'd have found some direct evidence by now, they’ve been here more than a month.

• Sam is adamant about going anyway—"you always say it's our job to look into things nobody else will"—and maybe John's a little swayed by Sam's passion (or maybe Sam threatens to steal a car if John doesn't take him). As a sop, John gives Sam the keys to the Impala and tells him to come back if he needs help; as he's about to leave, John calls Sam back, gives him a tenner and reminds him not to head out to the middle of nowhere without supplies. Sam stops at the Circle K, packs a couple jugs of water and some nuts and jerky, and takes off; he’s a little pissed at Dean for ditching him the previous night (and also for, he assumes, sleeping with Tina) so he doesn’t bring him along.

• A couple of hours later, he’s jouncing up the road. The road is empty, as usual, the sun is hot, as usual. Sam gets to the border of the sky island, where the sun is less ferocious, and pulls off at the first group of abandoned houses. He goes to investigate; the first two are empty, barely more than hovels. The third looks empty, but he spots a table with no dust on it; looking closer, he finds a trap door down to a cellar.

⁃ Sam knows he should go get Dean, but he’s still feeling jilted, so he goes and grabs a machete from the Impala’s trunk

⁃ Carefully, he makes his way down the rickety staircase into the basement, shining the flashlight around—and is nearly jumped by a middle-aged woman, yelling at him in Spanish. He has some high-school Spanish but not much; he manages to ward her off, convince her he’s not ICE or Border Patrol. She still doesn’t trust him, but he notices the two children in the corner, the chains holding them there. In Spanish: “Why are they held?” “Coyote,” the woman spits. “Went to demand more money from my family. Should have been back three days ago. Probably drowned in a bar.” Sam doesn't 100% understand but gets the gist—the empty water jug in one corner and stinking bucket in another tell most of the story. The disappearances, the mutilated bodies—it's nothing supernatural, just people doing awful things to each other.

⁃ Sam picks the locks on the chains, tells the woman to wait a moment; he goes out to the Impala, gets the food and a jug of water, gives them to the woman. She’s still wary, but accepts the gifts. She tries to give him a warning, something about water, though his Spanish isn’t quite good enough to make it out; she also presses on him a small figurine, clearly very old, something that looks like a mermaid.

• He gets back around twilight, finds Dean and John bent over photocopies of local records. John sees him come in, asks him if he found anything. Sam opens his mouth, intending to tell him about his day…then decides against it. Just says there’s no vampires. John grunts in acknowledgement, mind already elsewhere.

• The next morning, Dean's missing again, so Sam stalks off to go swimming at the community pool. He’s doing laps, trying not to think about anything, but Dean keeps coming to mind, the way his eyes met Sam’s when Tina was talking about her sister, the way they felt almost hungry. It keeps haunting him, something about that hunger—he's walking back down Main Street, past some of the shops and galleries that sell local art to tourists, when he sees a large painting of La Tlanchana that bears some resemblance to the mermaid figurine—the woman’s warning comes to him again, and two pieces click together in his mind.

• He starts researching La Tlanchana and her various legends and beliefs about her over the years, particularly drawn by the darker and more vengeful incarnations that the Aztecs worshipped. He starts formulating a theory about the disappearances, that they’re linked to…what? A haunted spring? A mermaid? He’s so tantalizingly close…

• He comes home when the library closes, all excited to tell Dean what he’s found and get his input, but John and Dean are both gone; Dean’s bed is rumpled, and the sheets smell like…well, they smell like Dean and Tina, in a way that makes Sam’s stomach flip with jealousy. It's not that he hadn't guessed that they were sleeping together, but...he’d thought Tina liked him. He’d thought…Dean belonged to him. Little things like the hollow of his hip when his jeans rode low, or the way his knees bowed out when he walked, or the tightness around his eyes when he was trying to hide something—

⁃ —does horny uncomfortable 16-year-old Sam sit on the bed and envision his brother and Tina together and end up desperately rubbing one out right there on the bed? Oh yes he does. Afterward, roiling with several emotions (of which only some are shame), he half-considers going to the bar to look for Dean—but he has more trouble passing for twenty-one, and besides, what is there even to say?

• The next day, Sam intends to sleep late to avoid Dean, but his brother comes in at ten or so, in a disgustingly good mood. “Come on, Sammy, you’ve been cooped up in that library too long. Tina was telling me about a cave up on Mule Mountain, supposed to be a great place for a picnic.” John is still gone, and Sam’s in no mood, but can’t really say no to Dean.

• The brothers strike out over Mule Mountain, watching out for snakes and wildlife, looking for deer. Sam tries to explain to Dean his half-formed La Tlanchana theory, but Dean just humors him. Sam, nettled, starts griping about Dean’s navigation skills, about the way he sounds like their father, about all the time he’s spending with Tina, etc.

⁃ Dean deflects, but Sam’s upset about a lot of things he can’t acknowledge, so he starts in on the major sore point in their relationship—ripping on John for trapping them here, for never letting Dean be a kid, for always demanding their unquestioning obedience and loyalty, etc. Dean tolerates Sam’s griping to a point but once he starts in on their father it’s only a matter of time before he’s threatening to kick Sam’s ass; when Sam gets to the “he’s never let you be independent” part, Dean informs him with no small amount of anger that John has offered to give him the Impala, let him take jobs on his own—but he refused, because he’s been taking care of Sam—

⁃ They’re so caught up in arguing that they miss the way the sky’s going dark—it’s not until the first crack of thunder splits the sky overhead that they shut up and look at the sky, which is incredibly threatening

⁃ Sure enough, a moment later it starts pouring, with all the ferocity of a full-on faucet. Dean whoops, shedding his shirt like it’s an old skin, and dashes for an overhang that might shield them from the worst of it

⁃ Sam swallows and follows, soaked to the skin and shivering as much from fear as from cold. Cue the most miserably sexually-charged moment possible—Sam tryiing desperately not to notice all those little intimate physical things about Dean that he loves, Dean oblivious and in his element watching the storm transform the landscape

⁃ There’s a moment—maybe Dean says something like “Whatever it is that’s been eating at you, spit it out, Sammy—“ where Sam almost confesses. But cowardice, or perhaps intuition, hold his tongue—some secrets don’t need to be told. So instead, he passes it off as moodiness, apologizes. Dean confesses that he’s not actually all that into Tina—she’s fun, and all, but he knows they’ll be moving on soon enough. He lets slip that John’s halfway convinced that there’s no case here, anyway; they’ll probably be moving on in a week or two. Reluctantly, they allows things to revert to the status quo; as a consolation, they find a waterfall and eat slightly soggy sandwiches alongside it.

• The next morning, Sam wakes up to an entirely different town—the hills are starting to turn green, people in town are making plans to picnic by the waterfalls, everyone’s mood is lighter. Sam realizes he’s already looking at the town differently—as yet another place that’ll be in the rear view mirror soon, not as a place he inhabits. He’s coming to terms with that—glad for it, in some ways—when something tips him off that things aren’t right. Maybe the crackpot dude tells him the cycle is beginning again, or he overhears some gossip about how Tina didn’t show up for her shift last night, or sees something in the police blotter. Regardless, he ends up convinced that Dean and Tina have run off to the sky island and that Dean is in danger. Sam once again channels Dean, steals a county truck and floors it out to the sky island, this time forgetting to bring any supplies.

• Sam arrives in Paradise but sees no sign of Dean or Tina. He realizes he's parched (even flooring it out to the sky island, it's a good hour's drive); he listens for the water sounds. Instead, he hears Dean’s laughter, low and beckoning. He follows it, finds Dean standing shirtless in a spring, the version of Dean that terrifies him, untouchable and threatening and irresistible. For a moment he's almost taken in—but he knows Dean like nobody in the world, and thus knows a copy when he sees one. Not-Dean smiles, shimmers, reforms into the more familiar mermaid form.

• La Tlanchana (or this version of her) tells Sam how he puzzles her. She usually kills violent men, and Sam has a lot of violence in his past, and a destiny of violence in his future—but he was kind to the migrant mother, and undid some of the horror she’s seen done in her land. She sings for him, a lullaby of sorts, luring him away from his life of violence and yearning—

• Sam’s about to submit to her song when Tina appears, tells her to stop, that Sam’s destiny is his own to choose. La Tlanchana sneers at her, the same way you did? and Tina says yes—I’ve chosen you. It’s been more than a hundred years, and you’ve seen so much horror, grown vengeful—but I still love you, your kindness, the way you give life in the desert. They sing together, their voices intertwining, until they turn to water, melding together.

• Sam shakes off the daze, goes back to the truck; a few minutes later, he finds the Impala, bogged down in the rutted post-monsoon roads. He shakes him awake, questions him to see what he remembers—Dean appears to have been hypnotized, or something similar. He uses the truck to pull Dean out of the rut, tells him to return to the town, everything's over. Dean will have questions later, but for now he goes.

• Once Dean is gone, Sam goes back to the pool, now a perfectly mundane little monsoon-fed spring. He takes out the little figurine of La Tlanchana, sets it on a rock nearby, tells both Tina and her sister goodbye, and thanks them for their help.

• Epilogue: Sam is beginning his junior year in yet another new school. The smell of the school is the same, as are the lights (flourescent) and the lockers (stamped metal that echoes when it slams); he finds the guidance counselor’s office, lets himself in. The counselor looks up at Sam, comments on both his excellent grades and his peripatetic record. Sam: “So, if I wanted to go to college…”

#supernatural #sam and dean #wincest #summertime thing #my writing

[whatdidimissjm]

Bed-Ridden

Someone sent me an ask requesting Lams with the prompt “that wasn´t even a sentence” but tumblr was so nice and deleted the ask, so whoever you are, here you go! Hope you like it!

--

John feels like shit. He has started feeling like he might come down with something a few days ago, but had brushed it off as something that would surely pass if he kept it low for a day or two. Now, on day two of keeping it low, though, he definitely doesn´t feel better and he is pretty sure his fever is a lot higher than it was the day before. After an internal debate he gets up from the couch, where he must have fallen asleep yesterday, intending to go to the kitchen, but when he sits up, the room around him starts spinning and he has to hold onto the couch to not fall from it. John doesn´t even know how long it takes, until the room isn´t spinning anymore, absentmindedly asking himself why it can even do that. He brushes the question off for later, when he isn´t feeling as bad anymore. He grabs one of the blankets and wraps it around himself to fight off the cold, faintly noticing that he is shivering.

After just sitting there for some time, not trusting that the room won´t start spinning again, as soon as he tries to leave to couch, he feels something vibrating next to his leg. John frowns and after a moment he lifts the blanket and finds his phone. A smile appears on his face as he unlocks it and clicks on the new message – a gif from Alex. He hesitates, not sure if he should say anything about his condition, before texting Alex back.

John: Hey, not feeling too great, I´m a bit sick, wanna keep me company?

He checks twice if he has spelled everything correctly, before he hits send. Then he puts the phone down next to him on the couch again, closing his eyes. The little bit of mental effort it has taken to compose the text message has left him completely drained and with a raging headache.

John must have nodded off again, because he startles awake when his phone vibrates again. He screws up his face and looks around in confusion, his heart beating loud and fast in his chest. When the phone vibrates with another message, he finally connects the noise he hears and picks up the phone, squinting at the bright screen. His eyes need a few moments to adjust to the light and when they do, he´s able to unlock the phone.

Alex: You know I have this one project I need to finish…

Alex: Pretty sure you can handle this cold on your own

Alex: I´ll call you when I´m done

John can feel his eyes welling up, but he blinks the tears away, trying to ignore the disappointment that´s starting to rise up inside of him. He thinks about what to text Alex back and in the end, he settles on a simple “ok” and throws the phone back onto the couch. A moment later it vibrates once more, but John can´t bring himself to look at it again and just closes his eyes. In theory, he knows that Alex wasn´t trying to be mean, but it still hurts him. The phone vibrates next to him again, so he just pushes it off the couch and pulls the blanket up to his chin, curling in on himself, not able to keep the tears at bay anymore.

John drifts in and out of sleep for some time, not sure if the things he sees are real or just fever dreams. He has lost all sense of time and when he wakes up once more, he doesn´t know if he has spent hours or days on the couch. The room is still spinning around him every time he moves and he feels a lot worse than before. His throat is dry, his whole body is drenched in sweat and even though he is incredibly hot, he is shivering and the knocking, that´s echoing through the flat, sends bolts of pain through his head.

The knocking that´s echoing through the flat…

It takes him a moment to realise that the knocking is coming from his front door and another moment until he manages to gather up the strength to sit up. John pulls the blanket clumsily around his shivering body and stands up, swaying on his feet. The room around him tilts at the sudden movement and he nearly falls down, but manages to hold onto the couch to keep upright. For a moment, he just stays there, breathing hard and trying not to fall down again, before he makes his way towards the front door. John doesn´t know how he does it without fainting or knocking into something, but he is glad when he finally reaches it. He fumbles around with the key for what feels like hours, before he finally manages to unlock the door. He throws it open, which causes him to stumble and fall forward. Instead of hitting the floor like he anticipated though, he finds himself held up by two arms, but unable to get his balance back. Distantly he hears someone talking, but he is far too out of it to make any sense of what the person is saying. He tries to tell them that, but doesn´t think he gets the message across.

“That wasn´t even a sentence.”, the person says, and John frowns. He knows that voice.

“Lex?”, he asks, his voice slurred.

Alex answers something that John doesn´t understand, but he is happy that Alex is here. He barely notices that Alex guides him back to the couch, only realising that they aren´t at the door anymore, when Alex makes him sit down.

“How´d we get here?”, he asks, or at least he thinks he has asked that. Talking and thinking is hard.

“I carried you.”, Alex answers, and even through his fever haze, John can hear the worry in his voice.

“Cute. Wanna kiss.”, John says, but Alex just shakes his head.

“How long have you been this sick?”

John just stares at his boyfriend for some time, trying to make sense of his words, before he shrugs.

“Dunno.”

Alex nods slowly, the worry now obvious on his face. John doesn´t want Alex to look like that, so he reaches out to put his hand on Alex´s cheek, but misses and punches his nose instead. He frowns and tries again, but Alex catches his hand and puts it down in his lap, before it can come anywhere near his face again.

“Baby, can you stay awake for a minute, until I´m back?”

John nods after a moment, but when Alex tries to get up, he weakly holds onto his hand.

“Please, don´t leave me again. I don´t wanna be alone.”, he pleads, his voice cracking.

An expression of pain passes over Alexander´s face, and he kisses John´s forehead, before he gently pulls his hand away.

“I´m not leaving you, I´ll be back in a second, just going to the bathroom real quick, alright?”

Reluctantly, John nods and allows Alex to get up. He watches his boyfriend walk away and as soon as he can´t see him anymore, he curls up on the couch, hugging a pillow to his chest, trying and failing to supress his tears. John flinches when he feels someone touching his shoulder a moment later, nearly falling off the couch.

“John, why are you crying?”, Alex asks concerned. “Are you in pain?”

John shrugs and looks away, letting out a soft sob.

“John.”, Alex tries again, gently brushing the tears from his cheeks.

John closes his eyes for a moment, just enjoying the gentle stroke of Alex´s hand.

“I don´t want you to leave.”, he mumbles finally.

“I´m here. I´m always here, baby.”

John just shakes his head again, still refusing to look up at Alex and pushes his hand away.

“No, I texted you and you didn´t come.”

“Baby.”, Alex says, gently tilting his head up. “I came immediately when you didn´t reply to my texts anymore.”

“What?”

Alex softly brushes his hair out of his face.

“We´ll talk about this later, alright? For now, I´m checking your temperature and then we´ll think about what to do with you. Sounds good?”

John nods after a moment, allowing Alex to take his temperature. He looks up when Alex doesn´t say anything after the thermometer has beeped and sees his boyfriend frowning at it.

“I´m calling a doctor.”

“No, I´m fine.”, John mumbles. “Call one tomorrow.”

Alex hesitates and looks down at the thermometer for a second, then back at his boyfriend.

“Your fever´s very high, though.”, Alex argues, but even through the fever haze John can hear his resolve weakening.

“Only need meds and food, that´ll help. Doctor tomorrow.”

John sees Alexander´s shoulders slumping and finally, he nods, mumbling something John doesn´t even try to understand. He barely notices Alex leaving his side once more, his eyes suddenly feeling way too heavy and he doesn´t have the energy to keep them open any longer. But Alex is here, and everything is alright, so he doesn´t fight it and just drifts off to sleep with a smile on his face.

#lams #alexander hamilton #john laurens #hamilton #hamilton fic #lams fic #hamilton musical #my writing #mine #my fics

[themagicalmysticalboy]

Hi. Can I request hurt!John story? I thought it could be based on his car accident in 1969 but let's change some details of it - he was driving alone and ended up seriously injured. You can begin with Paul and the others arriving to the hospital after receiving the news... or whatever you choose 😉. So angsty story with some mclennon (but not necessarily; they can be just friends).

a/n: the thought of writing yoko has kept me from ever writing this request. But imma write it and pretend she doesn’t exist 😜. also I have no self control so this story goes through a lot more than just Paul showing up at the hospital hehehe

Nobody has to guess that baby can't be blessed/‘Til he finally sees that he's like all the rest/ With his fog, his amphetamine, and his pearls

He Breaks Just Like a Little Boy

John had thought himself rather fond of Scotland. He had visited many times before for pleasant vacations and stops to meet family. But in all these years and through all his visits he had never actually driven its roads, having the luxury of a driver. On his solo trip, he remembered exactly why his arrangements were as such.

The sky was dripping with fog that crept down from the foothills, reaching out with thick claws that effortlessly encapsulated the road. The small apertures between the paws of fog were filled with mist that left sheens of dew across the windshield. With his wipers going at a steady metronome's pace he flipped between high and low beams, unsure which way was worse. Mimi had surely told him the correct answer but his nerves and general troubles with driving had him dumbfounded. 

The road ahead appeared completely deserted so he had no concerns with continuing to flip back and forth. The distraction of the lights left room for error in the ways of speed. He was pushing 20 over the determined limit. In these conditions the absence of a speedometer, or in the event of ignoring one, it was impossible to determine how fast the world outside was passing by. John kept at his pace, even when he had settled to keep his lights on low beams.

In his vain attempt to see more than two meters ahead, he hunched forward with squinting eyes and tense muscles. Music was playing at an almost unperceivable volume, turned down multiple times over the course of the descent into fog.

Entering another aperture of mist, he relaxed, letting himself blink properly and his fingers release from their bleached white grip on the steering wheel. Once his eyes had opened again, a set of disembodied lights sent him rigid. His senses were set on blast: eyes wide open and bursting with color, the taste of copper coating his mouth, the smell of his leather interior and cigarettes somehow amplified. The intense sensations did nothing to harbor a coherent plan.

He reacted on gut instinct as the lights were backed by the shape of a car. Horn blaring, he jerked the wheel to the side. It was almost instantaneous that his stomach jumped to his throat, body leaving the seat to press harshly into the seatbelt. He was a feather made of lead.

**

In the late hours of the morning, Paul finished readying himself for a trip into town. He grabbed up his keys and wallet and made for the door. Before his escape could be made, the phone rang. He lowered his lids and shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying to decide if he should answer it. With a resigned roll of the eyes, he jogged to the phone. 

The words that came through the line left no room for pleasantries, throwing blades that sliced through his reality and let it drain from around him. Pressure built against his skin with each sentence, heart pounding through his limbs.

His voice was void of emotion when he asked, “Have you told the others?”

“You’re the first I’ve called,” Cynthia replied. Cynthia. That's who was talking. Paul had not even processed her voice.

“Okay.”

He hung up, one arm left limp at his side as he gnawled at his fingernail. The world was not coming back to him. It had bled out and left him stranded, unable to move or react. Echoes of what Cynthia had said reverberated off the walls and assaulted his ears.

“... an accident… He’s in surgery… They don’t know if…if…”

Everything ushered back into color like a punch to the gut, leaving him stumbling into actuality. He fell into a chair and caught his breath.

 He had to get to him. He had to leave.

Rushing back to the phone, he threw together the fastest trip to Durness humanly possible. The trip, though only an hour and change by plane, was excruciating. Void of distraction, or want of, Paul was shedding strings of sanity like a dog’s winter coat. Nothing was fast enough until it suddenly was all too quick.

Once in the last leg of his journey, a small taxi cab, he began to dread the thought of arriving. Though still a few miles away, the antiseptic smell of the hospital was already pungent in his nose. The cramped waiting spaces and grim reality would tug and drag on his psyche. 

And he was not proven wrong. He had arrived first but it wasn’t long before George and Ringo filed in. They all shared anxious glances upon entering the private room they were ushered to but didn’t speak a word.

George ended up slumped in a seat, head in hands, as Paul stood and tapped his foot, his mind still shifting in and out of focus. It was Ritchie that had broken the eerie stillness. He was biting down hard on his lip, pacing the room. As if he had just realized the other two existed, he jumped when his path crossed Paul’s.

Paul’s eyes were dead in their sockets but Ritch’s pinged over his face with something desperate that made Paul want to conjure a sort of reassurance. He fell severely short, only able to muster a thin lipped hint of empathy.

George came in for the save. Paul, too engrossed in his own turmoil, barely noticed him getting up and moving towards them. He took Ringo into a tight hug that was warmly reciprocated. They both breathed in one another before breaking. He patted Rich on the shoulder then turned to Paul.

He hadn’t the heart to tell his friend he’d rather be left alone and was consequently enveloped into his arms. And maybe it was for the best he had not stopped him. Something calming and familiar shallowed a hole in his heart. George’s ever-comforting presence should never be put to question. He hugged George back with a grim intensity that surprised himself. It cracked a dam but did not break it.

“Don’t lose hope.” With that the hug was broken, leaving Paul with a warm heart and cold body.

In time, they all sat together on the floor, shoulder to shoulder, backs to the wall. Coffee cups and ashtrays were all around. The TV that sent extra illumination to the room was widely ignored, set at a low volume. At some point, a doctor had come in to update them. John was under close watch but out of surgery. It hadn’t done much to put anyone at ease but it drove in the hope George was keen to stoke. 

So they kept at their quiet conversations and heavy silences. The atmosphere was so odd. No one was bringing up the band dissolving. No one was arguing. Instead, a rather blissful suffering blanketed the room. At an excruciating crawl, night was arriving, the sky drifting from blue to inky black. 

Everyone was growing tired from their adrenaline crash, staring at nothing with half lidded eyes. Ringo had taken the plunge and was asleep on Paul’s shoulder. Paul’s arm was wrapped around George and George was slumped back to stare at the ceiling.

With a steady knock at the door, they were startled back to life. As the doctor came in, the three rose to their feet with varying speed.

“Good evening-”

“He’s alright, yeah? Can we see him?”

“We’ll get there, Mr. Harrison.” The doctor collected himself and looked over a messy chart. “Mr. Lennon is recovering as expected. I can’t go into detail, seeing as you aren’t blood, but his injuries were less serious than we first thought.” He looked up at the trio. “He’s asking for visitors in the morning. Have you any idea of relatives arriving?”

“His aunt, at the very least. I’d assume his son and ex-wife as well,” Paul answered cordially.

“I’ll let him know, then. Now, if you wish, you may sleep here. Blankets and pillows can be gathered. But there is a hotel only a mile away.”

They looked between one another and came to a silent agreement. “We’ll stay.” The luxury of comfort would gladly be dispensed of.

Sleeping in the cold and bare room sent Paul back in time. He felt 18 again, sleeping in a backroom in Germany with George nearby and Ringo in the place of John. At least he’d been able to sleep easier then- full of beer and dead tired from performing. Now, it took a long time but sleep finally crept into his eyes.

Though Paul was the last to sleep, he was also the first to wake. He gathered coffee and fresh carts of cigarettes before George or Ringo so much as stretched. As he waited for them to wake, he watched the news. At the moment, the camera was pointed to frame an audience gathered with candles and signs. All with well wishes to John scribbled and painted across them. 

“Have we traveled back to ‘63?” Ringo’s voice was full of sleep as he pulled himself off the floor.

Paul was glad to learn he was not the only one feeling the blast from the past. With a nod of acknowledgment, he poured Ringo a cup of coffee from the side table. Leaning back in his seat, he handed him the cup. Ringo pulled a cigarette from his pocket before taking it and mumbled a “Ta.”

It wasn’t long before George woke as well, leaving them staring at the TV that switched between actual news and coverage of the crowd outside.

“Think John’s enjoying this?”

“Think? I know. Deserves the treat of it, anyroad.” Paul huffed.

“We’ll find him off his head with pain meds waving from the window if he’s left alone too long.”

“Flashing the crowd with the backless gown on his way to bed.”

Lifting their spirits with some senseless banter, the wait for their turn to see John was less dreadful. Any bittersweetness, though, drained from Paul’s being when it came time to actually see John. Much like the journey to the hospital, the tail end of his wait for John was coming all too quickly.

They were filed out of the small room and his heart was fading with every step. It did not want to leave the strange safety of the room and Paul could not blame it. It was set and done and nothing dangerous happened. Now he was ushered into a terribly galvanizing and risky endeavor of a fresh space and unknown circumstances. As the door came to view, his heart fast tracked to full opacity and shot into his throat.

George and Ringo looked so painfully normal in comparison to how Paul felt. Surely all they were thinking of was how happy they were to see John. Not how scary it might be to see him broken. Not how one word could fuck everything up. 

The desire to pivot on the spot and run was shamefully present when the doctor held the door for them. Paul was last in line and heard the cheery greeting from Ringo before so much as seeing the foot of the bed. 

His eyes darted down to stare at George’s heels as he entered the threshold, following their path until he found a seat. Paul meandered in, jumping when the door shut behind him. He stopped in his tracks. 

“Glad the guests could finally be bothered to gather. Now the party can really start.”

With the sound of John’s voice pulling at his chest, Paul finally looked up to find him staring directly at him. He was right there, covered in scratches and bandages. There was a cast on his arm, a bruise over his eye, and a large swath of gauze peeking from the neck of his gown. His face was blushed with color, nonetheless, looking as alive as ever. When he truly looked at John he found himself wanting to cry. Why? He couldn’t have explained it to anyone but he knew the feeling swirling inside. He bit down on the inside of his cheek and gave a thin lipped smile.

“Think you’ve done enough partying without us,” Ringo said while he sat at the only other seat in the room, leaning an elbow on the bed. A smile was splashed across his face.

George leaned back pleasantly. “This is why I never let you touch my car, you know.”

John huffed. “I don’t think I’ll be touching a steering wheel ever again.”

The words were all lost on Paul. He couldn’t stop staring into John’s eyes until he finally broke contact to speak with George. Feeling uneasy in the center of the room, Paul moved to the wall, looking John up and down until he’d memorized every cut and bruise. His fingers were filled with pulsing blood, the sensation gathering up his arms as the moments passed.

No one looked at him or asked him anything. He was just a fly on the wall, chewing on his nail. So there was no warning when George and Ringo stood up. Paul jolted back to reality and stood up straight, ready to follow them out.

“Can you stay?”

”Hmm?” Blinking wildly, Paul noticed John was speaking to him.

“We’ll be back in the prison cell,” Ringo quipped before shutting the door on them.

The urge to sob spiked again. He gulped down the lump in his throat and let out a shaky breath. “Hi.”

“I look that ghastly, do I?”

Paul stared at his awkwardly shuffling feet and offered a breathy laugh. “No.” His voice cracked with the single word and burning tears sent pins into his eyes. Something in the moment sent his dam crumbling down.

Alone with John, he found absolutely no reason to hold back. So he didn’t bother. Fully absorbed by his presents, he took long strides to the now empty seat, falling into it. Without losing John’s gaze, he gently took his hand, feeling the rough cuts as he rubbed circles over the back.

Tears tracked down his face. His lip quivered. His heart brimmed full like a tidal wave crashing to shore.

“Hi,” he said again, this time with a voice damp with dejection. He sniffled with a painful smile stretching the corners of his mouth, threatening to rip from the center. He reached out to brush John’s hair from his face with a shaking hand. “You scared me, y’know?”

John pulled his hand away and Paul could feel the tidal wave retreating. He sucked in an aching breath. Rejection.

It all came back, though, when John held the side of his face, losing his fingers in Paul’s hair. “I’m sorry.”

With a fickle laugh, Paul nuzzled his head closer to John’s hand. “Don’t apologize- not for that.”

John’s head tilted as he pet Paul’s hair. “‘Bout thought you didn’t want me any longer. Seeing me all banged up and bruised. And that stare of yours. That should be categorized as some sort of weapon.”

A soft cry, that was supposed to be a laugh, rose from his throat. He leaned forward, hovering over the seat, and gently kissed John’s chapped lips. John fully reciprocated, fingers gripping his hair ever so slightly.

When they parted, poignantly slow, Paul swung his legs into the seat so he could comfortably rest his head on John’s shoulder. “I don’t think I can ever stop wanting you.” His fingers ghosted circles over John’s heart. With a concerted effort, he tried to be as gentle as possible with his battered lover.

They sat in sweet silence as John burrowed his cheek into the top of Paul’s head.

“Really though, was it that scary? Seeing me like this? You didn’t even speak when the other lads were in.”

More tears were threatening to close Paul’s throat. He gripped John’s blanket. “I thought I was scared to see you. But I don’t think I was. I was scared of myself more, y’know?”

“Can’t say I do.”

Paul pulled the blanket up to his chin. “I was afraid of messing up. I just blanked when I saw you hurt like this. I’ve never- I just want to do... New things. New things are scary.”

John rubbed his shoulder blade, soothing him to loosen up on the blanket. “And look at us now! Crying like babies all over each other.” John’s had traveled down to Paul’s bicep. “Guess we were both scared.”

“God. This wasn’t even the scariest bit- not by far. Getting that damned phone call. Thought the world was falling out from underneath me.”

John was kneading at Paul’s skin. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I thought I was never going to see you again,” He confessed. “Soon as the car went off the ledge, I could only see you and Julian in my head.” His voice was gruff and strained, muffled by Paul’s hair.

“It feels unreal, almost. After all this. Both of us in this room. Both alive. Lennon and McCartney, the dream team- or whatever bullocks.”

Paul felt the rumble of laughter in John’s chest and more tears poured out of him. He glanced down and noticed he was soaking the thin fabric of the gown. He almost felt bad but suspected that John’s tears were dampening his hair. Fairtrade.

“Yeah. Whatever bullocks.”

They quieted for a brief moment before Paul adjusted himself to be closer to John. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

“No.” A kiss graced the top of his head. “Can’t feel much with these painkillers, really. Besides, my shoulder’s not my biggest issue.”

Paul hummed curiously. 

“Go this real groovy gash down my chest,” sarcasm dripped from his tongue as he coaxed Paul off his shoulder to pull up the neck of his gown. “Here.”

A trail of gauze led down his chest and to his stomach, which was completely wrapped with the stuff. Paul wiped away his tears and peered a little further down. His brow raised and the corner of his mouth twitched. “Aye. At least your willy made it out in full form.”

“Off it,” John dragged out the words like a warning, pressing the patterned fabric to his chest. “Horn dog.”

Paul only giggled, pressing his lips to John’s again. John sighed into it before guiding Paul’s head back to his shoulder, fingers running through his hair.

Betrayed by his own mind, Paul thought back to that meeting. I want a divorce. He pulled in a harsh breath. They had drifted that day, so far from one another. Building it back had been painstaking and soul crushing. “I’ll never let you lose me again.”

“Really, now?”

“Yes.” His tone was serious. “You’re not allowed. Whether or not we’re cross with each other, we won’t lose one another, alright?”

John hummed into his hair. “Sounds fine to me.”

#3133 words #been a while since i’ve hit those numbers #read on ao3 #the beatles #paul mccartney #john lennon #george harrison #ringo starr #mclennon #the beatles fanfiction #fan fic requests #anon ask #mclennon fanfiction #fic request

[homebody-nobody]

touch me someone

HIIIII it’s your favorite fic writer back from the dead with TWO whole fics real close together maybe I’ll finally become a consistent publisher?!? we can dream. Anyway. JJ and Kiara are my new Bellamy and Clarke I guess so enjoy this VERY angsty smutty hurt/comforty poetic nonsense the idea for which would not leave my brain til I wrote it. Please for the love of god read this bc I actually kind of love it and need validation or concrit or literally any feedback at all bc my none of my irl friends like this show so pls interact/comment 

---------------------

ao3

----------------------

He pulls away from her, and his eyes are wide but dry as his chest heaves. He looks wild, uncaged and raw, the moonlight turning his blond hair white and his blue eyes into pools of silver. Tragedy and shock have destroyed him, the chains he’d wrapped around his brash, heedless, unending want twisted into shards by an explosion of hurt and grief. He has always been the victim, the boy left behind in empty rooms with nothing but loss and bloody fragments, told to piece himself back together. Finally, they’ve taken the last thing. When he told John B they had nothing to lose, they still had each other. And now, he doesn’t even have that.

But she’s still here.

--------------------

Touch me someone 

I’m too young to feel so

numb, numb, numb, numb 

You could be the one to 

Make me feel somethin, somethin. 

The Phantom went down around 8:30 PM. Or maybe 10:30. Kiara doesn’t remember. She only knows that the hours between then and now have felt like a lifetime and also no time at all. Like she’ll turn and John B will be there, behind her shoulder, laughing at something JJ said, Sarah hanging off his arm; but also like the world is dark and will be dark and has been dark forever. Like the sun will never rise after this. Like the storm took the light and heat from the world just like it took her best friend. 

Later, she’ll learn that John B’s official time of death is listed as 8:34 PM, when they stopped trying to establish radio contact with him and Sarah. Later, she’ll watch news stories about the manhunt for Rafe Cameron and the scandal of Ward Cameron’s property being left to his second wife, rather than his remaining daughter. Later, she’ll get an email from an internet cafe in Bermuda and her whole world will flip upside down one more time. 

But now, she is laying in her four-poster bed, watching the ceiling fan lazily trawl the same, tired circle, listening to the pull-chain tap not-quite-silently against the glass fixture. Now, her hair still damp from the shower that her mother made her take, eyes stinging from sharp wind and tears not yet shed, the inside of her mouth shredded and sore from the hours she spent chewing on her lips, the world is too quiet, too peaceful. The crickets outside sing soft and gentle, just like they have every night her whole life, and the texture of her comforter, the quiet harmony of the night, the soft click and whoosh of the fan -- it all feels so chokingly familiar, like spiralling back down to earth after spending weeks dipping in and out of orbit. 

She wants to scream until her throat is raw, sob and fight and unleash herself on every single adult that hurt John B, that brushed him off or refused to help or wouldn’t listen to him. She wants to gut Ward Cameron for ripping everything away from John B, first his father, and then the gold that was his by right. The gold that was theirs. She wants to rip off Rafe’s skin piece by piece until he’s in shreds at her feet. She wants to eviscerate his father with the same gaff hook he used to rip apart those two mainlanders and ruin John B’s life. She’s so full of hurt and grief and anger that her fists keep clenching white-knuckled in her blankets and she wants to bring down the sky itself. But at the same time, she’s haunted by that same emptiness that followed her after Sarah’s childish betrayal, like she’s watching it all from the outside. 

She can’t sleep. She won’t. Sleep is just an escape, a place to forget, and she’ll have to wake up and remember what happened all over again, remember the rush of hope and the hours of adrenaline and apprehension that ended in a tragedy none of them could have ever predicted. What child foretells death? 

Rolling over, she presses her face into her pillow, smothering herself until her lungs force her to turn her head for air. She opens her eyes, no less heavier than they were hours ago. Her throat tightens like tears are about to well up, to spill over and stain her sheets, but they don’t come. Itchy and claustrophobic, she throws back the sheets and paces over the smooth boards of her room, bare feet making soft noises over the lacquered wood. She has to get out, to make sure that she didn’t dream up the whole goddamn thing. 

She dresses quickly, throwing on denim cutoffs and an old drug rug that cycled its way through at least two of the boys’ wardrobes before landing in hers. She doesn’t know where she’s going, doesn’t know what she needs, but she throws her wallet, her charger, a flashlight, and her water bottle in her beat up backpack, and, on second thought, a toothbrush and some deodorant. She picks up her keds and tiptoes down the stairs, avoiding the creaky eighth stair. 

The key rack is empty, and, chastising herself for believing her parents would leave the car keys out after everything she’d pulled in the last few days, she rocks on her heels, assessing her options. The most prudent one is probably just to go back to bed, given the usual risks of going out at night as a teenage girl, the massive punishment that looms in her future, and, now, the lack of a vehicle. But the thought of returning to her stale room, skin crawling and mind racing at a standstill, makes the decision for her. She slips out the back door, making sure to catch the screen door before it slams, and digs out her bike from next to the garage. The tires could use air and the gears are misaligned, but it still rides, and it’ll get her… somewhere else. 

Her original intention is to go to Pope’s house, mostly because it’s closest, but then she thinks about how she kissed him earlier that afternoon -- and God, was that just this afternoon? There’d be implications, now. Showing up in the middle of the night, throwing pebbles at his window -- it would mean something. So she stands up on the pedals and pushes past his street, floating like jetsam through the night. 

She ends up heading for the chateau, which is where she was going all along. After her family moved to the outskirts of figure eight just before high school, it was the only place that felt like home anymore. She cruises deep into the cut, where even the smell of the air changes, from freshly mowed grass and chlorinated in-ground pools to gasoline and oil, rotting seaweed and the salt marsh. 

The little house sits in the reeds, ramshackle and welcoming as ever, tired and reaching under the moon. It’s empty and forlorn, alone on the edge of the edge, out past the main cluster of the cut, pushed past the tideline, separated from the rest of the flotsam by a freak wave. The Routledge boys never fit in, even with the outcasts, and they made their home like they knew it. Skidding to a stop in the gravel driveway, the sting of tiny rocks against her bare ankles is the only thing she’s really felt in hours. Her heart picks up, skipping over itself as her memory stumbles over all the years seeping out of the wind-weathered boards and the sinking foundation. 

Again, it feels like this would be a moment for tears, like the sight of John B’s house, the memory of Big John’s booming laugh and all the bonfire-scented nights on that sagging porch should mean enough to make something in her crack, to finally shatter the glass walls of shock and let the grief come pouring in. But it doesn’t. She just stares up at the chateau, one part of her aching for the ease of a found family she’ll never get back, the other dreading the fate of the little house. 

The breeze changes directions as she stares up at the rickety shutters and holey screens, bringing with it the tinny sound of music played out of a cell phone in a solo cup, a noise she knows well. Her stomach drops to the hard-packed dirt, crashing there with her bicycle and sending up a cloud of dust. Maybe John B survived. Maybe he made it back to shore, and he’s laying low, doing that stupid, chivalrous thing he does, trying to protect them by not letting them know. Maybe he’s out by the shed in that old metal lawn chair, Sarah in his lap, exhausted and defeated and alive. But as she gets closer, the moonlight glints off tawny waves crusted with sweat and salt, and the momentary, wild hope crashes and ebbs away from the shore. 

JJ hears her, of course, sitting up in the hammock and turning toward the sound of her flat-soled sneakers slapping the dirt. “Hey,” he says, his expressive face, for once, inscrutable. 

“Hey,” she says, slightly out of breath from the sprint. “I thought you were…” she trails off, because he knows. Because he’s the only one in the whole world who can look at her and understand the cathedral dreams and vaulted memories crashing down in her chest. 

“I’m not,” he says, an answer that belies more than either of them knows. JJ gets this look, when he’s seconds away from doing something particularly concerning (and usually criminal). Manic energy lights up in his blue eyes, burning anywhere from mischief to stubborn determination to full-tilt rage. The well-developed muscles in his shoulders and arms refuse to relax, and his hands get so fidgety they lose the coordination it takes to flip the zippo lighter between long, practiced fingers. His face fights with itself, half already spitting with well-steeped anger, the other tired, and broken, and grieving. 

“I noticed,” she responds.  She drops her bag on one of the metal folding chairs, dooming it to a coating of flaky, faded paint. Crossing the grass, hoping her broad strides will disguise the rattling breath in her chest, the shake in her hands, she moves to sit next to him in the hammock, and he shifts his weight to allow her. 

There’s no verbal communication, no squabble about personal space or indignant demands she find her own seat. There never is, not with her boys. The Pogues. It seems so silly now, hiding behind that name for themselves, a name she’d never really belonged to, anyway. He’s holding a lit joint in one hand, a bottle dangling from the other, and he offers her one while swigging from the other. The old favorites of a Maybank in crisis. She takes it. 

He falls back next to her, sending the hammock swinging as he gazes up at the stars. Sarah had known the most about constellations, of the five of them, but JJ knows a fair amount, too, some of the only memories of his mother the nights when she would hold him under the stars, tracing the designs across the sky, her hand wrapped around his tiny one. His eyes keep drifting off the sky and landing on Kiara, eyes distant, bathed in moonlight. 

“He’s not dead,” JJ says, surprising himself as much as her. He sits up, and she follows. He stares at his feet for a while, and she thinks about putting her arms around him.  “I --” he picks his head up to look at her and stops, voice stolen by the hope in her eyes. “I’d feel it,” he finishes lamely, and watches the spark die. 

“The first stage of grief is denial,” she says, and it’s supposed to be at least slightly lighthearted, but it falls cruelly to the crabgrass. 

“You sound like Pope,” he counters, and there’s too much weight to that name to throw it around for long. They’re both thinking of Kiara kissing him, and the memory is pleasant to neither. 

She doesn’t really know why she did that. Maybe it’s because he’s everything she’s supposed to want, intelligence and ambition and ingenuity, everything she tells herself is important in a guy. Maybe because he’s in love with her. Maybe because she’s definitely in love with one of her best friends, and he’s the one who makes sense. She takes another hit and hands the blunt back to JJ. 

“I’d know,” he repeats, and she knows it’s not her he’s trying to convince. He lays back in the hammock, putting the blunt between his lips and dragging deep before tilting his head back and blowing the smoke into the tumultuous night. She looks back over her shoulder, watching his jaw and the movement of his throat as he exhales. Laying back next to him, she tries not to think about the warmth of his skin against hers, the strength of the body pressed to her side. It’s only JJ, the same reckless, stupid asshole who carried that damn pistol everywhere all summer and has a talent for getting into trouble. He’s not giving her butterflies with his proximity, and she’s not thinking about reaching down and lacing her fingers through his. 

Eventually, JJ flicks the roach into the darkness and stands as quickly as he can without tipping Kiara out of the hammock. She starts, not realizing she was dozing on his shoulder until it’s gone. “It’s late,” he says. 

She stands as well, tucking her hands into the pocket of her sweatshirt as he kicks at the dirt. “I don’t --” she starts, and the hesitation makes him stop his nervous movement, meeting her eyes. “I don’t want to go home.” He opens his mouth to say something, but she interrupts him. “I can’t go home.” 

“Okay,” he says, after a second. He doesn’t want to be alone, either. She nods, and walks past him, picking up her bag. He follows her up to the house, and they stop at the foot of the stairs to the porch, staring at the buzzing light. JJ takes a stuttering inhale Kiara pretends not to hear, and he goes up the stairs first, wrapping a shaking hand the handle to the screen door. He pauses before going in, frozen, and it isn’t until she lays her hand on his shoulder that he summons the courage to push the door open. 

They knew the place was going to be tossed, but it still hurts Kiara and kills JJ, to see the overturned table and scattered papers, the couch cushions scattered on the floor and the coffee table flipped. He tries to shuffle backwards, to run from the sharp, fresh grief and the deep, familiar ache of loss and violation, but Kie is in the way, and when he turns to escape she catches him, her arms around his shoulders, his clutched around her waist. “I can’t --” he chokes, his face pressed to her neck, “It’s not --” his breath speeds up, his shoulders shaking. “They --” 

“I know,” she says, swallowing down tears, herself, in that same small voice from the night in the hot tub. She knew JJ was broken, on that deep, fundamental level that, intellectually, she could conceptualize, but she could never feel. But that night, seeing the bruises on his ribs, damning as fingerprints, the ghost of his pain, the whisper of breath knocked out and the brush of betrayal, turned her chest inside out. This feels the same way, watching him lose the last shred of some semblance of home to the same kind of mindless anger and selfish authority that claimed the first one. “I know.” 

He pulls away from her, and his eyes are wide but dry as his chest heaves. He looks wild, uncaged and raw, the moonlight turning his blond hair white and his blue eyes into pools of silver. Tragedy and shock have destroyed him, the chains he’d wrapped around his brash, heedless, unending want twisted into shards by an explosion of hurt and grief. He has always been the victim, the boy left behind in empty rooms with nothing but loss and bloody fragments, told to piece himself back together. Finally, they’ve taken the last thing. When he told John B they had nothing to lose, they still had each other. And now, he doesn’t even have that. 

But she’s still here. “Kie…” he breathes. She opens her mouth to reassure him again, but then his hands are on her face and he’s kissing her, deep and rough and desperate. She bursts into flame underneath him, paralysis broken, stupefaction overcome, as the glass walls she’s been watching through crack and shatter at her feet. JJ’s hands wrap around the back of her neck and spread across the small of her back, pushing her up against the door, and she twists her hands into his shaggy, sun-streaked hair. Every desperate question is met with his touch, and she chases it, even as he pulls away in horrified shock. 

“Fuck,” he gasps. “Fuck, Kie, I’m so sorry --” He tries to shove himself away from her at the instant she curls her fists in his shirt, and it almost rips as she pulls and he slams back into her. Teeth clash and noses bump and it’s not perfect or soft or loving, but passion born from desperation and terror of what it would mean to stop. Putting his hands on the door on either side of her face, he pushes himself off of her, even as she tries to yank him back. “What are we doing?” he asks, in a voice that won’t like the answer. 

“JJ,” she gasps, pushing her fingers back up to tangle in blond, salt-sticky waves. “Shut up.” Pulling his mouth back down on top of hers, she gasps into him as his hands come down and frame her ribs, one of his arms sliding around her waist and the other pushing back up into her hair. 

“Don’t you think --” he tries, even as he leans over her, their breathing ragged, his knuckles white in her impossibly soft curls. His forehead is pushed to hers and he can’t pull away any farther, sucked into her gravitational field, helpless to it. 

“I don’t want to think,” she insists. “I want this, I need this,” This momentary pause is already too long, and if he stops kissing her, stops touching her, the tears she’s been holding back will crash over her and they won’t stop. The dark room is loud with heavy breathing as she catches the scent of him, salt and sweat and smoke. “I need you.” 

His grip falters and the momentary relaxation has her pressing herself against him. “Are you sure?” he asks, and this is a choice, now. This isn’t something that either of them can pawn off as a mistake made in the heat of a desperate moment. He wants this, has wanted it, ever since he met her, but he won’t be a decision half-made, won’t take advantage of vulnerability only to become a regret. He’s giving her a way out, knows her pragmatic nature and her anxious need for well-thought plans. He wants her to think, even if she’s desperate not to. 

He’s right, when he almost never is, but she knows that if she waits too long or lets in the doubt that expects her, she will break. “JJ,” she gasps, “Please.” His name, she knows, he can’t resist, not when paired with urgent pleading, and in this way, she makes her choice. He surrenders to her. 

They fall onto the creaky pullout, still set up from JJ’s most recent stay, not minding the sheets and blankets wrought asunder by the angry police search. He can’t let go of her, his hands pushing up her sweatshirt, dragging over her sides and up her thighs, tangling in her hair like he’s drinking her in with his touch, intoxicated with the smell of peach in her hair and the taste of sweat on her skin. Kiara lets herself get lost in him, ride the wave of desire pushing through her, moans and gasps when he hits the right spots and closes her eyes as he lifts her shirt over her head and attaches his lips to her neck, his hands finally coming up to cover her tits, and the long careful fingers she’d spent so many afternoons watching prove adept at twisting and pinching her nipples and leaving her begging for him. 

She almost rips his t-shirt off, pulling his bare chest against her own and letting the feeling of skin on skin light her up, setting fireworks off behind her eyelids. Wrapping one hand around the arm holding him up, she can feel his teeth on her neck, and she knows he’s leaving marks, and, for once, it doesn’t feel like she’s being claimed. She knows what it is -- proof this is happening, that they’re alive and feeling and crashing together again and again. She sinks her nails into his bicep as his fingers skim below the waistband of her shorts, and feels him smirk against her lips. 

“Yeah?” he asks, and the teasing in his voice is tortuous and reminiscent of his old, humorous self, just enough to make her sad for a moment, and when she nods quickly in return, it’s a bid to forget that sadness. His fingers flick open the button of her shorts and as his fingers dip lower, the only thing she can think about, the only thing she can feel, is his touch, his all-consuming presence, radiating heat. The bastard takes his time, her only gratification the press of him against her hip, hot and hard. He teases her through her underwear, and she can’t say she doesn’t enjoy it, arcing into his touch, shocks of pleasure building in incredible anticipation, but he’s going too slow, and he’s wearing too many clothes, still, and the intense want gnawing at her has too much potential to turn into grief. 

“Would you just --” she grunts against his mouth, cut off on a moan as he presses his fingers against her clit. “Fucking -- ah,” he works slow, hard, circles, enjoying himself as she tries to form sentences with his hands on her. “Fuck me already!” Because even this can’t be easy, not between the two of them. Because she’ll always be fighting with him, even with her bare chest pressed against his and his hand down her pants. 

JJ grins, scraping his teeth over her ear. “What,” he says, still teasing, still bittersweet, as he finally pushes his hand into her underwear, “aren’t you enjoying this?” Slowly, much too slowly, his fingers part the lips of her cunt, pressing down over her clit before finding the wetness further down. JJ practically growls as his middle finger dips between her folds and he finds her soaked, dropping his forehead against the forearm braced above her head. “Fuck, Kie,” he moans, and he can’t disguise the wasted crack in his voice. “God, you’re so fucking wet.” He’s already drunk on her, every new sensation dragging him deeper.  

“Your fault,” she stutters as he puts his hands, lean and strong and practiced, to good use, dragging slick fingertips back up to her clit and teasing small circles, rough, calloused skin creating delicious friction. And this -- this is what she was so desperate for, to feel only his touch and the way he pushes her higher, closer to an edge far away from the bleak grief of their every day world. He moans, too, as he dips his middle finger into her and she keens into his mouth, and she’s not thinking anymore, only chasing heat and skin and pleasure, the rest of the night foggy and distant, moonlit and blurred. 

She doesn’t even know how much time passes before he’s kissing his way down her body, only that he’s fucked her so well with his hands he has three fingers inside her and she’s asking for more. He pulls his hand away and she lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched noise at the loss of contact, only to end on a gasp when she opens her eyes to see that he has his fingers curled around the waistband of her shorts and his face is hovering near her hips, pupils blown wide as he looks up at her. He asks her something, but blood rushes in her ears as her heart pounds and her chest heaves and it isn’t until his tongue darts out to wet his lips that she realizes what he’s saying. 

“Fuck, yes, please,” she whines, and it feels like less than instant before her shorts are on the floor and his head is between her legs, his tongue on her clit, and she screams, pushing her hands into his hair as his mouth launches her higher and keeps her there, wave upon wave crashing over her until her legs are shaking, and when she feels the pull deep in her stomach and he takes half a second to breathe, she has enough presence of mind to yank him back up, slamming his lips down onto hers, tasting herself there. 

“Inside me,” she gasps, ragged and raw and scraping. “Now.” 

“But you haven’t --” he breathes, and she reaches down, shoving past the waistband of the shorts he’s still wearing, her hand on his cock stopping him dead. 

“Now,” she repeats. And then, leans up to kiss him, slightly softer than before, as if in apology for being so rough, but more as a distraction as her hands unbutton his shorts and shove them down his thighs, her hands finding him again and stroking his cock until he’s gasping into her mouth. “Unless,” she says between short kisses, trying to keep her tone light, even as her cunt aches for him. “You changed your mind?” 

He scrambles out of his shorts and boxers so fast it’s almost funny, but the laugh falls out of her chest as he braces his forearms on either side of her face, pushing her hair back from her forehead and looking at her so carefully it almost hurts. “I don’t have a condom,” he says, uncharacteristic worry trembling in his voice. 

“I’m clean,” she says, her hands reaching up to tangle in his hair once more, to ground her, and disguise their shaking. “You?” 

He nods. “What about --” 

“I have an IUD,” she says, more grateful than ever for her liberal mother and her own presence of mind. 

He licks his lips again, eyes dropping to her mouth before flicking back up to her eyes. “Last chance,” he says, like she’s going to change her mind and push him off of her, run off into the night and leave him here, disgraced and embarrassed. “Still sure?” he asks, like he’s expecting her to say no. She nods without hesitation, caught in his blue eyes, turned cobalt in the half-light. He kisses her one more time, and it’s laden with years of things he hasn’t said, and she surges up with urgency, not ready for the tenderness in his touch. JJ tries to slow her down again, to revel in the moment of bare skin and vulnerability, no matter how guarded it may be, but she reaches down, wrapping her hand around his dick, guiding him closer to her, and he’s falling into her touch, into her orbit, helpless. 

She draws him inside her, his forehead dropping to her shoulder with a forsaken, heavy breath. It’s too soft, this moment before he moves, too easy to break, every sense on fire. The air is too close to her skin, too tight around her arms, like she could rip the fabric of it with the barest movement. She wants to be lost in him again, to feel separate, far away and floating above herself, not so torturously in her body, JJ trembling and present above her. “JJ,” she says, opening her eyes to find his, a split-second mistake, the next word hitching on its way out of her chest. “Move.” 

He does, mercifully lowering his face to press against her neck, the eye contact too substantial, too burdensome to hold. The bubble surrounding them expands as he works her up to that blissful edge with ease, his mouth letting out a stream of filthy words about how good she feels surrounding him. Closing her eyes, she tilts her head back, letting her hands have free reign over his back, his shoulders, his arms and up into his hair, every place she wants to touch him when she watches his ridiculous muscles ripple under his young, tan skin. He shifts his weight, hooking her knee over his hip so his cock hits exactly the right spot with every thrust, and she cries out, racing higher. 

She should have expected that JJ likes to run his mouth -- she only catches parts of what he’s saying, things like ‘so fucking hot’ and ‘sound so fucking good’ and ‘so fucking wet for me’ and as her moans increase in pitch and volume, he growls “c’mon, Kie, cum for me,” and she falls apart. He fucks her through the aftermath and she barely knows what noises are coming out of her mouth, her nails digging angry welts in his back. Just when she thinks she can’t take anymore, he tenses and spills inside her on a half-broken sigh. 

Her vision sharpens as he rolls off of her, collapsing on the squeaky bedsprings, and the house is too quiet all of a sudden, the air once again too close. Her breath slows, the sweat cooling on her skin in the soft breeze pushing through the wooden walls, the still-open front door. Neither of them says anything, and Kiara can feel him looking at her, his blown out smile too loud in the fallout. She sits up, almost flinching at the light touch of his fingers on his spine when he picks up a strand of her hair. “I’m gonna pee,” she says, finding her underwear and pulling them on, and then, after half a moment, pulling his discarded t-shirt over her head. 

Her head echoes as she steps over the scattered mess to get to the bathroom, like she’s walking through a tunnel. Her legs ache and tremble, and she wraps her arms around herself, numb and falling. She fights tears as she washes her hands. The bathroom is, as always, a deplorable mess, products everywhere and hair all over the sink. Her green bikini top is still on the floor from when she’d forgotten it just the other day, and that girl feels impossibly far from the one staring at herself in the mirror, wearing her best friend’s shirt while he’s naked in the next room. There’d be shame, and guilt, too, if the smell of John B’s deodorant didn’t choke her with overwhelming loss. Bracing her hands on either side of the sink, she can’t hold it back anymore, and sobs spill out of her, harsh and echoing in the small space. 

JJ is behind her an instant, half-dressed in basketball shorts and drawing her into his arms, tucking her close to him, her tears hot on his skin. “He’s gone,” she whimpers. “He’s really gone.” He doesn’t say anything, just guides her back to the pullout and straightens the blankets enough for her to fall in. She curls up on her side, crying so hard she can’t breathe, and he climbs in across from her, pushing one arm under her neck and using the other to pull her against him, his lips pressed to her forehead. 

Tears leak out of his own eyes, silent and soft to her earth-shattering grief. “It’s gonna be okay,” he reassures her, fighting the quiver in his own voice, his chin shaking with the effort of it. He stares into the empty darkness above her head, every jerk of her prone body another crack in his breaking heart. “He’s coming back,” he says, more to himself than her. “He’s coming back to us.” 

When she finally quiets down, the betrayal of dawn is beginning to lighten the sky, the moon fading, and the idea of this night being over feels impossible. For a short while, they breathe each other in, her forehead pressed to his collarbones, his hand trailing up and down her spine. Her head aches and her eyelids fall heavy over gritty, exhausted eyes, but she still fights sleep, stubbornly resisting another day, the beginning of a life without John B and Sarah. “I can’t stay here,” she says, finally, pushing back from him. “I should go home.” 

He reaches up to catch her chin as she watches her hands curled close to his chest, reluctant to go. “Kie,” he murmurs, lifting her gaze to meet his. He moves forward to kiss her, and she flattens her palms against his skin, stopping him even as her eyes fall to his lips. 

“JJ,” she says, an exhale more than his name. “We -- I mean, I --” 

“Shit,” he sighs, and it almost sounds like a laugh, formed from expectations he wished hadn’t come true. “Okay.” His eyes flutter close, and she watches him draw back into himself, close all the doors, like he wants to turn off the lights and pretend he’s not even here. But then, he looks at her again, gently smoothing a curl behind her ear. “It’s just --” he starts, and inhales again, wetting his lips as he struggles to keep his eyes on her deep brown ones. “Can we go back to normal tomorrow?” Her eyebrows push together a fraction of an inch, and he focuses on the wrinkle there, a thousand times easier than holding her gaze. “Please,” he says when she inhales to say something. “I don’t want to be alone.” 

It’s the first time either of them have been completely honest all night, and the most he’s said in hours. “Yeah,” she says, agreeing without thinking. Making it about him instead of admitting to herself that she wants to stay, that she doesn’t want to be alone either. “Yeah, okay.” She allows herself to be kissed, to be held and kept softly. JJ twists his fingers in her curls, skims his lips over her hairline before pressing his forehead against hers. 

He tucks his hand against the side of her neck, his fingers spanning from her ear to the juncture of her neck and shoulder. “It’s gonna be alright,” he promises, and they both pretend he’s saying it to her. She’s seen JJ cheerful and stubborn, breaking and angry, seen him a thousand different ways. But never like this, kind and soft, quiet in the grey, grieving dawn. Eventually, she falls asleep under his touch and reassuring whispers. 

The morning is just as sticky and unforgiving as every other that summer, and she wakes up damp and sticky with sweat. JJ is stretched out on his stomach, arms tucked under his head, mouth slack and hair falling over his eyes. Her head still hurts, and now so do her back and thighs, and she stretches her hand out across the rumpled sheets, tracing the red lines she’d left down his back. He blinks awake, closing his mouth and freezing when he feels her touch on his skin. 

“Hey,” she murmurs. 

“Hey,” he replies.

She waits for him to say something, but he just watches her, his clear blue eyes unflinching. She bites her lip. “I should get home,” she says, keeping her eyes on the knuckle tracing over his back, his gaze too heavy to hold. 

“Yeah,” he says, “okay.” Neither of them move. The world waits on a hair trigger, and JJ’s more familiar with this kind of silence than she is. She wants him to break it first, to be the impulsive hothead he always is, to make the choice for both of them. But he doesn’t, and the moment crumbles, and she sits up and goes in search of her clothes. 

He doesn’t say anything until she stoops to pick up her bag, sweatshirt in hand, ready to shove it into the biggest pocket. “Kie,” he says, and she stops dead, looking up at him. She doesn’t know what she wants him to say, but she deflates anyway when he just asks “my shirt?” 

She’d forgotten she was wearing it. Pulling it off, she feels his hungry eyes trace up her bare chest as she untangles the drug rug before pulling it down and arranging it around her hips. She tosses him the shirt, and he holds her gaze as he flips it right side out and tugs it on. They stand on either side of the disheveled living room, daring the other person to say something, move, do anything first. He knows what he wants, what he can’t have, what he’s convinced himself he never will. She remembers the line she drew, the boundary she’d very clearly set. He chooses to respect it while she waits for him to break the rules.

Birds sing in the unflinching morning, and a breeze stirs the hair around her face. She slings her backpack over her shoulder. The sun blazes as gulls call and waves lap against the dock. He tilts his chin back, like he always does just before a fight. She turns to go.

#outer banks #jiara #jj x kiara #kiara x jj #kiara/jj #jj/kiara #outer banks fanfiction #jiara fanfic #jiara fic #jiara fanfiction #jiara smut #jiara angst #angst #smut #hurt/comfort #PLEASE interact with this I'm LITERALLY BEGGING YOU

[azenta]

Can you explain more what the reaction formation thing is like?

Reaction formation is that weird ass bitch defense mechanism that makes you react the opposite of how you feel. Very basically described, that's it. But it doesn't tell much on it's own why it acts this way.

Reaction formation happens when what you feel goes againt your beliefs or even values, especially in relation to yourself. Simply put, it's like emotion vs mind. When this happens, your ego is fast to pick up there is a contradiction in what you are feeling and what you believe is right. Your ego's job tho, is to protect your sense of self, and it does so by assuring coherence and logic with what youthink is right and true (core beliefs, fears, etc.). So, for that, it will thus make you act in a way to be coherent with your belief/value, to kinda balance out that wild "incorrect" emotion.

Example: Karen is a woman who always valued children and desired one. She always has been extremely caring and mothering with children or even with her closed one, as being caring is central value for her. If you love your closed one, then you'll care for them no matter what, is what she believes. So come the day where she finally got a child. Proud and happy, she is convinced she'll love her child like no other mother does. But as some may sometimes forget, it's not easy to take care of someone who entirely depends on you and do require you to make some sacrifice. 

It's been 6 months, it's 3 am, wednesday, it's the second week baby John keeps waking up at those impossible hours and won't shut until 4:30 am. Of course, Karen takes care of baby John. She is a good mother, and her husband needs sleep, because he works tomorrow while she doesn't. But Karen is exhausted. She barely have slept since those last couple of weeks, when she usually have a strict sleep schedule since years. It has been totally overthrown since Jonh is born. Actually, Karen feels angry, she is pissed and surprise herself swearing and getting mad at her baby. She wakes up her husband and ask him to take care of the baby or she "will throw him up the fucking wall". Karen's husband is not a selfish manchild retard and willingly offer help (🙃)

Morning comes and Karen is filled up with guilt. How could she, the most loveful mother of the whole planet, could not succeed to take care of her precious child?? How could she even dare think to throw her child on the wall??? This is where Reaction Formation happens. This thought is "Unforgivable" in Karen's view, even tho it totally speaks of how much her limits were crossed and how much she needed rest. The thought was extreme, but so were the urgency of her needs. It was a desperate way for her brain to tell her to STOP. But, Ego had another opinion, and Reaction Formation makes her do the complete goddamn opposite.

The next few days, Karen fully take responsibilty over the child, barely allow her "poor" husband that still works to get burdened with the child's "caprices", and even go as far as losing all remaining of sleep she had. She dedicates herself twice as more as she did. She totally sacrifice herself in other words. Because, "if you love your closed one, you'll care for them, no matter what". This includes her husband. She makes him breakfast, diner and supper, all while dedicating her whole self to the baby. Her husband is concerned and tries many time to offer help, or at the very least, to make the meals for them. But Karen strictly refuses, because she is a caring loving mother and wife. Karen keeps having more and more outburst of emotions and the cycles go downhill. She ends up suffering from depression which lead her to be incapacitated in taking care properly of baby John. Exactly because her beliefs are this much devastating, she ends up fulfilling her fear of being a bad mother ; uncaring for her loved one. 

She totally went against her feelings, even went against all her needs to an harmful extent, but respected what she believed right. This is what Formation Reaction can make someone do. The exact opposite of what they need.

This example is extreme and formation reaction can happen for more minor things or doesn't become always that destructive. But in 1s, 2s and 6s (superego type), this mechanism gets the most destructive, especially 2w1s and 1s overall (because of their overlap). As a fix, they'll also tax you and incline you more to this mechanism.

To make it much more simple, here is the list of the most to least likely to use Reaction Formation, regularly and at great length:

2w1 (image core kills you on sight)

1w2

1w9

2w3 

6w7

9w1

6w5

3w2

3w4

9w8

5w6

5w4

4w3

4w5

7w6

8w9

7w8

8w7

Tho, take this list as approximative, your fixes will make it vary considerably. An 8w7 with a 2w1 6w7 fix will be prone to formation reaction despite having a core that goes against the Formation Reaction principle.

A more minor example could be this: Elsa values harmony and tend to avoid conflict the most possible. She tends to dismiss things that can irritate her since she thinks she should "pick her fights" and so, not get reactive over everything she finds inappropriate. However, what she defines as conflict is more "disagreemets" than actual conflict, so she avoids disagreement the most possible. She believes staying unaffected and neutral is one of the best way to avoid any disagreement and that in general, when her needs cause those disagreement, it's basically wrong, since she should know "better" in how to manage her needs. But, she also highly care about her integrity and would not tolerate anyone disrespecting her. 

Andrew, her friend's roomate, noticed her coming out of her room and found her very beautiful, but he is socially awkward and therefore catcall her while winking clumsily at her as a way to make her know he finds her gorgeous. She gets extremely mad, even disgusted. She decides to remain cold, but make a weird smile at him even if uncomfortable as she doesn't want to make things too "conflicting", and also because "it's wrong to get mad over something so "minor" ", she is someone "calm and wiser than that". Therefore she represses her feelings of anger. She does something totally against her feeling, but that totally fulfill her beliefs.

Some of you can tell me all they want that: "Isn't that normal to dismiss some things like that?"

My answer is: If you dismiss your feelings and act at the opposite of it, like Elsa or Karen, then grats, you use reaction formation my dude. If you feel uncomfortable, you should communicate your discomfort. What matter is *HOW* you share it. The problem is never about "what" need or emotion you share, but rather how and when, because the other person might not be receptive. What tells you use reaction formation is the fact of doing something exactly the opposite of what you need, when you actually felt it. Like, Elsa smiling despite actually feeling uncomfortable. Or Karen needing rest but stubbornly denying it and doing twice as more. Because your beliefs tell you that the way to go is opposite to that feeling of yours.

The solution on the last example could be as simple as to ask Andrew wtf he is trying to do, because she is uneased, even mad by that. It would 1. tell Andrew his message really doesn't went through 2. It would therefore allow Andrew to know this wasn't socially wise and allow him the opportunity (that he might or might not seize) to learn a more appropriate way to communicate his own feelings (so more social skills) 3. And allow Elsa to respect her feelings(/herself) and so, her boundaries, all while remaining calm, without actually picking up a fight. 

Also, one of the insidious consequences of this mechanism is that your feeling is still quite loud and will come back at you even louder, as briefly mentioned in Karen's example. Therefore, it will reinforce the cycle in a negative way, like for Karen making her crash. While for Elsa, it is far less worse and she might draw a line more so in those cases because she also holds a belief about respect. But, Elsa might start thinking men are even more gross instead of actually taking up her space, and Karen that she is a failure for being unable to do anything anymore.

This mechanism is easier to understand when you experimented it, and if your type is low into the list mentioned above, it might still be confusing or eluding you. Tho, know that horrid shit exist and if you know someone with those types, then keep it in mind and validate their feelings and needs. And if you noticed that shit in you, then the key to it is to go against what you believe is right, because if it requires you to go against your needs, then it is FALSE AND WRONG.

Last thing at my @id type, your desires and your needs are two different things, learn the difference because that's why you acting on your """needs""" always end up wrong. Because it was a mere fucking desire.

#ask #formation reaction #defense mechanism #enneagram #guess which ennea core types are karen and elsa uwuwu #btw dont hesitate to ask further clarification. defense mechanisms can be whack to understand #also i got another ask about it but about how it plays out in 1s specifically so you might want to read it first. #when ill come to it. some day. #rip #also not how i didnt mention ivs in this fucking post (until now). #the only thing this shit does is influence with whom it is more likely to trigger

[pengychan]

[Coco] Nuestra Iglesia, Pt 19

Title: Nuestra Iglesia Summary: Fake Priest AU. In the midst of the Mexican Revolution, Santa Cecilia is still a relatively safe place; all a young orphan named Miguel has to worry about is how to get novices Héctor and Imelda to switch their religious vows for wedding vows before it’s too late. He’s not having much success until he finds an unlikely ally in their new parish priest, who just arrived from out of town. Fine, so Padre Ernesto is a really odd priest. He’s probably not even a real priest, and the army-issued pistol he carries is more than slightly worrying. But he agrees that Héctor and Imelda would be wasted on religious life, and Miguel will take all the help he can get. It’s either the best idea he’s ever had, or the worst. Characters: Miguel Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz, Héctor Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Chicharrón, Óscar and Felipe Rivera, OCs. Imector. Rating: T

[All chapters up are tagged as ‘fake priest au’ on my blog.]

A/N: Alternate title: “Everyoner’s Mad”. Art in the chapter is by @swanpit​ and @lunaescribe​!

***

Breaking into the shed was laughably easy, but then again it was to be expected, considering that Ernesto happened to have the spare key. Come to think of it, he wasn’t even breaking in: he was allowed to go there whenever he wanted. He just never had a reason to - until now.

The packs of rat poison were exactly where Gustavo had mentioned they would be, right by the barrels of mass wine. Not a wise choice, but Ernesto found some irony in that as he took some of the tightly packed poison and quickly slipped in his pocket. After all, it would find its way in a beverage to take out a rat.

A large rat, walking on two legs. 

It’s on his head, he made his choice and left me none.

It was what he’d been repeating himself throughout the evening, and it still left a bitter taste in his mouth. A thought tried to surface again - maybe there was another way, he could tell the others and they’d help him, Imelda had said they would help him - but he chased it away. Imelda may have said they would help him, but it was no guarantee that would actually happen. There was no guarantee they could help him.

But God helps those who help themselves, dead men tell no tales, if you want a job well done you do it yourself and so forth. Ernesto knew what he had to do. He had done it before.

Surely, slipping poison in a drink would be as easy as pulling a trigger. Maybe it wouldn’t be as instantaneous as a gunshot to the head, but he hoped it would be quick - or that it would make him pass out first. John Johnson was a complete and utter idiot who’d signed his own death sentence by refusing to listen to him, but Ernesto found he didn’t want him to suffer. 

“I… didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“Heh. Takes more than that to hurt me, you’ll need to try harder.”

“What-- dear Lord, no. I have no desire to.”

He hadn’t seen his face as he spoke then - it was just voices in the dark, warmth and touch - and ah, the memory stung. He forced himself to chase it out of his mind, because it did him no good to keep thinking of… of that. It was over, his life depended on silencing the gringo and he only had three days to do it. He couldn’t allow himself to hesitate when the moment came. 

Todo modo.

Ernesto de la Cruz stepped out of the shed, locked the door again and walked back under the faint moonlight, the pack of poison heavy in his pocket.

***

Ah, finally, he was leaving. 

Gustavo had been more than a little taken aback to see Padre Ernesto entering the shed, and definitely rather worried he would open the crates with the weapons in it - he hadn’t hidden them as well as he should, he’d been busier than an abuela with six unruly grandchildren and only one chancla - but thank God, he was out again quickly enough. He’d probably just taken some wine, it was hard to tell from that distance in the dark.

Gustavo watched Padre Ernesto until he was out of sight, and finally went to the shed. Keeping everything in one place for long was unwise, so it was time to write out instructions to have them scattered across several hiding spots, to be later collected by José and sent up north. Last Gustavo had heard, there were a couple of battalions heading down towards them, but they were being slowed down by resistance.

He could only hope they wouldn’t stop in Santa Cecilia of all places.

***

“Brother Hector.��

“Eek!”

Padre Ju-- Father John had spoken quietly, but so suddenly and with so much authority that the mere sound in the narrow corridor leading out of the sleeping quarters had made Héctor nearly jump out of his skin. He turned, trying to smile and praying he would ignore his rather undignified shriek. “Father John! Good… morn… ing?” Héctor’s voice faded a little when he saw the gringo’s face. He looked… bad, no way around it. Somehow even paler than usual, eyes reddened, the bags beneath them even darker. He almost asked if he was sick, but Father John didn’t give him time to speak again. “I think it’s about time we have a word,” he said

His voice was cold in a way it hadn’t been in… at least a month. He’d loosened up a lot in the past several weeks - what made him loosen up was something Héctor was very careful not to speculate about, though he liked to think part the reason was that the village had grown on him -  but now… ay, he was looking at the old Padre Culo Blanco. He hadn’t especially missed him. 

“Er… of course. What is it?”

“It is my understanding that you have desires for a woman.”

Héctor couldn’t see his own face, but if the sudden sense of heat was anything to go by, he was quickly turning an interesting shade of purple. “Uh-- I, well, I--”

“I understand you’re no longer inclined to take the vows in favor of a marital union. I certainly do hope that is the case, as it’d be below you not to make… whoever this is an honest woman.”

“W-well…” Héctor stammered, faintly wondering if he’d been that obvious and how bad a heart attack he would have if he knew the woman in question was also a novice planning to forfeit any vows. “I have been, uh, questioning my calling--”

“I understand. But that being the case, I believe you should make your position clear to the Holy Church,” Father John cut him off. “Remaining a novice while you have no intention to take the vows, letting the Church clothe and feed you, is not becoming a God-fearing man.”

“What! Wait, no, that’s-- that’s not what this is about!” Héctor protested. Anger, annoyance, something much too close to panic swelled in his chest; who knew he could feel all three things at once with such intensity. Could have lived a happy life without ever knowing.

“No?” The gringo’s voice was about as condescending as it could get. 

Jesus, what was the deal with him all of a sudden? “No,” Héctor said, trying with some effort to stay calm. A lot of effort, really, but Imelda’s voice ringing in the back of his mind helped him focus on something other than a sudden desire to smack the gringo in the face.

Outside the parish, we could do next to nothing of use. They need us where we are.

They hadn’t been doing an awful lot lately, because things had been quiet - hopefully it was not the calm before the storm - but they were able to store weapons and supplies in and around the church to give out as needed. “I have not-- reached a decision yet,” he said in the end. “I’m thinking it over - the Church is the only family I have known. I wouldn’t want to cut myself off my family unless I am certain it is the right path, would I?” 

All right, knowing what he did about the gringo’s past, that was a low blow and he almost regretted it when his expression wavered a moment. Then the moment was gone, and he clenched his jaw. “Very well. But I expect you to make your choice sooner rather than later. This village is full to the brim of sinners and I see now I’ve been too permissive - God made it plain to me,” he snapped, and left with quick steps, leaving Héctor to wonder what on Earth was that for.

***

Juan did not show up for breakfast.

His food remained untouched and growing cold, as did the cup of coffee in which Ernesto had thrown a generous dose of what was definitely not sugar just moments before Héctor walked in. It took Ernesto an enormous effort to eat his own breakfast like nothing was wrong, despite the fact his stomach was all knotted up. There was an ache in his chest, too, but-- I didn’t want to do this, he made me, it’s on him -- he was doing his very best to ignore it. He made small talk, nodded along whatever Héctor was saying without actually listening to a word, kept an eye on the door.

“...  Anyway, isn’t the gringo having breakfast today?”

“Huh?” Ernesto blinked, finally turning his full attention to Héctor, who glanced at the door to make sure Juan wasn’t standing in the doorway.

“I met him earlier this morning and believe me, he was the crabbiest I have ever seen him, which says… a lot. Any idea what crawled up his ass and died?” Héctor muttered Ernesto almost quipped ‘I did’, but managed to hold back. 

One part of the sentence was true, all right, but he refused to be the one to die.

“No idea,” he finally said. Must have been an especially awful encounter for Héctor to talk that way - he felt bad enough for Juan to be respectful even when most wanted to kick his teeth in - but at least he had not revealed what he knew yet, or else Héctor would have mentioned it.

He’s the kind who keeps his word. Three days. I have little less than three days.

“He said something on how God told him the village is full of sinners or whatever,” Héctor was saying. “I think he’s gone loco.”

“Maybe he dreamed it up,” Ernesto muttered. “He thinks himself saintly enough for prophetic dreams, clearly. Or just remembered he’s supposedly on a mission to save everyone’s soul.”

A scoff. “Ah, so he’s being a pain because God came to him in a dream telling him to,” Héctor laughed. “Well, no point in letting perfectly good food go to waste, no?” he added, sounding just a tad vindictive, reaching to take John’s dish and pulling it in front of him. “Want the egg, or...?”

Ernesto, who suspected he’d vomit if he tried to force himself to eat another bite, shook his head. “All yours,” he muttered, looking at the door. No, Juan was not coming for breakfast, and would not drink that coffee. He should be disappointed, he supposed, a tad more desperate as hours ticked by, but there was a sense of relief he hated to acknowledge. 

Maybe it’s for the best because Héctor is here, he told himself. I don’t even know how powerful or fast-acting that poison is or what the dose should be. 

Yes, that must be the reason for the relief. If he died before a witness, there’d be questions. And he didn’t want questions, no señor. The idea of poisoning him right there had been stupid, hardly a plan at all. It was for the best that Juan hadn’t showed up, Ernesto decided. He would need to find another moment--

“You want the coffee, or can I have it?”

Ernesto waved a hand. “All yours,” he muttered, still deep in thought. Maybe if he could convince him to drink something with him before they all went to sleep, with some luck he could get him in his bed and the next day everyone would think his heart gave in on his sleep.

Of course, he doubted Juan would want to drink in his company like Héctor would, but if he could talk him into it--

-- Wait. What had Héctor just said?

Ernesto’s head snapped up, and he turned so fast his neck almost hurt. Héctor was inhaling the scent of coffee, eyes closed in bliss, before he brought the cup to his lips and… and... 

“Gah!”

“Agh!” Héctor let out a startled cry when Ernesto’s hand smacked his own, causing the cup to fly off his grip and shatter on the floor, splattering coffee everywhere. “What…?” He stared at it for a moment, stunned, then turned to Ernesto with a genuinely worried expression. “... Did you and the gringo have peyote for dinner last night?”

Ernesto laughed, just a tad unhinged. “Hah! No, all’s fine - hahaha! Sorry, amigo. Just suddenly decided I wanted the coffee. Only looks like no one is having it now! Clumsy as always, huh?”

“You have never been clums--”

“You don’t mind cleaning up, do you?”

“You broke it, you clean--”

“Muchas gracias, amigo!”

“Hey!” Héctor tried to protest, but Ernesto didn’t listen. He was out the next minute, walking as fast as he could without running, blood rushing in his ears and heart thundering in his chest. Christ, that was close. How the hell would he have explained that?

I must get to him alone. Put this in his drink with no one else in the room. I can’t take risks.

He still had poison on him - enough to kill a man, he estimated. He would try again that evening, in the unlikely case Juan would be willing to accept a drink with him, maybe under the pretense of talking things out or asking for forgiveness or guidance or whatever. And if he wouldn’t, Ernesto would have to resort to less pleasant methods. He may no longer have his pistol - God knew what Imelda had done with it, and certainly she was not likely to return it if asked nicely - but at that point he would still have two days left.

A lot of accidents can happen in two days.

***

Unload. Load. Aim. Unload. Load. Aim. 

Of course Imelda knew she was missing a passage there - she hadn’t cocked the hammer - but obviously she couldn’t do that now; last thing she needed was for a gunshot to ring out and reveal to everyone that she had a pistol hidden away in her room. 

An army-issued pistol she was definitely not meant to have. 

She’d debated to herself what to do with it for a while, ever since finding it in Ernesto’s room and getting the truth out of him. She had thought of giving it to the Revolutionaries, leaving it among the weapons they would keep safe in the basement until the instruction came to leave the door open to let the men collect it at night - but soon enough, she’d realized it was a risk. 

How could she explain, if an explanation was demanded, the presence of an army-issued pistol among the supplies? She had no intention to lie, but she could think of no way to explain it away other than the truth. And that was a secret she had promised to protect; Imelda was not in the habit of going back on her word.

In the end she’d kept it, and neither Sofía nor Héctor seemed to remember its existence, as they hadn’t brought it up. Ernesto probably did remember, but knew better than asking. 

It was her pistol, now, and while she was never taught to fire a weapon she took it upon herself to familiarize herself with it, keep it in working order, and learn how to aim the best she could.

Just in case.

***

The sun had long since set when John returned to the parish. 

He was hungry, having eaten nothing since lunch the previous day, but it did not matter: some hunger was the least he deserved as punishment for soiling his soul as he had. That, and he couldn’t bear to face that… that man again. So he had spent the day wandering across the countryside surrounding Santa Cecilia, smoking and praying and then smoking again. 

But surely, he thought as he picked up the oil lamp at the entrance and made his way into the parish and towards the small kitchen where the meals were made - oh, the hunger - that… that beast had left, he must have. Surely he’d want to put as much distance as possible between himself and Santa Cecilia before John exposed him for the fraudster he was.

Surely he’d seen the last of him. The thought was part relief, part a stab of something in his stomach he was very quick to blame on hunger. It was for the best, he told himself; he’d never have to face that man again, and he would be spared the hangman’s knot, if he was careful enough. Despite everything, John had no desire to see him hang. He was loath to actually speak the words that would condemn him - and if he just left… then he may never have to.

Ah, but my sentence will never end, will it? I’ll pay for this for the rest of my earthly existence, and perhaps beyond.

Taken as he was by his grim thoughts, John didn’t realize there was light filtering beneath the door of the kitchen until after he opened it to find himself staring at that man sitting at the kitchen table, alone, an oil lamp on the table along with two glasses full of wine. 

“Juan!” he exclaimed, standing up. He had the audacity to smile at him, that vile, venomous viper. “Here you are! I was starting to worry--”

John slammed the door shut.

“Hey! You almost hit my face!” his voice came from the other side, followed by a sigh. “All right. Never mind,” he muttered, and tried to open the door. “Listen, I just want--”

“Don’t you come out!” John snapped, throwing all his weight against the door. The mere idea of finding himself alone with him once again, at night, terrified him more than the tales of devils and shapeshifting monsters his nanny would tell him as a child. “You should be gone!”

“Juan, por favor, I wanted to talk--”

“Save your breath! Every word that leaves your mouth is a lie and I will hear no more of it!” John snapped, his voice frantic despite his efforts to keep it low, so that Brother Hector would not awaken, would not come, would not ask. “And-- and my name is John,” he added, trying to sound indignant at the butchering of his name. It only came out a pitiful whine. 

“Listen, I am sorry. I want to make amends. Come in - let’s have a drink and--”

John squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head. “If you wish to make amends,” he choked out, “leave this place before sunrise. Have you not harmed their souls - and mine - quite enough?”

“I-- this is not-- I didn’t mean--”

“I will expose you,” John cut him off, stepping back from the door. He didn’t want to, but he could yet threaten to. “It is what you deserve and no lie you utter can change that. All you can choose is where you will be in two days’ time. I am giving you a head start, and you’d do well not to keep wasting it. If the next thing you do is not getting out of this village, then… then…”

If your next step is not towards that door, his father had told him so long ago, God help us both.

John opened his eyes, his expression stony. “Then may God help you, because I shan’t,” he said, and walked away from the door towards his room with quick steps, a hand over his mouth.

***

That… hadn’t gone as planned.

Ernesto threw the poisoned wine out of the window and put the glass aside with a long sigh. For a moment he’d been tempted to go after Juan, try to insist he accept that drink, but he knew there would be no point: the gringo’s mind was made up, and no amount of smooth talking would change it. Silencing him was the only option, but of course good old Juan was making that more difficult than it had to be, too. Ernesto groaned, leaning against the wall and rubbing his face, adamantly ignoring the part of him that was, even now, relieved. 

… Well, of course having a dead body to deal with was not pleasant, no wonder he didn’t precisely love the idea, but he really shouldn’t be relieved. It would be the lesser evil, and he would have to take it. He’d do anything to survive, to be able to remain safely in Santa Cecilia until the end of that damned war.

Whatever it takes. If only I still had my pistol.

He still had some rat poison left, but I saw no point in even trying to put it in some other glass: it was clear the gringo was not going to have a drink with him, after all. He would have to take him by surprise, someplace with no witnesses, and end it quickly with whatever he had at hand. 

He’d wait for the right moment to act, and seize it. He’d make it quick, and then… who’d accuse him, once Padre Juan’s body was found dead after going out on one of his nature walks?  People may be lurking at the outskirts of Santa Cecilia - outsiders, bandits, revolutionaries - and Americans were… not very well-liked. 

The golden crucifix, he always has it around his neck. If I take it, everyone will think it was robbery. No one will know. Who would suspect me?

It wasn’t how Ernesto had wanted to go about it, but once again… Juan had left him no choice. Unlike Alberto, who had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, the stupid gringo had voluntarily signed his own death warrant. He’d execute it, that was all, and perhaps it would sting, or disturb his sleep for a time… but it would pass. It had to pass. Ernesto pushed aside all doubt, picked up the wine glass without poison in it, and emptied it in two long gulps.

***

In the darkness and silence of his room, Father John Johnson knelt and prayed.

He prayed for God to forgive his weakness, his sins. He prayed he may never have to see that man’s face again, that he may awaken the next morning and be told he had simply vanished without a word. He could keep his own lips sealed, then, and focus on his mission once again - teaching the locals true Catholicism, save their souls for the insidious paganism infiltrating God’s church. He’d become lax, he saw it now, too indulgent, and should have never faltered. He’d traded the salvation of their souls for a few smiles and pats on the back - how could he?

He prayed for forgiveness. He prayed his work would be enough to wash the stain off his soul. He prayed for strength, for resolve - for never having to see him hang. He would never be pure again but ah, God, he wanted no part in a man’s death. 

His words had been such comfort. His touch had warmed him. He’d wanted to believe him when he’d said his desires did not make him a monster - but look where it got him. He’d known the truth of his sin in his heart, and chosen to ignore it for a seductive lie. 

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.

As the candle in his room grew smaller, and the sky brightened in the east, John kept his eyes shut, remained kneeling, and kept praying for both of their souls.

***

“Run this by me again, you thought it was Imelda leaving the notes?”

“Yes! I mean, it seemed to make sense…”

“And she thought it was you?”

“Well, yes…”

“Why?”

Ah, now that was something Héctor shouldn’t mention. He had promised not to go around telling about the meeting in the basement with the revolutionaries, and while he knew Cheech could be trusted… well, he’d still given his word. “Just… reasons.”

“Hah!” Chicharrón guffawed, wiping the sweat off his forehead. Why was he even sweating while it had been Héctor to move the crates from the hiding place written in the most recent note into the usual empty grave, ready to be taken by the resistance, was a whole other mystery Héctor didn’t focus too much on. “You’re just head over the eels and see each other everywhere, that’s what happened,” Cheech muttered, pulling out the note in question from his pocket. “Looks nothing like her handwriting. Or yours.”

“Well, it would make sense for the person writing to alter it,” Héctor protested. “And also, you’re supposed to destroy that note after reading it.”

Cheech shrugged. “Right, right. Juanita!” he called out, letting the note fall on the ground. The rooster appeared seemingly out of nowhere, as though summoned, and threw himself at the note to tear it to shreds. “There. Done. Now come drink something, all this work always makes me thirsty.”

“... You’ve done absolutely nothing.”

“I gave directions. What, you’d have an old man with a peg leg do heavy work?”

“Well, it sounds bad if you put it that way, but--”

“Then shut up and come drink something before I change my-- huh. Is that Miguel?”

It was Miguel, climbing over the low stone wall around the cemetery and then running to them like he had the devil on his heels. “Héctor! Cheech!” he exclaimed, grabbing Héctor’s cassock. “Can I hide here? Please please please please?”

Federales, was the first thing Héctor thought, and his blood ran cold. Had they come at last, to take men and boys for their cause, to take the food and medical supplies, to drink all there was to drink do… only God knew what to the women?

“What happened?” Héctor asked, crouching down and grabbing Miguel’s shoulders. “Are you all right? Are the others all right? Is it the army?”

Miguel shook his head. “No, no, no army! Worse! Father John has gone loco!”

Héctor blinked. Chicharrón scoffed. “Nothing new under the sun,” he muttered, while Héctor frowned, thinking back of what… odd confrontation the previous morning. 

“What did he do?”

“Well, we were in class - learning stuff, like normal, and he just burst in and began telling everyone they were doing everything wrong,” Miguel explained, turning to glance back towards the orphanage over his shoulder. Dante was clambering over the wall, too, trying to follow him into the cemetery. “He looked bad, his eyes were all pink and he told us to speak in Latin, and we couldn’t, and he got so mad! He went and told Imelda they were setting us up to lose our souls to the Devil, and that we should strive to be better than our savage ancestors, and then she almost hit him with a chair when he turned, but Sofía held her back…”

“A shame, that,” Cheech muttered. 

Héctor’s frown deepened. “He was worse than usual yesterday morning - he was raving about the sins of the village. I haven’t seen him since,” he muttered. He’d thought maybe he’d simply been cranky after a bad night’s sleep, but it seemed he’d only gotten worse. What was happening? He’d been getting… better, more bearable, and now all of a sudden--

“Well, I haven’t seen him in almost a month,” Cheech retorted. “Thank God for that.”

“He’s probably not seeking you out because you have a murderous rooster and are a blasphemous short-tempered cabrón-- agh, sorry, Miguel, cover your-- wait, too late, I said it. Uuugh.”

As Miguel let out a chuckle, Cheech just shrugged. “And that’s how I like it. Clearly it pays to be a blasphemous short-tempered cab--”

“Not in front of the kid!”

“Right, right. Well, muchacho, you can hide here all you want. The gringo will grow tired, sooner or later. He had better. If he keeps this up, it’s only a matter of time before someone snaps and bashes his skull in,” he added, laughing.

He had no idea - none of them did - just how accurate that assessment was.

***

Following Juan on his nature walk, as he called them, was about as easy as breaking into the shed with the key had been. Ernesto had worried he may not manage to go unnoticed, regardless his attempts at staying behind and hidden in the admittedly scarce vegetation and far more numerous rocks, but the gringo seemed deep in thought and hadn’t turned back once as he walked. And walked. And walked.

Good. The farther away we get from the village, the better. No one will hear. No one will know. Bandits, it happens.

He sort of wished he’d had the time to grab something he could use as a weapon, but he’d spotted the gringo going off by chance and had barely managed to follow after he rid himself of the… several  parishioners who had come to him asking he put a stop to what seemed a full-fledged reign of terror now that Juan had finally snapped. The side of him Ernesto had somehow managed to placate had returned with a vengeance, it seemed.

“He told me it is a sin for women to be in charge of a business!” the seamstress had protested, clearly livid. “It’s just me, how does that pendejo think I’d make a living if I cannot work on my own!”

“He screamed at my grandson that he needed to cut his hair or he’d go to Hell! Now he’s terrified the Devil is hunting him down!”

“He heard me say I wanted to get new picture frames to put on the ofrenda, and he told me-- something about pagan fetishes?”

“He told me I’m going to Hell, just like that. I was just scratching my ass, seems a bit harsh, no?”

“... You sure that wasn’t because you’re a curadero?”

“Ah. That’s possible.”

Ernesto had excused himself quickly, told them he’d talk to Padre Juan at the first chance, and headed off the same direction he’d spotted him going. He was just beginning to think the pendejo was never going to stop and was planning to walk all the way to Oaxaca powered by pure spite when, finally, he stopped by the small stream that ran through Santa Cecilia.

For a moment Ernesto thought he might drown him in it but ah, it was barely more than a trickle now, the weather had been so dry. Strangling him was… a possibility, but Ernesto would rather not do it if he could help it, because the thought of having him seeing him as he died - having to watch his face as he dies, reddened and features twisted as he tried to breathe - was more than he felt he could bear. 

So he just watched, hidden behind shrubs and sparse trees, as the gringo sat, lit himself a cigarette, and released a cloud of smoke. 

All right. It’s not or never.

Ernesto looked down and ah, there - a rock the size of his head, right by his feet. Heavy. Deadly. And if it worked for Cain, it would work for him. He only needed to walk up to him behind his back, quietly, and strike. He would never know what hit him. 

And he was about to throw the first stone. I was only quicker.

Ernesto clenched his teeth, held the stone in both hands, and almost stepped out of his hiding spot - only that a sound reached him, sudden as it was harsh, unmistakable. A sob. He stilled, and stared with a knot in his throat as Juan’s shoulders shuddered and he suddenly hunched forward, palms pressed over his face, and broke into full-on weeping, sobs so harsh his entire frame shuddered.

Ah, mierda. The rock was heavy in Ernesto’s hands, his mouth dry, and somewhere in the back of his mind a voice screamed for him to do it, do it now, while he was not looking up, while he was vulnerable. One blow to the head, he’d be put out of his misery, and Ernesto would be safe once more; everyone would assume it was the work of some outsider, and why not? Any gringo could become a target, since Veracruz. 

He’d tear the golden crucifix off his neck-- Father Joseph’s parting gift, it is very dear to me -- and that would be it. It wasn’t like Juan had a family behind him who would push for light to be shed on his death, and-- maybe one day I may be allowed to return home, only one day, once I have redeemed myself, and see them again -- he’d just pretend to be shocked when someone found the body, officiate his funeral-- it wouldn’t count, I am not a priest, that’s why I never did funerals or last rites -- and never again have to worry about him. Never again have to see him, or hear his voice, or… or hear him cry, though last he’d heard him make sounds like that it was in bed and not precisely weeping, and...

“I had no choice--”

“No choice! How did you have no choice but to defile me! You ruined me!”

God, the stone felt heavy in his hands, so heavy as he watched Juan crying as only a lost soul can. But he had to move now, or the moment would be gone and he may never get another chance. It was life or death, an easy choice. It ought to be an easy choice. The only one. 

Todo modo, he thought, trying to shut out the sobs still reaching his ears.

Todo modo para buscar la voluntad divina. Does this seem divine will?

It is mine and it is enough. If God wanted me to give a damn about his will, he shouldn’t have let the army take me. He shouldn’t have let them turn me into a murderer. 

Ernesto de la Cruz clenched his jaw, grasped the stone more tightly, and prepared to move.

***

“Dante! Stop! Come back here!”

Miguel ran as fast as he could, but of course Dante had four legs and keeping up with him after he set off after a hare proved impossible. He didn’t think Dante had ever ran that long without stopping: usually something would distract him enough to change his course, or slow down; other times, he would crash into something. But this time, it felt like he would never stop. 

And Miguel’s legs were tired. 

“Dante!” he tried to call out, wheezing. He’d seen his stupid dog’s tail disappear behind some bushes to the side of the stream, and he followed, hoping he’d gotten tangled or something so he could finally reach him and tell him off for running off like that. Juanita hadn’t meant to hurt him with that peck to his tail, he was sure. Well, almost sure, but--

“No, no! Go away! Perro estúpido, leave me alone…!”

The hushed voice among the rustling bushes made Miguel still, his furiously beating heart leaping on his throat. Who was that? Soldiers? Bandits? Spies?

“Dante, get-- get off!”

Oh. Miguel let out a long breath. No, no soldiers or bandits - whoever that was he knew Dante. But why was he whispering like that?

“Who’s there?” Miguel called out, instinctively trying not to raise his voice either, and walked further into the bushes, peered past a tree. “Oh! It’s you! I thought-- what are you doing?”

The sight before his eyes was… weird. Ernesto was cursing under his breath, Dante dangling from his sleeve and a large rock under the other arm - which he dropped the second he saw Miguel, clearly startled. Only for it to land squarely on his foot.

A noise that might have been a strangled grito left him, and he slapped a hand over his mouth to muffle it. Miguel blinked. “What are you?”

“I-is someone there?” a voice called out, heavily accented and unmistakable, though right now it seemed oddly nasal, too. 

“Is that Padre--” Miguel began, but he didn’t get to finish the question: the next moment Ernesto grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and was dragging him deeper among the shrubs, behind more trees, Dante still holding onto his sleeve and wagging his tail. “Oye!” Miguel exclaimed when they finally stopped, quite some distance away. “What was that abou--”

“Will you shut up!” Ernesto snarled, and suddenly lifted him, shaking him like a rag doll. It made whatever Miguel had been about to say die in his throat - his features were so distorted he hardly looked like himself.

“E-Ernest--” 

“Don’t Ernesto me! Your damn dog - you - I should have let you drown in the stream!”

That was unexpected, and it cut deep,coming from the same man who’d said they would travel the world together and play music for crowds only a few days earlier. It had been some reassurance that someone did want him after all. “Y-you don’t mean it, we’re frien--”

“We’re not friends, idiota. If we were, you wouldn’t have blabbed and risked my neck!”

Oh-- he knew, he knew he had told Héctor the truth. Miguel’s eyes stung, his vision growing blurry. “I, I knew they were not going to hurt--”

“You know nothing,” Ernesto snapped, and dropped him on the ground. Dante growled in protest, only to jump back with a yelp when he was hit by a vicious backhand. “Now get out of my sight, or God help us both!”

Miguel ran all the way back to the village, Dante in tow, his eyes blurry with tears.

***

By the time Ernesto returned to his spot, Juan was no longer there. Of course not, his usual luck. Ernesto muttered a curse under his breath and stood there for a few moments, wondering what he should do. 

No matter which way he turned, he couldn’t see the damn gringo anywhere… and besides, going through with his plan after that brat had spotted him would be too risky. Miguel would talk, as he had before, and it would look… suspicious at best that Padre Juan just so happened to have been killed by bandits right after he had been spotted following him.

That damn kid. Should have silenced him when I could. He would have told no one, I’d still have my pistol, and this would be all over now.

Part of him was horrified by his own thoughts, but its voice was feeble, inaudible beneath the anger and growing panic. Because he hadn’t silenced Miguel, he did not have the pistol, and he had little over a day to get rid of the gringo before he ruined everything. It was infuriating, but it was how things were and there was no use in crying over spilled milk.

There would be another moment he could seize before time was up, and he would, he had to. His life was on the line - and now he had little over a day left to save it.

Yet, despite the growing panic, there was something beneath it - a hint of relief, the part of him that didn’t want to do it, refusing to go away. Ernesto did his best to ignore it, and began limping back towards the village.

***

Héctor was walking out of the cemetery - no, Ernesto was not there either and he was running out of ideas - when Miguel slammed into him at full speed, almost knocking them both to the ground. The boy stumbled, and Héctor caught him just on time to spare his face a painful meeting with the ground. “Oye! Careful there, chamaco! Where are you going in such a--”

“Let me go!” Miguel shrieked, shoving him away and taking several steps back, reaching up to wipe his-- wait, was he crying? Oh God, he was crying. 

“Miguel?” Héctor called out, alarmed. “Chamaco, what happened--”

“You told him!” Miguel almost screamed, causing a couple of passe-byes to pause and turn to look, taken aback. If possible, Héctor found himself even more confused.

“Told? What--”

“He knows that you know-- you told him I told you! You’d promised you wouldn’t!”

Oh. Oh, mierda. That was not supposed to come up, had Ernesto told him that? He must have, who else, but why would he? “Miguel, it’s all right. We sorted things out and no one is mad--”

“He is!” Miguel wiped his eyes furiously, face all red. “He’s mad now, and… he was gonna take me… you ruined everything and I don’t want to talk to you again!”

“Miguel, listen, we only-- Miguel!” Héctor called out, but ay, it was too late: Miguel was off running again, Dante in tow with something in his mouth that looked suspiciously like a chicken leg stolen from God knew who. He groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. Miguel had never, ever been that angry at him before. Surely he would come around, but--

“Heh, look at that,” Gustavo’s voice came from somewhere behind his back. “Maybe the gringo is right, these kids aren’t getting enough stiff discipli--”

“Chingate,” Héctor snapped, causing him to trail off and a couple of elderly women to gasp, but he didn’t care. He just walked off, back to the parish, to tell Sofía and Imelda that he couldn’t find Ernesto anywhere.

***

“What I’m saying is, the gringo is out of control and Ernesto still is the parish priest, at least on paper. So whatever issue there is with Juan he had better say something about it, because if he doesn’t put a stop to it I swear someone is going to strangle him before next Sunday and that someone is probably going to be me.”

“Get in line,” Imelda muttered, causing Sofía to chuckle.

“Curious as I am to see who’d get to him first, it would probably be a lot better if Ernesto managed to calm him down. Whatever the means.”

“I’d really prefer not to speculate on those means.”

Both Sofía and Imelda turned to the door to see Héctor walking in, and behind him… no one. “I couldn’t find him,” Héctor spoke up before either could ask. “No idea where he went. I met Miguel, thought and… well…”

They both were silent as Héctor told them about the encounter, and by the time he was done even Sofía was not smiling anymore. 

“Why tell him? What was he thinking?” Imelda asked, scowling. Héctor shook his head. 

“I have no idea what he was thinking, he’s been acting weird the past couple of days. I have no idea what the gringo is thinking, he’s been even weirder. It’s like they have both gone mad.”

Sofía raised an eyebrow, the gears in her head turning. “Yes. Gone mad about at the same time. And Ernesto has been oddly passive while Padre Juan went on with his bullshit of telling old widows they were going to Hell for eating meat on a Friday.”

Héctor blinked for a moment, but Imelda was quicker to put two and two together. “... Do you think there is a connection?”

“If there isn’t, I’ll eat my rosary.”

“Ah,” Héctor muttered, looking concerned. Well, more concerned than before. “You don’t think Padre Juan might have… figured something out?”

It was probably the worst case scenario in Sofía’s mind, just about the last thing they needed to deal with. All right, maybe not the last - that would be Federales swarming the village - but still, pretty close to the bottom of the list. But it was… more likely than she was comfortable with, taking into account Padre Juan’s suddenly unhinged behavior and Ernesto’s sudden anger at Miguel for telling them the truth despite nothing bad coming out of it. 

They certainly had never told Padre Culo Blanco a thing. 

“Well, I figure the easiest way to find out is to have a talk with the man himself.”

“The gringo?” Héctor was clearly not a fan of the idea. Sofía shook her head.

“No, not the gringo, I’d sooner have Gustavo in my bed again.” She made a face. Everyone has regrets and that was hers. “We’ll talk to Ernesto, when he shows up. He has to, sooner or lat--”

The sound of a door opening and closing caused her to trail off. All three turned as one to look at the kitchen door in silence, listening to the footsteps on the wooden boards. Oddly uneven footsteps, really, as though someone was limping rather than walking down the corridor. 

Maybe it’s the gringo, Sofía thought, maybe someone did teach him a lesson after all.

But it wasn’t the gringo: the door was pushed open and there stood Ernesto, sweaty and hair ruffled, looking rather grumpy. His expression, however, turned to surprise when he saw all three of them sitting there, staring at him. He opened his mouth, but got no chance to speak.

Sofía smiled. Widely. “Oh, here you are,” she said, voice sickly sweet. “Sit with us, amigo. I think you need to explain just what the hell is going on.”

***

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#pixar coco #ernesto de la cruz #miguel rivera #imelda rivera #hector rivera #coco #fake priest au

[muse539]

Here We Lie in the Shadows

Chapter Three: BLT’s

Read on ao3!

....

Bellamy startled awake at the sound of a car horn being held for just slightly too long.

“Oh, fuck you too, buddy!” Clarke swore.

The bridge over the Mississippi River into St. Louis was busy, even so early in the morning.

“What time is it?” Bellamy asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The sky was dark.

“A little past two. I pulled over at a rest stop for a while to sleep.”

Bellamy’s eyebrows creased. “You could have woken me up, I would have driven.”

Clarke waved a hand dismissively, and began to merge off of the highway, the iconic arch to their right.

“I thought we were going to drive straight to LA?”

Clarke followed signs for the convention center, the smaller streets dark and quiet.

“I’m hoping Echo thinks that too. We’re better off driving only at night, and I have a friend who I’d like to talk to while we’re here.”

Eventually, Clarke pulled off of the street and into the parking garage next to a small hotel. Grabbing their meagre belongings and printing a ticket that promised parking would be entirely too expensive, they went inside.

The hotel was modest, but nice, and the man occupying the desk eyed them dubiously, no doubt surprised to see people coming in so late. Or early.

“We’d like a room, please.”

The man eyed them up and down. Bellamy could imagine they both looked worse for wear, in practically stolen clothes and only having slept for a few hours in a car. All after almost being blown up.

Bellamy was sure they looked the epitome of perfection and grace. Not. Internally, he snorted.

Regardless, the man turned to his computer and pulled up the available rooms. “One room or two?” he asked.

“Just one, thank you. One bed.” Clarke’s voice was polite, but her eyes suggested an intense impatience.

Bellamy’s eyes widened slightly before he remembered to school his expression. Clarke paid the man in cash, and within a few minutes, they had their keys and were making their way to the elevators.

Once they were inside and the doors rolled closed, Bellamy turned to Clarke. “Why did you-”

“Shhhh.”

Bellamy shut up and followed Clarke when the doors opened. It was only once they were inside their room - with the single bed - that Clarke turned to Bellamy.

“The wait staff at Arcadia thought you were waiting for your wife. If Echo did her homework, she knows that. It’s as easy of a cover to maintain as any. We’re certainly not related.”

This time, Bellamy snorted externally. Clarke’s lips lifted in a small smile. “Okay, fine. You take the bed then, you’ve barely slept.”

Clarke laughed then. “Bellamy, I think we’re mature enough to share the bed. You’re not scared of your wife, are you?”

That tore a laugh out of him. “No, I suppose not.” They smiled at each other. “Seriously though, go to sleep. I want to shower anyway.”

Shrugging, Clarke turned to the bed and opened her duffle bag. Bellamy slipped into the bathroom.

---

Clarke was asleep by the time Bellamy finished his shower. He’d forgotten to pack his razor, which was upsetting to him. He’d never had much luck pulling off facial hair, but he supposed it would make him look different. Maybe different enough to throw off their presumed tail.

Bellamy was musing over this as he made his way to the small desk in the room. Since Clarke was asleep, now was the perfect time to work on his Michelin reports.

Let’s give Arcadia that third star.

---

Clarke always rose with the sun, no matter how little sleep she’d gotten. Once, at Miller’s suggestion, she’d gotten drunk the night before, to see if she'd sleep later. In the end, she’d actually woken up earlier than normal.

It was a curse.

Clarke rolled over and saw that the other side of the bed was made, Bellamy sitting at the little table by the window. The curtains were open, and he was watching the sun rise.

Clarke was decidedly not admiring his profile.

“Did you sleep at all?” He was in his pajamas, but they didn’t look slept in.

“Hmm?” Bellamy turned to her, blinking slowly. “Ah, no. I wasn’t tired. I am hungry though. Breakfast?”

Clarke rose onto her forearms. Bellamy’s eyes briefly traced the way her hair flowed down her back. “Sure. We can order room service.”

Bellamy grunted like the idea offended him personally. Which it did. “Room service? Oh no, no. We’re in St. Louis! There are so many great options here, we’re not ordering room service.”

Clarke’s eyes rolled up to the ceiling. Great. I’m stuck with a foodie with no regard for his own safety. “Bellamy. Have you forgotten that there are people, at the very least, Echo, likely following us? And that those people blew up a restaurant the last time we were at one?”

He scoffed. “Of course I remember, Princess . We’ll keep it low profile. Obviously.”

If the NSA has taught her anything, it’s when to pick her battles. Bellamy’s posture told Clarke all she needed to know: he was not budging. She sighed. “Fine.”

“Great!”

---

They passed multiple restaurants while they walked before finding one that didn’t offend Bellamy’s apparently delicate sensibilities. Clarke made sure to let him know that she thought he was being ridiculous.

“Hey!” he laughed, her jibes were nothing compared to Octavia’s. “I don’t know when I’m ever going to get to be in St. Louis again, I want to enjoy it.”

They (meaning Bellamy) settled on a restaurant called BLT’s. Not the sandwich, no no, but rather “Breakfast, Lunch, and Tacos.”

“It’s such an interesting concept!” Bellamy was practically buzzing with excitement, curls jumping with each quick turn of his head; Clarke was barely holding back laughter. Bellamy ordered a chorizo and egg taco, as well as a sunrise taco, while Clarke ordered a veggie scramble.

“Come on, Clarke. Not even a taco? It’s in the name!”

“So is the word breakfast, Bellamy.” He scoffed.

When the food arrived, Bellamy pulled out some of his papers from the backpack he carried.

“What are you doing?” Clarke asked.

“Grading.” Bellamy pushed a paper towards her. It appeared to be a history report written by a student that didn’t understand punctuation.

“Yikes.”

“You have no idea.”

Of course, what Clarke didn’t know was that Bellamy had a small notebook open under the table, and while he appeared to be reading his student’s papers, he was actually writing a critique on the tacos.

The chorizo has a good amount of spice, but the taco itself is a little dry, despite the pepper jack cheese. What the taco could really use is a small amount of salsa…

When they finished eating, and Bellamy gave the offending paper he showed to Clarke a C-, they walked back to the hotel.

When their door closed, Clarke pulled out her phone. It was a burner that Harper gave her before they left Chicago. She dialed a number and held it up to her ear, holding out a finger before Bellamy could ask what she was doing.

Thankfully, he picked up. “Hello?”

“Murphy, are you in town?”

“Clarke? What the shit, Griffin, I’ve been trying to reach you for weeks now!”

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m on the run, you know how it is.”

“I do know how it is, which is why you should have picked up your fucking phone!”

“Lay off Murphy. Are you in town or not?”

“You’re in St. Louis? Why?”

“Murphy.”

“Fuck you. No, I’m not in St. Louis. I’m in Oklahoma City on an assignment. At the sister branch.”

“Well, I need to talk to you.”

“And I need to talk to you. When can you get here?”

Clarke scoffed. “Get there? Murphy, I’m on the run, with a civilian no less. I don’t have time to be making detours!”

“You have time for this one. Get here.” He hung up.

“That absolute bastard.”

Bellamy blinked at her, wide eyed. “Who was that?”

“John Murphy, another NSA operative. He’s a friend.”

“Some friend.”

Clarke shrugged.

Looking like he was about to poke a bear, Bellamy asked, “Clarke, why do you do this?”

“Do what?”

“The NSA.”

Clarke regarded him for a moment. He had sat down in the chair he’d occupied that morning, Clarke had perched on the end of the bed. His eyes were kind, and he seemed sincere, even if Clarke suspected he was hiding something. Not that she had any proof, but she can’t imagine why else he would have so easily gone along with playing her husband. That alone was far from normal behavior. But, she had no reason to hide at this point. He already knew too much for an apparent civilian, knowing her tragic backstory wouldn’t make him any more dangerous.

“My father was murdered when I was 14, and they never found the killer.”

Bellamy grew quiet, dark eyes widening.

“When I was younger, I wanted to be an artist, but when Dad got killed, I just wanted to figure out who did it. The case is long cold now - it’s been over 10 years - but while I can’t help my Dad, I can help other people. Stop other tragedies from happening. The government is so corrupt. I figure, by inserting myself into that narrative, I can help make things a little better.”

“I’m so sorry, Clarke.” His gruff voice was gentle.

She smiled weakly. “It’s okay.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Clarke cleared her throat. “Well, we shouldn’t drive during daylight hours, and we also shouldn’t wander around the city. So, I don’t know about you, but I’m going back to sleep.”

In the end, they traded off taking naps until early evening. By then. Bellamy’s stomach was making some truly obscene noises.

“I’ll go to the corner store and get us some food.”

“Bellamy, we really shouldn’t be going out - even this morning was a mistake.”

He huffed. “Well, I’m not going to eat fast food. So unless you’d like me to eat you, Princess, I’m going to get something from the corner store.” Bellamy flushed scarlet when his brain caught up with his words. He hoped Clarke didn’t notice.

She noticed. But, feeling gracious, she elected to ignore it. “It’s still a bad idea. With Echo tailing us-”

“Echo’s been tailing you, not me. She maybe got a glimpse of me in the restaurant, but I looked different. She’s not going to notice me.”

Clarke looked as though she was in pain, but she sighed. “Okay. Be quick, alright? If you’re not back in half an hour, I’m going to assume you were compromised, and I will leave without you.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“See you in half an hour then.”

---

Echo watched as the man traveling with Clarke Griffin, Bellamy Blake, walked into the corner store. He had a two day old scruff, but that did little to disguise the large man loping through the streets of St. Louis.

Echo could confront him, and demand that he take her back to Clarke, but Echo suspected that this man may be strong willed. She didn’t believe he would go easily, but he didn’t need to. Echo was content, for now, to keep following them, keeping her distance.

---

Bellamy made it back to the hotel room with time to spare, weighed down with multiple bags of food. He didn’t like that he was being forced to live on convenience foods, but, he reminded himself, even this was a step up from what he and Octavia had to eat as children. Namely, that he had anything to eat at all.

Clarke had already packed their bags by the time he returned, the sun slowly setting over the city. “It’s time to go,” she said, thrusting his bag into his arms. They made their way towards the parking garage.

Before setting out, Clarke opened the trunk and pulled out a license plate. She then swapped it with the plate that was already on the car.

“I suppose that’s better than grand theft auto.”

Clarke snorted. “That’s for the next town. For now, the plates are fine.”

Bellamy wasn’t sure if she was kidding. Clarke’s eyes said that she wasn’t.

And they were off.

As they turned onto the highway, Bellamy spoke. “Why did you save me?”

The when and where went without saying.

Clarke was quiet for a moment. “Would you have rather I left you?”

“You might not be in this mess if you had.”

Clarke was silent, waiting for an answer. She had wondered herself. It was true that things might not have gotten so crazy had she left Bellamy, but she also likely wouldn’t have deciphered Octavia’s note as quickly without him. And it was… nice. To have the company.

Eventually, Bellamy sighed. “No, I don’t wish you had left me. I probably would have died if you did.” Echo would have thought Bellamy was Agent Blake regardless of if he left with Clarke that night. “But, still, why did you? You were upset when you realized I wasn’t Agent Blake, but you had me come with you anyway.”

Again, Clarke was quiet. Bellamy counted to twenty before she said, “I’m tired of the death.”

What she didn’t say was that Clarke has likely condemned Bellamy to death anyway. He’s right, Echo probably would have killed him if I left him behind, but now he’s involved. Now Echo will kill him, if we get caught.

They were mostly quiet for the rest of the drive, Bellamy dosing until he saw Clarke’s eyes begin to droop. He insisted on driving the rest of the way.

They rolled up to a motel on the outskirts of Oklahoma City at 4 am. Paying in cash, they again got a room with one bed.

Clarke glanced at Bellamy. “Get some sleep.”

“Why?” Bellamy asked.

“It’s best to be as rested as possible when dealing with John Murphy.”

#writing #bellarke #bellamy blake #clarke griffin #echo #john murphy #the 100 #tw swearing #here we lie in the shadows

[axemetaphor]

wwwhats up its 430am I cant sleep and I dont think I've ever done an annoying headcanon ramble for jdate on here so here we fuckin goooo I'm on mobile but I'm gonna try my damnedest to do a read more and if it doesnt work and looks stupid well sue me

amy is the one routinely awake before the other two. I dont mean shes always the first one to wake up, but her back pain is more likely to have her up in the early hours of the morning. shes also the only one who has anything thay resembles q sleeping schedule of the three as john is just like, completely fucked in that department and Dave's insomnia/depression-sleeping fucks him over sometimes. basically amy Has A Brain and also lost likely schedules it so that she can be falling asleep as her pain pills take effect.

amy also is the one who's like fairly into self care stuff like fuckinuhhh face masks and shit—look, I dont inow jackshit about self care, but I mean amy strikes me as the kind of person to actually maintain her appearance in a fairly regular manner. john will just like "forget" to take care of himself and then just Be Decadent for a week and then "forget" again (either going on a bender or just actually being normal for once) and all dave knows of self care is "when I get the urge to eat an entire pie, and give into that urge, That is self care"

anyways Partially because of that I headcanon Dave gets acne like Pretty Much All The Time and hes just kinda stopped caring about it. amy gets acne Sometimes because it just like Happens. john is that one lucky motherfucker who just is somehow naturally immune. perpetually clear skin on this man. I hate him

also dave Kind Of strikes me as the kind of guy fuckign "3 in 1" shampoo is targeted towards the man just Does Not Care. other girlfriends have tried to get him into actually using different kinds of soaps and not just defaulting to "3 in 1 wherever I think soap should go" but its amy who actually succeeds in breaking this terrible habit hes had.

also I think that Despite his hair being described as frizzy and all that, John actually takes care of his hair. except for times when hes Less Than Functional. and also yknow when the world is fuckin ending but I doubt anyone really has time for a haircare routine when they gotta be fighting monsters and shit

amy again is just a normal person about hair. but shes the only one who can actually cut hair and tbqh I think she does it Pretty Well! shes no professional but shes not john either that's for sure (if you let john close to your head with scissors, well— it's your funeral, man)

this is completely projecting and also like totally Useless but I just think it would be funny if Dave has exploding head syndrome. if you donf know what that is it's a phenomenon-or-something where right when you're dropping off to sleep your brain just liek idk gets bored I guess? and comes up with some phantom Loud Noises to startle the shit out of you. it's great! and by 'great' I mean terribly annoying! but in general I think Dave is a Very restless sleeper so him suddenly flinching himself awake isnt exactly Abnormal.

amy sleeps like a normal human being Mostly, I think she Might be one of those sorts who likes to sleep curled up in the fetal position which is so very valid. she gets night terrors sometimes though because ✨trauma✨. the best way to comfort her with that is a tight hug cause I feel like her Main fear would be that shes all alone again and a hug sure does help people feel less alone I think,

john either starfishes out when he sleeps (also I headcanon he likes to sleep at least Partially on top of Dave and Dave only pretends to hate it) or grabs hold of something and clings to it tightly. hes a very light sleeper, though, and snaps awake at any loud noise or especially if he gets bumped into too strongly. this doesn't always play well with Dave's restlessness and tendency to Sleep Fight but they manage.

I feel like its fairly common to Assume john has tattoos but specifically I feel like a lot of his tattoos are things he or his friends have drawn, I wrote about it Once Or Twice but maybe not here so I'll just like say it again, I think he asks his friends to draw shit on him then goes and gets it tattooed later (or, hell, right then and there lmao) and it's like a Mark of Friendship. he claims Dave has drawn the most on him because Dave's his best friend but whether or not that's true, who knows. the first one was from Dave, though, and john did it himself stick-and-poke style the night of. that happened while they were still in high school and Dave was actually Slightly Embarrassed because what he doodled was just like really stupid looking and fuckin hell john now you're gonna have that on you forever what the hell man? but the rest of John's tattoos, if not done by friends they're either things he drew (I maintain he still draws in his downtime I love the idea of artistically talented john so much-) or weird shit he found online.

I honestly didnt think Dave would really get tattoos because he does state hes afraid of needles BUT as someone Also afraid of needles who paradoxically wants tattoos .. he could probably power through it and get like A Few. one of them is from John (stick-and-poke style, again,) and I am Not actually sure how many hed have but definitely less than John. amy only has that one tattoo that I keep forgetting when I draw her godfuckendammit-

John is the one who makes the most Food Monstrosities (Dave barely even bothers to cook) and he does this by making just the worst decisions both technical-wise (as in, hes Definitely the "just turn the oven temperature up to speedrun cooking" kind of guy) and taste-wise. dave on the other hand is likely to make terrible drinks like jack daniels + mountain dew which my buddy Ben so fantastically dubbed "jack and piss." the sheer Concept of jack daniels + mtn dew tho is thanks to that one kurtis conner video about becoming a country boy which is entirely unrelated but everyone needs to know. ANYWAY.

john and Amy like playing pranks on each other (and dave). they're in an ongoing low-key prank war and Dave is Mostly just spectating but sometiems they Conspire to commit mischief against him. it's annoying sometimes but ultimately more endearing than it is annoying so he never gets Too mad.

john and Amy absolutely have Gaming Nights(tm) that sometimes include dave as well unless they wanna play some like fps game, I'm fairly sure hes said he doesnt really like those. but they also can get Competetive which, dave tends to act as a bit of a buffer to keep them from getting Too into it ... but sometimes he gets a little competitive too. what I'm trying to say is them playing mario kart is absolute chaos and also an event i woudl buy tickets to

john has a youtube channel for sure. he is So obnoxious. he hardly has any audience because let's be honest his videos kind of suck— they're all either kinda boring vlogs or him recording the cases he and Dave go on (when he can convince Dave to let him) which are almost always declared Fake by the commenters. amy is subscribed to him. dave probably doesnt even have/use his own YouTube channel so he was not subscribed until john stole his phone and did it for him. (he never watches the videos) the videos are not edited much, I dont think any of them really knows too much about video editing shit.

dave cant fuckin do math.

John and Dave do Not know how to handle crying. like Dave's learned what helps Amy, in specific, but anybody else? clueless. Dave also just does not cry very often in general (shut up lemme project again LMAO-) and tends to just refrain from doing it even if he wants to/probably should, rarely ever actually breaking down and letting it all out; he'll stop himself from getting there/even crying much in the first place. he doesn't exactly have a Reason for it or at least not one he can recite (it's the bullying. we dont get details of how that was beyond The Locker Room Incident which I wont go into but I'm just going to project the rest of it was similar to shit I went through, It's The Bullying). John also kinda Doesn't Cry and actually hes even more restrained about it than Dave, because he won't even cry around either of them if he can avoid it and if it happens he 1) will Not address it, 2) prefers no one else acknowledge it, and 3) will Run The Fuck Away if it's acknowledged. they both try Really Really Hard to help amy when shes crying though, if shes crying for a Big Reason, cause they both also understand she just cries easily and doesnt always need or want comfort.

that,s all for now BUT if I come up with mroe. there will be a reblog. also these are not all like "I am the only one who's ever tho ig ht this" or w/e a lot of them are from me talking with other people or Absorbing much older posts on here because I read Everuthing I can find.

I sure hope I can sleep soon, this is probably mostly incoherent. gnight

#jdate #john dies at the end #not sonic #rambles.txt #do i dare ? i do indeed csuse several dave headcanins here are projection #kin