#em writes stuff

[chiropteracupola]

forgot the name of the castle and ruined the moment entirely

[emm-of-many-thoughts]

The fic title:

How it begins:

[em-writes-stuff]

"please don't"

day 20 of @febuwhump

caretaker and whumpee

1095 words

warnings: implied past abuse, young whumpee

~

Caretaker jumps up when someone knocks on the door. She trips over her feet to get to the door and nearly hits her head on the handle when she gets there. She takes a deep breath and looks through the peephole, not expecting her little brother to be standing there in a bundle of thin blankets. 

She unlocks the door and looks at him. His eyes are unfocused, trained somewhere on the ground. Bruises litter his arms, legs, and what she can see of his torso. His hair is caked in mud and the curls that she took so much time to care for are dull and lifeless. His lip is split and his cheekbone bruised. Basically, he looks like he’s been thrown off a cliff. 

“Whumpee?” She asks, taking a step out onto the porch. 

He steps back on reflex, eyes focusing when he looks at her. For a second, he doesn’t recognize her. Then his eyes light with relief and he slumps forward, falling into her arms. “Caretaker.” 

She catches him, hand coming around his back to support him. “What happened?” 

He shakes his head and leans closer to her, arm wrapping tightly around her waist. “I’m fine.” 

“Ok,” she says. “We don’t have to talk about it. Let’s go inside, alright?” He nods and lets her lead him into the house. “Are you hungry? I’ve got a few microwave meals in the freezer or we could order take out.” 

She stops in the living room and peels him off of her, holding him an arms length away. “That blanket is filthy,” she says without thinking. She takes hold of it and tries to unwrap Whumpee from it, not seeing the terror in his face. 

He swats her hand away and pulls it tighter around himself. “Please,” he says, looking at the ground. “Don’t.” 

Caretaker nods and backs away, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” 

She clears her throat and shifts her feet. “So…dinner?” 

Whumpee looks up from the ground and nods. Caretaker smiles softly and turns into the kitchen. “Ok, I’ve got white cheddar macaroni and cheese or beef ravioli. Which do you want?” 

She walks out of the kitchen, both boxes in hand and holds them out to him. He looks at the boxes and shrugs, “Whichever you don’t want.” 

She laughs and turns the boxes toward her, “I bought them both, so I want both of them.” Whumpee’s face falls and she quickly comes up with a solution. “How about I cook both of them, see which one I want then, and bring the other one out to you. We can eat on the couch like we used to when you’d stay home sick from school? Maybe turn on an old movie?” 

He forces a smile and nods, “That sounds nice.” 

She beams and turns back into the kitchen. “I’ll put these in now. You’ve got enough time to go and change if you want to. I know it’s been a while…but you’ve slimmed down so you might fit in your old clothes again.” 

He stands there for a second before walking down the hallway to his old room. 

There’s dust on the handle when he turns it and the door squeaks open. He walks into his room and turns the lamp on, then turns it off when he sees the dust covering it. The door doesn’t quite close, so he does his best before walking over to the window and opening the blinds, letting the afternoon sun filter in. 

Caretaker tiptoes down the hallway and peeks into Whumpee’s room. He’s standing in front of the window with his eyes closed. He’d dropped the blanket and Caretaker turns around, guilty that she would invade Whumpee’s privacy like that. She takes a deep breath and knocks softly on the door. “Hey, there’s about two minutes left. You almost ready?” She can hear him shuffling around in the room and nods to herself. “Just come out when you’re done, ok? I’ll pull a movie up and be on the couch.” 

There’s a sound of confirmation from him and she turns back down the hallway and into the living room. She picks up the remote and scrolls through the channels before finding something that she and Whumpee used to watch all the time. She clicks on it and turns the volume up. 

The microwave beeps and she hurries into the kitchen to take it out before it beeps again. It burns her hand and she drops it, cursing softly to herself. 

The red sauce splatters all over the floor and nearby cabinets. She curses and picks up the ravioli with her fingers, dropping them back in the bowl. Her fingertips burn by the time she’s done, so she runs her hand under cool water for a minute while she digs through a drawer with the other hand, looking for a washcloth. She runs the cloth under the water and wrings it out in the sink. 

The sauce didn’t have time to dry, so it comes up easily, only staining the rug in front of the sink. She rinses the rag out and hangs it on the faucet, then pulls two forks out of the sink to wash. 

She can hear Whumpee’s footsteps in the living room and yells over to him, “I’m almost done! Just need to wash silverware and I’ll be out! Get comfortable, I think there’s a blanket in the cabinet!” 

He doesn’t respond, but she can hear the cabinet open and something fall out. 

“You ok?” She asks, tilting back to look into the living room. 

Whumpee’s stood in front of the cabinet, eyes locked on whatever fell. He’s in long sleeves and sweatpants, both of which pool around him. 

“Whumpee?” 

His head snaps up to look at her and he nods, “Yeah, just…scared me is all.” 

She smiles and dries the forks off with a towel, then sticks them in the bowls and walks to the living room. 

“You get macaroni tonight.” she says, holding the bowl out to him. “Careful, it’s hot.” 

He takes it and picks up a blanket from the floor. Wrapping it around himself, he sits on the couch and scoots back into the corner of it, knees drawn up to his chest. 

Caretaker looks at him and bites her cheek, debating what to do. She decides to pick up a blanket and sit on the other side of the couch, leg extended so it’s almost touching Whumpee. 

For a second, he stares at it, but then turns his attention back to the food. 

[sliviaplath]

7 “Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy.” 😊😊😊

7. everyone keeps telling me you're the bad guy

“Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy,” Lily breathed, her face inches from her own. It took all of Pandora’s self control to focus on the words tumbling out of her soft lips.

“Is that a deal breaker?” Pandora said lazily, leaning in closer. The space between them felt unbearable, unnatural even. Lily’s eyes searched her face for a moment and Pandora held her gaze with the same earnest intensity.

Before Pandora could even register it, Lily grabbed her hips and pushed her up against the wall, crashing her lips onto her’s. Her skin burned where Lily’s cold hands touched her, her lips devouring her mouth. Neither entertained the idea of coming up for air as Pandora wrapped her legs around her waist, deepening the kiss.

Lily finally broke away, curling the corner of her lips. “Good thing I’m into that, darling.”

[theonlythingimfuckingisstupid]

Lumity or Amity/Luz/Willow if you’re taking non-canon ships

warnings: none

characters: luz, amity (and a teeny bit of king)

322 words

a/n: i tried to write it with willow a few times but i don't think i have her voice down enough to post any writing of her yet

---

Amity walks into the owl house and calls out, “Hey! Is anybody home?” 

King sits up from his spot on the couch and points up the stairs, “Luz is up there. Um. She’s still working on the portal, so be ready for anything.” 

Amity nods and goes up the stairs. She knocks on the door and pushes it open. Popping her head past the doorframe, she says, “Luz? You ready for our date?” 

Luz looks up from her book and stares at Amity like a deer into headlights. “Is that today?” 

Amity purses her lips. “Yeah. We can do this instead though. Looks like you’re making some progress.” 

She looks at the pages strewn through the room. Some were scribbled on, some were crumpled and most were pinned to the wall. 

Luz nods, “I saw something earlier and it got me thinking about something else I’d seen in one of Eda’s books. But…I couldn't find it. So I took all the books and moved them in here. Figured out a spell that copies pages; so that’s come in handy. Found out a bunch about portals and I think as soon as we get a griffin’s armpit feather we can make one. We might also need a seasnake’s-”

“Luz,” Amity interrupts. “When was the last time you slept?” 

“I don’t know why people keep asking me that,” Luz says. “That’s not something I keep track of anymore.” 

Amity laughs half-heartedly, “So it’s been at least a day?” 

“Oh, easily.” 

“Right.” she pulls Luz away from a book and sits on the floor, head leaning against a dresser. “If you won’t sleep, then at least sit down? I can get anything you need for a bit.” 

“Ok,” Luz sighs. She sits down next to Amity and leans her head against her shoulder. “But just for a bit.” 

Amity agrees softly and scrolls through Penstagram as Luz tiredly flips through the pages in her book. 

[emmettspeakz]

Here's an idea: Simon and Baz live in apartments across the hall from each other and one drunken night Simon forgets his key and knocks for a while in hopes that Penny will unlock the door, but realizes he's at the wrong door when Baz answers.

This took forever I’m so sorry!!! I’ve been buried alive by writer’s block and I finally had time to write this freely and dedicate a lot of time to it so I’m writing it now.

Hope you enjoy anyway <3

Simon half-stumbled, half-fell up the stairs up to his apartment complex.  Room 60. Penny’s was next to his, room 58 as the way the rooms were arranged, the even numbers were on the left, odd rooms on the right. Not sure how that worked exactly. Simon had thought to himself once before, at a time where his head wasn’t rocking from alcohol intake. He fumbled at the sides of his jacket, his fingers only finding lint and empty air.

Not thinking clearly, he pounds on the door to the back of him, hoping Penny will hear him, not remembering she’s still at the party downstairs and probably will be for a while.

Not only that but the room isn’t Penny’s he’s knocking at.

The door creaks open, oddly loud in the dead silence outside the room. A figure is there, just standing and staring at him with an expression of distaste and anger, but something else…confusion maybe? Intrigue?

Simon picks himself up, standing straight to face the tall boy in front him, trying to not look like he might throw up at any time.

“Baz?” Simon blinks up at the boy standing before him. The light above them is not bright, but it still burns Simon’s sky-blue eyes as he glances up at Baz. Still, he doesn’t turn away. His face flushed as he  looked Baz over, unable to deny how good he looked in the faint light of the hallway. That or his head was just swimming with warmth from the alcohol he’d consumed only twenty minutes ago.

“What—what are you doing here?” Simon mumbled, the slurring in his voice obvious.

“I live here, Snow.” Baz replied, indifferently. “What are you doing here Snow?”

“I g-got locked out. Penny’s not here. S-Sorry to bug you man I’ll just—wait for Penny to get back.”

Simon was trying so hard to keep composure. As much as he didn’t trust Baz, he respected him, maybe admired him. He didn’t want Baz to see him in his lowest state in a while. He tried to shuffle backward towards his room but Baz grabbed his arm and pulled him back towards him.

Baz knew he didn’t really care much for the ginger-haired boy who hated him so much, (or he did but would never admit it), but Simon looked pitiful. His shirt was dirty, his hair disheveled and sticking up on his head, and Crowley, did he reek of alcohol.

“Come on Simon,” Baz coaxed the boy towards his room. “You can sleep here tonight. I know how long Penny stays at those things.”

Simon opened his mouth to protest but his mind betrayed him, as did his legs as he tried to move toward Baz. Baz leaned down to catch him before his butt touched the tile floor of the apartment complex, and half-carried, half-dragged Simon into his room. Room 61.

Baz placed Simon gently on the small couch in his living room, grabbed a pillow for him to lean against.

“I’m gonna go get you some water okay?” Baz said. “Be right back.”

“Baz-“ Simon began but cut himself off.

“What is it Snow?” Baz inquired, annoyed but doing his best to be patient.

“Don’t leave.” Simon practically whimpered.

Baz was taken aback at the sudden needy Simon but shook his head to clear it.

“I’m just going to the kitchen to get you some water. I’ll be right back, I’m not going anywhere really.”

Simon looked longingly at Baz, his eyes round like a puppy who really just wanted attention.

“Can I come with you?”

“N-No Simon you can barely walk okay? Just let me get you some water. I’ll be gone like a minute, I promise.”

Simon reluctantly turned around so he could lean against the back of the couch, pouting in his drunken stupor.

When Baz returned, Simon was almost as excited as a kid being told he was heading to Disney Land.

“Baz!” Simon cried.

“Shhh, drink this okay Snow?” Baz handed the water to Simon who drank it obediently.

“Can I get you anything else?”

Simon shook his head as he gulped the water down.

“Alright, well get some sleep. I’ll be right here.”

“What?”

What was so surprising about that?

“I’m not gonna let you throw up and choke on it okay? I’m not a sadist, I don’t want you dead. I’m trying to take care of you, alright? Now lie down and go to sleep.”

Simon looked away from Baz, and Baz couldn’t tell if he was ashamed for something his little brain concocted, but there was something sorrowful in those shiny blue eyes. Those eyes that Baz secretly loved to look into when they used to be roommates.

“People always leave.” Simon murmured into the quiet.

Baz looked at him, sympathy in his gray eyes.

“Penny is still there for you. And I’m here for the moment.”

“For the moment.” Simon repeated.

Baz mixed up his words as his words repeated back at him forced an exasperated sigh to fall from his lips.

“That’s not what I meant, you know that. I just mean, I’m here now ‘cause no one else is and I want to help you, Snow.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that.” Simon grumbled, facing away from Baz on the couch, twiddling his thumbs.

“I know you didn’t. But I—“ Baz felt his face get hot. Why was such a perfect boy like Simon so pessimistic? It hurt Baz to see him like this. So lost, so miserable.

“I care about you, Simon. Whether you want to believe that or not is on you.”

Simon, beginning to sober up just a little, turned to look Baz in the eye.

“You…you do?”

The question hung in the air for several seconds before either of them spoke.

Simon couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He must be more drunk than he thought.

Baz? Caring for him?

Wait…did he just call him Simon?

“Y-Yeah I mean, we used to room together. I can still care for you right? I never hated you or anything. We just weren’t exactly compatible as roommates.” The words stung as he said them but Baz had to tell the truth in times like these. He knew his dream of kissing Simon Snow was just a dream. There was no point of lying.

“You did this ‘cause you care for me?”

The words coming out of his mouth felt strange, like a foreign language he was not even close to being fluent in.

“Yes.”

Simon smiled at Baz, reaching for his arm and pulled Baz down to his level so he could give him a hug. Baz flinched, surprised at the contact, although he had to admit he couldn’t have hoped of a better thing to happen right now.

Well, except…

Suddenly Simon was leaning in close to his face. They locked eyes for what felt like a lifetime, but couldn’t have been more than a couple of seconds.

Baz had to pull away, even though he was inwardly kicking himself for doing so.

“Simon, no, stop. You’re drunk and confused, this isn’t you.”

This must be a dream. Baz’s dreams always ended the same way—an almost kiss with Simon Snow.

But this was different. The bright lights from his dream weren’t present, the sun had long since gone down. And Baz had never really fallen asleep that night.

Now Simon was lying on the couch wanting to KISS HIM, and Baz had pulled away.

“Here I’ll get you another shirt to wear.” Baz said, trying to distract himself.

When Baz returned, Simon was removing his shirt and looking over at Baz expectantly.

“Snow—I have a shirt you can barr-ow…“ Baz trailed off looking dreamy-eyed at Simon’s exposed skin despite himself. His eyes were practically bulging out of his head. Fuck. Simon was everything.

“Get over here.” Simon instructed. “Please?”

Baz obeyed, thrusting the shirt in Simon’s face. He took it gratefully, and patted the spot on the couch next to him for Baz to sit. Baz smiled slightly and joined Simon on the couch. They were sitting next to each other, like they did when they were at their desks in their room.

Simon leaned against Baz’s shoulder, feeling sleep begin to take him, the tip of his nose nudging Baz’s neck softly.

Baz giggled at the affection as Simon’s nose tickled him.

Simon’s face turned beat red.  He’d never heard such soft sounds coming from someone like Baz. It was…actually…endearing?

Suddenly Simon knew how he wanted to thank Baz.

He reached for Baz’s, tugging him towards him. Baz’s face reddened, not sure where this was going. Simon’s breath hit his neck and a wave of warmth washed over him. His breath wasn’t great, but right now Baz couldn’t care less.

Simon leaned in slowly until he finally placed his lips on Baz’s, who let out a gasp at the contact, until finally sinking into the kiss.

Baz couldn’t believe this.

He was…He was KISSING SIMON DAMN SNOW.

No, Simon Snow was KISSING HIM.

Finally, to catch his breath, Simon pulled away.

“What was that for?” Baz asked, his face still red as a tomato.

Simon grinned at his embarrassment, which was also reflected on his own face as his blushed.

“Thank you for taking care of me, being here for me….and for calling me Simon.” The last part Simon said in the most pleasant, teasing way that Baz turned a full shade of pink.

Simon chuckled at Baz before placing another kiss on his neck, on his cheek then again on his lips.

“God I’ve wanted that for so long.”

Simon raised one eyebrow.

“How long?”

Baz blushed even harder.

Simon just laughed and pulled Baz back into his arms so he could rest on his shoulder again so they could cuddle each other on the couch.

They stayed together like this, wrapped in each other’s warmth until they both fell asleep, heads resting on each other.

[dear-veronica-sawyer]

Secret (J.D. x Reader)

“Could you do a jd x reader where they've been friends for a while and she confronts him abt heather's suicide and take it where ever you want ((;“

(Wow this took a really long time. I’m so sorry!! There’s been a lot of stuff happening in my personal life and also I am a major procrastinator help) (also lmao im not completely sure if this is what you wanted but here ya go its not really a confrontation ugh im sorry im bad at life also the ending is rushed sorry)

(Idk why but he turned out to have more of a movie J.D. personality, sorry!)

WC: 1,709

Warnings: suicide mentions (obviously), unhealthy relationship, cussing, the very beginning of this is kinda angsty WHOOPS, gets kinda steamy i guess, majorly ooc whoops

(I DO NOT IN ANY WAY CONDONE UNHEALTHY RELATIONSHIPS)

Ever since you had heard what happened, it seemed you were stuck in your own head. It felt like you were stuck in this endless loop of “that can’t be true, that can’t be true, that can’t be true”. Ms. Fleming tried to talk to you, with little to no response.

There is no way Heather Chandler commit suicide, was the thought that been running through your mind for what seemed like forever. None of your friends understood why you seemed so fixated on Heather’s death. You didn’t blame them, simply because you didn’t fully understand it either. You hated Heather Chandler, and Heather Chandler hated you. She bullied you constantly, so why would you be so worked up over this?

Well, if you were being honest, it’s because it didn’t make any fucking sense.

There were too many holes in the story, too many inconsistencies. The suicide note didn’t sound like Heather at all. You weren’t buying the whole “popular girl on the outside, tortured soul on the inside” shit. And why would she kill herself by drinking drain cleaner, of all things? That just didn’t seem like Heather Chandler to you.

“Hey... (Y/N)? (Y/N)... (Y/N)!!” A deep voice broke you out of your thoughts and you were brought back to the present.

You were at you friend (and longtime crush) J.D.’s house. Luckily, his sleazy dad wasn’t home to make you uncomfortable. You were sitting on the couch, watching a random TV show with a slushie in your hand. J.D. had been waving his hand in front of your face to catch your attention. Once he realized you had snapped out of it, his tense posture relaxed and he raised an eyebrow.

“What were you thinking about?” He took a sip of his cherry slushie and you tried (keyword: tried) not to look at his red-stained lips that were currently smirking. You also tried not to look at his messy, but somehow perfect hair. Or those mysterious eyes that seem like they could hold the secrets to the universe within them.

Damn, if there is one person who can get Heather Chandler off of your mind, it’s J.D.

“Oh, you know... stuff.” You so eloquently replied. Really, (Y/N)? “Stuff”? You mentally berated yourself.

“Oh, really?” J.D. deadpans. “What kind of stuff?”

“Um...” You fidget with the hem of your shirt nervously. “It might sound stupid.”

“Tell me.” He rests his hand on your arm, and electricity races through your entire body. Your eyes are cast downwards and you take a deep breath.

“It’s about Heather Chandler.” You say in a quiet tone. J.D. doesn’t say a word, and the silence between you is almost deafening. The only thing you could hear was the TV show in the background, until J.D. slowly picks up the TV remote and presses the mute button.

“(Y/N)...” He says slowly.

“It couldn’t have been suicide, J.D.!” It was like a dam broke (*insert Percy Jackson reference here*), but emotions flooded out rather than water. “It doesn’t make any sense!”

“It makes perfect sense, (Y/N)!” J.D. seemed to be getting more and more agitated every time another word came out of your mouth. You didn’t understand why.

“No, J.D., it doesn’t!” You protested.

“Oh, really? How does it not make sense?” He scoffed back at you.

“Heather Chandler was a dramatic person. We can agree on that.” J.D. nodded in agreement to your words. “If that’s so, why did she kill herself by drinking drain cleaner? I think we can both agree that it would make more sense if she did something much more attention grabbing, like purposely crashing her car into a tree and blowing up, or whatever.” (A/N: okay wow, i feel horrible for even writing that. unfortunately, i’m trying to make this fic as believable as it would be in the heathers universe, and, uh, they’re pretty blunt about this stuff. i’m still really sorry tho :/ )

“Are you really questioning the way she commit suicide? That’s a little morbid, even to me.” J.D. said flatly.

“I... I just...” You stuttered out. You hadn’t expected J.D. to be this cold and uncaring about the situation. Something about this wasn’t right. You took a deep, calming breath.

“I think it might be murder.” You choke out. J.D.’s expression was completely unreadable. He leaned in closer to you, his lids half shut. Your breath hitched. You would have (naively) thought that he was going to kiss your worries away if you hadn’t seen his smirk.

“Why do you think that?” His voice sent shivers down your spine, something that didn’t go unnoticed by him. You saw his smirk deepen.

“Uh, well... I, um, it’s just-” You were stumbling over your own words. You could feel your face burning, but you couldn’t move away. He took a strand of your hair between his fingers and played with it softly. It’s almost as if he knew the effect he had on you (hint: he did. He would have to be an idiot not to notice).

“Can you keep a secret, (Y/N)?” J.D. asked, almost in a whisper. He was driving you insane.

“Um, y-yes?” You manage to spit out. You blinked your eyes furiously, not understanding where J.D. was going with this. Also, you were desperately trying to ignore the fact that he seemed to be getting closer to you - but that’s just your imagination, right?

Oh shit, it’s not your imagination. His face was so close to yours, if you tilted your head even slightly upwards, your lips would touch. Just one move, one singular move, and everything would change. Do it, (Y/N), a surprisingly courageous voice inside your head said.

Before you could do anything, a low voice interrupted your thoughts.

“You’re right.”

You pulled back your head a bit in confusion. “What?”

“You’re right. Everyone else in this school would never even guess that it wasn’t true. But you... you knew something wasn’t right from the beginning. You’re smart, and that’s why I became friends with you in the first place.” J.D.’s eyes had a dark, angry tint that wasn’t there before. “I know that of all people, you would understand.”

“Understand what? J.D., what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Heather Chandler, (Y/N).” He said quickly. “You’re right. It wasn’t a suicide.”

You processed this information for a moment. You knew it! Of course, it wasn’t suicide! You were right!

Wait. Hold on. Something about this is off.

Your eyes widen and you stare at J.D. in horror and disbelief.

“J.D... How do you know that?” You ask, not daring to rise above a whisper. No. No, there is absolutely no way that your best friend is a murderer. He can’t be. That’s ridiculous. This is all a misunderstanding. Please be a misunderstanding.

J.D. looks at you expectantly. “Come on, you’re smart enough to figure it out.”

Your worst fears have been confirmed, and honestly, it feels like a punch to the gut. You could feel the color draining out of your face. Your best friend took someone’s life, and judging by his reaction, he doesn’t feel very guilty about it. You start to move away from him without thinking. He grabs your arm and pulls you back.

“(Y/N), don’t be like that! Hear me out!” You refused to look him in the eye and he made a frustrated noise. He lifted your chin up so you had no choice but to stare at him face to face.

“Heather Chandler was a complete and utter monster. She terrorized people daily and she was never given any consequences. She deserved what she got. We can rid this world of assholes like her together!” He exclaimed passionately.

“J.D....” You said weakly. Fuck, if only you weren’t looking at him right now. If you weren’t looking at him you could definitely say no. You could say no and call the police and never have to deal with this again.

But you knew, looking at his face, you wouldn’t be able to resist. You would say yes. You would go along with his plan. A sick part of you was telling you, “Doesn’t he have a point? Heather Chandler was horrendous.” But the rest of you disagreed. No one deserved a fate like that, even someone as terrible as Heather.

But here you were, nodding as he gave you the most persuasive look he could muster. You hated yourself for it, but it was too late now.

As soon as he saw you nod, his face broke out into a rare smile. God, you knew you should hate him, but you were still a hormonal teenage girl who was in love with an idiotic boy. Not to mention, that smile was pretty fucking irresistible. When he looked at you like that, almost all of the worries and self-loathing from your previous decision were erased from your mind.

You weren’t thinking when you leaned in and pressed your lips to his, but you know you certainly weren’t expecting him to kiss you back.

You threaded your fingers through his hair while he gently pushed you on your back, hovering over you. The kiss was was full of fire, almost like a battle. His hands ran down your body until they came to rest at your waist. It seemed like you could keep kissing him forever, until you remembered that you needed to breathe.

You (albeit reluctantly) pull away. God, the sight of J.D like that was... amazing. His hair disheveled, his face pink, his breath coming out in sharp pants. You couldn’t think of anything that could even come close to comparing.

“I love you.” Those three words came out before you thought of the possible repercussions. To your surprise, he merely smirked.

“I know.” He said in a husky voice. You couldn’t take the time to revel in how breathtaking his voice sounded, because his mouth was on yours in almost a second. The kiss was so passionate that you knew in that moment that you were in way too deep, but God, you felt so alive. It felt like your body was racing with electricity. It was a perfect mixture of pleasure and excitement and you knew you could never let that go. 

It was that euphoric feeling that made you stay. That euphoric feeling that made you keep his secret from anyone and everyone. Jason Dean had you wrapped around his finger, and you would never have it any other way.

[alien-cafe]