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ruewritesoccasionally · 1 day ago

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I Spy | Terry Richmond

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black reader

Warnings: Dark themes & explicit smut (18+) – dom/sub dynamics, power play, voyeurism kink, degradation kink, breeding kink, overstimulation, mutual masturbation, edging, rough sex, choking, spitting, hair pulling. Use of pet names (Daddy, Princess, Sweetheart, Baby, Good girl) and aftercare } Everything is consensual, but read at your own risk.

Summary: Terry Richmond is a protector—his wife’s safety, comfort, and pleasure are always his top priority. So, when he installed security cameras around their home, she thought nothing of it. That is, until one night, when her impatience gets the better of her, and Terry calls at just the right moment. How did he know what she was doing? More importantly—what is he going to do about it?

Word count: 3K

a/n: i fear i may never get sick of writing dark fics with terry 🤭🤭

The world saw Terry Richmond as a man of discipline, a protector, a security expert who made a living out of keeping people safe. His job required precision, foresight, and the ability to stay ten steps ahead of everyone else.

It was a skill set that bled into every aspect of his life—especially when it came to her.

To outsiders, he was the devoted husband, the kind of man who took care of everything so his wife didn’t have to. A provider, a leader, a steady hand to hold in a world that never stopped spinning. But behind closed doors? That carefully curated image cracked just enough to reveal something deeper, something darker.

Because Terry didn’t just protect—he controlled.

He never had to demand obedience, never had to force her submission. That wasn’t how their dynamic worked. He made sure she had everything she needed, took every burden off her shoulders, so all she ever had to do was be good for him. She was independent, of course, but not when it came to him. Not in the ways that mattered.

And she loved it.

Maybe she didn’t realise just how much, but Terry did.

The cameras in their home were supposed to be for protection. A necessary precaution—especially given his line of work. At least, that’s what he told her. And she never questioned it, never really thought about the way his eyes seemed to be on her at all times.

How he always knew things he shouldn’t.

How he’d casually mention the way she liked to stretch after a shower, in their bedroom, alone.

How he’d remind her to drink water, to take a break, even when he wasn’t home.

Little things. Tiny, insignificant moments that should’ve been easy to brush off.

And yet, every now and then, she’d jokingly accuse him of knowing everything.

And every single time, Terry would just smirk.

Terry was at work when the doorbell camera notification pinged on his phone. A routine check—he already knew who it was. His wife. Home.

He watched as she stepped inside, her shoulders sunken, bearing the weight of the day. His jaw tensed. Terry watched, letting his eyes track each motion, each flex of muscle, each quiet sigh as she exhaled the stress of the day. He made a mental note to stop by the store—flowers, wine, something to make her smile.

His eyes stayed locked on the screen as she moved through the house, each step methodical, shedding layers as she went. Bag down. Shoes off. Jewellery unfastened. Then, without pause, she stripped away the first layer of clothing and made a beeline for the shower.

A smirk played at his lips. Switching feeds.

Bedroom feed. Ensuite door left open. Perfect view.

Steam curled past the frame, misting over the lens, but not enough to block his view. After so many years together, she could still bring him to his knees, take his breath away like it was the first time. Stunning.

The water cascaded over her skin, gliding down the soft slope of her shoulders, rolling over her curves, tracing lines he had memorised by touch. Awe and jealousy twisted in his gut. Watching the way the droplets stroke along her body, touching places before he could, had his fingers flexing over his thigh.

She was relaxing now—he could see it in the way her muscles unwound, the tension draining from her limbs with the rising steam. And then…

Her hands started to wander.

Innocent at first—dragging over the length of her arms, fingertips gracing her collarbones, down her chest, ghosting over the peaks of her nipples, following the curve of her waist, down the expanse of her thighs to the soft heat nestled between them.

Terry’s trance faltered. His breath stilled.

Would she?

His jaw flexed as he watched her fingers tease at her entrance, skimming the sensitive flesh - a mere whisper of a touch.

But then as if she knew, as if she felt his eyes on her through the lens her fingers halted.

Just like that, she continued the rest of her shower.

Terry exhaled slowly, heat curling in his gut. Good girl.

He would definitely reward her tonight.

Terry watched as she left the shower, her skin glistening and soft, her routine precise and practiced. His fingers itched to replace the ones that gently massaged the oil into her body, but there was a soft warmth he felt in seeing her more relaxed now—more content than she had been when she first walked through the door. His shift was nearly over, and though he had done his best to be patient, the pressure in his trousers told him how badly he wanted her. He couldn’t wait. Not with the way his dick was fighting against the fabric.

He saw her stretch out on the bed, melting into the soft sheets, her expression a mix of contemplation and need—something that made Terry pause, unable to fully read her through the tiny screen. He wondered what thoughts had crept into her mind, but that question was quickly answered. She parted her thighs, giving in to the pressure he couldn’t see but always felt. The same motion she had started in the shower, now continuing in the sanctuary of their bed.

All thoughts of reward and praise left his mind in that instant. This... this was a challenge. And a betrayal. And he wasn’t going to let it slide. Not with the way she had been so damn careless.

He kept his focus on the live feed, watching, unable to tear his gaze away from her as she touched herself. He wanted to reach through the screen, stop her, punish her. Instead, he called her.

The frustration was evident on her face as his call interrupted her, the satisfaction on her features faltering. But then she recognised the name on the screen, and a soft smile replaced her frustration. She thought it was a casual check-in, a harmless conversation with her husband. But Terry wasn’t here for pleasantries anymore.

He teased her at first, coaxing her into comfort, his voice soft, like he hadn’t just watched her betray him in their own home.

“How’s my girl doing?” he asked, his tone deceptively casual. “What’s on your mind?”

She responded, her voice softer now, already losing some of the tension she had held when he first interrupted her. Terry let her settle into the illusion of normalcy.

But he couldn’t help himself. His gaze hardened. The possessiveness that surged through him made his next words come out sharp, laced with that commanding tone she knew all too well.

“Are you enjoying touching what’s mine, my love?” he asked, the heat of his voice sending a ripple through her. “Too greedy to wait until I get home?”

Her breath hitched at his words, a flicker of shame— or was it excitement?—crossing her face as her mind caught up with her actions.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Terry continued, his voice lowering, predatory. “I have something to fix that impatience.”

With that, he cut the call, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. He wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.

She sat up, dumbfounded, her mind reeling as she pieced things together. How did he know what she was doing? He always had a sixth sense about everything, from the mundane to the extreme. She used to joke that he had eyes at the back of his head or that there were cameras everywhere—but maybe that wasn’t just a joke anymore.

All she could do now was wait. Wait and see what was in store.

Terry came home, taking his time. He barely acknowledged her presence as he entered their bedroom, heading straight into the en-suite. If she didn’t know any better, she might’ve thought he was angry with her. But she knew better. She knew how much he loved her—too much to ever stay angry for long. No, this wasn’t about anger. This was about something else. Disobedience. That’s what he couldn’t tolerate.

She squirmed uncomfortably on the bed, her anticipation rising as she waited for him to finish his shower. Right on cue, he emerged, dressed in nothing but a towel. The sight of him—drenched, glistening, and radiating confidence—took her breath away. She couldn’t help but drink him in, her gaze lingering on the defined muscles of his chest, the water still clinging to his skin. They were both greedy, in a way. Him for being so impossibly handsome, and her for having him all to herself. That was exactly how she liked it.

His voice broke her idle reverie, smooth and knowing, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips, as if he could read her thoughts. "So, do you have anything to say for yourself?" he asked, the mockery clear in his tone.

She knew there was no good answer, no way to make it right, so she chose to stay silent. Her heart raced. Her pulse quickened. She waited for him to make his move.

He tilted his head, his eyes darkening with that signature dominance of his. "No? That’s fine. I did say I have a cure for your impatience." His voice dropped lower, a dangerous edge to it now. "You have a scratch to itch? That’s fine, sweetheart. You’re going to do just that. Here. Now. Until I say stop."

She held her breath, his words settling into the heavy air between them. "And since you’ve taken on that silent streak, I’ll take it as a yes. Not that you would ever say no to Daddy."

Terry's control was absolute. He dragged the chair from the vanity, positioning it at the foot of the bed, where he had the perfect view of her centre. His gaze flicked between her, observing every response she gave him—her parted lips, chest rising and falling with each breath, the curl of her toes. He ignored her pleas, focused instead on the sight of her slowly falling apart in front of him.

The thrill of the moment wasn’t enough for him to rush. He slowly stroked himself, his fist working over his length with an even pace. He was in no hurry. Watching her unfold, helpless to stop her own reactions, was enough.

Her attention shifted when she heard a low groan pass from his lips. She blinked, eyes drawn to the bead of pre-cum that pooled at the tip of his cock, a perfect drop dribbling down the shaft. His balls rested heavy on his thighs, and their eyes locked—an unspoken understanding between them, the tension palpable. The game was his, and he played it to perfection.

Terry’s voice broke the silence, a playful yet possessive tone dripping from each word. "You wanna watch, don’t you, baby? See what you can’t have until I decide."

Her breath quickened, and her chest heaved as she clenched the sheets tighter. The sound of his voice, mixed with the image of him touching himself so slowly, made her insides ache. She could feel her orgasm building, every inch of her body begging to release. But Terry wasn’t finished with her yet.

When she tried to stop, thinking she could control the situation, he halted her attempt with a firm command. “Now, I know I might be asking a lot from that pretty head of yours, but until you hear me say stop, you don’t.”

He moved to her side, kneeling between her legs, his gaze soft yet dark. Her pulse quickened as the reality of what was about to unfold hit her. She had no idea what he was planning, but she knew it wouldn’t be gentle.

Her climax was building, more intense now with his eyes on her, the thrill of being watched making it so much more unbearable.

Terry’s hand gripped her jaw, tilting her head back as he stared into her eyes. Her breath hitched, the air thick with the weight of his control. She was trembling, the effects of his teasing leaving her both desperate and afraid of what was to come next. He hadn’t given her permission to speak, but her lips parted nonetheless, desperate for something—anything—to release the pressure that had built inside her.

Her hands gripped the sheets beneath her, her body fighting the urge to writhe under his touch. She knew he wouldn’t let her go until he’d fully reminded her who was in charge.

Terry’s smirk deepened, watching her struggle with the flood of sensations. "Good girls don’t beg, sweetheart. But you? You’ve been nothing but greedy. You’re gonna finish what you started, and you’re gonna do it right. Under my control. Understand?"

Her body was still, her eyes pleading with him, but no words left her lips. It wasn’t that she couldn’t speak—it was that she didn’t need to. He knew.

"Perfect," he murmured, his fingers moving down her body to stroke her folds, his touch slow and deliberate. She gasped, unable to hold back the soft sounds as he teased her. His other hand, still holding her jaw, forced her to keep her eyes on him, keeping her attention firmly on his every movement.

His eyes never left hers as he slid his hand back down to her body, his thumb circling her clit with torturous slowness. The sensation was overwhelming, but his control was absolute. Every inch of her body screamed to come undone, but he was in charge.

Her breaths came in shallow gasps, her skin slick with sweat as the pressure inside her built higher. She couldn’t hold it anymore. Her orgasm threatened to tear through her, but just as she reached the brink, he pulled away, a deep chuckle escaping his lips as he watched her squirm in frustration.

“Now, Princess,” he purred, his voice dripping with that predatory tone she knew all too well. “I’m not sure which I want first—a thank you or an apology?”

Confusion flickered across her face, and he smirked, knowing she hadn’t quite grasped his intentions. “Now you know I take care of you in every way I can, and I do a damn good job at it too,” he continued, his eyes darkening with the hint of a challenge. “So why’d you think it was a good idea to take that from me, huh?”

Her head spun, but his words cut through the haze, her body reacting before she could form any sort of coherent thought. The sharp bite of his dominance pierced through her, the sting of humiliation mingling with her need. Her face flushed, the power dynamic flipping in an instant.

Terry moved to her side, pulling her legs wide as he positioned himself between them. His voice dropped, commanding her attention. "It's time to remind you who you belong to."

His hands slid over her body, his grip firm and possessive. He didn’t give her a chance to protest, pulling her into his lap as he thrust inside her, every movement rough and deliberate. She moaned loudly, the feel of him filling her driving her wild with need.

"Don’t forget who owns this," he growled, thrusting deeper, harder. "You’re mine, and don’t you dare forget it."

His thrusts were relentless, punishing in their intensity. He filled her, the connection between them now absolute. As he fucked her harder, faster, he pulled her hair back, forcing her to look him in the eyes as he claimed her fully.

“Don’t fight it,” he commanded, his breath ragged. “You’re mine, baby. Always.”

As the aftershocks of their climax rippled through her, Terry didn’t let go of her right away. His hand moved to her face, brushing away the strands of hair that clung to her skin, his touch gentle despite the fierceness that had just passed between them. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her, soft but unwavering, as he cupped her cheek in his large palm.

"You're okay," he murmured, his thumb tracing the curve of her jaw, soothing her with each pass. His voice was no longer rough with dominance, but warm with the comfort she desperately needed. His presence grounded her, reminded her that she was safe. She nodded slowly, her breath still unsteady, but his words had calmed the storm inside her.

He pulled her closer, guiding her to rest her head on his chest, the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear lulling her into a sense of calm. She breathed deeply, trying to steady her pulse, his hands gently massaging her back, easing the tension out of her.

“You did so good for me, baby,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "You always do. But listen to me now, alright?"

She blinked, nodding against his chest, eyes fluttering closed as she waited for his next words. His voice was softer now, but still commanding in its way, holding her attention like a tether.

"When you're out in the world, you can do all the thinking you like," he said, his voice deep and steady, "but at home, with me? You switch your brain off. You listen, and you let me lead. No questioning, no second-guessing. Just trust."

The words settled in her chest, warm and reassuring. There was no shame, no hesitation—just his quiet certainty that she belonged with him, and he would always take care of her.

Her hand found his, threading their fingers together, and she squeezed, the gesture simple but full of meaning. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, before lifting her chin to meet his gaze.

"Do you understand, princess?"

Her lips parted, a soft smile tugging at her mouth, her heart swelling with gratitude and something deeper, something all-consuming. “Yes, Daddy. I understand.”

Terry’s smile was soft, approving, as he brushed a final lock of hair from her face, his thumb grazing her lower lip. He leaned in to kiss her, slow and lingering, as though they had all the time in the world.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against her lips, the words a vow, a promise. “And that’s never gonna change.”

She melted into the kiss, content in the certainty of his love and control, knowing that no matter what the world outside brought, at least here, with him, she was safe. Always.

taglist: @writingsbytee @venusincleo @nickidub718 @notapradagurl7 @theogbadbitch @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @wildcardmelaninfreak

comments and reblogs are appreciated as well as feedback, i hope you liked it 🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

#terry richmond #terry richmond x black!oc #terry richmond x black!reader #terry richmond x black reader #dom!terry x sub!reader #dark!terry richmond #terry richmond smut #terry richmond fic #dark!terry richmond x black!reader #ruewrites

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shawtylex09 · 3 days ago

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⋆˙⟡ Falling. Izuku Midoriya x Fem!Reader ⟡⋆˙

⋆.˚✮Valentine’s Day story 3/14✮˚.⋆

I feel like cavetown is Izuku’s fav artist, so here you go, one of my fav songs from them.

Enjoy lovelies✧˖°.

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Izuku had no idea how he’d gotten to this point. He had no idea how he ended up here.

See, the thing was, Izuku was a fanboy at heart, and whenever he met someone with an amazing quirk or charming personality, he wanted to know more about them, and part of himself admired that person.

But this was different, and he didn’t know what it was.

He thought it was just admiring one of his friends, then he tried to blame his fanboy tendencies, but that never seemed to quell the flutter in his heart when you looked his way.

Whenever you so much as glanced at him, and gave him that toothy grin with your pearly whites, Izuku’s knees weakened and he found himself (sometimes literally) tripping over himself.

The worst part? He didn’t understand why.

Izuku was usually much better at handling his emotions or at least coming to realize his stance on things, but you flipped that on its head. It’s not like he had any problems with you! In fact, quite the opposite. He loved being around you, the casual way you two would make beaded bracelets and talk about nothing in particular made him feel at home.

The way you listened as he ranted about some video game or how you would ask him genuine questions about the hero he was talking about- he didn’t feel like a burden with you.

Izuku felt like you saw him for who he was, more than just a nerd and more than just a fanboy. He felt heard, he felt cared about.

He truly didn’t think much of the hugs, the affectionate ways you’d toy with his curls, the way you’d lean against him in the commons, or how you’d hold his hand as the two of you walked down the halls at school.

It wasn’t his fault he was so…oblivious, after all, he had no experience with girls, so he just figured this was one of the ways girls showed their value of their friends, he had seen you hug Mina, kissing each other on the cheek as you greeted each other, so maybe it was normal?

Izuku nodded to himself, it was definitely normal behavior, and it wasn’t like he was complaining, he didn’t exactly have a problem with you hugging around his middle, resting your head against him as you enjoyed the movie playing in the commons.

He lazily ran his fingers through your hair, not too focused on the movie as he thought about why his heart still sped up a bit thanks to your cuddling into his side.

Maybe he was just happy to have you around? But then why did his stomach flutter so lightly?

Izuku sighed softly and looked down at you, smiling a bit as he saw your head resting against his right peck, his arm around you and a blanket draped over your shoulders as his fingers combed through your silky locks.

He faintly felt his cheeks heat up as you closed your eyes, pressing your face to the muscle of his chest and letting out a heavy sigh, your eyes closed as you drank in his affection.

Izuku’s heart stuttered in his chest, and he felt a surge of affection wash over him. He smiled softly, feeling so incredibly lucky to have a friend like you trust him the way you did. It meant a lot to Izuku.

He was snapped out of his daze by your soft hum, and gentle voice. “Hey..Izuku?” You asked softly, your eyes half lidded and obviously tired. It made sense, the training from that day left a lot of the class worn and wary.

He felt his heart skip a beat. Your face was so cute-

What..? Cute..?

What a silly thought.

“Yeah?” He blinked away the odd thought that popped into his mind, smiling down at you warmly and trying to quell away the questionable blush on his cheeks.

You yawned and rested your head against the smooth plane of his shoulder “do you think you could walk me to my room?” You asked, your tone tired and soft.

Izuku smiled a little. In all honesty, he’d pretty much do anything you needed, and often he found himself a bit too eager to assist you. Need help carrying something? Izuku would offer. Did you need some help on the homework? Borrow Izuku’s notes. Need someone to rub your back? Izuku’s hands work the best.

He didn’t have a real reason why he loved assisting you, he didn’t feel like you were using his kindness for your personal gain, because he knew how much he meant to you (at least he thought he knew), and you knew how much you meant to him.

“Oh! Sure N/n, are you wanting to go now?” He asked, his cheeks warming slightly as you smiled up at him, the bleary look on your face rather.. no no no, not again, Izuku.

You nodded and yawned, tightening your arms around his middle “yeah..I’m getting pretty tired and am probably ready for bed..” you said quietly, not wanting to disturb anyone else who might have been watching the movie.

He felt that feeling rise in his chest once again, offering a nod to try and distract himself from the giddy feeling. “Kay, I’ll walk you. Cmon sleepyhead” he said softly, standing from the couch and gently taking your hand. Why did your touch always feel like the most pleasant electricity?

Kirishima looked up from his spot on the couch, his fingers slowly combing through Bakugou’s blonde locks. “Where are you goin’, Midoriya? You guys aren’t leaving already, are you?”

Izuku smiled and chuckled lightly, rubbing the back of his neck as you sighed and wrapped your arms around his waist lazily.

“Oh, N/n is feeling tired, I’m gonna take her to her room and I’ll be back out when she gets laid down” he explained, gesturing to your clingy and tired form, basically asleep on your feet while holding onto him.

Kirishima nodded slowly, his mouth making a small ‘o’ shape in realization “oh, I see” he chuckled a bit and smiled up at Midoriya “okay cool, come back out whenever you’re done.”

Izuku nodded and looked down at you “cmon N/n, let’s get you laid down, sleepy head” he murmured, an affectionate smile on his face.

As the two of you walked out of the commons, Kirishima sighed and smiled “Midoriya is so manly.” He commented, glancing to where they disappeared, before looking back to the group.

Mina raised a brow “what do you mean?” She asked from her place on the other couch, Uraraka also glancing up, her attention caught by mentioning her friend.

Kirishima shrugged as he gently petted Bakugou’s blonde locks, the sleeping boy slouched against the redhead “I dunno, he just is such a good boyfriend, you know? He’s taking his girlfriend to bed, making sure she gets there without any problems. Seems like a gentleman to me.”

Mina blinked, before laughing, bringing a hand up to her mouth to stifle her laughter.

Kirishima raised a confused brow and looked to Uraraka, who was also smiling and giggling a little. “What’s so funny? I don’t get it?” He mumbled, glancing between both girls.

Mina paused her giggles long enough to get a sentence out “they’re not dating.” She managed to get out, letting out a breath as her lungs caught up from her laughter.

Kirishima blinked and gaped. Izuku and yourself weren’t dating!? How the hell was that even possible? The two of you were literally cuddling right next to him, the way he was cuddling with Bakugou. His boyfriend.

“Wait..are you being serious?” He asked, to which Mina and Uraraka nodded “yeah, Deku isn’t really good with social interactions, in a sense that he has no idea Y/n is crushing on him. He thinks it’s casual.” Uraraka explained with an exasperated sigh.

Kirishima let out a huff of laughter, then shook his head “oh great, so he has no idea that Y/n is falling for him? Lovely. Should we tell him? Or tell her to tell him?”

Mina shook her head and smiled, waving off his concern with a lazy hand “nah, don’t worry about them, I’ve got a feeling they’ll figure it out..” she glanced off to the hallway where the two of you walked off, a reassuring feeling warming her chest.

✮˚.⋆

You and Izuku slowly walked to your dorm, the walk was filled with comfortable silence and the occasional comment. Your hand was in his, and your blanket was draped over your shoulders.

You glanced at him, seeing him smiling to himself about who knows what.

A sigh left your lips, and a deadpan formed on your lips. You’d been trying to express your crush on Izuku since the sports festival, but the boy was more focused on his dreams of becoming a hero than he was on getting a girlfriend.

You smiled a little and rolled your eyes as the two of you walked side by side, hand in hand. You were sick of his ignorance, and so tonight you were determined to make it obvious to the boy that you liked him.

The two of you approached your dorm, where Izuku stopped in front of your door and turned to you, a smile on his lips “here you are, Y/n. Are you gonna get some sleep?”

You nodded and yawned, rubbing your eye with one hand, using the other to loosely wave him off “don’t worry, Zuku, I’ll get some rest.” You smiled at him sleepily and stepped forward, wrapping your arms around his middle in a warm embrace, which he happily returned.

“Good, you pushed yourself during training today, I’m very proud of you” he said softly, his hand on the small of your back and the plane between your shoulder blades.

You blushed and smiled, closing your eyes and basking in his praise “thank you Izuku…that means so much coming from you..” you murmured, your cheek resting on his shoulder.

He felt that feeling flutter in his chest again, to which he blushed a little, smiling as he spoke “please, you saying that, sounds like I’m some pro hero” he mumbled bashfully

You scoffed and clung to him a little tighter. This idiot was either down playing how strong and amazing he was, or genuinely didn’t think he was anything special. Both were not great scenarios, in your opinion.

You huffed and rolled your eyes “you’re practically as strong as one” you grumbled into his shoulder.

Izuku simply smiled, knowing how you loved to compliment and uplift his work and progress. He didn’t like to admit it, but hearing you praise him, actually made his blood rush to his face and his confidence swell.

The two of you stood like that, before Izuku reluctantly pulled away “I’m gonna go back to the commons, okay?” He asked, placing a hand on your shoulder “please get some rest, and if you need anything, call me.”

You paused.

You’d totally forgotten how you were going to make your crush a bit more obvious to him.

He bid you goodnight, and you dumbly replied, your brain on autopilot as you began to panic.

You were gonna miss your opportunity!

“Hey Izuku!” You called out after he made it about halfway down the hall.

He turned and raised a brow “yeah? Did you need something?” He asked, his head tilting to the side like an intrigued puppy.

You trotted up to him and grabbed his hand, standing on your tippy toes to do the first thing your brain thought of.

Your lips met with his cheek, the smooth skin feeling so perfect under your touch.

Izuku stiffened and erupted into a bright red blush.

He watched as you pulled from his cheek and smiled warmly at him. “Goodnight, Izuku..get some sleep” you spun on your heel and bolted to your dorm, quickly dashing into your room.

Izuku placed a hand on his cheek and watched with a dumbfounded expression as you ran back to your room.

He finally understood what that feeling in his chest was.

It was falling in love.

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Literally SPEED typing so I can get this out on the 3rd and not the 4th I procrastinated AAA

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chvoswxtch · 3 days ago

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It has been an expensive few weeks and despite being a very well educated scientist at a reputable institution, I make astoundingly little money. So I’d love to request a little action clip! I’m so taken with the idea of Frank just like casually stealing whatever money is lying around the place after he shoots up a mobsters joint and using it to help you with your bills 🤣

no bc why is living so expensive like where is the groupon for existing??

this one actually made me laugh bc I was thinking about in season 2 when he and amy go to that motel and he hands her that bloody wad of cash and she's like?? bitch what am I supposed to do with this??? and he's like???? pay for the motel dumbass

like he's so calm about it and truly does not give a fuck. he absolutely takes whatever money is lying around bc it's not like they're using it anymore 🤣 but ya know what, in this economy, vigilantism doesn't pay the bills (and neither does having a job apparently) so he's not wrong

blurb below the cut

the many saints of newark starring frank castle

The wad of cash that Frank pulled out and set on your dining table made your eyes widen. The faded green crumpled bills were speckled with what was undoubtedly blood. Staring up at Frank wide eyed, creases of confusion settled in your forehead.

“Where did you get this?”

“From someone that don’t need it no more.”

Frank shrugged off his jacket and walked over towards your kitchen, his heavy booted footsteps echoing on the worn wooden floor. You were still staring at him in incredulity. He’d just dropped what looked like a thousand dollars on your dining table with as much indifference as if he’d dropped a twenty dollar bill to cover take out for the two of you.

“Wha-, Frank, this is…what am I supposed to do with this?”

Frank turned his head to look at you over his shoulder, clearly perplexed by your question. Pursing his lips, he lightly scrunched up his nose and shrugged.

“Whatever you want. Get ahead on a few bills, buy some of that stuff that’s been sittin’ in your cart for weeks, save it, I don’t know. Your call.”

His casual behavior about the situation left you spiraling. You didn’t wanna know where this money had come from. You had an idea, but you didn’t need confirmation.

“Frank…I can’t…shouldn’t we give this to the police?”

If he was perplexed before, he was full on confused now. He turned to face you fully, his expression twisted up like you’d just asked him the most ridiculous question.

“The hell would we do that for?”

“Well…because. It’s…I mean…isn’t it…like…”

“Sweetheart, it’s money. Money is money. Don’t matter where it came from or who had it. They ain’t got a use for it no more. Besides, better you have it and put it to good use than some crooked cop pocketin’ it, or it collectin’ dust in an evidence locker.”

Frank made a valid point. The logical part of your brain understood what he was saying. And it would definitely give you some breathing room, taking care of more than a few bills so that you could cut back a bit on how much you were working.

Sensing your confliction, Frank set the mug down on the counter and walked over towards you, lightly grasping your chin to get you to look at him.

“Look, only place that money is goin’ is in your bank account. Now either you can deposit it, or I’ll swipe your wallet and do it myself. But it ain’t goin’ nowhere else.”

You knew Frank wasn’t joking. And you knew you weren’t winning this argument. Letting out a quiet huff, you have him a pointed look.

“Yeah let me just stroll into my bank and hand them this bloody money. That won’t get me put on a watchlist.”

“For all they know the blood came from a papercut.”

Grabbing one of the bills and holding it up silently, as if to prove your point, you arched one of your brows. Frank glanced down at it, seeing the way crimson stained the faded green paper like confetti. Rolling his eyes, he swiped the bill and set it down on the table with the rest.

“For fucks sake, gimme your goddamn wallet.”

#court's 5k followers celebration #court's 5k friends celebration #movie night at mine #frank castle #frank castle x you #frank castle x reader #frank castle blurb #frank castle request #the punisher #the punisher blurb #the punisher request

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mixingandmelting · 2 days ago

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hey so can I have possibly a scenario between dick and his s/o where it’s later down the relationship and haley’s circus is in town and they both go. Maybe not to a performance. (Or maybe they do if Dick wants too). But he checks the place out with s/o behind the scenes? (Sometimes I think about him visiting haley circus when it’s in town, which he does, but wonder about him bringing his s/o along).

Never has he casually gone to a circus with someone. Sure with his teammates and families for missions. But you’re his first for him to personally invite go with as former acrobat Dick Grayson. And not just any circus too. It’s Haly’s Circus.

Whether it’s from how much he’s exposing himself to you or how he’s practically introducing you to the family that he raised him prior to Bruce, he doesn’t know. He can hear his heart pounding in his ears, the nostalgic smell of buttery popcorn, roasted peanuts, and cotton candy doing little to soothe his nerves. His eyes constantly flicks towards your face to gauge your reaction whenever he’s answering your questions and explaining everything going on in the back including the different tents, equipment, and costumes.

Thankfully, so far, it’s smooth sailing. Your eyes continue to sparkle in awe and fascination. Your smile never leaves your face.

“Hey, Dickie. Whose RV is that?”

He stops from walking and stares at it. Mr. Haly had pulled him aside earlier, saying in case he ever wanted to come back and perform. He knows it was out of consideration and sentiment. It doesn’t make it any easier for him, memories of his childhood resurfacing back into his head.

“That,” he clears his throat, choking emotions threatening to spill out from him, “is the RV my parents and I used to use whenever we travelled with the circus.”

The corner of his lips twitch as you go through all sorts of expressions. Faster than the Flash he would tease before you finally settle with what seemed like affectionate touch and confusion.

“...Why?”

He blows out a puff of air, shifting his weight onto his other leg. It’s here. The question he’s been preparing and still dreading for the whole night.

He ruffles his hair. Pat his pants down to calm himself down.

“I wanted to show you how much I love you. And thought,” he spreads his arms as if to encompass the whole circus, “why not this? My home?”

He’s quick to wrap his arms and catch you. He chuckles under his breath, hearing the muffled “no fair” that comes from you as you bury your face into his chest. The two of you take a moment to stand, him holding you in his arms with a smile while occasionally pressing kisses to the top of your head and patting your back. He’s never felt so satisfied as he did right now. Like breathing in fresh air for the first time from he was able to get it across his love for you.

“I love you.” He says, squeezing and rocking you side to side in his arms.

He, then, tilts his head back and laughs. The vibrations of you saying “I love you too, Dickbird” against his chest going straight into his heart.

#dick grayson #nightwing #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #dick grayson imagine #nightwing imagine

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modmad · 2 days ago

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something I've noticed in both your magicstone and lovestory romance is just how elegantly simple and friendship/casual touch orientated it is. you have them just interacting in remarkably humble 'I am familiar with you in a way that I am completely comfortable with' moments that make everything so charming- like I didn't even question Clickclack being stood up against the bed with Thespius's legs on either side, and then we cut wide to see he was standing on the chair!! genius. it's so natural.

aw shucks, ;v; I don't know how many times to say 'the characters just do it for me' til you believe it but thank you, I love these moments too! I guess it's kind of funny an acearo who loves writing romance but it's the friendship of it and the comedy/tragedy combo of both these otp really fuels my heartstrings like oughghhhh there's much to do and I have so little time and hands to exact it

#the next comic is gay as all hell though fr #I am not going to complete it as insanely fast as this one though lmao i got work folks you'll have to wait

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candyandcyberware · 2 days ago

Text

Primal instincts

Aaron Hotchner x reader

You lean against a tree as you watch your boyfriend stretch his limbs with sheer determination visible on his face. It’s clear he can’t wait to start the chase, and he loves the idea of being the predator that hunts you–the prey, the precious prize–in the woods. When he notices the way you’re watching him, he flashes a smug smirk at you, as if he was silently telling you there’s no way you can get away from him. Not like you want to, though.

This little game is something you two have been planning for a while now, a special activity he heard about at an unbelievably boring gala. Who would have thought that an event with a bunch of boring old people can be the very place where he listens to a drunk heir’s speech about playing it with his boyfriend somewhere near Seattle during a business trip there. He even went into details, telling Aaron things he honestly didn’t want to hear.

The next day he told you the story, just for the laughs, but then he thought more about it as he watched you do mundane things around the apartment and he began to drop hints here and there, during the most casual conversations in the car, or when you were watching a movie on the couch after Jack went to bed. “You would look so good from behind when you’re trying to get rid of me, though,” he said. At first, you thought he was joking, but then a few days later another comment came as he nonchalantly said, “I want to play rough with you.”

So, you agreed, and now it’s time to play the game he prepared so carefully. Jack is staying with his aunt, which means the two of you have the whole night to play together, and he chose a location that was an hour long drive away from his apartment, so he even reserved a hotel room to stay in. But now as you’re watching him, you begin to have some doubts. Maybe you’re just nervous since you’ve never done anything like this, but what if you get hurt? You can always trip in a root or something.

“Baby, it’s gonna be fine. It will be fun, I promise,” he says as he closes the gap between you and puts his hands on your hips to pull you against himself.

Sometimes you wonder if he can actually read minds, because somehow he always knows what’s going on inside your head. But maybe it’s just his profiler side putting in the work every now and then to help him out. Either way, it’s equally cute and annoying, but you’re not really complaining. As you wrap your arms around his neck and pull his head down for a quick kiss, you can’t help but flash a playful smile at him.

With his hand pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, he looks at you with the kind of adoration you’ve barely seen since the first days of your relationship. “Are you ready?” The question is simple, but it still makes you think hard. After some time, though, you nod with a smile. “Good. I’ll give you a headstart.”

He doesn’t have to say it twice, you immediately start running into the woods, praying to whatever is out there that can protect you not to let you trip and fall flat on your face. The darkness swallows everything in the distance, you have no idea where you’re heading, but this game isn’t about thinking, this is strictly about your instincts. You need to run, that’s all you can and have to think about now.

The chilly night air makes you shiver when you stop for a second to take a look around and listen to any sound that might tell you if Aaron is getting near, but all you can hear is the pounding of your heart in your ears. You’re not even sure what it is you feel right now. Is it fear? Is it excitement? Or can it be the mixture of these two?

Whatever it is, it’s addicting, you want to be in this state of mind forever, you love the thrill this game gives you. You might be the prey now, someone who’s supposed to escape the predator, but all you want is your boyfriend finally catching up and showing you what hides behind his ever-present self-control, what primal needs lurk in the background, waiting to have you just the way he wants.

Your breathing finally slows down, so you begin to wonder which direction to go next. You have a GPS, you can find your way back to the car, therefore you can go anywhere you want. But as you think, you suddenly hear the sound of a twig that was stepped on, and your attention turns to the task of finding out where it’s coming from. You listen, you even hold your breath to be more quiet, but there’s nothing. He probably realized you could hear that and stopped. Or maybe it was some animal.

“Got you!” Aaron says happily as he wraps his arms around your waist from behind, keeping you close to his chest.

You turn your head a little, only to be kissed right away, and you can’t help but turn in his arms to face him properly. Instead of kissing you again, though, he takes a few steps forward in an attempt to push you back, just until you’re caged between him and a tree. His warm brown eyes are watching your every move, paying attention to every little detail he might find important later, mostly regarding the game you’ve been playing. Did you enjoy it? Are there any signs of you liking it so much you might want to do it again some other time?

He pulls you out of your thoughts with another kiss, a much messier, hungrier kiss that showcases how badly he wants you. That sense of urgency as he slowly slips his hand under your shirt makes you moan into his mouth, a sound that’s swallowed by him right away, and soon you can feel his hands move to your back to unclip your bra with his skilled hand. Once he’s done, he grabs the hem of your shirt and pulls it over your head along with the bra, then throws them both on the ground.

It hurts you to see those precious items on the ground, surrounded by insects and dirt, two things you would never let them near. But Aaron took the lead, he’s the one making the rules here, and it will be his credit card that pays for the dry cleaner and the new pieces you’ll buy anyway. As a token of your gratitude, you will let him join you for lingerie shopping. He’ll see you in everything and he can make the final decision of which piece he wants to regularly take off of you.

A jolt of electricity shoots through your body when you feel his teeth sink into your shoulder near your neck, and it’s clear that it will leave a mark eventually. Your eyes close as you focus on the way his warm, wet mouth is moving over to your collarbone in a way that makes it clear you’ll be covered in hickeys and bite marks tomorrow.

And honestly? You will wear these marks with pride.

#aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds

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grapejuicestyless · 22 hours ago

Text

Seven(ways to Neverland)

JJ Maybank x fem!reader

Summery: “And I’ve been meaning to tell you, I think your house is haunted. Your dad is always mad, and that must be why.” Y/n and JJ grew up together, and while it was inevitable, Y/n and JJ swore they’d never grow up. Not even when life told them it wasn’t possible to be young forever.

“My Ma is always saying dad left because he was a piece of work.” The girl said softly into the cold silence. Waves lapped at the shore calmly, and wind blew through her wild hair. She twisted the loose ring on her middle finger, a hollowed out and ground down acorn that was more brown than green nowadays. She spun the slightly wet ring around on her skin. “But I don’t believe her.”

The girl tucked her chin into her knees, curling up like a turtle in a shell. Her eyes glistened in the pale moonlight.

“Why?” The tow head blonde boy asked, curiosity in his defeated gaze.

“She drinks a lot.” The girl shrugged like it was normal. “She always did, but more now that dad is gone. Her friends do too. They talk about how their ‘glory days’ are behind them…or something like that.” She overshared her mother’s secrets, her young mind not comprehending the idea of dirty laundry and why you don’t air it out.

“Oh.” The boy looked down at the sand. “My dad drinks too.” He looked to the girl, who was now drawing circles in the sand mindlessly.

“Maybe it’s a grown up thing, and we don’t understand it yet.” She said hopefully, but her voice was low and quiet, and she looked awfully sad when saying it.

“Maybe.” The boy responded just as quietly.

“Wouldn’t it be cool if my mom married your dad?” The girl suddenly questioned. “Then maybe they wouldn’t drink as much. They wouldn’t need to, and my Ma’s friends wouldn’t have to sleepover in my bed.”

The boy nodded slowly, considering the idea before tossing it out the window.

“You wouldn’t want my dad to marry your mom.”

Silence filled the beach again, and the boy took some sand in his hand and watched it drain out slowly back onto the ground.

“He’s always angry. Sometimes he’s not, but it feels like he is.” It was the girls turn to look down and try to find some words of sympathy.

“Yeah. Parents suck.” The girl smiled, knowing the feeling of helplessness all too well.

They were only seven, but they knew a whole lot about things they shouldn’t, and they understood that just because the world worked that way for them, that didn’t mean it worked the same for everyone.

“Does he hit?” The girl asked curiously, her smile fading. The conversation seemed so casual, calm. Little children who should have been cowering, already accustomed to the treatment.

“Sometimes.” The boy answered truthfully, and the girl nodded.

“So does my mom.” The girl said quietly, still doodling in the sand beside her feet.

“Do you hate her?” The blonde boy asked after a beat passed, looking to see what the girl would say.

She thought about it for a moment, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth and twisting and pushing against the acorn on her finger.

She shook her head.

“No.”

That was her answer. Plain and simple like there was no other reason for it. She was her mother after all, and she was a kid. She would cling to her and try her best to be great for her, and when her mom would hit, she would try even harder to be great because even if her mom was a bad person, she was a bad person that the girl wanted to love her so badly.

The innocent and the good look up to the horrible and the ugly.

“Would you run away?” The boy pressed further, maybe because he was curious of what the girl would say, but maybe also because he was curious if anyone else shared the same thoughts.

“Would you come with me?” She asked.

“Why?” The boy questioned with his brow raised, his head cocked to the side.

“I don’t like being alone. I don’t like the dark.” She hugged her knees even tighter.

As the wind blew warm salty air onto the shore, waves crashed more violently against the sand, the tide rolling in quickly.

“You’d hate my house then.” The boy joked with a chuckle. It sounded almost bitter. “Dark, quiet, scary.”

“Sounds haunted.” The girl looked back into the boys blue eyes.

“Maybe. But ghosts aren’t real.” The boy shut down the girls observation quickly, picking at the loose threads at the ends of his board shorts.

The girl hummed and silence fell over the two kids again. Messy blonde hair and two tangles braids with dead ends fraying in the wind. A faded pink shirt with cursive writing and a dusty white tank top. They were so young.

“Well, I think your house is haunted. Your dad is always mad, and that must be why.” She spoke up suddenly, kicking the sand and standing up.

“My dad isn’t afraid of any ghosts.” The boy stood up quickly, looking straight back at the girl. They were at the age where he could still stand eye level with her, but he figured in a few years he’d have a few inches on her.

“But he must be afraid of you.” The girl reasoned.

“My dad isn’t afraid of any seven year olds either.” The boy argued a little more firmly, feeling protective of his father, or his lack of, despite all the cruelty he was shown from such a young age.

“Well then, why does he hit you? He has to be afraid of something if he’s hitting you. My mom says it’s because I look so much like my dad. Like I could be the ghost of him and she hates it.”

The boy fell quiet, which was unusual. Everything about the way he acted around her was odd. He wasn’t a quiet boy, wasn’t one to just sit and talk, he’d rather pace around and pick at his nails.

“I didn’t think of it like that.” The boy said softly, looking down at his dusty boots. “Maybe I look like my mom…” He agreed, but he didn’t really know what his mom looked like.

“Well, I bet she was really pretty.” The girl said, her eyes shining despite her lack of a smile. Like she was calm on the inside despite the outer furrowing of her brows.

“You think?” The boy asked, raising a brow and his head.

“I know.”

She was looking right at him, his blonde hair and his blue eyes. His skin was tan, soft looking. He had sun kissed freckles on his nose and pink lips. Anyone that pretty had to have a pretty mom, she thought. But they would never know.

The boy blushed, and he held out his dusty hand until she took it in a loose handshake.

“JJ. JJ Maybank.” He smiled, looking back into her eyes. He was only seven, and he wasn’t like his friend Pope. He wasn’t the kid who read in his free time or who practiced spelling on his weekends. He was out between the sand and the weeds, picking at the dirt and getting his knees muddy. But even he could see the wild look she had, untamed but gentle.

“Y/n. Y/n Y/l/n.” She smiled in return. She had a sweet smile, JJ thought. He’d never thought that before, or if he had he hadn’t thought about him thinking that. She had a really sweet smile. She was sweet. Blush from the wind on her cheeks and coloring the tip of her nose. A missing front tooth, which, by the cut in her bottom lip right where it should have been, JJ figured she’d knocked it out herself.

“Y/l/n.” JJ hummed, putting it to memory.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you.” Y/n hummed, her hair pulled back into two uneven braids, the part in the back a mess. JJ had done them for her today.

“Shoot away.” He replied calmly, smiling and tugging at the end of one braid, watching the girl’s head tilt closer, her feet crossing in an unbalanced step. She slapped his bicep weakly.

“JJ!” She laughed through her annoyance. She could never really be annoyed with him, she believed. She hoped JJ didn’t know it because Y/n figured if he did, he’d push through every fragment of tranquility they shared. He’d find a way to bring her right to the brink of frustration and then make her laugh it all off over and over again.

“What does JJ even stand for anyway.” Y/n huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, wrinkling her waffled shirt. “Probably something stupid.” She smirked, unraveling her hands to tuck them into the pockets of her hand-me-down overalls.

JJ punched her, his lips drawn in a thin line. Y/n rubbed her arm quickly to soothe the sting, her brows kissing at the center of her forehead. “Ow!” She yelped.

That was the thing with growing up, some get stronger, and others get left behind. Not to say Y/n was weak, the bruises on JJ’s arms from her little shoves and playful punches were proof enough, but they were nearly twelve now, and JJ figured he could probably bench her by this point.

“You started it!” He argued, though his palm still smoothed over where he hit her maybe just a but too hard. He’d check to make sure he didn’t leave a mark later.

“Did not!” They fought like children, and smiled freely like they did when they were seven, like they didn’t have all the reason to frown, to cry. To let genetics be hereditary and become the punishers. But instead they swung weakly at each other and laughed everything off until nothing really mattered anymore.

A silence fell between their giggles, a silence only broken my JJ’s pointer finger and thumb playing with the little tail tied off at the end of the braid.

“I don’t know. I never asked, I figured it was just my name. JJ.” He shrugged. “Simple. Like me.”

Y/n nearly snorted.

“You might be a simple boy, JJ, but you are not simple.” She smiled, eyes flickering down to her muddy shoes, bright red converse with holes in the sides so wide, ants found refuge in the warm shelter.

“John?” Y/n threw out an idea. JJ shook his head.

“Nah, we already got a John.” He pointed out, stuffing his own hands into his pockets.

“Well, your dad didn’t know that at the time.” She argued, and still, JJ couldn’t get on board.

“Okay.” Y/n thought, humming and biting her bottom lip, sucking it between her teeth, and swiping her tongue over the faded scar where, she had in fact, lost her front tooth all those years ago. An adult tooth had grown in since, but the scar, now pink instead of bloody, lingered like a faded memory.

“Jackson?” She looked at him, and for a moment, he thought about it. Then, he hummed, pulling his own lip between his teeth.

“Nope, too fancy. Maybe if I was Kook royalty.” He joked.

“So maybe one day?” Y/n teased back, wiggling her brows. JJ gave her an amused look as if to say, yeah right.

They went back to listing names, stumbling down the list until random names became those that started with a J. She tried out George with a J, followed by Jerry, and Jeremy. But all fell flat. It seemed to look as though the boys name was nothing more than two letters squished together.

Then, with a click of her tongue to the roof of her mouth, and a sparkle in her eye, she looked up at the blonde with wonder, the start of an idea.

“Jesse James.” She spoke matter-of-factly, her hands cupping her hips confidently.

“Who now?” He raised a brow.

“The outlaw?” She said in return, like it was common knowledge. Like her and Pope didn’t stick their noses deep into western books all summer much to JJ’s dismay. Not that he hadn’t know she was a bookworm, as if she hadn’t lugged around whatever second hand book she could snatch without the librarian noticing, but the summertime was time for the water, the waves, the tide. Not dusty pages written in small cursive letters with stupid plots less lively than any adventure JJ could drag her on.

And, no, he wasn’t jealous. That’s not why he went on a long list of reasons why he didn’t recognize the name, how it evolved into a complaint of her time spent glued to Pope instead of him, because JJ was surely not jealous.

“He was an outlaw back in the 1800’s. He robbed, killed, fought. Ran a gang with other outlaws.” She explained with a plain expression.

“Oh, so an asshole?” JJ shorted, and the sound made Y/n laugh.

“No. Well—yes, but that’s not why I think it’s so fitting. It’s adventurous, fun. Risky, you know?” She gushed over old literature, and god, if it had been Pope or anyone else, JJ swore he would’ve rung their neck by now, or at the very least ran as far away as possible. But Y/n explained it with a giggle, and JJ simply couldn’t resist listening to each word pouring from her mouth.

“Anyway, I think it’s fitting on a surface level.” She shrugged finally, and then, her eyes flickered over to his. “But I think I like plain old JJ the best.” She smiled sweetly, and then, she licked her chapped lips.

JJ figured if she liked it, he liked it too. He never really longed to know what his name stood for, if it meant anything, but her questions always raised his own. He thought a bit more as they walked between the broken branches and thick grass. He felt bugs on his shins and sweat beading down the back of his neck. He adjusted the old, beat up hat that flattened out his messy blonde hair against his forehead.

“Well, what about you?” JJ finally questioned, itching to hear her philosophies some more.

“What about me?” She continued walking, the sound of running water nearby tumbling down smooth rocks.

“Well, if I’m some outlaw, what does that make you? The damsel?” He smirked, and Y/n couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

Could he really picture her in a corset? A layer over another until she was all fabric and barely any skin and bones. A big skirt hiding the frame of her hips and the sweet curls of her hair. She laughed at the image she painted for herself.

“If anything, you’d be the damsel.” She pointed her finger into his arm, looking up at the ground ahead now, and then let out a peaceful sigh.

“The accomplice.” She smiled, hooking her arm in mine. I let my hand slip out of my pocket so she could pull me closer. “But never the follower.” She raised her brows, a serious gleam in her lively eyes through her long lashes.

“Anyway, crime isn’t for me and it isn’t for you either, blondie. You’d end up in jail, and I’d have to bail you out. Hell, I’d probably be behind bars with you too.” She dreamed up the image, already seeing the way JJ would be leaned back, laughing at her stressed out expression. Cool and unbothered, the way he always seemed to be.

“And I don’t know about you, but I don’t just wanna be the kid from the cut who ended up as just another sheriffs little pet. I wanna be something. Someone.” She clenched her fist in determination.

“I wanna be that girl even in my eighties, dancing in the rain and running up and down the beach like my bones can’t flake away.” She smiled brightly. “And I want to scream, I want to yell! I’d scream ferociously, leaping between the waves like we do now, and I’d finally jump from the rocks, and I won’t be scared because I’ll have done it thousands of times.” She painted her future, her desire.

There was no money, no big house with a picket fence and an army of children. Just the ocean, some laughter, and enough fearless ambition to spill into the next lifetime.

“Sounds nice.” JJ agreed, but he didn’t have the same imagination as she did, he didn’t have it in him to dream a dream as pure and grand. So what, he wished for a little money, it didn’t make him any less noble. He didn’t need to live on figure eight, he just didn’t want to be stuck with three jobs until he turned to dirt.

“It will be. And you’ll know it because you’ll be there with me, and we’ll be the same pirates we are now. We’ll smoke on the roof and wear fancy clothing that we made ourselves. We’ll ride the waves and make lemonade and sweet tea like John B’s dad does. We’ll have mustaches from the sugar, and we’ll be young forever with the grass between our toes!”

She stopped, suddenly grabbing his shoulders at the opening of the thick greenery, the sandy beach an open land that laid out for miles around them. The waves hit the smooth rocks, the rougher ones that stood tall thrashing with the heavy water. Sea salt coated their glistening skin.

“We will be interesting forever.” She promised with a serious smile, like she knew there was no other fate for people like them. “And nobody will ever forget how we lived like real people should and how we never let the temptation of a corporate paycheck take away the big picture.”

Her hands wrinkled the shoulders of JJ’s old tank top, the sides cut so far down, it was nearly just a napkin with a hole for his head. Everything about their attire screamed kids from the cut, there was no fooling anyone, yet they carried themselves with pride, like the lack of civility in their lives was a thrill, the dirt and the worms and the bees and sweltering sunburns were all a gift to have been rubbed across them on their walks in the rain, in their summer time hikes to the secret beaches they weren’t supposed to venture on.

The Kooks had it good, an easy life, but Y/n declared that they were the only ones living.

“Well, we can start on that dream now.” JJ declared hopefully, looking out to where the waved lapped at the shore. His ringed fingers pointed out at the rigid rocks that overhung the deep waters.

“If we’ve got a thousand of leaps to take, you have to start with one.” He looked back at the girl, the way she nervously fidgeted before setting her hands stiffly by her sides.

“And then we won’t be scared.” She repeated to herself, but more to him.

“No, we won’t ever be scared again.” And there was a shared understanding, an understanding that dreams are just dreams until they make them more. If she could do this terrifying thing, all for the rest of her deepest wishes to come true, there was a new found certainty that anything scary could be done.

That she and JJ could do all the scary things the world could offer, even just as the awkward children they felt they had grown into. It was possible.

JJ sat in jail for the first time when he turned sixteen. He hated it. His head hung heavily in the palms of his hands, elbows pressed sharply against his thighs, eyes focused on the dirty floor between his old boots.

It wasn’t his fault—not fully at least. Yes, he agreed he had instigated Popes anger, but to JJ he saw everything they had done as self defense. Pope was a good kid, a smart kid, second in the class—no. First. He was first now. She was first, but now she wasn’t. Funny how things can change so quickly, rearrange to make it seem like nothing changed at all.

The point was, Pope had a future, and JJ sure as hell didn’t. Any dreams he had were replaced when she had shared hers, because he decided then that he wanted those things too. But that hope had long vanished, and now Pope had a real chance to chase his dreams, so JJ took the fall. He sunk to a new low just like the boat, sitting alone in the cell she had once warned him about. Only now, she wasn’t there to share it with him.

He thought about that day a lot. Just a year after they’d taken the leap, started the path to their future filled with laughter and whispered secrets, meticulously planned schemes and toothy grins. JJ woke up early, ready to sneak around the back of her house that sat beside John B’s and knock three times on her window. He’d beg her to go sneak away and let loose with him, and of course, she’d agree.

He biked the short distance, ignoring the storm clouds, ignoring all the signs that led straight to the forming pit in his stomach. The worry, the dread. He hadn’t felt it yet. He only felt the dust clouds kicked up by his feet and the rust scratching his shins from his old bike chain.

The police lined her driveway. Sheriff Peterkin stood with her hands in the loops of her belt. Men stood with their weapons drawn, her mother sat on the gravel, handcuffs binding her violent hands. She looked angry, but her eyes were dark with the evidence of liquor. She looked well-rounded from a far, but JJ knew the truth, and the dirt under her nails made his stomach flip.

In the line up of tin and metal, a van with a label he’d known so well from watching his old classmates getting whisked away. Child Protective Services.

“Y/n!” He’d nearly fallen to the ground at how fast he jumped from his bike, the petals grinding against the gravel. He ran the rest of the way, desperate to know what had happened. He had seen her yesterday, she was happy yesterday, what happened? Why were the authorities at her front door?

“Y/n/n! Where are you?” He reached the back window, only to find the emptiness of the bedroom through the cracks in the glass. It was messy, but untouched at the same time. Every single item thrown around left where it had been yesterday. Her pajamas she had laid out, still thrown over her flattened pillows. Untouched.

He hadn’t seen her leave, didn’t hear her cry. The van was empty, he’d caught a glimpse through the tinted windows. They hadn’t snatched her away yet, so where could she have gone?

“Come on!” He grunted, his palms pressing underneath the stubborn window, the wood groaning as the glass slide against itself. His thirteen year old arms bent under the weight, and he cursed his scrawny limbs. The glass only cracked more as it finally shot up enough for the blonde to wiggle himself into the room, soft thuds and gasps escaping his lips as skin pressed between wood and plastic.

“Y/n!” He pleaded more softly, weary of the fact that he was sure the entirety of the Kildare Police Department was lined up outside, and the breathlessness that came with the pressure on his lungs.

He earned no response, and in a desperate effort to trace some clues back to her, he began further ripping the room apart, spinning in circles for some sort of clue, evidence she still existed, that she wasn’t just some name in the wind, another urban legend spread around Kildare for the tourists to gawk at. Underneath her bed, behind the small table she’d made herself with rotting wood and hot glue, in the piles of clothes thrown around. He spun around and bent over until everything ached and he grew dizzy.

His eyes found the crooked clothing rack, a cheep bar of metal she had found with him in a ditch beside an old thrift store. She had painted it teal in the fifth grade and carved her initials into the posts. Her favorite pair of overalls hung limply from where they were draped over the bar, swaying in the wind with a crinkling sound in the front pocket laid flat out in the center of the chest, still covered in mud from their last adventure.

He investigated curiously, and in his best attempt to slow down in his desperate hurry, he pulled out a small slip of paper with his name scribbled on the front.

“Jesse James.” It read just beneath his real name, though it seemed now that she had become the true outlaw.

He opened it with shaking hands, his brows furrowing. When he saw the familiar scratchy handwriting, he internally let out a sigh of relief. Thankfully, this wasn’t another one of her failed cursive lessons he always failed.

“JJ,” The note began, “The rich are the bane of my existence. I hope one day, when we are older, we are rich in all aspects of life but the literal sense. Maybe it’s just Kildare, but the more money that lines their pockets, the more cruel people seem to get. But we will be kind forever, and we will continue to swing from tree branches and work long and hard for the simple pleasures. I’ve been ratted out; or—my mom has. Ward Cameron passed by earlier to return a shirt I left at their house at the end of the year party. It was one of her bad nights, you know how she gets. Anyways, he must have heard her, seen it. I didn’t even get the chance to wipe my blood off of the window before the cops started pulling into the driveway. I’m running. I’m running far away into the trees where nobody without a heart will be able to trace me. I promise to come back. After all, what is an accomplice without her influence? But I cannot keep our dream safe in a faraway place where they want to take me. If you need me, picture me in the weeds and you’ll hear me in the folk songs at the Chateau. Until we dance again, Y/n/n.”

JJ stood there in the silence, the banging from outside the house leaking indoors, and soon, he had no choice but to slip out of the familiar sanctuary that was her bedroom, the paper hidden in his blistering palms, damp with the sweat the coated his now clammy skin.

They were thirteen then, freshly graduated from middle school and ready to take on high school. She had been leading the class in all ways, kindness, brains, bravery, and now, there was nothing left but the crumpled note JJ had thrown in the fire out of bitterness towards the Kooks and whispers about the girl who disappeared.

To Narnia, they said. The ball of sunshine and endless life had slipped away to a place where only the creative are let in. She would be a pirate there, she wouldn’t have to hide in the closet on beneath the sheets in fear. She was as free as the August breeze, and JJ was as lost as a drunken sailor.

JJ decided he didn’t want to be an outlaw anymore after his first time behind bars. It wasn’t as fun as she had pictured it. Maybe if the trouble was something interesting, a scheme they could have conjured up together, but it wasn’t a sadder reality. Pirates weren’t on peg legs with eye patches and parrots anymore, and the good and interesting were more boring as they tried to come up with philosophies that could never measure up to the youthful spirit she once had.

He wished for all the beautiful things he once had, and often he found himself wondering if they even still existed. His friends were his life, his soul. But he could still see her braids in woven patterns, hear her feet hitting the concrete and whipping in the tall grass in the breeze, and her laughter in those old cheesy folk songs John B’s dad used to play.

JJ found bliss in recklessness. Partially for himself, but also for her. He always believed in the idea that no matter how far he strayed away, pieces of him would always reflect his father whether he liked it or not. So, when presented with the possibility of a gold hunt that led him right into his jail cell, he took the chance, gambling away his safety for the thrill of the chase.

They had gotten so close too, the heavy metal sitting pretty and shiny in his hand. But he never won, no matter how hard he tried or how much he gambled and chanced and risked, he always came up short, the small half of a wishbone, the edge of the party crackers. He felt like an outlaw now, and it wasn’t nearly as fun as it should have been.

How they all ended up on some boat, JJ had no clue. Well, he had some hints, another forbidden treasure stolen just when he thought they finally won, and now, nothing but heavy breathing in a heated storage container that had no food, no water, nothing but pointless rope and endless trash.

The B team, is what he referred to himself as, which Kiara had taken offense to. Sure, it was low of him to refer to her like she was a worse option, but the blonde was itching for some action.

But he was benched. Benched because he was everything she loved. Reckless, unpredictable, free. He protected that sweet sliver of childhood beauty he found when he thought of her memory. Her sweet eyes, her sweet smile. He had never thought about anyone like that before, and not ever since. He hated braids, hated the way they reminded him of her, how Sarah and Kiara would slap his hands away and grumble about how childish he could be. She wouldn’t have gotten angry, she would have laughed. Or maybe she wouldn’t, he didn’t really know anymore and that killed him.

It killed him that he couldn’t know because he didn’t even know if she made it, if the trees were kind to her or if she had swung herself over the edge on a vine stretched too thin.

She would be eighteen now, just like him, though he was a little older. He wondered if she still wore the two loose braids down over her shoulders, taming her wild hair and tucking her curly strands behind her ears. Did she still swear by overalls? Dare to run barefoot over the hard cement and dive head first into thrashing water? Were there still beautiful things to her, or had life finally caught up to her?

JJ didn’t know her face, and he was sure if it weren’t for the hours he spent trying to find her, trying to trace her cheeks even in photographs, he wouldn’t recall it at all. She was five years older, and so was he. He wasn’t scrawny, he’d swore to get strong so that the day she would finally return, he could slam the windows open and keep her tucked safely behind him.

“What are you thinking about?” Kiara spoke up, legs swinging softly from where she sat on top of piles of plastic and wooden crates. JJ sat curled up in the corner, his elbows resting heavily on his knees. He’d never been so sweaty.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged plainly, focusing on the small circles on the floor made of rubber. They weren’t very comfortable.

“You gonna tell me, or should I guess?” She smiled, tucking her hair behind her ears. He saw a flash of someone he once knew sometimes in her. Sometimes it was nice, other times it made him angry. It wasn’t Kiara’s fault though, not her fault she had spent so much time around the lively firecracker of a girl that she had also become another version of Y/n.

“I know I said a surf trip would be good. I mean it would, but do you ever think about what you might do with all that money?” JJ furrowed his brows, licking over his lip, the split in the corner of the bottom lip stinging at the sensation.

Kiara hummed, leaning back and stretching her neck to catch the passing breeze through the small opening in the top corner of the metal container covered by a vent.

“I mean, yeah. A stable home life would be nice. Then, I’d probably do something with turtles. It’s a lot of money so, could probably do a lot with it.” She reasoned, wiping her skin with her palms and blinking the salty liquid away from her eyes.

JJ hummed. She had it all figured out, her real, serious dream that had stability and certainty. All the things Y/n’s dream never had, the very dreams she made JJ want just as bad.

“You know what Y/n would do with all this money?” JJ snorted at his own thoughts, practically hearing her voice ringing through his head. He heard Kiara hum, waiting for him to continue, and he simply smiled wider. “Absolutely nothing.” He laughed to himself.

Kiara laughed too, knowing deep down he was right. Maybe a tree house, or a small plot of land on the outskirts of society where all good things green can grow and only the wild folk dare to stumble, but nothing more than that. A few thousand, if it even were to cost that much, and the rest pocketed, maybe donated. Maybe just enough left over to buy some new shoes, some good shoes for dancing.

“A lifetime supply of overalls and red converse. Maybe even some nicer scarves to tie in her hair.” Kiara entertained JJ’s thoughts. She still thought of the girl every so often too, they all did, but no one more than JJ. After all, nobody had known her nearly as closely as JJ had. A bond that only comes once every few lifetimes, that’s what they had, Kiara was sure.

“She’s probably outgrown the overalls.” JJ added, and silence fell over them. Then, in the still air that coated the small space in a thick layer, laughter bounced between the pair.

Such a funny thought, to think Y/n could ever change. She had been a lot of things, but she was always herself. She found what she loved, and she loved them dearly. There was no changing her free spirit and old habits, it was who she had grown to be, through and through.

“What do you think she looks like now?” Kiara wondered out loud, looking down at JJ to see the way his brows furrowed and he pulled at the corners of his lips.

JJ thought for some time, because though at first he had tried to piece together and image of Y/n all grown up in his head, he’d long given up on those fantasies because they were never her. Only bits and pieces of the girl he could never forget.

“Bangs.” JJ said suddenly, followed by nothing else. He could picture them, hair sun kissed and twisting up in wild curls that were swept to the side. Not full, choppy bangs, but those cut with rusty scissors in the early morning, just framing bits to tug out when she put her hair up.

“Bangs?” Kiara chuckled, her hands subconsciously slipping over her stomach, and her arms tucking into a firm grasp, a hug she was giving herself. “Nothing else?” She smiled, curious because she had thought about it a lot.

Her hair would no longer be in braids, and those sun kiss freckles would have multiplied like the sparkles in her eyes did. She would have an eyebrow slit, or a piercing, maybe even a stick and poke, all of which she would have done herself to make herself stand out. Maybe she would have finally grown out of her nail biting, but Kiara doubted that part.

“Nope.” JJ said wetly, leaning back further and letting out a deep sigh. “Just like she was, only taller and older.”

Part of JJ wondered if it was his heart forcing him to believe Y/n would never change, and then the other part of his would remind his aching heart that it didn’t matter, because he would never know. All he could do was do as she asked so nicely before she left, picture her in the trees, jumping wildly from stone to stone and dancing in the breeze.

“Do you think she made it?” Kiara wondered out loud, her temple now pressed against the metal confines of the container. The breeze soothed her burning skin, and her sweaty palms threaded through her tight waves.

“Y/n?” JJ asked like it was even a question. It wasn’t even a question to him, wasn’t even an occurring thought, not after the first time he really sat down and thought it over.

“She made it.” He said confidently, because he knew the girl, and even if she had lived in the mud amongst the bugs and the thick vines that attempted to grow over her tired body in the night, she would do it happily because she was living.

“Without a doubt?” Kiara shut her tired eyes, her chest deflating with every labored breath. Sweat glistened as it rolled down the slope of her nose, sparkling on the slivers of sunlight.

“Without a doubt.”

When she said she wanted to be a pirate, she had envisioned a life close to home, lounging around on John B’s old boat with her best friends, drinking from coconuts and ripping the skin off of mangoes with her teeth until the juice stained everything she touched. She imagined a life of pure peace, where the little things were enough and money was an afterthought.

But here she was, skin slick with sweat, hair stuck down to her forehead in damp curls, and her shirt clinging to the denim that covered her. The deck was cooler, a free space for her to stretch her eager legs, and though it was confined, she found peace in the open ocean, a vast space of blue expanding as far as her eyes could see.

Now, her back ached, her wrists just as damp as her face, and with each swipe of the backs of her hands against her temples, she simply spread the wetness across her forehead in a streaking mess.

She fed the flames, shoveling coal and other waste into the small opening, trying to fuel the large ship with what little energy she had left to offer.

Her back ached, and her knees were sore. She loved a challenge, yearned for the work because at least it gave her something to do, something to stick her needy palms into, but she was too worn thin to carry multiple jobs all at once. She desperately waited for the girl she had come to call her close friend to return, shovel in hand and thick gloves covering her relatively well-manicured hands. Cleo, she learned to call the girl over her few months spent on board, had abandoned ship, split when she needed her most. Nobody had said anything about her absence, so Y/n was led to believe she had left without warning.

It was hell below deck, a new low, and Y/n knew low. She could list a few things just from the past couple days if she wanted to scrape the surface, but most memories came from her earlier years, when college still seemed so far away, and she swore she would never grow old. She missed when her joints didn’t ache with even the smallest movements. She missed jumping from branch to branch and swinging herself into the depths of the ocean with reckless abandon.

More than that she missed him. Her best friend, and the only person who had ever believed her when she swore to live out her most childish fantasies. Anyone else always looked at her like she had dreamed of being a fairy, a mermaid, a princess. All things unrealistic and unreachable in her living situation and the rules of the world, yet JJ had always seen it as completely plausible.

If she said she wanted to jump to conquer a fear, there he was tugging her along and laughing the whole way down. If she wanted to dance, he would learn the steps, and fall into line with her, spinning and dipping her in the wet pavement that scraped against their bare feet.

So, as she shouted for some sort of assistance in the basement, she couldn’t help but wonder if she should have let them take her away that day. If she hadn’t been so set on remaining untouched, unfiltered, wild and free, if she had let the warmth of a calm, civilized home find her, would things have ended differently? Was it her mistake for chasing after a feeling of childish wonder that had been stripped of her? Was it wrong to want something so badly simply because her own life had been too hard to ever enjoy at a normal pace?

She hadn’t seen the thick greenery in years, the daffodils snd the daisies only vibrant sights when their stems were sliced and their leafs were wilting. She missed the mud between her toes, the summer air lifting her up. When she wore braids not because they kept her thick hair off of her neck, but because she liked the way they looked. When her overalls were a fashion statement, not because they shielded her from the dangers of her work. She missed the bright red fabric on her converse, and the old doodles from her friends on the soles when they got bored. They were caked in oil, and grime, and sludge. Dimmed by the struggles of her reality. She wondered internally if there were still beautiful things.

Then, like her prayer had been caught in the wind by her savior, there was some scrambling that echoed across the floorboards, followed by distant shouting and metal hitting metal.

Mumbling and chaos shook the frame where she stood, distant cries and grunts as bodies slammed together leaving her torn in a moment of desperation. Her heart ached to go, to run and finally catch her breath, to see what disaster had swept over the ship in such a short moment of time, but her brain thought logically, told her to feed the flames to keep everyone afloat. It was a split second decision, the divide between rational and reasonable.

And then she thought about all the good in the past few days. She thought of the glimpses of the world she’d stolen between the bustling mornings and the restless nights, of the small treats she stuffed in her pockets and the beautiful sunsets and clear constellations in the center of a world untouched by light pollution. She thought of Cleo, her only friend she’d found in a life where she only knew abandonment and fear. Where the only affection she had ever accepted had hurt her, and the only good and gentle people in her life had fled, Cleo had appeared like an angel, a thick accent and a toothy grin. Born and raised as a thief, and trained as a fighter. She was smart, and kind beneath her rough edges, and Y/n thought of the sadness in her eyes each time she worked until her bones stung. She thought of how badly she wanted to dive into the waves below them and pull the girl with her to show her how freeing running can be.

Faced with fear, she could not save either of them if she waited for another miracle, another moment to excuse her actions, to make her breaking loose seem justified if it were to all go wrong. If they’d have her head for betrayal, the ocean waited for her on all ends, and she believed in her ability to survive confidently enough to take the risk presented to her.

She took the stairs two at a time, and the door to the outside air swung open with such force, it echoed like a gunshot when metal connected with metal, bolts grinding together angrily, her soot covered hands staining the rusting exterior, the cheap white paint flaking off where her hand had pressed firmly against the door.

“Cleo!” She shouted in the wind, her arms covered in goosebumps as the slick sweat became a layer of gel that turned her warmth into an uncomfortable chill.

She looked frantically, turning corners and sprinting over ramps and down steep stairwells. She hopped over ropes and swung from bars, her dirty sneakers slapping against the floors in heavy steps, and her breathing coming out in short pants through her nose.

“John B!” A quiet shout rattled down the thin hall that lined the perimeter of the deck, bouncing off of the thick walls and hollow railings. It was a name she hadn’t heard in a while. For a moment, she thought she had imagined it, that in her moment of desperation to grasp onto the bits and pieces of bliss in her hellish life, her mind had reeled and found a temporary way to cope. But then it came again.

“Where is he? John B!” The voice called out again, whiny and pleading, and much too loud on a ship crawling with people who were indescribably more dangerous and destructive than the cruel people who lingered in her hometown.

Then came the struggle, more grunting, and the sound of shoes scraping against the floor in a slippery mess. She could hear faint taunts, familiar names of people she longed to see again ever since the day she had left, and the sounds of exasperation over the loud lapping of waves against the side of the ship.

“Kie, now!” She heard suddenly, a deafening shout that silenced all other chaos around her, her breathing slowing in her ears and her heartbeat pounding against her temples.

It was as if time slowed, and all things far away rushed at her in a blink of her eyes. It was slow, yet so fast, her vision blurring into a jumbled mess to the rhythm of her unsteady heartbeat drumming against her ribs, begging to get out.

It was a voice she prayed to hear again, only deeper and raspier, but still the same. A voice that called to her in her darkest moments and pulled her from her slumps, reminded her of all the beauty of instability, of pure trust in luck and intuition. A voice that she had grown to love and hold dear to her, one so precious she found herself covering her ears so that she would never forget the sweet sound of it.

“JJ?” She pivoted quickly, her hip slamming harshly into the metal railing and her shoulder making contact with the opposing wall as she used the accidental thrashing as momentum down the long, swaying strip of flooring she ran on.

She felt crazy, delusional chasing after a sound she wasn’t even entirely sure was real. She had been dehydrated, overworked, underpaid, forgotten about and thrown to the side amongst all the other treasures that laid untouched beneath the deck. She used to scream ferociously anytime she wanted, and now it felt more like her life had become an exhibit at the zoo, a cage for her bosses to look down on, tossing fish to keep her from starving. What had happened to her freedom, her love for recklessness? She decided to hold onto her delusion, to chase it because to be wrong was better than to be certain in her correctness and abandon her love for the chase.

“JJ? JJ!” She shouted, her voice coming out in broken cries, knuckles whitening with how hard they gripped anything with a corner or a curve. Anything that could keep her afloat as she dove into waters so deep, she couldn’t touch anymore.

“Cleo!” Her cries echoed through the tense air, carrying over the grunts and slamming and shouting that passed through coworkers, some she knew, and others she didn’t. If she couldn’t be given the life long dream to reunite with her drive, her motivation to keep going, she prayed to whoever was listening to her that at least her friend would be waiting for her at the end of the hall.

The boat rocked with a shift of weight, a crane groaning under the intense pressure of something indestructible, and in the glistening sunlight, Y/n caught sight of something truly magnificent. A golden cross shining in the halo of sunlight that surrounded it in all of its glory, a true treasure that had been, unbeknownst to her, been stuffed away just mere feet away from where she had been working until not a single inch of her body didn’t know pain.

She stumbled back at the sight, the jewels imbedded into the holy fortune sparkling with a beauty Y/n had never seen in person. It took her back to her days at Sunday school sat right beside JJ. Her mother wasn’t a religious woman, but JJ’s father was, and so with an excuse to be cut loose from the torture of her house—because she refused to call it a home; she too began to believe in something greater than what she was supposed to believe in.

For the first time in her life, her neck craned up to look at the artifact which swung ferociously in the wind, the groaning crane whipping it around erratically, Y/n closed her eyes, and she prayed.

She didn’t ache for the chase, for uncertainty in this moment. She was unchanging in all her beliefs, but for one singular second, she prayed and pleaded that for once, there would be certainty in who she would stumble across.

Then, with a sudden feeling of calamity in the midst of reigning chaos burning over the life she had grown accustomed to, Y/n rounded the corner, stepping down the last bit of the hall into the thicker opening of the side of the deck, lined with a few stray crates to block off broken pieces of the rusted railings.

And there it was, the sudden loss for breath, the heavy feeling that weighed down everything she could once do without even thinking. Her feet refused to move, and her nails dug into the ragged shorts of her overalls. The wind blew her curly, sweaty bangs across her face, tickling her nose. Her entire world shattered and then became rebuilt at the relieving sight.

It was a man she did not know, someone who had joined the expedition under the employment of someone Y/n wasn’t allowed to know. A man who simply worked for another man much wealthier than she was, erratically swinging his curved machete around in an act of violence against two people she recognized clear as day as if time had never passed them by.

Kiara sat bent over, the wind knocked out of her as her cheeks puffed up to try and keep what little air she had left inside of her. Her hair hung over her bright eyes, her pink lips bitten raw, Y/n could make out that detail even from a distance. But there, just s few feet away, stood JJ backed up against the railing, leaning dangerously close to the edge, his hair wild and untamed like the rest of his appearance.

He wasn’t the boy Y/n had left behind. He wasn’t the scrawny tow headed blonde who liked to tease and run, but rather a more muscular blonde with a fire in his eyes, passion that couldn’t be manufactured, but found through growing up. He was just as beautiful as she remembered, just as dear, just as lovable. Even without a single bit of insight on what he had been up to, how he could have changed, Y/n’s feelings for her best friend had been long cemented within her heart. She loved him like no other, to the moon and to Saturn.

She was only broken out of her lovesick visions by the sight of the unfamiliar man growing closer to her friends, his grip tightening around his weapon like a threat, and Y/n feared the worst.

“JJ!” Y/n found her tongue, which had previously gone numb at the sight in front of her. She had shouted out for the boy to warn him, to try and get him to recognize the mans posture, how he stalked over Kiara like a looming threat, but she was foolish to believe that the sight of her, even so many years later when she was sure he would have learned to forget her, wouldn’t stop him in his tracks.

His blue eyes found hers, and she could see how his body seemed to tense, and then very quickly, slump in shock. His jaw fell slack, eyes widening and brows furrowing, almost as if he was in pain, in some sort of conflict. To run into her arms, or to focus on why her shouting was so desperate, so raw and broken.

He wanted to speak, to beg her to tell him if this was all real, or if the heat from the container had caused some sort of heat stroke and he was hallucinating her up to comfort him in a time of crisis. But his breath refused to come out, and in a blur, the blunt end of a blade struck his head, and his feet swept over the edge of the boat, plummeting him into the depths of the sea below.

In that moment, Y/n realized three things. One; she had spent so much of her life dreaming, she had left so little time to go and live those dreams. Two; in every single thing she had ever wanted so badly it had become a part of her dreams, JJ had always been there right alongside her. In most, he even led her confidently, and three; that very same boy she had been dreaming of for endless nights, until her entire youth was filled with only dreams of him, had just gone overboard, and now, so was she.

Her dirty shoes scraped the edge of the railing. Part of her felt like spreading her arms out wide to welcome the wind, but as her wide eyes flickered from the golden hues of the sky to the deep blue that seemed miles away, fear struck her body.

It was a long drop. Much farther down than the rocks she had learned to leap from effortlessly, hand in and with her best friend to guide her. Water thrashed below her then, and it did so now too.

He floated below her, face down and limp and she felt her blood pumping. Back then, he had held her hand firmly and whispered out promises into her ear with each doubt she had. Back then, she believed every word he said when he promised there wasn’t a single possibility she would get hurt because he was right there. And when she leaped with him, he had been right.

“Wasn’t it fun?” He had laughed back then, so excited to have been right. Her face was unreadable, her lip trembling and eyes wide. For a moment, he had panicked, even at twelve years old he understood what it felt like to want to keep something so special safe. He held her face, cradled it in his wet palms until her cheeks lifted into a smile.

“Can we go again?” She had giggled, feeling a familiar warmth in the pit of her stomach spreading.

“Yeah. Yes!” He encouraged, proud of her bravery and her ability to find pleasure in things that once scared her.

He was always more brave than her in her eyes. She imagined if it were her down there, he would have already jumped in no hesitation.

Y/n looked down again, and then back at Kiara, who was back up on her feet, limbs tangled with the man she still didn’t know the name of. She was struggling to a degree, but quickly got some ground to push off of.

“Y/n!” Kiara called out from over the mans broad shoulder, eyes frantic and her skin dusty from the mans shirt and the wooden deck.

She could see her internal debate, both people who were so special to her put in situations where they were nearly helpless. To leave JJ meant he would be on his own, but to leave Kiara opened up so many more possibilities.

“Go! I’m okay!” Kiara promised as he pushed the man away, getting some leverage, and at the desperation in her voice, something inside clicked within Y/n.

The bottom of her worn out shoes scraped against the old metal, and for a moment the wind felt freeing as she leaped out, the warmth from the sun made it feel like flying, like by some miracle she could never fall. But the cool water below crushed her imagination as it wrapped around her body like a cold blanket.

When she surfaced, the world around her spun, echoes of her old pleas to go again ringing through her ears as her limbs cut through the waves desperately, goosebumps pebbling down her arms almost instantly.

“JJ!” She shouted, her voice raw and ripped from all the desperation she felt, how vulnerable and helpless she felt.

He laid on his stomach, submerged with no air like a starfish, only bobbing with the current. He seemed completely washed of all life.

She felt weak splashing over to him. She kicked and cut through the waves like she needed it to survive, and yet her malnourished bones only let her go so far so fast. It felt taunting to her, having to watch him get closer at a snails pace.

Y/n’s arms wrapped around him feebly, his larger body resting heavily on her shoulder. He was broader now, no longer the small boy she had to leave behind. If only he knew how quickly her dreams were crushed in order to survive, if only she’d been more careful, if she hadn’t left her shirt. If only she’d didn’t look like her father, if only her mother was a good woman.

“JJ hey, I’m back, wake up okay?” She smiled weakly, like her presence could shake him. He swallowed so much water, she knew it. If only she wasn’t so scared. If only she hadn’t been stripped of all the bravery she had learned from him.

The boy’s head rolled to the side with each tap of her wrinkled fingers, the cold biting their limbs with each lap of the waves crashing into them.

“JJ, come on wake up please!” She grew frantic as the water seemed to only grow rougher, a vision of the thrashing water between the jagged rocks clouding her reality and his weight sinking them down below the surface.

“JJ!” She cried out, her voice ripping through the heavy pants and her nails digging into his body. Blood stained his hairline, his blonde hair now darkened from the water and strawberry at the roots from his wound.

She knew it better than she ever had. He had grown stronger while she had been whittled down into only a shell of who she had once been. He was taller, faster, braver than she ever was, and as hard as she kicked her legs and splashed around, it felt like more and more waves seemed to pull them under momentarily.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She apologized towards the sky, guilty for not being able to keep them afloat in the choppy waters. “I’m sorry, I love you.” She promised, and she held onto him tighter with each passing second, even as her vision started to blur.

After all, he always loved the company and she was afraid of loneliness and the dark.

“I love you, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m trying J, I really am!” She promised through gasps of air, water falling from her lips more rapidly now.

“John B!” She screamed, her voice piercing through the empty space. “Pope!” She called out again, hoping that just one of her friends might hear her. Would they recognize her voice, she wondered, or had growing up changed everything about her? Had she become unrecognizable?

She surely didn’t recognize herself anymore. She avoided mirrors, and parties, and small talk often. She hated the sound of her voice and how it had changed and how she’d grown taller and how her freckles seemed to dot her face more messily. How she had to live with the changes that would make her harder to recognize if she would ever get to meet her friends again.

“JJ, please wake up.” She pleaded again, all other sounds beyond her heavy breathing and the faint ringing in her ears falling deaf.

She recalled the last time she heard him laugh. She heard it in her sleep, covered her ears to drown out anyone else’s late at night to savor the sound. She recalled running her fingers through his hair under the stars, promising him one day everything would be okay. It would be okay, right? One day it would be okay?

“Kiara!” Her throat felt raw now, the salt water tearing apart her dry lips and stinging the scrapes on her palms and knees. Everything hurt, the more and more she begged and cried for help, the longer time seemed to stretch. The heavier he grew in her arms.

There was nothing she could do to change what was happening to them, no plywood or branch to grab onto, no ladder or savior to come and save them. Her heart felt empty, her chest closing in. If she had a mirror, she would’ve seen the loss of color fading from her skin. She missed the certainty she once hated. She missed everything about knowing what tomorrow brought, when she knew JJ would still be tapping at her window, when he wasn’t lying limp in her arms.

She hated it and cried about it, though it was pointless. She cried out for help but her voice was muted with bubbling water, her head bobbing below the surface. For a moment, her vision cleared as the waves dipped, and she swore she saw the outline of a figure in the distance, but she couldn’t be sure. The waters rose just as quickly as they fell, and with a deadly grip, her arms wrapped around JJ to ensure not even the strongest currents could pull them apart as her body gave out. And in a sudden moment of weakness and a final soft apology and a kiss to the blondes cheek, the feeling of sinking was a gift.

Then, the tugging. It was desperate, nails drawing blood by her neck, three or four pairs of hands pressing their palms deep into her raw skin, fingers all wrapping around her before the depths could take her. She felt the rough material before she saw it, the dark grey fabric lining the outside of the small boat, a large motor in the back and each empty space filled with a familiar face, all of their legs bent upwards in an impossibly uncomfortable position to save space.

Her breaths came out ragged, heavy dry heaves leaving drops of water heavy with saliva stringing from her mouth. Blood trickled down the bridge of her nose, a new, burning scratch earned in the messy tug-o-war to save her from sinking.

Y/n swore she felt her heart stop with each cough, eyes squeezed shut and her back hunched over in pain. Her palms pressed into the bottom of the boat until her body found the floor, and her knees slide beneath her.

Still, she recognized two things; one, the air sent pins and needles down every bump that had spread over her skin, her joints screaming with each small bend; and two, JJ was laying lifeless just a few inches away.

His head was propped up against the side of the boat, the fabric wrapped around what Y/n assumed was an inflated portion of the body. His face was tiled away from her, having lolled to the side as the boy Y/n recognized as John B through her blurry vision frantically steered the boat.

The blood had stopped trickling down JJ’s forehead, but the sight of his breathing so shallow and uneven, as if he was fighting each time to get another chance to breathe, sent an uneasy feeling through Y/n’s body, and panic shot straight into her brain.

“JJ!” Her voice came out rough, stripped from all her panic alongside the copious amounts of water that nearly filled her lungs. But despite her obvious aching and tender pain, her hands grasped the boy with a new found determination, her knuckles shaking with the intensity of her grip on his skin.

JJ’s head rested against the boat, but his back no longer pressed at an awkward angle between the elevated sides and the hollow floors, but rather laid tucked against Y/n’s lap, her left hand pulling him close, even as her arm shook with his weight mixed with her weakness all while her right ran affectionately through his wet hair, trying to rouse him from his unconscious state.

“No, no, no, no. Please, please I just got you back please.” She begged, her trembling hand connected against his cheek in quick, soft taps.

Her eyes filled with tears immediately at the horrific sight, her lip trembling all the way down through her chin. She breathed deeply, but choked it all the way down. She could barely swallow, her saliva and her pride stuck between her teeth. Guilt consumed her.

“JJ!” She shouted, nearly demanding that he wake up like a distraught child. Her voice was laced with a whiny tone, each plea falling from her mouth more broken than the previous.

Y/n’s hands connected with JJ’s chest, no longer providing that warm comfort that her delicate palms had as her fingers ran through his hair and cradled his wet face, but rather quick jabs at his firm body, just below his heart.

Her curtain-like bangs hung in curls over her face, dripping onto JJ’s chin and neck and reflecting small images of the girls distraught expression. With each shake, another droplet rolled off of his skin, and with each push she felt his back dig into her knee.

Y/n felt hands on her back, soft, smaller hands gently pressed against her shoulder blades, right between the crevice between the bones. The fingers were adorned with rings, the delicate hands rubbing soothing circles as her back shook with suppressed sobs.

“It’s all my fault.” Y/n’s voice broke, her lips trembling and her words nothing more than a shattered whisper. She stopped hitting the blonde boy, and instead covered her mouth to contain her cries of guilt, and grief. “If I had been braver I could have gotten to him sooner.” She tried to reason, needing something to blame to give her some form of organization, even if the blame was inflicted onto herself.

“Y/n.” The girl who kneeled closely murmured, her hand a point of stability as Y/n watched the sky fall. “It’s not your fault.” She tried to provide comfort, but her attempts fell short.

“But it is!” Y/n nearly snapped, but not out of anger, of something else.

Everyone was looking at her, she had caught it the second they had pulled her from the sea. She was a spectacle, a great vision of the past, a figure that had slipped from the lives they had grown attached to long ago. Someone they had all missed and grieved in their own time. And so they stared at her and drank up the changes they had missed.

She was pretty. Y/n was always pretty, but now she was especially pretty. She grown up to be taller than she was when she left, her hair curls twisting all the way down her back, the short hair now a distant memory, and her body curving in ways that gave proof of her aging. She was the more mature version of the firecracker that had been shot too close to the sun too soon. Their light that had burnt out prematurely.

And so they all looked at her, ogling like she was something out of a fantasy film instead of looking at him.

“No, no, no! You don’t get it!” She threw her arm up in frustration, tilting her head back to force the building bile in the back of her mouth to go down. Why couldn’t it just all go down? Push it down, that’s what she needed to do. Push it down. Forget it, and push it down. “I’ve ruined everything. A-and I’m no good and I’ve fucked it all up!” Y/n sobbed, her head hanging forward now, shoulder slumped and her hands now gripping the wet shirt that clung to JJ’s body so tightly, her knuckles turned white.

“I should’ve jumped, I should’ve jumped in but I was too scared and he was there, he was there and if he hadn’t and it had been me he would’ve. He would’ve jumped in because he’s not afraid of anything. He would’ve have held my hand and he would have told me it would all be okay because he’s braver than me and he’s a whole lot better than me.” She rambled, and the wording of her breathless explanation made little sense to those who crowded around her, those who hadn’t experienced the moments Y/n and JJ were free of civility.

“Y/n.” Pope, the smartest of them all, spoke up, his voice emerging from behind a blonde girl she recognized as Sarah Cameron even all these years later and the familiar, yet somehow, not comforting face of her newer companion, Cleo.

Y/n didn’t listen, she refused to, too overpowered by her self blame, pointing her fingers at herself before anyone else got the chance. Why wasn’t anyone else freaking out? Did the loss of their friend not rip them completely open like it had her? Or had her best friend she had kept as a fond memory, completely kind and loving grown bitter and cold over the years? Was he not the JJ she knew?

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.” Her eye contact was fleeting, and in a final attempt to cling onto what she could before all was lost, her head fell to JJ’s chest, her forehead pressed against his shirt, listening to the fading beating of his heart.

Then, a cough, then another and another until a loud heave tore open JJ’s lips, a thick mixture of warm salt water and stringy spit drooling down his clammy skin, splatters of the mixture falling into Y/n’s salt-soaked hair.

She didn’t care, of course she wouldn’t, not even if it were blood and vomit, she swore she wouldn’t as she raised her head, her eyes flickering to where JJ’s brows furrowed, his shoulders drawing forward.

Y/n rested her hand in the dip on the center of his chest, applying soft pressure to ease his wheezing.

“JJ.” She breathed out, relieved and yet completely broken from the near loss, one she couldn’t handle again.

The thought alone shook her. He would never know how hard it was for her to leave, how badly she wished she had just hidden in the closet. But she knew her hiding could only do so much, the evil would find her and she had to go, she had to go to save them both.

"Yeah, yeah! Cough it out, cough it out baby!" John B encouraged, a sea of instructions following from the others in a desperate hurry, all reaching over to simply feel for a steady thumping of a pulse, all while the deafening ringing filled Y/n’s ears, her eyes stuck to the pretty sight of JJ’s face.

Y/n sat back on her heels, but her body fell forward in a deeper slump to protect the boy from the burning sun. She felt sick, and crazy, and confused. She wanted to throw up, scared of how fragile the boy might have become.

"Welcome to the land of the living, dude." Popes voice cut through the distant bells, the busy streets, all the background noise that flickered in short fragments through her head.

At her realization of his return, as it really sunk in, Y/n’s touch became a hovering sensation over his body, fingers shaking over his chest like she believed she had the power to only cause harm to what was already hurt, like she could fracture what had been a small crack.

Her chest felt like it was closing in, her ribs clenching around her heart tightly, and she wondered if it was what dying felt like, if JJ had felt something similar while each breath became less full.

Her mind spun like a broken clock, thoughts of self deprecation running in a constant loop, leading back to the same problems in similar processes with no end in sight. How beautiful was the feeling to be pulled from her spiral by the sight of his blue eyes focused on her face, tracing the curve of her nose down to the cupids bow on top of her lip.

She waited for him to speak, to say anything to her. Her heart pounded waiting to hear his voice, how lovely each syllable rolled off of his tongue. But the silence stretched on, just heavy breaths and tight grip that kept them connected.

His arm raised from where it lay limply by his side, his index and his thumb reaching by her arm to twirl the end of one of her braids between his fingers. In a swift motion, the pads of his fingers pinched the loose strands, and tugged for a short moment hard enough to tilt her head to the side.

She let out a soft gasp, only in reverse. All her air had deflated out of her chest, spreading a soothing sensation through her tightly wound bones just like the warm smile that expanded across her flushed cheeks.

Her laughter was a work of art, the most beautiful music JJ had ever heard, just as light and sweet as he remembered it. She hadn’t changed much, yet she had. She had more freckles now, and he found Kiara was right about the bangs. Yet her hair was still woven into the familiar pattern of two braids that now hung loosely at the bottom of her head, twisting and falling over her shoulders perfectly. She was taller, older, but he felt the shortness of her nails against his skin, and he couldn’t help but smile to himself knowing old habits die hard.

“There’s my favorite pirate.” JJ finally spoke, his voice gravely from the exhaustion that traveled through him, leaving his body heavy and soft in Y/n’s arms.

“Theres my favorite outlaw.” Y/n joked back, her voice just as soft as it was the first time he heard it that day on the beach. Just like it had been when he heard it even when she was gone, in the trees, and floating through the folk songs that spread throughout the old Chateau.

“Welcome back to the good life.” JJ laughed, and the sparkles in his eyes as he said it held every bit of truth within that statement.

It was a life that promised all she ever wanted to be. One where they could be interesting forever, where they would be kind forever.

This was the best life, the most freeing one she could ever dream of. It wasn’t about swinging from the vines or leaping from the ledges anymore, but rather the guiding hand on her back as she scraped her knees and chipped her baby teeth. It was always him, the influence to her accomplice.

She had promised to run freely with him again, to dance with him just like they used to and lucky enough, Y/n’s shoes were good for dancing.

“I claim thee, Poguelandia.” JJ’s foot propped up against the old tree that hung low over the sand. It’s tilted stump holding firm in the breeze, and its ancient branches shaking from the way John B’s hands gripped the leaves.

“Do we get a vote?” Sarah complained, rolling her eyes at the uncreative name JJ had thought of on the fly.

“Nope.” JJ smiled, pointing a finger at the blonde girl. “It’s already patented and pending.” JJ spoke confidently.

“Define that.” Pope sassed, crossing his arms and lying back against the old bark. Silence filled the sandy space, soft laughter echoing around the small circle everyone had created, sitting as comfortably as possible of the dying drift wood.

JJ shook off the comment, a smile forever present on his face despite the pounding headache and small bump forming on his temple.

“I like the ring of it.” JJ ignored Pope, pressing his palm against the large tree everyone gathered around and leaning into his hip until his shirt hung just above where Y/n’s body sat slumped in the sand.

She let out a soft laugh, if it could eve be considered that. More of a huff of air escaping her nose, a smile slowly spreading across her cheeks. Despite the quietness of her amusement, it seemed to only push JJ on, his eyes sparkling at the familiar sound he had gone without.

“I’m gonna make a flag. It’s gonna have a chicken on it. With a coconut bra smoking a ‘j’ in crocs.” He continued with his wild fantasy, watching how the girl beneath him hunched over with laughter and brought her hands to cover her toothy grin. “Y/n likes it.” He pointed out proudly.

“Yeah, I didn’t say that.” The girl quickly argued, tossing her head back and stretching her neck to catch his eyes. Though she tried to keep that same fight she once had with him, that natural bickering that made their relationship so beautifully complex, the reality that she finally had him again set in swiftly, and her serious expression failed to mask her excitement.

“Whatever, she totally does.” The boy swatted his hand, playfully pushing the girls head forward until she nearly bent in half. Just where they had left off, completely comfortable in each others touch and always ready to give back what they took.

“We were feeding a broken engine for hours, I think we’d both take anything over that.” Cleo pointed out, bumping her shoulder against the flustered girl beside her. Y/n couldn’t help but give Cleo a soft shove. An old habit she never really squashed.

“We? You bailed ship Cleo, don’t think I forgot.” Y/n said, pointing a finger at the sweaty girl who seemed uncomfortably close even with the endless amount of space around them. A whole island to themselves.

Then, with a careful glance to make sure JJ had leaned away from her, she stood up quickly, wiping sand off of the wet denim that clung to her skin, each cuffed leg weighing her down just a little more.

“Why don’t we leave the naming stuff to Kiara or Pope. Or you know…not you.” She twisted her braids between her hands, tugging the stretched bands out from the ends to free her now nearly dry hair from the patterns woven throughout. As she ran her knuckles through the tangles, her hands clasped around the legs of her overalls, her hands unrolling the pants until they sat just above her ankles.

“Where are you going?” JJ called out for her, not used to the proximity of her now that he had grown used to the distance. He chased after her as quickly as she began to walk away, chasing after the rush just the faint smell of her gave him.

“It’s gonna get dark soon, right? Can’t live off of salt water, J.” She teased, her feet leaving wet prints across the sand, kicking up the dirt in clumps that stuck to the backs of her heals.

He followed like a dog, practically weaving between her legs with his tail wagging in excitement, a familiar rush that was only brought out in the forever thrilling presence of her.

She took the pocket knife from the ripping pocket in the center of her chest, dark denim carrying puddles of the ocean in the stitching. With a bend of her knees, he watched as she dug the blade into the fabric that dripped around her feet, slicing the legs with a tearing sound just above her knee. With her other hand, she rolled the overalls higher, and stuck the closed knife back into its home. She left the cut pants in the sand where they had pooled by her ankles, walking by like it had been nothing. JJ figured she had done it before, probably when she was younger and on the run.

“I don’t remember you being so quick around a blade.” JJ teased, bumping his elbow against hers. He wanted to tug at her hair again, but his fingers curled around nothing by his sides as he decided on admiring the slope of her nose down to her pretty smile instead.

“Bull—shit, yes you do.” She laughed, turning to him with a sense of wonder in her curious gaze. “I used to cut you out of shit all the time!”

“Nah.” JJ played it off, but the blush on his cheeks betrayed him. “I let you. So we could play pirates and all that.” He lied through his teeth, recalling all the times he stumbled through the thick bushes just a little too carelessly and how Y/n’s rusting knife had cut his laces just a little shorter each time he lost a boot in the entanglement of twigs.

“Oh is that what we’re calling it now?” She bickered back, biting back a large smile in exchange for a playful grin. If she had access to the dusty space that she had once called home, she would have hung up the dusty laces that had been stored away in some box shoved beneath her bed.

“Yup.” He popped the p, licking over his dry lips with his tongue swiftly, tasting the salt on his skin.

A comfortable silence fell over the pair, her steps falling into line with his, and their hands shoved deeply into the depths of their pockets, fingers poking through the holes at the bottom from rough knuckles and heavy rocks.

With a heavy sigh, JJ tried to catch her eye, yet it remained trained on the sky like it was the most perfect thing she’d ever seen. He wondered silently if she’d seen the hues they once adored so much as kids recently, or if the thrilling life on deck had swept away her favorite thing, stargazing and watching the sky change as if she needed to put it to memory.

“So.” He finally broke the silence, her breathing hitching only to relax once her eyes found his, a gentle reassurance that everything would be as it once was, that the chase was finally over. “Was it as cool as it was promised?” He couldn’t help but ask, the same childlike wonder sparkling in his eyes.

“What?” Y/n let out a breathy laugh, wiping her hands on her tanned thighs.

“The pirate life. Where civility doesn’t exist and dreams can come true.” He clarified.

To anyone else, they might have believed it was condescending, a taunting question to shame her for her deathly grasp on all the childhood promises nobody ever kept for her. But to Y/n, she knew he really meant it when he asked, that he wanted to know if what they dreamed up was really as good as they pictured it on paper.

“It’s no Peter Pan story.” She breathed through her nose, eyes flickering down at the way her body was blossoming with bruises from her restless work, her dreams all crushed within the first week spent on the sea.

“I tried to make it Neverland, I really did. But you can’t change what happens to you, no matter how far you run. It’s like running in a circle. You go so far, yet nowhere at all.” Y/n knew she would never enjoy the pirate life she once dreamed of. In her dreams, JJ and her were co-captains, sailors with fancy white hats and no hooks for hands.

Now she felt like she should be fearing the ticking of the clocks, and running from the danger that once excited her.

“Did you believe it?” She couldn’t help but ask, wondering if her JJ had really waited to hear all the stories she promised to share with him, all the hustle and bustle of her fantasies.

JJ paused, then, looked at his sad friend’s face, and gave her a sympathetic nod. It wasn’t completely truthful, but that’s what happens naturally. He always believed in her and her curiosity towards the simple things in life. He believed that all the times he felt he had an ounce of childhood to hold onto were only beliefs because she had made them so. And when she had to go, so did the nice things he saw in nothing at all.

“I won’t confess that I believed it, that I didn’t have my doubts, but I always figured you’d be okay. That you’d find your way and maybe even come home.” What he didn’t say is all the times he’d left the lamp on, kept it burning on the porch so she’d know someone was home if she were to return.

He didn’t tell her that he had only gone on the wild gold hunt because part of him believed if he had the money to back it up, he could search every part of the earth to find her. Because it wouldn’t matter if he had or hadn’t told her, it wouldn’t make a difference and it wouldn’t change a thing.

They both made promises they couldn’t keep, and that was just the way life seemed to go. So she didn’t ask where he had been all these years, and he never asked about where she had gone. The timing would come to them eventually, and it would all work out. There was no point in catching up for two souls that had never been truly apart.

JJ and and Y/n had walked themselves to a ledge by the end of their conversation, nothing but soft breathing and the comfort of the wet, warm winds to wrap around them like a soothing blanket of serenity.

Y/n would be lying if she said the height didn’t scare her, if the wild waves below didn’t cause a crisp trepidation to shoot through her limbs. It was a big jump, the final leap she had always dreamed of.

The waves hit the smooth rocks, the rougher ones that stood tall thrashing with the heavy water. Sea salt coated their glistening skin, and as the wind blew through her hair, she came to a realization she had never considered before.

All this time she believed she had been something like Peter Pan. She joked about pirates, and running free, and all things children should know and love, and she acted fearlessly like she would forever be that version of herself. Yet, as time closed in on her and she grew taller, maturity had grown into her bones with each added inch. She was no Peter, she was more of a Wendy, and at first it had killed her, but only for a moment.

When she looked over to her side, she saw the blonde she had fallen in love with when she was still so little. They were young, and with their spirits, she was sure part of them would always be. And she knew then, if she was Wendy, he was her Peter.

“What?” JJ smiled, catching her glances. Standing proudly beside him, only older than the last time they’d met up. She had promised to grow up and come find him. She guessed she wasn’t lying about that.

"We will be interesting forever." She recited her promises from their youth, promises that were oceans deep with a serious smile, like she knew there was no other fate for people like them. "And nobody will ever forget how we lived like real people should and how we never let the temptation of a corporate paycheck take away the big picture."

Her hands reached up to hold JJ like she had when they stood only five feet tall. Now here he was, towering over her like he always promised he would. She wrinkled the shoulders of JJ's old tank top, the sides cut so far down, it was nearly just a napkin with a hole for his head. Everything about their attire screamed outlaws, pirates, lost boys, fighters, and believers. There was no fooling anyone, yet they carried themselves with pride, like the lack of civility in their lives was a thrill, the dirt and the worms and the bees and sweltering sunburns were all a gift to have been rubbed across them on their walks in the rain, in their summer time hikes to the secret beaches they weren't supposed to venture on.

The Kooks had it good, an easy life, but Y/n declared that they were the only ones living.

“Do you still dream the same dreams?” JJ asked softly, the wind blowing through his messy blonde hair, and the ocean rolling calmly below them now.

She nodded, letting her hands fall into his, and tugging at the loose threads that fell from his worn out friendship bracelets. Just fractions of the ones she had littering her own wrists.

"I still wanna be that girl in my eighties, dancing in the rain and running up and down the beach like my bones can't break away." She smiled, and he noticed how much more sincere it felt now. "And I want to scream, I want to yell. I'd scream ferociously, leaping between the waves like we did now, and I'd finally jump from the rocks, and I won't be scared because l'll have done it thousands of times." She painted her future, her desire with a loving glance into JJ’s blue eyes.

There was no money, no big house with a picket fence and an army of children. Just the ocean, some laughter, and enough fearless ambition to spill into the next lifetime.

"Sounds nice." JJ agreed, only now he had grown to have the same imagination as she did, he had it in him to dream a dream as pure and grand. He didn't need to live on figure eight, he didn't even mind being stuck with three jobs until he turned to dirt of it meant they would be dancing together forever.

"It will be. And you'll know it because you'll be there with me, and we'll be the same pirates we are now. We'll smoke on the roof and wear fancy clothing that we made ourselves. We'll ride the waves and make lemonade and sweet tea like John B's dad did when we were kids. We'll have mustaches from the sugar, and we'll be young forever with the grass between our toes.” She kept her word, because there it was, the same sparkle in her eyes. The same sweet, delicate wonder.

"Well,” JJ began, his eyes leading hers to where the grass overhung the large fall into the deep blue below. “we can start on that dream now." JJ declared hopefully, looking out to where the waved lapped at the shore. His ringed fingers pointed out at the rigid rocks that overhung the deep waters.

"If we've got a thousand of leaps to take, you have to start with one." He looked back at the girl, the way she didn’t seem to be nervously fidgeting like she had when he first promised everything would be okay.

"And then we won't be scared." She repeated to herself, but more to him, more for the memory of the first time she felt like flying.

"No, we won't ever be scared again." And there was a shared understanding, an understanding that dreams are just dreams until they make them more. If she could do this terrifying thing, all for the rest of her deepest wishes to come true, there was a new found certainty that anything scary could be done.

That she and JJ could do all the scary things the world could offer, even just as the awkward young adults they felt they had grown into. It was possible.

He took her hand more firmly in his, and counted down under his breath. There were hoots and hollers from the excited audience that had gathered below. Their friends filled with fear but also the fiercely spreading feeling of wonder and happiness that JJ and Y/n had found in one another.

With a deep breath, he led her off the edge, and in the moments that came before the cool water surrounded them, they swore they were flying. That they were living like nobody had ever lived before. They were seven again, then thirteen, and then back to where they found themselves now, flickering through the past as they came down.

It was only one of a thousand promised leaps, and Y/n didn’t feel any fear as the water poured into her ears.

Because when they surfaced, there he was, his hair wet and his smile wide. His hands clasped in hers, holding her arms over her head so high, her legs had to wrap around his waist.

“Again!” He shouted excitedly.

One promise kept, nine hundred ninety nine left to live.

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crescenthistory · 7 hours ago

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A big round of applause for your 2k milestone carina congratulations^^

May I request an argue with dialogue 48 with poly!Bartylus with a fem! Ravenclaw reader likes doing questionable stuff to satisfy her random curiosity. Problem being she has little sense of self preservation so she often lands in the hospital wing and whenever the two show up after hearing she had the nth concussion, she's does a very casual report be like: 'so turns out Thestrals do behave like horses if I tugged its tail too hard'. Regulus probably aged another 10 years while Barty is half concern and half rolling on the floor. Or idk, I just wanna see Reggie massaging his temples while Bee wheezing his lungs out with a confused reader lol.

thank you so much for your request babes<33 i switched this one up a little, hope you enjoy it

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i will ARGUE for prompt 48 "sometimes i wonder how you're still alive" with poly!bartylus

carina's 2k celebration

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cw: fem!reader, use of y/n, barty pov and all of its usual chaos, established poly relationship, clumsy and whimsical reader

wc: 1.3k

Barty sat waiting for you to exit your Transfiguration class, so he could spend his free period with you, but you were taking an awfully long time.

His instincts told him to just sneak into the classroom and call out for you, but he had been scolded for doing just that very recently – not just by professors but by Regulus, his own personal authority figure apparently – so he bit his tongue. Yet, when Lupin and Potter exited before you, he could no longer help himself from throwing his head back and groaning, drawing their attention.

“You good, Junior?” Potter asked wearily with a raised eyebrow.

“No, I’m looking at my annoying brothers in law and not my wonderful girlfriend. What’s taking her so long?”

The two exchanged a glance before Lupin cleared his throat. “Y/N wasn’t in class. I’m quite certain she’s in the infirmary?” It was voiced as a question, but Barty could tell that it wasn’t really.

On paper, this revelation should fill him with worry and concern for your wellbeing, he should want to run full throttle towards the infirmary. Instead, he was filled with a dread of a very different kind and let yet another raspy groan escape him.

“Not again,” he hissed before slapping his knees and getting up. “Right. Where’s Regulus?”

“Should you not be your own boyfriend’s keeper?” Lupin asked at the very same time as Potter said “Potions”.

Barty looked at Lupin with a hah-expression.

“Best get there before he does then!” He announced cheerily before turning on his heel and skipping down the hallway, using every wall and pole he passed as leverage. He didn’t bother looking back over his shoulder to see what more the two boys had to say.

The journey to the infirmary went by quickly, Barty’s movements all motivated by a desire to have Regulus not get to the scene before him.

“Evening, darling Poppy,” he called out to the matron who looked up at him with an unamused expression. “Where’s she at?”

She looked like she wanted to comment on his unprofessional language, but instead she gave a heavy sigh, clearly giving up before even starting. “Miss L/N is in bed 6 to the right,” was all she said, turning back to cleaning her equipment near the door.

Barty blew her a kiss before beginning to skip in and promptly transitioning to walking upon Pomfrey’s deadly expression.

You quickly came into view, sitting up in your bed while happily eating some of the infirmary food. Your sweet expression brightened when you spotted Barty coming towards you and any thought that might have swirled in his head about being strict with you immediately melted away. He felt as if he was floating up to you as he came to plop down on your bedside.

“Good afternoon, my lovely darling angel,” he all-but cooed. “Happy to see you in one piece.”

You leaned forward and brought him in for a loving kiss that you hummed your greeting into. “Hi, B. How are you?”

“Well for one, I’m not the one with an icepack on my shoulder.” His brows furrowed in entertainment.

You pulled away from him and looked perplexed at his comment for a moment before reaching to your shoulder, as if you had forgotten it was even there. “Oh, that was no bother. I have good news: You can pet the Thestrals even if you can’t see them. Not all of them necessarily enjoy it, but it’s certainly possible.”

Barty huffed a laugh, leaning forward to bury his head in your non-injured shoulder. Even in the infirmary, you still smelled so effortlessly like yourself, a scent he wanted to drown himself in every time he was near you. Still, he was a man on a mission, and he could not be distracted, even by the loveliest girl in the castle.

“Right, that is fantastic to hear,” he said as he pulled away to look at you. “And I would love to hear even more – but somewhere else. Are you good to walk? You’re good to walk yeah, we can get out of here?” Even as he spoke he was beginning to back your belongings from the bedside table into your backpack. You began to giggle, but before he could ask why, he was interrupted by another voice.

“It’s no use, Junior, I’m already here.”

Barty’s shoulders sagged theatrically as he let your backpack fall to the ground with a soft thump and turned to look at the source of the voice. Coming around the corner with a wettened towel in one hand and the other places accusatorily on his hip was Regulus — Barty’s favourite boy that he really did not want to see right now.

“Aweh, Reg, baby, I’m so glad to see you.”

“Cut the crap, B,” he said with faux iciness as he passed him to sit on the other side of your bed. “You were planning on keeping this from me, weren’t you?”

Barty looked to you for backup, but you just took in the scene before you with wide entertained eyes. You were lucky he loved you so much.

“Now why would you even think that? I’m just eager to get this little rascal into her own bed.”

“Barty.”

He threw his hands in the air. “Okay, so I wanted to protect her from your hysterics. Sue me.”

You just giggled and placed a hand on Barty’s wrist, rubbing circles into it placatingly. “Thank you B, but Reggie has been very sweet and patient with me. No need to protect me.”

Regulus was placing the damp towel over your neck, which clearly provided some relief as you sighed. His fingers were mindful in his ministrations of moving every piece of hair away, so they wouldn’t be caught beneath the towel. His eyes were zeroed in on his work as he spoke. “Yes, I have been very sweet and patient. You see, Junior, I heard a rumour about where she got this idea that approaching Thestrals was a good thing.”

Barty swallowed. “Did you, now?”

Regulus looked up through one of his curls that had come loose to give Barty a withering glare. “Sometimes I wonder how you two are still alive.”

Barty felt a sudden need to play all of his cards. He brought his hand up to tuck Regulus’ curl softly behind his ear, letting his fingertips linger as he traced over the edge of his boyfriend’s sharp jaw, caressing softly. He kept eye contact as a small smile lingered over his lips. “It’s a miracle all thanks to you, pretty boy. Don’t you want to keep us that way?”

Regulus kept glaring, but Barty could see how his resolve was shaken, even by his blatant manipulation. It made him grin widely.

“Please don’t kill Barty, Regulus. He’s too fit to die and you’re too fit for Azkaban.” You supplied your own defense around a mouthful of yoghurt, clearly beyond amused at not being the only one in the doghouse.

“If you don’t watch it, you two will be the death of me,” he grumbled under his breath as he abandoned the towel to rub the tension out of his temples.

Barty took the opportunity to manhandle Regulus down onto the bed beside you, so that he could lay across both of your chests – a cuddle pile that this bed was most certainly not built for but that he swore to make work nonetheless. You immediately opened your arms to accept Regulus into your side, who was still murmuring protests all the while the tops of his cheeks were darkening in colour.

“We’ll keep you safe and sound, Reg. Won’t we, baby?.” Barty grinned up at him, knowing he’s won yet again. “And we’ll make sure this little bird right here doesn’t fly too close to the sun.”

“You better,” came the quiet murmur from the reddened boy.

The shade only worsened when you and Barty both went to kiss his cheeks – as did your smiles.

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airandyeah · 3 days ago

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Gimme Gimme Gimme (God!Sukuna X Reader) Pt.4

My Masterlist Series Masterlist Makes me overjoyed that the taglist keeps growing, I love you all and appreciate the support! In the next chapter or maybe after the next, there will be some light smut, so you have been warned.

The sun had barely risen, casting a faint orange glow through the cracked, weathered walls of the minka. You had already been awake for hours, the quiet ticking of the clock on the wall and the occasional creaks of the house echoing in the stillness. You had become accustomed to the silence, to the feeling of being alone, yet never truly alone. His presence lingered—always watching, always there, even when he wasn’t.

This morning, however, there was a noticeable shift in the air. The tension that had once been a tight, invisible cord between you and Sukuna had grown thicker, like the heavy stillness before a storm. You couldn’t pinpoint when it had started, but there was no denying it now.

It was almost as if you were waiting for something.

As if you knew something was going to happen.

And then, as you poured tea into a delicate porcelain cup, the voice that had plagued you for weeks echoed from behind you.

“You’re quieter than usual,” Sukuna said, his voice laced with mock curiosity. “Did I break you already, little one?”

Your fingers paused mid-motion, the weight of his words sinking into your skin like a slow burn. You turned just enough to see his figure standing in the doorway, draped in shadows as if the space itself bent around him. His posture was casual, but there was a predatory quality to his stillness. The smile tugging at the corner of his lips was as dangerous as it was enigmatic.

“No,” you replied, voice steady but your heart betraying you with its rapid pace. “Just tired of your games.”

A flash of amusement flickered in his eyes, but it didn’t reach the coldness of his smirk. Instead, he stepped forward, crossing the threshold into the room with a deliberate, almost imperceptible confidence.

“You’re learning to speak to me like that?” he mused. “How delightful.”

His proximity felt like the space was shrinking again, his presence amplifying every corner of the room until it became oppressive. But something inside you — something stubborn, something resilient — urged you to stand your ground. You were no longer the trembling, fearful person who had first encountered him. You had changed, adapted. But so had he.

“You’ve been watching me for a long time,” you said, voice thick with something you couldn’t quite define. “Do you ever get tired of it?”

Sukuna's gaze darkened for a brief moment, the playful edge in his eyes faltering. “Tired?” he echoed, as though the concept was foreign to him. “No. I find it... entertaining.” He stepped closer, his every movement deliberate, but his gaze lingered on you — calculating, piercing.

You didn’t move. You didn’t flinch. But your pulse quickened, and you felt the magnetic pull between you, the charged tension that seemed to electrify the very air.

“Entertaining?” You swallowed, your voice a little quieter than before. “You find my fear entertaining?”

The question hung in the air between you, a heavy, almost dangerous thing. But Sukuna didn’t seem fazed. Instead, his lips curved into a smile that was far more intimate than it should have been. There was something new there, something far less mocking.

“No,” he said, his tone low, almost too soft. “I find you entertaining. The way you think you can hide from me. The way you try to run...”

Your breath caught in your throat as his hand moved closer, just a fraction, until his fingers brushed the side of your face. His touch wasn’t tender, but it had the effect of making everything inside you tighten with an unfamiliar sensation — a mixture of desire, fear, and something darker that made your heart race.

“Stop doing that,” you whispered, though you didn’t know whether you were telling him to stop, or telling yourself.

But he didn’t stop. Instead, he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, and whispered in a voice that made your skin prickle.

“You’ve become so... interesting, little one. I wonder what else I can make you feel.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, a shockwave of both horror and something more dangerous. You couldn’t tell if you wanted to pull away or lean into it.

“You think you have control over me,” you forced yourself to say, despite the way your voice trembled. “But you don’t.”

Sukuna chuckled, the sound dark and rich with amusement. “Control?” he repeated. “No. I never wanted control over you. I wanted you to understand... that you’re mine, whether you like it or not.”

His lips brushed the shell of your ear as he spoke, and it felt as though the world had narrowed down to this single, fragile moment. There was no room for escape. There was no way to deny the intensity of what was growing between you.

“I’m not yours,” you breathed out, but your words felt weak, uncertain in the face of his overwhelming presence.

“No?” Sukuna’s voice was a purr, almost soothing in its calm, yet there was a danger beneath it. His face was dangerously close now, his eyes locking with yours, as if searching for something in the depths of your soul. “Then what is this, hmm? What do you call this pull, this... connection? The way your heart races when I’m near?”

You tried to breathe, tried to focus, but everything inside you felt too hot, too tangled. It was as though the very room was spinning, or maybe you were. You didn’t want this, not him, not the way he made you feel so small, so vulnerable. Yet, in the back of your mind, there was a quiet, unsettling whisper that said you didn’t mind being caught in this dangerous game.

For a long, tension-filled moment, you were both still, the silence wrapping around you like a thick fog.

And then, in a sudden movement, Sukuna stepped back, as if the moment had never existed at all. His smirk returned, more playful than before, but there was something heavier now — an unspoken challenge.

“You can’t escape me,” he said, turning away, but there was a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. “Not anymore.”

You watched him walk away, his form blending into the shadows, leaving you in the silence once again. But this time, the silence felt different. It felt like something was hanging between you — something unspoken, something far more dangerous than before.

And you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were no longer just caught in his web. Somehow, you had become a part of it. ~~~

The days pass in a strange limbo, and the minka, which once seemed like a refuge, now feels like a cage that wraps itself tighter with every passing hour. You’ve learned to adjust, to breathe through the strange weight that Sukuna has brought into your life. It’s almost like he’s become a permanent fixture in your world now—his voice echoing through the halls, his presence haunting every room, every corner. But there’s more. Something darker. Something unspoken.

The cold of the mornings feels sharper now, and though you’ve learned to pretend that you don’t feel it, you’re always aware that he’s watching you. Watching you with that same unsettling intensity. That same quiet amusement that dances behind his eyes.

But it's not just the air around you that has shifted. It’s the way you feel when he speaks. The way your heart skips, when you hear that low voice, half-mocking, half-velvet. You’d like to say it’s just the power he holds over you that has you so rattled, but somewhere beneath the fear, there’s something else. Something that tugs at the edges of your thoughts.

You’re at the desk again, tracing the same pattern over and over. A pattern that’s become a quiet ritual, a way to keep your mind from wandering where it shouldn’t. But the longer you sit there, the more that itch begins to spread. The feeling that something is wrong, but not in the way it was before. Not in the way that you feared.

Footsteps sound in the hallway, slow and deliberate. You don’t look up at first, but you know exactly who it is.

His voice comes to you from the shadows, darker than usual, and yet still laced with that teasing edge. "Still pretending, little one? Or are you beginning to realize how utterly trapped you are?"

You don’t respond immediately. Part of you wants to tell him to go away. To stop, before he gets any closer. But the other part, the part that’s a little too intrigued, a little too… curious, stays silent. The silence between you stretches long enough that you feel the pull of his presence before he even steps into the room.

Then you hear him—his footsteps stop just behind you. You don’t need to look up to know that he’s standing too close. His energy wraps around you like a suffocating fog, drawing every last ounce of your attention. You feel the weight of him, the way his proximity distorts the air, and for a moment, all you can do is breathe.

“You’re still running,” his voice murmurs, a dark promise hanging in the air. “Or is it that you’ve grown comfortable, finally realizing there’s nowhere you can go?”

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to move. Slowly, deliberately, you straighten up from the desk, your fingers lightly brushing against the paper. “Maybe I’ve learned to stop running,” you murmur, barely above a whisper, but there’s a shift in the way you say it. A tone that’s soft but filled with a strange kind of determination.

His gaze sharpens, the teasing glint in his eyes deepening. “Oh? And what does that mean, little one?” There’s no mocking now—just that quiet, consuming curiosity.

You turn slightly, just enough to look at him. Your eyes meet his, and the air feels charged with something thick, something dangerous. But you don’t look away. You won’t look away.

“It means,” you say slowly, your voice steadier than you feel, “that maybe I’m learning to accept the truth of things. That maybe I want to stand my ground now.”

He doesn’t move, but you feel his presence surge forward, as if his body is inches from yours. The pull is so strong that it’s almost physical. His eyes gleam, the gold of his pupils shifting with that unsettling hunger. There’s a dangerous curiosity in his gaze now, as though you’ve sparked something in him that he wasn’t prepared for.

His lips curl into a slow, predatory smile. "And what happens when you stand your ground, little one? Do you think it will make you strong enough to fight me?"

The tension between you grows. His power presses against you, but there’s something else now. It’s not just fear. It’s… something deeper. The temptation to give in. To surrender to whatever strange connection he’s pushing between you both.

"I’m not scared of you," you reply, your voice thick with uncertainty, but your words still ring with defiance.

His eyes darken, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Scared?” He laughs softly, almost to himself. “No. You’re not scared. Not of me. You’re scared of what happens if you let go. Of what happens if you let yourself believe that maybe you want this. That maybe I could make you feel something more than fear.”

His words are a heavy weight, pressing against your chest, and for a moment, it feels like your breath is stolen away. It’s as if he’s seen right through you, right into the deepest corners of your mind. The ones you’ve carefully hidden, buried deep where no one—not even you—could find them.

You take a step back, but it feels futile. He’s still too close. His energy pulls at you like a tether, and you can’t escape it. “I don’t need you to make me feel anything,” you snap, forcing the words out even though your heart races in a way you don’t fully understand.

“Is that so?” His voice drops low, the heat of it curling in the air like smoke. “Then why do I sense that you’re lying, little one? That you’re not as unaffected as you pretend to be?”

He reaches out, his fingers brushing lightly against the edge of your arm. It’s the lightest touch, but it sends a shock of warmth through your body, and the world tilts on its axis. You hold your breath, feeling the warmth of his touch seep into your skin, making you ache in ways you don’t understand.

"You think you're in control," Sukuna says softly, his gaze never leaving yours, “but you’re just as bound by this as I am. We’re both caught in the same web now.”

Your heart skips. You want to pull away. You want to push him away, to reclaim the control you once had. But there’s something in the way he looks at you—something in the pull between you—that makes you hesitate.

“Don’t make this harder than it already is,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. “You’re mine now, little one. And there’s nothing you can do to escape.”

The words echo in your mind, and the pull of them is so strong, it almost feels like an invitation. Like a promise of something you shouldn’t want.

But somewhere, deep inside, that voice—so faint, so distant—whispers, Maybe it’s not escape you need… maybe it’s surrender.

The realization hits you like a freight train, and just for a moment, you wonder if you’ve already lost. If you’ve already surrendered, without even knowing it.

You try to steady your breath, to fight the unsettling flicker of something inside you, but Sukuna’s gaze never falters. And as he leans in closer, his lips brushing just barely against your ear, you know one thing for certain: The game has changed. And neither of you is ready to let go just yet. ~~~

A few days later, you realize that the weight of Sukuna’s presence is no longer just a matter of danger or tension—it has become an almost unbearable fixture of your life. You had prepared yourself for silence, for distance, for the dangerous quiet that followed every encounter. But Sukuna… Sukuna had other plans.

You’d thought you could settle into the rhythm of things, find some semblance of peace again. But now, it was as if his shadow loomed constantly. His laughter echoed through the halls like a mischievous storm, his voice grating and far too loud for comfort.

“You still here, little one?” Sukuna’s voice booms from the hall, and you roll your eyes even before he steps into view. Every single day…

You can already picture him—the brash, taunting grin stretched across his face, his voice like nails on a chalkboard. Sure enough, when he enters the room, the smile on his face looks too wide, too eager, like he’s about to cause chaos just for the sake of it.

You sigh and go back to whatever it was you were doing, pretending that his presence doesn’t gnaw at your patience. But Sukuna doesn’t make it easy. He leans against the doorframe, clearly loving the effect he’s having on you.

“What’s the matter, little one? Too quiet today? Don’t tell me I’ve finally broken you?” His voice mocks you in that exaggerated way, like he’s a spoiled child who’s been denied his favorite toy.

You keep your eyes focused on the task at hand, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of reacting. But his next words cut through your resolve.

“Bet you’re just sitting there thinking about me, huh?” He leans forward, arms crossed, his amusement practically radiating from him. “Bet you’re wondering what I’m going to do next. What I’ll say next. Can’t get enough of me, huh?”

A flicker of frustration courses through you, and for a moment, you almost want to retort, to put him back in his place. But you can already see the playful gleam in his eyes, the childish grin tugging at his lips like a spoiled brat waiting for a rise out of you.

“What’s it like to have me on your mind all the time, little one?” He steps closer, voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “Getting distracted by me when you’re supposed to be focused?”

You finally snap, your patience wearing thin. “You’re insufferable,” you mutter, not bothering to hide the irritation in your voice. “You know that?”

He laughs, loud and unabashed. “Oh, I know.” His voice turns playful again, almost too enthusiastic. “I love being insufferable. It’s too fun.” The words hit the air between you, heavy with annoyance and an uncomfortable kind of familiarity. Your heart pounds in your chest, but you hold your ground, refusing to let him rattle you any further.

“You know, little one,” he drawls, his tone turning more deliberate, as if he’s savoring each syllable, “your sharp tongue is almost cute. Almost.”

You feel your lips press into a thin line, your teeth grinding as you fight the urge to snap back with something just as biting.

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” He lets out a low chuckle. “Like a cat hissing at a lion. Cute, really. But ultimately…” He pauses, enjoying the slight tremor in your frustration, the way you’re trying so hard not to lash out. “Pointless.”

He steps forward then, closing the gap between you with the sort of leisurely confidence that only someone like him could have.

“You keep trying to put me in my place, but it’s like you’re testing the very air with your claws.” He reaches out, his hand hovering dangerously close to your face, yet just far enough to make you feel the intensity of his presence. “You think you’re the lion in this scenario? But it’s only the kitten pretending. I can feel the anger, the irritation boiling underneath your skin. But you're still just a little thing.”

Your breath catches in your throat, the comparison biting harder than any of his usual taunts. His words hang in the air like a taunting, mocking melody.

For a brief moment, you actually consider his words. His voice doesn’t help, dripping with that smug, impenetrable confidence that comes with knowing he’s seen all your weaknesses.

"You think you're so clever," you say, your voice trembling with the frustration you’re trying to bury. "But you’re wrong."

He leans in even closer, the grin never wavering. “And what exactly do you think you’ll do about it, little one? Whiskers twitching in defiance, but you’re still too small to do anything about it.”

Your hands ball into fists. It’s clear that Sukuna is enjoying every second of this—your attempt to control your frustration, the little sparks of your anger that he so effortlessly stokes. And yet, for all his words, there’s something almost calculating in the way he watches you, as though he’s testing you… seeing just how far your patience will stretch.

“Don’t mistake my silence for weakness,” you finally manage to growl, your voice low but steady.

He straightens up, raising an eyebrow, the gleam of mischief never leaving his eyes. “Oh, I’m not. But you’ll learn soon enough that a cat hissing at a lion will only ever be met with a smile, little one.” His tone shifts, turning even more playful, as though daring you to challenge him.

And there it is again—the familiar feeling of being trapped in his web of words and taunts. But this time, something inside you snaps, and you take a step forward, refusing to let him control the situation.

“Don’t underestimate me,” you say firmly, your voice steady despite the chaos inside you. “One of these days, you’re going to push me too far, and you won’t like what happens next.”

Sukuna lets out a low chuckle, clearly amused by your words, but you know—deep down—that you’ve crossed some kind of line. You’ve done it before, but this time, it feels different. This time, you're not just the cat. You're something else entirely.

Taglist: @rinkomei , @sleepycrybbylaiah , @queenmimis Taglist is always open for anyone! Love the comparison of a cat to a lion, Sukuna is becoming just a silly guy. Man child. hehehe.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #x reader #sukuna ryomen #jjk sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna

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