#Just gotta practise I suppose!!

[prael]

Chemistry

Jenna Ortega x male reader smut [Commissioned fic]

Masterlist word count: 9,196 Kofi(donations/commissions)

"You know that's not my thing, right? Why even bring this to me?" You throw the papers down on her desk and they spill over the wooden surface.

"Did you even look it over?" She sighs, holding out her hands for you to take them back, "This could help you break out of the R-rated mould you've found yourself in."

"Look it over? You know this isn't my genre."

She rubs her forehead as though she's stressed, "Look, we all have to make concessions, right? It's a few months of filming and a lot of money."

"It's fucking romance," you dismiss.

She raises her voice in response, "It's your fucking career."

"What's that supposed to mean?" You push back, and she's taking a glass from the shelf behind her desk and emptying the whiskey within it in one practised motion. She's keeping her cool and taking a moment to simmer down by cleaning up the papers. The silence tells you as much as her words could. She's trying to help you like she always has.

She says, "You know what it means. You're no George Clooney. You're no Vince Vaughn. One trick ponies are rare. You gotta work on your range."

You stay quiet, clenching your jaw because you can't argue. This is what she does: tells you what you need to hear instead of what you want to hear. She's tough love and always has been. Took you under her wing and at times carried you to where you are today, so who are you to question her judgement?

"Did you ever stop to think 'why'?" She asks before taking a drink. "Why would I bring you a part that I know you're going to hate?"

You cross your arms, remaining silent as you stare at her. She smirks before answering her own question.

"Because I know who they're eyeing for the leading actress. Jenna Ortega. You know she's all the rage these days. Netflix deals and music videos. She's fuckin' viral and she's fuckin' money. Her name is gold so I want you on her fuckin' hip." She takes another sip, watching you absorb the information she's feeding you with an unrelenting stare.

She always gets like this, all the foul-mouthed excitement is enough to convince you that she really believes what she's saying.

"Alright. Got a pen?"

-

Pre-production is... well, it's different. It all feels a little foreign to you, right from the off with the script reading, because it's obviously such a different vibe than anything you're accustomed to. It's all so light and breezy and a little comical. You don't do comical.

There's no deep-seated angst, or hatred festering below the surface of your character, rather he's kind, loving, funny, a little bit of a klutz. It's a long stretch from the characters you usually play—murderers, drug dealers, car thieves. Now the viewers are supposed to like you?

Most days on set aren't that far outside of your comfort zone though—you don't think. You go through the motions like you always do, take direction and talk to the production crew, and keep it cordial and civil with the cast, especially with Jenna. Up until now, your characters have had a few brief scenes. It's all coffee shops and public parks, pretty places with lots of wide shots and lingering looks in the script, and you aren't sure how comfortable you are with it.

"Camera two," The director calls and you and Jenna take up position.

You grab her hand, and her smaller fingers curl around yours instinctively, holding on tight. She smiles at you and says softly, "Just like we talked about, okay?"

You nod and rub your thumb over hers to ease her nerves. There was this awkwardness for the first few days that has gradually eased away, the two of you talking more often. Not work stuff, which might have been smart. Just small talk. About food and places you've visited, TV, and bands, it kept things light and amicable.

"Quiet on the set."

Silence falls, and your heart rate speeds up. Your breathing is a little laboured as you wait.

It's the first time you're supposed to kiss her and somehow it doesn't feel like just acting, not really. Acting for you is fighting with some rogue cop or soldier, all stunted rage and brute force. Or you're stalking someone through the dark streets at night, the cold metal of the gun in your hand biting at your skin while you focus on nothing but landing a kill shot. There was never anyone looking at you the way Jenna is right now.

She's biting at her bottom lip, hazel eyes peering through impossibly long lashes to stare at you. You've been told this scene is important because it's a bit of a catalyst for the rest of the movie. She's looking at you, you're looking at her, and then when they call 'action' it's supposed to be one of those moments where fireworks erupt and the earth moves. That's what they want; a connection.

"Action."

Jenna bites her lip and brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, glancing up at you nervously. She's so much more practised than you, so much more effortless with putting on her act. All you have to do is smile and lean down to meet her lips. That's all there is to it, as the director says: just like that, perfect. But you want him to call cut. To say it's too staged, or the lighting is bad, or that the location isn't right.

No such luck.

You move slowly like she needs to be savoured. Of course, you've been coached, there's stage direction in your head in addition to her hand on your forearm.

Your lips brush hers tentatively, once, twice, and you tilt your head a little further to bring her closer. Close, but still not quite... until she breaks character and giggles into your mouth.

"I don't think you're supposed to be laughing," you joke, and there's an eruption of frustration from the other side of the cameras at a ruined take. You aren't bothered though, and neither is Jenna by the looks of it. She's half hiding her face against your chest and grinning like an idiot.

"I'm sorry," she says weakly, pulling away. "It's so hot in here."

She fans herself and starts pacing, while the director calls out, "What the hell was that?"

You wave a hand, "Sorry, my bad." You try to take the blame. "Can I get five minutes?"

The director sighs and gives in with a shrug. "Five minutes!"

"Really, you don't have to—"

"It's fine," you explain quickly, before turning to the line producer who just happens to be passing, "Hey, can someone cool her down? Maybe some water?"

"I'm fine," she tries to argue.

"You're flustered," you tease.

"You were doing this thing with your eyes. I don't know how to explain it. It was kind of intense, I had to laugh," she laughs again, and it's an easy, airy sound, the kind that soothes, and you decide that you like hearing it.

"I was? Damn," you sigh, running a hand through your hair.

"I know this isn't usually you're thing, I'm guessing it's your first kiss on camera? Just relax. It'll be nice," she shrugs, clearly far more sure of herself than you.

-

You're deep into the filming now. You think you're selling it, this whole relationship thing, making it seem natural as well as making the people around you believe that the chemistry is there. The weirdest thing of all is that you really enjoyed kissing her. Or, at the very least, you haven't minded it thus far. You don't know if that's the right feeling to have, there's no guidebook for this—not that you've read.

Off the set, she's nice, she's friendly and eager to get to know you. Maybe it's weird that she's trying too hard, maybe she just wants to work as seamlessly as possible. Regardless, it seems to be helping, because now, when it's your turn for coverage, you're more than happy to lean in and capture her lips. She's gotten bolder and so have you, to the point where she runs her fingers through your hair and kisses you back, so when 'cut' finally comes and the mood is broken, it takes a few moments to reorient yourself to the real world.

It's easy, you decide.

Now, the two of you have been joking about today for a while. She's been running this rhetoric of how excited she is for the car scene.

You remember your first read of the script and how this part had you almost cancelling the gig. So, sitting here in the backseat, with cameras fitted all around you and Jenna in your lap, is just a reminder of the monumental shift from where you were then to where you are now.

"Just ignore them," Jenna instructs and kisses you lightly. "Do whatever feels natural." She's echoing the words of the director, though from her they're much more relaxing to hear. You kiss her, her body languid and warm, pressed flush against yours. The touches you feared come so naturally now as you put a hand on her waist and trace her ribs, dragging her shirt up a little bit more with each pull.

There's something rather enticing, you must admit, about putting hands on her slender waist, even if it's under the watchful eye and strict instructions of the camera. Especially when her tongue does that thing where it flickers past her lips and finds your own. Fuck, she's good at this. There's no other word for it.

There has to be a call for a 'cut' coming soon, right? It was supposed to be a brief make-out, so says the script, but they don't seem too interested in stopping either of you anytime soon. You've heard that it's normal, to feel aroused while filming, but it certainly doesn't feel right. The fear is seeping in the longer this goes on; fear that Jenna will feel exactly what you're scared she'll feel.

But those short jean shorts she's wearing while sitting atop your lap, hips flush with yours, tend to elicit some automatic reaction, whether you want it to or not.

"Alright, cut! Great work everyone. Break for fifteen!" The director yells, the tension snapping immediately as Jenna rolls away, giggling.

She says something to you, you don't catch what as you blink in her direction, but she's already climbing out of the car, bending forward ever so slightly to give you a tantalising show of her ass before shutting the door behind her.

A few minutes later you've made your way to the drinks trailer for some much-needed water, that's when there's a tap on your shoulder and the unmistakable strawberry scent that accompanies Jenna hits your nose.

"You look a little shocked, is everything okay?" She has this wry smile on her face that turns your stomach a little bit.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you respond stiffly, cracking open the water bottle and taking a long drink. You nod towards her and state, "Good work out there."

"I should say the same to you," She's closer than before, the tip of her shoe bumping against yours as you stand with the picnic table at your back. "You're a natural. And the boner? Nice touch," she mocks.

She's far too cavalier for your liking right now, and more than a little brazen.

"Don't look so freaked out. No one is going to say anything. It happens all the time, don't worry."

"Do you just have a thing for humiliating me, Ortega?" It's a thing the two of you have been doing for a few days, the fake sternness and the use of surnames, like you're pretending to be angry with each other.

"What if I do? Are you going to go file a complaint?" She sings, tracing her finger down the centre of your chest.

"Watch it, Ortega," you respond half-heartedly, and she steps a little closer.

"How about you keep the boners to a minimum from now on though. It's distracting." The smirk on her face grows only more devious before she winks and then turns away, vanishing into the crowd and leaving you alone and in need of a very cold shower.

-

On-screen chemistry is the single most important thing in a film like this. If you don't make the watchers believe that the two of you are madly in love, then it's all pointless. You're getting good at this, playing this game, this new facet to your role. You think about the warmth of Jenna's kiss and her fingers curled around the nape of your neck; the feel of her in your arms.

Each take gets harder to finish. Make no mistake, it's not that the kisses are a problem, in fact, they're actually a little too easy.

You're both laid in a bed, under the covers, you're on your back and Jenna is half-draped over you. Her hair is a purposeful mess and there's lipstick on your neck. The implication is clear, the two lead characters hooked up for the first time, and you're simmering in the morning after, caught by your character's phone ringing beside you on the side table.

Jenna is quiet, watching the sheets twitch every time you move. You can tell that she's thinking by the furrow in her brow and the way she bites on her lip. The cameras are rolling and you need to answer the phone. There's no one on the phone, of course, that gets added in post. For the purpose of the scene, it's your ex-girlfriend who can't quite let you go.

"Why do you keep calling me?" You look weary like your heart is about to give up. The line is silent, but you know the script. "I don't care if you're upset with me, it's over. It's done. There's nothing left to say."

Jenna props herself up on one elbow, facing you with her dark eyes, her tousled hair falling over her shoulder. She is, in a word, mesmerising, and it feels wrong to turn your face away from her, even to add more angst for the camera.

"I'm hanging up," you continue, staring back at her.

Jenna pushes her hand under the sheets and balls it into a fist. She hovers it right over your crotch. Her character is supposed to jack you off while you're on the phone until you manage to hang up. That's what's supposed to happen.

You fake a gasp as her hand begins to move. When she bites down on her lip in response, it's the hottest expression you've ever seen. You swallow hard and your cock gives an honest twitch that feels as though it catches her attention for a fraction of a second. Her eyes widen and flick to the source of the movement, her jaw clenches and it brings you an almost unwanted satisfaction.

Each fake stroke presses down onto the growing ridge of your hardening cock, but neither of you breaks character or even dares to break eye contact. You keep up with your lines, and the strain in your voice is all too real, "I don't care how torn up you are about this, me and you are finished."

The ache in your muscles builds heat prickling under your skin, setting you on fire. You tighten your jaw in response as a means to control yourself. Only for Jenna to do the unthinkable. She lowers her hand and glides it down the length of your hard cock before wrapping her hand around it.

What's she doing?

She grips tightly, and even though there is a pair of underwear separating the two of you, it's still her. For the first time in the duration of this shoot, you drop out of character completely, staring at her in utter disbelief. What are you supposed to do in this situation? You can't just say something, it's going to get you both in trouble.

She strokes you beneath the bedsheets in tandem with the scene, so no one else has a chance of knowing. So, you keep talking, murmuring some fake dialogue and struggling with every word.

"It's—mmh," you turn your head, squeezing your eyes closed and steeling yourself. This is madness, utter madness. The throb of your cock only worsens the longer her hand keeps sliding, stimulating. It's a hellish limbo. "It's not fair for you to harass me like this, delete my number will you?"

This is the point where the ex-girlfriend realises something is wrong. In the script, she's figured it all out. She recognises the whimpers in your voice, and you're supposed to deny it. But Jenna won't stop touching you, pushing down harder, applying more pressure and using the full length of your erection as her playground.

Your breathing is heavy and strained. You try to clear your throat subtly, "No, no I'm not with someone right now." You glance at Jenna who grips tighter and smiles devilishly. "You have no idea what you're talking about. If you think, for even a second—"

You try your best to focus on your performance, but with the physical distraction, all your carefully practised lines start to fall apart, coming out jumbled. Jenna is rubbing harder, stroking faster, and her hand feels so good around your cock.

This is the point where your ex shouts, and you finally hang up the phone and drop it onto the floor, kissing Jenna fervently.

"Cut!" The director calls. "Perfect. Absolutely perfect."

Suddenly, the two of you are apart. A rush of cold air floods the space between you. Reality checks in again, reminding you that this was not in the script.

"You good?" Jenna asks, and you nod back. She looks proud of herself, the cheeky little smirk that crosses her features is all too telling. A reminder of just how insufferable she can be.

"What was that?" You lean closer and whisper, trying to make sure that the rest of the cast and crew can't hear you.

"That was acting." She responds confidently.

The director interrupts by calling your name and saying, "Alright, next scene. Going to need you under the covers. Prepare the phone call."

Now it's this whole role reversal, Jenna's character gets her own phone call from her own ex. That's the concept at play here. Meanwhile, you're down between her legs. The script says to 'mimic oral sex' which sounds... so much easier than it actually is.

Aiming to ignore the whole ordeal, or at least your conversation and what it could mean, you duck down beneath the sheets to prepare. She's lifting them up and watching you get into position. She's spreading her legs, while a team of assistants adjust the sheets over you to dress up the shot.

Looking up at Jenna under the sheets, through the darkness and at the apex of her thighs, this feels so wrong. She's... pretty. No. You stop the thoughts in their tracks. This isn't a time to indulge. You're filming a movie, playing a role. In reality, this is your job. There's a script, there's a purpose.

Still, the whole situation just feels so strange.

"Action," the director yells.

As per the script, Jenna drops the sheet as the phone rings. Now it's just you and everything below her chest, trapped under a blanket. Your hands are barely hovering near her thighs, and revenge is on your mind. If she can toy with you, you can toy with her.

So you hold her spread legs, grip them firmly just as you hear her answer the call, "If you want to grovel, then go ahead and grovel. Just remember the last time." Jenna's voice is perfect for her character, and just as it's always been, full of attitude and feisty. She's passionate, especially when it comes to putting her acting on display.

Alright, 'mimic oral sex'... first it's kissing. Lightly placed, right at the top of her thigh, little pecks to tease and taunt. You feel the slight tremble beneath your fingertips as she attempts to carry on the faux conversation. They said you shouldn't touch her. They said she shouldn't touch you.

But you feel the heat coming from her. You're mere inches away, and sure, there's the cotton thin fabric of her underwear blocking the way, but even still you catch the barest hint of her scent—sweet and musky. You grip her thighs more intensely and press your lips against the fabric.

"It was one kiss," Jenna continues, and her voice betrays her now. A subtle tremor that undermines how put together she had seemed moments before. It's enough to have you smirking.

You roll your tongue over the shape of her through the fabric, testing your limits. There's only so much you can get away with, but you'll push it. Push it as far as you can, this is the bed she made.

Jenna rolls her hips towards you, and, of course, the cameras can't see this, all they can see is her on the bed holding the sheets and pretending to talk to her ex.

"It didn't mean anything..." She tries again and fails, a breathy moan forcing its way out and revealing the growing pleasure, the need growing in her voice. She has to place her free hand over her mouth as you continue to taste her, your tongue working over her panties with no hesitation, all rhythm and no breaks.

You continue, running the flat of your tongue over her, flattening the damp fabric against her cunt, and you feel her throbbing. It's undeniable, the way she tenses under your grip and shifts ever so slightly, each slight movement an obvious clue towards her struggling with maintaining her composure.

It's not difficult to hear the change in her voice. The shake and strain of each breath only grow worse the more your tongue curls against her panties. Sure, you haven't yet come into contact with bare skin, but simply knowing just how enraptured she is by the teasing, is enough.

You can't help the slight chuckle that follows, and why would you? This whole performance is starting to become very personal, and when you squeeze her thighs, and apply pressure until it's enough to bruise, you can hear the soft mewl as she fights her way through a rather passionate phone call.

"Why don't you just fuck off?" She hangs up the phone and throws it to the side. In a moment, the same hands are wrapping around your head and dragging you close. As if there was any space left to separate you. "Oh god yes!" she moans out—it's all the script. The scene is supposed to continue until there's a fade to black. No one needs to know that the moan is real.

At the very least, she tries to contain herself. Though her hips swaying, and bucking rhythmically against your face say something very different. And the heat radiating from her core is undeniable. The cotton of her underwear sticks to her so heavily, clinging to the slight folds and wrinkles. Enough to get a good idea about what's going on behind it. That there is indeed a welcoming, quivering cunt that might benefit from an enthusiastic tongue.

Jenna's groans take on a noticeable tempo. "Don't stop, don't you dare stop. Fuck. Yes!" Her words are spilling out messily. For a moment, her responsibilities seem to vanish. She's abandoned her character and resorted to feeling your tongue against her pussy with such ferocity that, were it not for your hands pinning her down, she might have suffocated you in that tantalising heat.

As the cameras continue to roll, with filming still going on above the sheets, the pace only grows hastier.

You're aware of your heart rate spiking, the sudden realisation, the knowledge that someone might be onto the two of you, that you've crossed the imaginary line that exists between the bedroom scene. With the flicker of your tongue, that line gets a little more blurred.

And Jenna seems to be in no hurry to stop either. What was supposed to be just acting becomes a carnal need. Her hips wriggle frantically against your gyrating mouth.

"Cut!" Comes the much-needed command, and you rip away from beneath the sheet.

Jenna's chest heaves, her thighs tremble and her toned stomach tenses. You struggle, forcing back the burning desire to claim her, devour her, kiss her senseless.

It's just acting.

-

Filming goes late into the night, as it so often does. Jenna has a series of scenes with the supporting cast, and you're only there to support them. Still, you make sure to keep watch from the sidelines. She's beautiful when she acts, all passion and fire. That's another reason you're so drawn to her. Everything is so easy for her, flawless. Talented little minx.

Hours after sunset, you stop by her trailer to check in, like you so often do.

You knock, and seconds later she peeks out of the door, saying, "What? What did I do now? Oh, it's you." The harsh greeting melts away into relief, and you grin at the reaction.

"Damn, maybe I'll go then." You make a gesture to turn away, and Jenna grabs your wrist and pulls you inside with all her strength.

"Are you stupid?"

"Me? No, the very definition of sanity." You laugh and follow her further inside. It's bigger than your own, with a seating area and everything. Not that you can focus on the surrounding amenities. Because her black, lace thong is the only thing she's wearing, and, for a second, it leaves you speechless. It's impossible not to stare at the way her round little butt perks out behind her.

Jenna asks, "Like what you see?"

"What happened to your clothes?"

"My clothes are fine, I'm in my trailer aren't I? Nothing strange about relaxing like this." She says as she saunters off, the golden curves of her back highlighted by the single lamp she has lit in the corner. She stands in her kitchenette, bare back to you, pouring herself a glass of red. Her thong contrasts starkly with the honey colour of her skin. She stretches an arm back, and half glances over her shoulder.

"I can feel you staring, you know?" Jenna says, pausing for a moment while the cogs turn in your brain. After a while, there's no point in resisting. So, you close the distance between you, stand behind her, and embrace her thin waist.

"Am I bothering you?" you question, pressing closer.

"Only a little," she leans back into the touch. "But that doesn't mean stop."

An unseen force guides you. Perhaps it's those thoughts that came to mind when you were holding her, on set. What would happen if you just got to know her better?

Your mouth feels so dry from the nerves, but you drag a hand up the length of her waist, over her taut stomach, before cupping her breast. Jenna closes her eyes and hums in response, and when your palm rubs against her bare nipple, her mouth falls open.

You sink to her ear and bite it gently while catching her nipple between two fingers, which elicits a sharp gasp from her lips. You pull her firmly against your chest, and her back presses to your shirt. Fingertips brush her belly, stroking from hipbone to ribcage.

"I figured we had a little unfinished business. Remember?" You kiss her earlobe and grin, fully aware she can't see the expression.

"It did seem to me like you were quite close to being finished," she teases. Your fingers curl and squeeze the swell of her breast, earning a groan. "Tell me. How was my performance?"

"Could use some work," you mumble, kissing the side of her neck. Jenna's breath shudders when your teeth drag against her throat. She sets the glass down, freeing her hand to rest on your forearm. Holding, or perhaps holding on, you can't tell. Either way, it's an invitation to keep going.

"You think so? Looked to me like it was the best performance you had ever seen—ahem—felt."

You chuckle in her ear. All the while, her breathing becomes a little heavier. She even reaches a hand back, curling fingers in your hair to make sure your mouth remains on her. It sends an alarm bell ringing in the back of your head, a warning, a red flag, a stop sign. But what if you don't?

"I'm not like my character," she whispers. "She's all romance, nice dates and lovey-dovey shit."

"No?" you whisper.

"No," she says sternly. She twists under your grasp to face you. Your hand lands on her hip, and before she's looking up at you with her lips parted, she murmurs, "But I do enjoy being eaten out."

This time, Jenna pulls you down into the kiss. The sweet pout of her lips draws you in. She tastes sharp, like the wine, but her mouth is warm and inviting. You take her bottom lip between your teeth, and she moans, her painted nails scraping through your hair. You feel her hands fumbling, then the thud as your pants fall.

"Fuck me," she breathes the command when your palm finds the swell of her breast again. She's pushing you back, guiding you across the room, pinning you onto the arm of her couch. She lifts her knees and presses it between your legs. She pins you there and continues to kiss you, harder, rougher.

She grabs the collar of your shirt, and then the buttons begin popping. The air brushes your chest making you even more aware of the insanity unfolding in her trailer. As she unravels the rest of the shirt, Jenna pulls back, standing up with a cocky smile on her face.

There's not a chance to speak, or even comprehend, for that matter. She puts her palm on your bare chest and forces you back. You crash into the cushions, and the next thing you know, Jenna swings a knee over your head.

In an instant, she's hooking her thong to the side, then taking a handful of your hair and sitting on your face. Your hands move automatically, gripping her thighs, pressing thumbs into the soft, ample flesh. Your tongue brushes across her pussy, and the feeling of your tongue flicking across her makes Jenna let out a beautiful, quivering moan.

Her scent intoxicates. It's divine.

With strong hands, she leads your movements, grinding forward against your mouth. Daring, unashamed, desperate. She's just as much an animal as she is a woman, and that realisation makes your body tense. You part her tender folds with your tongue and taste the warmth of her nectar, causing Jenna to keen.

Her cheeks grind against your lips as she quivers atop you. Her sighs alternate between delighted huffs and breathless moans. As long as you're licking, the sounds keep coming. If anything, they grow stronger and more desperate. She won't hold back, and it makes your head spin, your focus becoming a singular, dizzy blur.

Her juices coat your mouth, slicking your chin and running down your throat. She tightens her grip on your scalp as if trying to punish you. But really, her actions only draw you closer. The taste of her makes you drunk, and not the kind that comes with a hangover in the morning, no. But the kind that makes the rest of the world and its expectations dissolve, leaving just the two of you in the remaining silence.

Jenna's pussy is a beautiful thing, you realise. Swollen and dripping, deliciously wet. It's a tempting treat just begging to be toyed with. You tongue her clit, rolling it back and forth. When you get just the right spot, a tremor passes through Jenna's frame, a hard squeeze of your scalp, as though it had been scalding her.

"Fuck, so good," Jenna groans. "Keep going. Just like that."

More noises pour out of her and splash into your ears, exciting you in a way you've never been before. And the little shimmies she gives you aren't unpleasant, or unwelcome, far from it. Those subtle dances send waves through you and make the motions of your mouth automatic. Your tongue can't get enough. Neither can your hands. You bring them higher, taking her firm ass, sinking fingertips into her plush, round cheeks and pulling her onto your face.

The movement makes her laugh. "Look at you, so excited. Hungry, are we?" You stroke your tongue up the length of her glistening wet cunt, and Jenna twitches on top of you. Her delight returns, a cry of joy and want. "Go on, eat it. Eat that fucking pussy."

The muscles in her abdomen tighten. Sore and taught, every part of her shivers and shakes, twitching and fluttering with your movements. She cries out in ecstasy, as driven mad by your tongue as you are by her taste.

Her thighs clamp around your head. You can feel her begin to writhe, twisting left and right as the pleasure rages through her. She can't control her hips, keeping them glued to your mouth and twitching violently.

Jenna cums, and her juices flow into your mouth. You drink the reward of your handiwork, as her words become hazy murmurs. An erratic pattern of curses and blasphemous platitudes. As if singing all her highest praises.

When she stands, her legs wobble with the aftershocks of an orgasm, but her posture says there are still things she wants, things only you can give her.

It takes seconds. Jenna's thong is on the floor and then she's pulling at your waistband, tugging them down until she has your cock free. Her nails scratch along the length of your length and her palm settles around it.

"Fuck, you're so hard."

Jenna strokes your shaft and gives it a playful squeeze. You watch the heat shimmer and roll around in her eyes as she sizes you up, and the way your cock gives a stubborn and needy twitch. She seems to like that, too.

When her eyes go lidded and she lowers her head down, opening her mouth and slipping her tongue across the head, you almost can't comprehend how good it feels. Your spine tightens, everything goes rigid, and you're left without a shred of control over your voice. That seems to matter not at all to Jenna.

"Hold on," she slips the head of your cock between her lips, just barely, and smiles around it as she smears your precum across her tongue. Before she looks up, meeting your eye, and then forces her head down further, wrapping her warm, wet mouth around as much of you as she can manage. You both gasp as her tongue sweeps along the underside, and you see her cheeks puff out for a moment, then relax once she settles into a rhythm.

It feels amazing, un-fucking-real. Jenna is bobbing her head up and down. Blissful moans leave her with every pass, and the lust-fogged look she gives you should be illegal. Wet sucking and slurping fill the trailer, drowned out by her hums of adoration. Each one sends vibrations shuddering through your cock.

You thread your fingers in her hair. It's a token act, your control as she moves means nothing. In a blink, she's sucking the length of you down to the very base. She struggles a little when you hit the back of her throat, but pushes through, going again and again, deeper and harder each time. Tears threaten in the corners of her eyes. Still, she won't stop.

"Jenna," your voice is thick and strained. "I'm going to—"

A few more passes of her hungry, slippery mouth have you finally toppling over the edge. If she has any intention of pulling away, the temptation or aversion isn't potent enough for her to react. She kisses and slurps, bobbing feverishly, drinking your spurts of cum and caressing your length with her soft, swollen lips.

Jenna stays with you in her mouth, breathing heavily, the look of satisfaction on her face intense and perverse. She takes her time to gently nurse the last pulses from your erection until you're twitching and overstimulated. Only then, and after a minute longer, does she finally concede and pops her mouth off your cock.

The emptiness it creates feels too much like a loss, and yet, all you can do is stare at her, heart hammering and unable to feel anything past the aftermath.

Jenna perches herself on the coffee table, her legs pressed together and angled to the side, letting her hair fall over her bare shoulders. With one hand, she cleans her mouth and smiles at you.

"I guess this puts a line through unfinished business, huh?" She laughs a little. "Long day tomorrow, best get some sleep."

Then just like that, you're half-dressed, watching her slip off to the tiny bathroom to clean up. A few minutes later the trailer door swings shut, clicking behind you.

Outside, the night air is cool and bitter. It snatches the warmth away from the memory of her touch.

-

They're saying it's going to be a success. Critics have reviewed the project already, including early screenings, and private showings. The reception is very positive. That's great, you know it is, and everything is piling up and coming to a close now. All that's left is one last night, the premiere itself, the main event. This will determine the fate of the film, whether it's a runaway hit, a fantastic start to awards season, or a straight-to-streaming disaster.

"Been a while," the voice behind you says and you turn to see Jenna at your shoulder. She looks exquisite, elegant, and alluring in her gown.

"Understatement." You take the time to look her over again. It was only a couple of months ago you saw her naked and had her on your face. It feels so distant, and almost like a dream. Maybe it is, given how quickly she went cold afterwards.

"Red carpets aren't really my favourite thing. It's... all overrated, isn't it?" She sighs.

"Yeah, you told me."

"I did?"

"At the party, on the last day of shooting. You said, and I quote, 'I hate red carpets, everyone is so fake.'"

She rolls her eyes and laughs. "I must have been drunk."

"You were very drunk," you confirm. "Remember? And you were doing that thing with your foot."

Jenna tenses. "I did, didn't I?"

It was a few hours into the party, and most everyone was way too drunk to even make sense. You found yourself sitting down, trying to stop your head from spinning the way it was. Then she came and sat across from you. Apparently, she'd been drinking more than usual, given the wide-eyed look she had when she'd approached.

"You're handsome," she told you and flashed a drunken smile.

"You're drunk enough to say that to anyone."

"You're smart," she leaned closer, and even in the darkness of the room, you were mesmerised by the way her tanned skin contrasted with the tight, white dress. "You're talented. I'm glad they cast you." She runs her foot from your ankle, along the inside of your leg.

Her toes met your knee. You think you stopped breathing as she traced circles on your inner thigh. You looked up at her face, and she was smiling, a devilish one that said she knew exactly what she was doing.

"You smell so good. Like coffee and mint. It's infuriating." Her shoe slid higher, pressing against the crotch of your pants, and she frowned. "No reaction. Maybe you're shy? Oh, wait."

She pulled her foot back and then bent to the side to reach down under the table. After a few seconds and a few confused expressions, as she fiddled with something out of sight, her shoe fell to the floor. Jenna slid the sole of her bare foot between your legs.

"That's better, right?"

She sat up straight and clicked her tongue. You couldn't believe it. Barefoot, hair down, smouldering gaze and curling her toes against your crotch. It was a lot for you at the time. She smirked, shifting again and sipping a glass of champagne before putting it to the side.

"So, how has it been? This whole romance thing?" She stepped closer with her toes and her heel pressed over your cock, digging in slightly.

"I hated the idea of it. Didn't want any part of it. But being here with everyone has made me change my mind. I've done well."

She started to rub the underside of her foot faster, creating an overwhelming amount of friction. And her smug, smiling face wasn't helping your cause at all. Then she leaned closer, so her chest was bunched up and exposed. She teased the top of your cock with her toes and rested her chin in her hand.

"I think you just have to accept it. Learn to enjoy it. It helps that everyone was so nice to work with."

"Was I?" she asks with a flirtatious lilt, pressing her toes harder against your stiffening cock. "Was I particularly nice to you?"

You choke out a laugh. "You don't need me to tell you that you're nice to look at. But you don't need me to tell you you're more than a pretty face either."

"Do me a favour, undo your trousers."

Now? Really?

"Seriously? Here?" You're sure your voice was shaking.

"Now or never."

The pressure in your loins was undeniable, and you went to work unzipping and undoing buttons. Discreetly you pried them open and pulled down your underwear. Your cock sprung free, and you sighed in relief.

She rested a hand on your arm. It was surprisingly comforting. Then she pressed her foot down to angle your cock against her instep, slipping her soft, warm skin up and down your shaft, barely rocking it back and forth.

"That's better." She smiled sweetly, teasing the head with her toes. "You were nervous." She circled the tip of your cock with her big toe. "That first day of filming, you were so worried about messing up."

"Well, yeah. New role, new movie, no way of knowing."

"Hindsight is always 20:20, but you worry too much. Don't spend so much time thinking about what can go wrong, focus more on the things that can go right."

"Like this?"

"Like this," she grinned as she spoke. Her foot pressed harder and moved faster, stroking you up and down and you did everything you could to keep a straight face as people walked by. Each with an innocent conversation, unaware of what was going on beneath the table. "Besides, you did alright."

Alright. Not great. Not good. Alright.

It's about as much of a compliment on your work that Jenna has ever given you verbally, though you wondered if the foot on your cock is indicative of anything.

"Thank you. I, uh, appreciate the feedback."

"We make a good team." Her eyes narrowed as she focused on getting you off and her top lip stiffened. "Solving problems. Improvising scenes." Her foot kicked up a gear, in a blur, up and down, faster and faster.

"Jenna, I'm—"

"Great on-screen chemistry. Great off-scene chemistry." She pushed you right over the edge with her sole on the underside of your cock. The look on her face said it all. A smile so wide as she felt you twitch against her, throbbing, shaking, and pouring cum right over her skin. "Though you are rather easy to manipulate, aren't you?"

She shot you a wink as she cleaned her foot with a tissue. "See you around."

That image has been burned into your head for a long time since then, though you work to shake it out of there while walking the red carpet. It's all camera flashes and the chore of being paraded in front of them. You follow her lead, and she meets the press with the very embodiment of what they'd want—grace, charisma, flair and passion.

You answer a few basic questions that can't reveal anything interesting or new. Something about keeping the magic, and hopefully breaking it when you win a bunch of awards. Wouldn't that be nice?

"Where do you think this opportunity takes you after the film is released?" one interviewer asks.

"Obviously, any opportunity to work with other amazing talents is an honour. I don't know when, if, or what the offer will be, but I'm certainly happy to be working again."

"And if you had the opportunity to work with Miss Ortega again?" It's a question that she overhears, and she throws you a look over her shoulder.

You try not to stammer. "Of course, if I was fortunate enough, I'd take it. She's... unparalleled."

-

This has never been your favourite part, it might even be the worst. Sitting through your own premiere, watching your own work, it's like a long, self-aware nightmare. It's a natural reaction, but that's little consolation, particularly when you know what scene is coming next. It's some over-complicated form of torture to watch yourself get a handjob on the big screen. Everyone's watching. Including Jenna, sitting next to you.

This is the cavalcade of self-humiliation.

To your surprise, Jenna reaches over to slip her fingers between your own. It's the gentle and comforting squeeze that's accompanied by a sly smirk from her when you glance in her direction. Her eyelids lower and an undeniable tension builds between the two of you. She leans in to whisper to you.

"About last time..."

You smirk. "Am I supposed to know what you're talking about?"

"The ending was abrupt, don't you think?" Her teeth catch on her lip, and those sinful eyes narrow.

"A little."

"Follow me."

Jenna stands up without waiting for an answer. Being in the back corner of the screening makes it fairly easy to slip out after her. When you reach the corridor leading to the bathrooms, Jenna looks you over and smirks.

"Tell me," she laughs out the words as she brushes a few strands of hair out of her face and pins you against the wall, "How often do you think about that night in my trailer?" She pushes up onto her tip-toes, wraps an arm around the back of your neck and pulls your ear to her lips. "Don't lie to me, I know you've thought about it."

Her tone is a familiar temptation, and you've missed it. The sensual inflexion in her voice winds its way through every bone and tendon until it's there, inside and immersing you in the raw carnality that Jenna makes you feel. "All the time."

"Me too." She pulls on your wrist, leading you again and heading for the bathroom. You let her, and she pulls you into a cubicle with her, closing and locking the door behind you. "And how many times have you got off imagining it, picturing it." Her hands stroke along the front of your trousers, and the button pops open in her fingers. You don't even get to reply before she says, "Yeah, me too."

There's something perverse about hearing her say that. Something lewd in the way she smiles at you and peels down your trousers and underwear and instantly slumps to her knees. There's no teasing, no showmanship, nothing but blunt hunger, naked and fierce.

"You're beautiful," you whisper, and her eyes dart up, and her lips pause just as she's about to take you. Her hot breath spilling over the tip of your cock.

"Shut the fuck up," she laughs. Her gaze narrows. She sinks her wet, warm mouth down onto your length, swallowing it bit by bit. When the head touches the back of her throat, she giggles as her eyes water.

A moan involuntarily slips out. Your hips buck forward. Jenna's tongue is like velvet, rolling around the tip of your cock, then enveloping your shaft. You can't help the thrusting. It's automatic, primal, a natural response to being encased in her intoxicating mouth.

Jenna looks up at you, cheeks hollowed, eyes wide with anticipation. She pops her mouth off your swollen cock with a wet noise, and immediately, her fist closes around it, jerking you. She smiles. "Wanna do it?"

"That's how you're going to ask?" You scoff, leaning against the cubicle wall, a slight grin pulling at your mouth. "Is the art of seduction really that dead?"

"Well, forgive me if I don't quote poetry at you and cover myself in rose petals," she says as she climbs back to her feet and places her hand on your shoulders. She guides you to take a seat as she jokes, "Poetry bores the shit out of me."

It's almost too fast when her slim hands lift her dress up to her waist. She watches your face, her teeth pin her lip as she reaches down to hook her panties to the side. She slips a finger inside her already dripping pussy. You throb, hard as a rock, when her hand withdraws and she's reaching up and pressing the gleaming digit against your mouth.

You taste her wetness, licking your tongue against it. "Fuck," you growl, the urge to have her, devour her, ravage her takes you.

"You want it?" Jenna sways her hips and bites her lip. Her tight little body was made for sinning, it's plain and simple. You can't resist touching her, teasing your hands up the back of her thighs and around the ample curve of her ass, then pulling her onto your lap.

"Want it," you breathe the words against her lips. Her hand settles around the base of your cock and drags it across her slick pussy. She sighs into your mouth when your thumbs dig into her hips. That's an invitation to slide inside her.

Then you fill her. Her lips seal onto yours, her eyes flutter closed, and a sweet, deep, hungry sound of satisfaction leaves her. It's a sudden rush, everything about this situation, here and now, is a euphoric madness.

She looks incredible above you, her round, firm tits straining against the dress fabric, beads of sweat at the hollow of her collar and the heat in her eyes. Perched on top of you, Jenna rolls her hips forward, grinding against your lap, coiling that hot, wet flesh around your cock.

"God, your cock feels so fucking good," she gasps as she rides you, the way she moves her hips, the wild shifts and squeezes of her tight cunt around you bring the knot in your stomach already. You buck up into her and a ragged cry tears from Jenna's throat.

You seize her hair and kiss her, swallow her cries and moans, her gasps and whimpers, drink every little sound she makes and lose yourself in the rocking grind of her hips. You're both animalistic now. Her with her bouncing, grinding and needy fucking. You with your digging fingertips and the pounding of your crotch against her. It's filthy, it's unhinged.

"This might be the last time we—"

"Shut up," you interrupt.

"Last time we do this."

"Shut the fuck up," your hands dig into her waist, pulling her down and plunging your cock deep.

"Tell me," she says breathlessly, slamming her hips to meet your thrusts. "If we end this right here, is that good enough?"

"Fuck no," you hiss the words. You reach up to pull down her dress, prying her perky, bare breasts free and enveloping one in your mouth. Your tongue traces the nipple and you draw it in deeper. Jenna slows to a firm grind, holding your cock tight inside her before she snaps forward, locking her arms behind your head. You feel the shudder inside her, feel her clenching on you.

It's a deep, powerful moan, straight to your ears, as she cums. Pulling back and grabbing your face in her palms, forcing you to look right into her eyes. The blissful, fucked-senseless expression on her face is priceless, so is the dizzying, tightening feel of her cunt. Jenna collapses, huffing and panting, while you still hunger for more.

You pick her up and slam her against the cubicle door. It rocks under the impact. She giggles and takes a handful of your hair.

"Go on, fuck me. Like it's the only time you're ever going to get the chance."

So, you do. What more could you ever do? Is there anything more rational than drilling Jenna Ortega against a door in a movie theatre bathroom?

"Good, yeah," she wraps her legs around your waist and curls fingers in your hair. "You're getting there." She tilts her head and you claim the side of her throat, biting her neck. "If I tell you that you can cum inside, will you fuck me harder? Is that it?"

You groan into her neck, grip tightens, and you draw her body right to yours.

"If I tell you how badly I want to feel you cum, that it's driving me crazy, would that make it better?" She tightens her thighs around your waist and huffs out the words as though the effort is too much. "Go on. Do it."

The door rattles on its hinges, but you hardly even notice. Everything is her. Her body, her eyes, her voice, her. Your fingers lock around her waist, hold her tight while you pound her. The sweat-slick strands of her hair hang across her forehead, her skin glistens, and you're mesmerised by how good she looks while you fuck her.

You sink your teeth into her shoulder as you fill her. You lose control, twitching, and buried to the hilt, a groan into her skin as you twitch inside her. Cum spurts, your body shakes, her sex pulsates and clenches. She milks everything, and the next thing you know, you're falling back onto the seat, her collapsed on top of you and heaving. Gentle movements of her hips keep the sensations alive until you have nothing left to give her.

Overstimulation sets in quickly, her fingers slowly entwine with yours as you sag back against the seat, trembling and spent. The pair of you stay there, sweat-drenched, messy and grinning, sharing the tangle of soft noises in the silence.

"So, that was..."

"Pretty fucking good," she cuts you off. She rests her head against your shoulder, her hands settle on your arms, caressing you.

"That's what I would have said," you tell her, as you run your hand over her thigh and palm her ass.

"Damn. We might as well get married and drive off into the sunset." She laughs, and you chuckle with her.

"Or maybe we could just do this again sometime?" you ask with a slight grin.

She considers it. Pouting her lips and twitching them side to side. Her expression takes on a knowing edge, something mischievous as she looks you over and replies. "I'll see you around, maybe."

Now that...

That's just cruel.

[featherandferns]

sugar (fic)

ex!jj maybank x ex!fem!reader | set in season 4 without the Blackbeard mystery! (non-canon) | inspiration

content warnings: mentions of/references to sex (m and f receiving; MDNI); drug use; unfaithful relationships

word count: 18k.

blurb: JJ comes back into your life - older, richer and different again from before. Can the past stay the past, and the two of you be friends, or is there too much history there to let it all lie?

Cinnamon Buns

“Where would you like these?” Someone calls out to you. You turn and take in the tray of mouth-wateringly delicious looking cinnamon buns that a volunteer holds. Smiling, you point to a far table on the grassy field. 

“Anywhere over there is good! Those look amazing, thank you so much!” 

You turn back to the task at hand: organising cans of tinned, chopped tomatoes. To your left is a stack of bags of rice and to your right, bags of pasta. It’s quick work as you separate them by flavour: garlic and herb; chilli; regular…In the background you overhear chatter of fellow volunteers. Where should I put this? Who had the plastic bags? This was your happy place. 

‘The Stirring Spoon’ is what you had called it. It was your passion project born out of daydreams. A collaborative, community effort, providing food to anybody and everybody, free of charge. It wasn’t a traditional food drive. Instead, it was like a potluck dinner that you hosted every Wednesday in the late afternoon, running into the evening. People brought whatever dish they had prepared, or any ingredients that they had going spare which you and a handful of other volunteers whipped up into mains and desserts. Tomato soup and lentil curry and meatball subs and rainbow brownies and chocolate chip cookies. You’d even managed to rope a few local establishments into it. Any leftover bakes that they had when the workday was over, or things that were just a smidge out of date by a day or two, you took and offered out. Today? Cinnamon buns that were baked yesterday at a humble cafe in the town centre, just shy of Figure Eight. Food health and safety laws were strict but you could stretch them for The Stirring Spoon. After all, you weren’t technically selling a product so no harm done. People were clued in about the supposed “risk”. 

You lift up a can of tomatoes and study the ‘best by’ date on the metal lid. A month in the safe zone. Perfect. As your mind flicks through recipes of what you could cook up, a voice stood out amongst the chatter nearby. It was like a siren’s call; distinct and damning. You could pick it out even when deaf. 

“I gotta delivery here for y’all.”

“What’s in it?”

“Fresh sorta stuff. ‘Tatoes and that kinda thing.”

“Over there, I’d say.”

As the footsteps approach you can feel your heartbeat quicken. It taps nervously in your ribcage like you’re sixteen all over again. Your focus remains on the task at hand until a slight shadow casts over you, and you know you can’t stall any longer.  Your hands freeze over a can of tomatoes. Looking up, standing in front of you, clear as daylight and bright as dawn, is JJ Maybank. He’s dressed in his usual attire of a worn-down t-shirt and shorts; his fingers and wrists decorated with metal rings and beaded bracelets. If you squinted, it’d be like no time had passed at all. He doesn’t look all that different from the last time you saw him and yet, he’s entirely changed. In his hands is a large cardboard crate of various fresh produce. You smile. 

“JJ.”

It comes out in a breath as though you’re seeing something supernatural before you. In a way, you are. How long has it been now? Two years? Nearly three?

His own surprise mirrors yours on his face. But JJ was always better at hiding his emotions, once he had a chance to catch them. It was like a teasing glimpse before he closed the curtains. His recovery is quick as a smile starts to show, and he says your name like he’s practised it everyday. 

“Hey.”

“What’re you doing here?” you ask.

“Brought some deliveries,” JJ says, hitching the box. “Kiara mentioned something ‘bout a community kitchen drive y’all do and we thought we could contribute and stuff.”

“Well, that’s nice of y’all. Thank you,” you reply. 

You shuffle some stuff out of the way on the pop-up table in front of you to make space for JJ’s box. It’s hard not to watch his arms as he lowers it down, the way the biceps flex and tense beneath the skin. It’s hard not to think of other times his arms have looked that way, wrapped around your body, tugging you closer. You blink the memories away. 

JJ’s hands slot into his short pockets. He rocks on his feet. “Looks like it’s a pretty popular thing, huh?v This food drive, I mean.”

You glance around at the bustling volunteers. Smiling, you say, “Yeah, I guess it caught on pretty quick. Could say the same about y’alls tackle-and-bait shop you got going. It’s the talk of the town ‘round here.”

JJ grins with visible pride and it isn’t until you see it that you realise how much you missed his smile. You wonder if he’s surveying your face and body the way you are his, as if looking for some inconsistency or change since the last time you saw him. 

“Yeah, it’s coming together pretty nice. Helps having a bunch of us working on it, though.”

“I bet,” you say. You’d heard the chatter on the island about the Pogue’s latest venture. The sneers of the kooks and the curiosity of the locals. Their bets and wagers on whether the business would sink or float. You’d wanted to wander down and check it out for yourself but you always chickened out. Truth was, you’d been avoiding JJ Maybank like the flu, and now here he was in front of you, putting all your quarantining to shame. Your eyes flit down at the crate and you gently rifle through the food for a distraction. Tomatoes and potatoes and bunches of fresh berries and fruit. 

���I, uh, don’t know if there’s much in there that y’all need but–”

“No, no, this is great,” you assure him, smiling. “It’s really generous of y’all. Every contribution is appreciated.”

“Happy to help. To be honest, it’s Kie and Sarah you should be thanking.”

“Yeah, I didn’t peg you as the gardening type,” you tease. 

“Well, only for the stuff that matters,” JJ grins with a wink. You consciously try to fight away the warmth running to your cheeks. Damn it, you weren’t sixteen anymore. “So…how have you been, then? Since we last…y’know–”

“Baby!”

It’s a reflex reaction to turn at the sound of Mark’s call. He comes bounding over with a wide grin. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to the elbows and flour is dusted on his khakis. It’s a reflex to close your eyes when he dips his head to plant a kiss to your lips, too. You rub them together after as you prepare yourself for what might be the most awkward interaction you’ll ever go through. 

“JJ,” you say, turning to the blonde haired boy. “This is Mark. Mark, this is JJ. We used to…uh…Well, we used to hang out.”

“JJ - pleasure,” Mark says sincerely. He sticks out his hand and for a painful moment you genuinely worry that JJ might never take it. But he does, shaking it. 

“Likewise,” he says. 

You feel Mark’s spare arm slide around your back, his palm placing itself respectfully on your side. That was Mark: respectful. Righteous but not in an arrogant way. He was kind and caring without judgement, like the sort of Christian boy your nana would want you to bring home. The sort of guy who would bring your mother flowers and play golf with your father on the weekends. The kind of face you’d see flash on the television during the six o’clock news as the reporter relays a daring and heroic tale of saving orphaned kittens from a burning tree. 

“This is the guy that’s started the tackle-and-bait shop. Y’know, the one with the surf store and stuff,” you say to Mark. Realisation dawns upon Mark and he wags his finger at JJ. 

“Wait, wait, JJ as in JJ Maybank? One of the gang who found El Dorado?” 

You roll your eyes at the pure awe in his voice. JJ chuckles somewhat nervously and nods as he says, “yeah, uh, that JJ, I guess.”

“Holy shit! Baby, why didn’t you say!? Oh man, I read all about that. It sounded freaking incredible! I have so much to ask you, I mean-”

You place a hand to his chest and laugh, slightly embarrassed by his fangirling. “Baby, baby! Cool it a second, yeah?”

Laughing, you glance at JJ. And you catch it. That emotion he lets slip just before correcting himself. His eyes dart to yours in a second but they were looking elsewhere before. They were looking at your hand on Mark’s stomach. 

“Nah man, it’s cool. You guys should stop by sometime and I can tell you all about it. The other Pogues too, yeah,” JJ cordially replies. 

“Oh sick, man. That’d be great,” Mark beams. You smile at JJ and nod. 

“I’d love to see what you guys have done to the place,” you tell him. JJ smiles but it falters, like a flickering lightbulb that’s fighting to stay on. An awkward quiet passes and you clear your throat and glance around at the voluntary effort. “Well, I should probably get back to work.”

“No, yeah, course. I ought’a get back to the shop,” JJ replies. 

“Thanks for the stuff though. We really appreciate it.”

“You brought this?” Mark wonders, picking a strawberry out of the crate. He pops it in his mouth and hums happily. “Damn, those are some fresh strawberries.”

“Yeah, man. All from our local garden we got going.”

“This place sounds like the dream,” Mark tells you. You smile up at him. He takes the crate in his broad hands and lifts it easily into the air. Being sandwiched between two toned-up guys had you feeling as brittle as candyfloss. “I’ll take this over to Nancy. Nice meeting you, JJ.”

“Yeah, you too, man.”

You watch him wander off a moment before turning back to JJ. He offers you another smile. “I’ll come check out the shop soon,” you promise. 

JJ points at you, playfully warning, “you better!” before walking away. You watch him with every step he takes and the moment he’s out of sight your head drops. You let out a breath that you didn’t know you’d been holding. Your entire body feels as though it’s vibrating; your heart running laps in your ribcage. And the funniest part of all is the strange thought that races around your mind, he’s real. It had been so long since you’d seen JJ, let alone heard from him, that it felt like a daydream. The memories were so hazy now that they’d been painted over in sepia and you wondered if you’d imagined the whole thing. But no, here he was, knowing you and recognising you, and talking to you. The two of you back in Kildare, seemingly for good. 

“Baby! Can you give us a hand?”

The call drags you out of your thoughts. Your eyes fall onto your boyfriend. He stands a good head taller than most people. He’s almost lanky in build but not ungainly; broad shouldered and slim nosed. His eyes are those of an otter: nearly black with how brown they are; beady and shining, even from over here. There’s a smattering of freckles over his cheeks which is adorably boyish in contrast to his stubble on the jawline. He’s smiling at you in a way that all girls want to be smiled at. Unashamed in his admiration for you. It grounds you from the dizzying interaction with JJ and you walk over to him, ready to help out in any way you can. 

The rest of The Stirring Spoon passes without a hitch or unexpected visitor from the past. It’s as popular as always, with locals and tourists stopping by. The lentil and tomato soup that you whipped up disappears within the first half hour, alongside the nearly stale but still delicious cheese bread. Mark stands by your side the whole time, smiling as he serves. He whispers little jokes in your ear that have you giggling in the quiet periods of the food drive. Then came the evening rush, with people stopping by after work. The culmination of it all meant JJ was pushed out of your thoughts and back into the long-term store, where he’d been haunting before. That is, until you’re tidying up. 

“That JJ guy seemed nice,” Mark says from the table to your right. You look up from the plastic snack-bags you’re tidying away. “You said you guys used to hang?”

“When we were sixteen,” you reply. 

“How come you stopped hanging out?” he wonders. 

You look down at the bags and obsess over the colours of the labels as you debate how best to word your reply. What do you divulge to him? There’s an index of memories labelled JJ and you know not all need to see the light of day, let alone enter the mind of your boyfriend in scarring reenactments. 

“We just grew apart. He was going through some stuff, I think, and then he got really into that whole treasure hunting thing,” you tell him. It was true enough to not be a lie. Mark hums in thought. 

“That’s a shame.”

You quirk a brow, amused. “Why? Cause I could have cashed in on the gold too?”

Mark shrugs and you laugh. “What!? I’m just saying, some people are worth staying friends with!”

But that was the thing. You and JJ weren’t just friends. Shaking your head, you close the cardboard box of repacked snack-bags and carry it over to the table where he’s working. You held him wrap individual muffins in napkins before placing them in a large tupperware box. 

“Hey, y’know what’d be nice?” Mark says. 

“What?”

“If we took them over some leftovers. I mean, we made most of this stuff with the ingredients they gave us anyway. And there’s still some of those cinnamon buns going spare.”

You take pause and look up at him. He’s obliviously working away, head tucked down to look at the muffins. There’s an easy smile that’s permanently etched into his face, as if he came out the womb cheesing away. That wasn’t why you fell for him though. No, it was his kindness. His offhand generosity that came so naturally to him it was almost offensive. Pressing up onto your toes, you cup his jaw and press a kiss to his cheek. He chuckles quietly. 

“You’re wonderful,” you hum happily. “I think that’s a great idea.” 

“You go wrap up some cinnamon buns then. I’ll pack up some of these muffins for them.”

You do as he asks and soon enough, there’s a box of miscellaneous leftovers from your food drive. Mark drives. The sky is a delicate colour of amber and pink warning of soon nightfall. Colours like that always make you feel relaxed. It helps ease the nervousness of seeing JJ again. You weren’t sure why it was making you so antsy. It wasn’t as if you and JJ parted ways on bad terms. You suppose it’s just a bitter-sweet memory. All memories of JJ came with that sour coating now, like sherbet lemons on your tongue. You wonder if you’d feel the same way if Mark weren’t around. 

But he is, and you’re glad he is. 

Looking over to him, you reach out your hand to capture his, resting on his thigh. He glances over at you and smiles. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just happy, s’all.”

“That’s good,” he says, looking back to the road. Like something from a music video, he raises your interlocked hands to his lips and presses a kiss to the back of your hand. “Means I’m doing something right, if you’re happy.”

It’s impossible not to do a double-take as you pull up to what was formally the Maybank property. It’s as if new life has been breathed into it. More than just a lick of paint, there’s two brand new buildings alongside a pretty sturdy looking pier and dock. There’s a handmade charm to everything that makes it all the more enticing and impressive. Mark seems to think so too because he whistles as the two of you pull up the driveway. You look to your left and see the Twinkie. A relic from your past, of memories half-naked, rolling around the back with JJ, sharing a blunt in a post-orgasmic haze. Your thoughts shut off with the engine. 

Mark takes the lead, his hand in yours, and carries the box of leftovers up to the house. You both wander up the porch and Mark knocks twice on the door. Your eyes look at everything, taking it in, admiring every detail, until someone opens the door. It’s Kiara. 

“Hey. Can I help you?” she asks your monolith of a boyfriend. You poke your head from around his body. 

“Hey Kie.”

“Oh my Gosh! Girl, where have you been?” Kie beams. The two of you embrace, laughing and smiling. “Wait - did you get the stuff I sent JJ over with?”

“Yeah, we did,” you say. “Thank you so much.”

“We actually brought this as a thanks,” Mark adds, offering out the tub. She eyes him almost with suspicion. 

“Sorry, I forgot to say - Kie, this is Mark. My boyfriend,” you explain. Kie’s eyebrows shoot up with that final word but she recovers quick. 

“Nice to meet you, Mark,” she says. She takes the box and glances through the plastic. 

“Just some leftovers we thought you might like. Muffins and cinnamon buns and things like that.”

“Thanks guys, you didn’t have to. We’re happy to contribute,” Kiara tells you. “In fact, me and Sarah were talking about maybe making it a regular thing. Like every Wednesday we bring some stuff from the garden, or fish that we’ve caught?”

“Oh my God, yeah, that’d be amazing,” you nod enthusiastically. “We can definitely figure out a system.”

“Perfect. I’ll put these inside. You guys want a drink or anything? I can show you around,” Kiara offers, opening the door wider in invitation. 

You glance over her shoulder into the room and then around the porch, behind you out to the water. You’re not sure why you were expecting JJ to just appear out of thin air in front of you. 

“JJ’s out on the dock, if you want to catch up,” Kiara posits, as if hearing your thoughts. You look at her and hold her gaze, and - unable to read what her expression means - nod. 

“I think I’ll go say hi. We didn’t get a chance to properly catch up,” you reply. You glance up at Mark. “You want to come with?”

“It’s alright. I’ll stay here and get the tour,” he tells you with a wink. You smile, press a kiss to his lips, and wander off with a wave to Kie, towards the dock. 

Feet thudding on the slabs of wood, the structure creaks as you walk to the shop. An American flag waves in the breeze. You run a hand along the thick rope bannister and glance down into the growth of plants and water weeds underfoot. I can’t believe they built all of this, you can’t help but think as you walk up to the wooden-slatted tackle-and-bait shop. As you walk into the store under the wooden ‘WELCOME’ sign, reggae music blesses your ears alongside the smell of incense. It’s jam-packed with miscellaneous water accessories: fishing gear, surfing gear, refreshments, you name it. There’s nobody behind the counter. You glance around and squint, catching onto a spot red through the window. JJ lies outside atop of a vintage cooler, feet crossed one over the other, arms tucked under his head. You can’t help but smile. Walking outside, you lean against the doorframe and fold your arms over your chest. 

“Well, as far as customer service goes, this is pretty crappy.”

He snaps up to sit like he has the joints of a ken doll. You laugh as he blinks his eyes awake, laying them on you. 

“Oh shit,” he says, clearing his throat, running a hand through his hair. “When’d you get here?”

“A few minutes ago. You looked pretty comfy there,” you say, amused. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s a good nap spot,” JJ chuckles nervously, glancing down at where he just lay his head. He straightens his t-shirt and then looks back at you. His brows furrow. “Wait, what’re you doing here?”

“Came by to see the new place,” you reply, gesturing around you. “You offered.”

“Didn’t think you’d be in such a hurry.”

“No time like the present and all that.”

You’re acutely aware of how you’re avoiding mentioning Mark and how he’s currently being led around JJ’s former house and yard under Kie’s tow. 

“This is a pretty sick set-up,” you praise. 

“Yeah, it’s pretty good, huh?” JJ grins, getting to his feet. “Here, you want a beer? We’re technically closed for business anyway.”

Laughing, you shrug. “Sure. Why not.” 

Cracking open the cooler, he reaches in and retrieves two ice-cold cans. One is tossed to you and you catch it, and a feeling of deja vu rings through you. JJ, younger, just as handsome, throwing you a can of beer at a kegger. He leans against the cooler and you against a wooden pillar. Cracking cans and the fizz of beer, and you take a refreshing sip. A comfortable quiet comes and the two of you catch one anothers eyes. You smile. 

“I don’t think I said earlier, but it’s really nice to see you again,” you tell JJ. 

He smiles, small and reserved. “Thanks. It’s nice seeing you too. Even if it is with Joe America over there.”

“Joe America?” you snort. “Come on, he isn’t that bad.”

“No, no, he seems…uh, he seems nice.”

“He is nice.”

“I believe it.”

“Well…good.”

That marked the end of that conversation. You take a sip of your beer and sigh, looking out to the view of sunset over the marshland. 

“I wish you could’ve seen it,” JJ suddenly says. You look over to him with a frown, confused. “El Dorado, I mean. South America. It was beautiful. Like actually fucking stunning out there.”

“Really?” you say, smiling. 

“Hell yeah,” he grins. “Like there was colours out there that I didn’t even think existed without, like, LSD, man.”

You laugh and he does too and you’re glad whatever awkwardness that just came passed quick like a seastorm. 

“I still haven’t gone farther than Charleston, so I guess I’ll have to live vicariously,” you lightheartedly remark. 

“Yeah, well, turns out there’s a pretty big world out there,” JJ grins. 

“Glad one of us got to see it,” you hum. 

“Nah, you’ll see it too. All of it. Even Paris.”

The city’s name hangs heavy in the air. It was more than just a throwaway comment. It was a secret message, as if JJ was speaking in code. I remember it. I didn’t forget. You wash down the adrenaline with another sip of beer. 

“But no place like home, huh?” JJ says, clearing his throat. 

“Probably helps now that John B ain’t a fugitive anymore,” you muse. JJ laughs, nodding. 

“Yeah, yeah, no, for sure.”

“Well, I’m glad you found your happiness, JJ,” you say, smiling at him. “I’m glad you found yourself out.”

“Ain’t we all?”

The two of you watch one another for a moment. His resting smile lingers on the edges of his thin lips. His round, soft cheeks that add to a boyishness about him that his jawline doesn’t allow. You always liked JJ’s hair though. A mop of blonde planted atop of his head with sun-bleached highlights and deep-sea lowlights. But he’s taking you in too. You can’t take the weight of his stare after a while. Taking a deep breath, pushing away from the beam, you ditch your half-drunk beer atop of the cooler. 

“Well, I better get going.”

“You sure? I mean, we can hang out a bit longer, if you like?”

You smile politely and shake your head. “I’m not the one driving, so…”

JJ looks over your shoulder and spots Mark. “Ah. Didn’t know Dollar Store Chris Evans was here, my bad.”

“JJ! Don’t be mean!”

“I ain’t being mean! If anything, that’s a compliment,” JJ defends. You roll your eyes. “Look, I’ll see you around though. It’d suck to go back to being strangers again when we’re both in the same place for a change.”

Despite the innocence of the offer, something in your gut tells you that you shouldn’t agree. You should set a boundary there, draw a line, and leave it in the past. So, really, you have nobody to blame but yourself for saying “I’d like that” with a smile in farewell, before walking back across the dock to your boyfriend. 

Salted Chips

JJ had always been in your life. However, in the past, he was more of a background character, like an NPC in a videogame that creators constantly add in like an Easter Egg. The kind of character you’re curious about, in terms of their past and their present, their wants and their fears, but the kind you never have the privy to get close to in that way. He’d be at parties, at the surf break, at the shops or at school, but he wasn’t in your life. Until he was. 

Fate came in the form of a seating plan for history class. 

You and JJ were classmates. Table buddies. At first, the conversation was nonexistent. Sometimes JJ wouldn’t show up to class at all, either bunking off or playing truant in the bathrooms to light up a joint. But sometimes he’d come to class, usually escorted by Pope, and you’d share an uncomfortable silence as you worked through the hour. But then came an assignment that needed to be done out of class, and numbers were exchanged and words were shared outside of ‘what did he say’ and ‘what’s the homework’ and ‘what answer did you get for five?’. At your prompting to start on the project, JJ offered up the Chateau to work at, John B’s house that was a renovated fishing shack on the marsh. 

To stimulate inspiration for the poster the two of you had to create - outlining the history of the American Civil War - JJ had offered up beers and a blunt, and you were glad to take him up on the offer. If you’re going to be doing schoolwork at the weekend, you might as well get something out of it other than mind numbing boredness. It seems you saying yes to JJ’s “gifts” put you in his good books. It’s as if you could see the moment his opinion of you changed. From there, it was as if the two of you had always known the other. Conversation came easy, banter even more so. Time spent together stretched outside of the classroom and instead into lunch breaks and evenings and weekends. He’d seek you out at keggers and hang with you at the beach. Somewhere in the roots of you friendship grew an attraction from the fondness. You noticed it in his lingering glances, his drifting gaze from your eyes to your mouth to your body. Later, you heard it in his words, finding innuendos in smalltalk, catching compliments like falling stars. Eventually, both slightly intoxicated, it came to a head, about three months into this natural-forming friendship. 

“Yo!”

You turn around, beer in hand, startled by the interruption. It’s JJ. He’s wearing a cap, squishing down his beautiful locks of blonde; the muted green pairs well with his t-shirt. His combat boots sink into the ground, damp from the rainfall earlier in the day. Everything smells piney and fresh. You lift a finger to your lips to coax him to be quiet. His brows quirk up, a bemused smile gracing his gorgeous face. God really does have favourites, it seems. 

“You good?”

“Sh! You’ll scare them,” you whisper. At his cocking head, confused, you fervently gesture for him to come over. He does. His presence by your side is almost overwhelming. The buzz from the liquor makes it difficult to keep your itching hands to yourself and your inhibitions at bay. “You see them?”

“See what?”

“The birds.”

“What?”

“Look, here,” you mumble. You lean close to him so you can point clearly with your finger, just along his line of vision. A whiff of JJ’s scent dusts your nose. He’s warm like he creates heat. Through the canopy of leaves, you can make out a single branch of a tree. In the nook, against the trunk, is a nest, and inside is a bunch of baby birds, cawing out for their mother, hungry, blind. You’d left them some salted chips on the floor, crumbled and scattered, in case the mother wanted to steal some to take up and gift. She probably wouldn’t, but something about their cries made you feel the need to do something, and it wasn’t as if you could offer up your beer. 

“Woah.”

“You see ‘em?”

“Yeah,” JJ breathes. “That’s sick, how did you see them?”

“I heard them first,” you tell him, keeping your voice low so as to not frighten them. “Needed some air.”

“The smoke from the campfire botherin’ you?”

“I swear to God, it targets me,” you sincerely reply, making JJ laugh. You finally retract your finger (still sticky from the Smores made earlier) and turn, looking up at him. He looks down at you. Some strands of hair stick out from under his cap, pressing against his forehead. His brows are almost permanently slanted, eyes bright in the dusk of the evening. His shark tooth necklace sits against his chest. JJ’s lips quirk at your staring. “It’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair?”

“You’re so pretty,” you say, shaking your head, smiling. The alcohol has given you too much confidence, it seems. Loose lips. His eyes widen in momentary surprise but he catches it, covers it well. Then, comes his mask of confidence. He gives you a cocky smile. 

“You’re not too bad yourself,” he suavely replies. 

“Nah, I mean it. You’re really something, Maybank,” you smile, doubling-down. In for a penny and all that.  

His smugness fades into something more real. He doesn’t seem to know how to take compliments like that. Then, strangely, something like panic tugs his brows together. “I’m not very good at this sorta thing.”

Your frown of confusion seems to spur him on. 

“Being honest. Real. I’m…I’m pretty fucked up, y’know?”

“The best people are,” you murmur, meaning every word. 

“Nah, I mean it, though. I’m not…I don’t wanna hurt you.” JJ says it so quietly, so sincerely, that you get the sense that he’s never said it before. Maybe only thought it on dark nights, when you’re so alone with your thoughts it’s maddening. Smiling, shaking your head, you lift a hand to his cheek. Your heart hiccups at how he relaxes into your touch. 

“I don’t think you have to worry ‘bout that,” you whisper. 

You’re not sure who moves first, whether it’s him or you, but you end up a hair-width apart at the lips. His breath is hot as it fans onto your lips. Risk comes like a lightning rod and you take it, pushing onto your toes, connecting your lips with his. His hand finds yours and squeezes. That small gesture, as innocent as it is, tells you that you’re crossing this boundary together, from friends into something more. 

Pistachio Pastries 

The smell of coffee rouses you from sleep. You hum sleepily into your pillow, nuzzling in the scent of your boyfriend: peppermint and sage. A heavy palm gently pets your hair. 

“Wake up, sleepy,” Mark murmurs. 

You grumble in protest and he chuckles. The bed dips and the duvet lifts as he climbs back into the cocoon of warmth. Rolling over, you tuck yourself against him. He always slept in pyjamas. It was adorable. Nothing cheesy: just a simple shirt and flannel bottoms. His arm hooks around your waist and holds you against him. You swear to God, you could hide here forever. Mark was safety and security. Mark was the netting beneath a trapeze artist. Mark was the emergency brake in a racing car. 

“Wednesday again,” he says, stroking the skin of your back. “Kiara messaged the Instagram page today. Said one of them will drop off an order around one-ish.”

“Sweet.”

An alarm blares from Mark’s phone and he cusses, breaking apart from you to retrieve it and turn it off. You take the opportunity to sit up and grab your coffee. The steam tickles your nose as you blow on it. Routine. Mornings spent in the mini home Mark had made in his parents backyard, in their old shed. He brought you coffee in the morning and you brought him tea before bed. You’d be asleep by ten and awake by eight. Your shifts at the smoothie shop typically followed a Monday through Friday routine, with the exception of midweek, with Wednesdays reserved for The Stirring Spoon. Weekends passed in a blink. Then, you reset to continue with the same thing again. 

But that’s okay. Routine is okay. It’s reliable. Monotonous in a way that assures certainty. Besides, you liked your job, and your coffee, and your Stirring Spoon. But maybe it might be nice to stray from it all, just for a change. 

You carefully place your coffee back on the side table and look over to Mark. He’s scrolling on his phone, lips set in a line, brows tugged together in vague concentration. A thrill runs through your body at the thought, as you press several kisses to the skin of his neck. You feel him breath beneath you. Then a kiss comes to your forehead, quick like a grandparent to their least favourite grandchild. 

“Baby,” you hum, lifting a hand to rub your finger along his jawline. 

“Mhm?”

“Do you have any, like…things you wanna try.”

He takes a moment to think, looking up from his phone. A smile comes to his face and he looks down at you, and your body burns with anticipation. “Surfing. Was never that good at it but I’d like to try it again, y’know?”

It fizzles away like water atop of a dying flame. “Oh. Yeah, no, yeah…that’s…you should do that.”

He frowns. “You okay?”

“Well, I just meant more…in the bedroom. Like anything, I don’t know…” Your face burns like you’re a nun stumbling across a Playboy magazine. “Kinky?”

“Kinky?”

“Not like oh my God, kinky. Just…I don’t know…”

He quirks a brow, smiling at you in a teasing sort of way. “You got some kink you’re not telling me about?”

“Maybe,” you tell him, hoping it comes out seductive. 

“I don’t know,” Mark sighs, resting his head back against the wall. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows and you lick over your lips. He grins, like something dawned upon him, and he dips his head suddenly to press his lips to yours. “Wanna know what I’ve always wanted to try?”

“Mhm,” you say, lifting your hands to cup his face and keep him near. Yes, your body practically cries. Tell me, tell me, tell me. 

“Well,” he stalls, kissing you again. You chase his lips, shortening in breath. “I’ve always wanted–” another kiss “-to try-” another kiss “-doing it in the shower.”

It’s hard not to deflate completely with disappointment. 

Wow, yeah Mark. Kinky. 

But when you open your eyes, you come face to face with a nervous, sweet, caring Mark. A Mark who always makes sure you feel good and safe. A Mark who would never walk past an elderly man struggling to cross the road. A Mark who would donate a twenty dollar bill he found on the roadside. And you can see it in his eyes, this burning passion, this shock at his own words, because for him, that was like confessing to watching gangbang porn in a Church. So, you plaster on a smile, feigning excitement. “No, yeah. That’d be fun. We should totally do that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you grin, kissing him again. He sighs, pushing back against you. Your body sparks up again. The feel of his hands on your sides is like static energy. “We should try it now.”

“Now?”

“Mhm,” you nod eagerly, kissing at his lips desperately. “Good way to start the morning, huh?”

“Maybe,” he says. He pulls away slightly, guilty as he adds, “but it’s been a while since I cleaned the bathroom. And I promised my mom I’d help her out today, and I gotta be good to go in like ten minutes so…”

“Oh.”

He kisses you fleetingly on the lips and then tosses the bedsheets off his lap. You watch him get up. “But maybe soon? Like Friday?”

Routine with scheduled sex. 

“Okay,” you say through a false smile. You sink against your pillow and watch him put on his slippers. The moment his back turns, you drop the expression. You’re so disappointed there doesn’t feel much point in trying to get off by yourself now, either. You don’t seem to fix your frown quick enough before he turns back around. 

“Oh, hey, baby, I didn’t mean to upset you,” Mark frowns. He lowers down so his eyes are level with yours. You pout like a child as you look at him. He pushes some hair off your face. “I swear, if I weren’t about to go help my mom, I’d be all over you right now.”

“Mhm.” Maybe you are being a bit selfish. He’s helping his mother for God’s sake! Smiling, properly this time, you jokingly warn, “I’m gonna hold you to that, Mark.”

“You better,” he winks. He kisses you before leaving the room, into the bathroom. Sighing, you roll on your back and blink up at the ceiling. You practise your mantra - Mark is good. Mark is good for me. Mark is good. Mark is good for me - and you get up to start your day. 

The Stirring Spoon is a good distraction from your whining libido. It’s hard to think about fucking when you’re comparing shapes of pasta. And yet, you still find a way. Because as you stack packets of spaghetti, you try and recall the last time you and Mark had really good sex. Not sex where it’s soft and nice and satisfying. Sex when you feel like you might cry or scream, just to cope with the pleasure pulsing through your body. Sex when you’re actually scared that you might have a heart attack from how fast your heart’s beating. Was it ever like that with Mark? Was it ever like that with anybody else?

Yes. 

“Hey.”

The very boy who just popped into your mind like a vision stands before you, crate in hand, smile on face, as if you manifested him. 

“JJ.”

“You good? You were looking at that spag pretty hard,” he asks, amused. 

“No, yeah, I’m good,” you say. You drop the pasta like it’s incriminating to what you were thinking about. Don’t tell JJ about the hot sex I was thinking about with him, pasta, please. “What’re you doing here?”

“Delivery from Kildare County Kitchen,” he says, dropping the crate down onto an empty spot on the table. “Some of Cleo’s less deadly version of her gumbo; a few sandwiches that Sarah whipped up; and some fish me and John B caught the other day.”

“Damn, that’s quite the haul,” you say, glancing into the crate and surveying its contents. “Thanks, JayJ.”

As you retrieve the items and lay them out carefully and neatly on the table, JJ shoves his hands in his short pockets and looks around the yard. “So. Loverboy here?”

“He’s busy today, helping his mom.”

“Ah. You short of a helping hand today, then?”

“Why? You want to help?” you say, half-joking. But JJ shrugs. 

“I’m not doing much. Why not?”

“Don’t the others need you back at the shop?”

“There’s five of them, I think they’ll manage,” JJ replies sardonically. He claps and rubs his hands together. “Where do I start?”

“Um…” You stand upright and scan the area, checking what looks the most chaotic. As if on cue, the local bakery van pulls up. “Oh, sweet. Delivery. You can help me unload and log inventory.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The two of you walk over to the van, side by side, hands kept politely to yourselves. Small talk sits on your tongue but doesn’t make it into the world. 

“Morning Mr Parker,” you call. 

“Morning, darlin’,” he croons in his southern accent. “You too, Maybank.”

“Good to see you, sir,” JJ nods. 

“What you got for me today?” 

“Some good stuff, I’m not going to lie to y’all,” he grins over his shoulder before opening the doors to the back of the van. Mr Parker pulls out a tray of sealed baked goods. JJ steps in and takes it, and as he holds it you crack open the lid to peer in. 

“Pastries?”

“Pistachio pastries,” Mr Parker says proudly. His takes off his cap and brushes a hand through his short grey hair. “My wife got a bit carried away. People in this town don’t have that fancy of taste buds.”

“Maybe not on the Cut,” JJ mumbles, making you smile. 

“Well, be that as it may, glad I can contribute something to your little venture,” Mr Parker tells you. He squeezes your shoulder sweetly. “Y’all doing a good thing, with this here Stirring Spoon.”

“Thank you,” you say, overwhelmed by the simple praise. “Well, we appreciate any contribution, especially pistachio flavoured ones.”

With that, the three of you get to work carrying the four trays of baked goods to a spare table. Bidding Mr Parker farewell, you and JJ take pause against the table. 

“I think I’ve earnt a break.”

“You’ve been here less than an hour.”

“Time flies by when you’re having fun, and all that,” he says passingly as he cracks open one of the bakery tubs. He grabs one of the pastries and tosses it into his mouth. His eyes widen as he chews. “Holy shit. These are so good.”

“JJ, you’re not supposed to eat the–”

“--try one.” A pastry is shoved into your mouth. You glare at him but bite, and holy shit this is really good. It must read on your face cause JJ grins. “Yeah, right? So good.”

“Oh my God,” you mumble. The two of you smile at one another like you’re stealing cookies from a jar. 

“You remember that time we got high and raided Pope’s dad’s fridge?”

You laugh and nearly choke on the flaky pastry. “Oh my God, I totally forgot about that.”

“You were like a fucking racoon,” JJ sniggers. 

“You were the one that got me high in the first place.”

“I didn’t fucking drug you! You wanted to try it!”

“Yeah, I did,” you grumble, unwilling to accept responsibility for completely draining the Heyward fridge. 

“You’re cute when you’re high.”

You glance up at him. His smile is coy, like he knows he shouldn’t have said that. Because he shouldn’t. Rolling your eyes, you play it off as best you can. “Cute whilst I’m stuffing my face with questionable cheese?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, shrugging. “You’re cute all the time though, so guess it’s not very hard for you to be even cuter high.”

“JJ, stop it.” Your tone is gentle but firm. “I have a boyfriend.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” JJ says. “Captain Vanilla.”

You hate how he isn’t completely wrong. “That’s not his name.”

“It’s just too easy,” he shrugs, playful as always. “The guy is a walking textbooked ‘good guy’.”

“What’s so wrong with that?” you mumble, picking out another pastry and studying the way it’s rolled. 

“Nothing, I guess. Just find it funny.”

“Funny how?”

“That you’d go from me to him.”

You glance up from the pastry to meet his gaze. “We never officially dated, JJ.”

“Same difference,” he shrugs. “But hey - you know you. You know what you want.”

“Exactly…” 

You do know you, don’t you? It sounds like such a crazy thing to question. But the older you get, the more you think you don’t know a thing about yourself. What’s your favourite colour? What’s your favourite animal? What do you want out of your future? What do you want out of a relationship? Journeying back to the morning, your mind replays the scenes like a horror movie. The worries of when the last time you felt passion in the bedroom feeds into worries of when the last time was that you felt passion, period. Oh no: it feels like an existential crisis might be coming on, about thirty years too early.

“Hey.” You snap out of your spiral. JJ forces a smile. “Just wanna know that you’re still living, not just secure. Y’know. As a friend.” 

Funnily enough, that does little to cheer you up. 

Croissants

JJ’s skin is warm against your cheek. Your face rests on his bicep, using it as a makeshift pillow, as you lay skin-to-skin, body-to-body. One of your legs is hooked over his, and his palm rubs large, mindless patterns against the sweat-sticky skin. The room is bathed in moonlight, the curtains drawn closed, and you can hear the sounds of the marsh from outside the Maybank residency. You wonder if JJ might have fallen asleep. His chest is rising and falling rhythmically and you can’t see his face from here, to tell if his eyes are open or shut. But then he sighs and you smile against his arm. 

“Tell me about your family,” you request in the quiet of the room. 

“What about them?”

“Anything, really. Like about your mom and dad; if you have any siblings,” you murmur. 

“Not much to tell,” JJ replies in a hum. 

“Still. Tell me anyway.”

“Tell me about yours,” JJ deflects. You crack a smile. 

“Alright,” you relent. “I live with my mom and my dad. She’s a waitress and he’s a mechanic.”

“You got any brothers or sisters?” he asks, his thumb massaging your upper leg. 

“I did,” you say, your voice turning softer. “An older sister.”

“What happened?”

Your lips press together. An image flashes into your mind like a jumpscare, of a coffin dressed in white daisies and lilies. Swallowing thickly, you close your eyes and will the memory away. It’s then that you decide to confide in JJ. 

“Do you know who Andy Warhol is?”

“I recognise the name,” he replies after a moment, not questioning why the sudden change in topic. 

“He was an artist. Painted a lot of pop-arty things.”

“Is that the freakshow who painted those boring-ass soup cans?” JJ wonders. You laugh quietly. 

“I wouldn’t describe him like that but yeah, that’s the guy.”

“What about him?” JJ asks. 

“He was in love with this man, way back when. He kept a diary and this man he was in love with died, and Andy was heartbroken. But he ain’t like to say that somebody had died. Instead, he used to write that ‘they went away’, like on a trip or somethin’,” you tell him. Your voice trails off towards the end, fearing JJ might laugh at you as you go on to say, “I don’t know. I think I’d like to say that about my sister.”

JJ shifts underneath you until the two of you are lying side by side, now able to see one another’s faces through the muggy darkness of the room. His eyes glow in the non-existent light, shining and present, gazing into yours. 

“Where’d she go, then? On this trip of hers,” he coaxes. Your lips part in surprise, and for some reason, you want to cry for his small act of kindness. Then, you smile, small and sombre. 

“To Paris, in France,” you whisper. 

“She go to the Eiffel Tower?”

“Every day. She eats dinner there at night and watches it twinkle. For breakfast, she buys a croissant and sits by the Seine,” you murmur. Tears wet your eyes as you picture your lost sister, venturing the streets with the wind in her hair, kissing her plump cheeks. Your voice is thick when you continue, “it’s her dream to see all the stuff in the Louvre. She goes every week and keeps a note of where she’s been and where she wants to go.”

“Like the Catacombs?”

You laugh and sniffle. “Nah. They’re too creepy for her.”

“Damn straight,” JJ mumbles. “They scare the crap outta me.”

As a tear lets slip, trickling down your cheek, JJ reaches out his thumb and wipes it away. His hand lingers on your face and you feel yourself lean into his hold. It’s like he’s holding you up. He’s holding you together. You open your eyes into his. There’s a smile on his face, different to the others. More reserved, less obvious, so different to the JJ you’d known and heard of before. You’re terrified of losing it entirely or saying something especially stupid, and so instead you mouth two words: ‘thank you’. 

When he kisses you, it’s different too. There’s something about it, like a taste that wasn’t there before, and it lingers in your mind and mouth. It only grows as JJ deepens the kiss. Your hand traces his jawline and your fingers loop through the locks of his hair, and you tug him closer with a breath. The dance of your lips and tongues and teeth is growing more and more familiar by the day and it terrifies you how easy it has been to become accustomed to it. How easy it has been to become accustomed to JJ. Hands on your hips, JJ lifts you atop of him with a grunt, him rolling onto his back. You shrug the comforter off your back and straddle him. Your hands cradle his face, palms cupping his cheeks. You kiss him like he’s the antidote to all your ailments. Your mouth chases him in the teasing of his lips, breaking apart just to reel you back in. JJ’s teeth nip at your lower lip and pull, just so, just enough to have you whining and sighing like some lovesick fool. Maybe you are. 

“JJ,” you mewl, rocking back against him. He groans as you begin to torture his jawline and neck. Groans louder when you suckle on the tender skin by his ear, painting hickeys like a beautiful landscape. His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips deep enough to leave delicious bruises. You feel him growing hard beneath you as you grind against him like some animal in heat. 

“Fuck, you’re so…Fuck…” 

Your lips continue their descent down his body. Kisses are peppered along his windpipe, bridging over his Adam’s apple, and you can feel every breath, every stutter, every sigh. Down his chest, bare and broad, and down his stomach. His hands are now free from your hips and instead they tether into your hair, combing through the strands. You look up at him from between his legs - he’s made space for you - and can make out his lazy smile through your hooded gaze. JJ’s looking down at you too. His eyes glow. 

You ghost a kiss over his boxers and he inhales a long, deep breath, his head tilting back into the pillows, eyes undoubtedly slipping shut. Lips upturning with a smile, your fingers tuck into the band of his boxers, and you pull them down his legs tantalisingly slow. Somewhere in the shadows of the room you hear him mumbling, ‘please.’ Taking him in hand, revelling in his short gasp, you guide him to your mouth. The smell, the feel - it all consumes you as you go down on him. The brush of bristly hair scratching against your nose, flooding your senses. JJ’s hand comes to the back of your head quick, as if guiding your pleasure, wordless praising your ways. Until it’s not wordless. 

“Fuck, that’s it…Taking me so fucking good, huh? Look so pretty like this…”

You hum around his length and he stammers out a moan. Your eyes flick up to take in the sight of his exposed neck, head thrown back, mouth hanging open as he lets noises slip through, shameless and sinful. And you love it, the way you can bring him to the brink, the way you can manipulate his satisfaction like moulding something out of clay. A finger here, a stroke there. The tip hits the back of your throat uncomfortably. You pull away with a damning pop and a trail of saliva connects the two of you. Resting your head against the apex of his thigh, you jack him off with your hand, almost mesmerised by the way he pulses in your hold. Maybe it’s the sounds he makes. JJ Maybank walks like he’s a God; it’s a power trip to have him weak at your hold. 

“Please, please, fuck…Jus’want your mouth, baby, please,” he begs through gritted teeth. His hand gently yet firmly pushes at your head, trying to guide you back to him, and you feel a giggle bubble up through your throat. It feels unnatural, this version of you. Sexy, seductive, sly. 

“You want my mouth?” you tease, pressing a kiss to his throbbing dick. 

“Fuck - yes, yes, please,” he groans. You glance up at him and meet JJ’s gaze. His hair, damp with sweat, hangs over his forehead, dangling over his eyes. A sadistic smile is on your face as you pull away, easing your hand off him too. His brows furrow. It’s like something snaps inside of him - some restraint he was holding breaking like the overstretching of elastic. His hands are on your in a second, gripping and grabbing at your body like you weigh no less than feathers, and you gasp as he tosses you onto your back. He’s on top of you, ravishing your throat and collarbone so mercilessly, you’re gaping at the ceiling, eyes wide. 

“Think that’s funny, huh? Wanna see how much you like it?”

You stammer something out; you don’t even know yourself if it’s a yes or no. All you know is you want him - you need him - on you, in you. Anything. JJ doesn’t make you wait. His hands pull your panties away swiftly. A finger slips all too easily through your slit and you gasp, eyes rolling shut. His laugh is deep, crooning, cruel in your ear. 

“So fucking wet for me, hm? Such a fucking slut. Wanna see how it feels?”

“P-please.”

The stretch of your walls isn’t unpleasant as he eases a finger in. You let out a wanton moan. It pumps leisurely inside, the foreign metal of his ring overwhelming, and the brush of the tip of his thumb against your clit has you panting from the pleasure. 

“Yeah, you like that, huh?”

“Fuck…”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. Then the torture begins, of the instant movement of his finger, in and out, in and out, before easing away so suddenly it’s like he was never there. After that, the faintest of pressure on the exposed skin at his mercy. His damp finger trailing the inside of your thigh. He repeats this cycle until you’re almost in tears. Your hands clutch the bedsheets in fists, feet writhing uselessly at the head of the bed, kicking at the flimsy pillows. You know he’s gloating from the power he holds. Something tells you he doesn’t get this much control in most aspects of his life. Something tells you he gets off this just as much as you. “You wanna come? Do you?”

“Fuck! Please, please, JJ, please. I’ll do anything, please, please,” you blubber. You don’t care how embarrassing it sounds; how much it pleases him. All you care about is feeling that hot, blinding, pulsing pleasure consuming your every nerve, every bone, every fibre of your being. His breath is hot against your collarbone. JJ kisses the lobe of your ear in such a tender way you wouldn’t be able to fathom the magic he works with his hands below the belt. And as you finally break, tumbling over the edge, letting out a fucked-out sob when you do, you can make out JJ’s low voice, his Southern accent thick like molasses. 

“That’s it, baby. Make a mess on my fingers.”

Smores 

Despite telling Mark where you’re going, it still feels like sneaking around behind his back as you walk up to the Pogue’s house. But this isn’t anything nefarious. This is just you breaking routine. This is you catching up with old friends, current friends, and having fun. Sharing some drinks, smoking a joint or two, sitting around a campfire. Good, old fashioned fun just like when you were sixteen. 

Yep. That’s all. 

“Hey yo! There she is!” JJ hollers the moment you come into view. 

“Hey!” you smile, waving. In your other hand is a bag filled with a six pack of beer, a packet of graham crackers, some chocolate and a bag of marshmallows. You ditch it by the cooler to hug everyone hello. JJ’s last. His arms wrap around you like tree vines, secure and strong, and it’s familiar in a way that has you lingering. Mark. You break apart and take a seat on the opposite side of the campfire to him. 

“What’s in the bag, mystery girl?” the girl you now know as Cleo asks. 

“Some refreshments,” you say, lifting up the six pack. That earns a few whoops and hollers of approval from the already tipsy group. “And some snacks.”

“Smores?” Sarah gasps. She takes the bag of marshmallows from you. 

“Just like old times,” you say. Your eyes catch JJ’s. He’s watching you. 

“Let’s light these bad boys up,” John B announces. The gang is vocal in their approval. Sticks and twigs are gathered for skewers. Marshmallows dangle over the open flames that lick into the dusky air. A marshmallow shoves at yours and you glower at JJ. 

“Leave my marshmallow alone.”

“Hey, this is America. I got rights, y’know?”

“Says who?”

“The constitution,” he retorts, grinning. You roll your eyes, trying and failing to bite back your smile. 

“Y’all better stop it,” Cleo says in her thick Jamaican accent. “I ain’t wanting any marshmallows going to waste.”

“You heard her,” you playfully quip at the blonde haired boy. He rolls his eyes at you. He’s smiling. The amber of the fire paints his face like an oil artwork. What must it be like to grow up that beautiful? 

No, no, stop it. Stop it! God, what is wrong with you? This is just because you and Mark have been a bit distant lately. Yes, that’s all. You’re getting stuck on nostalgia. It’s a mind’s trick. It didn’t work before with JJ so who’s to say it will again. The two of you are friends - he’s been a good friend - and you don’t need to go muddying the waters. You punish yourself by staring into the flames and trying to make images of Mark’s face in the fire. 

The night spurs on with drinks that wash down the sickly sweet snacks. You listen to the tales of El Dorado and laugh at the reminiscences of youthful madness when you were all in high school. It isn’t until you’re back in the bubble of the Pogues that you realise how much you missed it. It’s like rediscovering your favourite movie from childhood. It brings a certain comfort that few things can match. They ask about The Stirring Spoon and you recount the tale of how you came about with the idea, of how you got it off the ground. Nobody asks about Mark and you’re ashamed that you don’t feel the urge to bring him up, either. 

You go for another swig of your beer to find it empty. The cooler by John B is empty too, upon investigating. You drop the lid. 

“You guys got any more beers?”

“Probably some down at the fish and tackle shop,” Kiara tells you. 

“Thanks,” you say, starting towards the dock. The further you walk, the more the vivacious chatter turns into a humming like the crying cicadas and croaking frogs and cooing owls. The water laps at the wooden pillars and you smile, letting your eyes slip shut for a moment as you walk. Nature is so wonderfully peaceful. The cooler is full of bait and chum, but there’s a small section for the beers. You retrieve one and drop the lid to find JJ standing in your peripheral. 

“Holy shit!”

“Sorry!”

“What the fuck, man?” you laugh. 

“Just wanted a refill too,” he says, shooting you a squiffy smile. His hair is dishevelled. He seems to wear caps less now, you note. You’re happy about that. In your tipsy state you can admit your attraction with less shame. You chalk it up to appreciating beauty the way one can appreciate a perfect sunset or timeless painting. To stop your staring, you open the cooler and hand him a can. “Thanks.”

“Hey, cheers,” you say, holding your drink out. He clinks his against yours. “To old friends.”

The two of you take a drink. Neither of you go to move back to the other Pogues (who are seemingly in some weird charades battle that is far from quiet). JJ gestures over your shoulder. “You seen the boat yet?”

“The H.M.S?” 

“Nah, the new one,” JJ answers. 

When he walks past you, you catch a whiff of his smell and it reminds you of home. You turn and follow him. He steps up onto the large boat. It’s painted bright green and in yellow paint, the name reads The Snapper. JJ offers you a hand and you take it, letting him help you up onto the boat. You feel your phone vibrate in the pocket of your shorts but you’re in no mood to check it. 

“Pretty sweet, huh?”

“So sweet,” you agree, looking around. JJ wanders over to the main console and flicks on an overhead light. He glows beneath it. When he takes a seat on the bench, you do the same, sitting opposite. Sighing, you lean your head back against the brutal plastic. “This is the life.”

“Yeah? You miss the marsh?”

“I miss it all,” you quietly confess. 

You can hear the rustle of clothes and the flick-flick of a lighter. The smell of cannabis drifts into the air. “Here.”

Opening your eyes, you lift your head to find a joint extended out to you. Smiling, you take it with thanks and have a hit, then a second, then a third. You haven’t smoked in what feels like forever. Mark doesn’t like the smell; says it makes him feel sick. You wonder why you stopped indulging in something you enjoyed just because of that, even on your own time. 

“Thanks,” you say, passing the joint back. You ditch your beer can to the side. One poison at a time would be best in these sticky situations, you reckon. 

“What’d you mean, ‘you miss it all’?”

“I don’t know,” you sigh. You gaze off into the distance; it’s hard to make out much definition in the dark, save for some lights of houses in the far distances and the silhouette of plants and trees. “I feel like my life is so…‘same’ now.”

“Same is good.”

“Sometimes,” you say. “But I keep thinking about what you said to me, the other day. About being secure but still living. What if…What if I’m not living?”

“Well–”

“--I mean, look at you guys! You went to El Dorado! You found El Dorado, and the Royal Merchant, and the Royal Merchant’s treasure, and the Cross of Santo Domingo. What did I find? A mouldy tomato in a box of potatoes.”

JJ cracks up and you roll your eyes. “It’s not funny,” you mutter, smiling nonetheless. You take the joint back and have another drag. Relief fills your system. The muscles in your face loosen along with your mouth. “It’s pathetic. I’m nearly twenty-one and I’ve been as far as Charleston and have about a handful of exciting memories to my name.”

“Woah, come on now,” JJ chuckles, taking the blunt back. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit hard on yourself? You heard what Mr Parker said: that Stirring Spoon thing is awesome, and that was all you. You’re feeding the community, bringing people together. That’s way cooler than some shiny fucking  stones.”

“Meh,” you shrug. “Guess I’m just jealous of you.”

“Ha! Yeah, don’t be,” JJ sarcastically berates. A shadow comes to his face. Foot in the mouth syndrome curses you.

“Shit. Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You’re good. I sometimes forget how bad it was too, with how things are now,” JJ admits. He smiles at you and takes another hit. “But I guess I didn’t fully let you in then, huh?”

“You think?” you jest. He laughs, thankfully, and you inhale the sweet scent of the herb. “Guess I just get stuck on the good memories from before. Like all the days skipping school to surf. And how the summers felt like they could go on forever. Or that time we broke into City Hall, or pranked Topper’s house.”

“Damn, I guess we did get up to a lot of shit, huh?”

“Damn straight,” you grin. Following the dance, you take the joint back. 

“Well, I can think of some other memories, too,” JJ says. His grin is telling, tongue poking through his teeth. You bite back your smile. 

“Don’t,” you warn. 

“What?” he chuckles. 

“Don’t! That’s dangerous territory,” you tell him. You point your joint at him. “That’s no man’s land.”

“Oh man!” JJ groans, tossing his head back. “Why’d you have to call it that!? You know that’s like calling a moth to a fire or whatever!”

“What?” you giggle, eyeing him. 

“Telling a guy not to do something is the exact thing to do to get a guy to want to do something,” JJ argues nonsensically. You laugh, shaking your head at him. He holds your gaze and you feel your smile settle into your skin like footprints into damp sand. “They were pretty good memories, huh?”

“Yeah,” you quietly say. “They were pretty good.”

“Remember that time we did it on the beach.”

“Stop it,” you say, but there’s little conviction in your words. You can’t take his eyes anymore, the blue dragging you under like currents in a riptide. You look down at the joint and fixate on the way the embers burn at the paper. 

“Or that time–”

“JJ, I mean it,” you say, your tone losing its humour now. You shoot him a look that you hope will put a pin in it. “We should talk about something else.”

“Alright, alright,” JJ surrenders, holding his hands up and all. He relaxes back against the plastic seat of the boat and you do the same. Your legs outstretch so you can rest your feet on the spot beside him. The two of you catch each other’s gaze and look away, chuckling bashfully like preteens. You take another hit of the joint and watch the smoke fizzle away into the night. “How’d you meet Mark, then?”

You glance at JJ. “A few months back. He’d just moved to Kildare and came by to The Stirring Spoon to help out, and we sort of hit it off.”

“He seems like a nice guy.”

“He is,” you smile. But it fades. The weed tickles at your emotions, pulling the wires as if to wreak havoc. JJ seems to take advantage. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you lie. You take another hit and shake your head, plastering on a smile. “It’s nothing.”

Sighing, JJ folds his arms comfortably over his chest. “Y’know, just cause I know what you look like naked don’t mean we can’t be friends now.”

Barking out a laugh, you shake your head. “There was definitely a better way you could have put that.”

“Probably,” he shrugs, grinning, “but it’s true, ain’t it? We can be friends.”

“Of course we can. We are,” you emphasise. 

“So…That means that if you wanna vent about Mr Loverboy to me, you can,” JJ offers. 

Laughing, you rock your head back and gaze up at the sky. The stars are out. They shimmer white and crystal in the abyss of the night. “That’d be too weird, I think, but I’ll keep it in mind, thanks.”

“I just got one question. Just one.”

“Go on,” you reluctantly reply. 

“Does he say ‘thank you’ after the two of you fuck?”

You burst into fits of laughter. It’s so sudden that it has you doubling over. Tears slip from your eyes and you wipe them away, looking at a grinning JJ. God, you missed him and his twisted sense of humour. 

“He just looks like the kinda guy who would!”

“Oh my God, no!” you laugh, shaking your head. Catching your breath, you manage out, “no, he doesn’t say ‘thank you’.”

“Is he the sub then? Cause there is no way that guy is laying his hands on you without written permission.”

“JJ stop! I’m gonna pee myself!” you cackle, kicking your feet. JJ starts laughing too. You open your eyes and make out his face in the lowlight of the pier’s lamp. Wheezing, you catch your breath and calm yourself. “This is exactly what I was talking about.”

“I can give the guy pointers if he needs them,” JJ jokes. Your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets just at the idea though and you point at him in another warning. 

“Don’t you dare!” you say, trying not to crack up again. “‘Sides, he doesn’t need pointers.”

“Everybody needs pointers,” JJ says with a roll of his eyes. “John B gave me one of the best pointers.”

“I find that impossible to believe,” you snort. 

“He did! It was a tip for kissing. Works like a fucking charm too, I’m telling ya.”

“Mhm, I’ll bet,” you sarcastically return. You glance at the joint to check if it needs tapping off, take another drag, and then look up to find JJ watching you. He hasn’t changed enough for you to forget what that expression means. 

“You want me to show you?”

“Show me? How?” you say with furrowed brows. Something in the air shifts with your question. An unspoken thing, an unseeable thing, but something nonetheless. A nervous tickle comes to your throat. 

JJ doesn’t reply but he slowly leans over the seat towards you. Your breath catches in your lungs the moment he enters your bubble, breaking some unspoken barrier, and your smile fades away like day into night. You feel as though you’re stuck in place, plastered to the seat, and you’re ashamed to admit that you don’t hate that you are. You’re ashamed that you’re not pushing him away, telling him to buzz off, laughing at his idiocy. You’re ashamed that you’re curious as to what he’s going to do next. 

JJ’s close enough now that you can smell him. His cologne mixed with something sweet but tangy, like seasalt and citrus. Something masculine underneath, that has a primal instinct inside of you wanting to claw its way out. Your fingers grip the edge of the seat instead. Your eyes stare into his. You study the laps of green and grey in the sea of blue, mesmerised in the way the night sky reflects in the iris. His gaze darts down to your lips and you have no idea how this happened and how you got here, and everything is blurry but so, so clear from the cannabis as he leans forward, and you can’t move but you should move and you want to move but you don’t, you never want to move again, as his lips brush against yours just so, just enough for you to know that they have, that he has, that he’s real, but that he hasn’t, and that you can take it all back, and that it doesn’t count and it shouldn’t and you shouldn’t but–

Your hand clutches his jaw and you pull him in. His lips crash against yours in a breath. You kiss him like you won’t ever kiss him again. He sighs against you in the hurried mesh of mouths, groaning as your tongue brushes against his, tasting him for the first time in years. It’s like finding a childhood toy and it smells like nostalgia. It’s like eating a baked good and it tastes like a specific holiday. It’s like smoking your first joint and it feels like floating. 

Until you’re not. 

Your body falls back down to earth with a thud. You shove JJ away as if he’s flammable and you’re the deadly spark. Your mouth hangs open in shock, your eyes filling with horror, and the worst feeling you’ve maybe ever felt overcomes you so suddenly, you worry you might be sick. 

Guilt. 

“Oh my God,” you whisper. You lift a hand to your lips and your fingers brush against the damp of his spit that lingers, and it confirms that it was all real. “Oh my God.”

JJ’s lips move to try and formulate words but nothing happens. He looks just as stunned as you do. His eyes are wide, lips swollen, cheeks pink. Those three words bang about your brain as you take in the sight of him. It’s not at all unfamiliar. 

Hot ash from your joint drops onto your thigh and you cuss, brushing it off. You toss the joint into the sea behind you as if it’s the culprit, the plotter, behind all of this. Then you’re on your feet and rambling out excuses. 

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I did that. I think it was - it was definitely the weed. I really should go, it’s so late. I’m so sorry. Oh my God, I have no idea-”

It’s as you’re about to step off the boat and onto the wooden pier that JJ’s hand locks around your wrist. It freezes you in place once more and you want to climb out of your body and scream at yourself. Instead, you look down at him. 

“You can stay, y’know,” JJ whispers. There’s a pleading in his eyes, a tenderness that you haven’t known before in him, and you finally know how Eve must have felt with that damn serpent in Eden. Temptation at its finest, dressed up in blonde, unruly hair and dreamy eyes and sculpted muscles and a graphic tee. 

Mark. 

You shake your head and snatch your hand free. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here.”

And no matter how vehemently you tell yourself that you mean it as you hurry away from the pier and from the house, you know you don’t. 

Cheap White Wine 

The tart tanginess of the wine is sharp on your tongue as you take another swig. It’s late, or perhaps early, and the Chateau is illuminated by amber and orange from lamps. It’s raining outside as hurricane season rattles on, but you and the Pogues could care less. When you have wine, you really have everything you need. 

“Come on, come on!” Kiara laughs, egging on you to loop your arm in hers. The two of you line dance together to an old noughties CD in the player. You swing one another around in a tipsy haze to the upbeat tempo. Pope and John B heckle and holler from the pull-out sofa, toasting their beer cans up in approval. You’re happy here, like this, in your bubble. As the song comes to a close on a major chord, you and Kiara giggle and take joking bows to your audience. You frown when you look around the room, not finding JJ anywhere. 

“He’s on the porch,” Pope says, seemingly catching on. 

“Thanks,” you smile, a little embarrassed that you’re that easy to read. Taking the wine, you venture out the door, closing it behind you as another song starts up. Kie’s cheer and begging for John B to dance is muted through the shutters and windows. 

JJ sits on the sofa, a joint lit up, legs outstretched on the coffee table. He glances up at the sound of someone coming out and smiles at the sight of you. 

“Hey. Can I join?” you wonder. 

“Course,” he hums, shuffling a cushion in invitation beside him. You sit and lean against him, hitching your feet up onto the table beside his. He knocks one of his shoes against yours teasingly and you smile. Through the netting of the porch, you can make out the lashing of rain in the yard. It’s pitter-pattering is soothing like a nursery rhyme. You sigh and let your eyes slip shut. “Having fun?”

“Always,” you mumble, making him laugh. “You got any dreams?”

“Like sexy ones?”

“No,” you giggle, elbowing him, making him let out a few laughs too. “Like actual dreams. Ambitions. A wish.”

JJ takes a pause for thought. You have a swig of your wine as you wait, revelling in the sound of his heartbeat through his shirt, steady and constant. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Your heart sinks with disappointment. This wasn’t the first time this has happened. It felt as though every time JJ came close to pulling back the curtain and letting you see a glimpse, he caught eye of something that scared him and he slipped it shut again. He told you what he wanted to tell you and kept the rest close to heart. You weren’t going to pry his cards from his body to see them, but it would be nice if he showed you them once in a while. It felt like the more time you spent with him, the less you knew. You could guess things from small clues as if playing a boardgame. He hardly went home, never mentioned his mother, and his father came into conversation with a shadow. He spoke lowly of himself, presumed the worst before others could, and it saddened you how clearly he believed everything he said. JJ couldn’t see himself the way you did. 

“I do,” you whisper, hoping it might entice him to share. 

“Oh yeah? What’s your dream?”

“I want to start a kitchen.”

“Huh?”

“Like a community kitchen thing. Not a bakery or a restaurant, just a place for all kinds of food, for all kinds of people, y’know? A good thing, like that. My sister used to help out at a soup kitchen and…I don’t know. I always liked that.”

JJ squeezes your thigh in acknowledgment. “Sounds fuckin’ amazing.”

“Thanks.”

In the Chateau, John B and Kiara laugh and Pope speaks loudly over them, something teasing, and you smile. The smell of weed fills the air before you and blends in with the notes of your wine and the telling scent of JJ. You wonder if the smell of you affects him in the same way; if the flavours of your perfume haunt him when he can’t sleep the way his cologne does for you. Suddenly, somewhere in the serenity of the moment comes a calamitous realisation, like a rumble thunder breaking the rain. 

You were falling in love with JJ Maybank. 

Biscuits  

Food poisoning. That’s what you’d told Mark. The heavy sickness that had sat in the bottom of your stomach like a boulder since last night lingered still. You hoped it was a hangover, but that passed with an advil. You knew what this was. 

You only escaped the guilt in your sleep. The moment you returned home, you climbed under the sheets of your bed like a child hiding from the bogeyman. Sleep was the only reprieve, though it didn’t come easy, and the second you came to in the morning, the first thought in your head was the look on JJ’s face just before his lips touched yours. 

Fuck. 

Your phone pings with another message that is no doubt from Mark and you can’t bring yourself to look at it. It doesn’t help that there’s a framed picture of the two of you staring at you from the bedside. It was his gift to you for your one month anniversary, because of course Mark cares about one month anniversaries. You hadn’t gotten him anything; you had to make up some lie that it was late in the mail, and then run to the shops that night. Just further proof that you don’t deserve him. 

Hello, hell? I’d like to reserve my spot in advance. Queen sized bed please, for me and my whorish ways. Much love. 

When the phone begins to ring you groan aloud and send it straight to voicemail. You bury your head beneath the pillow and close your eyes, but the memories haunt you like flashbacks. JJ’s eyes. JJ’s lips. The way he tasted, the way he bit your lower lip just so, in that way that only he knows, in the way that he always knew drives you crazy–

“Stop it!”

Hello, hell? Quick update: I think I might be going insane, too. Just thought I should preface you. 

Somewhere in your self-loathing, you manage to drift off into another restless sleep. It’s broken by a tapping on your door. Groaning, you force yourself out of the safety of your bed and wander to your door, expecting to find your mom. Instead, your head tips back to see the face of your boyfriend. 

“Hey,” he says. His voice is thick with concern, brows knitted with worry. “How you feeling?”

“Like shit.” Thankfully, you didn’t have to lie with that one. “What’re you doing here?”

“I needed to check on you,” he replies. He steps into your room and you make space, sitting on your bed. He closes the door behind him. “I tried calling but you didn’t answer.”

“Yeah, sorry, uh…I was just feeling really frail, y’know?”

“Oh, baby,” Mark sighs. He sits beside you on the bed and places his large palm on your forehead. His brown curly hair sits in perfect ringlets atop of his head. One dangles over his forehead, out of formation, and it reminds you of JJ. Just how you went from me to him, JJ had said. Were they that different, after all? “You got a temperature?”

“I don’t think so,” you say. You gently push his hand off your face. “I think I just need to sleep.”

“Well, I’m here to take care of you.”

“Really?” You hope the dread in your voice isn’t obvious. 

“Course. You’d do the same for me,” he smiles. He lifts a bag you didn’t even notice he was carrying and shows you each item. “Mama’s homemade biscuits. She’s real worried about you, y’know?”

“I’m fine,” you insist, “just a bit sick. I think the worst of it has passed.”

“That’s good, then. I’ll make you a hot drink, yeah? We can watch a movie or something. You get cosy,” Mark tells you. You nod and try your best to smile. Mark leans forward and presses a fleeting kiss on your lips, and the sickness comes back tenfold. You want to cry the second he’s out of your room. 

Mark is good. Mark is good for you. But what if you’re not good for Mark? 

Chocolate Chip Cookies

“I don’t understand.”

You sigh, rubbing tiredly at your forehead. Bile lingers in the back of your throat but you swallow it down, alongside the feeling of self-reproach. This was it: the conversation you’d been dreading. The conversation that needed to happen. You’d rehearsed your words in the mirror like practising lines for a play. Journals and diaries filled with debate, as to whether you stay or bolt. But now was as good a time as any, and you knew in your mind what the right thing to do was. You can’t risk getting in the car accident if you step out of the vehicle. 

“Did I do something?” JJ then asks, his voice weak, naked. You meet his gaze and shake your head firmly. 

“No,” you breathe, “no, you ain’t do nothing, JJ.”

“Then I don’t get it,” he repeats, stronger this time. Frustrated. You knew none of this would be easy. 

“Look,” you cut yourself off with a sigh. You shuffle your crossed legs, sitting on JJ’s bed in the Chateau in a way that you never have before, as if you’ve never stepped foot inside his life. “My parents are heading to Charleston for a couple months anyway, to stay with my grandmother and help look after her, and…well, maybe it’s for the better, that we have this distance sooner rather than later.”

“Distance?”

“You’ve been removed, JJ,” you mumble, hoping not to sound accusatory. “And that’s okay, I know you’re busy. I mean, you told me from the start that you don’t do the whole relationship-thing. But I don’t think I can stay, not right now.”

“Okay, is this some kinda joke?” JJ snaps. He gets to his feet and paces a few steps in the small throughway of his bedroom. Taking off his hat, JJ rakes his fingers through his hair. He looks at you, eyes fiery, expression hard as if to shield from the hurt that you don’t mean to cause. “What the fuck are you even talking about? I thought we were fine.”

“We are fine,” you insist. Sighing, you try and find the best way to explain yourself without giving it all away. “Look, I ain’t meaning that you’re a bad guy or that you’re damaged or anything like that. I don’t think that, not at all. But…How can I explain this?”

JJ takes a moment or two to calm himself as you hang your head and clench your eyes, searching for the perfect turn of phrase to make your thought process make sense. You find it. Lift your head, soften your gaze at the hurt on his face, and try your best to smile through the sorrow. This wasn’t easy for you either. 

“You know when you see a tornado?”

He stares at you for a short while before nodding, urging you to continue. 

“Things that like…They’re always so pretty for afar. So mesmerising, how nature can create something like that. Stunning, really. Epic. But then, you get too close, and you get sucked in. And it’s just chaos and there’s no way out of it without being broken.”

JJ nods again, pursing his lips. 

“I think that’s what might happen here,” you whisper. “If I stick around.”

“I don’t get it. You’re saying I’m gonna break you?”

“No, I’m saying…I’m saying you’re not in a spot right now to give me what I need. That ain’t your fault, JJ, but I can’t let myself stay knowing that I’m gonna have my heartbroken. I wish I could - I wish I could just wing-it like that - but I can’t.”

There’s a pregnant pause that JJ drags out, staring at you as if trying to see into your head, searching for some lie. Sighing, he must come up empty, as he takes the spot beside you on the bed again. You test the waters, leaning against his chest, feeling the warmth radiate through his t-shirt. One of his hands lifts and strokes your hair, smoothing it down. 

“I really do care ‘bout you, y’know? Like, that ain’t fake,” JJ admits in a hushed tone. 

“I know, JJ,” you reply, just as soundless. “I just think you gotta figure yourself out before you can…”

“...love you?” JJ hesitantly whispers, after you lose nerve. Your eyes squeeze shut. 

“Mhm.”

“You can’t love me ‘til then, either?”

Laughing sadly, you shake your head against him. He really couldn’t tell how much you’d fallen for him already, could he? “I don’t think you gotta worry ‘bout that ever, JJ.”

A soft kiss is planted on your forehead. “So…Just gotta do some soul searchin’, huh?”

“Somethin’ like that,” you hum. “But hey, I tell you what.”

You break apart from the comfort of his hold, tilting your head so you can look up, into his eyes. The pain in JJ’s gaze tears you like wrapping paper, and it’s worse to know it’s your fault, but you know that it’s the only way to save you both from further pain. It isn’t the right time, and that’s a shame, and it isn’t fair, since you’ve memorised the outline of him and drawn him into all your plans and daydreams. But you can hear it when you talk and feel it when you sleep together, this detachment, this removal of himself, that can’t come until he’s healed in a way that he’s far away from now. There’s something pulling him away from you, an adventure of sorts, and you don’t want to keep him from it. You want JJ to love you but you want him to choose you, too. And until then, you don’t have it in yourself to sit around on the sidelines, waiting for your heart to be broken. It’s like sitting a toddler in front of a plate of chocolate chip cookies but demanding them not to touch; the temptation might just kill you. 

“What?” JJ gently prompts, bringing you back from your thoughts. 

Your smile is sick with inner lamentation. “If you do figure yourself out, after some soul searchin’ and all that, then chances are I’ll still be here. So, I guess, if you ever feel like fallin’ then lemme know. You can catch me on the way down.”

JJ’s smile is beautiful, even when his eyes are wet with unshed tears. You lean up and press a fleeting kiss to his lips, but you don’t let yourself linger. If you do, you’re afraid you’ll never leave. You murmur some sort of goodbye, making an excuse that you should get going, and JJ doesn’t argue. He watches you as you stand, waves farewell with two-fingers as you leave, and you walk home with your heart halfway broken but more whole than it might’ve been if you stayed and tried to make this impossible thing work. JJ wasn’t ready to fall in love, not yet, but you already had. 

Ham and Cheese Sandwiches  

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I promise,” you reply to Mark, smiling reassuringly. You wonder if it looks like a grimace. It feels like one. Even touching him makes you want to cry, as you brush your hand atop of his on the table. Your feigned food poisoning was two days ago now but Mark was still worried for your health, likely because you were still acting so withdrawn and drained. It’s hard to sleep when you’re consumed by guilt and confusion. “Why don’t you see if Nancy needs a hand in the kitchen, yeah? I can work on the inventory out here.”

“You sure? I don’t mind helping.”

“I’m sure,” you nod. “I can come get you if I need anything.”

“You better,” he grins. He dips his head and kisses you and it takes everything inside of you not to pull away like a flinch. It’s not him. It’s you. You feel like you’re poison. Like JJ’s kiss has infected you and you can’t get Mark sick too. His brown curls bounce as he walks back to the building. You busy your mind with counting tins of soup. The Stirring Spoon had never had so many posters, so many new recipes, with how much you’d been trying to keep yourself busy. You picked up extra shifts at the Smoothie Shop to avoid Mark during the daytime, and you submerged yourself in your voluntary-planning work and ‘early nights’ to avoid him during the night. It wasn’t fair to him but you didn't know what else to do. 

Well, that’s a lie. You know exactly what you should do, but denial is so much easier. 

Ducking down, you grab another box of leftover soup from a local supermarket. They’d recently changed providers and all the old stuff had to go. You were thinking of making toasted sandwiches with soup. Grunting, you lift the box onto the table. The sun beats down on you as if the universe is punishing you. Good, it’s the least I deserve. 

You can spot him anywhere, even blind. He’s in the far corner carrying a smaller box than usual, compared to his crate. A sudden wave of panic comes over you and you speed walk over to him. He frowns as you approach. 

“You good? Hey!” 

You grab his arm and drag him out of sight from the field, behind an overgrown bush. “W hat are you doing here?” you hiss. 

“Bringing sandwiches?” he replies, as if it should be obvious. “Are you okay?”

“JJ, you can’t be here,” you snap. “Mark is literally in the other building!”

“So?” 

“So? Do you…Do you not remember what happened the other night?” you ask, calming down slightly. 

JJ sighs and puts the box down on the floor. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he shrugs. “Look, clearly you spun out. I ain’t gonna mention it if you don’t want me to.”

“Wait…Really?”

“Jesus Christ, I ain’t a homewrecker,” JJ chuckles, trying to lighten the mood. You want to crack a smile but you think your face might be permanently stitched in perpetual concern forever. His laughter dies. “Listen, I think you got some stuff to figure out, a’right?”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t get offended! I’m jus’ saying…” JJ cuts himself of with a sigh and brushes a hand through his hair. He pinches the bridge of his nose. You missed all his little ticks and quirks. “Look, don’t kill me for sayin’ this, I’m just tryin’ to be honest. I don’t think Mark’s the right guy for you.”

“I-”

“I’m sorry, a’right? I don’t think you want to admit it either but…I think you gotta be honest. You don’t love him, okay? And that’s a’right, I’m not saying he’s a bad guy. I just think you need to make a choice.”

“What does that mean? A choice?” you quietly ask, terrified for his answer. 

His smile is sad as JJ shrugs. “I was an idiot to lose you once, I ain’t gonna lose you again - not if I can help it. If Mark’s who you want - if Mark makes you feel like you’re living - then I’ll never bring it up again. Hell, I’ll stay away from you forever, if you want. Least, I’ll try to. I don’t know if I can be held accountable for when I’m drunk but- look, now I’m getting side tracked. The point is:”, JJ speaks with his hands,  “if Mark isn’t the one for you…I’m here to catch you, y’know?”

You blink at JJ and blink away the tears. You’re not sure if you can form words right now, not even sure what words they would be, so you try your best to nod. JJ tries another smile. 

“There’s some sandwiches from Kie and Sarah for today. I hope it all goes okay. Just…lemme know. Or don’t, y’know? Either way,” he trails off with a shrug. You feel cemented into the dirt as JJ backs away. Then he’s gone. Your eyes slip shut. Some weird hybrid of JJ and Mark’s faces fill your thoughts. 

‘If you ever feel like fallin’ then let me know. You can catch me on the way down.’ 

‘I’m here to catch you.’ 

You need to figure this out and fast. It wasn’t fair to anybody, not even yourself. Dragging things out doesn’t make it any easier, it only delays the inevitable, like tediously inching a bandaid off the skin. Sometimes you just have to rip. You just have to prepare for the aftermath.

How ironic, how when you were sixteen it was you waiting for JJ to figure himself out, and now it’s your turn. It’s a shame you were never all that much of a fan of irony. 

Cinnamon Buns 

Baking is therapeutic. The precision of weighing out the ingredients; the cathartic relief from beating together butter and sugar until fluffy like clouds; the tapping and cracking of eggs; the rhythmic folding of flour; the soon-to-arrive reward for your labour. You like baking when life gets stressful. Few things are so systematic, so simple, so quick to resolve, as baking. Life is more complicated than that. 

Mark and JJ. Two sides of different coins. Neither good, nor bad. Human, just like you. 

As you prepare the batter for cinnamon buns, you try to make sense of everything. Figure yourself out, as JJ had put it. 

Mark was designed to be easy to fall in love with. It was as if the universe had a recipe for him, everything the girls crave, the people fawn over in romance novels, the parents pray for in their child’s partner. Responsible; caring; thoughtful; kind; secure; safe. Mark was good. There was no other way to put it. Hell, you met him at a voluntary community kitchen. He gave you stability like a white picket fence. Perfect and practised, like he’d been waiting for that his whole life. But you found yourself restless in the fairytale. Found yourself itching for change, for chaos, for clutter. He was sentimental in a way you weren’t. That wasn’t to say you were heartless - the two of you just loved differently. 

JJ Maybank? He wasn’t designed for it in the same way, but it was impossible to not fall in love with him. You knew it from the moment your paths crossed, back when you were sixteen and the two of you tumbled through two months together. That’s why you left in the first place. To save yourself from the inevitable heartbreak that it would bring, because sixteen-year-old JJ was in no place to commit to anybody. You assumed that with time your feelings would fade away and when you met Mark, you believed they had. You liked Mark - that wasn’t false - and you had feelings for Mark. But the love you had for JJ didn’t vanish. Like energy, it could only be transferred. It went into the back of your mind as if in hibernation but the moment JJ waltzed back into your world, it was awake. It was impossible to ignore. 

Mark was the netting beneath a trapeze artist, but JJ was the acrobat. Mark was the emergency brake in a racing car, but JJ was the driver. But JJ was safety too. He made you feel safe, but he also made you feel alive. 

And you wanted to feel alive. 

Mark was routine. He was predictable. You could see the next five, ten, twenty years of your life laid out nice and neat with Mark. But did you want that? Did you want to give up the adventure? The chaos? The things you missed so desperately. 

As you drizzle the topping on top of the cinnamon buns, you summarise your scrambled thoughts into one neat realisation: you wouldn’t have kissed JJ if you truly wanted Mark. 

Your heart feels like it’s in your throat as you walk to Mark’s house. The buns sit neat in the tupperware and you’re careful not to shake them. His door looks like a tombstone as you knock on it. There’s a noise from inside and the door opens. Mark smiles down at you. He’s dressed in a baby-blue waffle sweater and it’s so undeniably, so wonderfully him. 

“Hey!” he grins. 

“Can I come in?” you ask. It sounds ridiculous asking that when you used to sleep in this house almost daily. 

“Course,” Mark replies. He opens the door further and you slip inside. It shuts behind you. You place the tupperware on the countertop, taking too much time in letting go. “You alright?”

“Mhm. I just…I think we should talk about some stuff,” you say, feeling your voice losing power. 

“Alright. Come, sit,” he urges. You do as he asks and take the spot on the bed beside him, leaving a gap. “What’s up?”

You fumble your fingers together and stare intensely at your hands, racking your mind for the words, for where to start. You’d practised this so many times in the mirror. Childish. 

“I did something and I need to tell you, because you’ve always been so good to me, and so honest with me, and it isn’t fair to hoodwink you.”

“Okay,” Mark faintly replies. 

You take a steady breath in. Mark is good. He deserves the truth. “I went to see JJ last week, and one thing led to another, and we kissed.”

For a moment, there’s nothing. Just the sounds of the air conditioning unit humming as white noise. Then, 

“Oh.”

You clench your eyes shut before looking up at him. He’s detached in his expression. Your eyes fill with tears. “I’m so sorry, Mark,” you whisper, scared your voice will break if you talk any louder. He meets your gaze. “You don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve to be treated that way. You’re such a good, genuine person. I just…I don’t know why, but I just…I can’t love you.”

Mark swallows thickly. The tears are warm and sticky on your cheeks. It’s so selfish to cry when you’re the one who threw the punches. You hang your head with shame and watch the teardrops land on your restless hands.

“I swear I didn’t plan it. I didn’t even know I still had feelings for JJ until…Well, until then.”

“I did.”

Your head snaps up. He’s staring at you, but he doesn’t look angry. No. There’s a shadow of a smile on his lips. A sad smile, no doubt, but a smile nonetheless. 

“You did?”

“The minute you saw him, that Wednesday at the start of the month. I saw it on your face, clear as day. You never used to look at me like that.”

“Mark–”

“--That’s okay,” he nods. He’s crying too, now, and you’re not sure what to think, what to do. But Mark does. Of course, he does. His hands reach out to hold yours, warm in his clutch, and you blubber like a petulant child. “You’re not a bad person, Y/N. I could tell something was bothering you this past week.”

“I just didn’t know how to tell you, and I didn’t even know what it meant. But I have to be honest for the both of us, and I don’t…I don’t think I’m the girl you’re looking for, Mark,” you say through your tears. 

Mark smiles solemnly and nods once. The squeeze of your hands tells you everything. I know. I agree. It’s okay. 

“Do you hate me?” you ask in a moment of pure patheticness. Mark laughs and shakes his head. 

“You’re too pretty to hate.”

“Ugh! You can’t say things like that!” you whine, throwing your head back. He laughs again, soggy with his sorrow, and he shrugs. 

“Just got to keep my good-guy rep up.”

Laughing, you shake your head at him and smile. The two of you share a breath and he nods. A conclusion. His smile dwindles. 

“I’m gonna need time, though…Before we can be friends, maybe. Just to…You know…”

“Of course,” you whisper. “I understand. Whatever you want, whatever you need. It’s all on your terms, I promise.”

Mark nods. Thanks you. It is so fucking bizarre to have the man you cheated on thank you but here we are. Life is full of strangeness. 

“Can I give you a hug?” you wonder. Chuckling, he nods, and you waste no time in throwing your arms around his shoulders. Mark holds you in the embrace and the two of you savour the feeling of one another for one last time. Against his shoulder, you murmur, “I’m going to miss you, Mark.”

“I’m going to miss you too,” he tells you into your collarbone. “JJ’s a lucky guy. But make sure to tell him I know where he lives if he hurts you.”

You tearfully giggle against him. “I’ll pass on the message.”

Bacon Sandwiches

It’s warm today; bright and brilliant. The critters are happy, chirping in the trees, croaking in the overgrowth by the water of the marsh that lines the Pogue’s house. Your footsteps feel heavy as you walk up the driveway, anticipating weighing you down. You lift a hand to shield your eyes from the sunlight and make out JJ. He’s at the entrance to the shop, stood a few rungs up a free-standing ladder. He’s trying to staple something to the walls - a banner of some kind - and you make your way over. 

“Need a hand?”

He jumps and you cringe. Oops. JJ looks down at you and his lips quirk at the corners. The muscle tee he wears is grey and hangs loose on his well-kept frame. He’s armed with a staple gun. “Yo. What’re you doing here?”

“Want a hand?” you repeat, nodding up at the banner, not quite ready to confess. JJ shrugs and nods. 

“Sure. Thanks.” 

You glance around and find something that looks sturdy enough to stand on. Dragging it over, you boost yourself up and hold out your hand to take the other side of the banner. Holding it up against the wall, JJ leans forward and steadies himself with an elbow on the wooden panelling. 

“We’re selling bacon sandwiches on weekends now, so thought we oughta advertise it, y’know? So, anyway, what’re you–” a grunt and a click of the staple gun, “-doing here?”

You step down from your boost and JJ takes your place. You don’t speak, stalling time, as JJ secures the banner. Sighing, taking it in, nodding with contentment, JJ jumps down and ditches the gun. The he stands with his hands on his hips and looks at you, shrugging again. 

“I, uh…I needed to talk you,” you say, clearing your throat. 

“A’right. What about?”

“Just like…” You rock your head back, take a breath, and steel yourself. Somewhere in that split second, you find a new mantra. JJ is good. JJ is good for me. I’m good for JJ. We’re good for each other. Smiling, you look at him again. “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?” he mumbles. 

There’s a playfulness, a teasing, as you shrug. “That you’ll catch me.”

You can see the words as they process through his head. See the moment he tracks the meaning, parses it altogether. A smile, beautiful and brimming, greets you, and then JJ crosses the gap between you in two large strides. He wraps his arms around you and lifts you up in an embrace. He swings you around for good measure and you laugh, looping your arms around his shoulders, holding him close, smiling against him. This is good. 

“You mean it?”

“I mean it,” you whisper in reply. He carefully reunites you with the ground. You smile up at JJ, gazing into his blue eyes, bathing in their depths. Your hand strokes along his jaw, slides down his front until it rests just above his heart. “It was always you, JJ.”

“You think…You think you can love me now?” he nervously asks. 

You shake your head with a silent laugh. It feels like breathing, like you’re finally free, as you admit, “I’ve always loved you.”

It comes and goes like a comet; the flash of shock in his eyes; the glow of his smile; the burning passion of his lips on yours. And as you kiss JJ, without guilt, without fear, you finally feel at home. When you break apart, short of air, JJ rests his forehead against yours. His thumb smooths along the soft line of your jaw and you smile. He takes a small breathe, shaky, unsure, but JJ's words are sure like bedrock.

"I love you too."

[upsidedownwithsteve]

countryclub!Steve Harrington x fem!reader requested by anon 18+

Steve had dismissed the cabin crew an hour ago. 

The private jet was cruising smoothly over the North Atlantic, nothing but blue beneath you. You’d already been served dinner, a bottle of Chardonnay shared over the mahogany table and your feet curled up in the cream lounger. . You’d watched over the rim of your glass as Steve’s gaze got heavier, darker, eyes slipping from yours to watch the way your bare legs shifted against the silk of your skirt, the way you rubbed your thighs together. 

The privacy screen between the cabin and the cockpit was closed and Steve finally cracked when you tilted your head at him and smiled knowingly. He was still dressed from his meeting in Tuscany, cream slacks and white shirt unbuttoned down his chest. He appraised you, mouth parting, thumb toying with his bottom lip. 

“C’mere, honey.”

You did as he asked, albeit slowly, teasingly, like you weren’t aching to take what he was about to give you. So you drained the rest of the wine from your glass and made a show of stretching your arms over your head. A well practised dance, one you’d played before, even in the clouds. 

Steve smirked as he waited, shifting as he grew impatient, legs spread and the outline of his hard cock pressed against his trousers. He watched you, eyes dancing over your frame as you stood and walked to his chair. You could hear the low drone of the cockpit, the beeps from the radar, the buzz of the radio. You dropped yourself into Steve’s lap. 

“Such a pretty girl,” Steve cooed, gathering you closer to him. He smoothed a thumb over the apple of your cheek, dragged it over your bottom lip until it pulled and popped back into place. “Gonna let me fuck you, honey?”

You loved the way the question still made your stomach flip, as did his compliments, his soft touches. But you shook your head, playing coy but Steve caught on quickly when you moved to straddle him, already snapping the leather of his belt as you unbuckled it. 

A soft laugh, a breathy sound, came from the boy’s throat as he leaned in to chase you, kissing at your jaw and chin even as you tried to make him work for it. “Oh, I see how it is,” he pouted. “You gonna make me work for it?”

You nodded, glancing at the closed door to the cabin before you pulled Steve’s cock from his trousers, thick and hard and ready for you. His bravado slipped, eyes stuttering shut and jaw clenching as you pumped him with a warm palm you’d just licked. “You’re gonna fuck me, huh?”

You nodded again, grinning now and Steve knew the drill. He clenched his fists, cheeks already reddening as he rested his hands on the loungers arms. He could only watch, breathless as you rose to your knees and pulled the lace of your own underwear to the side before you sunk down onto him, inch by inch stretching you out. 

You gasped, whining when Steve groaned, watching in awe as his lashes fluttered and his head fell back, neck taught and exposed. You watched the way his throat bobbed and couldn’t help but laugh, just as breathless as your boyfriend had. 

“Nuhuh,” you whispered, delighting in playing Steve’s role in this familiar game. “You gotta watch me, handsome.”

Steve swore, head lifting lazily, pupils blown wide as he stared up at you from where you sat on his lap. His hands were gripping the armrests, knuckles white. “Look,” you cooed sweetly and you made a show of dragging the hem of your dress up, exposing the way your pussy was spread around him, shiny and wet in the sunlight that came in from the small window. “You’re supposed to tell me how good I am at takin’ you.”

Steve cursed again, a litany of whispers falling from his bitten lips and he looked too gone to really speak. But he whined, a scratchy sound that made you clench down on him as he gazed unashamed at the way you were taking every inch of him. 

“Am I not just so good at taking your cock, handsome?” You were pouting, voice dripping with sweetness, sticky and playful. You leaned in, tits pushed to Steve’s eyeline, your perfume and sunscreen skin invading his senses. He wanted to give in, he wanted to grab your hips and fuck up into you. “Don’t you wanna tell me how much of a good girl I am for you?”

But instead he just nodded, voice cracking when he squeezed his fists again and said: “you’re such a good girl, honey, fuck.”

[the-fiction-witch]

You and I P6

Media - Nowhere Boy Character - Paul Couple - Paul X Reader Reader - Y/n Rating - 18 + Smut - nudity / cuddling / kissing / making out / morning wood / silent sex / secret sex / risky sex / pleasure seeking / orgasms / fingering / riding / cowgirl / begging / moaning / biting / love bites / Word Count - 3721

When morning came they still remained cuddled up in each others arms the soft warmth of the covers around them and the sound of movement around the house

Paul stirred slowly, his eyes opening as he began to wake from his sleep, the early morning sunlight slowly starting to peek through the curtains. He felt how she still lay against his chest, her body still in his arms, her hair still soft and silky as his fingers gently brushed through it, the sound of the house waking still sounding in the background as he slowly woke up more

He felt her stirring against him as he woke up more, he continued to lightly brush his fingers through her hair, feeling how it wrapped around his fingers in soft waves, smiling softly at her sleepy reaction to him waking her up

"Humm… morning" she yawned,

“Morning, luv” he mumbled in response, smiling slightly as he heard her cute little yawn, his voice still a little hoarse and rough from sleep, his hand still gently combing through her hair, enjoying the way it felt against his fingers

she smiled and gave him a little kiss before nuzzling into him "Time?"

He hummed softly at the little kiss, smiling and enjoying the nuzzling that followed, the feeling of her warm against him so sweet and familiar He looked over at the clock on the bedside table, seeing the time and letting out a groan, “6:30… we’ve gotta get up, luv”

"Why? … it’s Saturday,"

He chuckled softly at her question, but he also knew John and the others would be over to practice and be expecting them “Because we’ve got to practice today… the boys will be over later…” He told her, his hand still moving through her soft hair

"… when do her boys ever arrive for practice earlier than half eight,"

He chuckled again, knowing she had a point, the others weren’t exactly known for being on time, hell, he knew he wasn’t exactly great for being on time either “Yeah… good point… we’ve got a couple hours, I suppose… but we should probably get up soon….” He relented

"Ummm did you want to use the window?"

He chuckled again at her sleepy question, loving how funny she could be in her sleepy state

“Are you asking me if I want to jump out the bloody window, luv?”

"… Merely asking if you want to climb out my window and into the garden so you can enter the house through the front door. So when the guys arrive they don't know you spent the night there."

He paused for a moment, thinking about it, it wasn’t a terrible idea, and it would avoid getting lectured by John about the two of them spending the night together “Yeah, guess that’d be a good idea… as long as you’re willing to help me get in through the window from the garden,” he told her, a slightly teasing tone on his voice

"Or… you could go the other direction and just as the boys come upstairs to John's room, you could come out my room in you’re underwear fully embracing it and enjoying the bragging rights?"

He almost groaned at the thought, he could just imagine the reaction of the other lads, if he walked out of her room in his underwear, the way the others would react, particularly John, would be hilarious, and he definitely enjoyed the thought of having bragging rights, especially over John “Christ… that’s a fantastic idea, luv” He told her, a satisfied smirk on his face

"Umm then I can come to give her kisses while you’re practising"

He chuckled again, and the idea of her coming to give him kisses while he was practising was almost too much to bear, it’d be so distracting “I don’t think I’d get much practising done if you were giving me kisses, luv”

"Would you complain?"

He paused for a moment, pretending to think about it, as if it wasn’t obvious that he wouldn’t complain at all “No… I don’t think I would” he told her with a slight smirk, knowing that she'd see straight through his feigned uncertainty

she giggled and pulled him closer into more kisses

He chuckled softly, the tone of her giggle sending tingles through his body, he was happy to be pulled into more kisses, loving feeling her body press against his, he loved her so much, sometimes it was hard to believe she was real, that she was his, He continued to return her kisses, his hands moving to her waist again, his fingers gently gripping her hips as he kissed her back softly, enjoying the familiar feeling of her body against his, loving the way her skin felt against his, how perfect it felt to have her in his arms

"So… what should we do till the boys get here?" she smirked

He chuckled, loving the smirk on her face and the slightly cheeky tone of her voice, he had a good feeling what she had in mind, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want it too, “I’m sure I could think of a thing or two to pass the time…” he told her with a sly grin

"So can I," she smirked and shifted them a little till she sat over his hips again "Shall we?"

He groaned softly as she shifted to straddle his hips again, his hands gripping her waist tightly as she sat on top of him, he could feel his heart begin to race a little and he knew that he wanted her so badly “Christ… yes, please…” He managed to get out, his voice already starting to sound a little breathless with wanting her

"But quiet this time, people are home" she whispered as she shifted her hips a little "ohhhh someone had a nice dream" she smirked at the obvious morning wood

He cursed internally at how good it felt having her hips shift against him like that, and he knew that his dream had very much helped contribute to his current situation “Yeah… yeah, I… had a nice dream… a very nice dream…” He replied, his voice coming out a little breathless as he felt her move against him

"what was it about?" she cooed moving her hips a little against him but not yet letting him inside

He groaned and his head fell back a little against the pillow as she moved again, the feeling of her so close to him but not yet letting him get what he wanted was torturous, he needed her so badly but he wasn’t sure he’d last much longer “God… don’t make me say it, luv…it’ll embarrass me…” He told her, his voice coming out a little ragged

"if you don't tell me, he can't come in" she giggled

He groaned again, a frustrated noise falling from his mouth, of course, she would make him say it first, he should have known this is what she’d do, but goddamn, he wanted her so badly that he’d be willing to do practically anything for her, and he definitely did not want her to stop “It… it was about you…” he finally admitted, his face feeling a little hot as he admitted it out loud

"And what happened?"

He paused for a moment, trying desperately to remember the details from his dream, but it was surprisingly hazy now, and all he could remember were snippets and sensations, he knew she wouldn’t let him get away with just giving her vague details “you were on top of me… just like you are now… and I was… Christ… I can’t remember much, luv” He admitted, feeling a little self-conscious about how much he’d already forgotten

"Tell me" she whined

He let out a frustrated growl, part of him not wanting to say any more because it’d be so Goddamn embarrassing, but the other part of him wanting so badly to keep her happy and have her continue, finally he caved and gave in, deciding it’d be best to be completely honest with her “Goddammit… please don’t judge me for this… ok?” He started, his face feeling hot as he spoke

"I promise"

He took a deep breath before continuing, still feeling a little self-conscious about saying his dream out loud, and he knew she wouldn’t actually judge him for it, but that didn’t stop the feeling of embarrassment

“Right… well… you were straddling me, just like you are now… and you were riding me… quite hard… I remember that bit vividly, luv…oh and I was making you feel good… I remember that too” He swallowed before continuing, his face turning a deep shade of red at his own admission, but he knew her wouldn’t stop until he told her everything “I remember how you felt around me, and how much I wanted you … and I remember how you … how you … God, this is embarrassing…” He trailed off, his voice coming out a little ragged He groaned as he felt her begin to shift on him again, the feeling almost taking his breath away, but he still wasn’t done admitting the details of his dream yet, he knew she’d refuse to give him what he needed until she had all the details “I remember… I’m pretty sure you came… I remember how perfect you look when you cum, and how… how…” He trailed off again, feeling his cheeks turn hot “… and how hot it is when you cum…” He finally managed to complete the sentence, the last part coming out in a low, raspy voice, his breathing ragged and his face red with embarrassment, but he still knew that her weren’t done with her questioning

she giggled "Hummm… I think I had a similar dream"

He paused for a moment, he couldn’t help but be a little surprised that she’d had a similar dream as he’d had, and he couldn’t deny that he was suddenly very curious about the details “Christ… really?.. you dreamed about that too?” He asked, his voice a mix of surprise and interest

"I did, almost the same… except your hands were tied to the bed"

He let out another frustrated moan as she revealed the difference in the dreams, and he felt his heart begin to race at the image he got, but he also began to feel the tiniest bit of trepidation at the thought of having his hands tied to the bed and being completely at her mercy “Bloody Christ… you had a similar dream but with me tied down?” He asked, his voice coming out a little hoarse, his entire body suddenly feeling hot with desire

"Mhm," she nodded as she finally let him inside "Just a silly dream," she cooed starting to move

He let out a strangled moan as he finally felt her sink down onto him, the feeling so perfect he could have sworn he saw stars for a second, he instinctively grabbed her hips, his fingers gripping tightly, his body already tense from how good it felt “God…. Christ….. it’s… luv… that feels so good……” He managed to get out, his voice sounding slightly strangled but his tone full of how much he was enjoying it

"Ssh." she reminds him "My mum will be making breakfast downstairs, and John might be next door"

He groaned at her reminder to be quiet, the last thing he wanted was to have John or her mum come upstairs and discover them, he knew that’d be a disaster. However, it was getting increasingly difficult to keep quiet as she started to move on top of him, he had to force himself not to moan loudly each time she shifted just right “I… I’m trying… but it’s… Christ… it’s so hard to stay quiet… you feel too good……” He managed to get out, his voice coming out as a strained whisper

she giggled and made sure to be slow but purposeful trying to give him the most pleasure, quickly, but without making the bed make too much noise

He let out a breathless whine at the way her were moving, the fact that she was moving so slowly was doing a good job of making the bed less noisy, but it meant that she was teasing him by not giving him what he desperately wanted at a faster pace. He knew that she was doing it on purpose to frustrate him, and he was slowly losing the ability to keep quiet, all he could manage were breathless little whimpers each time she moved against him “Y/n… please… faster… I need…. I can’t…..” He managed to get out in a broken whisper

she giggled "Awww my poor baby"

He groaned again, frustrated and impatient with how slow she was being, he was getting desperate, all he wanted was for her to move faster, but she kept teasing him by continuing to go so slow “Goddammit luv… please…. I need you to go faster… please…. I’m begging you …” He whined, sounding a little more desperate

she grabbed her pillow and put it between the bed and the wall starting to move faster the pillow muffling some noise

As soon as she increased her pace he let out a strangled moan, the tension in his body starting to build at the need to increase in speed, and the pillow between the wall and the bed was doing a good job of muffling the sound of the bed moving, however, it wasn’t doing much to stop his gasps and groans of pleasure “Christ…. Y/n…. that’s…. Oh God… that feels…. So good…..” He whispered, his voice still strained but his tone full of pleasure

she giggled taking his hand and moving it between her legs so this would be enjoyable for her too

He groaned as she moved his hand between her legs, and he began to gently press his fingers against her clit, circling it slowly, all the while still enjoying the feeling of her moving on top of him “Y/n… you feel…. So good…. I want you so much…. Christ…..” he whispered, his voice still coming out as a mixture of a gasp and a

she gasped and whined getting faster as he touched her

As he heard her gasp from her, he knew he was doing a good job at pleasing her with his fingers, he continued to circle her clit, his touch becoming faster and more desperate as the tension built inside him, he wanted to hold on for her but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could take feeling so good “God…. luv… you sound so good…. you feel so good….. I need you …” He whispered into her ear, his voice still strained but his tone full of how much he was enjoying the feeling of her

she bit her lip "…. Fuck it-" She groaned moving at the pace she had last night,

He let out a strangled moan as she suddenly started moving faster, it felt so good he could barely think, all coherent thought seemed to leave his mind and he couldn’t stop the gasps of pleasure and the low moans that left him with every move her made “Christ….. luv….. God….. you feel…. So, so, so good…. So beautiful… so perfect…..” He managed to get out in broken, ragged gasps

"Keep going… please-" She begged holding his hand in place

He continued to keep his fingers moving against her, pressing against her clit and listening to the gasps and moans she was letting out, he could feel his own tension building as she went, but he wanted to see her come first, he desperately wanted to see her reach her peak and hear her come for him again

“Y/n…… I’ll do anything you want…. I’ll keep this up as long as you want…. I need you to cum…..” He told her, his voice still breathy but the tone full of how much he wanted her to cum,

she gasped already clenching around him as she moved

He felt her start to clench, and he knew that they were close, the feeling making his heart race and his own tension continue to get higher, his own breathing laboured from how good it all felt “That’s it…. That’s it luv… let go for me…. Let go… I need to feel you … I need to see you her…” He managed to get out in a broken, stammering gasp, the tone of his voice thick with how much he wanted her to come

"I'm about to-" she whined trying to keep moving as she was on the edge

He let out another groan, desperate to keep her going since he knew she was so close, his hand on her hip squeezing tighter, holding her down onto him “Yes… God yes…. Don’t stop…. Just keep going….. you’re so close……” He said in a broken gasp, his tone almost begging her to keep going

she whined and moved her hips at the same pace doing her best as her legs trembled, before she clamped her hand over her mouth to muffle her scream and she froze up completely her back arching as she clenched and squirted down him

He didn’t have time to register her clamping her hand over her mouth, before suddenly clenching him so tight and completely freezing up, he let out a broken moan as her orgasm washed over him, his own back arching and his hand gripping her hip so hard he was sure he’d leave bruises. It took everything he had in him not to cry out in pleasure, but he eventually managed to make nothing but a strangled gasp, “God….. y/n….. that was…..” He couldn’t manage any more than a few broken words, his body and mind completely overwhelmed by how good that felt

"Did you -" she gasped

He let out another strangled moan as she asked that question, feeling his body tense as he realised he was still so close, but now he was just as desperate for release as she had been a moment ago “No… not yet… Christ….. but I’m so close… I need you so bad……” He told her breathlessly, holding desperately onto those last few threads of control he still had

she moved his hands to her hips letting him move her

He immediately took control once his hands were on her hips, holding her firmly he started to thrust up into her, his eyes focused on her face, his breathing ragged and laboured as he continued to feel so close to the edge “God….. I’m not going to last long……..” He managed to get out, his voice tight and strained, struggling not to just completely lose control and let go

she gasped and moaned against his neck as she was becoming beyond overstiumulated now,

He continued to thrust into her, trying to keep his pace steady and not let himself go too fast, the feeling of her moans against his neck was driving him crazy, and he knew he wasn’t going to be able to keep control for much longer “God…. luv… I’m gonna cum… I’m so…….. close…. I can’t….. I can’t hold….. hold back much longer….” He managed to get out in a strangled gasp

she nodded biting his neck

He completely let go of the last scraps of control he still had as he felt her bite his neck, he let out a ragged moan, and gave one last strong thrust up into her, before he completely fell over the edge and came, arching his back and holding her down against him, his head falling back as he groaned her name through gritted teeth

y/n gasped and collapsed "Fuck-"

He felt her collapse down on top of him, and his arms immediately came up around her, holding her firmly against him. He took a few deep breaths trying to calm himself down, and managed to get out a few broken words “God…. luv…. Jesus Christ….. that was….. that was incredible……” He told her, sounding winded and exhausted, but still enjoying the feeling of her lying on top of him

"I have an opinion…" she gasped

He took another deep breath, finally starting to get his breathing somewhat regulated, and when he was certain he’d be able to speak more or less properly he replied “Go on… what’s your opinion, luv?” He asked curiously, his arms still around her, holding her against his chest, his body still trembling slightly from the orgasm and the exertion of it all

"Riding. is best."

He actually let out a soft laugh at her statement and response, it was such a simple answer, and yet it made perfect sense to him. He let out another soft hum as he thought about it, still holding her close in his arms, enjoying the feeling of her on top of him, and he had to admit he agreed with her “I have to agree with her on that one, luv… God you look incredible when you’re in control like that…..”

"something about coming while riding… is better somehow"

“You’re right… it just feels…. More…. It’s so good…..” He agreed, his voice still coming out a little breathlessly, “I love watching you cum as you ride me, feel you clench when I’m so deep… fuck! It’s so good luv!”

"The issue is if you don't rub on me then it doesn't feel like anything"

He chuckled softly at her remark, and he couldn’t help but agree with her. When her were the one leading and in control, it was up to her to make sure she was getting everything she needed, which meant making sure she could find a good way to rub against him “That’s very true… but I don’t mind one bit…… I think I like you being in control a lot…..”

"Hummm… so tier list is currently riding, is best, missionary is second," she nodded

“That’s very true… I’d agree with that list…..” He agreed, still holding her close against his chest, and he had to admit he was feeling a little tired now from how good she’d both made each other feel

"We need to try standing and bending over next." she smiled giving him a kiss before she climbed out of bed and began getting dressed for the day into her little white lace panties,

He had to hold in a moan as she mentioned bent over, unable to stop the thought of it already popping in his head as he watched her get dressed, the image of her bent over in those white lace panties already starting to drive him crazy

“That sounds good to me… over the bed… in those little panties? Ummm I am very excited,”

she chuckled "Maybe after practice then" she cooed slipping her stockings on

[helios-writings]

Would That I

Knight! Vash x Royalty! Reader

wc: 5.3k

Warnings: brief mentions of blood, losing an arm.

You are second in line for the throne and Vash is your personal guard, after years of pining, you confess your love and loyalty to each other, but cannot be together.

You grinned as you moved the chess piece, ending the game with a swift checkmate. Vash groaned, leaning back in his chair in defeat. You tried to look anywhere but his exposed arms and exposed throat. 

“You win again,” he told you, smiling, “I’m going to have to start practising.” 

You stood up from the chair, dusting yourself off. “Oh? And who would you practise with? You said yourself that Sir Wolfwood’s a cheat and Lady Meryl scares you too much to even try to play against her.” 

“I’ll start picking up books from the castle library.” 

The two of you walked shoulder to shoulder towards the garden’s entrance and Vash had an uncharacteristic frown on his face. 

“You’ve been quiet all day.” You told him, a hand lightly placed on his arm. You could feel his body heat through your glove. 

“I leave tomorrow. I’ll be gone for a month, at the least. Three at most.” 

“Where will you go?” 

He shrugged. “I don’t know for sure, some town on the outskirts has had trouble with bandits, we’re being sent to get rid of them. Wolfwood, Milly and myself. A few others.” 

“Can I see you off?” 

“You must, I fear I’d perish without a good luck farewell from the royal highness themself.” 

Three months without your best and closest friend, the aspect made tears threaten to well up in your eyes. “Write to me?” 

He ceased his teasing and took your hand in his, clutching it to his chest, his blue eyes looking into your own. “Every week. I’ll even bring you back a souvenir.” 

“Just bring yourself back in one piece.” 

The air between the two of you was charged with something you couldn’t name, but it faded quickly when he dropped your hand and made his way back towards the barracks. 

You watch him until he disappears from your sight and you wonder how you’re supposed to sleep knowing that tomorrow morning could be the last time you see him.

***

Vash is awake before dawn, the sky still an ugly grey. He’s loath to leave your side, but knows you’ll be safe within the kingdom’s walls. He holds the horse’s reins tightly, knuckles turning white and looks out, searching for any sign of you. 

Wolfwood and Milly are atop their own horses, but it’s the former who says something. 

“We can’t wait for much longer, Vash, the other knights have already left. You sure they're coming?” 

He nodded firmly. You wouldn’t lie to him. 

Like you’d been summoned, you came tearing down the main square in our sleep clothes, a robe pulled tight around you. The sight made his heart swell. 

“Wait! Vash, don’t leave yet!” 

Milly and Wolfwood stifled their laughs as you reached them, chest heaving. “Sorry I’m late.” 

He hopped off of his horse and you pulled him into a crushing hug, burying your face in his chest. 

“Hey,” he whispered, “it’s going to be okay.”

“It doesn’t make sense to send you when you're my bodyguard.” 

“But I’m still a knight.” 

“I want you to stay here with me. What if you don’t come back?”  

He raised your head to look you in the eyes. “I would fight through a million enemies to come back to you.” 

“Remember to write to me. Please.”

Vash kissed your hand before he could decide against it. “Every week.” 

You bit your lip, like you were going to say something and then decided against it. 

“Vash, we’ve gotta go!” Milly called and he sighed. 

You grabbed his arm and you crashed your lips to his. He didn’t get a chance to revel in the feeling before you pulled away from and ran back towards the castle. Vash could feel tears on his face, but they weren’t his. 

***

The months without Vash were hard and almost too much for you to handle, but letters came every week from Vash, just like he’d promised. Every letter had a flower pressed between the pages.

Meryl, though she thought it was annoying that you kept re-reading his letters during her lessons, knew that there were few people in this world as important to you as Vash. Your own family didn’t even make the list. Being king, queen and the heir to the throne meant that they didn’t have time for you.

It was strange to be anywhere without the blonde knight, you went everywhere together. Joined at the hip, more than a normal royal and their knight should be. Where once there was laughter by your side, there was silence.

You wondered if you had ruined everything with that kiss, however brief it was. When he returned, would he even want to see you? Would he choose to return as your bodyguard? Or would he ask to be replaced, effectively never seeing you again? 

He never said anything as such in the letters, but you knew him to be a good liar, a man who never let anyone truly know what he was thinking. He never mentioned the kiss, either. 

For you, it was all you had thought about, even before. You knew you had loved Vash for a long time, maybe not love at first sight, but when you got to know him. Maybe when the both of you had turned into teens, when arms and legs were less lanky and voices were deeper. But the when didn’t matter as much as the why. When Vash was as kind and as brave as he was. Always eager to help others, no matter the cost. Even if the cost was his life. It’s why you had been so scared for him to leave, because if it had come down to saving a life and him, he would always choose the former. 

The door to the library burst open, and a guard stormed in. “Your highness, the knights have returned.” 

You stood, the books piled on your lap spilling to the ground. “Where are they?” 

“The clinic. They were all injured, but no fatalities.” 

You thanked the guard before rushing out the door. You needed to see him, needed to hold him in your hands to make sure he was actually here and safe. 

You slammed the doors to the clinic open, searching the faces for Vash. 

Wolfwood, who you didn’t know too well, approached you from the side. “Vash got a private room. Through there.” 

You thanked him, before taking off towards the closed door. When you opened it, you gasped. 

Vash was on a bed, armour stripped off, fresh scars riddling his body. He sat up slowly. “Told you I’d come back.” 

A sob tore its way out of your throat and you collapsed by his bedside. 

He took your hand in his.”Hey, it’s alright. I’m okay. It’s not even that bad.”

“You’ve been stabbed. Multiple times, how is that not bad?” 

“Well, fighting off millions of enemies to get back to you will do that.” He said with a chuckle and wince. 

“Let’s keep it to one enemy at a time.”

“I got you something.” He told you, rubbing a circle into the back of your hand. 

“You didn’t need to.” 

He shrugged, wincing again. “It reminded me of you, I had to buy it. When I can stand without help, I’ll give it to you.” 

You glanced at the closed door and leaned forward, planting a kiss on the corner of his mouth. 

Vash was silent for only a moment before he opened his mouth to say something, interrupted by the healer entering the room. 

“He’s not supposed to have visitors,” she told you, “even if they are royalty. I’m sorry.” 

You nodded and stood up. “Of course, I’ll come back when he’s ready.” 

The healer smiled as you bid her farewell and once you were outside of the clinic, you let the tears fall. He had come back to you. Just like he’d promised.

***

Vash is young when he sees you for the first time. You’re young too, but the weight on your shoulders is too heavy. Second in line for the throne but you are already weighed down by a crown you won’t wear. 

The knight captain brings him towards your parents and your father nods in approval. You hide behind your mother’s skirts. 

The king beckons you forward and you obey, curtsying when you see him. Vash bows, because that was what he was taught. 

“This is Vash,” the knight captain introduces him, “we’ve already begun training him to be a knight.” 

The king and queen scan him up and down, like he is a horse up for auction. “Perhaps he’d fare better as a bodyguard for our youngest child.” 

You look him in the eyes for the first time, and Vash has decided that it wouldn’t be so bad to protect you. 

It's something he thinks even now, as he fought to stay alive during his mission, as he saw the necklace that reminded him of you, as he read the words you wrote back to him.  

He thinks of the two kisses you had given him, yearning for more, like they were a drug. Like you were a drug. Maybe you were, maybe that would explain how he’d loved you for so long. 

It was selfish, perhaps, to keep you so close to him. To take your hand in his so often, to hold you with the intimacy of a lover. You were so beloved to him, it was impossible to think he’d be the same to you. 

The box was heavy in his hands as he stood outside of the door to your chambers, now allowed to leave the clinic since he’d healed. He knocked once, quietly, since it was late. 

You opened it, your face painted with the soft glow of candlelight. “Vash, I didn’t know you were better, I would’ve come to visit.” 

“May I come in?” 

“You never need to ask.” 

The two of you stood in your room, the door closed and the curtains drawn, no one around to see. 

“This is what I got you.” He handed you the box, his gaze averted. 

“Vash….this is gorgeous.” 

“I said it reminded me of you, didn’t I?” 

He knew the necklace, a simple pearl on a gold chain, wasn’t as extravagant as the other things you owned, but it was still beautiful. 

You handed him the necklace and turned around. “Help me put it on?” 

Carefully, like he was handling a china doll, he clasped the jewellery around your neck, the pearl sitting in the hollow of your throat. His fingers brushed your neck. He wondered what it would be like to press a kiss against the nape of it. 

“How’s it look?” 

“You look….I mean, it looks beautiful.” 

You bit your lip, and without thinking, he reached up and brushed your lip with his thumb. The skin was soft. 

“Vash….” 

“Can I kiss you?” 

“Anytime you want.” You sounded breathless. Stunned. 

He pulled you into a kiss, a proper kiss, and it took his breath away. You were warm against him. The fabric of your night clothes bunching up where his hands sat, the bare skin against his hands scorching. More, more, more, his mind supplied, but he’d never take more than you offered him. 

Without realising it, he’d ended up sitting on a chair, your body above his, kissing him as deep as you possibly could, as close as you could, like you could never be close enough, his hand edging underneath your shirt. It was like he couldn’t get enough of you no matter how close the two of you got. 

You pulled away, eyes heavy lidded and lips swollen. “I love you.”

The words left him breathless, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What?” 

“I love you, I am in love with you.”

He placed his head on your chest, pulling you closer, ignoring how his cock jumped at the movement. “I love you too. So, so much.” 

You raised his head and kissed him again, And again. The two of you spent what seemed like hours kissing. It was all he’d ever wanted.

***

You and Vash had three days of peace before disaster struck. An attack on an allied kingdom had signified an oncoming war and even though it had only been about a month since Vash’s last mission, you could tell he was going to be sent out again, and soon. 

This thought haunted you. This war could kill him and although you know he’d be happy to die protecting this country, and by extension you, you couldn’t allow that to happen. You wouldn’t. 

You cornered Vash in a secluded area of the library, the shelves hiding you from prying eyes. He grinned and leaned in for a kiss, but you stopped him, biting your lip. 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” 

“You’re going to be sent out on a mission again. What if something happens to you?” 

He pressed his forehead to yours. “Nothing’s going to happen to me.” 

“You don’t know that.”

“I do know that. A million armies, remember?”

You were silent for a few moments before you spoke again. “I want to run away. From the kingdom, from everything. With you.” 

Vash’s eyes widened in shock, and he was speechless for what seemed like years. “I….can’t do that.” 

“And why not?” 

“I just can’t, you don’t understand.” 

“Then help me understand.”

When he was silent, you scoffed and stormed off, not caring about how petulant you may have seemed. You can hear his footsteps behind you, but you don’t slow down, not even as you make it upstairs to your room. 

You slam the door to your chambers, only for them to open back up shortly after, the footsteps of your knight stopping behind you.

“I can’t run away with you,” Vash tells you, his voice desperate and tear filled, “if we leave here, you could die and you’re too important. I am not important enough for you to abandon everything for.” 

You whirl on him and shove him so hard, he nearly stumbles into the door. “Damn you, Vash, you’re important to me! Can’t you see that? Or are you blinded by your own sense of duty, of obligation, that you can’t see that I would sacrifice anything to keep you safe? To keep you here? With me?” 

His gaze was averted from yours, hidden by his blonde hair. “I can’t take you away from this life. You have to understand-“ 

“I’m tired of hearing that word. Understand. Understand that I must leave to fight in a foolish war. Understand that you must live your life constantly under guard. Understand that we can’t be together even though we want it over everything else in the world. As long as I remain here we can’t be together, we will always kiss in secluded corners or empty rooms. My running away is about more than you, it’s about being free, being free from the family that doesn’t care about me, being free from the weight that’s on my shoulders, but I want to do that with you. You’re my family now, you always have been.” 

Once again, he said nothing, and you sighed heavily. “Just leave.” 

He opened the door, but before he left, he stopped in the doorway. “I leave a week from now. Early in the morning.” 

The door shut and you heard him walk away.

***

You didn’t see him off, that was all Vash could think about as he rode on horseback through the woods towards the border of the kingdom. He figured you wouldn’t, not after that argument. It’s the longest you’d been without talking to him. 

He did wonder, however brief, what it would be like to run away with you. Would the two of you live in a cottage in a faraway forest, or would you live in a bustling town with fake names and disguises? But he couldn't, no matter how tempted he was. You were the whole world to him, he would kneel to you and fight for you, even if it meant never being together the way he had dreamed about, he wasn’t worth your devotion. Wasn’t worth running away from all you had known. 

He thinks of the letter he left in the hands of Meryl. “In case I don’t come back,” he’d told her, but now he was unsure if that was the right choice. He should’ve given it to you himself, but he was afraid that if he’d seen you, he would’ve abandoned everything he knew and taken you in his arms and ran away with you, wherever you had wanted. 

The loyalty he felt to you was unwavering, but he couldn’t put it above the loyalty he had to the crown. Then again, the crown may have taken him in after his brother disappeared, but it was you that had gotten him to open up, gotten him to smile and laugh. He was a fool to tell you he wouldn’t run away with you, because now that is all he wanted to do. But it was too late. 

“It’ll be okay Vash,” Milly said, coming up next to him on her horse, “I’m sure they just overslept. Meryl said they hadn’t been sleeping lately.” 

“Maybe, Milly. I’m sure they’ll be okay.” 

“You can always write a letter when we get there.” Wolfwood chimed in.

Vash was going to write you a letter everyday, even if you didn’t want them. He would pour his heart and soul and dedication into all of them. He loved you and even if he died in this stupid war, he was going to make sure you knew that.

***

When the first letter from Vash comes, you crumple it and throw it away, only to dig it out of the trash and cry immediately after. Vash was a bastard and you wanted to hate him with every fibre of your being, but you couldn’t. 

You didn’t write back. Even after letter after letter came and didn’t stop. It felt a little foolish, giving him this silent treatment, but the heartbreak you felt wasn’t foolish, it was real and it still hurt, even if it was coming up on a year since Vash had left. 

When the 365th letter had come, you finally wrote back. You missed him more than you were angry at him, and it was slowly killing you to watch the pile of letters grow, unopened but weathered. 

A letter doesn’t get sent back.

You’re not angry, you figured this might be a possibility. He has a right to be just as angry as you were, and you would not deny him that. You would never deny him anything. 

When months pass by with no letter from Vash, you begin to fear the worst. The best case scenario is that he’s alive and angry with you, but the worst ones always have him dead on a battlefield, covered in blood. It scares you the most, losing him like that, where his last thoughts of you are of you being angry at him. You were such a fool, being so selfish when he has only ever thought of what’s best for you, even when he told you he wouldn’t go with you, it was for you.

There’s a knock on your chamber door and you tell whoever it is to come in, not turning from your spot by the window. 

“If I’d have known I would get this warm reception, I would’ve come back home sooner.” The familiar voice dripping with sarcasm.

You whirled around in your chair with a gasp, tears welling up in your eyes. It was Vash. 

You stood up from your seat and pulled him into a hug, burying your sobs into his neck. “I thought you were dead, or worse.” 

“Not dead, but not entirely back in one piece like you’d prefer.” 

It was then you noticed that he was missing an arm and you gasped. “Oh Vash….” 

“Don’t cry, sweetheart. I’m alive, aren’t I?” 

“I’m so sorry…” 

He shook his head. “I’m not. Like I told you. A million armies to come home to you.” 

“They won’t let you be my guard anymore. I can’t let them take you away from me again. I just got you back. I won’t let them.”

He put his hand on your face. “Weren’t you the one that wanted to run away? Well, then let’s run away.”

“Are you sure?” 

Vash sat on your bed, pulling you down next to him. “When I was out there, I did a lot of thinking, especially when I was in the makeshift clinic. You are where I’m safest, my home. And I realised that I want to marry you, I want to be with you, and we can’t do that here.” 

You hugged him, knocking him onto the bed with the force of it and he laughed. “So, you’re not angry with me anymore?” 

You wiped the tears from your eyes. “When you didn’t reply to my letter, I feared the worst and I couldn’t bear the thought of your last memory of me being anger.” 

“Well, I did think I was going to die, but my last thought of you was about how happy you make me, how I finally got to hold you in my arms after so many years of wishing I could.”

“You’re the most important person in the world to me. So, let’s do it. Let’s run, right now.” 

“In the middle of the day? We’d get caught, especially you, you’re the second in line and you stick out like a peacock in the middle of a flock of pigeons.” 

“Tonight then?” 

His hand gripped yours. “Tonight. I can borrow clothes from Meryl or Wolfwood if I have to, you could even wear some of mine. I’ll leave them by your door later.”

“You sound pleased at the notion of me in your clothes.” 

“Of course. I think you’d look lovely in them.”

You rolled your eyes, but frowned. “I have to say goodbye to Meryl before we leave, she’s been a good friend to me lately, I can’t bear to leave her without a proper farewell.” 

“She won’t turn us in?” 

You thought of Meryl’s own relationship with her knight, Milly, and shook your head. “No, I think she’ll be happy for us.” 

Vash nodded. “Alright then, I’ll see you tonight, in the gardens. 

“By our chess table.” 

He rushed out the door and when the door slammed shut, you picked up the most boring bag you owned and began to pack.

***

The night was clear and crisp, Vash could see his breath appear in little clouds before him. He was glad the two of you were running on a night as pretty as this. 

You showed up a few moments later, the pants Meryl’s but the shirt was his, a cloak wrapped around you. 

“Did you see Meryl?” He asked, taking your hand in his. 

“Yes, she said she wouldn’t tell anyone she saw us and wished us luck. She also gave me this to give to you.” You pulled out the letter he had given the woman in case he hadn’t made it back to you. He let go of your hand to shove it in his pocket. 

“Now, we can’t go out the front gate, but we can’t climb the wall. What do we do?” 

You grinned, pulling him along with you until you stopped in front of an old iron wrought gate. “It’s basically abandoned, no one comes back here anymore. I found it when I was little.” 

“Does it still open?” 

Nodding, you let go of his hand and pulled the handle. The gate opened with a loud creak and you quickly ushered him through so you could close it. 

And then you were free, almost. 

He breathed a sigh of relief. “All we have to do is make it to the edge of the kingdom. It’s a few days of a walk, but Wolfwood will be waiting with a horse. The rest is up to us.” 

You pulled him into a kiss, your nose cold as it accidentally bumped his own. “I’m thinking somewhere with lots of people, but not in town.” 

He put his arm around you and pulled you in close. “So, a little cottage just outside of town?” 

“With a dog and a cat. And our horse, of course.” 

He snickered. “You rhymed.” 

You rolled your eyes, giving him another quick kiss before pulling away. “We’re not out of the woods yet.” 

“Then let’s go.” 

***

It took a week to get to the edge of the kingdom, where Wolfwood was waiting. 

He handed the reins to Vash and then bowed to you. “Highness.” 

You shook your head and wrinkled your nose. “No, not anymore. And no bowing, either.” 

The knight grinned. “That an order?” 

You rolled your eyes and got on the horse, Vash following. 

“I’ll write to you when we’re safe.” Vash told him, a grin on his face. 

“You’d better, or I’ll come kick your ass.” 

“You won’t even know where we are.” 

Wolfwood rolled his eyes. “Then I’ll knock on every door until I find yours.”

As you and Vash rode off into the forest, no longer within your kingdom’s territory, you turned and watched as Wolfwood disappeared into the distance, and with it, the only life you had ever known.

Your hands tightened around Vash as you buried your face into his back to stop the oncoming tears. 

“Are you okay?” His voice was soft and kind, full of concern.

You sniffed, embarrassed. “I know it was my choice to leave, but it hurts. I thought it’d be easier, that's all.”

“If you want to cry, I promise to pretend not to hear.” 

You let out a laugh that was thick with tears. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, we’ll get through this together, okay?” 

You nodded. “Together.” 

You stared out into the forest ahead of you, the trees so much like the ones back home but so different at the same time, holding promises of a new future where you wouldn’t feel ignored, where you were more than royalty. Where Vash remained at your side even when you didn’t have any jewels or a crown.

***

You and Vash decide to stay just outside a bustling town that’s right by the sea, in a cottage that you buy for almost nothing. And it is far, far away from home, where no one will ever find you. 

Vash laments not being able to carry you inside, but you silence him with a kiss, insisting that it doesn’t matter, now that you’re with him and that everything is perfect. 

Vash peeks at your empty left ring finger and thinks that there’s one more thing that would make a perfect start to your brand new life. So, early one morning, before you wake up, he heads into the already energetic town to shop for a ring. 

The owner greets him happily, using the fake name he had given the first day the two of you had arrived and offers his assistance. 

“Well, I need an engagement ring. Something to give someone that gave me everything even when I had nothing to offer.” 

“Pretty hefty guidelines there, but I’ve got a few for you, being a seaside town and all, a lot of our rings have pearls, is that alright?” 

He grinned. “That’s perfect.” 

Vash spends a little longer in town, picking up groceries and something else for you, just because he sees it and thinks of you. 

When he gets back home, you’re at the stove, cooking. He goes up behind you and presses kisses on your neck, making you laugh. 

“Went shopping, did you?” You ask, turning your head to plant a kiss on his lips. 

“I got you something. Close your eyes.” 

“I can’t, I’ll burn the eggs.” 

“It’ll be one second.” 

You roll your eyes but comply and Vash presses the gift in your hand, the ring tucked safely in his pocket for later.

You gasp when you  gaze at the gift. A small music box in pale blue. “Oh Vash….it’s gorgeous.” 

“I saw one like it in your room back….well, I know it won’t replace the one you left behind, but I had to try.”

“I love it, I love you.” You kissed him again and again and again. Until the smell of burning made the both of you jump back in surprise, causing you to dump the pan in the sink, dousing it with water while he turned off the stove. 

“I knew I should’ve listened to Meryl when she talked about cooking.” You told him with a sigh. 

He put his arm around your waist and pulled you in close. “It was my fault that time, so don’t feel bad sweetheart.” 

You kissed his nose. “Well, I hope you’re not hungry.” 

The ring was burning a hole in his pocket, but he decided to wait until tonight, for the perfect moment.

***

The dining room is lit only by candlelight as you come back into the house from putting the horse away for the night and the smell of dinner wafting from inside, making your stomach growl. 

“You did all of this while I was out?” You asked, toeing your shoes off by the door and heading deeper into the house. 

“It was simple, but I wanted to do something for you.” 

You sighed and shook your head. “You do enough, Vash.” 

He kissed your cheek. “It’ll never be enough. You’re the love of my life, and I’m going to spend my entire life trying to show you that.” 

“Vash, I’m the one who should be thanking you. You’ve already given me everything.” 

He shook his head. “I’m trying to propose to you, but it’s not going like I wanted it to.” 

Vash reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box, inside was a ring, dainty in size, but gorgeous all the same.

A thin gold band and a cluster of tiny diamonds surrounding a pearl. 

“This is gorgeous…. I don’t know what to say.” 

He laughed nervously. “I’m hoping you’ll say yes.” 

You kissed him deeply and he slid the ring onto your finger. It was almost hard to believe you would get something like this in life, that you and Vash weren’t doomed. 

“So,” he said between kisses, “is this a yes?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Yes. And I know just the way to celebrate.”

You took him by the hand and led him into your bedroom. 

***

The ring on your finger glinted in the morning sun as Vash woke up with a stretch, your bare skin covered by the less than luxurious sheets, but you had a content smile on your face as you slept. 

He thought back to all those months ago, when you were royalty and he was your knight, when the both of you thought that’s all your relationship would ever be, kisses in corners and hands held under the chess table. Now you’re both here, where no one knows who you are and where the two of you can be together until you’re old and grey and he can’t get out of bed without throwing his back out. The thought makes him laugh, and you stir awake. 

You grin sleepily at him. “Morning.” 

He grins back. “Morning.” 

“Are you watching me sleep?” 

“Your snoring woke me up, actually.” 

You roll your eyes and smack him playfully. “Bully.” 

He pulls you into his chest and kisses the top of your head. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

Vash always thought that when he looked at you, he saw his future. And he was right.

[ratatatastic]

"Can I say something real quick though? I was worried a little bit on both of you guys going to the plate and throwing out the first pitch... 'cuz I evaluate that and a lot of people do too. And you've seen some guys that just—they don't know how to throw a ball!" "Yeah." "And they're unbelievable athletes and they don't know how to throw a ball! You guys both did the same time, you did a good job on that! But I was kind-of worried." "So I actually threw out the first pitch in Miami two years ago and I hurt—it was right after I was traded. And I had a shoulder injury, like, during the year before and first, like—we're athletes. Hockey players are great athletes! But very rarely are you, like, going out there and throwing the ball like you were with pops when you're, like, 5 years old! You don't do that anymore! So I had a shoulder injury and I'm like, 'I'm an athlete, right? Like I'll just go up to the mound and just chuck one in there, you know put a little sauce on it, whatever.' I tried to throw a little, like, oomph into it and, like, I didn't even get it to the plate from the mound! Like it's—when you don't practise and it's the first time throwing a ball, like, it was a hundred—" "Where was that?" "It was in Miami!" "Were you getting chirped?" "No, I wasn't getting chirped!" "At the Marlin's game? Nobody was there!" "It was—it was—" "No one was there, nobody saw it! It's not—" "No, I wasn't getting chirped! It was—" "You can tell everyone that it was a strike right down the middle!" "No! Somebody saw that! Some of the guys saw that and were probably like, 'Errgh...'" "It was—Yeah, whatever! But, you know, who cares! But I actually before the St. Louis one... I didn't know the setup if I was gonna be from the mound or not but I will admit that in the morning I went out in the backyard and just, like, threw 5—" "Oh, you have to!" "—just to loosen up. I'm way healthier than I was two years ago but it was just like, you know—it was fun! It was a great day!" "Did they—" "When your shoulder gets messed up though, man..." "I can't imagine these pitchers that throw so much in a year. Like they gotta be—I have a lot of respect for them. I used to be like, 'I pitch one every five days if you're a starter like whate—' If you're chucking in one hundred pitches and all your warmup and stuff like that's a tough supposed to do that—" "I don't think your shoulder is supposed to do that..." "No! And they snap it in there! Very impressive! And—" "That's why they get paid a lot of coin~ Dude, let's go 250 schmillions—" "I was gonna say that's why—yeah. Good for them!" "I know you do pretty well—" "It was cool seeing Ohtani hit a home run!* I think he's awesome! And driving around in the car before with Jayson [Tatum] like—that Ohtani's a big man."

Cam & Strick Podcast | 8.27.24 (x)(x)(x)

*funny that matthew mentions that he thought it was cool to see an ohtani moonshot irl the cardinals telecast was actually zoomed in on him in the stands before it happened so they had to cut from him to shohei trotting around the bases so its nice to know he enjoyed the sho as much as we all do XD

[coridallasmultipass]

Nikke: Goddess of Victory event Beauty Full Shot minigame spoilers: (LONG POST)

So yesterday, I managed to catch the last couple fish in the fishing minigame!!

Check it:

I'm surprised there wasn't the great white shark?? I guess that's just gonna happen in the story instead? Unless it's like a 1 in a million chance of getting it in secret or something? But the fucking whale lmao, that mf was SO HARD to get.

In general, it was super fucking hard to catch them all, but I really grinded for the first couple days to keep getting all the fishing rods (the blue one at the max 60k price level is the best for catching the large fish because it does the most damage), and then all the equipment, too.

Hot tip: Don't bother with the red puddles until you've gotten the highest fishing rod and practised on the blue and gold puddles (unless you're already like a god at rhythm games, but I'm sure NOT especially on a touch screen).

OH also, I don't think the game explained it, but the casting animation before the rhythm game is for choosing which size of fish you want to get, NOT for the starting percentage of the rhythm game. (I mean, yeah it affects the percentage, but ALL blue catches start at like 50%. All of the legendary ones start at 80% regardless of the fishing rod or equipment.) Took me a while to notice that and I would've saved myself a lot of attempts if I'd have just aimed for the easy blue section on the meter in the beginning (I was clicking the gold one every time and suffering because it went too fast every time, and was confused why gold wasn't giving me an easier starting percentage).

Here's my union ranking for the minigame lmao (I'm Vi):

You can see how much I've been playing the game compared with everyone else. It's fucking addicting and I gotta catch 'em all. Almost at 1mil earned lol.

The fucking Spongebob easter eggs were hilarious. I caught Spongebob and didn't realize that's who it was supposed to be until I caught Patrick next. RIP Sandy.

((EDIT: I FORGOT TO ADD PLANKTON. HE'S THE BAIT FOR FISHING LOL.))

Anyway, yeah, that's my post. Just wanted to share bc I love Nikke and the event and the mini games. I even went and got the Dave the Diver full game on PC bc I'm OBSESSED with the Aegis minigame and it's so chill and cool from the few minutes I played (just got it so haven't had time to do more yet). It was also on sale! (Probably still on sale?)

So yeah. Really loving this event, they really went all out. OH and the music, too? Love it.

[game-set-canet]

Just wanted to say love your recent Carlos nothing is moreimportant than Wimbledon fluff was soooo good.

Could I request an Andrey one where he and the reader are forced to play mixed doubles by their coaches but the end up having a good time

But now we're stressed out

Pairing: Andrey Rublev x f!reader

category: fluff

warnings: none

Author’s Note: this imagine turned out way different than i intended but i hope you like it as much is i do 💕 also: English isn’t my first language, so I’m very sorry for mistakes!

* Y/N = your name

MY MASTERLIST

(not my gif! credits to the owner/creator!)

♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦

“I’ve found the perfect double partner for you!”, your coach Albert smiles at you proudly.

You raise an eyebrow while you continue sipping at your morning coffee: “Who?”

You and your team were sitting in the eating room of the hotel, enjoying the breakfast buffet.

Albert sits down next to you and starts eating his muesli: “Andrey Rublev!”

“Andrey Rublev?”, you pull a face and shake your head, “Why?”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t remember a single time we have actually talked with each other.”

“Doesn’t matter!”, your coach smiles at you encouraging, “You’ll have plenty of time to talk before today’s practise session this afternoon!”

“Today?”, you put down your mug and frown, “But I have an interview in the afternoon.”

“Yeah, we will practise afterwards.” Albert looks really happy and actually pleased with everything he organised and decided.

You try to sound as neutral as possible but can’t hide the frustration: “I don’t want to play doubles with him. I just want to play with Jessica.”

“Pegula is injured, and Andrey is the right choice for your double partner. You will agree with me as soon as you spend some time with him on court.”

You roll your eyes: “Just because you are best friend with Fernando Vicente doesn’t mean Rublev and I have to be best friends as well.”, you finish your coffee and get up from the breakfast table, “Gotta go now, I have a photoshoot in 30 minutes.”

 “I’m your coach and I know what’s best for you!”, Albert tries to sound serious but everyone on the table could tell that he is joking.

“You sound like my father!”

“See you in the afternoon, daughter!”

You can still hear him laughing when you have already left the room.

Little do you know that Andrey and his coaches had a very similar conversation on the other side of the breakfast room.

*** *** *** *** *** ***

Later this day you find yourself on the tennis court. Your coach is talking animatedly with Andrey's coach, every now and then one of the men laughs out loud. You tie your shoes while Andrey puts on his hair band - there is silence between you.

You sigh. It’s ridiculous that you don’t talk to each other but as far as you know, Andrey isn’t very good at small talk – just like you.

You clear your throat and play with the racket in your hands: “I was supposed to double with Jessica Pegula, but she is injured, you know?”

It takes a few moments before Andrey finally answers, voice low: “Yeah, same for me…I planned to double with Karen Khachanov.”

Without thinking twice you blur out: “Seems like both of us aren’t very happy with the decision of your coaches, huh?”

At first Andrey just looks at you with a strange expression, but then he starts grinning wryly and shrugs: “I guess.”

One hour later you have to admit that your coach might be right: Andrey is a great double partner. And that you complement each other quite well. And – and that’s something you will never say out loud – it’s actually great fun to practise with him.

At the end of the practise your coaches and the rest of your teams stand in a circle and your coach looks back and forth between Andrey and you: “So, what do you say? Do we have a mixed double pair?”

Andrey looks at you from the corner of his eyes, biting his lip as he waits for you to take the final decision.

You take a deep breath and nod slowly: “Yeah, I think this could work.”

“Great! Good practise! See you two tomorrow - same time, same court”, Andrey’s coach gives a thumbs-up, waves at everyone and turns to leave the court, “Let’s win this tournament!”

You turn to face Andrey and nod towards to his coach: “Uhm, does he really think we gonna win this tournament? As a new double pair? After one hour of practice?”

Andrey sighs deeply: “Yes, he does.”

“Is he always like that?”

“Yes, he is.”

“My condolence.”

The Russian starts laughing because of your words, and you join him shortly after.

*** *** *** *** *** ***

You just finished your practise session with Maria Sakkari and decided to spend some time in the gym, when someone stepped next to you and begun training on the ergometer on your right. You turn your head and see Andrey getting ready for his first cycling set – already with earphone in the ears. You smile a little and wave at him and he waved back. That was the greeting.

Fifteen minutes later you got bored with your training and your own music, so you stretch to tap Andrey on the left shoulder. You wait until he removed one of the earphones before you start speaking: “What are you listening to?”

Without a word, Andrey holds his phone out to you so that you can see the title of the song.

You stare at the display with big eyes, grab your phone and you're now holding it out for Andrey.

He blinks in surprise before he starts smiling: “So, we have the same taste in music? You like Twenty One Pilots?”, he quickly removes the second earphone.

You nod your head vigorously: “I love them! I’ve seen them live three times already!”

You have never seen Andrey so radiant as he exclaims: “Me too!”

“Oh, that’s so cool! What else do you listen to?”

“Linkin Park and Avicii…”

“Oh my god, me too!”

For the next 20 minutes you two were lost in a conversation about your favourite songs, your favourite albums and Andrey even started the “What is the most beautiful cover you can think of?” debate.  

*** *** *** *** *** ***

After only two more practice sessions it’s the day of your first match. You are waiting in the tunnel to be called up for the walk on court.

You shift your weight from one leg to the other: “Do you think we can win this match?”

Andrey bits his lip while fumbling with his headband: “No, no change at all.”

You spend a lot of time with Andrey during the last few days – on and off the court – and if you are honest: he is a really great guy. But sometimes he is way too pessimistic.

You chuckle a little and shake your head: “That’s the wrong answer, Rublev, try again!”

He rolls his eyes but grins: “Fine. I think we won’t be as bad as I – and everyone else - expect us to be.”

“Wow. You must be the hit at every party…”, your words drip with sarcasm.

“I’m, actually.”

“Yeah, I don’t believe that.”

“That’s because you have never seen me partying.”, Andrey turns his head to look at you, “A friend of mine is celebrating his birthday on Sunday in a club near our hotel…you should come too.”

You smile to yourself as you follow Andrey on the court.

Maybe you will accept his invitation.

*** *** *** *** *** ***

Two and a half hours later you feel Andrey hugging you from behind. You just played the perfect stop for the match ball.

You really won your double match.

“We won it!”, you can’t stop beaming as you look at him, “We won it!”

“Yeah, we did. Like I said!”, he hangs an arm around your shoulders.

“You said that we won’t be as bad as you – and everyone else - expect us to be?!”

“Yes, and I’m right. Everyone expected us to lose but we won it, sooo…”, he grins at you.

You poke him in the side with your elbow: “My god, I can’t believe I actually like you and like spending time with you.”

Andrey looks a bit surprise because of your words and runs his hand through his hair with a smooth gesture: “You do?”

“Of course! I think we are a good team and-“, you hesitate and look him directly in the eyes, “And we have great fun, don’t we?”

“Yes, we have.”, he agrees and tightens the grip around your shoulder, “And? Will you join me and my friends on Sunday?”

“I’d love to.”, you smile at him.

He returns the smile and tilts the head: “I'm very happy to hear that.”

*** *** *** *** *** ***

One year later you two are at the exact same court playing doubles again.

“Who would have thought, hm?”, you lean against Andrey’s shoulder as you wait for your walk on court, “We’re still playing doubles together.”

The Russian sighs softly and adjusts his headband: “And I still don’t think we gonna win this match.”

“That’s ok.”, you smile at him, “Because I think we won’t be as bad as you – and everyone else - expect us to be.”

Lost in thought, you look out over the court, “Isn't it crazy how everything has changed since then?”

Andrey raises an eyebrow but the corners of his mouth twitch: “Are you getting sentimental now?”

“Excuse me for getting a bit emotional when coming back to the place where it all started and where I fell in love with my boyfriend.”, you cross your arms in front of your chest.

“Technically it all started in the club at the birthday party of my friend.”

“No, it actually started right here in this tunnel, where I kissed you after our final loss.”

Andrey steps closer to you and bends down, his face only centimetre aways from yours: “I say, we repeat this…”

“What?”, you reply teasingly, “Winning every double match but losing the final?”

“I meant our kiss.”

“I know.”

He chuckles softly before he slides his arms around your waist and kisses you.

You smile against his lips. Your coach was right back then: he found the right double partner for you – on the court and off the court.

♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦

tagging: @bluetackbaby @lxndonorris @fedalev

[mephinomaly]

[TL] PYSCHOBREAK/Chapter 12

[ This post uses Ois~su ♪ ]

Time: The next day, the day of live Flashback

Location: In a livehouse near Yumenosaki

Koga: ♪〜♪〜♪

(For fuck’s sake! I’ve been tricked…!)

(What happened t’Sakuma-senpai? Yesterday he was actin’ all cool and said he’d “do his best tomorrow”!?)

(And now he’s not even here!)

(The show’s started at the exact time we said it would! And we’re gonna have to perform without him!)

Adonis: ...

Kaoru: ...

Koga: (Gahhh? Adonis can’t help it- even though he looks strong he’s actually a quiet guy!)

(Think he’s got overwhelmed since it’s his first live ‘n his mind’s gone blank!)

(But Hakaze-senpai, that shallow playboy! He’s suppose t’be our senpai yet he’s got all flustered ‘n is actin’ like a total beginner!?)

(What happened to “I’m a reliable guy”?! Fuckin’ liar!)

(This is bad, we all fuckin’ suck! UNDEAD is the worst band ever!)

(Gah, what was I thinkin’!? ‘Course a band that hasn’t practised enough, hasn’t got enough of anythin’ ain’t just gonna get on stage ‘n blow everyone away!?)

(So this was obviously gonna happen. This isn’t a cartoon, no miracle is gonna suddenly save us~!)

(Fuck, shit, this is so embarrasin’!)

(If I could have the same talent Sakuma-senpai had, this wouldn’t be goin’ t’shit. Obviously this is my fault for bein’ weak ‘n immature!)

(I don’t wanna smear Sakuma-senpai’s amazin’ reputation!)

(That’s why I hate this! Someone’s gotta do somethin’! I’ve got to do somethin’...!)

Kaoru: Calm down~, Wan-chan. Relax, relaxxx ♪

Koga: HaaH!? I-i-if you’re so fuckin’ calm that means you ain’t got a fuckin’ clue what’s goin’ on!?

Kaoru: Nothing’s going to change if you panic, okay?

I’m sorry. I’m a poor excuse for a senpai… As you can probably tell, this is my first time on stage, so.

As I thought, actually being on stage is much different than watching from the sidelines.

I can’t breathe properly. The lights are too bright and too hot. I’m sweating and I feel gross. I can’t concentrate because my brain keeps thinking about random, irrelevant things.

It feels like my heart’s going haywire, and that my blood isn't circulating properly.

If I don’t hold out, I might break down… It’s scary, performing like this.

On stage too. I’m only now realising this.

Adonis: Me too… I’m sorry Oogami, I’m feeling really nervous right now.

A long time ago, I used to dance with my mother. She was a singer.

I had her by my side, I knew I could rely on her. I was young, innocent, and unafraid.

I was able to perform without deliberating about it, as if it was second nature. Maybe that was because I had my mother guiding me.

She made me shine. But now, she’s not here with me. My guiding light is not here.

I have to shine on my own.

My anxiety is through the roof, and I’m scared… I feel like a child lost in the dark.

Koga: I see. Can’t I be your guidin’ light?

Nevermind. Without Sakuma-senpai here… I can’t do anythin’.

Adonis: As for Sakuma-senpai… I noticed a moment ago, but isn’t he down there?

Koga: Huh?

Adonis: After talking to you two, I felt calmer and was able to properly take a look at my surroundings… Look, he’s in the audience waving a penlight around.

Rei: Kyah~☆

UNDEAD~♪ Fight, fight, do your best~♪

Koga: I thought he wasn’t gonna show, the hell’s he doin’ down there!?

Adonis: I’m not sure but now I feel strangely satisfied.

Kaoru: S-Sneaky Sakuma-san! You’re a part of UNDEAD, so get up here!

Rei: Ahaha. Yeah yeah. Didn’t expect you of all people to say that, Hakaze-kun. You seemed the most demotivated, and the one with no sense of family.

Kaoru: Okay whatever! Hurry up! If you don’t perform properly you won’t be able to afford to pay back the retaining fee!

Rei: Jeez, alright~. Guess there’s nothin’ I can do then, huh, Nobita-kun…[1] Without your mama here you get all anxious ‘n start cryin’ dontcha. Little baby ♪

Kaoru: …You probably don’t even know this, but that’s a sensitive topic for me, okay?

Don't treat me like I'm stupid.

—And I’m not a weak cry baby anymore.

♪〜♪〜♪

[ ☆ ]

nobita-kun is a doraemon character. He's depicted as lazy, doesn’t like thinking critically, acts childishly, and is pretty dense. Despite this, sometimes he has some redeeming qualities, like being kind and risking his life to save others. It's also implied that his poor grades are not because he’s stupid, but because he’s lazy

Chapter 11

Chapter 13

[austinsastrology8991]

> Issues I have with you/occult / world < *long post* do not read if you don't want to waste your time < a subjective analysis of Astrology, numerology, manifestation, and a subtle exposé of my life

I got issues... but more importantly i got issues with you. I do a lot of research n i hate being told what to do/ and the occult gotta habit of telling me who tf i am.

and Im better at telling myself who tf I am.

THIs is who i am. <^> stop googly eyin me; foo

This is a fkn mess of a post > try your best to read; it was meant to be a story but im incapable > I just want you to have headache (me after reading this shit 20 times or whatever it is) i;m tired. now go away. or read. or die in a hole. all the same to me. astrology is a subjective subject. IDGAF how many books youve read or how many people you speak too; we are literally looking at a planet in space and are saying shit liek " oh im dat type of pretty (venus), im dominant over here (mars), and thats why my life sux (saturn) " meanwhile, the planet still just rotating and we like acting like we apart of its orbit. Its objectively a subjective subject... > its objective only in your natal chart - where the planets are etc.... but interpretations > subjective Sidenote- Im obsessed with astrology.... because my life sucks. and i need to like feel productive somehow - stfu i know this isnt productive, but tell me what you doing? don't act all jiminy cricket on me, when your soundtrack is that of a cricket beginning of rant Also: the mythology and practise of intepretating planets and asteroids, and well the complicated drama that is greek/roman mythology. while there is plenty of overlap, the sheer concept of 2 different intepretations created upon from, 2 seperate cultures, creates different texts and slight differences inherent within each story. this initself creates a subjective intepretation of aforementioned stories > not to mention other cultures who likely put their own narrative of these mythos > it allows us to also intepret it in our own way > it is all just imagination at the end of the day. Whilst the themes are uncannily similar, the form is always different, and thats why I like to intepret it in my own way, and i recommend you do tooo (Alike everything in this subject) ; however we need some clear rules, and guidelines, to make this subject actually palatable, but i fear this community would rather keep it confusing so we can treasure the secrets of the occult on our own. and to that I do understsnd, however, anyone reading tumblr astrology, I believe to already be taking that leap into the occult and should be granted at least some introductory access. and here is (1) problem

Astrology signs are the how, and the houses are the where, > yet you all describe 2nd house a whole lot like tuarus, 10th house lot like capricorn. I mean Ik its similar but yall acting like its different yet your intepretations aint all dat different from each other..... but if the how for you is the where for me, then how tf is it so hard for me to see the differences?… if there is such a startling difference like yall always claim.. to me the themes are so fkn similar whereby > i think its the same > degree, house, sign; same shit diff smell

This however made 4 years ago me, very insecure.:.. 😢I couldn’t figure out the difference and I felt dumb 🤧 but That was 4 years ago - I was noob…. made me realize things like: we got an attitude problem today - we youngins always apologizing, trying to make others comfortable about our bullshit (Anxiety skill issue), yet the old fucks are hella comfortable telling us what to do (authority skill issue), like bro. you dont even know me, and im supposed to bow to you, just so your gonna bread crumb me with some bs self professed 'useful' advice??? if you talked to each other youd realize you all have the same advice... and you too old to keep up with my problems, so stop acting like you know.....

and so like uh, its not bold of me to say that; if your a legit astrologer you know you can just read people. yes everyone has free will, and other explanations to undermine the importance of astrology, but we know whats going on > try me > *sales pitch noise*<

Tumblr astrology is good but not proffesional, just: posts about random asteroids, random observations, random sexytime, and the occasional ‘official’ astrologers bread crumbing us to incentivize us to pay for a reading…. Now I got nothing better to do with my life (nor do you clearly) so we all on here fucking around> but I made da sacrifice > I spent real money

And these 'readings' > dog shit I tell ya > oh don’t worry none of them were from tumblr people. But people in my city and they knew less than what I knew (from reading your tumblr shits)

So it turns out you guys lowkey experts - we done a million random astrology observations - and if your a lurker, you lowkey know more than some pros; and da concept of analyzing people in your life with astrology has made you a *drum roll* > an average astrologer. your not average, if the experts are only 20% better than you (lets say). so with this in mind your not that far off their expertise.. oh you cant measure it? tell me what i dont know < (tell me more) IM HUNGRY, MORE POSTS, MY FEED IS FUCKInG HUNGRY

Now however wasting my money > pissed me off… but its a blessing, becasuse i became >.....> not depressed!!! Finally I got my energy back >>> legs go...

So I learned to read astrology. I just kept reading these websites and interpreting them and well.. I think they overcomplicate a lot of things, and they say it like a report card, when obviously you and I are multiple planets, aspects, houses, degrees, house lords, persona charts, midpoints, asteroids, not to mention composite, synastry, transits solar return , and all da other fkn ones that I cannot be bothered mentioning. Yet there’s a whole fucking essay about one aspect… like bro you couldn’t make a summary? and im supposed to read each of my other aspects? (ofc i did) but like this is just trying to make me spend money (too much reading) and well Im a greedy little fuck so imma drain your resources and not give you a dime >t > SWIPER NO SWIPING <

and i hate watching people trynna act like they know shit yet eat their own words n adjectives like you aint a professional; you just labeled yourself one > wheres your doctorate at bitch? Had enough shitty readings to not trust another 'tarot reader', but its cool the 'psychologists' aint did much better > thank you mother for the birth of my existence but shi dis place a fkn willy wonkin fsctory - and its foul - most places that try to help you that is.... ' you need to be able to receive help' bitch stfu yall underestimsting my problems and overestimating your ability to make me feel better; BITCH I STFG you dont know shiiiiitiittttttttttt > and yall look happy dont you > "dont trust a bartender who dont drink bitch" - KanYe. Numeroloy 'master numbers' > So many sites only use master numbers from 11 > 22 > 33... but wheres the 44? the 55? the 66?????? dont tell me yall didnt realize that every 'master number' still reverts back to each number (9). > 11 =2, 22 = 4, 33=6, 55 = 1, 66 = 3, 77=5..... bro god stsyed outta this mess clearly..... and its always the ones that be inventing new gods that fuck everything too 🤫 furthermore annoyances of numerofuckology - because they reduce the number back down.. .e.g. you have life path 89 > which is simplified to 17 > then to 8.... why not use 89? why we dissin 9 ????? let alone the complete number??? why not intepret both numbers together???? yall just wanna do 1 because your simple with it. and 9 getting left out fr... and yall always celebrating how special 9 is yet he always left out (magic of math - adding 9 - always reverts back to original) honestly - sometiems its so obvious why yall became numerologists sometimes...... Dont even get me started on ANGEL NUMBERS i could neva stfu

i mean yall still trying to test how true it all is, but if you throw a fish at a pisces they gonna go all googly eye on you. tell a scorpio that you intimidated and now your their favourite informant... read their life path number, and you know what they wanna be doing with their life.... i mean it really is a key, and yall locks are looser than you think... watch yo back.. i wouldnt trust someone who can help me (what do they even want), let alone get help from someone who is useless; why would you? dont act like you dont have trust issues, its like our way of relating to each other at this point. your good at sex if you have.... what about the other person? i mean if you masterbate to yoself maybe.... but if a composite chart / synastry have say - chiron eros? pluto saturn? mars dejanira.... how much are you gonna be fucking yourself when you fucked a dirty fucka..... rip virginity - and rip yo self esteem - dangerous game to value your sex appeal as much as you do...... or maybe your living a fantasy on the internet, and that is healthier, but thoughts are manifestations.... oh shit what da fuck have i manifested oh shitttttttttt IM BEING SUCKED IN A VORTEX OF MY OWN SHIT, SOMONE CALL A MANIFESTOR AGHJH AGJJGH please dont be offended, i do like this community; im just a devils advocate... sometimes 👹

you guys put too muhc importance on manifeststion, and i mean if you think its facts, look at what the people around you are manifesting.... OH thats why you isolate so much. so your manifesting loneliness.... oh you try to help people, so your just a trash can for a rubish person.... you see what i mean, manifestation aint so clear cut as you seem to believe. I believe in it, but Im so used to receiving crap, I learned to enjoy eating shit (we all did) and what is "one mans trash is another mans soap" - fight club Oh and Pluto my favourite - every curse a blessing and every blessing a curse.... stop complaining > he gave you the sauce and the only way to show you was to make you cry > lil bitch > pluto profile pic winking at you rn natal > persona > midpoint > composite > synastry > transit > return charts this is the offical order governed by me- so much more imporatnt to understand yourself over what the world got installed / what your partner doing - work on yo insecurities rather than be worried about something you have no control ova

hmmm thats all the issues i have for now.... just look at me as the boy who cried wolf. they aint a wolf here yet; but they gonna be, and im warning yall > why people dont get it...its because there are too many contradictions > but i fully believe, ive had so many spiritual experiences where if i denied them, id be drinking alcohol and pretending i aint a alcoholic. and i do love yall, but sometimes your an eye roll 29th post requires. 29 degree typa energy - YOlo MOfo

[dyslexic-mess]

So- my aunt's pregnant, and she had the 'omg nothing fits me anymore, I'm so massive and ugly' breakdown that I've come to expect from 2nd trimester pregnant people.

Obviously, I wanna be supportive and give the well practised 'your gorgeous, Of course you are. Its just that you're literally growing a human, your body's making room! Cloths should fit you, your not supposed to make yourself fit the cloths, put the fucking gym subscription down and lets go grab coffee and update your wardrobe' -yadda yadda yadda. I've done this a good few times before.

ANYWAY. We sit down to start searching for some maternity ware and??? Why is it all ugly as fuck???? No like. I get that it's gotta be made a little different to make room for the bump and stuff, but. Why is it all disgusting florals or abhorrent animal print? Why is it all suddenly covered in ugly frills and long sleeves and weird gathered pleats and necklines so high, it might strangle you?

Every time I need to do this with a sad pregnant friend/family member, it's the same problem. Im in the trenches out here trying to find something that makes her still feel like the beautiful woman she is and a person instead of my mothers teapot cozy. What the hell.

[kingkatsuki]

Ya know who we don’t talk enough about with lactation. Kirishima. I just know he is going rock hard every-time he sees a little wet patch on your shirt even if it’s not from lactating. Constantly is telling you he’s gotta check for a clog. Man is desperate, a common cold remedy for a household with a baby is breast milk and kirishima is always under the weather. Better give him a sip so he doesn’t get sick after a day of patrolling the city. He is slowly thrusting into a pillow while taking his fill. Letting his large tongue pick up any drops that would try to slip away. Constantly telling you how good you are and how much he adores you. (This got out of hand but 🤷‍♀️)

This man is a nasty pervert and he’s constantly plotting ways to make you lactate even if you’re not pregnant. That splash of water that left a tiny wet patch on your grey shirt is enough to have his cock throbbing at the thought of your puffy nipples leaking with milk.

Kirishima praises whatever gods exist when you finally become pregnant, and he’s not even mad that it isn’t his. Not when you’re currently dating his best friend Sero— it means he’ll be right in the middle of the action as your breasts begin to get bigger in preparation for your birth, your tits leaking milk before you’ve even had the baby as Kirishima licks his lips at the sight. Practising pumping milk in the days leading up to your supposed birth day.

Sure, it’s pretty depraved thinking about one of his closest friends girlfriends like this when you’re in such a pure and ethereal state, but it’s not his fault. He can’t help the way his cock throbs every time you even talk about breast feeding, thankful the ladies chat had deemed him worthy enough to stay in the room as he sips his beer and listens to you all talk about milk and breasts. Trying his hardest not to cum in his pants when you palm your breasts and complain that they’re too heavy— now that is something he could help with.

But what’s even better is knowing that Sero is basically like a brother to him, and that if he’s real lucky his friend will do him a solid and let him taste your breast milk direct from the source.

[fulltimesapphic]

@mrghostrat made more.

I can’t stop myself.

Writing for that one.

Jesus fucking Christ here we go. This one’s a bit longer. *scrolls all the way down* damn, really a bit longer.

The bookshop was quiet. A bit too quiet. Crowley snapped his fingers and a sweet soft sound started filling to room.

The song? Crazy little thing called love. Crowley and Freddie were hanging out one time, Crowley, as usual was talking about his angel, and the next time he saw the musician the song had been written. In the bubble bath of all places. (True story)

The aforementioned angel walked into the room Crowley was sitting in. They currently were not talking to each other. But maybe….

I gotta be cool, relax. Get hip and get on my tracks

Take a back seat, hitchhike, And take a long ride on my motorbike

Until I'm ready, Crazy little thing called love

Crowley wouldn’t speak to their angel but maybe they could still talk.

Aziraphale snapped his fingers, catching on to what the demon was doing. Little lion man played.

Take all the courage you have left

And waste it on fixing all the problems, That you made in your own head

But it was not your fault but mine, And it was your heart on the line

I really fucked it up this time. Didn't I, my dear?

Crowley snorted. “Yeah you did”

Shit. She wasn’t supposed to talk to him.

“I-…. I know. I know I hurt you. Believe me I know. But I regret it. There’s not a day that goes by where I regret my choice. Heaven is unfixable. You probably think I’m quite stupid.” Aziraphale let out a small laugh. “I thought I could make it better. But as usual, you were right. And don’t make me do the dance. Or do! If that’s something I need to do to help you forgive me, I’ll do it gladly! Ah- um… anywa-“

“I don’t think you’re stupid…” Crowley said so softly it could’ve been a whisper. They cleared their throat and spoke again.

“I’ve never thought you were stupid. Misguided? Yeah. Optimistic? Absolutely. But never stupid.”

He paused, unsure of how far to go. “I thought you were brilliant.” He finished voice cracking.

While she was talking, she had stood and crossed to stand close to Aziraphale. Both of them were very conscience of every inch between them. Or more accurately, lack of inches between them.

Aziraphales eyes flicked around his face, rested on their lips but ended on the sunglasses hiding Crowley. Hands raised slowly, unsure.

Crowley gently put his hands on Aziraphales elbows a moved them up to Crowleys face. He removed the glasses.

“There you are” Aziraphale said, a look that Crowley couldn’t quite place, filling his eyes as he took in her yellow eyes.

“Have never told you how much I love those eye? Cause I do. Really love them. They’re my favorite part of you. Incase you were ever worried that I hated you for being a demon. That I was trying to fix you by bringing you back to heaven.”

Crowley hadn’t moved. It felt like he was collecting dust.

“They’re perfect. You’re perfect.” Aziraphale continued oblivious to what he was doing, the feelings he was stirring.

That’s what the look was. Love.

It was hard to tell who moved first but for the sake of argument, they both did and met in the middle.

They had wasted so much time. Over 6000 years wasted. But no more. (Ha dr who reference( the brainrot is so fucking real dudes))

Hands on the face, arms around the neck, bodies pressed against each other, leaving no space in between. They only broke apart when they had run out of breath. Angels and Demons can only hold it for so long.

Crowley smiled. The first smile in a long time.

“I also love that smile. And the hair, and the snake tattoo and th-“ Crowley kissed him again. “Sssshut up”

“Make me” Angel said with a smug smile on his face.

“Really? That’s how you wanna do it? Why not just ask, if you like me kissing you so much?”

This time it was Aziraphale that shut the other up with a kiss.

The music had stopped playing a while ago but now a new song came on.

Everyday.

“Nnnooo!” Crowley said before lunging to change it while Aziraphale cackled behind him.

I put so many romance tropes in this. Ima big big fan of the “there you are” when Az take of the cursed sunglasses. And the “make me” thing. Whenever I see that I just like melt. Anyways congrats on getting here! Hope you enjoyed

[hypnoneghoul]

Mushy May Day 22. Teaching a skill - Dewfrit

WC: 605

Ifrit (he is horny) teaches Dew guitar when he is to play lead.

Read under the cut or on AO3.

“This is fucked up” Dewdrop grumbled, dropping his hands from the guitar again. He learned so much already, so many hard to play solo’s, but somehow pull-offs and hammer-ons seemed unachievable without a pick.

“It’s not, you just have to, look-” Ifrit said, taking the guitar from Dew and playing the bridge from ‘From the Pinnacle to the Pit” perfectly. Of course he did, he probably played it a million times already. “You can’t just pull your fingers up, you gotta pluck the string doing that, too. And don’t smack them, gently.”

He gave the Fantomen back to the smaller ghoul and watched him attempt the part again. Dew already nailed the rest of the song, including the solo, but for some reason this was the hardest for him. Ifrit sighed, not from frustration, but worry about Dew, when he just managed to get out only a few, out of rhythm, pinched sounds, again, “See? It doesn’t work!”

“Hmmm,” the bigger fire ghoul thought, wrapping an arm around Dew’s shoulders and bumping their horns together. “I think I’ve got an idea.”

Ifrit jumped up as Dew let out a confused noise, and got back after a moment with Dew’s old bass. He quickly plugged it in and gave it to Dewdrop, taking away the Fantomen.

“Play ‘Con Clavi’ intro, slowly,” he instructed and watched as Dew did, stopping him at the second pull-off. “Look, you are doing it! It’s the same thing, Droplet. Just smaller strings.”

“Wait,” the smaller ghoul furrowed his brows and repeated slowly. “I think you’re right. Wait, let me-”

He moved to the highest string and tried to play that guitar part, but on his bass. The notes were different and he had more issues stretching his small hands like that on the longer neck of the bass, but in general, he played the hammer-ons and pull-offs perfectly.

“Yeah, exactly!” Ifrit chuckled, switching the instruments once again. “Try again, you can do it, Droplet.”

Dewdrop cleared his throat, took a deep breath and cracked his knuckles, as if he was preparing for a fist fight. Well, he, somewhat, was. He grabbed the neck again, carefully placing his right hand over the strings to mute them and tried to play the bridge again, slowly and paying a lot of attention to the pull-offs, and…

“I did it! It worked, Ifrit, right?” Dew cheered, though a flash of doubt was still visible in his eyes.

“Yeah, you did, it did work,” Ifrit chuckled, Dew really was adorable. “Told you, I’m proud of you, Droplet. Now, come again, you’ll master it quickly.”

Dewdrop didn’t exactly get to it, he just stared at Ifrit with his head tilted to the side and a small pout, “What is it?”

“You said you’re proud of me, and yet you didn’t give me a kiss,” Dew stated, matter-of-factly.

Ifrit laughed, shaking his head, before all but pouncing on the smaller ghoul, dragging the guitar away from them and peppering his face in kisses, mumbling ‘proud of you’ in between them, making Dew blush deeply, squirming below him.

“Stop, Ifrit, stop,” he giggled, a token protest, really.

“Nope,” he breathed. “‘m showing you how proud of you I am.”

“Wasn’t I supposed to practise it more?”

“Later,” Ifrit mumbled, trailing his lips down to Dew’s collarbone, his scent getting a more heady hint to it.

“Oh no-” the small ghoul whispered, when Ifrit shifted enough to rut his half-hard cock about Dew’s thigh. “Why is everything always making you horny?”

“It's not everything,” Ifrit chuckled, sneaking his hand under Dew’s boxers. “It’s you who always makes me horny, Droplet.”

“Oh, Satan…”

[agi-ppangx]

chan is in the back, unbelieving of the information he just got without you knowing. when minho turns, his face converts into pure rage. “i thought you would talk with them.” his voice is laced with anger and disappointment, almost not able of looking at chan. “and i did… it seemed fine.”

when minho leaves him alone in the hall, chan’s mind stops. they were firing you and he disappointed one of his best friends. sighing, he stays put looking at the floor. what is he supposed to do?

are we evil?

GIRL WE ARE TERRIBLE😭

okay now imagine a few days later, the choreographer would to the company and it’s now official that they got fired. they came to collect their stuff and oops! they bumped into minho in the practise room🤭 he would look at them with those big round eyes and without uttering any word he would wrap his arms around them and hugs them oh so tightly.

“i’m so sorry yn, but i still would give you my hoodie anyway, you know that?” he whispered into your hair and you melted. “yeah, i know. if i froze to death there wouldn’t be anyone who you could piss off,” you chuckled, rubbing minho’s back and he giggled as well. you took a step back, looking him in the eyes and smiled faintly. “okay, i gotta take the rest of my stuff now,” you mumbled, your face suddenly turning sad. “oh, also- don’t be mad at chan, he couldn’t have done anything anyway,” you added and minho raised his eyebrow, feeling quite lost. “why is that?” he questioned, trying to understand why there was nothing that chan could’ve done. “because i decided to quit anyway. i didn’t want to cause you any trouble. you’re too precious for me to do that to you.” you threw him the last soft smile and left him there, wiping a strange tear that appeared on your cheek.

[goldenfox3]

It's fun exploring the different aspects of (game) Falcon's character through fic like I have a tendency to write the SNES era one as a cocky little shit but I've also tried playing up the cool and mysterious bounty hunter angle to make him a little more taciturn and serious. GX era Falcon I tend to write as more conscientious and focused on doing good though some of his youthful attitude and cockiness still shines through lmao. There's also his general theatrical nature that appears in (I would say) all his iterations (and is I suppose par for the course with a cast this colourful) and his (outward) confidence and love of showing off that remains even in his upstanding GX era.

The flirtiness I tend to give him is completely a result of my imagination bc Falcon is not at all flirty anywhere in canon ever but I think it would fit in with his flashy and forward demenaour (especially SNES era) and desire for attention even if he's not necessarily actually interested that way. Gotta get that taunting and preening in after all.

(More Falcon musings below the cut)

In contrast to the way I write Andy I don't think game Falcon has quite so defined a separation in how he acts with/without the costume on, but I do still think being Captain Falcon is a performance as well as a mindset. When he doesn't have to put on the face of "Captain Falcon" I like to think of him being quieter, more withdrawn/desiring alone time to recharge, sometimes even anxious about social scenarios that he might have to navigate as not-the-Captain. This isn't always necessarily tied to him having the helmet/costume on or not—if he still feels like he's present in a given situation as "Falcon", he'll act the same way in or out of costume.

This is kind of tied to my name hcs for him—it's not just that he doesn't want to give out his first name, he really does conceptualize of himself most of the time as the persona of "Falcon". The only time I think he would use his first name or even think of himself using his own first name would be if he was with people he was extremely close to, whether that's family (I have no idea what's going on with his family situation lol), best friends, or serious long-term lovers. The switch in use of surname to given name is a symbolic lowering of defences, a signifier of increased intimacy and almost like mental permission to him to just be...himself without any of the performance.

In Thousand Five, Stewart has known him only as Captain Falcon, his public persona, for 11 years and counting so even when they hang out out of costume he still feels the need to put that act on, though the amount of acting he does unconsciously lessens more and more as he grows more comfortable around Stewart. At least that's the explanation I have for why he's been gradually showing more and more vulnerability in anxiousness, earnest desire for approval, clinginess, etc. as the story goes on lol. The part where they finally address each other by given name will be basically when the final barriers between them are dissolved and they're letting each other know that yes, it's ok to be your unfiltered self around me and yes, I'm offering up my honest unfiltered self to you in return (which is why this won't be for many chapters to come lol).

In Living in the Fast Lane, since it's SNES era Falcon and Stewart haven't known each other quite so long there and Falcon isn't yet quite so practised at the whole performance of being Captain Falcon thing so there's less separation between how he acts in and out of costume. But there is indeed still an internal pressure to conform to his usual persona and to stick to the familiar snarky rivals dynamic that is eroding despite his best efforts in the face of unfamiliarly tender and squishy feelings ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ The use of his Captain persona being a sort of safety wall and its gradual dissolution is always very fun and juicy to dig into and getting to write it happening in mutiple different ways is always a blast 🕺