#Thank you SO much!
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Check out this cool story banner @kenlair made! I love the light root đ Thank you so much! Shared with permission.
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EXPLODES INTOA BILLION PIECES
Here is my mass-revenge for everyone on Artfight up until a certain point (Iâm so sorry if you didnât make it in, this took me a few days to make đđđđ)
IM GOING TO TRY AND TAG EVERYONE THATS IN IT, WISH ME LUCKKKKK
(Credits/tags under the cut)
TV/Dark: @darkxsoulzyx (ME)
Virux: @bunrux (and whom the attack is addressed too because wEâRE LINKED TOGETHER)
Indigo: @astral-olive
Ace/Luria: @gufaspins
Invalid: Breadmaster (artfight)
Nihility/Tizo: @cinnabynn
Puppet: @dustyisegg
Stitch: idiotofthecentury404 (DeviantArt)/cheese_idiot2 (Twitter)
Luna Phasma: @stefdarkblood
Tasia: pinnipuff (artfight)
Ace/Soi: yekorav (Instagram)
Ali Surna: @alisurna
Hollow/Fatality: @inkywellcrow
Beast Sans: FernTail06 (instagram)
Candyland DCA/Sandman: @garbagechocolate
RELLIK: @s0l-st-ice
Alex: @boredlydoodling
Livvy: flowerry_._ (tiktok)
Floral/Unknown: Holy_Mol_y (Twitter)
Crash: @russianfig
Vitrum: @mossdoesartshit
AbsentCat/Mystery Apocalypse: Absentcat (tiktok and YouTube)
Rootsy: @awoscorner
Eli Jin/Fry08: @sandeewithtwoe
Rosy Sans: @justabirds-art
Judas: @claie171art
Comedy/Tragedy: @woolysstuff
Faolan: @the-jadedknight
Kai: @blizzysnowolf
Scot: @usercookie2008
Thane/Nyx: Khaotic_Order (Twitter) Khaotic_order_ (instagram)
Moss: @swiftmitsu
Chiib/H.O.PE.: @chiib-foxx-artz
Glitter: @kandidandi
Motus: potato_mochi_679 (instagram)
Tempean: @zef01
Loanen Riverside: nox_starswimmer ( instagram)
Twister/Wraith: @marinavoyageuse
Aya: @domijeannes
Exp: Cut_It_Out (Artfight (and Iâm assuming Amino?))
============================
Oh, and if any of you were curious about how much it was worth⌠>:)
#darkzyx#fnaf fandom#utmv fandom#utmv oc#ocs#other peoples ocs#artfight mass attack#artfight#so many ocs#to all of you who have attacked me#HOLY SHIT YOU GUYS ARE SO COOL#I have all of the wonderful art on my shelf right now#I will stare at it for all eternity#thank you so much!
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I feel so honoured!! ty! Yours is on my list too x3 And then there's also @arson-mushroom @egret-orchids @grishaverse-chaos @goneadrift @kanejbr3kker @doc0bill (basically the ones I tag in every tag game hahaha) and every rp blog my rp blogs interact with :D And also @dntknowwttodo @storm-elf @darkestelemental616 (who I usually refrain from tagging because they're the level of cool that they intimidate a bit lol not that the others are not cool, but like-)
positivity train!
if you see this or are tagged in it, tag a couple of your favorite mutuals/blogs and let them know you appreciate seeing them on your dash!
@h0neysugarfree @blueberrylovv @bequiteanddriveeeeeee @cherri-bomb-bomb @eg0mechan1c @fatrexicisback
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If your still taking requests-
Can you draw deuce and ace ? I really admire you and your work :D
#thank you so much!#so so late sorry#asks#enigmatic-pers#ace trappola#deuce spade#twst#twisted wonderland
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for the art thing... lawlight đđ ? they look so cute in your style no pressure though đ
my pleasure - thank you so much âşď¸
#answered asks#requests#lawlight#light yagami#l lawliet#death note#thank you so much!#sorry if this is not what you had in mind#not really sure where i was going with this đ
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happy double life anniversary!
#life series#double life#grian#goodtimeswithscar#desert duo#my art#im new to the fandom but everyone's been so kind to me#thank you so much!#trafficshipping
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um how is this already at 600 notes??!!?? thank you all so much for all the love and support for this fic! I appreciate it so much! I read every reblog and every comment, and it really does make a difference so thank you!
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
âWhere would you like these?â 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.Â
âAnywhere over there is good! Those look amazing, thank you so much!âÂ
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. Itâs quick work as you separate them by flavour: garlic and herb; chilli; regularâŚIn the background you overhear chatter of fellow volunteers. Where should I put this? Who had the plastic bags? This was your happy place.Â
âThe Stirring Spoonâ 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 wasnât 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. Youâd 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 werenât technically selling a product so no harm done. People were clued in about the supposed âriskâ.Â
You lift up a can of tomatoes and study the âbest byâ 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 sirenâs call; distinct and damning. You could pick it out even when deaf.Â
âI gotta delivery here for yâall.â
âWhatâs in it?â
âFresh sorta stuff. âTatoes and that kinda thing.â
âOver there, Iâd say.â
As the footsteps approach you can feel your heartbeat quicken. It taps nervously in your ribcage like youâre sixteen all over again. Your focus remains on the task at hand until a slight shadow casts over you, and you know you canât 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. Heâs 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, itâd be like no time had passed at all. He doesnât look all that different from the last time you saw him and yet, heâs entirely changed. In his hands is a large cardboard crate of various fresh produce. You smile.Â
âJJ.â
It comes out in a breath as though youâre 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 heâs practised it everyday.Â
âHey.â
âWhatâre you doing here?â you ask.
âBrought some deliveries,â JJ says, hitching the box. âKiara mentioned something âbout a community kitchen drive yâall do and we thought we could contribute and stuff.â
âWell, thatâs nice of yâall. Thank you,â you reply.Â
You shuffle some stuff out of the way on the pop-up table in front of you to make space for JJâs box. Itâs hard not to watch his arms as he lowers it down, the way the biceps flex and tense beneath the skin. Itâs 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.Â
JJâs hands slot into his short pockets. He rocks on his feet. âLooks like itâs a pretty popular thing, huh?v This food drive, I mean.â
You glance around at the bustling volunteers. Smiling, you say, âYeah, I guess it caught on pretty quick. Could say the same about yâalls tackle-and-bait shop you got going. Itâs the talk of the town âround here.â
JJ grins with visible pride and it isnât until you see it that you realise how much you missed his smile. You wonder if heâs 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.Â
âYeah, itâs coming together pretty nice. Helps having a bunch of us working on it, though.â
âI bet,â you say. Youâd heard the chatter on the island about the Pogueâs 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. Youâd wanted to wander down and check it out for yourself but you always chickened out. Truth was, youâd 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.Â
âI, uh, donât know if thereâs much in there that yâall need butââ
âNo, no, this is great,â you assure him, smiling. âItâs really generous of yâall. Every contribution is appreciated.â
âHappy to help. To be honest, itâs Kie and Sarah you should be thanking.â
âYeah, I didnât peg you as the gardening type,â you tease.Â
âWell, only for the stuff that matters,â JJ grins with a wink. You consciously try to fight away the warmth running to your cheeks. Damn it, you werenât sixteen anymore. âSoâŚhow have you been, then? Since we lastâŚyâknowââ
âBaby!â
Itâs a reflex reaction to turn at the sound of Markâs 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. Itâs 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 youâll ever go through.Â
âJJ,â you say, turning to the blonde haired boy. âThis is Mark. Mark, this is JJ. We used toâŚuhâŚWell, we used to hang out.â
âJJ - pleasure,â 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.Â
âLikewise,â he says.Â
You feel Markâs 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 youâd see flash on the television during the six oâclock news as the reporter relays a daring and heroic tale of saving orphaned kittens from a burning tree.Â
âThis is the guy thatâs started the tackle-and-bait shop. Yâknow, the one with the surf store and stuff,â you say to Mark. Realisation dawns upon Mark and he wags his finger at JJ.Â
âWait, wait, JJ as in JJ Maybank? One of the gang who found El Dorado?âÂ
You roll your eyes at the pure awe in his voice. JJ chuckles somewhat nervously and nods as he says, âyeah, uh, that JJ, I guess.â
âHoly shit! Baby, why didnât you say!? Oh man, I read all about that. It sounded freaking incredible! I have so much to ask you, I mean-â
You place a hand to his chest and laugh, slightly embarrassed by his fangirling. âBaby, baby! Cool it a second, yeah?â
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 Markâs stomach.Â
âNah man, itâs cool. You guys should stop by sometime and I can tell you all about it. The other Pogues too, yeah,â JJ cordially replies.Â
âOh sick, man. Thatâd be great,â Mark beams. You smile at JJ and nod.Â
âIâd love to see what you guys have done to the place,â you tell him. JJ smiles but it falters, like a flickering lightbulb thatâs fighting to stay on. An awkward quiet passes and you clear your throat and glance around at the voluntary effort. âWell, I should probably get back to work.â
âNo, yeah, course. I oughtâa get back to the shop,â JJ replies.Â
âThanks for the stuff though. We really appreciate it.â
âYou brought this?â Mark wonders, picking a strawberry out of the crate. He pops it in his mouth and hums happily. âDamn, those are some fresh strawberries.â
âYeah, man. All from our local garden we got going.â
âThis place sounds like the dream,â 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. âIâll take this over to Nancy. Nice meeting you, JJ.â
âYeah, you too, man.â
You watch him wander off a moment before turning back to JJ. He offers you another smile. âIâll come check out the shop soon,â you promise.Â
JJ points at you, playfully warning, âyou better!â before walking away. You watch him with every step he takes and the moment heâs out of sight your head drops. You let out a breath that you didnât know youâd been holding. Your entire body feels as though itâs vibrating; your heart running laps in your ribcage. And the funniest part of all is the strange thought that races around your mind, heâs real. It had been so long since youâd seen JJ, let alone heard from him, that it felt like a daydream. The memories were so hazy now that theyâd been painted over in sepia and you wondered if youâd 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.Â
âBaby! Can you give us a hand?â
The call drags you out of your thoughts. Your eyes fall onto your boyfriend. He stands a good head taller than most people. Heâs 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. Thereâs a smattering of freckles over his cheeks which is adorably boyish in contrast to his stubble on the jawline. Heâs 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.Â
The rest of The Stirring Spoon passes without a hitch or unexpected visitor from the past. Itâs 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 heâd been haunting before. That is, until youâre tidying up.Â
âThat JJ guy seemed nice,â Mark says from the table to your right. You look up from the plastic snack-bags youâre tidying away. âYou said you guys used to hang?â
âWhen we were sixteen,â you reply.Â
âHow come you stopped hanging out?â he wonders.Â
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? Thereâs 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.Â
âWe just grew apart. He was going through some stuff, I think, and then he got really into that whole treasure hunting thing,â you tell him. It was true enough to not be a lie. Mark hums in thought.Â
âThatâs a shame.â
You quirk a brow, amused. âWhy? Cause I could have cashed in on the gold too?â
Mark shrugs and you laugh. âWhat!? Iâm just saying, some people are worth staying friends with!â
But that was the thing. You and JJ werenât just friends. Shaking your head, you close the cardboard box of repacked snack-bags and carry it over to the table where heâs working. You held him wrap individual muffins in napkins before placing them in a large tupperware box.Â
âHey, yâknow whatâd be nice?â Mark says.Â
âWhat?â
âIf we took them over some leftovers. I mean, we made most of this stuff with the ingredients they gave us anyway. And thereâs still some of those cinnamon buns going spare.â
You take pause and look up at him. Heâs obliviously working away, head tucked down to look at the muffins. Thereâs an easy smile thatâs permanently etched into his face, as if he came out the womb cheesing away. That wasnât 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.Â
âYouâre wonderful,â you hum happily. âI think thatâs a great idea.âÂ
âYou go wrap up some cinnamon buns then. Iâll pack up some of these muffins for them.â
You do as he asks and soon enough, thereâs 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 werenât sure why it was making you so antsy. It wasnât as if you and JJ parted ways on bad terms. You suppose itâs just a bitter-sweet memory. All memories of JJ came with that sour coating now, like sherbet lemons on your tongue. You wonder if youâd feel the same way if Mark werenât around.Â
But he is, and youâre glad he is.Â
Looking over to him, you reach out your hand to capture his, resting on his thigh. He glances over at you and smiles. âYou okay?â
âYeah. Just happy, sâall.â
âThatâs good,â 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. âMeans Iâm doing something right, if youâre happy.â
Itâs impossible not to do a double-take as you pull up to what was formally the Maybank property. Itâs as if new life has been breathed into it. More than just a lick of paint, thereâs two brand new buildings alongside a pretty sturdy looking pier and dock. Thereâs 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.Â
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. Itâs Kiara.Â
âHey. Can I help you?â she asks your monolith of a boyfriend. You poke your head from around his body.Â
âHey Kie.â
âOh my Gosh! Girl, where have you been?â Kie beams. The two of you embrace, laughing and smiling. âWait - did you get the stuff I sent JJ over with?â
âYeah, we did,â you say. âThank you so much.â
âWe actually brought this as a thanks,â Mark adds, offering out the tub. She eyes him almost with suspicion.Â
âSorry, I forgot to say - Kie, this is Mark. My boyfriend,â you explain. Kieâs eyebrows shoot up with that final word but she recovers quick.Â
âNice to meet you, Mark,â she says. She takes the box and glances through the plastic.Â
âJust some leftovers we thought you might like. Muffins and cinnamon buns and things like that.â
âThanks guys, you didnât have to. Weâre happy to contribute,â Kiara tells you. âIn 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 weâve caught?â
âOh my God, yeah, thatâd be amazing,â you nod enthusiastically. âWe can definitely figure out a system.â
âPerfect. Iâll put these inside. You guys want a drink or anything? I can show you around,â Kiara offers, opening the door wider in invitation.Â
You glance over her shoulder into the room and then around the porch, behind you out to the water. Youâre not sure why you were expecting JJ to just appear out of thin air in front of you.Â
âJJâs out on the dock, if you want to catch up,â Kiara posits, as if hearing your thoughts. You look at her and hold her gaze, and - unable to read what her expression means - nod.Â
âI think Iâll go say hi. We didnât get a chance to properly catch up,â you reply. You glance up at Mark. âYou want to come with?â
âItâs alright. Iâll stay here and get the tour,â 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.Â
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 canât believe they built all of this, you canât help but think as you walk up to the wooden-slatted tackle-and-bait shop. As you walk into the store under the wooden âWELCOMEâ sign, reggae music blesses your ears alongside the smell of incense. Itâs jam-packed with miscellaneous water accessories: fishing gear, surfing gear, refreshments, you name it. Thereâs 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 canât help but smile. Walking outside, you lean against the doorframe and fold your arms over your chest.Â
âWell, as far as customer service goes, this is pretty crappy.â
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.Â
âOh shit,â he says, clearing his throat, running a hand through his hair. âWhenâd you get here?â
âA few minutes ago. You looked pretty comfy there,â you say, amused.Â
âYeah, yeah, itâs a good nap spot,â 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. âWait, whatâre you doing here?â
âCame by to see the new place,â you reply, gesturing around you. âYou offered.â
âDidnât think youâd be in such a hurry.â
âNo time like the present and all that.â
Youâre acutely aware of how youâre avoiding mentioning Mark and how heâs currently being led around JJâs former house and yard under Kieâs tow.Â
âThis is a pretty sick set-up,â you praise.Â
âYeah, itâs pretty good, huh?â JJ grins, getting to his feet. âHere, you want a beer? Weâre technically closed for business anyway.â
Laughing, you shrug. âSure. Why not.âÂ
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.Â
âI donât think I said earlier, but itâs really nice to see you again,â you tell JJ.Â
He smiles, small and reserved. âThanks. Itâs nice seeing you too. Even if it is with Joe America over there.â
âJoe America?â you snort. âCome on, he isnât that bad.â
âNo, no, he seemsâŚuh, he seems nice.â
âHe is nice.â
âI believe it.â
âWellâŚgood.â
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.Â
âI wish you couldâve seen it,â JJ suddenly says. You look over to him with a frown, confused. âEl Dorado, I mean. South America. It was beautiful. Like actually fucking stunning out there.â
âReally?â you say, smiling.Â
âHell yeah,â he grins. âLike there was colours out there that I didnât even think existed without, like, LSD, man.â
You laugh and he does too and youâre glad whatever awkwardness that just came passed quick like a seastorm.Â
âI still havenât gone farther than Charleston, so I guess Iâll have to live vicariously,â you lightheartedly remark.Â
âYeah, well, turns out thereâs a pretty big world out there,â JJ grins.Â
âGlad one of us got to see it,â you hum.Â
âNah, youâll see it too. All of it. Even Paris.â
The cityâs 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 didnât forget. You wash down the adrenaline with another sip of beer.Â
âBut no place like home, huh?â JJ says, clearing his throat.Â
âProbably helps now that John B ainât a fugitive anymore,â you muse. JJ laughs, nodding.Â
âYeah, yeah, no, for sure.â
âWell, Iâm glad you found your happiness, JJ,â you say, smiling at him. âIâm glad you found yourself out.â
âAinât we all?â
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 doesnât allow. You always liked JJâs hair though. A mop of blonde planted atop of his head with sun-bleached highlights and deep-sea lowlights. But heâs taking you in too. You canât 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.Â
âWell, I better get going.â
âYou sure? I mean, we can hang out a bit longer, if you like?â
You smile politely and shake your head. âIâm not the one driving, soâŚâ
JJ looks over your shoulder and spots Mark. âAh. Didnât know Dollar Store Chris Evans was here, my bad.â
âJJ! Donât be mean!â
âI ainât being mean! If anything, thatâs a compliment,â JJ defends. You roll your eyes. âLook, Iâll see you around though. Itâd suck to go back to being strangers again when weâre both in the same place for a change.â
Despite the innocence of the offer, something in your gut tells you that you shouldnât 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 âIâd like thatâ with a smile in farewell, before walking back across the dock to your boyfriend.Â
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 youâre 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. Heâd be at parties, at the surf break, at the shops or at school, but he wasnât in your life. Until he was.Â
Fate came in the form of a seating plan for history class.Â
You and JJ were classmates. Table buddies. At first, the conversation was nonexistent. Sometimes JJ wouldnât show up to class at all, either bunking off or playing truant in the bathrooms to light up a joint. But sometimes heâd come to class, usually escorted by Pope, and youâd 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 âwhat did he sayâ and âwhatâs the homeworkâ and âwhat answer did you get for five?â. At your prompting to start on the project, JJ offered up the Chateau to work at, John Bâs house that was a renovated fishing shack on the marsh.Â
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 youâre 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 JJâs âgiftsâ put you in his good books. Itâs 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. Heâd 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.Â
âYo!â
You turn around, beer in hand, startled by the interruption. Itâs JJ. Heâs 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.Â
âYou good?â
âSh! Youâll scare them,â 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. âYou see them?â
âSee what?â
âThe birds.â
âWhat?â
âLook, here,â you mumble. You lean close to him so you can point clearly with your finger, just along his line of vision. A whiff of JJâs scent dusts your nose. Heâs 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. Youâd 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 wouldnât, but something about their cries made you feel the need to do something, and it wasnât as if you could offer up your beer.Â
âWoah.â
âYou see âem?â
âYeah,â JJ breathes. âThatâs sick, how did you see them?â
âI heard them first,â you tell him, keeping your voice low so as to not frighten them. âNeeded some air.â
âThe smoke from the campfire botherinâ you?â
âI swear to God, it targets me,â 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. JJâs lips quirk at your staring. âItâs not fair.â
âWhatâs not fair?â
âYouâre so pretty,â 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.Â
âYouâre not too bad yourself,â he suavely replies.Â
âNah, I mean it. Youâre really something, Maybank,â you smile, doubling-down. In for a penny and all that. Â
His smugness fades into something more real. He doesnât seem to know how to take compliments like that. Then, strangely, something like panic tugs his brows together. âIâm not very good at this sorta thing.â
Your frown of confusion seems to spur him on.Â
âBeing honest. Real. IâmâŚIâm pretty fucked up, yâknow?â
âThe best people are,â you murmur, meaning every word.Â
âNah, I mean it, though. Iâm notâŚI donât wanna hurt you.â JJ says it so quietly, so sincerely, that you get the sense that heâs never said it before. Maybe only thought it on dark nights, when youâre so alone with your thoughts itâs maddening. Smiling, shaking your head, you lift a hand to his cheek. Your heart hiccups at how he relaxes into your touch.Â
âI donât think you have to worry âbout that,â you whisper.Â
Youâre not sure who moves first, whether itâs 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 youâre crossing this boundary together, from friends into something more.Â
Pistachio PastriesÂ
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.Â
âWake up, sleepy,â Mark murmurs.Â
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.Â
âWednesday again,â he says, stroking the skin of your back. âKiara messaged the Instagram page today. Said one of them will drop off an order around one-ish.â
âSweet.â
An alarm blares from Markâs 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. Youâd 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.Â
But thatâs okay. Routine is okay. Itâs 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.Â
You carefully place your coffee back on the side table and look over to Mark. Heâs 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.Â
âBaby,â you hum, lifting a hand to rub your finger along his jawline.Â
âMhm?â
âDo you have any, likeâŚthings you wanna try.â
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. âSurfing. Was never that good at it but Iâd like to try it again, yâknow?â
It fizzles away like water atop of a dying flame. âOh. Yeah, no, yeahâŚthatâsâŚyou should do that.â
He frowns. âYou okay?â
âWell, I just meant moreâŚin the bedroom. Like anything, I donât knowâŚâ Your face burns like youâre a nun stumbling across a Playboy magazine. âKinky?â
âKinky?â
âNot like oh my God, kinky. JustâŚI donât knowâŚâ
He quirks a brow, smiling at you in a teasing sort of way. âYou got some kink youâre not telling me about?â
âMaybe,â you tell him, hoping it comes out seductive.Â
âI donât know,â Mark sighs, resting his head back against the wall. You watch his Adamâs 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. âWanna know what Iâve always wanted to try?â
âMhm,â you say, lifting your hands to cup his face and keep him near. Yes, your body practically cries. Tell me, tell me, tell me.Â
âWell,â he stalls, kissing you again. You chase his lips, shortening in breath. âIâve always wantedââ another kiss â-to try-â another kiss â-doing it in the shower.â
Itâs hard not to deflate completely with disappointment.Â
Wow, yeah Mark. Kinky.Â
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. âNo, yeah. Thatâd be fun. We should totally do that.â
âYeah?â
âYeah,â 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. âWe should try it now.â
âNow?â
âMhm,â you nod eagerly, kissing at his lips desperately. âGood way to start the morning, huh?â
âMaybe,â he says. He pulls away slightly, guilty as he adds, âbut itâs been a while since I cleaned the bathroom. And I promised my mom Iâd help her out today, and I gotta be good to go in like ten minutes soâŚâ
âOh.â
He kisses you fleetingly on the lips and then tosses the bedsheets off his lap. You watch him get up. âBut maybe soon? Like Friday?â
Routine with scheduled sex.Â
âOkay,â 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. Youâre so disappointed there doesnât feel much point in trying to get off by yourself now, either. You donât seem to fix your frown quick enough before he turns back around.Â
âOh, hey, baby, I didnât mean to upset you,â 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. âI swear, if I werenât about to go help my mom, Iâd be all over you right now.â
âMhm.â Maybe you are being a bit selfish. Heâs helping his mother for Godâs sake! Smiling, properly this time, you jokingly warn, âIâm gonna hold you to that, Mark.â
âYou better,â 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.Â
The Stirring Spoon is a good distraction from your whining libido. Itâs hard to think about fucking when youâre 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 itâs 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 youâre actually scared that you might have a heart attack from how fast your heartâs beating. Was it ever like that with Mark? Was it ever like that with anybody else?
Yes.Â
âHey.â
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.Â
âJJ.â
âYou good? You were looking at that spag pretty hard,â he asks, amused.Â
âNo, yeah, Iâm good,â you say. You drop the pasta like itâs incriminating to what you were thinking about. Donât tell JJ about the hot sex I was thinking about with him, pasta, please. âWhatâre you doing here?â
âDelivery from Kildare County Kitchen,â he says, dropping the crate down onto an empty spot on the table. âSome of Cleoâs less deadly version of her gumbo; a few sandwiches that Sarah whipped up; and some fish me and John B caught the other day.â
âDamn, thatâs quite the haul,â you say, glancing into the crate and surveying its contents. âThanks, JayJ.â
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. âSo. Loverboy here?â
âHeâs busy today, helping his mom.â
âAh. You short of a helping hand today, then?â
âWhy? You want to help?â you say, half-joking. But JJ shrugs.Â
âIâm not doing much. Why not?â
âDonât the others need you back at the shop?â
âThereâs five of them, I think theyâll manage,â JJ replies sardonically. He claps and rubs his hands together. âWhere do I start?â
âUmâŚâ You stand upright and scan the area, checking what looks the most chaotic. As if on cue, the local bakery van pulls up. âOh, sweet. Delivery. You can help me unload and log inventory.â
âYes, maâam.â
The two of you walk over to the van, side by side, hands kept politely to yourselves. Small talk sits on your tongue but doesnât make it into the world.Â
âMorning Mr Parker,â you call.Â
âMorning, darlinâ,â he croons in his southern accent. âYou too, Maybank.â
âGood to see you, sir,â JJ nods.Â
âWhat you got for me today?âÂ
âSome good stuff, Iâm not going to lie to yâall,â 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.Â
âPastries?â
âPistachio pastries,â Mr Parker says proudly. His takes off his cap and brushes a hand through his short grey hair. âMy wife got a bit carried away. People in this town donât have that fancy of taste buds.â
âMaybe not on the Cut,â JJ mumbles, making you smile.Â
âWell, be that as it may, glad I can contribute something to your little venture,â Mr Parker tells you. He squeezes your shoulder sweetly. âYâall doing a good thing, with this here Stirring Spoon.â
âThank you,â you say, overwhelmed by the simple praise. âWell, we appreciate any contribution, especially pistachio flavoured ones.â
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.Â
âI think Iâve earnt a break.â
âYouâve been here less than an hour.â
âTime flies by when youâre having fun, and all that,â 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. âHoly shit. These are so good.â
âJJ, youâre not supposed to eat theââ
â--try one.â 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. âYeah, right? So good.â
âOh my God,â you mumble. The two of you smile at one another like youâre stealing cookies from a jar.Â
âYou remember that time we got high and raided Popeâs dadâs fridge?â
You laugh and nearly choke on the flaky pastry. âOh my God, I totally forgot about that.â
âYou were like a fucking racoon,â JJ sniggers.Â
âYou were the one that got me high in the first place.â
âI didnât fucking drug you! You wanted to try it!â
âYeah, I did,â you grumble, unwilling to accept responsibility for completely draining the Heyward fridge.Â
âYouâre cute when youâre high.â
You glance up at him. His smile is coy, like he knows he shouldnât have said that. Because he shouldnât. Rolling your eyes, you play it off as best you can. âCute whilst Iâm stuffing my face with questionable cheese?â
âYeah,â he chuckles, shrugging. âYouâre cute all the time though, so guess itâs not very hard for you to be even cuter high.â
âJJ, stop it.â Your tone is gentle but firm. âI have a boyfriend.â
âOh, Iâm aware,â JJ says. âCaptain Vanilla.â
You hate how he isnât completely wrong. âThatâs not his name.â
âItâs just too easy,â he shrugs, playful as always. âThe guy is a walking textbooked âgood guyâ.â
âWhatâs so wrong with that?â you mumble, picking out another pastry and studying the way itâs rolled.Â
âNothing, I guess. Just find it funny.â
âFunny how?â
âThat youâd go from me to him.â
You glance up from the pastry to meet his gaze. âWe never officially dated, JJ.â
âSame difference,â he shrugs. âBut hey - you know you. You know what you want.â
âExactlyâŚâÂ
You do know you, donât you? It sounds like such a crazy thing to question. But the older you get, the more you think you donât know a thing about yourself. Whatâs your favourite colour? Whatâs 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.
âHey.â You snap out of your spiral. JJ forces a smile. âJust wanna know that youâre still living, not just secure. Yâknow. As a friend.âÂ
Funnily enough, that does little to cheer you up.Â
Croissants
JJâs 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 canât see his face from here, to tell if his eyes are open or shut. But then he sighs and you smile against his arm.Â
âTell me about your family,â you request in the quiet of the room.Â
âWhat about them?â
âAnything, really. Like about your mom and dad; if you have any siblings,â you murmur.Â
âNot much to tell,â JJ replies in a hum.Â
âStill. Tell me anyway.â
âTell me about yours,â JJ deflects. You crack a smile.Â
âAlright,â you relent. âI live with my mom and my dad. Sheâs a waitress and heâs a mechanic.â
âYou got any brothers or sisters?â he asks, his thumb massaging your upper leg.Â
âI did,â you say, your voice turning softer. âAn older sister.â
âWhat happened?â
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. Itâs then that you decide to confide in JJ.Â
âDo you know who Andy Warhol is?â
âI recognise the name,â he replies after a moment, not questioning why the sudden change in topic.Â
âHe was an artist. Painted a lot of pop-arty things.â
âIs that the freakshow who painted those boring-ass soup cans?â JJ wonders. You laugh quietly.Â
âI wouldnât describe him like that but yeah, thatâs the guy.â
âWhat about him?â JJ asks.Â
âHe 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 ainât like to say that somebody had died. Instead, he used to write that âthey went awayâ, like on a trip or somethinâ,â you tell him. Your voice trails off towards the end, fearing JJ might laugh at you as you go on to say, âI donât know. I think Iâd like to say that about my sister.â
JJ shifts underneath you until the two of you are lying side by side, now able to see one anotherâs faces through the muggy darkness of the room. His eyes glow in the non-existent light, shining and present, gazing into yours.Â
âWhereâd she go, then? On this trip of hers,â 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.Â
âTo Paris, in France,â you whisper.Â
âShe go to the Eiffel Tower?â
âEvery day. She eats dinner there at night and watches it twinkle. For breakfast, she buys a croissant and sits by the Seine,â 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, âitâs her dream to see all the stuff in the Louvre. She goes every week and keeps a note of where sheâs been and where she wants to go.â
âLike the Catacombs?â
You laugh and sniffle. âNah. Theyâre too creepy for her.â
âDamn straight,â JJ mumbles. âThey scare the crap outta me.â
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. Itâs like heâs holding you up. Heâs holding you together. You open your eyes into his. Thereâs a smile on his face, different to the others. More reserved, less obvious, so different to the JJ youâd known and heard of before. Youâre terrified of losing it entirely or saying something especially stupid, and so instead you mouth two words: âthank youâ.Â
When he kisses you, itâs different too. Thereâs something about it, like a taste that wasnât 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 heâs the antidote to all your ailments. Your mouth chases him in the teasing of his lips, breaking apart just to reel you back in. JJâs 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.Â
âJJ,â 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.Â
âFuck, youâre soâŚFuckâŚâÂ
Your lips continue their descent down his body. Kisses are peppered along his windpipe, bridging over his Adamâs 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 - heâs made space for you - and can make out his lazy smile through your hooded gaze. JJâs looking down at you too. His eyes glow.Â
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, âplease.â 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. JJâs hand comes to the back of your head quick, as if guiding your pleasure, wordless praising your ways. Until itâs not wordless.Â
âFuck, thatâs itâŚTaking me so fucking good, huh? Look so pretty like thisâŚâ
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 itâs the sounds he makes. JJ Maybank walks like heâs a God; itâs a power trip to have him weak at your hold.Â
âPlease, please, fuckâŚJusâwant your mouth, baby, please,â 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.Â
âYou want my mouth?â you tease, pressing a kiss to his throbbing dick.Â
âFuck - yes, yes, please,â he groans. You glance up at him and meet JJâs 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. Itâs 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. Heâs on top of you, ravishing your throat and collarbone so mercilessly, youâre gaping at the ceiling, eyes wide.Â
âThink thatâs funny, huh? Wanna see how much you like it?â
You stammer something out; you donât even know yourself if itâs a yes or no. All you know is you want him - you need him - on you, in you. Anything. JJ doesnât 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.Â
âSo fucking wet for me, hm? Such a fucking slut. Wanna see how it feels?â
âP-please.â
The stretch of your walls isnât 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.Â
âYeah, you like that, huh?â
âFuckâŚâ
âYeah,â he chuckles. Then the torture begins, of the instant movement of his finger, in and out, in and out, before easing away so suddenly itâs 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 youâre 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 heâs gloating from the power he holds. Something tells you he doesnât get this much control in most aspects of his life. Something tells you he gets off this just as much as you. âYou wanna come? Do you?â
âFuck! Please, please, JJ, please. Iâll do anything, please, please,â you blubber. You donât 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 wouldnât 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 JJâs low voice, his Southern accent thick like molasses.Â
âThatâs it, baby. Make a mess on my fingers.â
SmoresÂ
Despite telling Mark where youâre going, it still feels like sneaking around behind his back as you walk up to the Pogueâs house. But this isnât 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.Â
Yep. Thatâs all.Â
âHey yo! There she is!â JJ hollers the moment you come into view.Â
âHey!â 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. JJâs last. His arms wrap around you like tree vines, secure and strong, and itâs 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.Â
âWhatâs in the bag, mystery girl?â the girl you now know as Cleo asks.Â
âSome refreshments,â you say, lifting up the six pack. That earns a few whoops and hollers of approval from the already tipsy group. âAnd some snacks.â
âSmores?â Sarah gasps. She takes the bag of marshmallows from you.Â
âJust like old times,â you say. Your eyes catch JJâs. Heâs watching you.Â
âLetâs light these bad boys up,â 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.Â
âLeave my marshmallow alone.â
âHey, this is America. I got rights, yâknow?â
âSays who?â
âThe constitution,â he retorts, grinning. You roll your eyes, trying and failing to bite back your smile.Â
âYâall better stop it,â Cleo says in her thick Jamaican accent. âI ainât wanting any marshmallows going to waste.â
âYou heard her,â you playfully quip at the blonde haired boy. He rolls his eyes at you. Heâs smiling. The amber of the fire paints his face like an oil artwork. What must it be like to grow up that beautiful?Â
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, thatâs all. Youâre getting stuck on nostalgia. Itâs a mindâs trick. It didnât work before with JJ so whoâs to say it will again. The two of you are friends - heâs been a good friend - and you donât need to go muddying the waters. You punish yourself by staring into the flames and trying to make images of Markâs face in the fire.Â
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 isnât until youâre back in the bubble of the Pogues that you realise how much you missed it. Itâs 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 youâre ashamed that you donât feel the urge to bring him up, either.Â
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.Â
âYou guys got any more beers?â
âProbably some down at the fish and tackle shop,â Kiara tells you.Â
âThanks,â 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 thereâs a small section for the beers. You retrieve one and drop the lid to find JJ standing in your peripheral.Â
âHoly shit!â
âSorry!â
âWhat the fuck, man?â you laugh.Â
âJust wanted a refill too,â he says, shooting you a squiffy smile. His hair is dishevelled. He seems to wear caps less now, you note. Youâre 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. âThanks.â
âHey, cheers,â you say, holding your drink out. He clinks his against yours. âTo old friends.â
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. âYou seen the boat yet?â
âThe H.M.S?âÂ
âNah, the new one,â JJ answers.Â
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. Itâs 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 youâre in no mood to check it.Â
âPretty sweet, huh?â
âSo sweet,â 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. âThis is the life.â
âYeah? You miss the marsh?â
âI miss it all,â you quietly confess.Â
You can hear the rustle of clothes and the flick-flick of a lighter. The smell of cannabis drifts into the air. âHere.â
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 havenât smoked in what feels like forever. Mark doesnât 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.Â
âThanks,â 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.Â
âWhatâd you mean, âyou miss it allâ?â
âI donât know,â you sigh. You gaze off into the distance; itâs 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. âI feel like my life is soâŚâsameâ now.â
âSame is good.â
âSometimes,â you say. âBut I keep thinking about what you said to me, the other day. About being secure but still living. What ifâŚWhat if Iâm not living?â
âWellââ
â--I mean, look at you guys! You went to El Dorado! You found El Dorado, and the Royal Merchant, and the Royal Merchantâs treasure, and the Cross of Santo Domingo. What did I find? A mouldy tomato in a box of potatoes.â
JJ cracks up and you roll your eyes. âItâs not funny,â 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. âItâs pathetic. Iâm nearly twenty-one and Iâve been as far as Charleston and have about a handful of exciting memories to my name.â
âWoah, come on now,â JJ chuckles, taking the blunt back. âDonât you think youâre being a bit hard on yourself? You heard what Mr Parker said: that Stirring Spoon thing is awesome, and that was all you. Youâre feeding the community, bringing people together. Thatâs way cooler than some shiny fucking stones.â
âMeh,â you shrug. âGuess Iâm just jealous of you.â
âHa! Yeah, donât be,â JJ sarcastically berates. A shadow comes to his face. Foot in the mouth syndrome curses you.
âShit. Sorry, I didnât mean it like that.â
âYouâre good. I sometimes forget how bad it was too, with how things are now,â JJ admits. He smiles at you and takes another hit. âBut I guess I didnât fully let you in then, huh?â
âYou think?â you jest. He laughs, thankfully, and you inhale the sweet scent of the herb. âGuess 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 Topperâs house.â
âDamn, I guess we did get up to a lot of shit, huh?â
âDamn straight,â you grin. Following the dance, you take the joint back.Â
âWell, I can think of some other memories, too,â JJ says. His grin is telling, tongue poking through his teeth. You bite back your smile.Â
âDonât,â you warn.Â
âWhat?â he chuckles.Â
âDonât! Thatâs dangerous territory,â you tell him. You point your joint at him. âThatâs no manâs land.â
âOh man!â JJ groans, tossing his head back. âWhyâd you have to call it that!? You know thatâs like calling a moth to a fire or whatever!â
âWhat?â you giggle, eyeing him.Â
âTelling a guy not to do something is the exact thing to do to get a guy to want to do something,â 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. âThey were pretty good memories, huh?â
âYeah,â you quietly say. âThey were pretty good.â
âRemember that time we did it on the beach.â
âStop it,â you say, but thereâs little conviction in your words. You canât 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.Â
âOr that timeââ
âJJ, I mean it,â you say, your tone losing its humour now. You shoot him a look that you hope will put a pin in it. âWe should talk about something else.â
âAlright, alright,â 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 otherâs gaze and look away, chuckling bashfully like preteens. You take another hit of the joint and watch the smoke fizzle away into the night. âHowâd you meet Mark, then?â
You glance at JJ. âA few months back. Heâd just moved to Kildare and came by to The Stirring Spoon to help out, and we sort of hit it off.â
âHe seems like a nice guy.â
âHe is,â you smile. But it fades. The weed tickles at your emotions, pulling the wires as if to wreak havoc. JJ seems to take advantage.Â
âWhatâs wrong?â
âNothing,â you lie. You take another hit and shake your head, plastering on a smile. âItâs nothing.â
Sighing, JJ folds his arms comfortably over his chest. âYâknow, just cause I know what you look like naked donât mean we canât be friends now.â
Barking out a laugh, you shake your head. âThere was definitely a better way you could have put that.â
âProbably,â he shrugs, grinning, âbut itâs true, ainât it? We can be friends.â
âOf course we can. We are,â you emphasise.Â
âSoâŚThat means that if you wanna vent about Mr Loverboy to me, you can,â JJ offers.Â
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. âThatâd be too weird, I think, but Iâll keep it in mind, thanks.â
âI just got one question. Just one.â
âGo on,â you reluctantly reply.Â
âDoes he say âthank youâ after the two of you fuck?â
You burst into fits of laughter. Itâs 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.Â
âHe just looks like the kinda guy who would!â
âOh my God, no!â you laugh, shaking your head. Catching your breath, you manage out, âno, he doesnât say âthank youâ.â
âIs he the sub then? Cause there is no way that guy is laying his hands on you without written permission.â
âJJ stop! Iâm gonna pee myself!â you cackle, kicking your feet. JJ starts laughing too. You open your eyes and make out his face in the lowlight of the pierâs lamp. Wheezing, you catch your breath and calm yourself. âThis is exactly what I was talking about.â
âI can give the guy pointers if he needs them,â JJ jokes. Your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets just at the idea though and you point at him in another warning.Â
âDonât you dare!â you say, trying not to crack up again. ââSides, he doesnât need pointers.â
âEverybody needs pointers,â JJ says with a roll of his eyes. âJohn B gave me one of the best pointers.â
âI find that impossible to believe,â you snort.Â
âHe did! It was a tip for kissing. Works like a fucking charm too, Iâm telling ya.â
âMhm, Iâll bet,â 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 hasnât changed enough for you to forget what that expression means.Â
âYou want me to show you?â
âShow me? How?â 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.Â
JJ doesnât 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 youâre stuck in place, plastered to the seat, and youâre ashamed to admit that you donât hate that you are. Youâre ashamed that youâre not pushing him away, telling him to buzz off, laughing at his idiocy. Youâre ashamed that youâre curious as to what heâs going to do next.Â
JJâs 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 canât move but you should move and you want to move but you donât, 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 heâs real, but that he hasnât, and that you can take it all back, and that it doesnât count and it shouldnât and you shouldnât butâ
Your hand clutches his jaw and you pull him in. His lips crash against yours in a breath. You kiss him like you wonât 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. Itâs like finding a childhood toy and it smells like nostalgia. Itâs like eating a baked good and it tastes like a specific holiday. Itâs like smoking your first joint and it feels like floating.Â
Until youâre not.Â
Your body falls back down to earth with a thud. You shove JJ away as if heâs flammable and youâre the deadly spark. Your mouth hangs open in shock, your eyes filling with horror, and the worst feeling youâve maybe ever felt overcomes you so suddenly, you worry you might be sick.Â
Guilt.Â
âOh my God,â 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. âOh my God.â
JJâs 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. Itâs not at all unfamiliar.Â
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 itâs the culprit, the plotter, behind all of this. Then youâre on your feet and rambling out excuses.Â
âIâm so sorry. I donât know why I did that. I think it was - it was definitely the weed. I really should go, itâs so late. Iâm so sorry. Oh my God, I have no idea-â
Itâs as youâre about to step off the boat and onto the wooden pier that JJâs 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.Â
âYou can stay, yâknow,â JJ whispers. Thereâs a pleading in his eyes, a tenderness that you havenât 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.Â
Mark.Â
You shake your head and snatch your hand free. âThis was a mistake. I shouldnât have come here.â
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 donât.Â
Cheap White WineÂ
The tart tanginess of the wine is sharp on your tongue as you take another swig. Itâs late, or perhaps early, and the Chateau is illuminated by amber and orange from lamps. Itâs 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.Â
âCome on, come on!â 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. Youâre 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.Â
âHeâs on the porch,â Pope says, seemingly catching on.Â
âThanks,â you smile, a little embarrassed that youâre that easy to read. Taking the wine, you venture out the door, closing it behind you as another song starts up. Kieâs cheer and begging for John B to dance is muted through the shutters and windows.Â
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.Â
âHey. Can I join?â you wonder.Â
âCourse,â 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. Itâs pitter-pattering is soothing like a nursery rhyme. You sigh and let your eyes slip shut. âHaving fun?â
âAlways,â you mumble, making him laugh. âYou got any dreams?â
âLike sexy ones?â
âNo,â you giggle, elbowing him, making him let out a few laughs too. âLike actual dreams. Ambitions. A wish.â
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. âI donât know. Maybe.â
Your heart sinks with disappointment. This wasnât 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 werenât 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 couldnât see himself the way you did.Â
âI do,â you whisper, hoping it might entice him to share.Â
âOh yeah? Whatâs your dream?â
âI want to start a kitchen.â
âHuh?â
âLike a community kitchen thing. Not a bakery or a restaurant, just a place for all kinds of food, for all kinds of people, yâknow? A good thing, like that. My sister used to help out at a soup kitchen andâŚI donât know. I always liked that.â
JJ squeezes your thigh in acknowledgment. âSounds fuckinâ amazing.â
âThanks.â
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 canât 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.Â
You were falling in love with JJ Maybank.Â
Biscuits Â
Food poisoning. Thatâs what youâd 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.Â
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 didnât come easy, and the second you came to in the morning, the first thought in your head was the look on JJâs face just before his lips touched yours.Â
Fuck.Â
Your phone pings with another message that is no doubt from Mark and you canât bring yourself to look at it. It doesnât help that thereâs 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 hadnât 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 donât deserve him.Â
Hello, hell? Iâd like to reserve my spot in advance. Queen sized bed please, for me and my whorish ways. Much love.Â
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. JJâs eyes. JJâs 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 crazyâ
âStop it!â
Hello, hell? Quick update: I think I might be going insane, too. Just thought I should preface you.Â
Somewhere in your self-loathing, you manage to drift off into another restless sleep. Itâs 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.Â
âHey,â he says. His voice is thick with concern, brows knitted with worry. âHow you feeling?â
âLike shit.â Thankfully, you didnât have to lie with that one. âWhatâre you doing here?â
âI needed to check on you,â he replies. He steps into your room and you make space, sitting on your bed. He closes the door behind him. âI tried calling but you didnât answer.â
âYeah, sorry, uhâŚI was just feeling really frail, yâknow?â
âOh, baby,â 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? âYou got a temperature?â
âI donât think so,â you say. You gently push his hand off your face. âI think I just need to sleep.â
âWell, Iâm here to take care of you.â
âReally?â You hope the dread in your voice isnât obvious.Â
âCourse. Youâd do the same for me,â he smiles. He lifts a bag you didnât even notice he was carrying and shows you each item. âMamaâs homemade biscuits. Sheâs real worried about you, yâknow?â
âIâm fine,â you insist, âjust a bit sick. I think the worst of it has passed.â
âThatâs good, then. Iâll make you a hot drink, yeah? We can watch a movie or something. You get cosy,â 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 heâs out of your room.Â
Mark is good. Mark is good for you. But what if youâre not good for Mark?Â
Chocolate Chip Cookies
âI donât understand.â
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 youâd been dreading. The conversation that needed to happen. Youâd 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 canât risk getting in the car accident if you step out of the vehicle.Â
âDid I do something?â JJ then asks, his voice weak, naked. You meet his gaze and shake your head firmly.Â
âNo,â you breathe, âno, you ainât do nothing, JJ.â
âThen I donât get it,â he repeats, stronger this time. Frustrated. You knew none of this would be easy.Â
âLook,â you cut yourself off with a sigh. You shuffle your crossed legs, sitting on JJâs bed in the Chateau in a way that you never have before, as if youâve never stepped foot inside his life. âMy parents are heading to Charleston for a couple months anyway, to stay with my grandmother and help look after her, andâŚwell, maybe itâs for the better, that we have this distance sooner rather than later.â
âDistance?â
âYouâve been removed, JJ,â you mumble, hoping not to sound accusatory. âAnd thatâs okay, I know youâre busy. I mean, you told me from the start that you donât do the whole relationship-thing. But I donât think I can stay, not right now.â
âOkay, is this some kinda joke?â 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 donât mean to cause. âWhat the fuck are you even talking about? I thought we were fine.â
âWe are fine,â you insist. Sighing, you try and find the best way to explain yourself without giving it all away. âLook, I ainât meaning that youâre a bad guy or that youâre damaged or anything like that. I donât think that, not at all. ButâŚHow can I explain this?â
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 wasnât easy for you either.Â
âYou know when you see a tornado?â
He stares at you for a short while before nodding, urging you to continue.Â
âThings that likeâŚTheyâre 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 itâs just chaos and thereâs no way out of it without being broken.â
JJ nods again, pursing his lips.Â
âI think thatâs what might happen here,â you whisper. âIf I stick around.â
âI donât get it. Youâre saying Iâm gonna break you?â
âNo, Iâm sayingâŚIâm saying youâre not in a spot right now to give me what I need. That ainât your fault, JJ, but I canât let myself stay knowing that Iâm gonna have my heartbroken. I wish I could - I wish I could just wing-it like that - but I canât.â
Thereâs 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.Â
âI really do care âbout you, yâknow? Like, that ainât fake,â JJ admits in a hushed tone.Â
âI know, JJ,â you reply, just as soundless. âI just think you gotta figure yourself out before you canâŚâ
â...love you?â JJ hesitantly whispers, after you lose nerve. Your eyes squeeze shut.Â
âMhm.â
âYou canât love me âtil then, either?â
Laughing sadly, you shake your head against him. He really couldnât tell how much youâd fallen for him already, could he? âI donât think you gotta worry âbout that ever, JJ.â
A soft kiss is planted on your forehead. âSoâŚJust gotta do some soul searchinâ, huh?â
âSomethinâ like that,â you hum. âBut hey, I tell you what.â
You break apart from the comfort of his hold, tilting your head so you can look up, into his eyes. The pain in JJâs gaze tears you like wrapping paper, and itâs worse to know itâs your fault, but you know that itâs the only way to save you both from further pain. It isnât the right time, and thatâs a shame, and it isnât fair, since youâve 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 canât come until heâs healed in a way that heâs far away from now. Thereâs something pulling him away from you, an adventure of sorts, and you donât want to keep him from it. You want JJ to love you but you want him to choose you, too. And until then, you donât have it in yourself to sit around on the sidelines, waiting for your heart to be broken. Itâs 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.Â
âWhat?â JJ gently prompts, bringing you back from your thoughts.Â
Your smile is sick with inner lamentation. âIf you do figure yourself out, after some soul searchinâ and all that, then chances are Iâll still be here. So, I guess, if you ever feel like fallinâ then lemme know. You can catch me on the way down.â
JJâs 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 donât let yourself linger. If you do, youâre afraid youâll never leave. You murmur some sort of goodbye, making an excuse that you should get going, and JJ doesnât 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 mightâve been if you stayed and tried to make this impossible thing work. JJ wasnât ready to fall in love, not yet, but you already had.Â
Ham and Cheese Sandwiches Â
âAre you sure youâre feeling okay?â
âYeah, I promise,â 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. Itâs hard to sleep when youâre consumed by guilt and confusion. âWhy donât you see if Nancy needs a hand in the kitchen, yeah? I can work on the inventory out here.â
âYou sure? I donât mind helping.â
âIâm sure,â you nod. âI can come get you if I need anything.â
âYou better,â he grins. He dips his head and kisses you and it takes everything inside of you not to pull away like a flinch. Itâs not him. Itâs you. You feel like youâre poison. Like JJâs kiss has infected you and you canât 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 youâd 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 âearly nightsâ to avoid him during the night. It wasnât fair to him but you didn't know what else to do.Â
Well, thatâs a lie. You know exactly what you should do, but denial is so much easier.Â
Ducking down, you grab another box of leftover soup from a local supermarket. Theyâd 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, itâs the least I deserve.Â
You can spot him anywhere, even blind. Heâs 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.Â
âYou good? Hey!âÂ
You grab his arm and drag him out of sight from the field, behind an overgrown bush. âW hat are you doing here?â you hiss.Â
âBringing sandwiches?â he replies, as if it should be obvious. âAre you okay?â
âJJ, you canât be here,â you snap. âMark is literally in the other building!â
âSo?âÂ
âSo? Do youâŚDo you not remember what happened the other night?â you ask, calming down slightly.Â
JJ sighs and puts the box down on the floor. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he shrugs. âLook, clearly you spun out. I ainât gonna mention it if you donât want me to.â
âWaitâŚReally?â
âJesus Christ, I ainât a homewrecker,â 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. âListen, I think you got some stuff to figure out, aâright?â
âExcuse me?â
âDonât get offended! Iâm jusâ sayingâŚâ 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. âLook, donât kill me for sayinâ this, Iâm just tryinâ to be honest. I donât think Markâs the right guy for you.â
âI-â
âIâm sorry, aâright? I donât think you want to admit it either butâŚI think you gotta be honest. You donât love him, okay? And thatâs aâright, Iâm not saying heâs a bad guy. I just think you need to make a choice.â
âWhat does that mean? A choice?â you quietly ask, terrified for his answer.Â
His smile is sad as JJ shrugs. âI was an idiot to lose you once, I ainât gonna lose you again - not if I can help it. If Markâs who you want - if Mark makes you feel like youâre living - then Iâll never bring it up again. Hell, Iâll stay away from you forever, if you want. Least, Iâll try to. I donât know if I can be held accountable for when Iâm drunk but- look, now Iâm getting side tracked. The point is:â, JJ speaks with his hands, âif Mark isnât the one for youâŚIâm here to catch you, yâknow?â
You blink at JJ and blink away the tears. Youâre 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.Â
âThereâs some sandwiches from Kie and Sarah for today. I hope it all goes okay. JustâŚlemme know. Or donât, yâknow? Either way,â he trails off with a shrug. You feel cemented into the dirt as JJ backs away. Then heâs gone. Your eyes slip shut. Some weird hybrid of JJ and Markâs faces fill your thoughts.Â
âIf you ever feel like fallinâ then let me know. You can catch me on the way down.âÂ
âIâm here to catch you.âÂ
You need to figure this out and fast. It wasnât fair to anybody, not even yourself. Dragging things out doesnât 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 itâs your turn. Itâs a shame you were never all that much of a fan of irony.Â
Cinnamon BunsÂ
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.Â
Mark and JJ. Two sides of different coins. Neither good, nor bad. Human, just like you.Â
As you prepare the batter for cinnamon buns, you try to make sense of everything. Figure yourself out, as JJ had put it.Â
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 childâs 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 heâd 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 werenât. That wasnât to say you were heartless - the two of you just loved differently.Â
JJ Maybank? He wasnât 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. Thatâs 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 wasnât false - and you had feelings for Mark. But the love you had for JJ didnât 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.Â
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.Â
And you wanted to feel alive.Â
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.Â
As you drizzle the topping on top of the cinnamon buns, you summarise your scrambled thoughts into one neat realisation: you wouldnât have kissed JJ if you truly wanted Mark.Â
Your heart feels like itâs in your throat as you walk to Markâs house. The buns sit neat in the tupperware and youâre careful not to shake them. His door looks like a tombstone as you knock on it. Thereâs a noise from inside and the door opens. Mark smiles down at you. Heâs dressed in a baby-blue waffle sweater and itâs so undeniably, so wonderfully him.Â
âHey!â he grins.Â
âCan I come in?â you ask. It sounds ridiculous asking that when you used to sleep in this house almost daily.Â
âCourse,â 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. âYou alright?â
âMhm. I justâŚI think we should talk about some stuff,â you say, feeling your voice losing power.Â
âAlright. Come, sit,â he urges. You do as he asks and take the spot on the bed beside him, leaving a gap. âWhatâs up?â
You fumble your fingers together and stare intensely at your hands, racking your mind for the words, for where to start. Youâd practised this so many times in the mirror. Childish.Â
âI did something and I need to tell you, because youâve always been so good to me, and so honest with me, and it isnât fair to hoodwink you.â
âOkay,â Mark faintly replies.Â
You take a steady breath in. Mark is good. He deserves the truth. âI went to see JJ last week, and one thing led to another, and we kissed.â
For a moment, thereâs nothing. Just the sounds of the air conditioning unit humming as white noise. Then,Â
âOh.â
You clench your eyes shut before looking up at him. Heâs detached in his expression. Your eyes fill with tears. âIâm so sorry, Mark,â you whisper, scared your voice will break if you talk any louder. He meets your gaze. âYou donât deserve that. You donât deserve to be treated that way. Youâre such a good, genuine person. I justâŚI donât know why, but I justâŚI canât love you.â
Mark swallows thickly. The tears are warm and sticky on your cheeks. Itâs so selfish to cry when youâre the one who threw the punches. You hang your head with shame and watch the teardrops land on your restless hands.
âI swear I didnât plan it. I didnât even know I still had feelings for JJ untilâŚWell, until then.â
âI did.â
Your head snaps up. Heâs staring at you, but he doesnât look angry. No. Thereâs a shadow of a smile on his lips. A sad smile, no doubt, but a smile nonetheless.Â
âYou did?â
âThe 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.â
âMarkââ
â--Thatâs okay,â he nods. Heâs crying too, now, and youâre 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. âYouâre not a bad person, Y/N. I could tell something was bothering you this past week.â
âI just didnât know how to tell you, and I didnât even know what it meant. But I have to be honest for the both of us, and I donâtâŚI donât think Iâm the girl youâre looking for, Mark,â you say through your tears.Â
Mark smiles solemnly and nods once. The squeeze of your hands tells you everything. I know. I agree. Itâs okay.Â
âDo you hate me?â you ask in a moment of pure patheticness. Mark laughs and shakes his head.Â
âYouâre too pretty to hate.â
âUgh! You canât say things like that!â you whine, throwing your head back. He laughs again, soggy with his sorrow, and he shrugs.Â
âJust got to keep my good-guy rep up.â
Laughing, you shake your head at him and smile. The two of you share a breath and he nods. A conclusion. His smile dwindles.Â
âIâm gonna need time, thoughâŚBefore we can be friends, maybe. Just toâŚYou knowâŚâ
âOf course,â you whisper. âI understand. Whatever you want, whatever you need. Itâs all on your terms, I promise.â
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.Â
âCan I give you a hug?â 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, âIâm going to miss you, Mark.â
âIâm going to miss you too,â he tells you into your collarbone. âJJâs a lucky guy. But make sure to tell him I know where he lives if he hurts you.â
You tearfully giggle against him. âIâll pass on the message.â
Bacon Sandwiches
Itâs 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 Pogueâs 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. Heâs at the entrance to the shop, stood a few rungs up a free-standing ladder. Heâs trying to staple something to the walls - a banner of some kind - and you make your way over.Â
âNeed a hand?â
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. Heâs armed with a staple gun. âYo. Whatâre you doing here?â
âWant a hand?â you repeat, nodding up at the banner, not quite ready to confess. JJ shrugs and nods.Â
âSure. Thanks.âÂ
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.Â
âWeâre selling bacon sandwiches on weekends now, so thought we oughta advertise it, yâknow? So, anyway, whatâre youââ a grunt and a click of the staple gun, â-doing here?â
You step down from your boost and JJ takes your place. You donât 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.Â
âI, uhâŚI needed to talk you,â you say, clearing your throat.Â
âAâright. What about?â
âJust likeâŚâ 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. Iâm good for JJ. Weâre good for each other. Smiling, you look at him again. âDid you mean it?â
âMean what?â he mumbles.Â
Thereâs a playfulness, a teasing, as you shrug. âThat youâll catch me.â
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.Â
âYou mean it?â
âI mean it,â 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. âIt was always you, JJ.â
âYou thinkâŚYou think you can love me now?â he nervously asks.Â
You shake your head with a silent laugh. It feels like breathing, like youâre finally free, as you admit, âIâve always loved you.â
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."
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You were grinning playfully at Diluc. After noticing that there were couples all around you while lining up for the musical theatre, you placed your hands on your hips and said, âNo matter what happens - youâre not allowed to fall in love with me.â
Unimpressed, Diluc scoffed, and crossed his arms. âWonât be a problem.â Just because he cancelled one business meeting for you didnât mean he would already look at you that way. Ridiculous.
And yet years later, he finds himself smiling at the sight of you, walking down the aisle with a bouquet.
#diluc x reader#butter.spread#guys if you got the reference hIGH FIVE AGDJJDKD#this has been on my mind for a while and gosh#teasing reader + huffy diluc is just so cute#anyways HI!#a lot of people have been liking my posts#and commenting#and following#thank you so much!#they all make me soooo happy
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Can I just say I love the way you talk about Raâs and Bruceâs relationship! Or more specifically the way Raâs is obsessed with Bruce and that Bruce is more or less just doesnât think about him.
Like Raâs is here posting shit like âif only he realizes his true place by my sideâ whereas Bruce just has so much shit going on in his daily life that he doesnât even think about Raâs. I think itâd be funny to see how much this drives Raâs up the wall that he is just another annoyance (and traumatic experience) for Bruce when Bruce was (is) a beacon that illuminates a new path for him and the League. Just Raâs having to compete with a bunch of young 20s and teens to even get Bruce to hold a conversation with him.
Love your works!! Hope you have a great day!
I love that dynamic for them so much, I wish there was more fic about it! Usually it's just fic about Tim, which is valid, but I like to think Bruce was Ra's' first obsession. He never got over him leaving the League and eschewing their mission (and his own potential).
There's also something very interesting about people like Ra's and even Minhkhoa seeing the potential in Bruce from early on, but being forced to watch the culmination of that power and skill and training from afar. And how their time together might be sacred to him, but to Bruce it was only ever a stepping stone forward in the pursuit of his mission.
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I love the way you characterize Moon, he's such a skrunkly gremlin, very cat like
Mewn
#fnaf#moondrop#fableasks#fablesketches#shitpost#nyah#thank you so much!#this is such a sweet ask#Iâm really glad you like him#he is a creature to me
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He is a menace! <3
Good Meeting
Steven Grant x afab!Reader ⢠Rating: 18+ pals â˘Masterlistâ˘Â ao3â˘Â want to be tagged? | requestinfo⢠ko-fi â˘
Summary: You need to listen to a zoom meeting.
A/N: I'm just so out of it atm, I'm so sorry.
Warnings: oral (f! receiving), some dirty talk, swearing, over use of italics, typos, not beta read, railroad sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!
Word Count: 855
It was irritating that you had to be on this zoom meeting on your day off. Even though you were going to get compensated for it, it was still a waste of time.Â
The literal definition of: this could have been an email.Â
But whatever.Â
You sigh, your elbow on the table and your chin in your hand. Your mic was off, but they could still see you. You tried your best to look somewhat engaged.Â
You shift a little, leaning back in the kitchen chair. Steven had moved it and the table earlier, so that you could get the natural light from the window. He was too sweet.Â
Currently, he was sitting to your side, out of frame and reading, his glasses perched on the tip of his nose. He looked up every time you let out a partially distressed sigh, and give you a sympathetic smile.Â
âSo in the next quarterâŚâ
Steven moved to grab his mug of tea and accidentally jolted the table, it was hardly anything, but it made him jerk his head in surprise and, in turn, his glasses slipped from his face and onto the floor.
âOh bollocks, sorry love!â He scrambled to his hands and knees.Â
âItâs fine,â you smile at him as he ducks under the table. âYou okay?âÂ
âHmmmhmmm, donât let me interrupt you!â He mumbles, the affection in his voice warming your heart.Â
You go back to the meeting, trying your best not to nod off.Â
Steven scrambled around for a moment before he grabbed his glasses in triumph. He kept his head down, so that he didnât bump the table again and moved around, planning on just shuffling out.Â
But then his eyes fell on your bare legs.Â
It was hot in the flat, not unbearably, but youâd had to put on a work shirt for the meeting. So youâd opted to forgo trousers or a skirt, and just sit in your underwear.Â
He swallows, his mouth watering as a wicked thought creeps into the back of his head and takes root.Â
He crawls forward, putting his glasses safely to the side and stops just in front of your knees.Â
Heat coils in the base of his belly as he gazes at your slightly parted legs. Slowly he places a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh.Â
You jump instantly, which he had expected.Â
âSteven-â
âYouâre mic is off, isnât it love?âÂ
You swallow, keeping your hand pressed to the lower half of your face and trying to seem casual. âYes.â You mutter through your fingers.
âGood.âÂ
He leans forward, running his warm hands up your legs and hitching your left over his shoulder as he inches forward. He nips lightly at your skin as he pulls the waistband of your panties up and tight until the fabric is straining against your folds.Â
He groans softly, his breath ghosting over you before he presses his face completely to your pussy. Your thighs tense, a shiver running through you, a small yelp escaping your throat.Â
âShhh,â he mutters as he kisses you hungrily, dragging his lips and tongue across the cotton of your underwear and groaning as he starts to taste the echo of your arousal. âCanât be too loud, love. Even with the mic off, donât want to give it away do you?âÂ
You can hear the glee racing through his voice as he pulls your panties to the side and runs his tongue through your folds in a long slow tortuous lick. Â
âSteven,â your breathing hitches, a soft whine following.Â
He groans, âSo wet already,â and dives back in circling your cit with his flat, broad tongue before he sucks it into his mouth rhythmically.Â
Your hand on your face tightens, your stomach muscles twitching, and you grab at him under the table, sinking your fingers into his soft curls and pulling him closer.
He moans, chuckling and squeezing your inner thighs rhythmically as he works you over with his tongue, building you higher and higher.Â
You squirm, trying not to give in completely and rut against his face just like your body is begging you to. Someone is saying something on the meeting and you're so close to just shutting the laptop and grinding against Stevenâs face until you pass out.Â
He hums, his fingers digging into your skin as he rocks you lightly in time with his long licks.Â
You swallow. Pleasure buzzing along your nerves and leaving you light headed. There was no way-
âThanks everyone, same time next week.âÂ
You have never logged off so quickly, slamming the laptop closed so fast that the table shakes.Â
âFuck Steven!â You push your chair out a fraction, keeping him pressed against you and bucking up into the sweet heat of his mouth.Â
He moans, grinning and you writhe and spasm.Â
Your orgasm hits you solidly, robbing you of thought and breath as he paralysis every muscle. Pleasure runs along your veins as Steven works you through it, lapping at you softly until you go slack and pliant, breathing hard.Â
He grins up at you from between your legs. âGood meeting?â
Thank you for reading!
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For three lovely ladies who blessed me with their patience , good humour and generosity ,as i warped into the Rogue Trader universe!
@thetartmuse @cawyden-gaming @theevilscribbler
BONUS:
I imagine Heinrix has only two face expressions in my 1st playthrough
#rogue trader#heinrix van calox#marazhai aezyrraesh#warhammer 40k#thank you so much!#kiss kiss#sanzosin rogue trader
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something for ya lol
Enjoy pixel latter
OMG @zipora666 NO WAY THIS IS SO BEAUTIFUL!!! đđđ Thank you so so much! I LOVE THIS!
#AAAA I love your art style so much!!#I was literally just doodling Latter when I saw this!! haha#Thank you so much!#Your art is always so cool to see!#welcome home#welcome home arg#my art#doodles#latter pillar#welcome home latter#teachyouhowtodothesponge
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Omg, welcome back, lovely!! đ
(More comments on your lovely comments below):
Such a sweet fic. At first, I felt a little bad because I can feel Dean justifying all the insecurities he has about himself, the self-hate was only 2 steps away. But I believed in her, I knew that she was not hesitant. I knew she was upto something.
Aww thank you!! Ah, you know Dean. Always so self-deprecating. I didn't get too deep into "why" he starts fretting already when he sees her gone, but for all those reasons you mentioned. I felt like anyone who knows Dean, knows why he goes there in his mind all too soon to "did she regret it already?"
She was upto celebrating his birthday. That melted my heart. Ofc she wants to celebrate this man. He should be celebrated every day, especially on the day he was born. And she baked him a pie. For his birthday. All those doubts he was having, they flew out of the window.
That she was!! Sneaky girl. đ And she got him good! Dean does deserve all the pie and celebrating him that he can take, even if he doesn't think he deserves it. đĽ§
And I loved how stunted Dean was that he had to show his appreciation and his thank you by kissing her. He was at loss of words. He's never had that. He doesn't even remember when was the last time he celebrated his birthday.
He was shocked, wasn't he? đ It's crazy how little their birthdays are talked about or celebrated on SPN. Like I get it, they're trying to tell a lot of story, but there's nothing much centered around their birthdays, implying that they don't really celebrate them. đ
Thank you for such a sweet fic. You have no idea how much I needed this. (And also, I'm really very sorry for having disappeared. I'm trying to get some time to catch up on all those lovely fics you've written. I promise it'll be soon. I can't wait to read them. And thank you for not removing me from your tags.) Keep up the good work.
Aww you're very welcome! 𼚠That's part of the reason I write and share -- in case anyone needs the same dose of escapism as I do. đ
Don't apologize, hun! Real life always comes first and I hope you're well, but I'm also glad to see that you're back! If you do get a chance to read other stuff I've shared in the meantime, I would absolutely love it. đ
Restless Nights
Pairing:Â Dean Winchester x F. Reader
Summary: After a tryst you instigated in the backseat of his Baby, you and Dean have started something new. Heâs just not sure that youâre as âall inâ as you claimed to be.
AN: As promised, here's a bonus one-shot to follow Maybe More Than Enough, though it can be read as a stand-alone. This is based on a request from @lacilou, one of my lovely Patreon members!
Bonus! It fulfills the @spnfanficpond monthly prompt. (Canât give it away until the end though!)
Request: A Dean story based on the song âI Remember Youâ by Skid Row.
Word Count: 1.2K
Tags/Warnings: Angst, fluff, implied mentions of sex, bit of a twist endingâŚÂ
Dean woke to the sound of pouring rain hitting the roof of the bunker.
It mustâve been some torrential downpour, because it took a lot for him to hear anything of the outside world from inside this place. Good thing the old heaters kept out the January cold, too. Nothing worse than frigid rain.
Blearily he cracked his eyes open, unearthed an arm from where it was tucked under his pillow, and carefully raised his phone to check the time, trying not to let the light from the screen burn his retinas in the still dark room.
4:00 a.m.
He groaned. Goddamn it.
He turned over onto his other side to face where you shouldâve been lying next to him. He frowned when he saw nothing but the sheets pulled back and a dented, empty pillow.
No matter how he fought it down, a small tinge of worry, and the beginnings of disappointment churned in his gut. His brows furrowed.
Did you regret it already?
After his first make out session with you (turned more session) in the backseat of his Baby, you two struck a tentative agreement to figure what this could beâmore than hunting partners, allies, and friends. Despite the fact that you kissed him first (a fact he didnât easily let you forget), afterwards, youâd been a little hesitant about what came next.
âWe take it day by day,â heâd told you, with a sizzling kiss that stole your breath. âAll I know isâŚthis feels good.â
It felt right. You had definitely agreed with that.
Dean sighed through his nose, turning back onto his other side. It wasnât unusual for him to be a light (restless) sleeper, but the handful of times youâd joined him in his bed had been beginning to make his nights calmer. He was actually starting to sleep through until morning.
Whatâs more, after years of looking into your eyes and seeing all the possibilities of what if, he was finally getting to make those images solid, and real. He could touch them, taste them, feel them under his calloused hands. He finally had you for real.
He looked past your empty spot in his bed and didnât see your phone, or any of your rings on the nightstand. They were the first things you put on in the morning, and the last things you took off at night.
If those were goneâŚ
His disappointment was settling high in his chest now; an ache approaching pain.
Until he heard the light sound of bare feet padding back toward the bed. Your hand slid gently up his arm, and after the surprise wore off, the corners of his lips tugged upwards. Your hair was a bit wild and frizzy. It tickled his neck and shoulder when you leaned in to kiss his cheek.
âWhatâs this?â you whispered, swiping two fingers between the crunch in his brows. Dean relaxed with a small smile.
âNothinâ,â he claimed. His voice was deep and rough with sleep. âHad an appointment to get to or something?â
You smiled and settled into bed, embracing him from behind. He turned onto his back and welcomed you over, with an arm curling around your waist. He rested his hand on yours when it smoothed across his chest.
Subtly glancing down, he didnât find any of the silver you wore on the daily, including the ring with a small turquoise stone heâd bought you a couple weeks ago, on a hunt in Denver. That one, you now almost never took off.
âI put them away in a drawer,â you said, wiggling your fingers under his hand. Your hand felt dry, and a little like you'd been handling something dusty. Had you been up reading in the library again, lost track of time? âWhen I woke up, I saw one fell off the nightstand. Have a feeling it had something to do with the bedframe knocking against it.â
At that, Dean couldnât contain his lazy smirk.
âMy bad,â he said, sounding anything but sorry.
You laughed, shaking your head. You still laid a kiss below his shoulder before you settled back down. He gave your waist a gentle squeeze, pressing a kiss of his own to your forehead. A deep breath fell from between his lips, and his eyes closed.
A question was on the tip of his tongue. Where you were, why you got up. Was it something he could help with? Or was it one of those moments you needed to have alone, not unlike the times you gave him to settle with his thoughts, after a hunt gone sideways. If it was important, youâd level with him, wouldnât you?
So he let it be.
In the morning, you somehow once again managed to get out of bed without him feeling it. He didnât hear you either. Curiosity led him down the hall and glancing inside the cracked door of Samâs room. It was empty, his running shoes gone from the side of his bed. Dean rolled his eyes.
All right, Lance.
Oh, wait, that was biking. âŚWhatever.
Deanâs next path inevitably took him down to the kitchen. His stomach was already percolatingâin need of good coffee and (hopefully) good food.
The smell wafting from the kitchen surprised him, however. Cinnamon apples?
He turned the corner, and there he found you.
The fuck?
You looked a bit of a mess. Your hair was thrown up into a haphazard bun, and youâd stolen his apron. Though in his eyes, you made it look better, the white fabric hugging around your curves like you were Rachel Ray or something. You were frazzled when he came downstairs, but happy to see him. You beckoned him over and sat him down at the small kitchen table.
âSweetheart, whatâs going on here?â he asked, eying you curiously.
âJust stay there!â you called from the kitchen. He heard you opening the oven, cursing when you nearly dropped something.
What the hell were you doing baking before 9:00 a.m.?
He turned to ask you what was going on (and if you needed help), but before the words could come out of his mouth, you came over and carefully set down the pie in front of him. The rich aroma, the golden flaky crust, the flecks of cinnamon and glossy apples peeking out from the divots in said crustâit all had Deanâs mouth watering, and his shocked gaze fixed on the shiny pastry.
He startled a little when he felt your hands on his shoulders, sliding part of the way down his arms. You kissed the side of his head.
âThought I wouldnât remember, did you?â you teased. âHappy Birthday, baby.â
Deanâs throat constricted. He tried not to show it, but your gaze gentled when he finally met yours, like you were seeing through all his layers anyway. He realized then what you were probably working on last night, and he really couldnât fucking believe it.
Heâd forgotten his own birthday. Couldnât see much use in celebrating, when year after crappy yearâŚ
But he closed a hand over yours on his shoulder, and he brought your hand to his lips.
Every word he couldnât yet say to you was etched in that single gesture.
AN: Short and angsty sweet! lol And the monthly prompt was "pie!" 𼧠For Dean of course. ��
Hope you guys enjoy this one! đ
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hey there! sorry to bother again, but I was in a animating mood, so I ended doing a short animation of Machete for practice. It's kinda messy since I havent done that for a while, but hope you like it!
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#HOLY MOLY#it's genuinely unfathomable that people are willing to put this much effort into my characters ;_; you're wonderful I don't deserve it#he's so expressive in your style#an exasperated eye roll#what has gotten him all peeved this time#I don't know animation terminology but I love the squash and stretch (?) on his face#especially his eyebrows#and the (I don't know what to call them) eye bags? facial wrinkles? they're really selling the âfor the love of god not this againâ look#the final frame is just golden#perfect squinty frown mwah#also appreciating his silly little opossum teeth#it's beautiful I've looked at this for five hours now#thank you so much!#gift art#pouletpourrisoldblog#own characters#Machete#âsorry to bother you againâ bother me??#if you take the time to create something like this I'm putting you in my will
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The Thai đ¤đ˝ Taiwanese Communal Wardrobe item #1
Theory of Love ep 5:
En of Love: This is Love Story ep 1:
HIStory 4: Close to You ep 1 & 14:
My Secret Love ep 10:
Check Out ep 10:
Mama Gogo ep 10:
Kiseki: Dear to Me ep 9:
(all credit to @chickenstrangers for this one)
+ bonus not in a series but...
and...
#theory of love#en of love: this is love story#history 4: close to you#my secret love#my secret love the series#mama gogo#kiseki: dear to me#first kanaphan#the thai đ¤đ˝ taiwanese communal wardrobe#<- it gets it's own special tag#we've crossed borders!#WE'VE BREACHED CONTAINMENT!#I'd been wondering if this might happen#and the scream I scrumt when chick (ken? kenstra? tran? anger?) told me#THANK YOU SO MUCH!#I figured I'd start a whole new list for clothes shared across these countries#hence this is number 1#let's find some more!#the thai communal wardrobe#huge thanks to the contributors - tagged in a reblog!#edited to add my secret love!#edited again to add check out!#edited again to add joong!
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