#a past that he would never share with them | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

weltraum-vaquero · 18 hours ago

Note

i was scrolling through pinterest and i came across a prompt: “i can’t focus with your damn hand on my— ooh..” i IMMEDIATELY thought of jayce 🫢 can i request sumn like that? i love your work so much 😭😭

Hi anon, this prompt drove me insane. Thank you so much!

Play (dirty)

Jayce Talis x GN Reader

Summary: A fancy play at the Piltover Opera is a good excuse as any to deck out. And an even better excuse to have some fun with your partner.

Word count: 2.5k

MDNI. Mature content under the cut.

Tags: Sub Jayce, slight exhibitionism, dry handjobs, heavy petting, alcohol consumption

Jayce could never stand still. There’s something in him that’s constant, restless, relentless. Always the type to fiddle, to twirl his pen between his fingers, to scratch at his own scruff in thought, to chew the inside of his cheek, to bounce his leg. His mind is a hyperactive, brilliant thing; equal parts blessing and curse.

He does it now, too — bouncing his leg, that is, under the fine silk of his prettiest burgundy slacks (his ass, though nothing to write home about, never failed to look tremendous in those. Something about the thin, generously revealing material seaming to the humble curve of his ass in a salacious display). Jayce taps his fingers on the sturdy oakwood of the theatre chair as he stares at the still lowered curtain, crosses his legs, sighs, uncrosses them, bounces his leg again.

It’s the final stretch of the second intermission, though the play isn’t particularly doing it for you, mainly because you’ve seen this exact rendition before, with Jayce at your side. Just… not from up here: an opulently designed balcony, all to yourselves, just shy of the stage. Generous courtesy of Salo for a favor taken rather than given from Jayce, a situation that’s been stressing him out something fierce these past few weeks. You digress. That’s not what matters anymore — he’s earned a break. He’s earned something good.

It’s a lovely opportunity to spend some time with him outside of the confines of his lab or your shared home, which is growing increasingly rare. It’s a lovely opportunity to put on your shiniest clothes and make a pretty sight for one another.

Undeniably, that’s been the best aspect of it. Jayce has been sneaking looks at you the whole time — perhaps bored with the play, perhaps too enticed with you. And you can’t exactly blame him, because you’re not doing much better either.

How are you meant to do anything when you have a much more captivating sight to take in, sitting tensely in the chair next to yours?

A dark shirt that hugs the proud swell of his chest just right (certainly something to write home about), a pretty burgundy jacket just the same warm colour as the fruity merlot he’s finished sipping on, lingering on his plump lips. Silk curling at the seams, stretching under the heft of his now thicker thighs as they rest on the seat, tie loosened just so, and he’s good enough to eat.

You lay a warm hand on the inside of his leg, and Jayce, as he always does, yields. Less on thought, more on instinct, always so eager, before he turns to look at you with a question in amber eyes gone chocolatey dark in the low light of the room.

“Hm?”

His cologne hits you in a peppery-sweet, floral wave as he leans in, leans closer, and gives you the attention you’re so clearly demanding.

“Should I get us more wine?” You make feeble conversation, more eager to hear his voice than his thoughts. He’s been sharing most of them in whispers throughout the play so far as is.

Jayce shakes his head, flashes a conspiratorial, boyish little smirk. “If I have any more, I might um,” he breaks out in a short, clearly tipsy giggle, “do something I really shouldn’t be doing up here.”

His hand finds yours, pinkies twining together in a near juvenile but vulnerable display of his affection, a plea for affection. And, oh, his eyes, though his pupils are blown wide, glitter mischievously like a cat’s about to pounce. Two can play that game…

“Mm. That would be a terrible look on you,” you emptily agree. “Think of the headlines… Man of Progress caught moaning during Winter Solstice play, Man of Progress bent over the railing on the opera’s most lavish balcony…”

Jayce nods, a little drunkenly. Leans in for a kiss before he breathes: “Terrible.”

You let him have it — how could you not? Let him sloppily lick at your mouth like an overeager puppy for a long, dizzying, smooth-merlot attempt at a kiss. He smiles into it, as if in thanks.

Before you give a gentle little push at the plush swell of his chest with your other hand, pacing him, pulling away to leave him in a dazed little stupor. His breath hits your now slick lips in a warm, wet brush.

“Intermission’s about to end.” You pat his thigh less sensually, more like you’d pat an obedient dog for a trick well done. “Better keep quiet and focus on the third act.”

It looks like it pains him to settle back into his velvet seat, so you leave your hand on the top of his now still thigh — a reminder, a promise. It keeps Jayce on his toes more than the narrative unfolding before you does. Well worked sinew draws so tight you can feel it vibrate even under the soft layer of plush fat on his thighs, and as the action in the play begins to find its inevitable build, you find your hand wandering.

Just to the inside of his thigh, first, where he’s softer, which he gladly offers up to you. Fingers draw patterns more intricate than the paisley on his vest, until poor, tormented Jayce begins to shift in his velvet seat. Tilts his hips this way, then that, then readjusts his whole frame in the seat with an awkward clear of his throat when it creaks.

The rich tones of a singular violin crescendos in sync with the dip of your hand further, up, up, until you reach that tense tendon on the inside of his leg, where his thigh seams to his hip.

And further inwards, his straining cock nudges the back of your knuckles through the silk of his pants. Jayce jumps with the contact… Poor, poor thing.

“Aw, Jayce...” It’s both pity and reprimand, a whisper so low he can barely hear it. The flesh of his thigh spills from between squeezing fingers; it has him lowering his head in shame and trying to breathe through it. If not for the sacred quiet of the imposing room, for the performers playing their instruments as deftly as you’re about to play him, he would have at the very least whined for it. A low, pleading, dog-like sound.

Instead, he shoots you a look. Desperate and dazed and wide-eyed all at once in the dark of the room, before it turns into a kind of anger that does not and will not bite. Nibbles on you like an angry puppy, more like.

“How d-do you expect me to focus when your damn hand is—“ and you give him what he wants, “o-oh.”

Grabbing a handful of the straining outline of his dick through his pants, rubbing just once, from the wet patch on the tip to as far down as the silk allows.

“Better?” You ask.

Jayce breathes a terrified, shivering sigh.

“I don’t know,” he whispers.

“I can stop,” you remind. He knows it to be the truth intimately; though he aches to please to a fault, Jayce has learned a thing or two about respecting his own boundaries by now. You trust that if he needs you to, he will give you the word.

“Don’t.” Armrests gripped so tight they could splinter, eager hips raise off the theatre seat to chase your hand until your palm cradles his leaky tip once more. Wide eyes flutter closed and cherry slick lips part in a muted expression of bliss.

“Then don’t make a mess,” you breathe into his ear. “And keep quiet. Can you do that, baby?”

Jayce nods desperately, and does a surprisingly great job at swallowing another moan as you twirl your fingertips around what should be the crown of his cock, silk gliding under your hand akin to well oiled skin. He lets it happen gladly, spreads his legs in welcoming especially when you reach further down, until the dainty weight of his balls sits cupped in the groove of your palm. There, you linger, simply holding him where he’s most sensitive, unmoving.

Jayce exhales shakily, baby doe eyes flicking between you and the hand between his legs in questioning, in hope. The soft, still cradle of your palm turns greedy as you feel him up, fingertips curling around the heft of his bulge, his cock pressing into your hand. All of him trembles with how he stifles a gasp into the back of his fist.

You simply knead at him idly, the way a satisfied cat would as it purrs, and make a show of diverting your attention back to the play you couldn’t care less about. It gets him off, in some capacity, to be touched but not paid attention to. It had made him soil his pants so quick, once, simply letting him have his pleasure against your thigh while you were busy with a book, and it’s a technique you employ on occasion since. Coupled with the fact that Jayce, touchy and needy as he is, hasn’t gotten much chance at release lately, you know for certain he will find it now, and fast.

The glossy silk has gone sticky wet at the very tip of his dick, so much so it even leaves your hand damp after an indulgent squeeze at it. Below, horns blare with the oncoming climax of the play, music daunting in its grandeur even from up so high. In spute of such an enticing distraction at hand, you can’t help but marvel at them as you palm Jayce’s cock. And you recognize the melody the very next moment, the thrill of hearing it for the very first time; just as you know the end Jayce is approaching with intimate familiarity, so do you remember the next part of the play.

It will go quiet for a long, breathtaking moment to draw the audience to the edge of their seats, the calm before the storm — and Jayce, judging by the sweat on his brow, the way he almost tears into the back of his fist with his canines, Jayce will not, cannot be quiet.

The realization must hit him at the same time as it hits you, because his free hand grabs yours in a death grip, a decidedly desperate attempt at halting the inevitable.

“S-stop,” he whispers, his lips meeting on the p just moments before the entire orchestra quiets.

You can hear every bated inhale in the grandiose room — but none of them as sweet as Jayce’s. The whole room buzzes, alight with the anticipation of the audience.

Jayce squeezes your hand vehemently, like the weight of his barely contained orgasm threatens to crush him. His thighs clench around your hand, his body curls, he exhales in a silent cry, before he presses his hand to his lips so hard it makes you wince. You lean in close enough to be able to hear his thoughts, let him hide his face in the fabric on your shoulder.

“Breathe,” you coo at him like he’s in pain, stroking your thumb up, then down the aching outline of his cock. It makes his hips jump. “Once the music starts again, I’ll take care of you.”

You can feel him nod his head against your shoulder, can feel his grip slacken, can hear the tension in the room crackling like lightning when a violin starts a short-lived solo that is soon joined by the rest of the orchestra in a tsunami.

Jayce lets go of your hand, spreads his legs as if to offer himself up on a silver platter to you — full, complete trust. You slip the buttons of his pants out of their eyelets fast, aided by the near oily slipperiness of the fabric, the press of his cock, which have the front flap popping open the rest of the way.

Your hand slides down the bump of his soft, fuzzy tummy, into his pants, his underwear, easily, because it’s warm, familiar territory. Cradling all he’s worth in your hand, you scoop both his cock and his balls from the confines of the silk, laying them out vulnerable and exposed to the cold air.

It forces a gasp from Jayce, fortunately lost to the music, instinctually going to cover himself with both hands at the sensation and the prospect of being at the mercy of such a grand, full room.

“I’ve got you,” you remind him. Deft hands reach for his breast pocket, stealing away his handkerchief from him. Even dazed like this, Jayce understands your intention easily, and wins another battle against his instincts as he lets his hands fall away from where they’re cupped over himself protectively. One hand fists the silk of his pants, and the other wraps around your forearm not in guidance, but in seeking, of your presence, of you, grounding himself.

Jayce goes perfectly still as you stroke his dry cock, from root to swollen tip. It can’t be satisfying, you know so by just the feel of your hand around him, the way his foreskin drags with the grip you have on him, up, over his leaky cockhead, then down, exposing him where he’s most sensitive. It can’t be good, but it’s enough, because Jayce whines, quiet and half-terrified as he hides his face against your shoulder, before he goes rigid with your next upward stroke.

And you do that thing he likes so much — his tip’s smeared in enough of his precum to facilitate an overstimulating twist of your palm around just the ruddiness of his crown. His mouth falls open in a silent wail.

Jayce is so easy. Shoots his load into the handkerchief you bring up to his cock just in time, lets you milk all his overwhelming orgasm’s worth into the fabric until he can’t help but clench his thighs around your still moving hand. Trembles in time with his twitching cock as you wipe the strings of cum off his sticky, swollen cockhead and stuff the handkerchief back into his breast pocket.

The orchestra quiets once more, for good this time, and the audience’s applause roars. There won’t be much time until the lights come on, so you make quick work of tucking him back into his pants, and once Jayce regains some of his mental footing, he helps you button them back up.

Just in time — the lights blind you, but not as much as he does. Sitting low in his seat, slick with sweat, disheveled in his best clothes, and smiling at you so wide and dopey he shines, Jayce is brighter than any light, any sun. His chest rises and falls at a fierce, breakneck pace as he catches his breath.

You lean in to grant him a well deserved kiss to the cheek, one he chases with his mouth instead, and smiles into when you lick what remains of the by now long dried merlot from the ridges of his lips.

It makes him smile wider, a blush that matches his suit perfectly blooms on his cheeks. He takes the hand you’d stroked him with, intertwines your fingers like the lovesick fool that he is. You squeeze back, like the lovesick fool that you are, and can’t help but gaze into his eyes even as the eager applause slowly fizzles out.

“They clapped for the wrong performance,” you whisper to him. “You were far more glorious than any play.”

#jayce talis #jayce x reader #jayce talis x reader #arcane jayce x reader #jayce arcane #jayce arcane x reader #arcane jayce #arcane x reader #reader insert #my writing

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greengoblinswifey · 2 days ago

Text

Break Up With Your Girlfriend II— Nicholas Chavez x Fem!Reader

summary— you can’t help but be jealous of your older sister and nicholas’ relationship but in the end, who’s the real winner?

warnings— bitchy!reader, infidelity, angst, crying, jealousy, fluff, unprotected sex, praise kink, slight degradation, arguing, happy ending but not for everyone(lmao).

a/n— i do NOT condone ts in real life nor is this a scenario nicholas would be in, this is all fantasy and was requested my oomf!

Part I

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

The apartment was eerily quiet, except for the low hum of the television and the occasional laugh from your sister as she snuggled into Nicholas on the couch. They seemed so wrapped up in each other, and it made something inside you twist. You'd never felt more uncomfortable in their presence, especially when they were so open with their affection for each other.

You sat on the armchair, pretending to scroll through your phone, though you couldn't focus. They were just too comfortable. Nicholas had his arm draped over your sister’s shoulders, his hand resting on her thigh, casually tracing circles along her brown skin as she leaned against him. The warmth between them was obvious, and it made your heart ache in ways you didn’t want to admit.

You rolled your eyes. “God, you guys are disgusting,” you muttered, not loud enough for them to hear.

Your sister glanced at you from the corner of her eye, but she didn’t stop smiling up at Nicholas. He grinned back, his hand moving to the back of her neck to pull her into a kiss. You couldn’t help but look away, your stomach twisting with jealousy.

But what stung more was that he didn’t seem to notice you. He was lost in her, his focus completely on your sister. The way he kissed her, how he whispered sweet things to her, the way she smiled so brightly—it all made your chest ache with a kind of longing you couldn't explain.

You tried to ignore it, tried to focus on anything other than the sight of them. But it was impossible. Their closeness, their affection, it just felt like too much. It had been like this for the past couple of weeks. The moments and sex you shared with Nicholas when your sister wasn’t around seemed to fade into the background now, barely remembered in the wake of their bond.

You knew you shouldn’t be feeling like this, that you should be happy for your older sister, but seeing them together only made the knot of jealousy in your stomach tighten. You tried to push the feeling away, but it wouldn’t go.

Later that evening, you could hear them in the other room. The muffled noises of soft moans and whispered words drifted through the thin walls. Your sister’s voice rose higher and higher as the sounds of skin slapping skin followed. You rolled over in bed, clutching the pillow to your face, trying to drown out the sounds. But it was impossible. Every breath, every sound—they were so loud.

It was a reminder of the night they’d spent together countless times before, a reminder of the intimacy you’d shared with Nicholas. But now it was different. It was her he was with, and it was her he was giving all of himself to.

You fought the tears, but they came anyway. You had no right to feel this way. You told yourself you shouldn’t, but that didn’t make it stop.

When the sounds finally stopped, you waited. The silence seemed to stretch on, too long, too heavy. The door creaked open, and there he was—Nicholas, stepping out of the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. His hair was messy, his eyes tired but still warm. He looked satisfied, and something about it made your chest tighten all over again.

He froze when he saw you, sitting there in the dark, tears streaking down your face. His expression shifted from exhaustion to concern in an instant. Without saying a word, he crossed the room, pulling you into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered softly, his voice gentle as he stroked your hair. “What’s wrong, baby?”

You couldn't stop the tears, and you didn’t try. You buried your face against his chest, his skin warm under your cheek. “It’s not fair,” you muttered, your voice breaking. “She gets to have you and- and I’m just here. Always just here.”

Nicholas’ arms tightened around you, pulling you closer. “Baby, don’t cry. You know it’s not like that.”

You pulled away just enough to look at him, your eyes red and puffy. “Don’t fucking touch me after you’ve fucked her,” you said, your voice shaky. “I can’t—I can’t do this.”

He seemed taken aback for a moment, his gaze softening. But he didn’t pull away. Instead, he held you tighter, rubbing circles on your back in a soothing gesture.

“I didn’t, shit, I didn’t mean for you to feel this way,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “You mean everything to me. You know that, right?”

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, but you didn’t look away from him. “But you’re with her. You’re always with her and fucking her.”

Nicholas’ lips brushed against your forehead, then kissed away your tear. “I didn’t mean to hurt you princess,” he murmured. “I used protection, okay? And I wasn’t thinking about her. I was thinking about you. The whole time. You’re the one I want.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you just stared at him, unsure how to feel. There was something about his sincerity that made the jealousy burn even deeper, but there was also that small sliver of warmth in your chest that told you he was telling the truth.

“I’m sorry, okay?” He kissed your forehead again, gently wiping the tears from your cheeks. “I never wanted to make you feel like this. But don’t worry. You’re not just some other girl, baby.”

You didn’t say anything in response, your thoughts too tangled. You knew this situation was messy, that you shouldn’t feel this way, but you couldn’t help it. You wanted him in a way you shouldn’t. You wanted the connection that he shared with your sister, but was that something you could have?

Later, you found yourself once again alone with him, your sister having gone out to run errands with her homegirls. Nicholas was sitting on the couch, his arm draped over the back, his gaze following you as you paced the living room. He looked like he wanted to say something, but you didn’t want to hear it.

You knew the rules. You knew the lines you shouldn’t cross. But it felt impossible to keep your distance from him.

He must have noticed the tension, because when he stood up, his voice was soft. “You okay?”

You didn’t answer right away, only glanced at him. He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. You felt the heat between you, even when you tried to step away.

“I’m fine,” you lied, though you knew he could see through you. His fingers brushed your arm, and despite everything, you couldn’t help but lean into his touch, even if just for a moment.

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen or to hurt you,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “And I can’t stop thinking about you.”

And in that moment, you didn’t know what was real anymore. The jealousy, the longing, the desire—it all twisted inside you, and you didn’t know what would come of it.

“I can’t stop thinking about you too, I miss your touch,” you pouted.

“No pouting baby, I can fuck you in your room, give you what you want,” he suggested.

You didn’t get a word out before he picked you up, making you squeal and carried you to the room you practically lived in with the amount of time you spent with them.

“Please, fuck me,” you begged.

He pulled up your white top, leaning down to suck on your boobs as you arched into him, the warmth of his mouth contrast to the coldness you felt in your heart towards his relationship.

You both knew you didn’t have much time, you had to make it quick and worthwhile before she got home.

He pulled himself out of his sweats and you bit your lips seeing he was already hard and ready.

“Who’s that for?” you asked, pulling off your shorts and thong.

“Oh baby, it’s all for you, I can’t even fucking get hard with her unless I’m thinking about you, my dick is always hard for you.”

His words were more than enough to calm the jealousy coursing through your veins. Wrapping your legs around him, you pulled his muscular frame on top of you, desperately grinding against him to get some friction.

He rubbed the tip against your folds, making you squirm underneath him.

“Please Nick, no teasing, I need you so bad, please fuck me,” you cried.

Your begging was put to an end as you felt Nicholas thrust into you, your jaw falling agape as he filled you to the brim.

“That’s it, shut the fuck up and take my cock,” he murmured against your ear.

He started fucking you hard, a testament to the anger and tension you’d both been feeling about the entire situation. The bed creaked under you, and your tits bounced as his hips snapped against you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whimpered.

“Such a filthy mouth, I’ll have to fuck it next time,” he chuckled.

“P-please, I want you to do any and everything to me,” you moaned, tightening your legs around him.

He began slamming into you harder, leaning down to swirl his tongue around your nipples. Your hands tangled in his messy hair as you practically screamed for him to fuck you harder.

“Harder baby? Fuck you’re really needy and this goddamn pussy? Drenched,” he panted.

You both were so engulfed in each other, Nicholas pounding you like he would never get the opportunity ever again, that you didn’t hear the front door slam. You were whimpering so loudly, you didn’t hear your sister’s bags fall to the ground and her heels click loudly against the floor as she ran to where she heard the sounds.

The room door was already wide open and as you opened your eyes, they were met with the shocked face of your older sister. She stood in the door way, her hands trembling as your jaw fell agape, just the way yours was except only one of you was enjoying yourself.

“Oh God Nick, I love your big fucking cock inside me,” you moaned, staring right at your sister as she stared back, frozen.

“And I love this wet pussy, fuck—you’re so much tighter than her,” he moaned, his thrusts almost erratic.

As the words left his lips, you arched into him, moaning his name loudly as your orgasm ripped through you. You couldn’t believe you squirted while your sister watched her boyfriend fuck you—her innocent little sister.

“What the fuck?” she screamed, finally finding her voice.

Nicholas bolted off you, startled.

“Oh shit, he said, pulling the sheets to cover him.

“Don’t oh shit me you fucking disgusting piece of shit! My sister? Really? You ruined her innocence like this?” she yelled.

Your face contorted in confusion. The stupid bitch wasn’t even blaming you, you were somehow still her innocent little sister—for now at least. She was blaming him.

“I’m— I’m, I really—” Nicholas struggled to get the words out.

“You’re disgusting,” she screamed, her hands shaking, “you can’t even fucking apologize to me.”

“And sis, oh my fucking God, are you okay? Why would you do this?” she asked, her voice shaky.

“Because you don’t deserve him, I do, I want him, he’s mine, it’s not fair you get to have him,” you pouted, pulling Nicholas close to you as he placed a kiss on your temple.

“Get out, both of you,” she said, almost not believing the words leaving her lips. She couldn’t believe what you had said to her and somehow, she still saw you as the innocent little sister that stole her clothes and her toys when you were younger, Nicholas was the new toy.

“Oh sweetheart, I think you should get out, my name’s on the lease, really, this is my apartment,” he chuckled.

“Yeah, I think you should stay at mom’s for a while,” you sneered.

“Oh, you whore!” she yelled, charging at you, the veil finally lifting from her eyes to see you for who you truly were.

Nicholas immediately jumped in front of her, stopping her from laying a finger on you.

“Get your goddamn hands off me,” she screamed and that’s when the waterworks started. She barely started crying before she ran out of the apartment, presumably to your mother’s.

“Well, that was a disaster,” you laughed and Nicholas chuckled afterwards.

“I’m sorry baby, I didn’t mean to—

You placed a kiss on your new man’s lips, silencing him.

“We’ll deal with all the drama in the morning, right now, we need to pick up where we left off so you can cum inside me,” you giggled.

You were an evil bitch, good dick really did a number on you. But you could easily play the young and naive card if the other bitch decided to inform your mother. For now, you could enjoy Nicholas, he was finally yours and yours alone.

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back2bluesidex · 21 hours ago

Text

Slide - The Vacation - MYG

Pairing: Producer!Yoongi X Lyricist!Reader

Theme: Angst, smut, unplanned pregnancy. Fwb to ?

Word count: 1.6k

Summary:

"I can see the pain in your eyes I don't wanna say that I'm God, but I'll take you to heaven if you die"

Alternatively,

Yoongi finally finds an answer to all of his questions.

Listened to Slide by Chase Atlantics

Warnings: Angst, angst and angst

Minors do not interact!!

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Patreon (for early access)

Taglist requests are closed for now

A/N: This chapter has both readers and Yoongi's pov.

Read the next chapter

“I want to try being with you. If you’d let me.” Yoongi had said, just less than an hour ago, standing at your dining place.

If you have ever thought you would be squealing like a schoolgirl when he mistakenly professes his love for you - then you had been wrong. Because those words of his - rang hollow.

Those words of his had no promise, no meaning, only a tone of experiment - or maybe less than that.

Your tears have dried up. You have cried much more in the span of a year than you ever had in these twenty eight years of life.

So you don’t cry.

Even when you stare at your bathroom mirror, without the sign of another life springing into you - you don’t cry.

Even when the metallic smell of your own blood-soaked sheets dances around your senses - you don’t cry.

Even when Yoongi’s voice saying he doesn’t know what he feels for you rings loudly in your head - you don’t cry.

The woman who is standing at the place of your reflection is you - but emptier.

Now, truly, you have nothing left in yourself.

The baby is gone, Yoongi is gone, you - yourself - are gone.

When Yoongi broke and scattered the broken pieces all over your sanity, you picked those up, put them up in a stack.

Now that you are at the same place, who is going to do that for you?

No one?

Yourself.

So you decide, you need a vacation.

Attachment and Expectations are two human behaviors that you have always dreaded.

You have purposefully stayed away from everyone, whoever you thought would get you attached. And you have always expected the least positive outcome whenever it comes to human connections.

At the beginning, Yoongi was no exception.

You admired him but never stepped past the professional boundaries in fear of getting attached, until he broke the norms.

Even when you realized you fell in love, you expected nothing more than the warmth of his body. But your resolve weakened whenever he looked at you for a little longer than necessary, whenever he shared tales about Holly, whenever he treated you to a meal.

Now that you are determined to heal yourself - you realize this is the root of the problem.

You are attached to Yoongi and you have expected Yoongi to have a similar feeling towards you.

Wrong. So wrong.

You need to break free.

So, you try to save what’s left of your sanity and avoid looking at Yoongi as he and Namjoon sit right across from you in the same meeting room where everything went south a month and half ago.

Your feet bounce under the table, your breath shortens under Namjoon’s scrutinizing eyes.

“Y/N, tell us what’s wrong? Why suddenly - I mean, I am not saying no your application but you have hardly ever been to such a long holiday? And if I am being honest, then you look quite unwell. Is there something we should know?” Namjoon is concerned, you know that. You are even grateful but you have no energy to answer him, no energy to lie anymore.

You have no will to spend another minute inside the same room as Yoongi - because no matter what - you love him and you want him to wrap his hands around you and let you cry in his embrace.

You want him to mourn with you.

You want him to mourn for you.

“I was pregnant. I lost the baby two nights ago. I am neither mentally nor physically fit to work for now. Besides, I don’t have any important projects going on.” you reply flatly.

Saying these words out loud, makes things even more real.

Pain crawls back inside your heart and fills your eyes to the brim.

Namjoon has gone quiet.

Yoongi has always been silent.

“O-oh.. I- I didn’t know. I’m sorry. It must be tough, Y/N. Please take care of yourself.” Namjoon fumbles with words, a rare sight.

Funny how your misery has rendered the smart ones dumb.

He approves your leave in his laptop as you raise your feet to leave.

“Are you going alone?” His voice interrupts your action.

Yoongi doesn’t look at you, he stares blankly at the table.

“Yes.” you reply.

“Stay safe.” he adds.

And you want nothing more than to scream at him, to tell him that he fucked you up. But in reality you know he is troubled too - that it’s your fault as much as it's his.

“Sure.” you mutter, as you quietly slip out of the room.

Two nights ago when you left the bathroom the first thing you did was to look for your phone. When you found it laying idly by your laptop on your desk, you dialed Hoseok’s number for the second time that evening.

You were incredibly sorry to him.

He was but a stranger to you and had no responsibility of attending to your troubles but still he showed up when you called him sitting on your bloody bed and came rushing to you despite being busy.

This time too, he received your call right after two rings.

“I need a vacation, Hoseok. Do you.. Do you know any wellness retreats that might help me?” you asked.

“That’s a really good thought, Y/N. I will send you a few links, check those out, okay?” he replied.

And that’s how you ended up packing your bags for a month-long retreat in Thailand.

Yoongi didn’t come back home that night.

He went straight to a snack bar and drank seven bottles of distilled Soju all alone.

However, he didn’t black out this time. He knew there would be no calling you if he passed out on the floor, covered in vomit and mud.

He knew there would be no kindness from your side - he doesn’t deserve it - he never had.

While he drank the only thing he could recall is that you were carrying his baby. That you were on the very first step of being a mother and him a father.

Weird how, if these same words would have come out Gyuri’s mouth, he would have freaked out so bad.

But it’s you. And whenever he thought of you, he could picture a quiet life. A condo in an upscale neighborhood, floor to ceiling windows where he could enjoy mellow sunlight sitting on the couch with you.

Where he could cook for you in the kitchen and then serve you food piping hot or maybe feed you upon blowing a little.

Those thoughts had always shaken him to the core, made him question his feelings towards you but at the end of the day, he always left himself with no answer.

On the next morning when he woke up with the worst hangover ever, he decided to do what you have asked him to.

He decided to give himself time and question himself regularly, repeatedly, that what is it that he feels for you?

And while doing so, he decided to stay away from you - give you time to find your footing and mourn for the loss.

He decides to mourn too.

However, he got completely ruined like a damp wall with several cracks when he read your leave application.

You had applied for a month-long holiday.

A month without you? Without seeing you for a glance? Without hearing from you, even a word? Without having to watch you pressing the button on the seventh floor on the elevator, without your quiet sitting figure in the meetings, without your habit of writing lyrics on pen and paper rather than using your ipad?

Can he… can he survive?

“Y/N..” he finds himself following you after you leave the meeting room.

You don’t startle, nor do you turn back. You stand in the middle of the corridor and wait for him to finish his sentence.

“When are you leaving?” he asks from where his feet are stuck on the floor.

“Tomorrow morning.” you reply briefly.

“Incheon?”

“Gimpo”

“Can I come? To see you off?”

“You don’t need to.”

“I want to. I want to see you off. I want to know… to know what I- what I feel for you.”

He confesses to your back.

You, probably, sigh.

“Okay.” you say before walking off.

When he reaches the airport as per the timing you have sent him - he sees you sitting a little far away from the check in counter.

“Hey.” he approaches you.

You look up at him with tired, blank eyes. Your eyes want to make him cry.

“Hi. I was only waiting for you. I gotta go check in.” your voice is just as blank.

He nods.

“Bye.” you try to walk away from him.

But he stops you with a hand on your wrist.

“I will.. I will be here when you come back.” he whispers, only for you to hear.

You nod.

And then something crashes inside Yoongi, the dam of his eyes breaks and tears start falling unbound. He pulls you closer to his body, envelops you in a hug.

You stay still but he doesn’t mind.

He relishes your warmth, your smell, your feel for as long as he can.

When he lets go, his lips find yours.

He kisses you softly, with everything he has in himself.

You don’t kiss him back but he doesn’t mind.

For you, he will wait.

Because right then, while you part your way from him, Yoongi finds an answer to all his questions.

Yoongi realizes… He is in love with you.

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shadowbriar · 3 days ago

Text

Matt Murdock — Without Me

Pairing : Matt Murdock x (she/her) Reader Word Count : 3.9k Warning : Angst as requested but with fluff ending. Insecurity. Miscommunication/Misunderstanding. Synopsis : She knew, even without bringing the topic to light, that marriage was never an option with him. Notes : this fic was a request. If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕

It was never easy.

No matter how many years they've spent together, the countless dates they went to, and the umpteen charming moments they've shared, dating Matt Murdock was never easy still.

Lord knows just how hard she tries to turn it off. To stop her mind from wandering to the dark places and to not think of the worst possible scenarios whenever the slightest inconvenience happens. She's tried her best, truly she has, to be a little more nonchalant whenever it comes to him, but it proved to be an impossible task to do. Perhaps when you care about someone a little too much than needed, the chance of keeping one's self collected inevitably becomes impossible.

Foggy and Marci’s wedding invitation laid proud on the coffee table, silently mocking her name whenever she was the only one left in the apartment. She knew, even without bringing the topic to light, that marriage was never an option with him. There’s just too many things in his hands, too many problems laid on his shoulders for him to ever weigh the possibility of matrimony.

She understood, a little too well, the reason for his silence. And though she once dreamed of having a family of her own, having mini versions of her and him running around the apartment and knocking over the cup of tea that would stain their rugged carpet, she’s learned to bury such thoughts in the deepest pit of her heart. She reckons, sacrificing something that she’s never had before would be less painful than losing the one she already has.

Five years of being loved by Matt Murdock would certainly make you a little too attached to the man.

But even with his gentle touch, the sweet nothings he whispered in her ears and the embrace he would always blanket her nights with, fear was never kept too far away. As much as she loves and understands him, as much as he worships and adores her, Matt was never an easy riddle to solve. His mind works with such complexity she’d never truly decipher. Oftentimes his actions speak much louder than his words and the past few days have only served as the new demons she has to battle with at night.

There’s always been more paperwork, more cases that needed his urgent attention before he could excuse himself out of the office, and even when his job was done, his other calls would already become too urgent for him to ignore. One too many rain checks done for their dates, that she couldn’t even bother asking if they could find a replacement date. Matt’s a busy man, his growing reputation and the demand Daredevil would have to serve at night were something she’s accepted, what she’s yet to understand, however, is his lack of communication. There were less words, less explanations and reassurance for her to hold on to. The blackhole that she’s currently drowning in was quiet and deadly. Something that he would not notice with the lack of presence.

Now she sits alone in their apartment, eyes vacant and barely blinking while her brain haywired. Perhaps this sudden change of action was caused by her wrongdoings. She tries to trace down every possible mistake she might have made, every misspoken word and unintentional actions, in an attempt to find a way to fix it. To apologise for whatever fault she’s committed before the sin stained a little too deep to ever be fixed.

If this was anyone else, she would’ve been upfront and ask if there’s anything wrong, confront the issue head-on without a care in the world, but this is Matt. He pushes people as easily as he draws them. One wrong movement and she fears all hell would break loose for them.

“Baby?” she heard Matt call, turning her head to see him entering from the staircase “What are you still doing up? It’s late.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she answers, walking to him and taking his helmet away “Was it an easy patrol?”

“Quite, yeah. Not too bad but not too boring either,” he says with a grin “I’ve missed you.”

She sighs, letting his hands rest on her waist while hers encircle his neck, “Yeah, well, you’ve been busy.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he says regretfully “Say, why don’t we go to that restaurant you’ve been wanting to try? The Italian one? How about this Friday, will you be free then?”

“I don’t know, will you? You’re the one who’s been so occupied lately.”

“I’ll be free on Friday, I promise,” he says excitedly, stealing a peck on her lips “So what do you say? Friday after work?”

Another tired sigh escapes her. Moments like this melts her worry away. Staring into his beautiful face, seeing that charming smile tugged on the corner of his lips, while his body was pressed against her. But as much as she treasures this, as much as she appreciates the comfort he could always bring her, she knew that the dark cloud would return the moment he’s out of her sight.

Gently, she leans in and kisses him. Matt’s grip on her shirt tightens, smiling between the kiss in satisfaction. Perhaps he misses her just as much as she missed him.

“Friday, it is.”

—-

She peeled herself off of the blanket with a huge sigh. The other side of the bed was cold, signifying that he’s been out for quite some time but she couldn’t find it in herself to frown. They do have a date afterwards. Perhaps Matt just wanted to make sure that he’s done all his work on time before they could escape their hectic lives for an hour or two.

It was still early for her to get ready for work, but coming early and finishing her tasks as soon as possible so she could have more time to doll herself up before the date sounds like a better plan to do. She sits up from the bed, hand carelessly reaching for the hair tie on the bedside table before knocking Matt’s phone in the process.

She picks up the item, thinking that it was one of the rare occurrences for him to forget his belongings. Reckon she really needs to get ready now so she could drop by his office and give him his phone, but her frown grows when someone calls.

“Hello?” she says as she picks it up.

“Oh, shit,” the other end of the line says before hanging up.

It was a woman. A voice that she was unfamiliar with. The twist in her gut grew, spreading through her veins like venom. She’s never one to pry on Matt’s phone, always confident in his loyalty, but given his absence and the strange call, her fingers couldn’t stop themselves from punching the passcode.

There was no text history with the caller, but there were several call logs, dating far into the past few weeks when he started to be ‘busy’. She wanted to call back the woman, ask her who she is and why she has been on frequent calls with her boyfriend, but she was too scared to face the possible truth. Too afraid to welcome the pour of the icy reality— that he’s found someone else.

“Oh, you’re up!” Matt says, cheeks flushed with slight panting “I forgot my phone.”

“Yeah, I know,” she answers, her voice caught in her throat. Still trying to process the event that’s just happened and how to act in front of him “I— Someone— Gwyneth called.”

“Oh,” his tongue darts to lick his lips, visibly looking nervous now “What did she say?”

“Nothing, she— She hung up.”

“Your heart is beating fast,” Matt notes “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just— Did you run back here?”

“I did, yeah. I was already at the office when I realised I'd forgotten my phone. I need it for the case I’m currently working on,” he answers, walking to her with careful steps “Can I have it, please?”

She swallows the lump in her throat, handing him the item in silence.

“Thank you,” Matt says, placing a kiss on the crown of her head “Listen, I have to run back, I’m having a meeting with a client in five minutes. I’ll see you later for our date, okay?”

She was still silent, breath hitched and sweats forming in the back of her neck.

“Baby?”

“Yeah, okay,” she finally answers, looking up to meet his eyes “I’ll see you later.”

Matt hesitated. He looks as if he was debating to ask something, looking conflicted over whatever it is that might be troubling his mind but the words died in his tongue. Perhaps unsure if he would want to pour petrol over the turmoil that’s evidently building between them. His finger taps on the phone in his palm as he says instead, “I love you.”

She forces a smile, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to see it but it was the only attempt she could pull to suppress the tears that were slowly watering her eyes, “I know.”

“You’re not gonna say it back?”

“You know I love you,” She says, kissing the back of his hand that was holding the phone “Go, you’re going to be late for the meeting.”

Matt smiles, stealing a kiss from her lips before heading back out.

—-

Her breathing was rigid. The movement of her chest forced as if trying her best to compose herself. Her lips were pressed in a tight smile, chewing her meal silently as she tried to focus on the words Matt was saying.

She tries, God knows she tries, to forget about this morning’s incident. Perhaps Gwyneth was the client he was supposed to meet. It surely isn't strange for him to have frequent calls with her if that was the case, but why does it feel wrong? Why does it feel like there’s something bigger that she wasn’t aware of? Why does it feel as if there was something Matt wasn’t telling?

“Love,” Matt calls, taking her hand slowly in his “Are you alright? You’ve been awfully quiet.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she lies through her teeth.

“Are you sure? Your heart has been beating like crazy all night.”

“Yeah, well, maybe stop listening to my heartbeat for once, Matt.”

The smile on his face waters, surprised to hear her bitter spat.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound as cruel,” she sighs, taking her hand away from him to rub her temples “I just have a lot of things in mind.”

Matt sighs, nodding in understanding, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Yes, she wanted to say, let’s talk about the affair you’re having behind me.

But is she ready? Is she ready to be stripped off of the fantasy that she’s tried so hard to build with him? Is she ready to bid goodbye to all the dreams and hopes she’s made with him? Is she ready to accept the fact that there would be no Matt in her future?

It was pathetic, sure, to hold on to the last strings of hope when the most possible outcome is laid bare in front of her. To be stubborn for once against the demons that are torturing her mind. But Matt is the only good thing in her life she’d never be ready to lose. He is the one thing she would rather risk her life for than to ever be separated from. Even if she has to turn a blind eye and pretend as if the romance they’re living in was pure and innocent.

“No, it’s fine,” she says, letting out a sigh to collect her composure “How’s your meeting? Did it go well?”

“Splendid. Listen, I have something to talk to you about,” he says, deflecting the topic. Matt takes a nervous gulp. His hands are now under the table, invisible to her eyes “I– Uh, I don’t know where to start.”

A sharp gasp escaped her lips as the tears threatened to form on her eyes. This must be it. The nervousness that has been bleeding out of him, the continuous rambling he does the whole night to mask his uneasiness, the way he keeps on rubbing his palm on his trousers. This must be it. This must be their end.

“You know how we’ve been together for quite some time now,” Matt starts, his hands still hidden under the table “I know five years with me must not have been the easiest for you. I know just how difficult it could be, living with me and accepting the life that I’m living in. I know that we didn’t always have sunshine and rainbows. Most of the time we have storms and thunders, really, yet we’re still here. You’re still here,” He says gently, his left hand reaching for hers “I know that you deserve better, that you can find someone better—”

She abruptly stood on her feet, letting his hand go in the process that he retreats it fast and hides it under the table once again. Her breathing was heavy, tears threatening to fall from her eyes.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Matt asks with a worried tone, still sitting on his seat.

“I have to get out of here.”

“W-What?”

She spared him no other word, grabbing her purse and bolting herself out of the restaurant.

Her heart was hammering inside her chest. By the time she hailed for a taxi, her cheeks were already wet with tears. The night she’s been looking forward to, the one date she hoped would flush all of her worries down the drain, turns out to be her worst nightmare. Never would she ever expect Matt to be this cruel. To lead her on, promising a lovely date when they haven’t seen each other for so long, only to break up with her before the clock strikes at nine. With an illicit affair she wasn’t aware of until the very morning, should one add.

“Wait, wait,” Matt says, stopping the taxi door before it closes “Where are you going? What happened?”

“Just leave me alone, Matt, please,” she begs through her tears.

“Baby, why are you crying?”

“Leave me alone, Matt. I don’t want to see you tonight.”

“I— What did I do?”

“Just— Please, don’t make it any harder than it already is.”

Matt was appalled, confused as to what might trigger this response, but he could feel just how upset she was. Her body was shaking, fingers trembling as they frantically wiped the tears that kept on flowing. Never had he ever seen her this distraught and Matt was scared that he would do more harm than good to try and talk with her about it, so he surrenders, “Okay, we’ll go home, okay? Let me just pay for dinner first.”

“No, I’m not going home. I told you, I don’t want to see you, okay!” She says, this time with a raise of voice as her anger slowly seeps in “I just want you to leave me alone, is that really too much to ask for?”

Hurt was evident on his face now, but she was too caught up with her own emotions to notice it.

“Please, Matt,” She begs, her voice hoarse in plea “Please let me go.”

Matt nods, ceasing his last attempt to hold her as he closes the taxi door. He listens as the driver steps on the gas, driving her away to wherever it is she might go. Though the car drives further from him, the sound of her sobs only grows louder in his ear. He wasn’t sure what he did, what he said that might have prompted this response, but whatever it is, he knew that he’s royally ruined what could’ve been the best night of their lives.

—-

It has been a week since she fled Hell’s Kitchen. She knew that there’s no corner in the city that he wouldn’t scour to find her, so she had to go a little farther to find shelter. She needed time and space to think, to take in the cruel reality that has finally caught up with her, before she could take baby steps towards acceptance.

On the second day, she no longer breaks in tears whenever she looks into her phone and see the many messages Matt has left. By the fourth day, she could partly accept the fact that their ship had sunk. That trying to mend what’s been broken would only restrain him from his freedom, from loving the one person he might actually meant to be with. She loves him, too much for words to ever truly express it, but if being with another woman brings him better happiness, then she would sacrifice herself and blow the candle out. She would let him go.

The suffocation she feels in her lungs the moment she steps in the apartment was unbearable but she dragged her feet still. She whispers her silent goodbye, fingers tracing the walls of the apartment that she would soon leave. Her eyes study the surroundings, memorising each detail of Matt’s loft that she loved so much before she’s no longer welcomed.

She wonders if whoever would live with him next would keep the flower vase by the window. She wonders if they would change the lights in the living room. She wonders if they would paint the walls and fix the squeaky bathroom door. She wonders just how much of her remnants would be left untouched.

“You’re home,” Matt greets, breathless as if he just jolted out of bed.

It’s clear to see that he was in a wreck. The stubbles on his face were unkempt, new bruises littering his body. Matt looks defeated. Like he’s been dragged through a losing war and shattered beyond saving.

“I’m just here to take my things,” she says with a shaky voice, trying her best to keep herself calm and collected “I won’t take long. I’ll take whatever I couldn’t pack today on the weekends.”

“Where are you going?” He frowns, tilting his head a little in confusion “Why are you leaving?”

“Well, I’ve held you back long enough, haven’t I? It’s about time I let you go,” she says with a heartbroken sniffle, forcing a self-pitying smile “I won’t keep you from anyone, anymore. You’re free.”

Matt takes a few steps closer, his brows knitted as he finds himself further lost in the conversation, “Hold me back— Free— What are you talking about?”

“It’s what you wanted, isn’t it? The other night? You wanted to break up with me,” she explains, swallowing the hard pill “I understand. I’ve accepted it, too. We don’t have to go through that conversation again.”

“Break up— What?”

“Matt, don’t play dumb with me,” she says with her patience wearing thin “I know everything. I know why you’ve been so busy lately. I know about your affair with Gwyneth, I know it all.”

“Affair? Gwyneth?” Matt questions, running a hand through his hair as he tries to place the puzzle pieces together “What are you talking about?”

“Look, you can really stop being a douche and just get off with it, alright? Do you really expect me to spell it to you? You cheated on me with Gwyneth. There, I said it.”

“I— What makes you think that I cheated on you with her?”

“Well, you’ve been gone. You have lots of call logs with her and they all aligned to the days when you started being distant. And that day when she called, she hung up because she heard my voice, didn’t she? She was scared that I’d find out about you two, well, guess what, I did.”

Matt’s lips were parted. The crease on his forehead was still deep as he tried to let her words sink in. He visibly looks baffled to the point that she starts to wonder if she’s making the right sense, but she wouldn’t let that puppy eye and innocent look on his face water her walls down. She’s given more than enough understanding for him to ever play her this way.

“Well? What do you have to say about yourself?” she asks, folding her hands in front of her chest “No arguments to defend yourself, Mr. Attorney?”

The corners of his lips tugged upward as he let out a satisfied sigh. Colours returned to his face the moment his brain caught up with her words. Like a lighting bulb glowing after it's been switched on. Without a word, Matt walks back to the bedroom. He returned not even a minute later with a small box in his hand.

“I have not been cheating on you,” he begins, taking one of her hands gently “I would never, ever, betray us like that. I love you too much to ever think about anyone else.”

“But Gwyneth—,”

“Gwyneth is a jeweller that has been helping me find the right ring for someone,” Matt cuts in, opening the box for her to see “I didn’t know what kind of ring you’d like, what design or what gem you’d like on it, so I looked for some personal jeweller to help me out.”

She was left speechless, looking down to the ring with utter embarrassment.

“When you picked up her call, she was trying to tell me that the ring was ready, but she didn’t expect you to answer. She was caught off guard, scared that she might spoil your surprise.”

Her head hangs low. Just how ridiculously stupid could she be. She was ashamed of thinking the worst, labelling names on Matt that should never have even crossed her mind. How is she supposed to apologise now after ruining their moment? After tainting their relationship red? Would she even have the chance to mend what she’s broken when she’s betrayed the trust between them?

“Hey,” Matt calls, holding her chin up gently “I've never cheated on you. There was never anyone else and there will never be. There’s only you, just you, and no one else.”

“I’m sorry,” she cries “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s just a misunderstanding,” he says with a chuckle, pulling her for a hug and rubbing her back “It’s okay, Baby. It’s my fault for being too occupied too, I’m sorry.”

“No, you don’t get to apologise, okay? It’s only going to make me feel worse,” she sobs in his embrace “I should’ve known better. I should’ve trusted you or at the very least asked about Gwyneth, before jumping into conclusions.”

“Well, honestly, if you asked me about her, I wouldn’t have known what to say either. I’m not the best of a liar in front of you,” he answers, letting out a sigh “That morning I knew your heart was beating erratically but I was too scared to ask because I didn’t want you to ask about her. I didn’t have the answers to give without spoiling the surprise.”

She let go of the hug, wiping her tears while his hands still rested on her waist, “I’m sorry I ruined the surprise.”

“It doesn’t really matter. What matters is your answer,” Matt says with a nervous smile, letting go of his hold and kneeling in front of her now “I’m just gonna keep it short before either of us falls into another misunderstanding,” he says before the two of them break into a short laughter “Will you marry me?”

Her grin spreads, nodding as she kneels to his level, “Yes, yes, of course.”

Matt beams as he slips the ring on her finger. A satisfied exhale came out of him. Like he's just successfully removed mountains from his own shoulders. He pulls her for a kiss, hands cupping on cheeks gently, “I love you.”

“I love you, Matt Murdock,” she answers, her hand combing the strands of his hair with her fingers “You’re really a wreck without me, huh?”

He lets out a sigh, stealing another kiss through their laughter, “You have no idea.”

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock angst #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x oc #matt murdock scenario #matt murdock scenarios #matt murdock x y/n

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slimybeth69 · 2 days ago

Text

Thirst

Marcus Acacius X lady reader (no descriptions, you're a virgin though)

Summary: Your freedom had a price and Marcus Acacius was willing to pay for it... but you also had to do something for him.

Chapter 1 of 10: Warming Up

Rating: EXPLICIT -- Shameless smut with a little plot

a/n: NO SPOILERS to the new movie. This is cross-posted from my AO3 account

WARNINGS: dubious consent, ownership, loss of virginity, mutual mast., exhibitionism, voyeurism. Mentions of being a whore.

You had lived in a brothel before this. Had to share a bed with a woman you did not like. You didn’t even get to have sex in that brothel because you were a virgin and no one could afford it. Just your hands and mouth. Your company if they couldn’t afford your pleasure. The General could afford you though and the second you told him you were a virgin you left the brothel with him.

General Marcus Acacius still hasn’t had sex with you. He just wants you to look at him. You roll your eyes at the thought. Just watch. He didn’t even let you touch. It had been two long months and you had seen him only a dozen times. More in the beginning and now less and less. Strange. Paid all this money and won't even touch you or let you touch him.

“Your day?” His voice is deep and smooth and it’s almost like it ruminates in your chest for a moment after he is done speaking. You try to hide your giddy excitement as he comes from the doorway that leads to the balcony you’ve been sitting on.

“Fine.” It’s short and curt and you act like you are tired of being alone with only your handmaids to talk to. He sighs from behind you. This is what happens every time and you’re over it. “Would you like to just get it over with?” You stand from your seat and he’s wearing a white and gold tunic. You’ve never seen him in it before and his bronzed thighs contrast against it so well. You do not let his beautiful skin distract you as you slip past him into the room. You unclasp the shoulder straps of your dress and let it fall to your waist. You buzz with excitement.

You’re exposed from the waist up when you turn to look back at him. His strong hand is already wrapped around himself underneath the tunic. He walks to you, his fist never leaves or stops stroking himself as he makes his way to his chair. It’s already got the small glass bottle of oil sitting on the table beside it. Waiting. You use it sometimes to rub into his muscular shoulders after he has a long day.

Mostly it’s poured into his palm like he’s doing right now. When he leans back in his chair, his throbbing erection is already pushing the lower half of his tunic up, exposing himself to you. He is thick, already red with excitement and almost intimidatingly big. He could fit both fists on it. You watched him do it once with your bottom lip bitten between your teeth. He coats his cock in the oil, massaging it into his already smooth skin. You know he is smooth. You can see how smooth he is from here. Bronzed and smooth and strong. It’s evident as you watch him spread his legs wider so you can see his balls. One hand cups them gently, massaging them.

“Shit.” Marcus hisses as he squeezes his cock at the base gently as he starts to stroke. You watch, your gaze dancing between his eyes and mouth, down to his hand thrusting up and down on himself. He twists his hand around the shaft while he does it. It makes somewhere deep inside you ache. You long to go over and climb into his lap. Sink yourself down into his lap until you are flush with him.

“Does it feel good?” You ask mindlessly, watching as the tip of him begins drooling precum from his seam. You lick your bottom lip because you want to know what he tastes like. You want to show him what you can do.

“Yes.” He moans softly and when you look back up to his face he’s staring at you. You reach up and pinch one of your nipples between your thumb and forefinger and twist it gently. Then you tug. You let out a breathless moan and he drops his eyes to your hand. He bucks his hips forward and sighs. “Gorgeous.” He breathes it to you as he strokes his cock slowly. You’ve never really spoken to each other during so you keep going, to see what happens.

“Do you want to see my cunt?” You whisper and bat your eyelashes up in him with false innocence. His breath catches in his throat when you say it. It makes you smirk. He nods silently as his eyes fall to your middle. You pull the lower half of your dress up and pool it at your waist and now you have a bunch of fabric all pulled up around your middle. Marcus’ eyes dart between your pussy and your tits that you're still teasing and pulling at with your fingers.

His staggered breath is rising and falling in his chest and his fist is moving with more speed.

“Fuck.” Marcus groans quietly. The head of his cock is almost purple and his precum is now leaking down the tip of him. You lick your lips again because he does look very handsome there, stroking himself. Little beads of sweat forming on his brow as he starts to pant softly. You run your hand down the length of your body for him, you never do this. Usually you just stand there because the first time you tried to touch him and he said no. Gave you no further instruction so you stood here after that. That white tunic and this soft bronze skin over those thighs… you dunno. Very handsome. It’s making you drenched

“You could come touch me right here.” You purr to him quietly.

The muscles in his thighs flex when you slip two fingers into your folds. You don’t even rub, you just show him that you can in fact be touched and will not combust into flames. Marcus could do more than just look at you while he touches himself. You do let your mouth part and your jaw drop down slightly in feign pleasure– letting him know what you look like when you feel good. Marcus’ eyes flash between your face and the fingers pushed into your velvet.

“Gods.” He sighs as his calloused and battle-scarred hand moves up and down on himself quickly.

“Imagine yourself buried inside me. For the first time.” You coo to him as your fingers start to encircle your bundle of nerves that sit nestled at the top of your slit. “The first man to ever me inside me… the first man to ever fill me with his—”

“Fuuck. My G-Gods.” Marcus moans loudly as he brings himself to climax. He finishes all over the front of his nice, white and gold tunic. Splatters it with white ropes of his sticky seed. Several thick ropes of it.

Your hand drops from between your legs and you snap your dress back up over your shoulders. You sit back in your chair on the balcony and sip your wine like you are bored. Marcus can leave now. He doesn’t do anything else for you other than this thrilling encounter every couple days. Thrilling while it happens but then he leaves.

He clears his throat from the doorway. You ignore him. Does he think you are one of his soldiers? No. You are a woman and women deserve more than just being stared at. You should be ravaged and you haven’t been so you’re frustrated. Only able to give yourself pleasure after he leaves. To ease the monotony of it all you’ve started pleasuring yourself out here on the balcony where anyone could see if they just looked up.

You do not tell him this.

Marcus clears his throat again.

“What?” You have obvious annoyance in your tone. “If you’d like to speak to me you can come out here. I am done doing things for you today. Including getting off this chair again.” You snap angrily.

Marcus approaches from behind you and now he’s sitting beside you on a chair that looks exactly the same as the one you are in. He is in a different tunic now. A plain brown one and now he looks terrible and horrible to you again. Barely attractive. Maybe he’s still a little handsome.

“Did you enjoy yourself this time?” Marcus sounds curious.

“Sure.” You mutter. You don’t catch his eyes that are obviously staring at you.

“I thought you were warming up this evening. Then you do this?” He sounds slightly disappointed. You roll your eyes and huff softly.

“You keep me up here. Only let me go out early in the mornings when not one or very few people are out—” You like this but you won’t let him know that. “You don’t come see me everyday like you said you would. You do not touch me. Just want to watch, which is so weird! I thought you took me from that brothel so that you could deflower me. Do the thing that everyone loves to do so much. No, you just want to tease me with your beautiful cock every four to seven days.” You cross your arms over your chest and huff one more time for good measure.

Marcus chuckles at you, still staring. You can see him boring holes into the side of your head out of the corner of your eye. He is smiling but still staring.

“Why is that funny?” You snap, finally turning to look at him now. Marcus Acacius is quite handsome with his messy mop of dark, loose curls. Thick dark eyebrows and facial hair to match. Only on his cheeks is it lighter, graying. Strong features. The weight he held, he carried it nicely. Filled his cheeks out softly and thigh muscles for days. Strong arms and shoulders.

“I paid because you are beautiful. I’ll deflower you. Soon. When you’re ready.” His voice is quite nice too. He leans forward and presses his lips against yours gently. He’s never kissed you before. It’s so nice and he smells like the scented oil he spread around his cock earlier. Before you can really react to the kiss he pulls away slightly and hovers above you. “I’ll deflower you when you really like me. Not just because I paid.” Then he pecks your lips again. You're in awe! What does that mean!? You stand and try to follow him. He is too fast. He slips out of the door and locks it behind him.

You hmph and stomp your foot angrily.

Like him? How could you ever— Oh.

There is the nicest most beautiful bouquet of flowers on the table that had not been there before you did your little tease for him. They are gorgeous. All different shades of white and pink and reds. It’s the biggest bouquet of flowers you have ever seen. Alongside it– a fresh unopened jug of wine. And a note.

Save the wine for us.

Us? Does he expect you to leave this jug of delicious wine unopened until you see him again? In four to seven days? You love wine. It’s the only thing that brings you joy. Seeing his cock has been pretty joyful lately. Makes you smile when he comes. You normally hate when men come.

Ugh. Doesn’t fuck you. Gives you wine but tells you not to drink it. You drop the note on the table and turn… on the bed is a new dress. A nice one. White and gold like his tunic before he mucked it with his release. You smirk at the memory from less than ten minutes ago.

What is he up to? He is not an unkind man, very polite and respectful. One of the reasons you haven’t tried to escape. He is very sweet to you. Looking at you very fondly. You’re just a brat because you thought you’d no longer be a virgin at this point. You sigh heavily and sit on the soft bed next to the dress and run your fingers along the gold embellishments.

You want to get fucked wearing this tunic.

Hours go by. It is late into the evening. You might be wearing your new dress, sitting on the balcony drinking the jug of wine you already had. Not the new one. You might have tried to open the new one but you could not remove the Gods forsaken cork. Your head is buzzing in the best way. The streets are alive with people and in your slightly intoxicated state you imagine yourself down there with them. You are glad you’re not down there. You grew up in the countryside, the large city of Rome scares you.

You lie to Marcus Acacius and say you are locked away and would like to go down there. No. You do not wish for that. You feel safe up here on your balcony with your books and wine and food. New dresses now too, apparently.

“Do you like your gifts?” Marcus’ voice drifts through the air. He sounds happy to be here. Like he might have a smile on his face.

“I did. Thank you.” You are not short or cold. You turn your head and smile at him over your shoulder. He is already smiling softly back at you– his gaze floats down your face and neck and across your new dress. He then leans against the door frame. “Admittedly I wasn’t going to wait for you to drink the wine… I just could not get it open.” You smirk now and look up at him through your lashes.

“I tightened it.” Marcus smirks back at you. He pushes himself off the door frame, turns and grabs the jug of wine. When he sits down, he slides his chair closer to yours and pops the cork right out of the jug. You tried several times over the hours after he left. You roll your eyes as he pours you a fresh goblet and then he pours one for himself.

The General never shares wine with you on the balcony.

“How do you ever expect me to grow to like you when you are never around? You’ve never even done this with me before.” Your eyes scan his handsome face curiously. His tongue flicks out across his bottom lip quickly before he speaks.

“I wanted someone untouched.” He shrugs. Not an uncommon wish for men. “You seemed eager to want to come with me.” He leans back in his chair and sets his elbows on the armrests. “Then you don’t speak. You do not participate when I want you to watch. Just drop your dress and let me look.” Marcus relaxes, every part of him does and it happens visibly in front of you.

“You paid. What does that matter?” You squint your eyes at him with suspicion growing heavy in your buzzing brain. Marcus laughs heartily and smiles down at the goblet of wine in his hand.

“I never wanted to touch you unless you wanted me to. Not just because you were a purchase.” His eyes flick up to yours as he waits for your response.

“Money for sex is so common. There are houses and buildings solely for that purpose! That is where we met!” You are confused, had a little too much wine and are kind of horny. “I came with you willingly.” You're blinking at Marcus. He is smirking at you like you are bringing him some kind of entertainment. “Why are you so hesitant?”

“Do you not care that it may hurt? Or that is considered special to some?” He sounds curious now as to why you would just give it away so freely.

“I do not care about pain. I hear that it feels very good after some slight discomfort.” You look at him down your nose and huff. “Treating me like I am fragile and will break.” Another huff and you look away from him. You make Marcus laugh again.

“So eager to get fucked. You’ve really never been with a man or woman?” Now he sounds like he doesn’t believe you.

“No. I have not, but that shouldn’t change anything.” You snap at him. General Marcus Acacius smiles at you when you snap at him.

“Would you bed men and women with me once I deflower you?” He tilts his head to the side. “I like to take multiple people to bed sometimes.” He seems curious to know your answer, he leans forwards in his chair.

“I have heard of orgies, yes. I don’t see why not—” He cuts you off.

“Not an orgy.” He says it firmly “I’d share you with another man. Watch as he fucks you. Us men, would fuck you together. You’ll watch me fuck him. We could share him. Let him enter you while I enter him. Would you like that? Or do you want to lick cunt while I fuck you?” He speaks so casually. So calmly like you’re not vibrating in your chair. “Watch me fuck her, while she licks your beautiful slit?” He leans back in his chair as if he is going to give you a moment to think about it. What is he asking of you? To be his paid and cared for personal whore?

“I would.” You lean back in your chair and cross one leg over the other while you look at him. “I’d do more, too.” You don’t even really know what you are talking about. He brings up the most extremes and the most you have done is suck a couple of cocks at the same time. Big deal.

“Like?” Marcus’ eyebrows dance up once and then fall back down quickly. Okay dammit, you don’t know.

“You could tie me up.” You mimic his little eyebrow dance he did and shrug one shoulder at him. Like you're so seasoned in that. You just saw it happen to someone else once! The General likes this though.

“I have my own restraints. And a whip if you want to be bad.” He smiles and sips from his wine goblet. You might be a little over your head but you do not care because you want this man to take your stupid flower so bad. Whether he paid for it or not. He can have it. “What?” His eyes are so dark. So intense as he asks you this.

“What?” You snap at him. “What do you mean, what?” You snap again. He snickers under his breath and drops his gaze to his lap.

“You were staring at me, little Dove.”

#marcus acacius #fanfic #smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #gladiator 2 #pedro pascal fanfiction #general marcus acacius #gladiator ii fanfiction

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ashprince-of-bel-air · 1 day ago

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To Love An Emperor: Part 3

Just fluff for now,I may do some more smut later if the people want it

Part: 2

Sunlight broke through the large stained glass window of the room, decorating yours and Caracalla's naked skin with a beautiful mix of colours. It was the first night you had shared truly together, previously you would lay with him and return to your own quarters, last night he wanted you with him, to feel your soft delicate skin against his own, told hold you close in his arms as if you would melt away if he let go.

You felt yourself stir and wake slowly, awoken by the rough bristle of the stubble of the emperors face upon your skin. Caracalla was nuzzling against you, wanting to feel the sensation of your skin upon his own, to prove that you were real and beside him this time, a dream he had longed for.

The pair of you laid entwined together, not knowing where one body began and the other ended, enjoying the warmth of eachothers embrace. Today was to be the first day of the Gladiator games to honour a respected General, one who's name you needn't remember, all your duties were towards your betrothed emperor and no other.

The soft skin of Caracalla's hands stroked over your body, his fingertips dancing along your skin as he wondered how such a beauty came to lay beside him. The morning was filled with silence and stolen glances, though you had lain together many times this was different, this was more intimate and real, something was begining to blossom between the two of you now.

You turned to face Caracalla, you were now at eye contact level with him, drinking in his beautiful blue eyes. They were like sparkling sapphires or deep blue ocean pools, they were dangerous to you as you knew you could get lost in them. Caracalla was always overlooked against his brother Geta, the public had always favoured him and deemed him the strong and attractive one. It pained you to watch Caracalla wrestle with his own insecurities, thinking he would never live up to Geta, you wanted to express how happy you were the day you were chosen for him and not Geta but you could never find the words.

You pulled Caracalla in for a deep and meaningful kiss, it wasn't one to suggest any further intimacy, it was one to show how you cared for him and what he meant to you. It almost felt like a tear ran down your cheek as you kissed him but you brushed the thought away, you did not want to bring anything up and ruin the loving embrace you were both now in together.

The door to the room swung open, causing you to cower under the bedsheets to cover your modesty, Caracalla laid there unbothered by his nakedness, he was an emperor and such imodesty did not concern him. Geta burst forth to shout before he saw you, the look in his eyes changed, from one of anger to annoyance. Caracalla should have been ready to leave for the new Gladiator games by now het he was laid here with you, his soon to be wife. Geta shot a lot of expletives and insults towards Caracalla, it wasn't until Geta called you a whore that Caracalla finally snapped. You saw the vase fly past you, aimed at Geta, it missed it's target but the message from it was well recieved.

The entire situation was unhinged, once the vase was broken they stood face to face to argue, you were scared that one would kill the other. After a few tense moments they agreed that we would attend the Games shortly and we were not to divulge any memory of this situation.

Geta left in a strop and Caracalla flopped back onto your naked body, kissing your collar bone and neck "he's right we do need to go, I just want to kiss you once more time" his lips were sloppy and desperate upon your skin, dancing over the marks had left upon you the night prior.

You giggled slightly and embraced his kisses, enjoying his lips, feeling the softness against your neck. It was not long before you both were dressed, acceptable for the day, Caracalla sent a servant away to fetch you suitable clothes, though he admitted you looked beautiful as you were, naked in his bed, it being a crime to cover your body.

You dressed swiftly once the clothes arrivedbwoth the servants, steeling yourself for the day ahead, knowing you were to make your debut as Caracalla's betrothed at the games, it would be an interesting one for all.

Your hands were entwined, feeling Caracalla squeeze your own. There was a glint in his eye that you had not seen up close, a glint of bloodlust and excitement. The emperors were known for their enjoyment of the games and now you were ready to see it first hand. The gaze of the soft and heartbroken emperor now replaced with wrath, a look that had now begun to stir something more inside you.

#emperor caracalla fic #gladiator caracalla #emperor caracalla x reader #emperor caracalla #caracalla x reader

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cosmowgyral · 2 days ago

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Jude's Main Story

Chapters 18-19 Snippets

CW: Torture

During her time at the army base, MC actively searched for chances to prove Jude’s innocence. On the night of a social event at the base, she finally managed to sneak around and then unexpectedly encountered Ellis who had just escaped days of interrogation. When asked about Jude, he said that he remained in captivity and perhaps he was choosing to stay there on purpose, as with his curse getting out wasn’t difficult. Ellis hugged MC and mentioned that Jude wishes for her happiness and always spoke gently when discussing her. With that, Ellis left to inform Victor about the situation while MC quietly entered Gilbert’s (army general) room to retrieve papers indicating collusion between the army and Privy Council to overthrow Crown.

Jude was chained up, assaulted and tortured in order to force him to disclose all information regarding Crown. Despite enduring days of torture, he refused to resign because he didn’t want to betray Crown and be hated by them. The army and Privy Council’s primary goal was to use Jude’s research as bait and shift the blame to Crown in order to dismantle them. Jude then suddenly remembers his fated end and contemplates that this might be his end.

After that, Gilbert visits Jude’s cell and informs him that he knew of his harsh past. He tells him to give up on his unrealistic goal of reaching the moon. He is confused about Jude’s desire to achieve that goal, thinking that perhaps Jude simply wanted to claim a piece of land on the moon to start a business and make more money. Hearing that, Jude recalls the time when he shared his ‘impossible dream’ with MC and she reassured him that she would not ridicule it, as she believes in respecting all dreams. Following that, memories of the moments he spent with her and the words she shared with him overwhelmed his thoughts. He recalls her constant reminders to not quit, despite his desire to do so. At this moment, he realises that he has been ‘cursed’.

Gilbert abruptly reveals that he is still taking care of the MC. Jude is surprised as to why she was there even then, but he quickly understands her true intentions. He started laughing at the fact that she was stubbornly refusing to let him go. He provoked Gilbert and said that she wasn’t an ordinary bird. Gilbert then recalls the fact that Jude had the robin-engraved pocket watch which she claimed to be hers. Putting all the pieces of information together, he realized he had been deceived and quickly left Jude's cell to search for her.

MC was attempting to flee after obtaining evidence of Jude's innocence but was captured. When confronted by Gilbert, she tried to threaten him with her gun. Observing her trembling hands, he came to understand that she had never wielded a gun or caused harm to another human being. Gilbert took the opportunity to restrain her and then placed the muzzle of the gun against her temple. At that moment our hero arrives and tells Gilbert that he is touching someone else’s belonging.

"He has the most unhero-worthy face in the world."

"Can you please keep your dirty hands off my stuff? I'll be asking for compensation."

Premium Story-

Jude apparently used his cursed ability to escape from his cell. Gilbert then charges him with being completely evil and claims that even his motives for traveling to the moon must be evil. In response, the MC says that he was speaking without full knowledge of the truth. He aimed to gain access to Jude's research for military purposes, which is a noble cause, but he was single-mindedly chasing his objectives without understanding the reality and twisting the truth. This is turning him into the very thing he despises the most -evil. At this, he is taken aback. All of a sudden, a member of the Privy Council approaches and, upon noticing Gilbert's hesitation, shoots him. Jude comes to the realization that it was their plan all along. Their intention was to never collaborate with anyone but to exploit everyone and then discard them when convenient, ultimately blaming Jude and destroying Crown. Before he can follow through on his threat to murder Jude and MC, Jude shoots him and flees with her.

While hiding out in the forest, she asks him what he was doing there as she thought he had given up. He said that her words “don’t give up” were annoying him even in his sleep. Realising her words had reached him, she began to cry and Jude licked her tears away.

"Didn't I tell you that a smiling face is less annoying and more cute?"

(The next time I feel like crying, I'm gonna look at this. My love knows how to console me the best.)

He proceeds to kiss her all over the face, including her lips. She questioned the reason behind his actions and he replied that it was her punishment for failing to fulfil her commitment of calling out his name when she needed help.

(just admit you’re in love you stupid fairy)

#jude jazza #ikemen series #ikemen villains #ikevil jude #cybird ikemen #cybird otome #ikevil #ikemen villains jude

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torgerandsuzanne · 2 days ago

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Just finished listening to Toto on the Armchair Expert with Dax Shepard. Such a great fun interview. Toto really opens up on a variety of topics. Some highlights:

His childhood: He talks about growing up, his dad being ill, how that affected him and his mom not being present. His mom who is 79 and “not doing well”, told him “I wasn’t a good mother.” He says he told her “I forgive you because I know how hard it was to be at home and see the suffering” 😢

Anxiety about failure: He says that in the years past he was always fearing failure. “Everything could end tomorrow. The racing, the winning, the money—gone. My wife leaves me for the hairdresser.” 😂 (Dax says it’s the personal trainer Susie would have left him for not the hairdresser 🤣) But he says a couple of years ago, he let go of that fear “I realized that I have an amazing relationship with my kids. I have the best wife I can Imagine. I’ve done what I wanted to do. That’s why I have peace if I were dying today” ❤️

Susie’s call during the interview: Toto says his phone is always on silent unless Susie or the kids call. In that case he has a ringtone override. His phone rang during the interview. It was Susie. Dax was yelling “I love you”. Toto passed him the phone and Dax told her “If my wife dies and Toto dies, I am sprinting to you” 😂

The love and respect for Susie: He said if she wanted to grow her career in motorsport he would give up his role as a team principal “She’s such a good manager and entrepreneur. She could do so much more. And I’m saying to her, if you were to have a career in motorsport and you were conflicted with me, I would step out of an executive role” ❤️

She doesn’t like his mirror poses “We have fun at home. When you’re in front of a mirror and you’re doing some stupid posing. Yeah she says that’s really turning me off” 😂

The “model cliche“ discussion with Dax: Toto and Dax talk about the cliche of being with a model. “If a girl stares at her own pictures on the computer, that’s a warning sign for me” 😂 One of his friends got together with a younger lady who then dumped him, Susie told the guy “what did you expect” 🤣

He’s not into fashion: “I’m the most boring fashion guy”

Free diving with George done wrong: He went free diving with George while Netflix crew was there to film. But he ended up bursting his eardrum, and the whole thing fell apart 😅

His go-to drink is vodka, nothing else: 😂 “I don’t drink wine. I don’t drink beer because of gluten. It doesn’t do me well. If I’m drinking alcohol, then it’s full blast vodka. You don’t drink huge amounts and after 20 minutes you’re already having fun. The liquid is not huge and you’re not mixing. So I don’t feel sick. I don’t feel bad the next day. No hangover”

He never got into drugs: He shares a story about trying a “water pipe” with friends when he was 16. Afterward, he went to the subway station and realized he didn’t have his shoes on 😂. But he says he stayed away from the heavier stuff because, “I was always mentally fragile, and I was scared it would leave me in a dark place.”

Lewis gave him his motorcycle as a gift ❤️: He shared a story about Lewis coming over to have dinner with him and Susie in Monaco. He told them to come down, that he needed to show them something and then he told Toto “You’ve done so many great things, and together we’ve accomplished so much. I’ve never given you a gift before so I want you to have this, the #1 bike out of 44 edition series.” (he gave him a MV Agusta Lewis Hamilton edition)

#toto wolff #susie wolff #f1 #dax shepard #lewis hamilton

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grapejuicestyless · 2 days ago

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What If I Don’t Know?

JJ Maybank x fem!reader

Summery: In an alternate universe where the pogues gave up the hunt after their win with El Dorado, Y/n breaks free of the island dream and runs off the college. Only to find that maybe, being away isn’t what she wanted after all.

My boots danced across the thick yellow lines on the deep black pavement. The traffic lights were flickering yellow, reflecting off of the void and rippling across the building puddles by the clogged sewer drains. An intersection at midnight, no dead stop and no definite go. Just the trust that the other cars wouldn’t blow past the warning signs. The trust that metal was made to bend, to rupture to save a life.

I didn’t have a car, I couldn’t afford one, and I never needed one. Everything I ever wanted was always just a few steps away. Laughter used to echo through the halls and cold rings hit the doors repeatedly. You grow used to people that way. Used to the sound of their footsteps, of their breath. You know who’s on the other side of the door always when you memorize the pattern of their movement.

JJ promised me once that we’d make one. We would run our way down to the junkyard and pick out old parts of cars and Frankenstein them together into a piece of shit that would run like a dream.

That was something I missed. The smell of gasoline. Maybe that’s why I stumbled down through the college town, balancing between the thin stripe of black between yellow and twirling in the center where road met road. Maybe I was looking for that bitter smell to remind me of home. The image of JJ bent under the hood of a truck. The same Ford that sat broken in the front yard for years, the sound of metal twisting and the breathy grunts with each violent twist of the wrench. It would run like new one day, he swore. I never doubted him, and I still don’t. One day, we’ll run down to that junkyard, a graveyard for cars, and we’ll find that missing piece.

Rain dripped from the bridge of my nose, falling on my soaked shoes and flattening out my fuzzy socks. Everything up North was colder. Maybe it was because of how bitter people were. The semi-warm summers and the sweltering months of autumn, only for the two week beach bliss to be swiftly replaced with a harsh winter that didn’t let up until the next summer. Cold nipped at my nose. I felt bitter the longer I was here, which was weird because when I was sixteen, I could have sworn this place was home.

Then again, I had never really been anywhere long enough to know what home really was. Everywhere I went became rushed by the sweet adventure that was chasing riches. Maybe it was the idea of settling down that intrigued me. To be sat in one place for a while and to slow down, to increase my chances of living through my twenties without some pirate knocking on my front door, a gun to my head. But this wasn’t home, this wasn’t settling. This was restlessness mixed with a deep urge to find something like home. An emptiness emotionally that I just couldn’t understand.

Like a dog chasing its own tail, I felt stupid, and I myst have looked drunk dancing among the silence of my college town. I should have been happy, this should have been home. I got out, I got what Kiara always dreamed of, I sought out a higher education, a dream that Pope had thrown away. My record was clean and my future had meaning. I should have been ecstatic to receive this opportunity, after all the grief and death and scandals of my childhood, a stage in my life that was stripped away by all the realities that unraveled with each new treasure found. But, I wasn’t. Even then, sick, dirty, and cold, I wasn’t happier than then now.

I don’t recognize myself in the mirror. In the dormitories, in the bathrooms, in the halls. It’s me, or, a version of that girl. She has my hair, and we share the same eyes, same curve of our lips too. But she’s hollowed out, gutted, and so indescribably not me. Different, not greater, but worse. I think of packing my bags quite often. Going quietly and without a fuss. To swallow my pride and withdraw my debt I would surely acquire if I stay any longer here at some institution I knew I couldn’t afford the moment I sent in my letter.

My roommate would be disappointed, but she’d move on. She doesn’t know me, she understands the concept of me, but she doesn’t know me. She’s nice enough, keeps her room clean, which inspires me to do the same. She brushes her hair regularly, almost obsessively, and is really pretty. We get along fine. We are friends, to a degree, but we are sure to find other roommates and never speak again. Still, I wonder if she would be mad if I left without telling her.

JJ was mad when I told him. He didn’t like the idea of abandonment. Though, I promised I would return in just a few months, and then a week after, and a few months later. It would feel like I am forever home, only with short intermissions where he gets to enjoy all the things that the island could offer with the others to hang off of his arm. He didn’t even indulge in that idea. He thought even an hour apart was too much.

I promised him it wasn’t abandonment, and swore to call him every night. I do. Sometimes I call him in the morning, and I almost always call him in the afternoon. I like to hear his voice. It sounds like home, it makes me feel warm. I forget about the redness of my nose and the tingling numbness in my fingers. He sounds like the waves crashing against the shore and the sound of wet spaghetti hitting the walls during dinners at midnight. He is laughter and the summer sun, the swells that ripple in mid July and the best seashells on the beach.

My knees bend beneath me, kneeling against the wet cement beneath me. I feel the wetness soaking through my jeans. It’s cold. Like it could be snow if it were a degree cooler. I kneel in the middle of the intersection, and I look up at the sky. It’s dark. I check my watch, it’s nearly morning again. The yellow light flickers against my skin, illuminating my face and leaving me in pitch black again. Everyone is sleeping in my college town. All is quiet.

My neck stretches out, upwards and I open my mouth. My tongue touches my chin, and I can taste the dirt in the droplets that swallow down my throat. My eyes are closed, because I have nothing to fear but loneliness itself, and whether my eyes are opened or closed, the feeling will still be there, and the fact will be too. I am alone, in this journey. I have nothing friends to lean on and no campfire to light. Nobody here knows about the existence of Kildare, of the marsh, and the restaurants that line the cut. They wouldn’t care, they don’t care about an environment they are not accustomed to. They only have so much space to consume what they need to know. To drink up their studies, they have no space for empty thoughts of a life they never lived.

I have my old phone in my pocket. The keypad is burned into the screen because it’s all I use it for now. My life revolves around nothing but the stress of failure and the relief of my best friend’s voice at the end of the day to ease my stress. The truth is, I understand the void in my passion now better than I did when it first appeared, the black hole that seemed to swallow up all my excitement for the new beginnings. I understand the bitter feelings I have for my new house, because I refuse to call this place home. Home is not a place you reside, though, familiarity breeds contempt, home is a connection to the people who reside in respect of you, who stand by you. So though the people I surround myself with here are perfectly friendly, they are not my friends, and they will never come close to the feeling of home I feel with them.

“Hello?” His voice is thick with sleep. He has that rasp men get early in the morning, a rich deepness I rarely hear anymore, but something I once bathed in with his arms wrapped around me through the night.

Theres a soft rhythmic ticking that comes with the flickers of light, and the soft patters of rain drenching the pavement create solemn acoustics around me.

“Hey, JJ.” It comes out in one breath. A sigh of relief that he even heard the buzzing of his phone in his usual dead-to-the-world like sleep cycle. My fingers slip on my phone case and I have to catch it, the rustling on my end of the line echoing back through the speaks to me. I can hear the playback of my breathing through a short delay that spans over a vast distance.

“Is everything alright? It’s…three in the morning. I don’t know a lot about time zones but, I think we’re both on the east coast.”

“No, it’s the same time zone, Jay.” My cheeks already hurt with how big my smile was. He just had that effect on me. His goofy, unknowing attitude always managed to make me laugh, especially because deep down I knew he was a lot smarter than he led on to be. When he let that mask slip to reveal his true self, it was always a wonder the ideas that spewed from his lips. He had one of the greatest minds I’d ever known, only to be undermined by the tragedy of his last name.

“Is it a crime to miss my best friend?” My eyes found a home on my wet knees, and my free hand began to play around in the water. Dragging my nail through the small puddle forming around my body.

“At this time? Yes.” He chuckled softly. “Somethings up, what are you speculating? Whats the word? Ovulating? Because I can’t help you with that.” He made himself clear, smiling through his sentences.

“What? No! Why would I call you of all people if I was photo-ovulating?” I corrected myself with a laugh.

“Don’t knock it until you try it. I happen to be irresistible.” JJ defended himself with a teasing tone. Our conversation was light like it always was, even though my homesickness ran deep, and the sadness I felt was heavy, he made it feel like even the rain pouring down around the city I lived in was letting up.

“Lord knows John B’s walls are too thin for me to not have some kind of clue.” I snickered, pushing back the wet strands of hair that had fallen down upon my face.

Rain clung to me in every crevice, drenching me completely until I felt nothing but cold wash over me. It was a shower I didn’t need, one that did not cleanse me but instead poisoned me with the reminder that this was reality, I was miles away from the voice that was soothing my hearts ache momentarily. I would mull over it later.

“Nah, you got off on that shit.”

“Don’t be a pig, I’ll hang up.” I threatened half-heartedly. We both knew I never would. I could never cut the calls first, so the responsibility fell to JJ, who suffered the same inability to let go. Our calls usually stretched for hours, and the voicemails left in my inbox from the few times I would pass out with my cheek pressed firmly against some dusty book in the library took up all remaining storage in my phone. Right along side the folders of photos of us that collected by the thousands.

“So why’d you call?” He asked finally. I had no real answer. I used up all my excuses. Could he check for a sweater I left behind, the very same one I had on, or if he could just catch me up on what the others were up to. As if I didn’t call to hear all their stories daily, hourly if possible. What was I to tell him? What excuse could serve as something plausible without bearing a burden on his wide shoulders.

“You’re my best friend. I love you, I don’t need a reason.”

“You always have a reason.” He argued softly.

“Well, tonight I don’t.” I hummed. He hummed too, and silence filled the line.

The homely yellow flicked was accompanied by the blinding lights that came in pairs, growing brighter and wider with each passing second. Like a deer, I stood quickly, tall in my path but frozen in fear. I couldn’t meet the eyes of the man behind the wheel, recklessly racing across the intersection with no caution. Yellow meant slow, yet in the night, it only called for feet hitting the floor.

Puddles splashed violently, wheels screeching against the wet cement, leaving trails of where wet met soaked. I could see the distance between the wheels, I could lay my chest against the ground and measure it with my wingspan. The car swerved, laying down on the horn until the sound sputtered away into the distance, and nothing but the soft ticking of the lights and the sound of rain smacking the pavement filled the silence of the line again.

“Are you outside?” JJ asked finally. The sound of sheets crinkling and shuffling of legs against the mattress told me the loud alarm had stirred him from his relaxed state. I nodded at first, forgetting he couldn’t see me, and then I cleared my throat.

“I’m standing in an intersection.” I confessed quietly.

“Why?”

To clear my mind, to escape everything that was bothering me. To find peace with the silence, to try and find comfort in a home that wasn’t mine. There were a lot of minor reasons. The smell of gasoline was high on the list. I rationalized a lot of reasons in my head. Maybe I was looking for that bitter smell to remind me of home. Still, my gut wouldn’t settle.

I had left home to find something good for myself, to do myself the favor I always promised myself I would if I ever had the chance. But now, now that my feet had carried me to a place that was usually bustling with life, life that felt dull compared to even the most calm days on the island, I felt like I could never go back. A chance, a life, a future that I craved, I was throwing away because my feet refused to lift from the ground until I was sure I would only take my next steps home.

“I miss you.”

My answer was clear. It was true. I missed the waves, I missed the concrete roads freshly paved down in figure eight and how they met the old dirt roads of the cut. I missed John B’s chicken coop, though the chickens were long gone. I missed the dying tree carved with his name, and the rusted latch on the chateau’s porch door that left a yellow stain in the crinkles of my palm. But more than anything, I missed being no more than a breath away from JJ Maybank.

“Come pick me up?” I asked with uncertainty. Not because I even doubted for a moment that JJ wouldn’t come running to me if I even for a moment doubted where I stood, but because the morning was still young and tropical paradise was far away from the whistling winds of the North. Ferries only ran during certain hours, and money was hard to come by, even when we scrape together our pennies. Thats what happens when you drink up your success, you’re left with the repercussions. So, even if he did catch the boat, where would he get a ride from? How much more would it cost to bring the Twinkie alongside hime and ride it all the way to the hills where the colleges welcome signs were illuminated by colored lights, shining in school colors and pride.

He let out a stifled breath. He was choking on emotion I couldn’t read over the phone.

“I’ll be there, yeah.” He promised.

“Okay…I’ll go pack.” I said, suddenly and awkwardly. Yes, I dreamed of this day, kissing everything goodbye and running back to my roots, but now it was real. I could hear JJ slipping on his boots already. Why waste this chance?

“Pack?” He questioned.

“I’m leaving for good, Jay. I know I tell you that this is great and all, but I hate it here. This isn’t…this isn’t what I thought it would be. It’s not what I want.”

“So, you’re coming home?” He asks even though my answer has always been obvious.

“Yes.”

The line falls quiet again. I can hear the shuffling of his feet quickening against the rotting wood floors of the old Maybank property. A broken home flipped into something good. We share a bed there, I imagine he’s already grieving the loss of his starfish sleep position now that he’ll be bound to the same mattress as me again.

“I’ll be there soon.” The line falls dead.

Water splashes around me. If I wasn’t already soaked, I would be now. I can see why John B loved having a car so much now. The cold was fine at first when it was numbing, but now that I had feeling back in my chest, it was too much for me. My feet hit the pavement in harsh slapping movements, I pump my arms for some kind of friction against the wind. My lungs burn, they taste metallic. I want to wheeze and stop running, but I don’t think I could if I tried. I should feel embarrassed how quickly I up and left the place I was once stuck in, how I turned on my heels to run far away. But I’m not. I feel nothing, actually. Nothing but cold, determination, excitement. I have the energy of a child. I am an olympic runner, I have the right motivation. Get the fuck out of here, run myself right into JJ’s arms. I pray I don’t wake my roommate up when I reach my room.

The room is empty when I get there. I open the door so slowly, not even the rusted hinges make a sound. The carpet groans under my weight, even on my highest tip-toes. But the beds are empty and neatly made like they were left this morning. Rains pelts the windows. Theres a fan running. It’s my fan. I can’t sleep in the heat, not even in the winter. My bedding consists of borrowed blankets that I buried myself in, subconsciously trying to suffocate away the homesick feelings.

I barely had any clothes to pack, anything to throw into my duffle bag and my old backpack that was once Kiara’s. I never really got around to unpacking anyway, because there was so little to fill the bags I brought. Looking back on every decision I made before even stepping foot on campus, I should have known I would never stay. This was merely a vacation from hell. I don’t get the privilege to relax, I am worked and forced to prove myself over and over again among my peers who will never know me. I can’t wait to go somewhere where I am known again.

Somewhere along the way, I begin to collect up the posters on my walls. I rip them down hazardously, crumpling them and leaving them in the empty trashcan. It’s empty because there’s nothing I’ve touched in this room. Not the books, or the pens. I have a singular pencil up on my desk that’s much shorter than it once was, only half of its once lengthy size, and a nearly full set of flashcards. I don’t need the memory of this place to follow me. I consider it a favor to my roommate. To gift her with all the supplies she will ever need. She is nice enough, and a lot smarter than me. She’s sitting here on a full ride, though, the collar of her shirt says she could afford it without a penny. I convince myself she deserves it even though I do not know her.

I check my phone repeatedly, and I sit on the bench under the old overhang by my dorms. I stay out of the rain, I stay near the warmth and huddle up. I feel anxious waiting for him. It’s only been a few hours. I swept over the room for the few things I did want to keep. Like one of JJ’s bracelets, though it never even left my wrist. Or the soap I used in the shower. It was brand new, I had just bought a new one. I wait for his call. I wait for the familiar honking of the rusted horn. I wait, and wait as the sun rises. Time ticks by. I am impatient, I wasn’t bred this way, but good things have made me this way. I cannot wait.

“Popes probably gonna kill me.” I mumbled softly.

The car was warm, but my hands still lingered with the outsides touch. I sat on that bench for hours waiting for him. I saw people rise from their beds and lean out the window, taking in the smell of the dewey morning. A few gave me puzzled glances. A drenched girl, dripping down on the bench, wetting everything she touched.

But then, he came. I could see the rusted van before he even put it in park. Just between the brick lined buildings and the paths decorated in dying shrubbery. There was a small gap between the campus lawn and the visitors parking lot. A small slice of the outside world creeping into the sheltered space that was college.

I ran. I ran faster than I ever had in my life. Faster than when I used to race for desert back when Big John used to ruffle my hair and let me sleep over if I wanted, faster than when Ward held a gun to my head and made me pray for some kind of miracle. I ran until my feet couldn’t keep up, and I fell into JJ with a gasp.

He held me back, lifting my feet from the ground they stood on. I swore I heard him mumble something sappy under his breath, but he quickly shrugged it away when he saw the look in my eyes. I never felt love until I felt the desperation in the way he wrapped his arms around me. The way he squeezed the air from my lungs and only let me breathe when he was sure that the feeling between his elbows and his chest was really real, until he knew that this was for good.

He had slung my bags into the back seat and laughed as he told me to get in the Twinkie. When he started driving, he played the old CD we burned together in middle school filled with soft rock and Bob Marley. Occasionally, a song I had written into the playlist without him knowing would play. He always acted angry that I’d done that, but his fingers tapped the wheel and he couldn’t help but hum along. He would never admit to liking trashy pop songs, but the pink on his cheeks gave him away.

When the CD was spun to an end, we debated playing it again. We fell into silence, into the comfort of company. We both took the time to process the fact that this was real now, this was the decision I had decided to make. The thoughts that ran through my mind, what if I took off? What if I packed my bags, what if we moved back home? Let’s adventure down the coast, let’s live our youthful dreams that are unrealistic. Let’s make a home. They were real now, in this car, in him. We sat comfortably knowing that there was no limit on our company now, no restrictions on how much time there was left to borrow.

My socks tapped against the dashboard, my toes tracing the outline of the stickers scattered along the interior. Wet residue was left over, soggy folds gathered at my ankles. My body folded into itself slightly. I let the warn air from the dusty vents dance across my skin. Goosebumps faded like the sinking feeling in my gut. The smell of gasoline filled my nose once more, the smell of his deodorant reminded me that he was close.

“No doubt about it. Don’t know how you’re gonna talk your way out of this one.” JJ sighed contently.

“Well, you’re pretty good at sweet talking.” I buttered him up. Compliments were his weakness, I knew it all too well.

“I love you, but no.” JJ laughed.

“What! Oh, come on, please!”

My hands wrapped around his right bicep. My chin sat perched on his shoulder, batting my eyelashes at him and tickling the peach fuzz on his jaw that he had missed while shaving. I wanted to rub my palm over it, tease him for it with a smile. He had a toothy grin that I could see reflecting back in the rearview mirror.

“I get shit done, but I’m not a miracle worker, ‘kay?” He lifted his arm out of my grasp reluctantly, waving his finger to make his point.

“I thought Papa J was a miracle worker?” I teased with a raised brow. My arms crossed over my chest with a huff. My back fell gently against door. I turned to face him, a pout on my face and lines between my furrowed brows.

JJ let out a breathy laugh, his resolve quickly breaking at my endless begging. He had soft spots and I knew just where to aim.

“No, no! Don’t use my ego against me!” He laughed. I held my stomach this time, trying to keep my ribs together while I struggled to contain the fits of giggles bubbling up my throat and fighting past my lips. If love was a sanctuary, I was certain I had both feet in it. If it was a fire, I was burning up, and if it was the waves, they had crashed down relentlessly against my shivering body, bringing relief with each blow.

I bit the inside of my cheek and chewed at the skin. Laughter faded into even breathing, and my limbs curled up against the wrinkling fabric of the passenger seat. It had just barely started to rain again, a soft pattern of droplets hitting the windshield every so often. The closer we got to the dock, the more it lightened up. Though, the storm came in waves in the shape of the clouds that covered the blue skies. With each opening with sun peaking through, the tapping on glass stopped. When the grey swallowed us whole, it resumed. I didn’t mind it again. Not for the reasons that I wallowed in just hours ago, not to seek comfort in my homesick nature that cane purely from the soul of a homebody. But this time, because the swelling my my heart made me want to pull over to the side of the highway and spin around until my half-dried socks were coated in mud and my skin didn’t recall what the dryness felt like.

“Can I tell you something?” I murmured, my eyes locked in to the passing view that was the trees speeding past the windows.

“Yeah.” JJ hummed.

“I only came back for you.”

JJ hesitated on what he thought he wanted to say. He was biting his tongue. I shook my head.

“That sounds bad.” I laughed. “I only decided to leave because of you. I guess…just sitting in the middle of the road, I already felt really far away from everyone. I missed everyone more than I’ve ever missed anything in my life, but I was convinced that maybe I could suffer through it. But…just being with my thoughts, and hearing your voice after thinking for a while…kinda just convinced me.”

JJ took it all in. I saw the whites of his knuckles deepen the harder he pressed his fingertips to the wheel, the vast expanse of road ahead daunting now. This was beyond quality time together, and he knew it now that the newness began to settle and he began to realize it was the same old me. This was my future, and I had tossed it all away.

“I just…I guess I always thought you’d be the one to make it out. To really go for it. Kildare’s bog enough for me, but I always kinda thought you’d go somewhere…more.” JJ spoke softly, eyes glued to the road.

“Maybe I already did get out. I got out and I tried to change everything about me to be that girl who wanted to get out, but she’s dead. Getting out sounded so freeing when we were younger, but now…now that we’ve seen the world and…and done so much in such little time, I’ve already lived a whole life, I’ve seen the world and I still feel like I don’t know who I am yet. But I know what I love, and I know that I hate every second that I’m away from it.”

JJ hummed again, raising his brows.

“You don’t need to explore every single corner of the earth to be something or-or someone. And maybe I didn’t realize it when I sent my letter in but I know now and I know that, I feel only half as good when I’m anywhere but where I should be. I’m sorry if that’s disappointing or if Pope is going to lecture me for days and you have to listen to it, but I know I have such a better chance of being who I want to be where I can be her than in some Northern University where people wear coats year round.” I rambled. My hands moved quickly. I cut through the air with each slice of my palms, and my eyes ran wild across the landscapes and the curve of his nose down to the bend of his jawline.

“I’m just trying to make sure this is what you want.” He finally cracked a smile. His head turned for a moment to meet my eyes, and I could see the flickers of light brightening up his affectionate gaze.

“Jay, I sat in the pouring rain in the middle of the road and begged you to come get me.” I deadpanned, but a small smile still graced my face.

Truthfully, I couldn’t wait to stick my toes back in the warm sand back home. To look down at my boots and dance along the gravel roads instead of balancing between two yellow lines that shot straight down the neat pavement.

Home was a foreign concept for a long time. The idea that it was something that could be bought. Through a mortgage, monthly rent, out of pocket. I never had those kinds of expenses. What was pocket change for some felt like gold to me, so maybe when people sat around talking about how they craved a big house to reside in, I never fully understood. Then again, I was never anywhere long enough to know.

I wouldn’t change a thing, how I ran around with my friends for years looking for gold that seemed to become buried under more and more stories, leading us to an even greater prize. I wouldn’t change the way I threw it all away to be with them. Subconsciously, I was smarter than I thought. Pope talked about packing up his bags, skipping town and moving to Idaho. Somewhere where he meant nothing to nobody and could start over. But I never indulged in it, or the fantasies of having a little more money. Being stable out be nice, but I always knew I had what I needed. I had a home and it was built on the structure of my four best friends that soon grew in size to six, and they had toothy smiles and stupid jokes.

“Do you think they’ll be mad?” I asked suddenly. Sure, this was right and it was what was true, but this was a dream that nobody else ever got to experience.

JJ pulled his lip between his teeth.

“Nah.” He sighed. “Pope will have your head, but Pope gets wound up easily. Could use him as a fishing pole.” JJ joked. It made me laugh and I felt any stress melting away. It was funny that he could do that anytime he pleased. I didn’t know if he ever knew he could do it, but he had a smart mouth, and a funny bone that always seemed to tickle me just right.

“But not you?” I asked once again.

“Not me what?”

“You wouldn’t? Be disappointed in me, that is.” I clarified softly, the roads becoming softer the more me drove along them. It was only moments until we’d soon roll onto the metal bridge connecting us to the boat that would send us home.

JJ breathed out through his nose.

“Is this what you want?”

“Yes.” I responded plainly.

“And it makes you happy?”

“Yes.” JJ sighed, his eyes flickering from the wheel, to the road, and back to me. But only for a moment.

“Then no.” He answered just as plainly as I did, but there was a twinge of happiness itching at the corners of his lips. Selfishly, he wanted me to come home, and selfishly, I did too.

“Well, are you mad at me?” I continued to press him.

He laughed. “I could never be angry at you.”

“Not even if this is the wrong choice?” I picked at the skin by my fingers. My skin hurt a lot less now that it was shedding the smell of foreign land and letting the faint smell of the Twinkie stick.

“Who am I to tell you if it’s wrong?”

“Well, Pope would tell me it’s wrong.” I argued weakly.

“And am I Pope?”

I shook my head silently, and my eyes glued to my fingers. Blood stained my cuticles, where skin met nail. It stung, but it hurt a lot less than what I felt before.

“Y/n/n, you could send me into bankruptcy and act like we’re rich and I don’t think I’d even have it in me to blame you.” JJ smiled. I focused on the slopes and curls of his hair.

We sat in silence for a moment. It wasn’t like he was Shakespeare, but it wasn’t often JJ said something truly sappy. Usually, his philosophies revolved around excuses for his own stupid actions, which, now that he had explained his view on me, I had come to realize I never fully saw the extent of his behavior because I had never had the courage to blame him. I never would.

“So, you’ll talk me out of trouble when we get back?” I smiled sweetly, leaning my head on his shoulder and batting my eyelashes desperately.

JJ let out a laugh from deep in his stomach, his cheeks turning pink from his gasps of oxygen.

“I love you, but no.”

“I thought JJ was the reckless one, but holy shit, Y/n/n!” Pope ran a hand over his hat, pulling it off by the brim in one quick motion. The hard fabric hit the wooden counter of the bait and charter shop, the slap echoing through the homely space.

“Can you blame me? It’s so far away, and we just got back! I haven’t been in one place for more than a month in years, and I’m so god damn tired of feeling homesick all the time!” I tried to argue against the growing rally against me. I pleaded my case, but they all looked at me like I was brain dead.

“You had a chance, Y/n. A really good one too and you blew it, for what? To sell bait? To slum it in the cut? You can do that when you’re done earning your other options!” He scolded me like I was a kid. But I’m not a kid, and the worry lines slowly creeping up onto my once vibrant face are only evidence of the ever growing number attached to my bones.

“Yes, but a chance I didn’t ever really want! I mean, how could I even know if I ever wanted it, I don’t know who I am!”

“Thats what growing up is for! Not growing down. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you’re not a kid anymore, Y/n. And you never will be again!”

Silence fell over the small room. Even the waves rolling against the dirt didn’t dare to whisper through the large windows and gaps for doors.

“I sacrificed that for you.” I spoke softly, bitterly. For so long, I’s bitten my tongue for everyone. Hidden my resentment for chasing after a gold, I never really wanted because in my eyes, I already had it. But it was what they wanted, so I let myself age out of the period of my life I had dreamed of since I was a kid.

“I gave up my childhood so that you could figure out yours! You got to know who you are, I never got that because no one ever stopped to ask me what I wanted! Nobody! You were all too caught up in your greedy treasure hunt to ever look around and think about if everyone wanted to do this!”

“No one made you come along.” Kiara stepped forward, the same disapproving look in her eyes. She was only defending her wordless friend, but my feet felt heavy and my joints were warm. I felt myself creating sentences I should have never admitted out loud.

“Well I did! I did, and it’s too late to change that, and I did it because that’s what friends do. But what do we have to show for it? Nothing! We didn’t get the cross, we didn’t get the gold, hell, we already spent all of the nuggets John B managed to grab!” It fell silent again, and suddenly, I was standing in the center of a circle I didn’t want to be a part of.

“So what? Because we failed, it condemns you to leave college?” Kiara always had a smarter mouth than me. She was quit witted and observant. Yet, she failed to understand that my choice to come home wasn’t something merely of the way the treasures slipped through our fingers. It was a homesickness she never had to feel because she had plenty of them where she was consistently welcomed.

“Why is it so wrong for me to be unhappy with something that everyone else enjoys? Just because my dreams do not inspire yours does not make them any less important. A-and honestly I’m sick of standing here and listening to all of you yell at me for getting out of there instead of letting myself waste away! I’d be dead if I didn’t leave, I’d be dead because you all mean a lot too much to me for me to be away from you guys for so long. In four years I might be rich, but I would be unhappy. I would be bored. But you guys—us; we will be interesting, and funny, and bold, and unpredictable forever.”

I swallowed hard, and my eyes met the blues of the boy who had the courage to go against the majorities better judgement and bring me home. He had the same wild look on his face.

I hadn’t expected JJ to speak for me, to try and mellow out the anger I knew I would receive and backtrack against the backlash I would surely face. But out of everyone, I thought I could count on him to have my back.

And he just, didn’t.

I decided then I wouldn’t stay in the eye of the hurricane when I knew what it was capable of. I wouldn’t let myself become part of its destruction if I knew I could separate myself from it for just a moment, to remove myself from all the disappointed stares.

My feet hit the wood of the long dock, the bottoms of my shoes echoing through each plank of wood, all borrowed from the destruction of a past home.

I thought of packing up, leaving, heading over to some other place I could call home temporarily, but my fingers hesitated to reach under the bed, and my knuckles curled away from the zipper that connected to the duffle bag that was squished between dirty clothes and shoe boxes filled with memories.

A hand spun me around, pulling me from the daze I had put myself in the second I walked into the new bedroom that was mine to keep in the newly fixed home. It was calloused and warm, yet the coolness of the rings decorated on each finger revealed who the strong hold belonged to.

“Why couldn’t say something?” I asked bitterly before my eyes even met his. It was just JJ and I in the confines of our bedroom. The door shut without a crack and the windows sealed off from the outside.

“I told you I wouldn’t.” He smiled. I didn’t find it funny.

“No, but you could have defended me. I would have done it for you.” My lip wobbled. My throat stung, and JJ’s eyes softened. He must have believed it was because he hurt me, but it wasn’t his fault. It was just the idea that nobody would ever deal with what I felt because they hadn’t been burdened with the feeling of it ever before. And therefore, nobody would ever get it, nor have an inkling of an understanding of why I had to come home.

“Y/n/n, come on. It’ll blow over. They’ll be happy to have you back as soon as they get over it.” He tried to comfort me.

When his hands found my shoulders, it felt belittling, condescending, though I knew it wasn’t the case. I convinced myself it was because I was angry. Spiteful, maybe.

“No, JJ, stop. Stop touching me like you care, I can’t…I can’t stand it right now.” I stepped away, throwing his hands off of me like they were poison, or fire, or both.

“Everyone is looking at me like I’m a failure! Like…like I’m something to be embarrassed about. But who are they to say that I failed? Right? I spent my whole life, the years when I’m supposed to be finding myself licking the dirt off of other peoples shoes! And I took it and I didn’t complain because I thought that maybe my day would come, and it hasn’t! How is that fair? And to think I was stupid enough to think that something good would happen to me. But the truth is I hate being out of this stupid town, and this stupid town hates me. I-it’s like they’re all spitting on me and blaming it on the wind. And don’t look at me like I’m crazy because I love you too damn hard to be looked at like that by a boy I would give my whole life for!”

I breathed heavily through my teeth, and my chest raised with so much vigor in my voice, I shook the air with a desperate anger I had felt marinating for decades beneath my skin. Yet, the manhunting and the blaming had pushed it down, and the failure and the fear had only boiled it back up. But it was always there, simmering. JJ just laughed.

“I’m only looking at you like you’re crazy because I think you’re too good to care what anyone has to say about you.” He explained with a smile.

“To you, maybe. But that doesn’t make it true. Whats true is that they all had some image of me painted for them the second I made the decision to go to college, and it was wrong. Because I’m not nearly smart enough to be as interesting or independent as they want me to be. I can’t do organic chemistry, I’ve never passed a calculus test, I’m not a doctor. Nobody ever supported those dreams anyways, not even me, because as amazing as it would be to become those versions of myself, it’s not me.” My face crumpled in defeat finally.

“I’m not…good enough for anything outside of this town.”

For the first time in my life, I saw something in JJ’s eyes as I confessed how I saw myself, how I let my friends—no, my families anger affect how I saw my decisions. I saw dapples of disappointment flickering in the sea of his eyes.

“Do you really think thats true?” He asked calmly, softly. He ran a hand through his hair. He wanted to reach out for me, but he too shared that feeling of uncertainty that had consumed me in the past months.

“Good god, maybe they were right. Maybe you are a failure.” JJ sighed, and my breathing halted. “How can you for one second believe that anything they have to say is true? How can you believe that these things you think about yourself are true?”

“Well what am I supposed to believe? We were all raised to believe the same things, right? The engineers and the scientists are necessary but nobody needs the family man or-or the artists to carry on, right? So why should my dreams of just simple living be tolerated when everyone else craves so much more?” I cried.

“Do you even hear yourself? It’s contradictory in every sentence!” JJ yelled furiously back at me. But his anger wasn’t placed at me, but at the things that led me to believe what I thought.

“Just a few hours ago you were excited to come home. You were certain that this is what you wanted because it was your dream and your life! You wanted to find yourself, to know who you are. And you were right! More dead on than anyone had ever been in my life, and hearing you speak about what you knew inspired me to think more for myself than for the benefit of everyone else! College, or some fancy job, or money won’t make any of us know who we are, that’s your job!” JJ’s eyes were wide. He had decided now, and his hands found a home on my arms, squeezing hard and passionately.

“Anyone can be those things they want you to be, but I promise you, if you stick with what you know you want, everyone you touch will remember you for centuries.” He promised me softly.

“And how do I know if I even know myself? What if I’ve never been home enough long enough to know?”

“Then you’ll find it. You’ll find it, and I’ll find it too. We can find it together.”

My eyes searched his. I could no longer blink away my tears. The liquid was much warmer than the rain that had pelted against my skin, that had slipped down my back and under my shirt to touch the most painful and terrifying parts of myself that I had refused to acknowledge or recover for some time. It was hard to recognize it all, to know exactly who I wanted to be, so, I did what I did know.

I wrapped my arms around JJ tightly, burying my head in the wrinkles of his shirt and let the patterns his arms rubbed circles in my back guide the way I swayed. I let him hold me, because if anything could be uncertain then he was nothing. He was the one thing I’d always known, and maybe that was why I had called him that night. Because in every memory I ever had, he was the one defining memory of home. He was home.

“Will you be mad at me if I never find it?” I asked pathetically against his chest.

“No.” He responded softly, muffled by the way his lips pressed into the top of my head affectionately.

“I could never be angry at you.”

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