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s-brant · 3 years ago

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Pirates and Princesses (8/8)

(gif: @beccs) (PART SEVEN) (SERIES MASTERLIST)

Summary: JJ must confront his childhood trauma when returning home for the first time since his dad went to jail and prevent it from sabotaging his new relationship. Meanwhile, something sinister happens at the Chateau that brings Y/N face to face with her grief over John B’s death.

Word Count: 13.4k

Warnings: Angst, implied sexual content, strong language, parent/child abuse, mental illness, post-traumatic stress disorder, grief, and fluff.

A/N: Welcome to the final chapter of Tokens! This one has a little bit of everything in it, but it also has detailed scenes about JJ and his dad, so proceed with caution if you’re easily triggered by that topic. The love you guys show this fic warms my heart so much, so thanks to anyone who stuck with this story until this chapter. Hope you enjoy it!

Now that she has been sentenced to both punishments, one as a consequence of the fight with Kacey and the other as a consequence of the stunt she pulled with JJ to break out of ISS, Y/N can confidently say that out of school suspension is superior to in-school suspension by a long shot. Instead of sitting in a humid room with Alec for the duration of multiple school days, she's allowed to stay home, go out surfing, and do whatever she wants in lieu of doing classwork.

She promised herself not to make it a habit, promising the invisible presence of John B that she likes to pretend follows her around that she will never get herself into trouble again, but she sees no problem in enjoying her suspension while it lasts.

For the first few days of her suspension, JJ skipped school to spend it with her. Their memories of the conversation they had at three in the morning on Sunday were fuzzy, but not missing entirely. She noticed a difference in his behavior for the first few hours after they woke up under the tree together for the second time in one week. It wasn't a difference in their relationship or how he treated her, it was a difference in him.

He was quieter than usual as they cleaned up cans of beer and tossed them into the recycling, sending pictures to Kie while she was in class after she made them promise not to throw them in the trash. Rather than cracking jokes or making casual conversation with her, JJ made his way around the yard with the recycling bin in his hands and his head in the clouds. It disappeared as the day progressed, but for a little while, he wasn't completely there.

Today, he went into school instead of ditching to spend extra time with her in between shifts at work and time spent with their friends. Since they can't exceed three consecutive absences without a doctor’s note and he doesn't own a printer or laptop to forage the header from a doctor's office, he had no choice but to part from her this morning.

He bites his lip to contain his smug facial expression at the recollection of her wake up call for him. The hand holding his locker door open for him to lean on in the midst of his not-so-wholesome thoughts of her squeezes the metal hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

The curtains weren't shut all the way when they fell asleep before midnight last night, allowing a shaft of sunlight to shine in and land on his face. But that wasn't what woke him up from the dream he was having. In fact, the reality he opened his eyes to was a hell of a lot better than any dream he remembered.

Most of his memory of those moments spent suspended between consciousness and unconsciousness consisted of feeling her pressing a kiss to his shoulder, then her hands rubbing up and down his waist to slip lower and lower until they settled on the waistband of his underwear. It was then that he woke to find her looking up at him for permission from where she peppered kisses along his chest.

Their eyes met right as she kissed the edge of his nipple with this pleading, needy look that he took pride in causing without actively attempting to. She woke up on the brink of coming undone from a pleasant—to put it tamely—dream about him. With a glimpse at the time displayed on the alarm clock, it didn't take much for her to roll over to wake him up.

It ended with her beneath the sheet, finishing what she started Friday afternoon until he was clutching the pillow beneath his head in the midst of his orgasm. It happened so fast, a fault of how hot he found it to wake up to her wanting him so badly, but it felt slower than it truly was in the early morning haze of exhaustion they felt.

The memory as he relives it is as heady as it felt the first time around. He sees it in fractions; her eyes looking up at his, warm palms finding the familiar planes of his muscular body with the exploratory touch of someone who's never traveled it before, and the intense sensations he felt at the end...It's easy for him to stand here and lose himself in it. Despite the class he has to go to, he bargains with himself for one more second spent in the paradise of his memories before he has to come back to reality.

Reality, as his shitty luck would have it, comes in the form of a familiar feminine voice chirping from behind his back as he replays his morning bliss.

"It's good to see you're alive and well, Maybank."

He decides, based on who he knows he'll see when he turns around, that he might invest in a sharpie to write "Bang head here" on the inside of his locker door for instances like these where he'd rather suffer brain damage than speak to someone he can't stomach the presence of.

When he turns to see Kacey with one arm still stretched to hold his locker open, he doesn't bother concealing the genuine reaction from his face for the sake of her feelings. Any care he had for her and her feelings was thrown to the wind as soon as she decided she could steal from and put her hands on his girl last week. However, after a second of thought, a condescending smirk finds its way to his face.

He says, jerking his chin to vaguely gesture at her bruised up face, "Purple really suits your complexion. It makes your eyes pop, don't you think?"

Though the swelling of her black eye has deflated in the days since the fight that’ll soon tally up to a week, the verbal jab hits right where it intended to if the light leaving her eyes tells him anything. She bounces back after a second, though, ever the relentless pest they've come to see her as.

She offers a sickeningly sweet, yet fake smile to mirror the one gracing his striking features and spins so her back meets the locker beside his, allowing herself to invade his space further.

A collection of Y/N's stickers decorates the inside of his locker door that he briefly entertained the idea of designating as a place to bang his head against. They range from girly, glittery ones to those he willingly picked when she gave him the choice. Whenever they're at his locker together, she sticks one on the inside, and the evidence of the habit catches Kacey's wandering eyes.

Her fingertips brush against the surface of the sticker-covered metal while she ignores his protest of, "Can you not touch my stuff?" to inspect them. Since one of the Pogues in particular is famous for her endless supply of stickers, her expression sours at the thought of the girl responsible for them.

She spares him a quick glance out of the corner of her eye as she continues to analyze the sticker collection against his instructions not to, asking, "Why weren't you at the bonfire?" A failed attempt at a seductive look in his direction makes him fight not to roll his eyes. "After how last year's ended, I thought you wouldn't miss it for the world."

JJ doesn't bother to take a second to think things through before he reaches to slam the door closed with her hand still outstretched inside of it. Watching her pull it away just in time to avoid jamming it in the locker probably pleases him more than it should, but he can't help it. His hand catches on the edge of the door, halting it in place right before it closes where her hand previously rested.

She doesn't look too happy with him when he opens the door with no harm done except for the drop of her stomach when he initially pretended to swing it shut on her bruised knuckles. She didn't get many shots in on Y/N when they fought, but apparently it was enough.

He doesn't bother with the fake niceties she's giving him after the disrespect she showed him, his friends, and, most importantly, his girlfriend. The fact that she thinks she has any right to breathe in his direction, let alone flirt with him, after she stole JB's bandana is criminal. 'Cause not only did she mess with Y/N, she messed with John B on multiple levels, and his loyalty to his best friend hasn't disappeared with death. Kie and Y/N told him everything she said about their departed friend in the locker room last Thursday.

But he's smart enough to know what'll hurt her more, so he doesn't go for the general scolding he imagined giving her in his head. Since he was told everything about the encounter in the locker room, he knows she's still holding their history together near and dear to her heart.

"We stayed home," he says, casual and cool as always, with added emphasis on the first word, "You know how it is, my girl doesn't like parties. Especially not ones with kooks."

Hook, line, and sinker.

She scoffs, "Your girl?"

Looking at her now, he wonders if she was always this stupid, or if this is a new development she's had in the year since he last spent more than a minute or two at a time with her. It’s easier to trick her than it was with Kie and Y/N a few days ago, and those poor girls flew into that trap like moths to a flame.

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

The ire is visible in the way her face tenses up in places, her lips pressing together a little more firmly and her forehead creasing between the brows.

"Doesn't your, um, history bother her?" she asks, and he's gotta give her credit for being a sneaky little shit when given the chance. The girl takes every possible opening she can to strike for a potential weakness. "No offense, but you kinda get around."

He shrugs this time, deciding to drop his casual act and aim straight for the jugular.

"She likes having someone who knows how to fuck her right, actually, but I really appreciate the concern."

Much like Kie's reaction to their matching tattoos in the hot tub the other night, her jaw is unhinged to meet the unswept hallway floor they stand on. It makes him wish Y/N weren't suspended in order for her to see the gobsmacked reaction Kacey has to the harsh dismissal. Though he wouldn't want to incite an extra round of the Kacey vs Y/N WWE showdown by having her watch another girl flirt with him and essentially call him a slut upon rejection, he knows she'd get a kick out of it.

This one's for you, baby, he thinks with a quiet laugh to himself and turns his focus to the sticker collection she so lovingly crafted.

There are plenty of summer themed ones left over from the same pack he gifted her for her birthday with the surfboard sticker she used to tease him, as well as a newer genre of Valentine's Day stickers she started using the closer they grew since first getting together. They're mostly different colored candy hearts with corny phrases ranging from "U SXY THING" to the classic "BE MINE" and one printed with "ANGEL" on it—his favorite by far.

However, others are random ones from her endless stash built up over the years from birthdays and holidays deemed worthy enough by her dad to stop by Dollar Tree for a new pack, so the one he sets his attention on is likely meant for teachers or coaches to give to their students. The opportunity appears too good to be true to him when it clicks, but it isn't.

He peels the sticker off of the locker door, careful not to disturb the ones around it, and leans in closer to her to place it on the front of her tank top.

"Leave us alone or I won't stop her next time," JJ says lowly, past the point of civility, then backs away to slam his locker shut for real this time as his voice raises back to a normal volume, "And keep John B's name out of your mouth, got it?"

All she can do is look down at the sticker placed on her shirt with squinted eyes to try and read it while he walks off in the direction of his next class. It tears away from the fabric with a soft noise, and when she finally reads it, she rolls her eyes.

“Good Try!”

Walking out of school to see the Twinkie parked in the usual spot Y/N takes when she isn't suspended is a delightful treat he didn't know to expect after a rough day in class and his run in with Kacey. His head was hung low on his way to Kie's car to hitch a ride to his house before going home to the Chateau, since he had some things to pick up with his dad out of the picture for the near future, but then he heard her greet them.

JJ's body melts into hers upon contact, and he nearly pushes her up against the closed passenger side door of the van with how hard he hugs her. Though he doesn't want to acknowledge it, his dad has been living in his thoughts more than usual today. Ever since he texted him goodbye, he's been withdrawn inside of his head more and more, and after today's inconveniences, the rising anxiety of his plan to visit home has him two seconds from losing his mind.

Her eyes widen at his zeal, meeting Kie's concerned gaze from over the shoulder she rests her chin on. She stands with her keys swinging around her finger as she watches the couple embrace one another. In an answer to the silent question Y/N asks her in their stare, her lips mouth the words, "His dad," to her.

Deep down, Y/N had a feeling.

It began with his impromptu request to run away with her a few days ago and extended into his uncharacteristically reserved attitude the next morning that receded somewhat, but has yet to fully disappear. There is a part of her that's upset that he hasn't come to her to talk about it, to communicate the way they swore they would, yet she also knows it isn't that simple.

She has to remind herself that she knew what she was getting herself into with him. That's not to say that dating her must be a walk in the park for him, it isn't.

She knows based on the amount of times he had to hold her as she cried, or the time he curtailed her panic attack in this very parking lot, that she hasn't made it easy for him in the aftermath of John B's death. But it's because she knows how it feels that she has such patience with his communication issues.

It's not a conscious choice most times, it's an involuntary blockage preventing the words from being spoken no matter how desperately they long to be. They may have made a promise, but she won't chastise him for succumbing to the same pitfalls as her. It’d be hypocritical.

"Bad day?" she asks.

Her voice is tender with him, prodding gently for a clue as to why he pounced on her on sight. He sinks further into her arms at the sound and lets the sanctity of her touch sway him into submission. Everything about her sets him at ease, if only for a second. Her hand lifts the beat-up red hat from his head to allow the other to brush through his hair.

There's a hum of agreement that she feels vibrating through the center of his chest into hers, and her arms pull tighter around his shoulders in response. This time, when she looks up to see Kie there, she's waving a quick goodbye and setting off toward her car, clearly giving JJ the space he needs.

"We can go to the beach," she says softly, "I have a towel in the back of the van, we can just lay there and talk about it if you want."

The idea of her kind offer to him should add to the comfort he finds in her embrace. It should make him nod and whisper his gratitude to her for being the one person that knows him better than anyone, but it brings him back to the gloomy headspace he was in before seeing her.

It started as a minor distraction when he first arrived at school after carpooling with Kie. It followed him in the quieter moments, only making appearances when he wasn't distracted with more pressing matters. It began as that and built the closer the day came to ending. The sooner his inevitable visit back to his childhood home came, the more he lost himself in his fear, reverting back to a state of helplessness he now occupies with no small amount of shame.

His bottom lip trembles with the urge to cry.

"Can we stop somewhere on the way home first?"

The last place she expected him to drive the Twinkie is here.

As they made their way down each street, taking each turn necessary to bring them closer to the house he seldom let her go to over the course of their lifelong friendship, she felt her heart begin to race. And now, as the van rolls to a stop in the yard in front of his house, she has swallow back the lump in her throat at the sight of it.

She has only been here a few times.

The first time, she was seven years old.

It was a sweltering summer morning in the Outer Banks for her and John B as they set off to retrieve their friend after he missed their plans to meet up at the Chateau for a day of having fun, riding bikes, and playing on the boat. Pirates and Princesses was her favorite game to play with them because JJ would switch roles with her halfway through when she grew tired of being the damsel John B had to rescue from the most cruel and vicious Captain Jesse James Maybank.

The HMS Pogue would rock beneath his feet as he marched across the deck of the boat and took her place as the kidnapped Princess Routledge. He handed off his "sword" to her, a stick he found in the yard, and stood at the edge of the boat with his hands behind his back as though he were a tied up damsel in distress for her to hold captive. The sun setting behind them laid a picturesque backdrop that made the scene all the more vivid to their imaginative young minds.

The boat floated in the afternoon current as John B approached the pair with his best pretend face of worry for the fair Princess Maybank, who had the sharp sword of the pirate queen pressing into his throat with the threat of death should he have tried to escape.

Sometimes, she'd let John B advance on them and tie make believe rope around her wrists and ankles while he and Princess Maybank claimed their victory. Other times, they'd get backed up until the heels of her sneakers hung off the edge of the slippery deck. One move from her brother would have her yell something along the lines of not taking either of them alive, then she'd let her and JJ fall back into the marsh together with gleeful laughs infiltrating the humid air upon their return to the surface.

On the day he didn't show up, none of that happened. She and John B rode their bikes together along sidewalks until they pulled into a driveway marked with the address number he remembered from the other time he sought him out to play before.

Y/N didn't understand what they were hearing when they pushed their kickstands down and called out for their friend, but John B's little face blanched at the sound flooding out of the opened windows of the dilapidated yellow house. It was a combination of banging against the walls, glass shattering, and childlike shouts of frustration and pain. Her big brother placed himself in front of her protectively when the front door opened and smacked against the side of the house, but it wasn't his dad storming out of the house, it was JJ.

His eyes widened at the sight of the siblings standing there, and his heart dropped to his stomach at the realization that they heard it. Maybe not all of it, but based on how the girl peeking out around John B's shoulder looked at him, they heard some.

The van is parked in the exact same place their bikes once were, the exact place she and John B stood years ago when they were first confronted with the harsh reality about their best friend's home life, and he looks like he has fully backpedaled into the state of mind his childhood self inhabited. Even when he turns the key in the ignition and lets the rumbling engine sputter down in silence, he sits in the driver's seat with his lip drawn between his teeth in thought.

Yet as soon as she summons the courage to say something, he takes a deep breath and opens the door without a warning or the typical instruction for her to stay in the car. He doesn't tell her to follow him in, nor does he order her to stay out as he used to when his dad still lived inside. He gives her the choice to make on her own, and, when faced with the opportunity to support him or stay outside like the confused little girl she once was, she chooses the first option.

Her swift steps kick dirt up from the earth onto her ankles as she follows him out of the van to the front steps of the house. She tries not to make her concern for him as evident as it'd be without her intervention on her way up the porch, but it's impossible to erase every sign of it from her face.

It isn't a particularly special or scary house. It's a normal home that'd likely look more inviting if JJ were still living here to mow the lawn and tend to the household upkeep his father saddled him with since he was old enough to be put to work. But she knows better than to trust the street appeal. As he takes her hand to lead them through the threshold of the haunted structure, she is overcome with a sense of creeping trepidation that she can't shake.

"You're sure he isn't here?" she asks.

The entryway is crowded with stacks of mail his father wasn’t bothered to open, as well as empty cardboard boxes that once held cans of beer that are scattered, empty, in various places around the house. Her question is answered by the state of the rooms they breeze past in the direction of his bedroom, but she needed something to say to fill the silence. With them, they usually don’t feel uncomfortable not speaking to each other, but this feels different.

The way he stares out in front of him with his hand squeezing hers hard enough to cut off circulation unnerves her more than the tainted energy of the house itself. He isn't himself. He's a shell of the JJ they know and love, the JJ who is most comfortable tucked away in the safe walls of the Chateau with their friends, not here. If anything, how he is while he's here is the antithesis of his behavior while living with her.

Ever since John B died, he's practically moved in with her. When they're hidden away in her house without the reminders of his home life in sight, he's usually the caretaker of the relationship. It comes naturally to their dynamic, both with him being slightly older and his promise to take care of her, but everything is flipped here. It's an alternate reality for him, or, perhaps, actual reality smacking him in the face after a carefully constructed two months in utopia with her.

They come to a stop in front of his closed bedroom door.

"He's gone," he says, not even sparing a glance at her for reasons she can't decipher, "He texted me a few days ago to say goodbye."

With that, he turns the doorknob and lets the door swing open to reveal the bedroom she only saw one other time.

The second time, she was thirteen years old.

It was a Friday.

Since his dad was supposed to be at work, they stopped at his house on their way home from school exactly like they did today so he could share with their friends what he got from his cousin the night before. Being the good girl she was, she didn't even know what he was showing her when he dug it out of the backpack in the bottom of his closet.

Her brows furrowed at the ziploc bag, more specifically the contents inside of it. She was knelt down on the floor in front of the opened closet door with her shoulder pressed up against his to inspect it. The dried green cluster of a plant didn't look like anything she'd seen before, and she couldn't help but ask him what the hell it was rather than react the way he knew the others would.

"What is it? It looks like dried up moss."

JJ laughed and pulled another bag with rolling papers and a grinder stowed inside.

"It's weed. My cousin Ricky gave me a discount since—"

He halted mid-sentence abruptly enough to startle her, his head turning in the direction of where he heard a trunk pulling up to the front of the house. Her stare was still set on where he was holding the plastic bags in his hands, and she noticed, after he stopped speaking in reaction to his dad coming home, that his hands began trembling. It was so minimal, she almost didn't catch it until she saw the bag wavering under the light coming in from his window.

Before she could open her mouth to say anything more, she felt his hands on her shoulders shoving her into the closet. He followed in closely behind her and crawled in until they were both crammed into the confined space together. With the closet doors shut in front of them, he clamped a hand over her mouth, whispering in her ear for her to be quiet.

She stands with her arms crossed over herself in the center of his room, and though nothing has yet to be said or done to convince her anything is wrong, that's the exact reason why she feels so unnerved by the entire experience of coming here.

He's silent.

The closet doors are wide open as he stuffs the rest of the clothes he had yet to bring to the Chateau into the biggest bag he could find. He rips through his belongings in a fit of melancholy driven anger. His thoughts are swirling with similar memories to the ones she conjures from being here again, but his are tinged with a darkness hers don't have, even with hearing him crying in pain as a child and hiding in the closet with his hand smothering her mouth to evade his dad.

JJ visibly grimaces at the memories he's forced to relive in flashes with every glimpse he gets of the room he spent so much time hiding in. It used to be more tolerable to be here, or at least easier to suffer through. At least he was used to it before, but he got so accustomed to life somewhere else that the second he was confronted with coming back, he started to fall apart.

Whatever he can't live without, he finds space for it in the bag and prepares to leave the rest behind. But every object he touches and step he takes around the room brings him back to the person who he spent his adolescence simultaneously fleeing and wanting more from. More notably, it brings him back to the train of thought that has been nagging him ever since he texted him over the weekend.

The third and final time she came here was over the summer.

It happened right before Hurricane Agatha waged war on the island, when none of the Pogues heard from JJ for two days after he said he had to go home to help his dad with something. She didn't want to track him down to his house after they went over twenty-four hours without a single message. She didn't want to have to go back to the house that gave her chills to think about, let alone go to again after they hid in his closet when they were younger, but he gave her no other choice.

What was she supposed to do except go check on him where he last said he'd be? After all, if she lived in the hazardous environment he did, he'd do the exact same for her. If their friends were involved in her thoughts at the time, they would've gone out on a limb to say he would've gone beyond what she did to protect her if the situation were flipped. If he knew someone was hurting her, he would've come in swinging first and asked questions later, but, in her defense, he strictly told her to never come back to his house. By walking over in the first place, she was breaking one of the fundamental rules of their friendship.

Nevertheless, she found herself crouching around the side of his house to find his bedroom window and check if he was in there. Kie and Pope weren't aware of what was happening with his dad yet, but she and John B accidentally found out years ago, so she wasn't wondering why he wasn't answering them, she was wondering if he was alive.

Part of her truly thought underneath it all that Luke might've killed him. He might've been too drunk or high and went too far when beating him, too far to the point where he didn't want to risk going to jail to take him to the hospital for help. She couldn't live with herself if she didn't check, and if he got pissed at her for showing up against his wishes and didn't want to speak to her ever again, she could live with that.

She knocked on his window in a cadenced beat loud enough for it to heard through the room but not any further. After the first series of knocks, no one came to the window. It ripped her heart to pieces to wonder if she'd see him again as she continued to knock and allowed the sound to increase in volume in hopes that maybe he was asleep, but it didn't bring anyone to the window.

It wasn't until she turned back around to go to the front of the house again that she bumped right into the solid wall of his chest and was pushed back up against the house. The question of what she was doing there was on the tip of his tongue, but she said something that stopped him from asking it.

Her arms were thrown around his shoulders in a desperate bear hug.

"Oh God, JJ, you scared me half to death!" she cried into the front of his shirt, "I thought he killed you!"

He can't help but think of it as he packs his belongings away for a final time to bid his hellish childhood home goodbye: What kind of life are they going to have together if they can't get off this island? Running away may have been an idealistic drunken fantasy for him to entertain after his conversation with Pope got him to admit his true feelings for her, but they both know his consistency can't be trusted.

One moment, he's planning to tell her. The next, a day like today comes along, sweeps his legs out from beneath his body, and he's questioning whether it's worth it to force her to put up with his fickle commitment to her. It isn't fair to her, is it?

Right now is just about when he'd normally start to hyperventilate with an oncoming wave of panic, and he does, but he can't let it fully sweep into him with her here. He fights the urge to smack his head with the heel of his palm, as if that'd forcibly remove the poisonous thoughts infiltrating his mind and ruining the careful work they've done together to remedy their issues with communicating their feelings.

Just like you ruin everything, a thought whispers in the corner of his mind. What made you think this would be any different?

His actions around the room have turned somewhat aimless and distracted, which she notices as soon as he starts to disintegrate into a mess of heavy breaths and self-sabotaging thoughts. She picks up on the shift in his energy as soon as the anxiety starts to wash over him, and she'll be damned if she continues to stand here quietly to let it happen.

It's one thing if he's being silent because being here upsets him, or if he simply doesn't know what to say, but she refuses to let him tailspin into a mental breakdown without doing something to stop it. Whether he knows it or not, after what they went through with him trying to push her away last week, she knows what's occurring within his mind right now.

He flinches at the feeling of her hand grabbing his shoulder to turn him to face her at first, and when she reaches again with her other hand to try to hold his hand as he cries, he shrugs off her touch.

"JJ..." she lets the solemn sound of her own voice murmuring his name trail off, "it's just me."

His head shakes at her consoling words. Everything else inside of his mind is so earth-shatteringly loud, he can't drown it out with logic or reason to bring himself away from the memories of his dad. Those intrusive thoughts keep attacking him with doubled, then tripled force the harder he tries to resist them, and he's so exhausted from it. All of it—the memories, his dad going to jail, and his inability to accept her love to its fullest extent without convincing himself she'll abandon him—is exhausting.

This time, when she rests her hand on his shoulder, he swats it away as the frustration of today crushing him with the force of an avalanche. Not to hurt or scare her, but to get her hands off of him before he bursts out of his skin with the sickness it stirs in his stomach. So detached from himself, he anticipates pain from every touch she gives him, and he knows it hurts her.

JJ hardly recognizes his own voice as he backs away from her a step and says, "Don't."

He can tell it hurts her based on how she looks at him immediately after, but he can't handle being touched right now. How did this happen so quickly? It was overwhelming when they first parked outside, but as soon as he stepped foot inside, it was as if a switch was flipped inside of him and all of the buried feelings he kept hidden over the past two weeks exploded into this.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"You need to leave. I just-I can't breathe and"—He still refuses to look up from the ground or see her face as he paces around the room with no real intent in mind—"You can't see me like this."

That is what breaks her out of her soft spoken, timid attitude to handle the situation the way it needs to be handled. Their natural dynamic worked best for him to take charge when she had her panic attack because JJ acts first and thinks later. He saw that she was in distress and jumped in to help her before things got worse rather than allowing her to keep him at an arms length where he couldn't do anything about it.

Taking a page from his rule book, she takes action.

The room surrounding them is in a state of disarray from him searching through it for the items of clothing and objects now stashed in his duffel bag. There are multiple obstacles in her way as she steps between them like navigating a minefield to reach him after he backed away in instinctual fear, but they don't stop her from reaching him. Nothing could.

Y/N walks right up to him and reaches to grasp his face between her hands, forcing him to stop pacing around and actually look at her for the first time since they arrived her so he hears what she says. To say the least, the way he looks right now is enough to make her cry. There are tears welled up to the brims of his blue eyes, his lips are downturned with his sobs, and he's staring at her like she's about to strike him.

She says it as slowly and clearly as she needs to get it through his head, "He's not here," and before he manages to squeeze out another word of doubt between his rapid inhalations, she cuts in, "Take deep breaths."

He isn't listening to her.

The movement of his chest that hits hers from how close they stand to each other has yet to settle into the familiar pace she remembers from nights of falling asleep with the rhythm of his breaths beneath her head.

Her eyes search his face frantically, from left to right and top to bottom, for any sign of the person she's known for years, but she doesn't see him. Instead, she sees the same panicked child her and John B saw the first time they visited this house. It's uncanny how similar the expression in his face is. It feels to her as if she's been hurled back in time to the moment itself, and when she tries to think about what would've worked with him back then, she doesn't know what else to do except help him escape.

So, with the helplessness of having to watch him turn into a sobbing, incoherent mess, she decides to step into the darkness with him and do what seven year old Y/N would've done. Just like their games of make believe, of pirates and princesses, she assumes the role John B would have and rescues him from what holds him captive. It’s his own mind in this case, but, in the physical sense, it's the house.

She drops her hands from his face and takes his hand in hers to drag him out of the room. The packed bag sits on the floor in their wake as she pulls him back through the bedroom door and into the living room, not caring about what they came here to do.

It doesn't matter anymore.

The various rooms of his dad's house pass by them in a blur as she leads him down the hallway to the front door with one sole objective in mind: get him out of here. If he wants his stuff to bring back to the Chateau, she'll go back inside and get whatever he needs her to, but she isn't letting him inside of this house again. Not under her watch.

Thankfully, since he is undeniably stronger than her and she wouldn't have stood a chance, he doesn't fight it. He stumbles after her guiding hand the same way he always has, just like how he followed her back to the Chateau after she and John B saw him that day when they were kids. She led the way as he sat on the handlebars of her brother's bike, and he watched her hair flutter in the wind with the momentum of their bicycle spokes until the tears dried up.

He watches her drag him out of the home until they've reached the safety of the yard at the bottom of the porch steps, and as soon as the soles of her shoes meet the dirt, she feels his hand slipping out of hers.

"JJ?"

She turns around to see him clutching his chest, rubbing his hand along the front of his shirt over his heart as though it'll loosen up the tightened muscles preventing him from catching his breath. His body weight is leaned onto the railing of the porch steps for support. He's partially slumped on it, looking at her desperately, like she somehow knows the answer to every question screamed inside of his head, and she has never felt as useless.

"You're gonna leave," JJ says through the gasps and cries that leave his cheeks stained with tears.

When she reaches out again to help him remain upright without leaning over the railing, he doesn't shove her hands away as he did inside of his bedroom. It's a small battle won, but she takes it as a win nonetheless.

"What are you saying? I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere—"

"You're gonna leave! Everybody does! My mom, John B, my dad, and you"—his head falls to look at the ground instead of her, and she watches him work through it in his head—"I mean, look at me. You don't want this."

"Don't tell me what I want," she says.

Her voice remains as steady and calm as she can force it to be amidst the turbulent situation, but the way he said it...It takes her right back to sitting in the back of the Twinkie with him at the Cherry Bowl, except it's ten times worse. That felt like a break up, but based on what he's saying, this is one. She hasn't prepared herself for the heartache she feels in response to it.

"You don't want me, you just think you do 'cause I was there after John B died, but you don't. You're gonna go off, find some perfect guy that isn't as fucked up as me, and have a great life somewhere else, but it ain't here," JJ says, his breathing evening out with the distraction of the argument to keep him tethered tor reality, "And it won't be with me."

He can see it every time he's looked at her and debated saying those three titular words that have been floating around in his head since he first met her.

How could she want someone who can't walk into his childhood bedroom without breaking down, or someone who still has years-old scars from cigarette burns on his skin when she touches him? Her bright future contrasted with his pre-designated fate on the Cut, her personality better matched with someone more similar to her, her life continuing on whether he's there or not—it's his worst nightmare, but he's prepared to see it through.

What he doesn't expect is for her to hold her ground.

"You honestly think I'm buying into that bullshit?" she asks.

"What?"

She doesn't put it softly, she states facts with as much harshness as his cruel fantasy had, "You're trying to push me away and I won't let you."

Her typically sweet, soft features have hardened into a bitter expression he's sure he mirrors. The arms holding his waist to keep him upright move to climb up his chest and cup his face between her hands with all of the gentleness her face and voice don't have right now.

She sees right through him.

When he tries to look away again, to avert his eyes to make what he's trying to do easier on himself by not having to look at her when he does it, her grasp on his face holds firm. Her hands guide his chin back up so they're face to face, and he realizes what a mistake everyone makes in assuming her this dainty, broken girl whose only source of strength came from the brother she lost. She's a forest fire.

"You're not hearing what I'm saying—"

Y/N interjects, "I am hearing what you're saying, I'm just saying it's bullshit."

She refuses to let him off the hook, and though it frustrates him on the surface, deep down, it makes him fall in love with her all over again. Her insistence against his speech about her leaving him proves him wrong more than anything else could, 'cause he gave her the perfect chance to dip and she shot it down instantly.

The house looms behind them as a menacing presence that threatens to take control of him again, but she doesn't let it. She keeps his eyes on her no matter how many times he tries to look away and doesn't let anything get in the way of what she says next.

"You think that if you push me away and get me to leave you right now, it'll hurt less than it would if I did it later, and I don't accept that. I won't take the bait and let you torture yourself anymore, okay? I can't speak for anyone else, but I know I'll never leave you. Not willingly, anyway."

She looks into his eyes, and this time its softer, more loving, and he's never felt as understood as he does when she continues to speak.

"I'm in love with you. Whether it scares you or not, it's the truth, and I'll never stop saying it. If you think that your issues with your dad are gonna change that for me, you've officially lost your mind." Their noses brush as she leans in to ghost a kiss over his mouth and pulls away a second later to whisper, her forehead pressed to his, "I love you, JJ. Stop being so stubborn and just let me."

His next breath in trembles as he lets her words sink in, and he's stuck at a crossroads inside of himself without a clue of what to do.

The breeze blows her hair away from her face, the afternoon sunshine painting her golden, and when he sees her hair flutter in the air like it did so many years ago, he can't help but feel as calm as he did during their bike ride home. The further away he got from his dad and the house where it all happened, the calmer he grew, and it hits him at this moment that he's so taken aback by her confession to him, he forgot why he was so upset.

It's sobering. The intoxication of his panic hurtled him back in time to the frightened, childlike state of mind his dad's violent abuse often sent him to, but it was hearing her say those words he's feared for weeks that brought him back. Like the jolt of a defibrillator, he's roused back to life with more clarity than before.

She loves him, but, perhaps more importantly, she said she'd never leave him, and that is what he needed to hear more than anything. That is the statement worth more to him than the four letter word he has agonized over endlessly. No one else every attached the promise of "I love you" with the stipulation of it lasting forever. They said the empty words and contradicted it with their actions, but she hasn't done that. Her actions spoke the words long before her mouth did.

He sighs.

It's a deep, yearning sigh that sends him melting into her with the acceptance of what he's denied for too long. He savors the hands cradling his head, as well as the body pressed up against his that he has memorized down to every beauty mark and imperfection, and makes the right choice.

It isn't like it was the night at the Cherry Bowl, or the night he spoke to Pope about it. It still takes more bravery than he possesses to form the words, but there isn't a physical incapability stopping him anymore. It's just him against the trauma beckoning him into its trap again, and he won't let it lure him back into that house.

"Alright," JJ says to her through a sniffle in acceptance to her command, as if he were agreeing on afternoon surfing plans rather than something as monumental as allowing someone to love him, then continues onto with a timid tone, "I love you too."

Before he can watch for her reaction, she's surging forward through the few inches of space left between them to connect their lips in a kiss.

It's vastly different to the kiss they shared in the hallway at school last Friday. In contrast to that one, the reigning emotion within him that drives the kiss after the hesitant beginning doesn't lead them into increased intensity, it gets gentler. It doesn't explode into chaos and passion, it's a tired kiss that he never wants to retreat from. It's the physical manifestation of his feelings for her underneath the guarded exterior he uses to protect himself: gentle and yielding, yet undeniably powerful.

He feels her smiling through her tears against his mouth. In the face of everything that happened this afternoon, he doesn't feel like he should be smiling back at her, but he does. He smiles while kissing her with tears streaming down his face, still reeling from his traumatic response to coming home for the final time, and wonders how a person can feel such contradicting emotions all at once.

Y/N is the one who starts to pull away first, though it's only to check in on him. If she had it her way, she could stay here with him until the sun sets, but he did just come back from the brink of a full-blown panic attack, so she can't in good conscience ignore his well-being for the momentary bliss of their love confessions.

Her thumb brushes over his bottom lip, her smile drooping with worry as she asks, "Wanna spend the rest of the day on the boat? You always say being on the water makes you feel better. Maybe it'll make it easier to talk about it."

His Adam's apple bobs with how he swallows the lump in his throat.

"Can we maybe take baby steps for now? I don't think I can handle telling you all that shit yet."

It was already enough to allow her to follow him into the house, watch him break down into a fit of panic no one else has seen him in, and tell her he loved her, but it'd cross the line into uncharted territory to talk about everything between him and his dad so openly. Between the minor annoyance of dealing with Kacey to this hellish visit home, he thinks he's reached his quota on feeling uncomfortable today.

She nods in agreement.

"Baby steps."

Drawn back to each other by a force stronger than gravity, they collide again, but it isn't a kiss this time. It's a hug charged with all of the previously unspoken emotions they've buried inside of themselves for years, the same hug she gave him the last time she came to this house with the fear of his potential death lingering in her thoughts.

She throws herself at him with the same desperation she did that day and relishes the feeling of his muscular arms returning the embrace until their bodies are tangled together. She'd usually never refer to something as inherently affectionate as an embrace as violent, but it's the closest she can come to capturing how it feels as their bodies meet. It makes her lose her footing on the bottom step they stand on together, teetering on the edge she'd surely slip off of with the force if not for him keeping her steady.

He's about to say something, a thank you to her for calling him out on his bullshit and not letting him go that easily, when the grating sound of her ringtone blares from the back pocket of her denim shorts.

The contact popping up on the screen along with a series of frantic messages when she pulls away from him to answer shows Pope's name.

Pope You and JJ need to get back to the Chateau ASAP!!

The van doors slam shut behind Y/N and JJ as soon as it rolls to a stop in front of the Chateau.

Under the assumption that something dire happened, as in injury or death or catastrophic damage to the house itself, they bolted off of that porch faster than they knew they could move. She only turned back when she remembered the packed back of JJ's things they abandoned on his bedroom floor and, not wanting him to reenter the house, she brought it back to the Twinkie in record time.

They're preparing to trample up the porch into the house like a stampede of animals when they hear Kie calling them over to the backyard and change direction.

"No one's hurt!" she shouts, knowing that was likely where their minds went after everything they went through during the summer, "You have to see this though, I don't know who did it!"

Sticks and fallen leaves crunch beneath her feet on her way around the side of the house. Her mind races with the possibility of what could've happened that didn't hurt their friends but necessitated a series of texts and calls as frantic as the ones she received at JJ's house. She drove over here in defiance of the speed limit, something she rarely does, and prayed nothing terrible was happening.

It gave her flashbacks to when she found out John B and Sarah died in the storm. The pedal beneath her foot brought the van to an uncomfortably swift speed, then she remembered the sound of Shoupe's voice when he gave them the news. JJ warned her to slow down, then she remembered how it took multiple people to help her restrain him from attacking the new sheriff for letting his men drive their friends into their deaths.

At first, she doesn't realize what's wrong.

Kiara and Pope are standing and waiting for them across the grass near the large tree that sits as a centerpiece to their yard. Based on the body language screaming their frustration and the tears in their eyes, she can tell something bad did happen, but it's not clear what it is until she looks past them to the tree. More specifically, until she looks at what's on the tree.

"Oh my god," she whispers to herself.

Her hand is already up to cover her mouth and conceal the instantaneous frown besmirching her previously relaxed face. They both are stopped in their tracks halfway to where their friends are standing, and she can’t hear JJ's reaction over the rising volume of her hysterical thoughts.

Spray painted in red on top of their memorial for John B are the words "COP KILLER" in bold letters that conceal what they burned into the tree trunk for his gravestone. It sticks out from the beauty of the greens, browns, blues, and swathes of other earthy tones composing the scenery around the Chateau like a thorn amongst flowers, so much so that she wonders how she didn't instantly see it when they rounded the corner to come back here.

Yet that isn't the only thing amiss in the peaceful sanctuary they call home, there are random things strewn around the ground around the tree. An old t-shirt spray painted with the word "murderer" on the front, four ripped up envelopes, and a gorgeous mahogany jewelry box...broken on the grass.

The freshly turned dirt they had the contents of the box buried beneath is scattered around the trashed area as well. It clicks with her a few seconds late that whoever came here to do this must have seen the pinwheel she put in the ground to mark the "grave" and dug it up to add insult to injury.

She moves forward without consciously realizing it and stumbles until she reaches the first object of the debris field. Before this, she was doing a masterful job of holding in her cries, but as soon as she crouches down to pick up the pieces of the jewelry box, the lid snapped clean off the hinges to separate it from the bottom section, it comes rushing out of her against her will. The first unrestrained keen is the first thing to snap JJ out of his shell shocked trance.

He walks after her as fast as his legs will take him without breaking into a run, but she isn't letting him get close before she puts the box back down and shuffles forward to collect the torn letter remains. She doesn't want them to get blown away by the wind anymore than they already might have been, so she scrambles to gather the pieces until they're cupped in her hands to protect them.

"Why?" she asks and looks up at Kie and Pope with tears dripping down her face, "Why would anyone do this? Who would do this?"

Pope says, "My guess is as good as yours. We didn't see anyone leaving when we got here, so it must've happened before school ended. This is all we saw before we called you guys."

For a second or two, JJ is grasping at straws for why this happened and who did it like the rest of them are, but then something Pope said makes it click into place. It sets off a domino effect in his mind as he brings back the memory of a certain offspring of satan being absent from gym this afternoon despite being at school earlier, since his encounter with her before Physics made him, unfortunately, aware of her existence again.

His face is set in anger, jaw clenching with the tension of him grinding his teeth together, and he takes his hat off to fidget with it between his hands for a second. Their friends are too focused on her crying to see him contemplating it, but as soon as he speaks, they look up to see him setting his hat back onto his head in preparation to leave and track Kacey down.

Y/N's head snaps up from the torn letters in her hands to the sight of him storming off across the yard with his only goodbye being the words, "I'm gonna kill that bitch."

Her and Pope stare after him in shock, unable to put the pieces together about who that "bitch" is, but Kie doesn't miss a single beat. While Y/N is crumpled over on the ground in tears, she's rushing after JJ before he can approach the bike parked in front of the house. He doesn't even make it five steps before he feels her hands latching onto his wrist to stop him.

She asks, "Who the hell are you talking about? And why would they do this?"

His eyes narrow at her. His unreleased frustration for the situation in general and having to watch Y/N cry after an emotional afternoon together comes rushing out when he snaps at her.

"Kacey. She talked shit at school and I put her in her place. Now, if you don't mind, I'm gonna pay her a little visit."

He yanks his arm sharply towards himself to free it from her grip, but she's a step ahead of him. Quicker than he can think to stop her, Kie swipes the keys hanging out of his back pocket away and throws them to Pope, who, bless his heart, can't catch to save his life. The key ring jingles with its contact at the dead center of his chest, and she mouths an apology to him before turning back to face JJ.

"What the fuck, Kie?"

He makes to stomp past her and retrieve the keys from Pope only to be stopped by her hands reaching out to grab his shoulders.

"Listen to me, you can't go anywhere. Look at her," she whispers lowly enough to keep Y/N from hearing, pointing behind her to where she sits on the ground with Pope knelt beside her, "I wouldn't put it past Kacey to pull a stunt like this. I'm just as mad as you, but revenge can wait and you know it. She needs you."

The fury visible in his expression is subdued by looking past Kie's shoulder to see Y/N crying softly to Pope about the vandalized memorial.

The last time he saw her so distraught over something, it was the day they made the memorial and buried the box in the first place. She sits on her knees with her mom's broken jewelry box between them, shuddering with the sobs she has no control over, and pours the torn paper into the empty bottom half of the box. Exhausted to the core, she looks more like a sullen, kicked puppy than she does herself.

It makes his anger-fueled instincts that urge him to hunt Kacey down and do something, anything he can to make her feel the pain they do right now bubble down into sorrow. It's visible in his eyes when he looks at her.

Kie knows she's gotten under his skin when he sighs, sparing a parting glance to the bike in the driveway, and nods once at her before setting off back to where they're sitting in the grass.

Meanwhile, Y/N is stuck staring down at the disarray of her backyard with nothing but pain aching through her to the bone.

Her brother did wrong things sometimes as a consequence of being human, but never this, never something worthy of having his name dragged through the mud and being branded a murderer after his death. He stole scuba gear from Ward and broke dozens of laws in their hunt for the gold, but he never crossed that line into moral bankruptcy. Rafe did, and it kills JJ to see someone like Kacey do this to his best friend while hanging off of Rafe and his friends like a leech.

The fabric of his worn t-shirt is tarnished by the dried paint clinging to the front of it to the spell the lie written there, and her vision blurs with tears for what feels like the millionth time in the span of an hour. First, it was JJ. Now, it's John B, and she can't help but wonder if the heartache will ever end. It began to feel better over the course of the week, her grief for him slowly beginning to slip from her mind until now. Until the storm clouds converged again to batter her with another wave of it.

Through the deafening volume of her mind racing with thoughts and feelings to process what's happened, she hears Pope shuffling around to stand on his feet. Then, another person sits down in his place and scoots closer until their bodies are touching, and she knows it's him. She doesn't have to wait to hear his voice or look to see his face, she can tell based on the feeling of his touch and the smell of him she's so intimately familiar with, yet couldn't describe it aloud if she tried.

He doesn't smother her. He sits close enough to touch her and doesn't push it any further.

The background of the pale, cloudless sky frames him in the foreground like the subject of a painting—a living, breathing painting that she could study endlessly. The other trees planted in the yard's leaves flutter distantly behind him and try to draw her gaze away, but she keeps her eyes on him.

Maybe that's how it is, she thinks.

Maybe it'll get better and worse in a dance that'll only stop when they're no longer here to agonize over it. Maybe this is what moving on from John B will always be like. It'll feel like they've made strides in the right direction, then something will come along to shatter it to sharp pieces that'll reopen their stitched up wounds. If that's the case, at least the four of them have each other to lean on when it gets worse again.

JJ sits with her and lets her crawl onto his lap, resting her head on his shoulder, until the sun sinks below the horizon.

The gentle bobbing of the HMS Pogue at the surface of the water steadies her amidst her eddying thoughts. It keeps her present to the moment the way the ropes tying the boat to the dock keeps it from floating adrift into the marsh. It's a motion engrained in her from the start of her life until now from countless days spent on the water. Whether it be for fishing, swimming, or playing make believe with her boys all those years ago, it's as much a part of her as her personality or body itself.

JJ was right about one thing: being out on the water makes it easier to think.

He hasn't followed her out since she woke up before sunrise and snuck out of bed to come here. Despite her efforts not to wake him, he woke up when she disentangled her body from his, silently cursing the fact that they always cuddle so closely, and he tried to pull her back to him with a whine of displeasure in his groggy, half-asleep state. Sleep finally found them after hours of staying up together to talk about what Kacey did, unable to relax from the chaos of yesterday, so he wasn't prepared to wake up that soon.

"Go back to sleep, angel," she whispered as she hovered over him, brushing a chaste kiss to his lips that he was too tired to return.

That was the last time she saw him since this morning, and now that the sun has risen to its peak in the sky without her moving an inch from her perch atop the bow of the boat, she's begun to wonder if he's awake yet. It isn't uncommon for them to sleep in for half of the day when there isn't school or work, so it isn't surprising to her that he's just now waking up when she hears the back door to the Chateau opening and closing.

Unbeknownst to her, JJ has been awake the entire morning since she left bed.

They were so attached to each other yesterday night, he didn't have the time to put it together without her seeing and ruining the surprise, but once he heard the door to the porch close to signify her leaving, he kicked the blankets off of himself and got to work. He wasn't originally planning on starting so early, since they stayed up late into the night together, but once he woke up to the feeling of her sneaking out of his arms, he was too awake to fall back asleep.

The sound of his footsteps on the dock warns her of his approach, but she doesn't raise her head from where she rests it in her palms to stare out at the water.

"I was wondering when you'd finally wake up," she says.

There's another few steps, then the boat jostles with his weight stepping onto it.

He doesn't say anything to her in response. The only clue she gets as to what he's doing are the footsteps on the deck that lead closer to her until she feels him sitting down on the bow next to where she is. And she's about to open her mouth to ask if he's okay when he sets something down in front of her.

It's a shoe box.

Y/N turns to see him, eyes flickering over his tired face, and looks back at the box with furrowed brows.

"What is this?"

His hair is messy, exactly how it was when she left him in bed this morning, and if she weren't more focused on the mysterious box he plopped down in front of her, she'd be combing through it with her fingers. He's gotten used to those casual displays of affection from her; how she runs her hands through his hair on mornings before school when he forgets to brush it, or when she fixes a button on his flannel that he missed.

JJ's lips are tipped in a smile, and she can't help but blush with how he looks at her. She never used to see it, but he has always looked at her like this. Like he's hopelessly, utterly in love with her. Even before they lost John B, back when he'd expend all of his romantic and sexual attention on girls he hardly knew, he still looked at her this way.

He gestures at it and says, "Open it."

The lid of the box is coated in a freshly dried layer of blue paint to match the shade of the sky overhead. She knows instantly that he must have dug through the arts and crafts box she specifically labeled with a warning for him and John B to stay out. It's painted with aimlessly sloppy brushstrokes and stickers placed at every corner of the cardboard box, all of which she recognizes from the stash she kept under her bed alongside the India ink he borrowed last Friday.

As she gives him a skeptical look and reaches to lift the lid off of the shoe box, she makes a mental note to rewrite the label on the arts and crafts box without the warning for him to keep out. Since John B isn't here to steal anything from it and JJ never follows that rule anyway, it's redundant at this point.

Any skepticism is washed away from her face as soon as she flips the lid open to reveal what's inside. It leaves her speechless as she looks down at it all.

"JJ..." she murmurs in awe.

Sitting at the bottom of it is a folded up t-shirt she saw JJ wear multiple times, but never again since John B died. He refused to glance at the shirt his best friend gave him the year before they never saw him again, let alone dig it out of the corner of her closet where he keeps his things...until now.

But that's a scratch on the surface of all of the things about his gift that stuns her to silence. The next thing to catch her immediate attention is a picture she hasn't seen in years.

It's one that Big John took of the three of them together right where she and JJ are sitting. She was much younger in it, flashing a toothy grin with her arms thrown over both boys' shoulders. To her left, John B was leaning his head on her shoulder. To her right, JJ was wearing an eyepatch they crafted out of an old black shirt he stole from his dad. It was cut with the kitchen scissors and tied around the back of his head in a knot.

She brushes her thumb over John B's face, then sets the crinkled photograph back down atop the folded shirt and moves her attention to the last surprise.

Letters.

Torn up pieces of paper painstakingly taped back together sit one on top of the other, some missing pieces here or there, and it makes her mouth part in shock. Her hands shuffle the letters apart to see each one and recognize the handwriting: Kie's bubbly, swirling letters, Pope's neat cursive, hers, and JJ's chicken scratch writing that she's able to decipher from years of proofreading his essays.

She pictures him at her desk all morning while she was sitting out here, ripping tape off of the roll and arranging the puzzle pieces of the ripped letters until he was sure he got it right. It made him want to rip the hair from his scalp, but he sat there and pushed through the frustration to make it as perfect as he could for her. The missing pieces were primarily from Kie's letter, which fluttered away on a balmy breeze when Kacey tore it up and threw it to the ground, but the one he wanted her to have the most wasn't missing more than a single piece.

Y/N looks up from the letters held like a precious treasure in her hands to see him watching her with that same classic JJ smile on his face, but he doesn't let her get a word in yet.

"Go on," he says, leaning closer to pull his letter to John B out and place it on top of the pile for her to read, "I want you to read it."

"You didn't let me read it when I asked before though, are you sure you—"

He interrupts her before she can worry herself over it, "Dude, just read it. I promise I'm fine with it. I want you to."

The letters crinkle under her touch as she looks back down and smooths them out on the deck enough to read through the clear tape. With one last confirming glance to him for permission, she takes a deep breath and reads the first line.

Dear John B,

You really know how to keep a guy on his toes, don't you? You really outdid yourself on this one. I was so sure we were gonna make it, but I guess you had to go all Romeo and Juliet on us, huh? As long as you and Sarah are happy macking on each other in heaven, it's okay.

In all seriousness, I fucking miss you, bro. I miss you more than I realized a person could miss another person. Whenever I need to talk to you again, I don't know what to do. I guess that's why it's good that Y/N made me write this.

Also, I'm really sorry for—

"What does it say there? There's a whole chunk missing," she murmurs.

He scoots close enough to her that she can feel his body warmth radiating onto her through the shoulder of his flannel. Sunlight reflects on the silver rings decorating his fingers as he holds one side of the paper to tilt it enough for him to squint at.

"Macking, I think. It's supposed to say "I'm sorry for macking on your sister."

—macking on your sister. You can totally kick my ass for it, but before you come back from the grave to murder me, let me defend myself, okay? She isn't just another girl for me, John B.

I think you knew it before I did.

Last summer, you asked me straight up if we were hooking up behind your back after I kissed her in front of you on the porch. I laughed in your face, but you were right.

You saw everything before me, man. You knew I loved her since we were kids and waited for us to come to you about it, so that's gotta mean something, right? I hope it means you wouldn't be mad at me for this.

I swear I won't fuck it up with her, but you already know that. That's why you asked me to take care of her,. I didn't know why at the time but I do now. I won't let you down.

I'm keeping my promise.

- JJ

P.S. Don't miss me too much. We'll be shotgunning beers together up there before you know it.

There are tears blooming in her eyes when she lifts her gaze from the tattered paper to look at him again, but they aren't sad. For once, the tears slipping down her cheeks are happy tears, not born from grief, sadness, and pain, but bittersweet happiness.

They're caught staring at each other for a second before he asks her shyly, "It isn't too sappy or anything, is it? 'Cause I thought it—"

"C'mere," is the only thing she can get out before she's tugging him forward by the front of his shirt to kiss him.

JJ stumbles a little with the unexpected force of her pulling him to her, but he takes it in stride. He steadies himself and lets his hands shoot out to grapple for purchase on her waist, keeping her pressed up against him tightly as he kisses her back.

And it doesn't get much better than this, does it? This is it for him. He meant what he wrote to John B, he won't fuck it up with her, especially not because of his trauma with his dad getting inside his head and sabotaging his relationship with her. This is what makes everything worth it.

It brings happy tears to his eyes too.

She can taste the salt of them where their lips meet in the middle. It makes her smile, wrapping her arms around his neck and clenching the letters he mended for her in her fist to keep them from blowing away in the wind, and they both start to laugh into each other's mouths at the poignant feeling they both share but can't quite place.

They pull away from each other to catch their breath after another moment of it, and she can't help but stare. How could she not when she feels like this? It’s less like he’s her boyfriend and more like a piece of her soul has attached itself to his with no hope of letting go in the near future.

"You're the best thing that ever happened to me," she whispers to him.

Plain and simple. No room for disagreement or a bashful rejection of the compliment. She's pulled back from him enough to hold his gaze and make sure he sees her seriousness, and there isn't anything he can do to refute her statement.

He brushes his nose against hers affectionately, dipping down to kiss her again, but when he leans back to see her face, he can't help himself.

"Ditto."

The rest of the day after their moment on the boat, locked away in their own little world where none of the monsters chasing them could sneak through and ruin it, melts away peacefully. After another half hour spent looking through the box together, of her thanking him over and over again, he hops off of the HMS Pogue onto the dock and extends his hand to her in the most gentlemanly manner possible.

His lips are curved into a smirk as he kneels down on one knee as though she's a revered royal and bows his head in subservience, "Princess Routledge."

Her hand fits in his warm, calloused palm as a perfect match, and she steps off of the boat onto the dock beside him with an expression to match his.

"Captain Maybank," she says in her most regal royalty voice.

Her stellar performance breaks into a laugh they share as he stands and throws his arm around over her shoulder to walk back to the yard. The cardboard box is tucked beneath one of her arms while the other slips around his side to hold him back, and her heart feels full with both the presence of JJ and John B alongside her.

They bury it together.

Tag List: @gabiatthedisco, @fangirlvoice, @black-syren, @apparrio, @particularcth, @planetdemon, @idk-ijustworkhere, and @krisphann

Also, now that it’s over, let me know what your favorite part was in the comments or tags if you’d like to :) I’m curious.

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank smut #outer banks #obx #fanfiction #i'm gonna miss these dorks #🥺#I love how he tries to break up with her and she’s like ‘no❤️’#also totally do not put on ‘seven’ by Taylor Swift during the childhood flashbacks unless u wanna cry #cause I did and my sensitive ass was crying #that song is about John B and JJ okay #it just is

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cube-cumb3r · 3 years ago

Text

The Means Reflect On The Ends Actually, (c!Dream & the conditioning of Exile)

What was the point of exile, storywise? What does it say about c!Dream? Sure, it’s showcasing how far he’s willing to go to achieve his own ends, but I don't think all discussion about what exile tells us about c!Dream should start and end there.

Dream is not cruel for cruelty’s sake. Dream’s end goal is not to hurt as many people as possible. He views his cruelty are “necessary evils”, and he doesn’t dwell much on whether the things he does are “good” or “bad”. He’s fully aware he’s hurting people and he ultimately thinks that hurting people, to the extent that he does, is worth it. That being said, while Dream has an ends justify the means mindset, but the truth is, the means absolutely reflect on the ends. His true intentions aren’t a mystery, it’s very clear in the text that his ultimate goal is unity, but why does he want unity? And what would said unity entail?

(Before this essay starts I have to do an ad break to promo @daggryet's very helpful [transcriptions from the exile streams], which I'll be using a lot of. Thanks for the very helpful resource.)

TW: Relatively extensive discussion abt the abuse in exile arc & the effects of said abuse.

Firstly, I don't think you should deny his relationship to control. A through-line of his character is achieving harmony through control, and more specifically, obedience. There’s a reason why he tends to single out Tommy the most. It’s not actually because Tommy is remarkably more troublesome than anyone else on the server, but rather, because his disruptive nature is at Dream’s expense. Tommy is the only character who’s consistently over and over again refused to respect Dream’s authority, and though he isn’t particularly threatening on his own, it’s the sentiment itself that’s dangerous. Similarly, this is why he has consistently targeted L’manburg, moreso than any other faction on the server such as, say, Badlands, El Rapids. It’s almost as if they represented the sentiment, “Hey, why are we listening to you anyway? Why can’t we be listening to anyone else?”, which is why he crushed them, over, and over again. What if everyone figures out they can just stop listening to him? What then?

We talk a lot about the effects exile had on Tommy, and rightfully so, but we don’t talk enough about what Dream was actually doing. What was the purpose of exile? Was it just a way to get closer to the discs? Just a means to an end? What was the end?

TOMMY: What, what could you possibly want more from me? You’ve tortured me.

DREAM: I’m just keeping an eye on you, Tommy.

TOMMY: What does that mean?!

DREAM: I’m just, I’m making sure that you’re not up to no good.

TOMMY: But, how, you’ve exiled me, you fucking stupid, manipulative fucking green bastard!

DREAM: I know! And you know why I did that?

TOMMY: Yes?

DREAM: No, you know why?

TOMMY: Why?

DREAM: Because you don’t listen to me ever, you’re the only person who doesn’t ever listen to me. If I tell you to do something, you’re like “no, fuck you!”, and you go and like do like the exact opposite.

[full transcription]

As much as I have to preface this with that this is speculative and we may not have any irrefutable confirmation, I think it's very likely that it's literally just what Dream is saying he's doing. Tommy is the one person who refuses to listen to him, and he wants him to listen. Exile was not only conditioning Tommy to believe that nobody other than Dream cares about him, not only conditioning Tommy to be entirely reliant on him, but also conditioning Tommy to listen to him, without question, without disobeying. And that is such a significant and reoccurring motif for it to arguably just be the intended reading of exile.

Abuse is a vague term that encompasses a lot of abusive practices. There are a good handful that apply to exile, I'm sure if you ask someone qualified they'll be able to provide you a nice handy list, but ultimately, all of them target Tommy's own sense of agency and autonomy, and it all revolves around power and control. Dream creates rituals purely to disarm him, threatens him and punishes him when he doesn't listen, and rewards him when he complies (or rather, conditions Tommy into thinking that not being punished is a reward).

TOMMY: [begins throwing his armor and axe down for DREAM to explode.]

DREAM: No, no, it’s fine.

TOMMY: Re-really?

DREAM: Yeah. Today’s the party, right?

---

TOMMY: So when can I- no, I wanna go back. I… hey, thanks for letting me keep my armour today.

DREAM: You’re welcome.

TOMMY: Kinda nice of you.

[full transcription]

Dream isn’t only hurting Tommy for the sake of hurting him. People tend to frame it as if Dream Just Hates Tommy, but that’s not true. He finds Tommy fun, in a twisted way. There are a lot of moments in exile where they’re both on very good terms and Dream is friendly with Tommy. But, it's also all part of horror of exile, making Tommy reliant on him and his company, getting him to doubt his sense of reality, making him question whether his friends back in L’manburg ever cared about him at all, and possibly questioning whether he’s imagining the abuse as well, Dream is so kind to him after all, why would he ever want to hurt him?

Over the course of exile Tommy agency and sense of self start to deteriorate as well as his mental health, he starts worrying about what Dream would think, starts asking Dream for permission, going out of his way to avoid upsetting him, his only friend, his only reliable caring companion.

TOMMY: Yeah, so I’m thinking we- and then I can- but the thing is; so recently my buddy, Dream, has been doing this thing where he, uhm… it makes sense, though, because I’m not in his land anymore, but he takes my shit from me, so I need to make sure- […]

---

RANBOO: Yeah, so what do you say- does Dream like take your armor? Is that what you said?

TOMMY: I don’t know, he just- hey man, I just follow the boss.

[full transcription]

TOMMY: “Visit Techno” no, no, what would Dream think? […]

---

TOMMY: I’ve had a little idea, by the way, and I wanna know what you think, and also if I’m allowed

DREAM: Okay?

[full transcription]

TOMMY: Yeah, I know he’s actually - he’s sort of my- he’s borderline my owner, Big Q, so I’m not really sure.

MEXICAN DREAM: He’s your dad?

TOMMY: No, no-

MEXICAN DREAM: Ey! Ey, Papa Thomas!

TOMMY: No, no, we’re- as in labor.

MEXICAN DREAM: You gotta teach your child some manners.

[full transcription]

Dream’s outburst in exile after finding Tommy’s chests, is arguably one of Dream's most emotionally honest (and reckless) moments in exile considering it was what made Tommy realize he needed to save himself and escape. And it's punishing Tommy for going behind his back and planning to revolt.

TOMMY: I’m really, no, I’m really sorry, though. Why don’t we just pretend this never- yeah, let’s, shall we just pretend this-?

DREAM: Sorry doesn’t cut it, Tommy. Listen, I’ll leave you here to think about what you did-

TOMMY: What about the nether? What about the nether, my friends, what-?

DREAM: No! You can’t go to the nether, no one can come here, you are alone, okay? As soon as I think that you have changed, have become somebody who isn’t going to hide and lie and try and revolt; then people can visit you again. You can go to the nether again. But for now - no, no one can. You- I was being very lenient. Yesterday I let you go into the Dream SMP on a temporary pass, and then what do I find out the next day?

TOMMY: I’m so sorry.

DREAM: I have been nothing but gracious to you. Tommy. Think about what you did.

---

Exile wasn’t only a means to getting closer to the discs or getting Tommy out of the way. Exile was a means to conditioning Tommy into listening and respecting Dream as his superior. Dreams solution to Tommy being disruptive and troublesome was to [physically beat], emotionally abuse, and psychologically condition him into obedience. Only seeing exile as a testament to how far how willing he was go to meet his ends is reductive, and not acknowledging what Dream considers to be a “problem” and what he considers to be “solutions” is to not engage with his worldview. You have to take exile into account and what it actually says about his ideals of harmony and unity.

---

TOMMY: I can’t go back… I can’t go back, and see my friends and see Tubbo. This is a shithole! He wasn’t- he wasn’t here ‘cause he was my friend. He was here to- what did he say on the first day? Got a little bug that he can’t flig off? I’m the only person who never does exactly what he says?

TOMMY: I’m the only person who never does what he says. Me! He said that to me, didn’t he?

TOMMY: He was here to watch me.

[full transcription]

Dream’s relationship to Tommy can (and honestly should) be compared to his relationship to the entire server at large. Not to imply that He Literally Wants To Abuse The Server, but rather the he views the server revolting as a problem, and the solution? Well. The [prison]. The hall of attachments. It’s no surprise that the disc war, a conflict that was initially only primarily between Dream and Tommy*, is suddenly about everyone. Bargaining and blackmailing using attachments, something Dream initially only subjected Tommy to, to keep him under his control, is now a means to control everyone.

Is Dream's goal of unity for the sake of the overall happiness and quality of life of the people living within said unity? I don’t doubt that this at some point in time was true. But, the fact that he’s willing to ruin lives and long-term psychologically destroy people over it, means that his goal isn’t unity for the sake of the people living in his ideal version of the server, but at their expense. Him believing he needs to control people to maintain unity and harmony means that he believes himself to know what's best for people moreso than the people themselves, and therefore he's the only one responsible enough to make decisions for them. And it also means that his motives has warped and twisted overtime, it’s likely that he’s become so fixated on the goal of unity itself that he’s lost track of why he wanted it in the first place.

Anyway. Stop buying into Dream's own self-justification of "ends justify the means" and put his deeply flawed and broken worldview and view of people under a little bit of goddam scrutiny.

#*yeah no its about tubbo and sapnap too but thats not really who dream has ever focused on #dream smp #dreamwastaken #tommyinnit #exile arc #tw abuse #ask to tag #lor3 essays

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thegreaterlink · 3 years ago

Text

Reviewing Star Trek TNG - S2E12 "The Royale"

THE PREMISE

Following a tip from a passing Klingon vessel, the Enterprise finds debris from an Earth vessel orbiting an uninhabitable planet. They beam aboard a sample of the debris and discover its NASA markings and a 52-star American flag, dating the ship to the mid-to-late 21st century and determining that it had travelled well beyond the capabilities of ships of that era.

(I don't usually include images in the plot summary, but this made for a pretty good cold open and was almost the header image, so here)

Scans of the planet reveal a small anomalous area capable of sustaining human life, so Riker, Worf and Data beam down and find a revolving door in the middle of a dark void. Stepping through, they find themselves in an old Earth-style hotel and casino called the Royale, where they find themselves cut off from the Enterprise and unable to leave...

MY REVIEW

This kinda just feels like a holodeck episode which didn't take place on the holodeck.

But just like the holodeck episodes, the production design and costumes are on point, this time with some setting-appropriate music from Ron Jones thrown into the bargain.

But if the hotel isn't the product of a holodeck, then what is it?

Well, after many unsuccessful attempts to escape, the away team decide to explore the building when Data detects human DNA. They follow the signal into one of the rooms and finds a skeleton in the bed (which Data determines to have been dead for nearly 300 years) plus a NASA uniform in the name of Colonel Stephen Richey, a pulp novel titled "The Royale" and Richey's diary, which has only one entry.

They re-establish communications with Picard and report their situation while giving us our explanation: Colonel Richey was the commanding officer of the third manned attempt to break free of the solar system back in 2037 - so we have that to look forward to - but it was never heard from again after communications were lost. Richey's diary explains that he was the sole survivor of an alien contaminant that killed the rest of his crew. Feeling guilty, the aliens created the simulation of the hotel for him using the novel as a guide, believing that it represented humans' preferred lifestyle. Richey survived there for 37 years, with the shallow and cliché characters from the novel's story (which is currently playing out around them) slowly driving him insane. In the end, he welcomed death.

It might sound a bit far-fetched, but it's a pretty cool idea and much more creative than another holodeck malfunction.

It also explains a bunch of seemingly random background characters, such as a goodhearted bellboy trying to help his love interest Rita against a crime boss named Mickey D. Yes, the crime boss that these people are talking about so seriously is named Mickey D. So the whole time this was all I could think of:

Anyone else hungry? No? Just me? Weird.

Also, I'd like to point out that back on the Enterprise Troi is able to perfectly sense Riker's emotions even when he's on another planet and trapped in some pocket dimension thing. And yet half the time she can't read people on adjacent ships. Convenient.

Riker, Worf and Data try to blend in while they work out a plan. Cue Data playing blackjack and having some enjoyable banter with a fun side character named Texas, played by Noble Willingham. It feels like there's some missed potential for Riker and Worf to have their own comedic hijinks though. Then the pure-hearted bellboy gets iced by Mickey D. Never thought you'd see a sentence like that in a Star Trek review, didja?

Picard tells them that this is part of the story, then summarises the novel's vague ending: foreign investors buy the hotel for 12.5 million then go home and leave the assistant manager in charge. So Riker, Worf and Data need to make the necessary money through gambling... only it all goes off pretty much without a hitch, aside from a moment where they need to make sure they stay in character by being generous. It feels like a bunch of these episodes just forgot to have a climax.

The episode ends with Picard and Riker talking about what happened, like how an early 21st century vessel was able to make it so far.

Their conclusion:

My research tells me that the episode's original draft as written by Tracy Tormé was a kind of surreal nightmare about an astronaut being trapped in his most pleasant memory. That admittedly sounds more like an episode of The Twilight Zone than Star Trek, but it still almost definitely would've been a hell of a lot more interesting than what we got here.

6/10 - It's fine, but it could've been so much more.

Previous Episode | TNG Masterpost | Next Episode

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woeisme-iamwoe · 4 years ago

Text

an absolutely massive Haikyuu!! fic rec pt. 1

I went through my entire ao3 history because I’m insane, AND here’s my favorites. (There’s not a lot of aus because I’m not a huge fan of them, and there’s no sad endings. I’m a hopeless romantic leave me alone. There is angst though! Lots)

Beginning with SakuAtsu (I’m a hoe for Atsumu):

Hide and seek, by badreputation (10k. E. canonverse)

It sure is a good thing Atsumu doesn't have a latex allergy

It’s just a fleeting infatuation. As long as he pushes through it he’ll manage. So what if nowadays there isn’t a night where he doesn’t dream of Sakusa pinning him down on his own bed, in the shower or make Atsumu go down on his knees in the hallway? Those are just pesky details.

Some Memories, We May Keep, by mika60 (31k. T. canonverse)

This is canon, fight me on it.

The missing panels, the missing games, the missing moments.

The them we never saw.

*Now complete! :)*

every action has an equal and opposite reaction, by akanemnida (10k. T. canonverse)

Miya Atsumu gets a modeling contract with Calvin Klein, which sets Kiyoomi's heart in motion.

(Or: Sakusa Kiyoomi realizes that the rules governing the universe are absolute rubbish at explaining matters of the heart.)

Ass-fingering as a prelude to relations of the emotional kind: a case study, by neverwere (2k. E. canonverse)

Fucking hilarious, the imagery is absolutely hilarious.

"Marry me, he thinks, as he comes around Sakusa's fingers and all over himself.

This. This is exactly why you don't let strangers or very attractive teammates finger you out of the blue.

Everyone knows that the ass is the shortest way to the heart."

When it comes to sex, Atsumu has rules. Guidelines! SOPs! He swears they work, they've always worked.

Until they don't.

parallax error: angle of inclination, by min_mintobe (10k. T. canonverse)

But now there's the one person Atsumu'd promised himself never to touch. His eyes leave Atsumu breathless with guilt at seventeen, and he spends the next six years safe in the satisfaction of making things right.

Feelings, of the physical kind, and one kiss.

ft. competitive spirit, childishness, and late night conversations.

Atsumu POV.

autumn ends, but we remain, by wolfsbvne (5k. T. canonverse)

Author says in their ending notes that they're not an ‘author’, but methinks they should write more and pursue that career path because this was wonderful.

atsumu stares at his ceiling at 2am. he stares until he can make out designs in his popcorn ceiling. a cat there, an onigiri here, and then something that suspiciously looks like a mop of hair, triangle eyebrows, and oh those two bumps are moles right above what atsumu just mapped out as an eye.

(or, atsumu is in kind of in love. sakusa is maybe in like.)

I left a taste in your mouth, by emso (26k. E. bodyguard au)

Because obviously

Sakusa fixes him with a vague expression of something like distaste. There's a scathing edge to his tone when he speaks. "Contrary to what you seem to believe, not everyone who meets you is instantly dying to get into your pants, Miya."

"Lucky I don't really care right now what 'everyone' wants to do, then." Atsumu swivels his mug around on the tabletop a few times, and then brings it to his mouth to drain the last few dregs of his latte. Over the rim of his mug, he adds casually, "Just you."

Whoa hey Bodyguard Omi, I think Spoiled Rich Kid Tsumu might possibly have a teensy crush on you.

How do you know you're in love?, by spiritscript (12k. T. canonverse)

Pure art

“So, how did you know you were in love? How did it feel?” Atsumu felt nervous asking this, a slight wiggling in the pit of his stomach, unable to look at the man beside him who rolled his shoulders in an attempt to reset his posture. “I mean, you didn’t resonate with what I said, so, what is love to you Omi-kun?”

Atsumu thinks he must be in love with Hinata Shouyou and so asks the best person he knows to help him understand his feelings

san'yo expressway, 6:17 pm, by yamabota (13k. T. canonverse)

Of violent forethoughts, and handheld car vacuums.

Atsumu tilts his head to watch a slice of orange light bend over the impassive planes of Sakusa’s face. He is absolutely, ruthlessly beautiful. It makes Atsumu want to punch something—put his foot through the windshield—scream, maybe.

Kiss him again, maybe.

They have 344 kilometers to figure this one out.

Different Kinds of Dysfunctional, by DeathBelle (Series, 5 works. T-E. Canonverse)

Honestly, I think this one is kind of famous amongst Sakuatsu readers but I can’t not include it. If I recall correctly, this is the fic that got me into Sakuastu, so thanks, DeathBelle. The characters are portrayed really well (i.e. Sakusa is disgusted and confused, and Atsumu is a little shit). You’ve got a good balance between conversations and descriptive thoughts and all-in-all it’s just a really good read.

Atsumu said into the heavy silence, “You can’t say you’ve never thought about it.”

"Thought about what?" said Sakusa.

Atsumu smiled to himself, smug. "You know."

"No, I don't."

"You know. Of course you’ve thought about it. There’s no reason to be ashamed, Omi-kun. I’m a real catch.”

Sakusa was appalled. "You're disgusting."

"You flatter me. I'm not judging you. I can't lie and say I haven't thought about it, too."

Sakusa shifted, slowly, to peer over his shoulder. He wasn’t scowling, but his expression was unreadable. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

Atsumu wasn't joking, and he was about to get more than he bargained for.

i'll do anything you say (if you say it with your hands), by liliapocalypse (7k words. T. canonverse):

Oh, god. This one was so cute. Super fluffy. Loved the metaphors and symbolism. Sometimes you just can’t say things out loud.

When a bad injury shocks the whole V. League, Sakusa finds himself paired with Atsumu for more rigorous assisted stretches before every training. Atsumu then finds himself writing random letters on Sakusa’s skin to soothe the spiker, forcing Sakusa to reevaluate how his touch aversion became an irresistible yearning for more, and how the boy with the annoying hair somehow brought that hunger to life.

Or, the fic where Atsumu mindlessly writes a confession on Sakusa’s back when he thought Sakusa wasn't paying attention. Sakusa always did.

mortality is found is the flesh of your sins, by novrik (10k. M. canonverse)

This is literally my favorite fic of all time. Not just of Sakuatsu, not even of the Haikyuu fandom. Ever. Favorite fic ever. Listen, I’m an atheist, but this fic took me on a religious experience that I haven't come down from yet. The symbolism had me actually shivering, and I had to put my phone down quite a few times. Just, oh wow, just read it. I’d like to share my favorite line; ‘And if Sakusa is Eve, if he takes a bite, what then? Perhaps, he is a little afraid of the knowledge he will gain’. My god, author, if you ever see this, this is not only a plea for you to continue writing, but also an offer of marriage. Your hand, author?

dickhead one, sakusa kiyoomi. dickhead two, miya atsumu. neither understand how to communicate.

Pray tell, why are you drawn to him?

Are you drawn to him in the way he looks beautiful even when crying?

When his eyes are red, shiny tears streaking down, lips quivering, is he beautiful?

sakuatsu domesticity simulator, by pseudoanalytics (75 words. T. canonverse)

75 words because it's actually a digital art simulator. An interactive fic! How frickin’ cool is that? The art is so beautiful and I love the plotline and ugh, just everything. Please read, or watch, or click around, yes. Good.

Update: artist created another interactive fic and of course it is wonderful. SunaOsa this time! https://newttxt.itch.io/cheesecake honestly just check out @newttxt their work is amazing and I love everything they do.

a vaguely interactive mixture of fic, art, and html, where you too can experience the inherent romance of a big fat jerk and a too-blunt jerk attempting intimacy

***

(this is the result of letting the sakuatsu brainworms really get to you...)

Pas De Deux, by hatsuna (19k words. T. Ballet/college au)

There's just something about prim, proper ballet Sakusa and human-benign-tumor Atsumu that makes my heart burst. Seriously gorgeous writing style, loved every second. By the same author who wrote ‘liminal spaces’ (which is also just perfect) so that should give you a good idea of the style.

The mystery athlete gives Kiyoomi a once over in the mirror. “Yer pretty tall,” he observes. The twang of an accent rasps low in his throat. His brazen eyes drift to Kiyoomi’s legs, and something like exhilaration glints gold in his gaze. “Good quads, too. Ya ever played volleyball?”

Ah. So it’s volleyball.

“I’m a dancer. Ballet and contemporary, mostly.”

the affective presence of our black and white reruns, by kozumess (19k. E. canonverse)

Beautiful, classic misunderstandings, my heart actually physically ached at that one scene (you’ll know the scene when you come to it). Kiyoomi is so refreshingly relaxed(? Is that the right word to use? We all know Omi never truly relaxes).

but the want, it's always there, constant like the static playing on every television channel, present even when the station disconnects.

cut the conversation, just open your mouth, by meeksoo (E. 16k. canonverse)

Absolutely filthy...BUT WITH FEELINGS! Completely nails the Sakuatsu dynamic, and protective ‘Tsumu? Love it.

Sakusa opens the door. He always does.

They’re teammates first, barely even friends. But they hook up on the regular and it works. It’s simple, easy. But then a fan gets too close, Sakusa reacts, and Atsumu is swept up in how quickly things can get complicated.

As Atsumu palms himself over his briefs, still feeling off, he realizes it’s because he still wants it. Him. Sakusa. Even after already having him earlier.

He should probably feel self-conscious, mildly ashamed even, that he’s panting ‘Omi Omi’ into the dark beneath the steady thrum of the AC unit when Sakusa’s right down the hall, probably good for it if Atsumu ended up back at his door. Instead, he lays there, writhing and sweaty, alone in his hotel room bed thinking about Sakusa and touching himself.

Afterward, as cum begins to cool on his chest, Atsumu really can’t help but face the fact that things may be getting complicated.

the hands that beckon me to come, by Ellieb3an (4k. E. canonverse)

So hot, what the fuck!

The toss, the run, the spike-serve at the end of it all—Sakusa sees it happen in perfect clarity as if time has slowed and his vision narrows to the center where just Miya exists, all powerful muscle and extraordinary skill and that air of confidence.

Sakusa isn’t one of the best receivers in the league for no reason, so his body moves on muscle memory, forearms absorbing the sting of the hit. It’s not enough. But his eyes are still on Miya—on the way his shorts ride up his muscular thighs as he lands, on the bead of sweat dripping down his forehead, on the clench of his fist thrust into the air—when the ball ricochets out of bounds.

***

Atsumu stays late at practices to work on his new third serve, even when his frustration with it starts throwing off the rest of his game. Sakusa notices and starts hanging back to secretly watch him from the gym doors. He’s fascinated with Atsumu's determination... and more than a little turned on by it, too.

you're the flame i use (when it gets dark), by starkartifices (55k. M. canonverse. Ongoing)

Everything is the same except the Sakusas are super rich.

“Oh, if you want dear, you could bring a plus one. Though, I doubt you have a partner yet.”

“I do actually.”

“What was that, dear?”

"I do have a partner, I mean."

alt title: crazy rich sakusas

the inherent romance of classical conditioning (or; the fine art of emotional recognition), by pseudoanalytics (13k. E. canonverse)

Ah, yes. A Pavloved sex life. A Pavloved LOVE life??

It's stupid. Atsumu isn't a romantic, no matter how many times he's imagined laying Sakusa out and finally really touching him.

So there's no explanation for why Atsumu is constantly stuck thinking about brushing his fingertips against the meat of Sakusa's palms or the prominent tendons in his freaky wrists.

There's no explanation for why doing dishes sets off a warm burn in his ribcage, or why when he smells disinfectant he inhales like he's walking past a bakery.

Yer doin' this to me, he thinks furiously, as Sakusa derails his thoughts with kisses that come more and more frequently now. Yer conditionin' me, and I can't stop it.

flutterbird (a collection of sakuatsu oneshots), by wordstruck (5 works. T-E. canonverse)

Works 1-3, I think follow a linear story, whereas the last two don't.

All sakuatsu works are just the angstiest, most miscommunication filled pieces of absolute gold and this one is no exception. Wow. These men are assholes and they bring out the worst in each other, but I’ll be damned if they’re not soulmates.

Collection of SakuAtsu fics. Several fics are loosely set in the same storyverse. Not necessarily directly connected and can all be read as standalones.

#haikyuu!!#sakuatsu #haikyuu fic #haikyuu fic rec #sakusa kiyoomi #atsumu miya

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cl-01-kestis · 4 years ago

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Shut Me Up - Jerome Valeska x Female Reader | Part 4

Summary: You hold up your end of the bargain and meet Jerome at the docks on the outskirts of the city, seeing him for who he really is.

Warnings: Sexual themes

The time had finally come for you to meet Jerome.

After waiting a long 24 hours for the meeting to come up, you had been sick with anxiety the whole time. You managed to sneak out without Alfred or Bruce knowing and grabbed a Taxi to arrive at the docks just in time for midnight.

It was cold out on the docks as you wandered through the halls made up of large storage crates and came upon the edge of the dock where a black Mercedes awaited, its engine still on but no one in the car. Your eyes drifted to the figure sitting down on the ground, back leaning on the tire of the car.

Jerome.

You swallowed your pride and wrapped your jacket tighter around your body, shivering with not only the cold but the nerves coursing through your body. You kept your eyes on him as he looked up when your footstep was a bit too loud, eyes searching and immediately landing on you. A twinkle was in his eye as a pleased grin spread out on his face, standing up and dusting himself off before stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets and leaning against the car. He was waiting for you to approach him, eyes looking you up and down like a predator when you decided to inch closer and closer to him.

You looked out onto the waters surface, inhaling the salty sea air and feeling your hair blow in the wind softly before you returned your gaze to Jerome.

“I hoped it would be a little warmer” Was the first thing you said, teeth chattering and eyes focused on him as he managed a small chuckle.

“Not much warmth in Gotham, gorgeous” His voice was so much nicer in person than you remembered, maybe it was because this time you actually wanted to hear it. It sounded as comforting as the first time you spoke to him, only now you weren’t as smitten with him, or at least you tried not to be.

You weren’t sure where to start speaking when you got close enough to him, your bodies inches away but still far enough for you to turn on your foot and run away. Jerome unfolded one of his arms and reached up to cup your cheek, the pale moonlight lighting up the left side of his face as his eyes gleamed down at yours. He didn’t squeeze or grab it, he just touched it like it were a piece of glass. His hands were oddly warm, contrasting against the ice of your skin and causing you to unconsciously lean towards it. There was a silent conversation going on between the both of you, your eyes doing all the talking as Jerome drifted his gaze to your lips but quickly back up to your eyes.

“I’m glad you could meet me” He said, no longer sounding like the maniac you were used to on the phone the day before. He sounded so genuine, his tone so soft and delicate as if he were speaking to a baby. You tried not let him get to you but most of you wanted to dive into this feeling you were experiencing and never return to the surface.

“Like I said, I wanted to see you, not separated by a wall of glass or in the company or others like the times before” Your voice was weak but enough for Jerome to hear, his fingers trailed on your cheek some more and he kept his hand there for the time being, but you didn’t mind.

Humming, Jerome brushed the hair away from your shoulder and let his finger trail a pathway down the side of your neck. You shivered in response, the ticklish feeling of his fingertip against your skin leaving scars that only you could see, scars that proved he was here and he was touching you. You closed your eyes momentarily, sighing to yourself before feeling Jerome’s fingers lift your chin up to meet his gaze once more.

“You’re the only person around here that makes me feel a little sane... it’s... weird” Jerome frowned but he didn’t look frustrated nor angry, he seemed a little confused. Your heart jumped at his words, eyes widening only slightly as you took a step closer to him so you were now inches apart.

“Is that a good thing?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, mingled in with the wind that brushed past the both of you. You were so close to Jerome you could feel his body heat, warming you up and making you feel less and less frightened the more seconds that went by.

“Good or bad, it’s nice” He mumbled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before taking out his other hand and wrapping it around your waist.

“Glad i can provide” You smiled, placing your hands on his chest and leaning on him when you got close enough, your head coming down to rest on his chest as his arms held you close.

This felt so surreal, you were expecting to wake up in the comforts of your room back at the Wayne manor and realise this was all some weird dream. But it wasn’t, you’d been pinching yourself the way down to the docks and realised this was actually happening. You weren’t sure if you should be this close to Jerome, at this point he was close to kissing you and that was more than dangerous. You remembered your dad and Leslie and how they felt when they realised Jerome was out, they feared for your safety but here you were in the arms of a man you not only felt intrigued by, but also loved. Jerome may not have been the petrified boy you met all those weeks ago, but right now he wasn’t that maniac the news made him out to be. If anything you felt that he was a little misunderstood, his mother constantly abused him and he didn’t have a father growing up, so of course he was dysfunctional. Out of all the things you were relieved to be about, it was the fact you made him feel sane, even if it was just the smallest bit. Anything counted at this point.

Leaning back from Jerome’s chest, you looked at him and cupped his face, unable to stop yourself as you pressed your lips against his as soft as you could. Jerome froze in his spot and his grip on your waist tightened, his fingers gripping onto the material of your jacket. His lips were so warm against yours, moving at a pace that the both of you were comfortable with the deeper the kiss got. You wrapped your arms around Jerome’s neck and brought him closer, opening your mouth to grant him access to taking things a step further. He made a small noise, sounding like a whimper, before slipping his tongue in your mouth and switching positions so you were pinned against the car.

Even though he showed dominance, he was still very gentle with you and removed his arms from your waist, taking yours from his neck and pinning time to the car with little to no force. You relaxed as the kiss progressed and soon you found yourself wanting more. You knew this was at the point of no return, you’d gotten too far to turn around and walk out. For the first time in your life you were experiencing emotions, but not in their purest form. Jerome made you feel like your heart was about to stop 24/7, he kept you hot on your toes and plagued your mind ever since the two of you met. You were utterly fascinated by him, killer or not.

You grabbed onto the handle of the backseat of the car and opened it, alerting Jerome and causing him to pull away from your lips. He looked at the opened car door and back to you, raising a brow before smiling at you with some kind of wicked undertone.

“Are you sure you want to go that far? We only just met...” Jerome said in a joking tone, toying with the hem of your T-shirt whilst pressing a teasing kiss on your cheek. You chuckled, shrugging to yourself before opening up the door wide and getting inside.

“I’m just a little cold” You whispered, sitting at the other side of the car and curling your legs up to your chest to provide some heat. You weren’t wrong, it was bitterly chilly on the docks and Jerome could understand why you were cold, compared to him who somehow wasn’t cold at all. The car was warm, the engine was on and you rubbed your hands together to get more heat. Getting comfortable beside you, Jerome took your hands in his and stretched his sleeves out a bit so he could hide your hands in the sleeves with his. You looked up at him with a shy smile and shuffles closer to him, your head touching and lips inches away. Jerome stole a kiss from you unexpectedly but you done the same to him, fighting back a giggle as he grinned at you with sincerity.

“You can hug me if you’re still cold, I can hide you in my jacket” He smirked teasingly, but you rolled your eyes and nodded your head at his suggestion. Jerome stretched out his jacket and you wrapped your arms around his waist, leaning back against the car seat with him and resting your cheek on his shoulder. Jerome moved one arm around your shoulder, the other one still holding yours to try and warm them up. There was a soothing silence between you in the car, the radio was turned on but at a very low volume so you could vaguely hear the voices of news reporters or the music channels.

“You wanna get up to something?” Jerome asked suddenly, causing you to lift your head from his shoulder and turn to look at him with a lifted brow.

“Like what?” You tilted your head to the side.

“Oh, I dunno... I got a few ideas up my sleeve to warm you up?” Jerome bit his lip to stop himself from smirking but you knew what he was getting at. You smiled, a deep blush devouring your face as you reached a hand up to cup Jerome’s face, your palm against his sharp jaw and feeling it clench underneath your touch.

“What do you have in mind?” You whispered, looking at him with intrigue and feeling your pulse pick up when he placed a hand on your thigh and captured your lips with his. You kissed him back immediately and moved your hand from his face to his hair, tangling your fingers in his fiery locks and tugging on them gently the deeper the kiss got.

“I think you know” Jerome mumbled after biting your lip, his breath hot on your lips and eyes darkening with desire. You nodded once, pulling on his hair harder than before and earning a low grunt from him as he frowned.

“Watch it doll, if you keep that behaviour up I won’t play nice” The red head warned you with a glare, his chest rising up and down at a fairly quick pace due to how close you were to him.

“Make me” You challenged, tugging on his hair once more and smirking to yourself. In a complete flash, Jerome grabbed you and dragged you down on the car seat, your wrists held by one of his hands above your head whereas the other wrapped itself around your throat, not tight but enough to scare you.

“Anything else to say?” Jerome looked down at you with an intimidating expression, but you didn’t flinch. Smiling, you struggled against his hands that beld your wrists and let out a small noise as his hand tightened around your neck.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re really sexy?” You flattered him, your voice breathless as you tried not to blush so much, your face felt like it was on fire. Jerome blinked with wide eyes but soon a smile spread over his face, and not the crazy kind.

“Likewise doll, now lets get you warmed up” Was the last thing Jerome said beside diving down and biting your neck.

You didn’t know what time it was, the sky was still dark but you could barely see anything outside due to the steamy windows of the car. It smelled of sweat and musk, the temperature inside was boiling and you were more than warmed up. You lay on the car seat, same position as before, with no top or bra on. Your hair was all over the place, some strands even stuck to your face with sweat.

Jerome was sitting up, your legs draped over his lap as he trailed small patterns onto your skin to try and calm you down and hopefully steady your breathing. You stared at the car ceiling with droopy, half shut eyes, unable to focus on anything but the feeling of exhaustion. You were going to sleep well when you got back to the Wayne Manor, that’s for sure.

“Feeling alright, doll?” Jerome asked, sounding a bit out of breath as he reached a hand up to touch the skin of your tummy. You sensed at the unexpected interaction but calmed down when you realised he was just stroking your skin to calm you down.

“Yeah, just... really worn out” You chuckled, wiping the sweat from your forehead and placing your hand ontop of Jerome’s. The red head looked at you for a second with a small smile on his face, like he was in deep thought about you. You didn’t comment and instead tried sitting up, fighting the numbness of your legs and groaning as you shifted your back against the car door.

“I have to get back before everyone wakes up” You whined, grabbing your bra from the car floor and clumsily slipping it over your arms and clipping it behind your back carelessly. Jerome nodded his head, watching you adjust your chest into your bra and grinning to himself as he picked up his shirt, sliding into it and buttoning it up halfway before looking back to you and seeing that you too had put your shirt on. You looked a mess, hair all over the place and eyes glassy from the activities that occurred moments before. Your lips were swollen due to the kisses he gave you, and your torso was covered in hickey’s and even teeth marks. You had a noticeable one on your neck that wasn’t covered by your shirt but right now you didn’t care.

“Just so you know,” Jerome spoke up but not too loud just in case he scared you. He ran a hand through his red locks and sent a smile your way.

“I don’t want this to be a one time thing” He continued, his gaze shifting away from yours as if he was embarrassed about confessing it, but you quickly shuffled over beside him and flung an arm around his shoulder.

“I’m not going anywhere, but do me a favour and try not to get into too much trouble? My dads frantic about catching you and I don’t want you dead or arrested” You brushed the hair away from his face and pressed a kiss on the top of his head.

“Can’t promise anything” Jerome winked, adjusting his shirt before opening up his car door to let some cold air in. Startled by the bitter ice cold weather from outside, you put on your jacket and held it close to you.

“Fine, just don’t let my dad catch you” You sent him a playful look made him roll his eyes and wave off your comment. Giggling, you made your way out of the car very carefully and made sure not to fall over. Your legs almost gave in at first and if it wasn’t for Jerome’s arm supporting you, you would’ve fallen over.

“You sure you don’t want me to drive home?” He raised a brow, looking out at the sky and seeing the suns light peek up but there was no sight of the massive yellow glowing ball in the sky just yet. You still had time.

“It’s fine, I’ll catch a cab” You shook your head, raising a hand up to dismiss his offer but he didn’t seem pleased. Even so, he respected your choice and wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you close to him.

“When will i next see you?” He asked curiously, his blue eyes twinkling even though the moon wasn’t visible from where you were on the docks. You leaned close to touch your nose with his and sighed.

“I have no idea, I’m under loads of supervision so it’ll be tricky finding another time” You pursed your lips but Jerome didn’t seem to be disappointed. He leaned up and kissed your head, his hands gripping loosely at your shoulders.

“That’s okay, I’m sure my girlfriend has her priorities” He replied.

“Girlfriend?” You raised a brow.

“Yes, I mean, if that’s what you want” Jerome shrugged, his face inches away from yours but you could perfectly see the smile on his face.

“Fine by me” You giggled, leaning forward and kissing him passionately. Eventually, you had to bid farewell to him and watched him drive off back the way he came on the docks, his car light disappearing into the darkness and leaving you alone to look out at the surface of the water.

You didn’t return to the Wayne Manor until 3 hours later.

#gotham tv show #gotham #jerome valeska #jerome valeska x reader #dc comcis

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wri0thesley · 4 years ago

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Tight - Prosciutto x Fem! Reader (Kinktober Day #5: Corset)

NSFW. 18+ ONLY. AFAB reader, fem pronouns. Breathplay via a corset and tight-lacing. 4.5k.

Prosciutto likes the classics. You surprise him one evening by going classic-style.

Your boyfriend is the kind of man who likes the classic things in life. The furniture in his apartment is antique (some of it, you gather, is heirloom furniture from a family that considers buying declasse - Prosciutto tells you, with a curl in his lip, that his parents think that it’s a horrible shame if a person doesn’t have furniture they stand to inherit). His drinks cupboard is well-stocked with old scotch and cognac and whiskeys, all of which he can tell you the full pedigree of - he drinks those, too, from cut glass in all shapes and sizes that he also inherited. His clothes are impeccably cut, carefully pressed - he has a tailor who calls out to him by name and greets him with a smile.

His cigarettes are expensive. He has a gramophone that sits in the corner of the living room, that he asks you often to put an old record in and simply closes his eyes, beckoning you to come sit on his lap. You teasingly call him ‘old man’, and tug at the ascot about his neck and he smiles a lazy, crooked smile at you that sends butterflies careening into each other in the pit of your stomach.

“Perhaps,” he says, that smile on his face. “But with all of this around me, and you by my side . . . can you blame me for wanting to enjoy it, amore?”

You can’t. You also can’t fault him for wanting to unwind at home - though you are not privy to what goes on whilst he’s at work (“For your own good, innamorata,” he sighs, kissing your forehead, as you pointedly do not stare at a bloodstain on his lapel), you know that Prosciutto is tangled in shady business, as were the family he inherited so many expensive antiques from. It runs in his blood, you think - and you see that in him, sometimes, when someone cuts in front of him in a line or drives recklessly or hits on you when he’s beside you. You see how his icy blue eyes harden and his jaw sets, his face frighteningly severe - and every time, you press yourself closer against him, grounding him, and he softens. He tries to leave his ice at work - for you, he’s all fire.

You live a domestic life, together - as domestic as a life can be with someone like him. You take turns cooking dinner and doing the housework - you good-naturedly argue about where the best restaurant in town is (Prosciutto’s presence is always enough to get you a good table). You budget together, continuously surprised by how good he is at finding deals and bargains for a man with such excessive and expensive taste. You sit beside him on your slightly threadbare sofa - it needs to be taken to an upholsterer, but the last one hadn’t wanted to touch something made so long ago - and watch Prosciutto’s favourite old films together.

It’s the films that give you the idea, really.

Prosciutto’s eyes watch the women on screen with their perfectly coiffed hair and their neat dark lipstick, their waists impossibly small. He likes old-fashioned musicals in technicolour with swinging skirts and petticoats and neat blouses and cardigans - but he also likes gritty film noirs, femme fatales in lingerie and feather-trimmed robes, seamed stockings visible beneath skirts that cling tight to a perfect hourglass. You poke at him, teasing him for it - and he shrugs, unconcerned.

“People knew how to dress then,” he tells you. He doesn’t say that he doesn’t like how you already dress - he knows what practicality is, after all. But it’s his eyes as he watches those silver screen sirens that really make you think that, just once, you’d like to surprise him. And it’s that thought which leads you to do a little covert shopping without him.

You’re meticulous in your planning. You always are - it’s one of the things that Prosciutto loves about you. You plan. His life is so chaotic, that it’s pleasant for him to have one constant he can count on - and you are only too happy to be his. You make sure it’s on a day that he should be home from work fairly early (he does not tell you exactly what he does, of course, but you pick up from his questions and queries and vague remarks about what you’re having for dinner the nights that he won’t come home until dawn). You lay out everything you have on your shared bed, watch videos about things you don’t know how to put on, painstakingly check sizing and shade matching. You want everything to be absolutely perfect for Prosciutto.

Your boyfriend has an eye for detail, and though you know he won’t actually complain if the hue of your underwear doesn’t match, you want him to see you as a perfectly finished full experience.

You’re enjoying seeing it all laid out like this, too.

It’s supposed to be Prosciutto’s turn to cook dinner - that’s one of the reasons that you’d known he’d definitely be coming home tonight. When Prosciutto cooks, you generally have your meals later in the evening - thankfully, his favourite dish takes time to prepare, and as you gently step out of your clothes and look at the outfit laid out on the bed, the oven is doing its merry work.

You allow yourself to be slow putting it on, knowing that you have ample time - you’d needed ample time, as you battled into the garter belt and stockings. How did people do this every day, you wonder, as yet another one of the little buckles unclipped itself from the back of the thin nylon and you twisted your body into an unnatural position to fix it.

Once it is properly on, you have another little fuss as you ensure that the back-seams of the stockings line up neatly. Prosciutto might not care, you think, but he’ll appreciate it even more if not a single hair is out of place. There. You do up the bra, the shape of it a little rounder than you’re used to - overwire seems to have been more popular, and the overall effect changes your figure dramatically.

But not as dramatically as the last part of your underpinnings. You pick up the corset with trembling hands. The helpful young woman in the shop who had fitted it for you had shown you how to put it on, showing you which of the laces to pull to ensure that it tightened in the right place, how to pull them around to your front so that you could do your own lacing up. She’d told you how to always do up the busk in order, from bottom to top or top to bottom (never start with a middle catch) - she’d told you to make sure that the gap at the back ran perfectly parallel.

You don’t feel like you manage to get it quite as tight as she did when she did up the garment for you, but as you tie the laces up and look at the full effect in the mirror, you still feel amazed by just how different you look. It’s not merely the newer, smaller waist you’re sporting - but also how it makes your hips seem more dramatic, the other curves of your body - how it straightens your spine, improving your posture, making you look prouder and more present.

You can’t help but run your fingers over it, amazed at how different you both look and feel. You’d worried it would feel tight like a vice, like all of the uncomfortable corset stories you hear people mention when they talk about the Victorians (about displaced organs and fainting) - but, although it is tight against your skin, it’s not uncomfortable. It’s more like the feeling of being tightly held by a lover than it is your ribcage and organs being squeezed beyond repair.

The dress you bought is black, because it seemed simpler and classier than choosing a hue that Prosciutto might not like as much - a simple v-neck with three quarter sleeves and a full skirt made of a light stretch fabric, that fitted you well when you’d tried it on without the underpinnings but looks even better with everything else.

The makeup, carefully - red lipstick, winged eyeliner. The hair, brushed out, gently pinned into place. The small amount of jewellery - a rope of pearls that Prosciutto had given you.

There. That’s everything.

You almost don’t recognise yourself in the mirror this time - you feel . . . transformed. Like you’ve stepped right out of the scenes in one of the movies you and Prosciutto spend lazy evenings watching. You hope that he appreciates it - as you leave the bedroom, a little anxiety begins to make itself present low in your stomach that perhaps you have misread him entirely and he’ll hate it. But you have spent too long getting this surprise ready, now. There’s no time to grow nervous - you have to be like Prosciutto himself. Stern, exacting, determined in what you decide to do.

Besides, if you take the corset off now, dinner will burn.

Prosciutto swallows as he looks at you, the bob in his throat evident even below the ascot. His blue eyes take you in, crawling down the length of you as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

“Welcome home,” you say to him, a little breathless. “Dinner’s on the table.”

“Dinner’s right in front of me,” he says, his tone dark. You repress a shiver at the possessiveness in his tone - you needn’t have worried. It’s very obvious from the way he’s staring at you that he likes his surprise very much, and the hunger that he shows in just his expression and his voice already has you squirming to press your thighs together. “But if you really want me to eat the food first . . .”

You pout a little, for show.

“I’ve spent all evening preparing for you,” you say, biting your lip. One of your hands comes up to play with the rope of pearls about your throat, Prosciutto watching you with all of the intensity of a hungry wolf watching a rabbit. “You’re not going to enjoy it and make me feel like a perfect little housewife?”

“You’re perfect for more than that, amore,” he says, but he still steps inside, peeling off his jacket and hanging it on one of the coat hooks.

His eyes do not leave you for a moment as you dish up - as your hips wiggle, just a little, when you bend to pick things up and move them around. As you pour his drink for him. Prosciutto is never shy about how much he watches you, how much he wants you - but this is even more than that, and it makes you feel heady and breathless with need. And the fact is, too, that you feel incredibly desirable dressed like this for him, and you wonder if he sees your proud head and your squared shoulders and the confidence makes him want you more.

The dinner is torture. The two of you are both clearly distracted - and although the food is cooked well enough (perhaps a little overdone, you think, admitting to yourself you spent quite a lot of time in front of the mirror just admiring the change in yourself), it is obvious that the both of you are hungry for other things. When you take the dishes away and leave them in the kitchen sink to soak, Prosciutto is behind you in moments, arms wrapping about your waist.

“That can wait,” he breathes against the shell of your ear, and you feel your body clench and throb in desire for him. “I think right now, the bedroom is a more suitable place for you to be.”

You are hardly going to complain. You don’t complain, either, about how when his hands slide off you, he palms at your body, feeling the shape of you beneath the dress’ fabric. You are breathless ascending the stairs to the bedroom, and you do not think it is entirely because of the corset.

He kisses you, hungrily, as the door to the bedroom closes behind you both - teeth digging into your bottom lip, uncaring of how it will mess your lipstick. His other hand comes to tangle in your hair, pulling out the carefully arranged pins - you’d been expecting that. Prosciutto loves making a mess of you. In return, you untie his ascot and toss it to one side, fingers running down his shirt to pull at the buttons.

He growls against you, pressing you bodily against the door so that the handle bites into your spine. You gasp at the feel of him grasping the zip of your dress and tugging, and his full lips curl into a smile.

“Step out of it, cara,” he says. “Let me look at you, after you got dressed up all pretty for me.”

You do. Shrugging out of the sleeves, you let the fabric pool around your feet, stepping out of it still in your neat heels. Prosciutto’s gaze lingers over the shape of you, drinking you in - throat bobbing once more at the corset and stockings and garter belt.

“D-do you like it?” You ask him, a little shyly. He raises his eyebrows in surprise - he grabs hold of one of your hands and guides it to his crotch, pressing it against the expensive fabric - his cock presses hot and heavy there, practically pulsing beneath even the lightest graze of your skin.

“I love it, tesoro,” he says. “You couldn’t guess?”

“I guess it’s nice to get some affirmation in words,” you say. Prosciutto smiles at you again, a smile that makes your knees feel like they are about to go from beneath you.

“I could talk about you all day,” he tells you. “But first . . .” He crooks a finger, moving across the room until he’s stood by the mirror. “Come here.”

You follow him, standing in front as he directs. His hands come to rest on the curve of your hips, tracing the lines of your body, hot. They send trails of fire wherever he touches, even through the fabric of what you’re wearing. Your heart almost skips a beat at how they look on your waist - and he growls low at that, too.

“You look very nice,” he breathes into the shell of your ear, sending gooseflesh all down your neck and shoulders. “But I think this could be laced a little tighter if you had some help, hmm?” Deft hands undo the knot, taking hold of the laces in either fist. “I’m sure it can’t be all that easy alone . . . but I might be able to assist.”

He tugs slightly, and the corset constricts a little more. You breathe in, surprised - and Prosciutto chuckles.

“I think,” he murmurs, “I’d like it on you if it were a little too tight.”

Prosciutto dominates in the bedroom, and you’re only too happy to let him - there’s a subtle shift in his tone as he speaks that remind you that he’s in charge, and you swallow the sudden lump of need in your throat. Prosciutto’s cock, clothed but prominent, pokes you in the small of your back as he says;

“Tell me when it’s too much.”

“Okay.” Your voice shakes only a little, and you see Prosciutto smirk in the mirror as he steps back and tugs again, this time for longer. The corset squeezes you about the waist, the hug getting tighter and tighter.

Prosciutto gets another few inches of compression, easy, winning little gasps from you until you say, breathlessly--

“I don’t think I can take any more.”

The voice comes from higher than it usually does, your body not quite able to echo in the same places that you’ve grown familiar with. You’re still perfectly able to breathe, but you find yourself unable to take a deep, shuddering breath of the kind that you’d like to when Prosciutto’s hands dip between your thighs, caressing the skin that’s touchable between the garters.

“You put this on last, didn’t you?” He purrs into your ear, his clever fingers sliding over your closed slit. “You’re so good to me.”

You had, after having read that if you put underwear on last, it was simpler for your lover to fuck you with the stockings and garter belt and all the other accoutrements still taut against your body. You hadn’t wanted to get dressed up for Prosciutto only for him to immediately rip it all off of you - your boyfriend, you knew, would appreciate the show of you coming apart underneath him still in your neatly turned out costume.

You hadn’t bargained on just how the corset would enhance your other senses. You hadn’t realised that, with that pressure at your waist, his fingers on your thighs would feel so all-consuming. That when your body clenched around nothing, you’d feel even needier for touches than usual - that every brush of his lips over your collarbone would feel like his mouth were on fire.

“Come on,” Prosciutto says, tugging on your arm. You allow yourself to be manipulated by him, your head swimming with need the more he touches you, your breath coming in short little pants. You let him push you softly onto the bed on your front, as he helps you get into position on your hands and knees.

You feel dizzy like this, worrying all of the blood will be rushing to your head and that you’ll pass out - but then Prosciutto is moving pillows, putting them beneath your head, getting you as comfortable as you can be.

“Not that I don’t like you on your front, amore,” he says, as you feel his hands grip your hip, sliding up to your waist and then down again so that they brush over your ass - almost bare, aside from the garters that stretch down to keep your stockings taut. “But taking hold of your waist in this position . . . Mm, you’re shaped like a heart like this, you know.”

Fingers slide up your inner thighs, making you jump and whimper, your body bucking backwards in search of more of his fingers. He makes a chastising noise, clicking his tongue.

“All in good time,” he says to you.

The silk pillow feels cool against your hot cheek, and you try and concentrate on that as Prosciutto takes his sweet time. Every brush of his slacks against the back of your thighs or touch of his fingers and hands makes you feel like you’re about to pass out - and he can tell, you know he can. You know he must see the tremble in your body and hear the soft sighs and pants falling from your mouth, as fingers glide over your slick folds but don’t go further than that. He’s enjoying seeing you lose yourself.

You’re not enjoying being denied.

“I’m enjoying my surprise,” he tells you, and you can sense the smirk in his voice as his thumbs spread open your sex and you feel cool air on your heated skin. “You’re enjoying my enjoyment too, aren’t you?”

“I want you to touch me,” you mumble, half-dazed from the position you’re in and the lack of air that you’re getting. “Prosciutto . . .”

You know you’re whining, and so does he.

“I am touching you,” he says, his tone calm. A thumb slides up the slit, between the plumpness of your lips - and you whimper again as he brushes your clit, uselessly rocking your hips backwards. “Is it not good enough?”

“Please,” you say, a little desperately, as he shifts on the bed and you hear his zipper. Hope flares in your heart - and then, the heat of his cock, slick with his precome, is against your thigh, smearing wetness there.

“You’re cute when you beg,” he tells you. You moan uselessly, as he moves again - this time, he presses the head of his cock between the lips of your sex, and you feel yourself tense in preparation for the feeling of him pushing it inside you. Oh, you can’t wait to feel filled up by him - you know how deep he’ll go when you’re in this position from past nights spent in bed together, and you know that the tightness of the corset will just enhance how good he feels inside you--

He doesn’t fuck into you. His hips move, but they don’t sink into the hot confines of your heat - instead, he rocks his hips forward with a silky glide, and the head bumps at your swollen clit, making you moan aloud again, the sound breaking in the air. You feel pathetic with how much you want him.

“I could fuck you like this,” he muses, pulling his hips back and rutting against your folds again, using the slickness of your thighs and labia lips like a cocksleeve. “It feels good - and you look so pretty, amore.” You moan out his name, frustrated, and you win a chuckle that’s like dark velvet. “And if I’m perfectly honest, principessa - knowing how badly you want me inside you makes me want to deny you even longer.”

A hand trails up your thighs, round the curve of your ass and hip, to cling to your waist. You fit in his grip well, fingers pressing against the spiral steel boning. He squeezes, and it makes the corset feel like it squeezes you a little tighter too, a choked moan falling past your lips as his cockhead brushes your clit again.

“D-don’t you want to hold onto my waist and fuck me into next week more, though?” You manage. Every word feels like a challenge, past the way the corset clings to the lines of your body and the way that Prosciutto’s cock makes you struggle to think of anything but the pleasure that’s being dangled in front of you.

Prosciutto laughs. Another hand comes up to hold the other side of your waist. You feel small in his grip - you haven’t always felt like that, but it’s amazing what a tightly laced corset and a cloudy mind and the haze of lusty need can do to one.

“Alright,” he breathes into your ear, the head of his cock catching against your entrance. “You’ve got me there.”

Your brain entirely whites out as Prosciutto’s cock begins to stretch you out, filling you up inexorably, pinning you to the bed beneath him. You realise the groan of enjoyment you let out is not at all befitting to the pretty, demure fifties housewife you’re pretending to be - but then again, you’ve never watched a movie where one of their handsome husbands fucks them into the mattress in their corset so deeply that their toes curl, so perhaps they do make those noises and you’ve just never heard them.

He goes impossible deep like this, making you feel like he’s never going to bottom out - but bottom out he does, your entire lower body singing out in need, your breath coming in pants and gasps.

“Good,” he coos, “you’re taking me so well, principessa - how do I feel?”

You can’t do words right now. Instead, you moan brokenly, dragging your hips forward, begging him to begin vigorously fucking you instead of just leaving his cock sheathed inside of you. This gets a hiss from him, the tightening of his hands on your hips - but it also drives him into action, and as he pulls out and drives his cock straight back into the silky clutches of your sex, you see stars.

He groans at how easily you take him, how your hips snap back into his, how you feel in his grip - and there’s nothing in the room for minutes but the slap of his thighs and hips against yours, the plunging wetness of his cock inside you, your broken moans and gasps. The shortness of breath that the corset is causing makes every stroke seem that much more frenetic, every press of his body against yours like electrical impulses firing in your brain. You’re helpless to do anything but rock, moaning and whimpering--

And your facilities are not much improved by one of Prosciutto’s hands sliding about your waist, fingers between you and the bedsheets, finding your clit to gently rub at it in firm little circles.

It’s too much.

Not being able to breathe properly, the sensitivity of your skin, the way that Prosciutto seems to be looming over you in every sense of the word - the pressure about your middle, and now the calloused finger coaxing your walls to pulse and flutter around Prosciutto’s cock. Your vision blurs, fingers tightening in the fabric beneath them, thighs trembling as you try and push your orgasm away lest you pass out completely - but it is impossible.

All at once, the orgasm hits, your walls pulsing wildly about Prosciutto’s cock, sucking him in deeper and tighter than you think he’s ever been. Prosciutto himself lets out a strangled groan, surprised by how sudden and intensely your peak has hit you - the feel of your walls hugging him so tightly must push him over the edge, too, because his cock twitches wildly inside you and you feel the surprising rush of hot come paint your inner walls with his seed.

He does not still his hips as he pumps out his last few drops, and it helps ease you over your orgasm - your vision flashes, your chest tight, breath seeming to become all stuck in your throat instead of in the air as the force of your body’s response hits you, white noise licking at your consciousness. Before, orgasms have felt like tides against a sandy shore, coming up and covering your body - this one is lightning flashes, overwhelming, leaving you gasping brokenly as aftershocks still leave you reeling.

The fingers on your waist move, and you feel a pressure ease, Prosciutto pulling out of your dripping sex at the same time as he loosens the corset and you’re able to take a great gulping breath of air, collapsing entirely in a mess on the bed, uncaring of how Prosciutto’s come and your own slick are sliding down your thighs.

Feather lights kisses down your spine, as the fabric is lifted away from you and your back is bare for Prosciutto’s kisses. You know that there must be marks from the corset marring your skin, and Prosciutto kisses every place you think they must be, his body hot and hard and comforting.

Heat settles beside you, arms drawing you into an embrace that you tiredly accept. The brutal pace of the fucking and the days of preparation leading up to today catch up to you, your eyelids sagging.

“Did you like it?” You mumble, sleepily, into the crook of your boyfriend’s arm. Prosciutto makes a little noise, dispelling a puff of air that might be a laugh.

“I’d like you in anything,” he says to you, dropping a kiss on the top of your head. “But yes . . . yes, I liked it.” His eyes look at where the corset lays discarded, unlaced on the bed after he’d loosened it for you. “It was expensive, hmm? I’ve seen the prices of that kind of thing.”

You stifle a yawn.

“Yeah,” you say, snuggling into him. “Kinda. I know you hate to waste money. I think I should wear it again.”

Prosciutto chuckles.

“You took the words out of my mouth. Yes,” he murmurs. “I think so too.”

#not sfw #writing #this is PURE self indulgence but i couldnt resist #prosciutto #afab reader #fem pronouns #corsets #breathplay for ts #jjba #kinktober collection

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hookingminor · 4 years ago

Note

Could you do “we team up for the couples contest every year as friends but this year you’re with someone else and i’m definitely Not Jealous and definitely Not Realising Feelings” with Tyson Jost?? ☺️

For the last three years you and Tyson had teamed up to win the annual costume contest that Gabe and Mel always threw. The first year you were very cliche, going as Sandy and Danny from Grease. And honestly, it was so simple you probably shouldn’t have won the contest but your costumes were so well thought out that you did win and ever since then Tyson said he needed you every year because you were a good luck charm.

The next year you’d gone as an alien and astronaut, and your makeup effects had definitely been the reason you won.

Last year you’d pulled out all the stops and gone as Beetlejuice and Lydia, and no one had even come close to the intricacy of your costumes.

This year, however, you had brought a date. It wasn’t a secret to anyone that you were casually seeing someone, but it was a shock when you decided to bring him instead of teaming up with Tyson again.

So, Tyson found himself having to watch you parade around with your date all night dressed as Morticia and Gomez Addams.

He didn’t know why it bothered him.

Maybe it was the fact that he was dressed as a dumb cowboy with no cowgirl by his side, or maybe it was the fact you were wearing a tight dress with a deep plunge and your date’s hand was perpetually rested just above your ass.

“Maybe you should challenge him to a duel,” JT spoke up suddenly, and Tyson snapped his attention back to his friend.

“What?” He asked in confusion.

“Whoever Y/N came with,” JT shrugged, “You’ve been glaring at them all night.”

“What?” Tyson repeated, shaking his head, “No, I haven’t.”

“You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said because you’re too busy strangling that guy in your head,” JT explained as he took another sip of his drink.

Tyson’s gaze flickered back to where you stood with your date, deep in conversation with Nate and his date. He watched as you laughed at whatever Nate’s date said, and he felt the betrayal hit him like a ton of bricks when he saw Nate grab your date’s arm in a light-hearted manner as they joked about something.

Realistically, Tyson knew he had no right to be jealous. You two were just friends and there was never anything more to your relationship.

Or so he thought until now.

He knew the feeling was jealousy. There was no other explanation to why his heart clenched when he saw you laughing with your date or the way his stomach did flips when you glanced at him across the room and gave him a friendly wave.

“I haven’t been strangling him in my head,” Tyson lied. He hadn’t internalized it, but now that JT mentioned it, he was feeling some murderous thoughts towards your date.

“You’ve been in love with her for years now,” JT scoffed, “I’m surprised it took you this long to realize it.”

Tyson gave his friend an unamused glare, and JT held his hands up in surrender and walked away to talk to someone else, picking up the hint that he wasn’t in the mood to talk about this right now.

Less than a minute did Tyson stand alone before you excused yourself to join him.

“Where have you been all night? I’ve barely seen you,” you teased your friend, slugging his arm for good measure.

“I’ve been around,” he answered vaguely. Even though he was upset at the situation, he couldn’t help but return the sentiment when you smiled at him, “Who’s your date?”

“Ah, just some guy I’ve been seeing,” you brushed it off casually, “He wasn’t as into the costumes as much as I was.”

“Well, he’s an idiot because you look fantastic,” Tyson complimented, “You’re definitely going to win the contest.”

You chuckled in response, “I doubt that. I don’t have my good luck charm this year.” You meant it as a joke, referencing how you thought he was also your lucky charm, but Tyson commented before he could think better of it.

“Yeah, well, it seems I’ve been replaced and you’ve found a new good luck charm,” he said. Tyson tried to keep his tone happy, but you noticed the bite behind it.

“I could never replace you,” you said sadly.

The mood between you two had shifted. What was a friendly, warm atmosphere had suddenly turned ice cold and you stood there silently now, unsure of how to keep going.

“Maybe I should get back to the party,” you whispered softly. You noticed how the entire party had now moved from the house to the backyard, and you were all alone in the kitchen.

Taking his silence for agreement, you turned your back to leave, but Tyson was quick to grasp your wrist and tug you back.

He still didn’t say anything, only taking a few moments to look into your eyes before he was pulling you closer and crushing his lips against yours.

The kiss took you by surprise, but you gave in easily. Moving your hand to grasp the back of his neck, you pressed yourself further into his body as you moved your lips against his.

It continued for a couple more seconds before the realization of where you were finally hit you. Blushing, you pulled away from him and scanned the room quickly to see if anyone saw your public display of affection, which wasn’t a good look when you were making out with a guy who wasn’t your date.

To your relief, no one could be found.

“Sorry, I probably shouldn’t have done that right now,” Tyson apologized sheepishly, also taking note of his surroundings.

“Yeah, probably not a good idea to kiss someone with a date,” you agreed, “I’d be mad if I hadn’t been waiting for you to do that for the past two years.”

“Really?” He asked, and you nodded.

“Had I known all it would take is for me to bring another date, I would’ve done that a long time ago,” you chuckled. You should’ve felt bad for your date, but you both knew it wasn’t anything serious.

“I’ll let you have this year, but every year after this one you’re mine,” he said, “Exclusively.”

“You drive a hard bargain, but…” you paused for contemplation, “I think I can agree to that.”

#tyson jost #tyson jost imagine #nhl imagines #hockey imagines #my writing #requests #blurbs #avs17

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limelocked · 4 years ago

Text

Sundial blurbs

So most of my part of the Sundial au has been locked into general au chat on our server in the form of joking, theorising and sometimes writing as much as the discord character limit allows me to. I did the two first blurbs in this post today and @pomodoko commanded i actually post it and tag them so here they are, sorted into story chronological order and not the order in which i wrote them

Also this is the link to the document with general information on the AU

--- Dreams POV, the inciting incident

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8- NINE It has been ten seconds since Fundy landed at the bottom of the stairs at the lowest level of the building, there had been a noticeable thud that sounded distinctly unpleasant but Dream hadn't picked up on any cracking noise that'd indicate broken bones. Not that it'd be easy to hear over the commotion that led to later events.

Because it'd been seven seconds since Techno had lost his balance because of the falling fox mentioned and seven seconds since he stood back straight, almost brushing against Wilburs taller frame. It had only been five short seconds, that might have felt like weeks to others, since Wilbur in turn furrowed his brow and geared up for retaliation. Four seconds ago techno had been pushed. Three, Wilbur had gone into the wrong portal. Two, Philza had with Fundy still leaning on his shoulder tried to stop them both. One, they were gone.

It was surreal. The room had been filled with chatter before the fight, louder during the fight and now it was quiet. One second in the future, after it had all happened, the silence broke by no one who had seen it happen but by Tommy, babbling on about something with Fundy that didn't matter to anyone but himself. He quieted down when the person he was intending to talk to was nowhere to be found, confused. "Where'd Fundy go?"

"He and Wilbur already went through" the lack of effort it took for Dream to bend that truth would be concerning if not for his record, and technically they already had. "Oh-" an unsatisfactory answer but not one that would send him towards the throat of Noxite. "You can just talk to them back home. Come on." The portal after the hermits was supposed to be theirs, something quickly confirmed as they enter the community house with a crisis averted, or rather pushed back until a later date, and two people lost to another server.

--- Omniscient/Unknown POV, the dreamsmp aftermath

un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf... sept, huit, neuf... sept, huit... Seven hours later was when the lie couldn't hold anymore. Tommy already didn't trust Dream much but Tubbo had been a help in convincing him that Wilbur and Fundy were just away building or something. But the truth comes eventually. He sent a clear message of; <TommyInnIt> stop lying to me

Hour eight was the worst, accusations being thrown and swords being drawn. Screaming and explanations that never really felt enough. The ninth hour was bad in another way, depressing. Tommy's anger had simmered into bargaining as if Dream, George or Tubbo had the power to do anything of substance. It never got to begging, Tommy's pride forbade that but the things he put on the line for help that he couldn't get made it almost seem like it.

Noxcrew was contacted and they confirmed that the hemits had talked to them about the guests. Solutions were suggested and just as quickly rebuffed. Hour ten was a loss and the eleventh hour was one where Tommy and Tubbo got to speak alone.

"Can't you just use your powers or whatever to make the portals take us to hermitcraft" he was exhausted. "It doesn't work like that, probably, and Noxite has probably already tried it" "Yeah but Tubbo could you do it?" "I mean... maybe?" To that something glinted in Tommys eye, hope that Tubbo didn't want to extinguish as fast as it needed to be. "But I'm not allowed into the MCC world anyways so it wouldn't work" "FUCKING CHRIST TUBBO everyone here's useless!"

--- Technos POV, first night on hermitcraft

It's the first night and bones tower above him.

There were other buildings around, and the area was lit up well but eyes followed him from the darkness, eying the stone tools he'd manage to scrape up while leaving the group now probably settled in a warm house far away. This world scared him, the monsters and the way his sword hit differently, and the fact that the air itself felt new.

A pair of eyes glowed at him from it's place under one of the ribs of a beast too huge to want to think about. Techno readied his sword, but the dog decided that it'd rather go back to sleep. This world scared him and he just knew he'd gotten lost now because his goal had been to retrace his steps, the path that Xisuma and Bdoubleo had shown them to the little village far away by boat, to find the house cleft in two and then head straight out to sea until he could find a better place to stay than the tension thick cabin that their hosts had suggested.

Another dog offered a quiet bark in his direction and with an embarrassed sssh, covering fright, he continued forward. He had found the water, true, and he remembered something vague about a neighbour... but... No. No he decided that he'd choose a direction and if there weren't any light he'd just have to turn around or dock and make a little cave to live out of. It wouldn't be glorious but neither is 5 million potatoes.

A boat is placed into the water at the straight of Joebralta and a pig starts to row.

Clang. He is confused. The boat shakes in the middle of open water, he's been turned around. Clang. A trident, something he's only really seen in Skyblockle, shoots into the air a meter to the right of his boat. He speeds up. Clang. It misses, but he has decided that the sea is no longer safe.

--- Technos and Ethos POV, the first days in hermitcraft

He's starting to feel bad for leaving. Still justified, but also bad. He felt horrible the instant the championship room disappeared from right in front of his eyes with Wilbur still in it, and still worse when Wilbur then Phil and Fundy appeared next to him in this world, all statues as unseen confused messages fill the communicators of the worlds inhabitants.

When they arrived he was surprised that a lot of the hermits knew about them, or at least him, from the returning cast of hermits that played in MCC and their apparent tendency to tell stories as soon as there was space for it. It'd made it less awkward but the looks from the others stopped him from talking much about his side of the tournaments.

This was perhaps night four? He had stepped ashore in a jungle a bit from an area he could almost feel at home in with its skyscrapers reminiscent of some survival games arenas. But it was built by someone and someone should be avoided so he had trudged through plains and deserts walking around it only to find more tall buildings in another jungle.

The jungle was... safe? Safe from people at least, less so mobs. He had a little cave with a bed now that kept the hot and humid air out most of the time and while small and cramped and utterly horrible it felt far safer than returning to the others... even though he could practically hear Phils calm and nonchalant reassurances.

Leaving the small home he searches for the water he remembers spotting nearby. The bright orange tracksuit wasn't something he wanted to wear but there wasn't much of anything else and it still needed to be washed of stone dust and sweat no matter how much he disliked it. He leaves with a compass and map to find his way back, and around other peoples territory. And water is found easily with these. Stone, coal and redstone is scrubbed away in the freshwater lake that's only relatively cold, but it still feels nice, like the wind on his island in skyblock or in the skywars arenas.

Not too far away a man is working in a terrarium of his own design containing no animals but currents in thin snakes coiling around comparators and observers. The change to the nether has been an exciting one but it did come with problems for the technicians and thankfully for this one the Google hasn't broken too far beyond belief and is back in functioning order faster than expected.

Satisfied he looks at the path that he paradoxically want to end and to continue and decides to wait, flying up to sit near his portal instead to think about it and access the expansions he's already made. Something bright orange is spotted in the distance which at first is ignored, it can wait, until the realization of a possible abandoned shulker, so very common in this group, grabs him and almost instantly leaves as it moves around.

Several seconds later the orange turns brighter and the idea of lava pops in and out of his head in a flash.

<Etho> Beef have to lost an orange llama? <VintageBeef> no? <VintageBeef> at least I dont think so...? <Etho> o_o

He's been keeping out of the way for a while, like usual, and only knew some of the news about new people on the server. That they'd gotten there with Rendogs sports gang by accident and that they'd been living mostly over at Bdubs' place to avoid having them be excluded to their own little village. Apparently something had happened, he'd missed the details but it was looking like there was a manhunt for someone or something that he should by all means be more invested in.

Curious he misses the orange go out of view in favour of finding out about this missing thing in case he's found it. A person and a description, hidden deep in other messages. His height, human pig hybrid, last seen wearing...

Does he want to do this? He knows his way around a jungle but it's still annoying and Xisuma lives close by... but he's most likely AFK. Well, you make a good first impression on the new guys if you find their missing friend.

--- Omniscient/Unclear POV, Technos time with Etho

Silence is golden in silver light. The hermits can stay up days on end without sleep, working through nights when it’s needed and even with guests this doesn’t change. Like the sliver of moon in the sky, Ethos hair glows radiant from inside the redstone machine he calls the Googler and Techno does nothing but look on as repeaters are moved and redstone is smeared in new paths into blocks he has never seen before, something he’s had to get used to lately.

His host works in silence until a question breaks the jungles chime and an answer is given with the rhythm. The redstone had changed and he thought he had fixed it, an unhelpful follow up is posed and a pause is moved into a somewhat oversimplified version of the circuit. They both know that Techno is no help here, but the company is nice and something is learned.

Etho in the day when working the fortress tells Techno about the old days and in turn Techno admits to never having left those old days for long. Etho talks about Pause and Beef. Techno fails to talk about his own team.

#sundial au #mcyt #hermitcraft #technoblade #none of this was proofread

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infinite-xerath · 3 years ago

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Runeterra Retcons 9: Shaco

The time has come to discuss League’s resident killer clown… Or killer jester, I suppose. There is a difference, not that it really matters because even the lore doesn’t ACTUALLY know what Shaco is. To be frank, Shaco is a weird character because he’s NEVER had a proper place in the story, even from his conception.

Shaco’s original lore paints him as a complete and utter mystery. Nobody knows who or what he is, where he came from, or what he really wants. All anyone has ever known is that Shaco loves killing people because he thinks it’s funny. He could be a demon, a rogue weapon, or just a homicidal madman who’s really good at what he loves. That’s where his character begins and ends, so there’s really not much to actually analyze here. Shaco’s second lore attempts to give us a little more detail but all it really does is say the exact same thing with more words added in.

Of course, Shaco’s first two lores were written at a time with the Institute of War and Summoners were still canon, so after the retcon back in 2015 Riot opted to give him a new backstory to make him fit in with the new world of Runeterra. That backstory, as we can see, is ultimately little more than a placeholder. I mean, his extended bio doesn’t even match the blurb on his Champion page!

In summation: Shaco is a haunted doll who belonged to an unknown prince of an unknown kingdom and was transformed by unknown magics for unknown reasons. This backstory now feels especially redundant with the introduction of Gwen into the game, a living doll with a similar backstory albeit far less evil. To be frank: there’d be room to have some interest thematic parallels between Gwen and Shaco if Riot had written these two in such a way that they were creations of the same person or belonged to the same kid but wound up becoming wholly opposite of one-another.

For example: perhaps in an alternate version of the lore, Gwen comes to embody the childlike innocence and hope of her maker/owner and seeks to spread joy and cheer while Shaco is a corrupt and perverted manifestation of those desires who seeks only to amuse himself in the suffering of others. This, I think, would have been a fantastic way to go about it, but given that Gwen is already so heavily tied to the Shadow Isles plotline and Viego is set up to be her primary enemy, I feel like it would be kind of difficult to work Shaco into that dynamic at this point.

Besides, it’s clear that Riot DOES have plans for Shaco: namely, that they aim to retcon him into being a demon. This is somewhat evident by his champion title, the Demon Jester, as well as his relationships are listed as being Nocturne and Fiddlesticks, the demons of nightmares and fear, respectively. There’s also that branch on the demon family tree labeled “Delirium” which would fit a murderous jokester pretty well.

To be honest, I was initially hesitant to even bother doing an episode for Shaco given that Riot clearly has at least some vague idea of what to do with him, but since reworks are coming out a lot slower now and Shaco’s not even on Riot’s priority list as far as we’re aware, it’ll probably be a WHILE before we actually see them do anything with this particular concept.

So, given what we know about Riot’s current plans, the general direction of this rewrite is simple: make Shaco a demon. Admittedly, though, that’s a little easier said than done. Demons in League are creatures who feed on mortal pain and suffering, but each of them has a different way of going about it. Fiddlesticks mainly uses paranoia and trauma to drive his victims mad while Nocturne takes a more Freddy Krueger approach of just invading dreams and turning them into nightmares. Tahm Kench likes to make Faustian Bargains by giving you everything you want and then tearing it all away from you, while Evelynn lures you in with seduction and then proceeds to tear you apart piece by piece.

Every demon takes a different form and has different ways of going about things, but all of them share a core concept: they feed on suffering and misery, be it physical or emotional. That said, there’s a bit more to demons in Runeterra than just that. See, back when Fiddlesticks was released, Riot went and released what the community has dubbed the “Demon Family Tree,” which appears to be a chart displaying the hierarchy of demons and different emotions that different kinds of demons can prey on.

Now, admittedly, there’s a LOT about this chart that we don’t currently understand, and frankly I wouldn’t be surprised if Riot doesn’t either. There’s a key that resembles the one around Zoe’s neck in the top-left, a bunch of circles in the top right we don’t know the meaning of, and a whole bunch of text written in what I think is supposed to be Old Noxian that we can’t currently decipher. There have been theories and discussions about this already, so I’m not going to get too deep into it, but the main takeaway, I think, would be the words on the chart that we CAN read: Fear, Delirium, Nightmares, Secrets, Bliss, Frenzy, and Obsession. There’s also the term “Azakana” at the bottom, though we know thanks to Yone that this basically just refers to a demon that hasn’t fully matured yet.

Tying the chart back to the demonic Champions in the game, it’s easy to piece together the connections that they each have: Fiddlesticks is fear, Nocturne is Nightmares, Raum (the demon bound to Swain) is Secrets, Evelynn is commonly believed to be Bliss, and Tahm Kench is most likely Obsession. That leaves Delirium and Frenzy untouched, which leaves us with two spots to fit Shaco into.

Now comes the hard part: the decision. Delirium refers to a state of mind in which one’s awareness of their actions or environment is significantly reduced, whereas frenzy is a sudden burst of frantic, uncontrolled emotion, typically rage or aggression. Either one of these could work well for a killer jester, but I personally think that delirium would suit Shaco better in terms of how his personality is portrayed in game. So, with that said, let’s dive deep into the realm of demonic and see what can be done to turn this cursed puppet into a proper Demon of Delirium.

It is often said that misery and comedy are but two sides of the same coin. Laughter often comes at the expense of others, and one person’s despair may be another’s delight. Most entertainers would tell you that walking the line between humor and malice is key, but to Shaco, such distinctions are a joke for which he himself is the final punchline.

The demon known as Shaco has stalked Runeterra for ages, spreading his twisted influence far and wide. There’s nothing Shaco loves more than to bring joy to those who need it most, often appearing to mortals who have experienced great loss or tragedy. Those coping with grief or misfortune may find themselves unexpectedly visited by a grinning jester, who assures that his only desire is to take away their pain with the power of laughter.

At first, Shaco’s antics are innocent enough. Some cheesy jokes to lighten the mood, some harmless pranks to lift the spirits of the downtrodden, all with an unyielding smile that one cannot help but start to imitate. Soon, those enthralled with Shaco’s antics are invited to play games with the jester to help distract from their worldly worries. Those who accept are whisked away to partake in a day of fun and merriment, playing all manner of pranks on friends, family, and even innocent bystanders.

When the games end, Shaco leaves his playmates cackling insanely in the aftermath, often surrounded by bodies and covered in blood. None laugh louder than Shaco, however, who delights in watching his playmates slowly regain their sanity and come to realize all the atrocities committed at his side. Some cry out in despair, while others break down laughing or crying harder than before. Some go mad, others are executed for their crimes, and some even opt to take their own lives. All outcomes are equally hilarious to Shaco, who soon sets out in pursuit of his next playmate.

Stories of the Mad Trickster exist all across Runeterra, often told as children’s tales to teach valuable lessons: don’t trust strangers, never give in to sadness or despair, and always be mindful to never take a joke too far. Few truly believe in Shaco’s existence, but those who fail to heed such warnings may find themselves to be his next playmate, as well as the butt of his joke…

So, this one was a bit shorter than normal, but I think it serves to get the point across. As the embodiment of delirium, I wanted to give Shaco a set-up sort of similar to Tahm Kench: he appears to offer help to those in need, only to end up ruining their lives in the long run. The difference, of course, is that Shaco lures people in to help them forget their troubles with fun and games, only to escalate to full-blown murder and mayhem.

In essence, Shaco drives others to delirium, making them believe the carnage is all just fun and games until his spell is broken and reality sets in. I’d like to think he particularly likes preying on the downtrodden because those who are suffering mental anguish already are easier for him to cast his spell on.

This is just my take on Shaco, though. Who can really say what Riot will do with him in the future? Who knows, his rework might end up even better than what I have here, but of course, anything is bound to be better than his current, non-existent lore.

#Runeterra Retcons #Shaco #League of Legends

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angst-fairygodmother · 4 years ago

Note

Hey there :3 could I request Luba x reader and the "someone straddling the other while they’re 'trying to read' and slowly getting them to put the book away" prompt? <3

A/N: I’m a terrible tease. Word Count: 1074 Rating: M - teasing, implied smut

“Why hello there,” Luba purred as he emerged from his bedroom. He had the day off, for once, and was clearly intent on using it for your attention.

Technically, you were also free, but a last minute commission had come in as you were closing up shop the night before, and you were too eager to get started on the unique and challenging aspects of it. So early morning had found you on the couch with your sketchpad and tablet of design criteria in your lap. Since then, you had increased the spread of supplies, and as Luba woke at nearly noon, you were lost in the work.

You nodded vaguely in his direction to acknowledge the greeting, but didn't look up. If you had, you might have noticed his frown or the challenging spark in his eye.

“Y/N?” he sing-songed. “What are you doing?”

“Working, I’ll only be a bit,” you mumbled, chewing on the end of your pencil.

“It is supposed to be your day off.” He moved closer, looming over you and pressing a fleeting kiss to the top of your forehead. “Put down the pen.”

“It’s a pencil,” you countered petulantly, trying to lean around him as he bent further to kiss the end of your nose.

“It’s very distracting the way you’re biting it like that.”

“And you’re distracting me, now,” the words slipped out as easy as breathing.

“That was the idea.” He smirked, breath ghosting over your cheeks.

“The sooner you let me finish, the sooner I’ll be free.”

“Let you finish…” something in the way he purred sent your stomach fluttering and you finally looked up, sharply. He was smirking back at you like the cat that got the cream. “No. I don’t think you will.”

“Luba…” you warned.

“Too late, Y/N. You had your shot. Keep working, and don’t let me disturb you.”

“And what will you be doing in the meantime?” you cocked an eyebrow at him.

“You’ll see.”

You swallowed nervously, and tried to turn your attention back to your sketchpad. Luba backed off, retreating from your vision completely, or better phrased, coiling back to strike. You jumped as his hands wrapped around one of your ankles, leaving a long mark across the blank white page. As your eraser dragged back and forth over it, his hands dragged along your leg, tugging and unfolding it to extend out in front of you and massaging at your calf. You were better prepared as he set your heel on the coffee table and moved to the other leg, only twitching slightly at the feel of his sharp, clever fingers working the muscles there.

You tried to ignore the way he towered, casting shadows across your drawing when he straightened and stepped across your now extended limbs to plant one foot on either side. The fringed skirt he was wearing (more of a sarong really) tickled your knees. You set the sketchbook down, picking up your tablet to review the client’s expectations. If he wanted to play this game, you were going to do your best to give as good as you got.

Luba leaned bent, placing his hands on your knees, sticking his ass in the air as a result and giving it a teasing shimmy. Slowly he slid them upward, sneaking below the cuffs of your shorts, and curving inward. Your breath hitched as the pads danced across your sensitive inner thighs.

Clenching your jaw, you took several steadying breaths through your nose. Luba huffed, his weight suddenly settling on your lap, knees to either side.

“Really, angel? That didn’t do it for you?” he pouted, ducking his head into your vision again.

You lifted the tablet over both your heads, tipping back to read it and ignore him.

“I guess I’ll just have to try harder.” He rolled his hips and it took all your willpower not to buck up into the motion. In truth, you were soaked from his careful teasing, knowing every button to press to get you riled for him.

“If you’re sitting on my sketchbook, I’m leaving you,” you warned, your eyes flicking over the same line of the instructions for the fourth or fifth time without processing it.

He gasped dramatically. “Who me? I would never. The point is to distract you, not ruin your beautiful work.”

Your cheeks flushed heatedly at the compliment, more flattered and flustered by the compliment on your art than you had ever been at his singing your personal praises.

“You put down the drawing just to ignore me for rules? How boring,” he pouted again, leaning slowly in. He rolled his hips again, pressing slow and deep into your clothed core. His lips found their way to your neck, unfortunately already bared for him by the way you sat. He trailed feather-light kisses across your skin, at odds with the way his hips rocked.

“Luba…” you whined, sound slipping from your lips before you could stop it.

“Hmm?” he purred, switching to mouthing at you openly, adding in little brushes of tongue and teeth as he roamed.

“If you give me 10 minutes, I’ll be yours for the rest of the day,” you bargained.

“Oh no no,” he clucked. “I know you. You’ll get lost in the work again and I’ll have to start all over.”

Whatever you might have said was cut off in a moan as he bit down gently on your pulsepoint. He soothed it over with his tongue and then began to suck on the mark he made. His grinding across your lap struck just the right spot and you surrendered, jerking upward to meet the motion and letting your tablet tumble from your hand to bounce onto the cushion beside you. You wrapped your hands around his head, nails dragging against his scalp and making him moan now.

He leaned back just enough to meet your lips with his, slipping his tongue into your welcome mouth and his fingers up under your shirt to dance across your stomach. You tangled with him, kissing him fiercely, biting at his lower lip and pressing ever impossibly closer together.

“Are you ready to go back to bed now, love?” he purred as you both gasped for air, kiss-swollen lips still brushing your own.

“Why bother when we’re already right here?”

He smiled down at you, hunger and love in his eyes as he fell on you once more.

#this was so much fun to write #so I hope you enjoy it #thank you so much for the request dear #Luba x reader #Mute fic #almost smut #(not me immediately second guessing myself because it feels too listy...)

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thorne93 · 4 years ago

Text

The Stars Made Us (Part 11)

Prompt: In this world, you’re one of the “lucky” ones who got a soulmate, but what if the universe gives you more than you bargained for?

(Prompt challenge – You live in a world where your soulmate can write on their skin and you will get the writing on your own and vice versa. Where they can wash away the ink on their own skin, however, the writing is forever scarred onto your skin until you meet face to face)

Word Count: 2790

Warnings: angst and language throughout

Notes: This was supposed to be for @sorryimacrapwriter and their challenge like a year ago, I think? I still loved the prompt though and have been working on this story for quite some time. This aesthetic was made by @dontshootmespence, thank you so much! Beta’d by @like-a-bag-of-potatoes, couldn’t have done it without you, as well as @carryonmyswansong and @arrow-guy and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo

Also, I’ve never really liked the whole soulmate AU thing idea, but this felt so right and it was amazing to write. I hope y’all love it too!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the plane ride down, you weren’t sure what to think of everything. Of course you were excited to start this new chapter of your life, but you were still very aware of everything you’d be leaving behind.

You had to meet with your landlord to give up your office space, tell your patients that you would reach out on communicating with them later, tell your parents, box up your house, put your house up for sale… It was a lot to do in one week. Thankfully, Charles was there to help you with it all. He could box the house while you got things sorted on the business side of things.

First thing’s first, going to your parents. They hadn’t heard much from you in a month. You’d only called twice, but you kept it vague, as you wouldn’t be sure when you might return home, or even if you were staying.

“So I thought we could swing by my parents first,” you stated as you two got through airport security. “They deserve to know what’s going on, and I think they’d like to meet you first and all that jazz.”

“Sounds good to me. I am here for whatever you need, darling,” he cooed as he held your hand, kissing it and stroking your knuckles. “Just point me in the direction you need.”

A warm grin spread on your face while walking through the terminal before hailing a taxi. Both of you got in with your luggage and you gave him your parents address, which was over an hour away from the airport.

“Is it embarrassing to admit that I’m nervous?” Charles asked once you got out onto the road.

You blushed and grabbed his hand. “No, I think it’s absolutely adorable.”

“Of course you would, you're my mate. But I’m over thirty, meeting your parents shouldn’t have me giddy like a schoolboy meeting your parents on prom night. It’s ridiculous.”

“Don’t look now, Charles, but I think it means you’re actually caring for me,” you teased.

“I’ve always cared for you,” he said emphatically, no joking in his voice at all.

All you could do was stare back into those haunting eyes and give the tiniest of smiles.

You settled in together for the ride and leaned into each other.

Eventually, you were home -- well your home away from home. The place where you grew up and your sanctuary when you were in college and med school. Once you paid the fare and grabbed your bags, you set up towards the steps. You tried the door, but it was locked. You pulled out your keys from your purse and tried the old house key. It was in the lock and… click.

You opened the door and waved Charles in behind you.

“Hey, anybody here?” you called out. When no one responded, you turned to Charles. “Well this was home sweet home for a while. This was where I was when we first… communicated,” you informed with a soft smile.

“I’d very much like to see--”

“Y/N?” your mom’s voice sounded from the end of the hallway. Your eyes went straight to the sound.

“Mom!” you said happily before walking to her and giving her a hug. Your dad right behind her in the hallway.

“Short Stack?” he greeted, calling you by your nickname.

You let go of your mom and then hugged your dad. “It’s so good to see you both.”

Your parents looked at you, holding you in their gaze before their eyes flashed back to Charles. You laughed slightly before backing up and taking his hand again. “Mom, Dad… This is X.” You peered at him with love in your eyes. “Or, his real name, Charles Xavier.”

They stared at you both, their eyes darting back and forth between you two, before finally landing on your face.

“This is him?” your dad exclaimed.

“He’s the guy?” your mom said simultaneously

“He’s the one who hurt you?” your dad said.

“The one who ignored you for a year.”

“The one that let you think you’d done something wrong?!”

“He’s… he’s… he isn’t worthy of your love!”

You frowned, confused. You had no idea your parents would react this way. You thought they’d be happy for you.

Letting go of Charles’s hand, you stepped forward, raising your hands. “Woah, woah. Don’t attack him for--”

“For what? For breaking your heart? You two were inseparable, if that’s what you could call it, for ten years, and he just up and leaves you. Not a word. No explanation.”

“Dad,” you started, trying to defend him.

“Your father’s right,” your mom agreed. “He wasn’t good to you. He abandoned you,” she reminded.

“I know,” you assured. “But I’ve been with him, for the past month. We met, we talked, he explained it all. I forgive him, all I ask is that you do too.”

“We can’t,” your mom simply said, shaking her head with a sorrowful look on her face. “We… want you to be happy, sweetie, we do, but if he can do this to you, who’s to say he won’t do it again?”

“If I may,” Charles began, taking a step towards your parents.

“No you may not,” your dad said. “We used to think you were good. You gave Y/N so much hope, so much life. As long as she had you, her life was on track. But then you… you broke her. I’ve never seen her so upset. You ignored her for weeks, months… How… how could you do that? What kind of person does that? I’m sorry, I used to support this… union, but I can’t any more. I watched my little girl dissolve into a shell because of you. No. I won’t watch it again.” He shook his head, his hand making a gesture of slicing.

“I’m with your father, Y/N. He’s right.”

“No, Mom, he’s not. Look, I agree with you that what he did was shitty, but he’s explained what happened. I don’t think he’ll hurt me like that again. We’ve met, we’re on the same page…” You took his hand again. “We’re in love,” you breathed.

“That... isn’t enough,” your father said. “I’m sorry, Y/N, but our answer is final. We just can’t support you two being together.”

“Dad,” you tried but he just shook his head.

“Sorry pumpkin. It’s really good to see you though. You’re welcome to stay for dinner,” he encouraged with a sad smile.

You turned to Charles and gestured for him to follow you once your parents retreated to the kitchen. He followed you up the stairs and you went to your old bedroom that was now a craft room for your mom. You didn’t mind. They kept some of your old stuff from highschool on a table on one end.

“This was my room,” you explained, walking in and turning. You let out a sigh and Charles walked over and put his arms around you. “I thought you wouldn’t read my mind,” you said before a sob broke out of you with a laugh.

He rubbed your back lovingly before he said, “I didn’t. You know, even without my powers I’m capable of detecting social cues, believe it or not.”

You laughed through the tears. “I just....I love you so much, and I know they did too. I just can’t imagine that they don’t want you in my life anymore. You’re so perfect for me and they know this but--”

He pulled away slightly, his hand still rubbing your arms. “They’ll come around, darling. I can’t say that I blame them. I did… well almost ruin you.”

You scoffed out a laugh before wiping your face. “Don’t take so much credit,” you teased weakly. “I wasn’t ruined… Broken, maybe. But I would’ve been alright.”

He smiled at you, adoration on his face. “I know you would’ve been. You’re stronger than I am.”

“I’m not sure about that,” you responded. The air hung heavy for a moment before you took a deep breath and began walking around. “My bed was right here. My computer was there,” you pointed to the wall in front of you, the one that the door was on. “I was sitting right here on my bed, contemplating whether or not to write you, well, whoever might have been out there.”

“And I’m glad you did. Who knows where I’d be without you,” he boasted with a proud smile.

“Probably with Hank, eating junk food in front of a TV,” you remarked with a smirk.

He laughed. “Probably so.”

“God, I was so nervous when I wrote out to you. I wasn’t sure who I’d get, when they would respond, if they’d respond at all. At first it was just this silly challenge Jen put me up to, but then I was actually really excited. Then I got worried that I would be disappointed if no one responded.”

“I was equally surprised. I wasn’t expecting text to show up on my arm in the middle of the night,” he remembered.

You peered at him. “Hey, why didn’t you ever try to reach out to anyone? You know, try what I did?”

He shrugged. “I never really thought about it. I was busy with college when I was 18 so love didn’t cross my mind.”

You nodded. “Makes sense, I suppose.”

“Do you ever regret it… reaching out to me? I mean… was I a disappointment to you?”

A curious, concerned expression crossed your face. “What? No. Of course not. You’re a miracle,” you said with a sense of relief. “You’re handsome, incredibly intelligent, and compassionate. You’re more than anything I’d ever dreamed of.”

“Even when we met?” he asked with a peculiar tone, curiosity burning in his voice.

“Even then. You being a little down on yourself wasn’t a deterrent.” Your eyes raked him. “If I didn’t know any better, I would think you’re trying to get rid of me. Trying to prove to me that I don’t deserve you or something.”

“No,” he assured, taking your hands in his as he stepped closer to you. “Not at all. I love you and I’m so happy we found each other. I just… your parents are against us and I don’t want to cause a wedge.”

“They’ll come around,” you said. “They’ll see how good we are to each other and they’ll have to agree.”

“I hope so, because I wasn’t planning on letting you go.”

You smiled briefly before the two of you kissed.

“I don’t want to mention that I’m moving, just yet,” you stated.

“But, that’s why we’re here,” he reminded with a frown.

“I know, I know. I just… I didn’t know they’d take the news of us meeting this badly so I want to give them some time.”

“Y/N, you’re moving this week. They’re going to figure it out pretty soon.”

“I know, but let’s give them a couple days to cool off, please? Then we can tell them.”

He eyed you for a moment before nodding.

Then your mom called that dinner was ready and you all ventured downstairs.

Once you were seated and about to start eating, your dad began talking to you. “So, how’s the practice going?”

“Good. I, uh, had to take a short break. I’ve been kind of working with another doctor. I had to go and see Charles so my work had to be put on hold,” you informed carefully.

“So you put your work on hold for him?” he questioned, irritation evident in his face and voice as he looked at the two of you.

“Well, yes, but not exactly. I’m still going to work. I still have my practice, it was just a break. Like a vacation.”

“Except it wasn’t a vacation. You were with him,” he stated, the word ‘him’ falling out as a curse.

“Dad,” you tried. “I just want a nice meal with my soulmate and my parents. Come on, we haven’t seen each other in over a month…”

“You’re right,” your mom agreed.

“Charles is a professor,” you offered.

“Did he decide to teach before or after he broke your heart?” your dad asked.

“Actually, before,” Charles responded. “I wanted to be a teacher for a long time.”

“I’m not sure I like the idea of someone like you leading the youth of the country.”

“Dad, Charles was a great mentor and professor to several students. He funded a whole school by himself--”

“Was this why he disappeared or was it to find another girl?” he asked.

“Dad!” you cried out.

“What?” he responded innocently. “It’s a fair question. You two were constantly connected then one day he just poofs out of existence. In my experience the only thing that can divert a dedicated man’s attention like that is a woman.”

“Sir, actually, it wasn’t a woman - at least not romantically--”

“I don’t give a damn what you have to say. This wasn’t like you two went to prom and you didn’t call her the day after,” your dad retorted, his voice getting louder. “You two are soulmates. Something we’re supposed to believe is special. You talked every day for years. You made Y/N smile, happy, laugh. We’d never seen her like that. Then you stopped responding and she was a wreck. She had no idea if you were dead, alive, anything. She was a mess. She barely got her work done. Then you have the nerve to show up here and act as if you didn’t hurt her at all.”

“That’s not my intention. I take full responsibility for hurting her. I should’ve never done it. I was in a very dark place and I didn’t want to drag her down with me.”

“Well a lot of good that did.”

“Dad, it’s not his fault, alright? He isn’t responsible for my happiness,” you interjected.

“No, but he sure as hell didn’t help it. He could’ve told you that he was in a bad place. He could’ve said to give him some time. But he didn’t, did he?”

“I made a mistake,” Charles responded. “And I’m deeply sorry for it and I’m doing my best to correct it. I can’t ask you to forgive the pain I put Y/N through, hell I don’t forgive myself. But I would like it if you gave me a second chance. Y/N is.”

“She’s blinded by love,” your dad said in a lower, softer voice.

“That may be, but I have no intention of hurting her ever again. It’ll be hard to vanish on her again, given the circumstances,” he mentioned.

Your parents frowned and your heart stilled -- oh no.

“I’m sorry, why is that?” your mom asked, confused.

“Oh, uh,” he said, stumbling. He realized his mistake, but it was too late. The cat was out of the bag. “No reason. I just mean that now that we’ve met she can easily find me…” he tried, but his lying wasn’t doing terribly well.

“Y/N, what the hell is he blabbering about?” your dad demanded.

You clenched your fists, slowly closed your eyes, and took a deep breath before answering. “Uh, I was… I’m considering… Well I’m going to move.”

“Move? Move when? Where?”

“This week… I’m moving in with Charles.”

“And where exactly is that?” your mom asked.

“New York.”

“New york?!” your parents exclaimed together.

“We’ll never see you,” your mom said.

“You’re seeing me right now,” you argued softly.

“You know what we mean. New York is so far away.”

“I’ll come visit every chance I get,” you assured. “It’s just best if I go with Charles --”

“Why doesn’t he move down here?” your mom offered. “We don’t support this, but if you’re going to stay with him, then you could at least do it down here.”

Shaking your head, you answered, “We can’t do that. Charles has a huge home that’s already set up for schooling. He can’t give that up. I can move my office, but he can’t move his school.”

Your parents exchanged a glance, one that didn’t look good.

“Mom, Dad,” you tried feebly. “Just… give us a chance. I was just as mad as you were when I met Charles but we’ve made amends. Please try to understand…”

“I’m sorry, honey, we just can’t…” your mom replied dishearteningly.

You put your fork down, scooting your chair back. “Okay, alright. It’s clear you two aren’t willing to listen to to either of us. I’m an adult, and my entire life I’ve made the right decisions, and on the love of my life, my soulmate, you won’t hear me out? Fine. Come on, Charles, we’re leaving.”

You walked out the door to order an uber.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#the stars made us #charles xavier x reader #charles xavier fic #charles xavier #stephen strange fic #stephen strange x reader #stephen strange

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