#but the ''help'' comes in unwanted and in fact SUFFOCATING ways

[taffy-glitch]

ok ok look i understand that celia recognizing chester and emails from "john" and whatever the FUCK is going on with lena and gwen is all mind-boggling and such but

i feel like im not seeing NEARLY as many posts about the statement this episode???

I only listened once but what the fuck is the significance of those donations???? The laughter?? "it's all for a good cause"???????

WHO THE FUCK IS THE "SECURITY FIRM" THAT DEALT WITH IT?????

[peavhyshy]

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ - BACK TO YOU

ᯓᡣ𐭩 paring ─ ୨୧ ─ jj maybank ⋆ ex!pogue!reader

ᯓᡣ𐭩 summary ─ ୨୧ ─ in which you return to the island after moving away and have to confront unresolved feelings and changes in the friend group.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 warnings ─ ୨୧ ─ explicit language, angst, hurt/comfort, smut, fluff, drama, mention of past self-harm, mention of past suicide attempt, mention of depression/mental health issues, alcohol abuse, unresolved emotional/romantic tension, trauma, mention of parental abuse/neglect, emotional cheating, jj is dating kiara, pretend luke didn’t leave, tw: surf competition, reconciliation, emotional vulnerability, unprotected vaginal sex, fingering, oral sex, dirty talk, praise, teasing, power play, and overstimulation (please dni if your sensitive to any of these topics your mental health should come first)

ᯓᡣ𐭩 wc ─ ୨୧ ─ 19,166

⋆˚✿˖° a/n ─ ୨୧ ─ this is long and very emotional/dramatic which is half of the reason it's been sitting in drafts forever. this was only written because I just love the song and wanted something based on it.

⋆.˚✮back to you✮˚.⋆

(༝༚༝༚ selena gomez)

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──. Outer Banks Masterlist ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Navigation ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

JJ stands awkwardly by the cooler, his fingers drumming against the metal surface as he watches you grab another case of beer. The setting sun casts long shadows across John B's backyard, painting everything in hues of orange and pink. The salty breeze carries the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore, mixing with the muffled laughter and music inside the house. He can't help but steal glances at you, memories of your past flooding his mind like an unwanted tide.

"So uh..." JJ clears his throat, adjusting his shark tooth necklace nervously. "How was... wherever the fuck you went?" He tries to maintain his usual carefree demeanor, but an edge to his voice betrays his discomfort. His blue eyes dart between you and the ground, unable to maintain steady eye contact. The weight of your unspoken history hangs heavy between you, thicker than the humid Carolina evening.

You stand awkwardly, your fingers nervously playing with the label of your beer bottle. You avoid JJ's gaze, focusing instead on the peeling paint of John B's deck railing. The tension between you two is suffocating, making the humid evening air feel even heavier. "Maine," you finally answer, your voice barely above a whisper. "We went to Maine."

JJ's jaw tightens at the mention of Maine, his fingers flexing around his beer bottle as he processes just how far away you’ve been. "Maine? Fuck, that's like... way up there with all those lobsters and shit," he says, trying to maintain his usual lighthearted tone but failing miserably. 

"You look..." He starts, then stops himself, shoving his free hand into the pocket of his board shorts. "I mean, it's good you're back and shit. The group missed you." He deliberately leaves out the fact that he missed you too, that your absence left a void that even Kiara couldn't quite fill. The tension between you is palpable, like the electricity in the air before a storm - something the Outer Banks knows all too well. He takes a long pull from his beer, using it as an excuse to break the uncomfortable silence that's settled between you.

You take a long sip from your bottle, using the moment to gather your thoughts. The sight of JJ - still as handsome as ever with his messy blonde hair and those blue eyes - makes your heartache in a way you thought you’d gotten over. The sound of Kiara's laughter from inside feels like a knife twisting in your gut. "I see you and Kie finally..." you trail off, unable to finish the sentence. Your skin glows in the porch light.

"Yeah, me and Kie..." he trails off, taking another long pull from his beer to avoid finishing the sentence. The truth is, things with Kiara are good - great even - but standing here with you brings back all the complicated feelings he'd tried to bury in the sand. 

"The group seems... good," you manage, trying to keep your voice steady. "Different, but good." You risk a glance at JJ, immediately regretting it when you catch his eyes. Those same eyes that used to look at you with such intensity, now belong to someone else. You shift your weight, your sundress rustling softly in the evening breeze. 

A loud crash from inside the house makes you both jump causing you to spill a bit of beer on your dress, followed by John B's distinctive "Everything's fine!" JJ lets out a forced laugh, but it doesn't reach his eyes. He's hyper-aware of every movement you make, every shift in your posture, every breath you take. The familiar scent of your perfume mixed with the salt air brings back memories he's tried so hard to suppress - stolen kisses behind the Wreck, late-night surfing sessions, promises made and broken. He adjusts his stance, trying to maintain a careful distance between you, even as every fiber of his being wants to close it.

"Shit," you mutter, dabbing at the spot with your free hand. You can feel JJ's presence just a few feet away, and it takes everything in you not to close that distance. "I should've called or something," you say suddenly, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. "Before I left, I mean. I just... I couldn't." Your voice cracks slightly on the last word, betraying the emotions you're trying so hard to keep in check.

The raw honesty in your voice, when you mention not calling, makes his throat tight. "Yeah, well..." JJ runs a hand through his hair again, his shark tooth necklace catching the light as he moves. "Probably wouldn't have answered anyway. Was pretty fucked up back then." He lets out a laugh, but there's pain behind it. "Still am, just better at hiding it now." The admission hangs between you like smoke, heavy and suffocating. He can hear Sarah and John B singing off-key inside, the sound a stark contrast to the tension-filled bubble you're standing in.

He watches as you dab at the beer stain on your dress, fighting the urge to help you like he would have before. "Fuck, hold up," he mutters, pulling off his worn t-shirt and offering it to you without thinking. The porch light illuminates the scattered bruises across his torso - some new, some old ones you’d recognize.

You stand there, your heart racing as you stare at JJ's shirtless form. You reach out hesitant to take his shirt, your fingers brushing briefly in a way that sends electricity through your entire body. "Thanks," you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. 

"You look good though," he finally says, the words escaping before he can stop them. His eyes meet yours for a moment before quickly looking away. "I mean, like, healthy and shit. That's... that's good." He shifts uncomfortably, very aware that he's still shirtless and that the space between you feels both too large and not large enough. The familiar scent of your perfume is making his head spin, or maybe it's the beer, or maybe it's just you - it's always been you. "Did it help?" he asks quietly, genuinely wanting to know. "Going away? Did it... fix things?" The question carries more weight than he intends, loaded with all the things he never got to say before you left.

The sound of Kiara's laughter drifts out again, and you flinches visibly. You take another long drink from your beer, needing the liquid courage. "It helped," you finally answer his question, unconsciously running your fingers over the faded scars on your wrists. "The doctors, the therapy, the distance... It helped. But it didn't fix everything." You look up at him then, really look at him, taking in how the years have changed him. He's still JJ - still beautiful but there's something harder in his eyes now, something that wasn't there before.

You clutch his shirt in your hands, the familiar scent of him - salt air, coconut surf wax, and something distinctly JJ - making you dizzy with memories. "I..." you start, then swallow hard. "I wanted to call. Every single day, I picked up my phone and stared at your number until the screen went black."

"I missed you," You confess quietly, immediately regretting the words as soon as they leave your mouth. "I mean, I missed everyone," you quickly add, but you both know it's not the same thing. You can feel the weight of everything unsaid between you, three years' worth of words you never got to say. "You look happy," you say, trying to smile even though it feels like your heart is breaking all over again. "With Kie, I mean. You guys... you make sense together." The lie tastes bitter on your tongue, but you force it out anyway. Because what else can you say? That seeing them together feels like drowning? That every time you close your eyes, you still see him? That Maine might have helped you heal your mind, but it did nothing to heal your heart? 

A burst of laughter from inside makes him jump, reminding him where you are and who's waiting for him. "Happy?" he scoffs, the word tasting like ash in his mouth. "Yeah, sure. I'm fucking peachy." His sarcasm is sharp enough to cut, a defense mechanism he's perfected over the years. He takes another long drink from his beer, finishing it in one go before setting it down with more force than necessary. "And don't do that shit about me and Kie making sense. You don't get to..." he stops himself again, running a hand over his face.

"Fuck, Y/N/N," JJ breathes out, using your old nickname without thinking. His fingers twitch at his sides, wanting to reach for you but knowing he can't. The sight of you touching your wrist scars makes his stomach turn - he remembers the day he found you, remembers the blood, remembers feeling more terrified than he'd ever been in his life.

"You can't just come back here and say shit like that," he says, his voice rough with emotion. He runs both hands through his hair in frustration, pacing a small circle on the deck. "You left, Y/N. You fucking left and I..." he trails off, the rest of the sentence dying in his throat. The memory of those first few weeks, after you disappeared, hits him like a physical blow - the drinking, the fights, the reckless behavior that even John B couldn't talk him down from.

"I didn't want to leave, JJ," You say, taking a step closer to him despite yourself. The electricity between you is almost tangible now. "You think I wanted to be shipped off to fucking Maine? To be locked up in some facility where they watched my every move? Where they made me talk about every fucking thing that was wrong with me?" Your voice rises slightly before you catch yourself, glancing nervously at the house. "I was drowning here, JJ. I was drowning and I couldn't..." 

"You know what? Fuck this," JJ says suddenly, his eyes blazing with a mix of anger and something else - something that looks dangerously close to the way he used to look at you. "You want to know what happened after you left? I fucking lost it, Y/N. I was so fucked up I couldn't even..." he cuts himself off, aware he's saying too much. The space between you feels charged with electricity, like the air before a storm. 

"But hey, at least the doctors fixed you up real nice, right?" The words are meant to sting, but there's a tremor in his voice that betrays him. He's still that same boy who used to sneak into your room at night, who used to hold you when the darkness got too heavy, who promised he'd always be there - until you made it impossible to keep that promise." His eyes intense as they lock onto yours. "I used to check your social media every fucking day. Every. Day. Just to make sure you were still..." he trails off, unable to finish the sentence. 

Your hands tremble as you clutch his shirt tighter, his familiar scent making your head spin. "Lost it?" You repeat, your voice cracking. "You think you were the only one who lost it?" The words come out sharper than intended, years of buried pain rising to the surface. Your skin flushes with anger and hurt, your eyes glistening with unshed tears. The bitterness in his voice when he mentions the doctors makes you flinch. "Fixed me up real nice?" You repeat, a hollow laugh escaping your lips. "Is that what you think? That I'm all better now? That I just went away and came back brand new?" You move closer still, close enough to see the flecks of darker blue in his eyes, close enough to smell the beer on his breath. "I still have nightmares. I still get days where I can barely get out of bed. The only difference is now I have better coping mechanisms than..." 

His confession about checking your social media makes your heart stutter in your chest. "I deactivated everything," you admit quietly, your voice thick with emotion. "Because every time I logged on, all I wanted to do was message you. Tell you I was sorry. Tell you I..." you stop yourself, very aware of how close you're standing now, of the fact that he's still shirtless, of Kiara just inside the house. "It doesn't matter now, does it?" You say, taking a step back, trying to create some distance between you even though every cell in your body screams to move closer. "You moved on. You're happy. That's... that's good." The lie tastes like poison on your tongue, but you force it out anyway, because what right do you have to come back here and disrupt his life? What right do you have to still want him this much?

JJ's body tenses as Pope's voice cuts through the charged atmosphere. "What’s taking so long with those beers? John B's about to start drinking mouthwash if we don't..." Pope trails off as he steps onto the deck, his eyes darting between JJ's shirtless form and you holding the said shirt. "Oh shit, my bad, I didn't..." he starts, but JJ cuts him off with a sharp laugh that sounds more like a bark.

"Nothing to be sorry for, Pope," JJ says, his voice carrying an edge that makes Pope raise his eyebrows. JJ snatches up the case of beer from the cooler, his movements jerky and aggressive. "Just catching up with our prodigal pogue here. Sharing war stories about her fancy fucking therapy in Maine." The words come out dripping with sarcasm, but there's a tremor in his hands as he grips the beer case. The porch light catches the tension in his jaw, the way his muscles are coiled tight like he's ready to either fight or flee.

"JJ," Pope says warningly, recognizing the signs of his friend spiraling. He's seen this before - usually right before JJ does something spectacularly stupid. "Maybe we should all just-" But JJ's already moving, shouldering past both of them towards the house. He pauses at the door, his back to you, his knuckles white around the beer case. "You know what the fucked up part is?" he says, not turning around. "I actually thought..." he stops, letting out a bitter laugh. "Doesn't matter what I thought. Welcome home, Y/N. Hope Maine was worth it."

Pope watches JJ disappear inside before turning to you with an apologetic look. "He was really messed up when you left," he says quietly, always the mediator. "Like, more than usual messed up. Started getting into fights with Topper almost daily, drinking more than his dad. Kiara was the only one who could calm him down sometimes." He runs a hand over his face, looking tired. "Look, I know it's not my place, but... maybe give him some time? He's better now, but seeing you again..." Pope glances at the door where you can hear JJ's forced laughter mixing with the others. "It's like reopening an old wound, you know?"

You stare at the door JJ just disappeared through, your heart feeling like it's being ripped apart all over again. His shirt is still clutched in your trembling hands, and you bring it unconsciously closer to your chest. You can feel tears threatening to spill over. "Time?" You repeat Pope's words with a hollow laugh. "Yeah, because three years wasn't enough time, right?" Your voice cracks on the last word, and you have to take a deep breath to steady yourself.

"In Maine, they made us write letters. Letters to everyone we hurt, everyone who hurt us. I wrote so many letters to JJ that they had to give me extra paper." You let out a shaky breath, running your fingers over the soft fabric of JJ's shirt. "Never sent a single one. How do you put three years of 'I'm sorry' and 'I miss you' and 'I still...' into words that don't sound completely fucking pathetic?"

The sound of breaking glass comes from inside, followed by Kiara's concerned "JJ?" Pope closes his eyes and sighs. "And there it is. I better..." he gestures towards the house. "You coming?" The question hangs in the air, heavy with the weight of everything that's just transpired.

The sound of Kiara's concerned voice calling for JJ makes your stomach twist painfully. "You should go check on him," you say to Pope, finally looking up. Your eyes are swimming with unshed tears, but you refuse to let them fall. "I'll... I'll be in in a minute. Just need to..." You gesture vaguely at yourself, trying to pull together the pieces of your composure that JJ's words had shattered. "And Pope?" You call as he turns to leave. "I know everyone probably hates me for leaving. Hell, I hate myself for it. But I didn't have a choice. It was either leave or..." 

You can hear more commotion from inside - JJ's voice raised, something else breaking, Kiara trying to calm him down. The sound makes your chest ache in a way that feels physical. "Fuck," you whisper to yourself, looking down at JJ's shirt still in your hands. You bring it to your face, inhaling his scent one last time before forcing yourself to fold it neatly. You’ll have to give it back eventually, but right now, you need a moment to remember how to breathe without feeling like you’re drowning all over again. The irony isn't lost on you - you left the Outer Banks to stop feeling like you were drowning, only to come back and find yourself deeper underwater than ever before.

The tension in living room is thick enough to cut with a knife as you enter. JJ is sprawled on the couch next to Kiara, his arm draped possessively around her shoulders while nursing what appears to be his fifth beer. There's broken glass by the kitchen counter that Sarah's carefully sweeping up, shooting concerned glances at everyone.

"So this competition tomorrow," John B says too loudly, clearly trying to diffuse the tension. "Heard Topper's entering too." He's sitting cross-legged on the floor, picking at the label of his beer bottle. "Gonna be some sick waves though, bro. Weather report's saying six-footers at least."

JJ snorts, his blue eyes deliberately avoiding your direction. "Yeah, well, Topper can suck my-" Kiara elbows him in the ribs, cutting him off. "What? I'm just saying the trust fund baby probably can't even tell the difference between the nose and tail of his board." His words are slightly slurred, with anger and alcohol making his voice thicker.

"Actually," Sarah pipes up from the kitchen, dumping the broken glass in the trash, "I heard he's been practicing a lot." She settles onto the arm of John B's chair, her blonde hair catching the dim light. "Something about wanting to prove himself or whatever."

Pope shifts slightly as you sit next to him, creating a protective barrier between you and JJ. "You still surf, Y/N?" he asks, trying to include you in the conversation. "Remember that time you totally schooled JJ on that left break by the pier?"

"Fuck off, Pope," JJ snaps, his grip tightening on his beer bottle. "That was one time, and I was hungover as shit." Kiara places a calming hand on his thigh, but he shrugs it off, standing up abruptly. "I need another beer."

"Maybe you should slow down," Kiara suggests gently, reaching for his hand. "The competition's early tomorrow and-"

"I said I need another fucking beer," JJ cuts her off, his voice sharp. He stalks toward the kitchen, purposely taking the long way around to avoid passing near you. "And for the record," he adds, pausing in the doorway, "that left break? I let her win. Figured she needed the ego boost since she was so fucking fragile back then." The words are meant to wound, and from the way you tense beside him, Pope can tell they hit their mark.

John B stands up, running a hand through his hair. "JJ, bro, come on-"

"What?" JJ whirls around, his eyes blazing. "We all just gonna pretend like everything's normal? Like she didn't just fuck off for three years and come waltzing back expecting everything to be the same?" He lets out a bitter laugh. "Nah, I'm good. You guys can play happy fucking family without me."

The room falls into a heavy silence after JJ's outburst. Sarah is the first to speak, her voice gentle but firm. "JJ, that's enough." She moves from her perch on John B's chair, positioning herself between JJ and the rest of the group.

Your hands are shaking as you stand up, your voice quiet but steady. "You want to do this now? Fine." You take a step forward, ignoring Pope's attempt to grab your arm. "You think you're the only one who was hurt? You think you're the only one who was fucked up?" Your voice rises slightly, years of pent-up emotion breaking through. "I didn't just 'fuck off' to Maine for fun, JJ. I went because the alternative was being lowered into the ground in a fucking coffin!"

Kiara stands up too, torn between her boyfriend and her old friend. "Y/N, maybe we should-"

"No, Kie," you cut her off, your eyes locked on JJ. "He wants to talk about being fragile? About letting me win? At least I'm trying to get better. What are you doing, JJ? Getting drunk and picking fights? Real fucking healthy."

John B moves to intervene, but Pope holds him back, shaking his head. This has been brewing since the moment you walked through the door.

"You know what the difference is between us?" You continue, your voice cracking. "I admit I'm broken. I went and got help because I was tired of hurting everyone around me. But you?" You let out a hollow laugh. "You're still that same scared little boy, hiding behind your anger and your booze because god forbid anyone see that you're hurting too. You’re acting just like your daddy.” 

The moment the words leave your mouth, the room erupts into chaos. JJ's beer bottle shatters in his hand as he lunges forward. "Don't you fucking DARE!" as John B and Pope rush to grab him. His muscles strain against their hold. "You don't get to say that shit! You don't get to fucking compare me to him!"

"JJ, stop!" Kiara shouts, but he's beyond hearing. His blue eyes are wild, unfocused, filled with a pain so deep it makes everyone in the room flinch. "You want to talk about being broken?" JJ spits, still fighting against John B and Pope's restraining arms. "At least I didn't run away! At least I stayed and faced my shit instead of leaving everyone wondering if you were even fucking alive!" His voice cracks on the last word, raw emotion bleeding through the anger. "Do you know how many times I drove by your house? How many nights I sat outside your window hoping you'd just... fuck!" 

 "Where the fuck was all this concern for mental health when I was showing up at your window covered in bruises? When I was sleeping on the beach because I was too scared to go home?" Blood continues to drip from his hand, creating a small puddle on the floor.

"You know what's really fucking funny?" JJ continues, his voice cracking. "The day you left? I was gonna tell you everything. About my dad, about how fucked up I was, about how you were the only person who made me feel like maybe I wasn't completely worthless." His words are like bullets, each one aimed to hit where it hurts most.

"Bro, calm down," John B grunts, struggling to maintain his grip. "This isn't helping-"

"Helping?" JJ lets out a laugh that sounds more like a sob. "Nothing helps! Nothing fucking helps because she LEFT!" He finally breaks free, stumbling forward but not advancing towards you. Instead, he stands there, chest heaving, looking more vulnerable than any of them has ever seen him. "You left," he repeats, quieter now, his voice thick with unshed tears. "You left and I couldn't... I couldn't fucking breathe. And now you're back and I still can't breathe and I..." He runs his hands through his hair violently, turning away from everyone.

Pope steps forward cautiously. "JJ, maybe we should-"

"Don't," JJ cuts him off, his voice dangerous again. "Just... don't." He grabs his keys from the counter, ignoring Kiara's protests. "I need to get the fuck out of here before I..." He doesn't finish the sentence, just storms out, the screen door slamming behind him. The sound of his motorcycle roaring to life fills the night air moments later.

The room falls into a heavy silence after JJ's dramatic exit. You stand frozen, your whole body trembling as tears finally spill down your cheeks. Sarah is the first to move, wrapping her arms around you as you begin to sob.

"I didn't mean..." you choke out between sobs. "I didn't mean to say that about his dad. I just... I was so angry and..." You collapse onto the couch, Sarah still holding you while Kiara paces anxiously by the door.

"Someone needs to go after him," Kiara says, grabbing her jacket. "He's drunk and upset, he shouldn't be on that bike." She looks torn between staying with you and chasing after her boyfriend.

John B runs a hand through his hair, exchanging worried looks with Pope. "I'll go," he says, grabbing his keys. "Pope, you stay here with them. Sarah, can you...?" He gestures at you, who's still crying into Sarah's shoulder.

"I got her," Sarah assures him. "Just... bring him back in one piece, okay?"

Pope starts cleaning up the broken glass, his movements careful and methodical. "You know," he says quietly, "JJ never told anyone this, but he used to sleep in your treehouse after you left. We'd find him up there some mornings, usually after really bad nights with his dad."

"He kept your bracelet too," Kiara adds softly, still hovering by the door. "The one you made him at that bonfire. Wears it under his watch sometimes." She pauses, conflict clear on her face. "I should go with John B-"

"No," you say, wiping your eyes. "Stay. Please. I... I need to tell you all something. About why I really left." You take a shaky breath, looking around at your friends - the family you left behind. "It wasn't just the self-harm or the suicide attempt. There was... there was more. And JJ... he deserves to know the truth. You all do."

Sarah squeezes your hand encouragingly while Pope settles on the floor in front of you. The sound of the Twinkie starting up outside fills the momentary silence.

"Take your time," Sarah says gently. "We're listening." 

John B finds JJ at their usual spot - the abandoned dock near the marsh where they used to fish as kids. JJ's sitting at the edge, legs dangling over the water, a fresh beer in his hand that he definitely grabbed from his emergency stash hidden in the old boat nearby. His motorcycle is parked haphazardly in the grass, still ticking as it cools down.

"Figured I'd find you here," John B says, settling down next to his best friend. The moonlight reflects off the water, casting everything in a silvery glow. "That was quite a show back there, bro."

JJ takes a long pull from his beer, his knuckles still bloody from the broken bottle. "Fuck off, John B," he mutters, but there's no real heat behind it. His hands are shaking slightly as he brings the bottle back to his lips. "I don't need another fucking lecture about controlling my temper or whatever shit you're about to say."

"Actually," John B says, pulling out two fresh beers from his pocket and handing one to JJ, "I was gonna say she had no right bringing up your dad." He cracks open his beer, the sound echoing across the quiet marsh. "That was fucked up."

JJ lets out a hollow laugh, running his uninjured hand through his messy hair. "You know what's fucked up? She's right." His voice cracks slightly. "I am turning into him. Getting drunk, breaking shit, can't control my fucking temper..." He throws his empty bottle into the water with force, watching it disappear beneath the dark surface.

"Nah, man," John B shakes his head firmly. "You're nothing like Luke. You know how I know?" He waits until JJ looks at him. "Because you care. Like, actually give a shit about people. Luke never did." He pauses, choosing his next words carefully. "And you loved her. Still do, probably."

"Doesn't fucking matter now, does it?" JJ's voice is rough with emotion. "I'm with Kie. And Y/N... she's..." he trails off, unable to finish the sentence. The crickets chirp in the silence that follows, the marsh grass swaying in the gentle breeze.

"You know," John B says after a while, "Kie knows. Has known for a while, I think. About how you feel about Y/N." He takes another sip of his beer. "Maybe that's why she's been so... I don't know, different lately?"

JJ's head snaps up, his blue eyes wide in the moonlight. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Come on, bro," John B sighs. "You've been wearing that bracelet under your watch since the day Y/N left. You sleep in her old treehouse when shit gets bad. And the way you looked at her tonight... that wasn't just anger, man."

JJ stares out at the dark water, his jaw working as he processes John B's words. "It's not..." he starts, then stops, taking a long drink. "Fuck, man." The moonlight catches the silver threads in his shark tooth necklace as he shifts uncomfortably. "You can't just say shit like that about me and Kie."

"Why not?" John B presses, watching his best friend carefully. "Because it's true? Because you've been trying so hard to convince yourself that what you have with Kie is enough?" He dodges the empty beer can JJ throws at his head with practiced ease. "I love Kie, man. We all do. But she deserves better than being someone's second choice."

"You think I don't know that?" JJ explodes, jumping to his feet. He paces the dock, his shoes making the old wood creak. "You think I don't fucking hate myself for it? For not being able to..." he trails off, running both hands through his hair in frustration. "Y/N left, John B. She fucking left without a word and Kie... Kie was there. She picked up the pieces. She..."

"She's not Y/N," John B finishes quietly. The words hang in the humid night air, heavy with truth. "And that's not fair to any of you."

JJ stops pacing, bracing himself against one of the dock posts. His knuckles are white where they grip the wood, blood from his earlier injury leaving dark smears. "You should've seen her that night," he says so quietly John B almost misses it. "The night before she left. She came to my window like she always did when shit got bad. But something was different. She wouldn't look at me, wouldn't let me touch her. Just kept saying she was sorry." His voice cracks. "I should've known. Should've fucking done something."

"JJ..." John B starts, but JJ cuts him off.

"And now she's back," he continues, his voice rough. "She's back and she's wearing that fucking perfume that makes my head spin, and she's got these new scars I don't know the stories too, and she's looking at me like... like..." He slams his fist into the post, adding fresh splinters to his already injured hand. "Like I'm still that stupid kid who couldn't save her. How I didn't see how bad it was getting. How I was so caught up in my shit with my dad that I missed all the signs." He runs his hands through his hair roughly. "And you know what the worst part is? Even after everything, even with Kie... I still..." He can't finish the sentence, but he doesn't need to.

The marsh is quiet except for the gentle lapping of water against the dock and the distant sound of a boat horn. John B watches as his best friend falls apart, knowing there's nothing he can say to make this better. "Maybe," he finally suggests, "you should talk to Kie. Like, really talk to her. And then..." he hesitates. "Maybe you should talk to Y/N too. About everything."

JJ lets out a bitter laugh. "Yeah? And say what? 'Sorry, I just had a fucking meltdown in front of everyone because seeing you still makes me feel like I'm drowning'? 'Sorry, I'm such a fuck up I couldn't even move on properly'?" He slides down to sit on the dock again, his energy seemingly drained. "Nah, man. Some things are better left buried."

The two make their way to the van it rumbles down the dark road, headlights cutting through the night as John B glances worriedly at JJ in the passenger seat. JJ is slumped against the window, his breath fogging up the glass, the streetlights casting intermittent shadows across his face. His bloody knuckles rest in his lap, the makeshift bandage John B made from his t-shirt already soaking through.

"Your dad's been better lately, right?" John B asks cautiously, turning onto JJ's street. "Like, with the new job and everything?" He knows these periods of calm with Luke are temporary, like the eye of a hurricane - peaceful until it's not.

JJ lets out a laugh, his eyes still fixed on the passing shadows outside. "Yeah, for now. Give it a week, maybe two if we're lucky." His voice is tired, drained of its usual energy. "He's actually buying groceries instead of beer. Fucking miracle, right?" The sarcasm in his voice is thick enough to cut.

As they pull up to JJ's house, they can see Luke's truck in the driveway, the porch light on - a rare sight. Through the window, they can see him moving around in the kitchen, looking almost normal, almost like a real father. "You sure you don't want to crash at my place?" John B offers, killing the engine. "Sarah won't mind, and you know Pope's probably got Y/N calmed down by now..."

"Don't," JJ warns, his voice sharp. "Just... don't say her name right now, okay?" He runs his uninjured hand through his hair, a nervous habit that's become more frequent since your return. "I can't... I can't think about that shit right now. About what she said, about Kie, about..." he trails off, shaking his head.

The front door opens, and Luke steps onto the porch. "JJ? That you, son?" His voice carries across the yard, lacking its usual angry slur. "Got some leftovers if you're hungry. Made that fish you like." The attempt at normalcy is almost more unsettling than his usual violence.

"Fuck," JJ mutters, unbuckling his seatbelt. "Look at him, playing father of the year." He grabs his backpack from the backseat, wincing as the movement jars his injured hand. "Thanks for the ride, bro. And for..." he gestures vaguely, encompassing everything that happened at the dock.

"JJ," John B calls as his friend opens the door. "Just... be careful, okay? And if shit goes south..." He doesn't need to finish the sentence. They both know JJ's always got a place at the Chateau.

"Yeah, yeah," JJ forces a grin that doesn't reach his eyes. "Save the emotional shit for Sarah, man." He slams the van door, shouldering his backpack as he heads toward the house. Each step feels heavy like he's walking through water. The weight of everything - your return, his relationship with Kiara, his dad's temporary stability - sits on his shoulders like a physical burden.

Luke's waiting at the door, and for once, his eyes are clear. "Rough night?" he asks, noticing JJ's bandaged hand. There's genuine concern in his voice, the kind that makes JJ's chest ache because he knows it won't last.

He follows his father into the house, the familiar scent of fried fish and something else - hope, maybe? - filling the air. The kitchen is cleaner than he's seen it in years, dishes are actually washed and put away, no empty bottles littering the counters. It's like walking into a funhouse mirror version of his life, everything familiar but slightly wrong.

"Sit," Luke gestures to the table, already moving to reheat the food. "Got paid today. Foreman says I'm doing good work." There's pride in his voice, the kind JJ used to dream of hearing when he was younger. "Even got you something." He pulls out a small package from one of the kitchen drawers, sliding it across the table.

JJ stares at the package like it might bite him, his injured hand throbbing in rhythm with his heartbeat. "Dad, you didn't have to..." he starts, but Luke waves him off.

"Open it," Luke insists, putting a plate of steaming fish and rice in front of JJ. "Saw it at the store, thought of you." His voice is gruff with emotion he doesn't know how to express.

With trembling fingers, JJ unwraps the package. Inside is a new surf wax and a professional-grade fishing lure - the expensive kind they used to admire together in the shop window when JJ was little. "This is..." he swallows hard, something thick and painful lodging in his throat.

"For the competition tomorrow," Luke explains, sitting down across from him with his own plate. "Figured you could use some good gear." He pauses, studying JJ's face. "Your hand gonna be okay to surf?"

JJ flexes his fingers experimentally, wincing. "Yeah, it's fine. Just some scratches." He doesn't mention how he got them, and Luke doesn't ask. Some things are better left unsaid, even in this temporary peace.

They eat in relative silence, the only sounds are the scrape of forks against plates and the distant hum of crickets outside. JJ can't help but wait for the other shoe to drop, for his father to notice the alcohol on his breath, or ask why he came home so late. But Luke just keeps eating, occasionally glancing at JJ with something that looks almost like concern.

"Y/N’s back," Luke says suddenly, making JJ choke on his rice. "Saw her at the store today. She's grown up nice." He says it casually, like he doesn't know the weight those words carry like he doesn't remember the nights JJ came home drunk and broken after you left.

JJ's grip on his fork tightens, his knuckles white. "Dad..." he warns, but Luke continues.

"You know, I never told you this," Luke sets down his fork, his voice unusually serious. "But that girl... she used to come by sometimes when you were out. Would bring groceries, say she was just dropping off extras her mom bought." He lets out a dry laugh. "We both knew she was lying. She was checking on you, making sure I hadn't..." he trails off, shame coloring his voice.

The revelation hits JJ like a physical blow. He pushes back from the table, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "I can't... I can't do this right now," he manages to say, his voice rough. "Thanks for dinner. And the..." he gestures at the gifts, unable to finish.

Luke nods, understanding in his eyes that hurts worse than any punch he's ever thrown. "Get some rest, son. Big day tomorrow." He watches as JJ practically flees to his room, the sound of his door closing echoing through the unusually quiet house.

In his room, JJ collapses onto his bed. The surf wax and lure sit on his nightstand, mocking him with their newness, their promise of a father he's always wanted but never quite had. He pulls out his phone, seeing missed calls from Kiara and texts from the group chat. But it's his wallpaper that catches his eye - still that old photo of him and you at the beach, your smile bright and real, his arm around your shoulders. He'd never changed it, not even after starting things with Kiara.

"Fuck," he whispers into the darkness, throwing his arm over his eyes. Tomorrow's competition suddenly seems like the least of his problems.

JJ is hunched over his surfboard on the front porch, a half-eaten piece of toast dangling from his mouth as he meticulously applies the new wax his father gave him. The morning sun casts long shadows across the worn wood of the porch, the air already thick with humidity. His injured hand throbs as he works, the makeshift bandage John B wrapped it in last night now stained and fraying.

The knock makes him jump, nearly dropping the wax block. "It's open!" he calls out, not looking up from his work. He knows it's Kiara before she even speaks - recognizes the pattern of her footsteps, the jingle of the shell anklet she always wears.

"Hey," Kiara's voice is soft and cautious. She's wearing her competition bikini under a loose tank top, her curly hair pulled back in a messy bun. "You weren't answering your phone." She settles down next to him on the porch steps, close but not touching - a careful distance that speaks volumes.

JJ continues working on his board, his movements perhaps more aggressive than necessary. "Yeah, well, been kind of busy." He gestures at the board with his injured hand, causing Kiara to suck in a sharp breath at the sight of his knuckles.

"Jesus, JJ," she reaches for his hand but he pulls away, standing up abruptly. "We need to talk about last night-"

"No," JJ cuts her off, running his good hand through his already messy hair. "We really don't. I fucked up, lost my temper, same old shit. Can we just..." he trails off, finally looking at her. The concern in her eyes makes his stomach twist with guilt.

Kiara stands too, crossing her arms. "Y/N told us everything last night," she says quietly. "After you left. About why she really went away." She watches as JJ's entire body tenses, his jaw clenching. "JJ, it wasn't just about the self-harm and the attempt. She was-"

"Stop," JJ's voice is sharp, dangerous. He turns away from her, gripping the porch railing so hard his knuckles turn white. "I don't want to know. I can't... I can't hear that shit right now. Not before the competition."

"You can't keep running from this," Kiara says, her voice stronger now. "And you can't keep pretending that what we have is..." she stops, taking a deep breath. "I see the way you look at her, JJ. I've always seen it. Even when you're angry at her, even when you're with me, you look at her like... like she's the sun and you're drowning in her light."

JJ lets out a bitter laugh, turning back to face her. "That's some poetic shit, Kie." But there's no humor in his voice, just pain and exhaustion. "What do you want me to say? That I'm sorry? That I'm a fucking mess who can't get his shit together? That I-"

"I want you to be honest," Kiara interrupts. "With me, with yourself, with her." She steps closer, reaching up to touch his face gently. "We both knew this wasn't forever, JJ. We were just... holding each other together until something better came along."

"You deserve better than that," JJ says quietly, leaning into her touch despite himself. "Better than me using you as a bandaid for my fucked up heart."

Kiara smiles sadly. "Yeah, I do. And so do you." She drops her hand, stepping back. "The competition starts soon. Y/N’s entering too, by the way. JJ? She still wears that shell necklace you made her. Never took it off, even in Maine."

The information hits JJ like a physical blow, making him grip the railing tighter. The surf wax sits abandoned on his board, the morning sun turning it soft and sticky. JJ sighs heavily, sliding down to sit on the porch steps. The morning sun continues to rise, casting long shadows across the yard where weeds push through cracked concrete - a perfect metaphor for their relationship, beautiful things growing in broken places.

"You're not mad?" JJ asks finally, his voice rough. He picks at the fraying bandage on his hand, avoiding her eyes. "About... everything?"

Kiara lets out a soft laugh sitting back down next to him bumping his shoulder with hers. "I mean, I probably should be. But honestly?" She tilts her face toward the sun, closing her eyes. "I think I've known since the beginning. We were both just... trying to fill empty spaces."

JJ runs his good hand through his hair, a nervous habit he can't shake. "You're too good for this shit, Kie. Too good for me and my fucked up baggage." He glances at her sideways. "I never meant to hurt you."

"I know," Kiara says simply. "And hey, at least we had some good times, right?" She grins at him, that familiar sparkle in her eyes. "Like that time we got caught skinny dipping at the country club pool?"

"Fuck," JJ laughs despite himself, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Your dad's face when he found us... thought he was gonna have a stroke." The memory feels lighter now, less weighted with guilt.

They sit in comfortable silence for a moment. Finally, Kiara speaks again, her voice gentle but firm. "You need to talk to her, JJ. Like, really talk to her. No yelling, no running away."

JJ's jaw tightens. "Kie..."

"No, listen," she cuts him off. "What she told us last night... it changes things. And you deserve to know." She stands up, brushing off her shorts. "But first, you need to kick Topper's ass in this competition. Show him that pogues rule the waves, right?"

JJ looks up at her, gratitude and affection washing over him. "How are you so fucking cool about all this?"

Kiara shrugs, a small smile playing on her lips. "Because I love you both, you idiot. Just... not in the way we've been pretending." She starts walking backward toward her car. "See you at the beach. And JJ?" She pauses. "Whatever Y/N told us last night? It's not my story to tell. But when she does tell you... just remember she never stopped loving you either."

JJ watches her drive away, his heart feeling both lighter and heavier at the same time. He turns back to his surfboard, running his fingers over the fresh wax. The competition starts soon, and somewhere on that beach, you’ll be there. The thought makes his stomach flip in a way that has nothing to do with pre-competition nerves.

The beach is alive with pre-competition energy, the morning sun casting long shadows across the sand as spectators and competitors mill about. The group has claimed your usual spot, a patch of sand near the judges' stand where you're spread out with blankets and coolers. The air smells of salt spray and sunscreen, mixed with the distant scent of food vendors setting up their stalls.

JJ sits cross-legged next to Pope, obsessively checking the fins on his board while stealing glances at you. His injured hand is wrapped in fresh bandages - Pope's handiwork from earlier that morning. "You think the swell's gonna hold?" he asks Pope, his voice tighter than usual. "Weather report said it might pick up around noon."

"Dude, stop stressing," Pope replies, not looking up from his phone where he's tracking the wind patterns. "You could surf these waves in your sleep." He pauses, glancing at his friend. "Though maybe focus more on the waves and less on staring at Y/N every five seconds?"

A few feet away, Kiara and you sit huddled over your board, your heads close together as you work on the design. "Pass me the blue paint?" Kiara asks, her voice carefully casual. "I think it'll pop against the white."

"Here," You hand over the paint pen, your finger steady as you work on your own section of the board. "Thanks for helping me with this, Kie. I know it's... weird."

Sarah's voice carries over from where she's practically sitting in John B's lap, her laugh bright in the morning air. "John B, I swear to God, if you get any more sunscreen in my hair..." She squirms as he deliberately rubs more lotion on her neck.

"What? I'm being helpful!" John B protests, grinning. "Can't have my girl turning into a lobster." He catches JJ's eye and makes an exaggerated kissing face, earning himself a handful of sand thrown his way.

"Get a room, you two," Pope groans, but there's affection in his voice. "Some of us are trying to focus here."

"Yeah, focus on what?" JJ snaps, more harshly than intended. "The competition doesn't start for another hour." His eyes drift back to you, watching as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear - a gesture so familiar it makes his chest ache.

"Speaking of the competition," Sarah pipes up, clearly trying to diffuse the tension, "heard Topper's been practicing his aerial moves. Might actually give you a run for your money this time, JJ."

"Please," JJ scoffs, his trademark cockiness returning. "Trust fund baby probably had to pay someone to teach him which end of the board goes in front." But his bravado falters when he catches you hiding a smile at his comment.

"The waves are looking good though," you offer quietly, your first direct contribution to the group conversation. "Nice clean sets coming in." Your voice carries over the beach noise, making JJ's hands still on his board.

The group falls into a loaded silence, everyone pretending not to notice the way JJ and you carefully avoid looking at each other, or how Kiara's shoulders relax slightly when JJ doesn't snap back with a sarcastic comment.

"Alright, enough of this weird energy," Pope announces, standing up and brushing sand off his shorts. "Who wants to help me get drinks from the vendor? We've got..." he checks his watch, "forty-five minutes to get JJ properly hydrated before he has to show these kooks how it's done."

"Let me help," Sarah jumps up, linking her arm through Pope's. "John B, Y/N, you coming?" There's a pointed look in her eyes that everyone pretends not to notice.

"I'm good," You reply, still focused on your board design. "Need to finish this before the competition starts." Your fingers trace the intricate pattern you and Kiara have created - waves and stars intertwining across the white surface.

"Me too," John B replies, stretching out on their blanket. "Someone's gotta make sure these two don't kill each other." He gestures vaguely between JJ and you, earning himself a glare from both of you.

Kiara looks up from the surfboard, her hands covered in paint. "Get me one of those açai bowls if they have them?" she calls after Pope and Sarah. "And maybe some water for everyone? It's getting hot out here."

As Pope and Sarah head toward the vendors, the remaining group falls into an awkward silence. JJ continues fidgeting with his board, though there's nothing left to adjust. The morning sun beats down on you, the humidity making everything feel sticky and tense. The beach is getting more crowded now, the excitement building as more competitors arrive with their boards.

"Your hand looks better," You say suddenly, your voice soft but carrying clearly over the beach noise. You're still focused on your board, not looking up, but your fingers have stilled on the paint pen.

JJ flexes his injured hand unconsciously. "Yeah, well, Pope's got practice wrapping shit up. Comes with being friends with a walking disaster." He tries for his usual sarcastic tone but it falls flat.

"Remember that time you tried to do a backflip off the pier?" John B interjects, clearly trying to ease the tension. "Pope had to use an entire first aid kit on your stupid ass."

"That was one time," JJ protests, a genuine smile finally cracking through his facade. "And I totally would've landed it if that jellyfish hadn't been in the way."

"There was no jellyfish," Kiara laughs, rolling her eyes. "You just chickened out halfway through."

"I did not!" JJ's voice rises indignantly. "Tell them, Y/N/N, you were there-" He cuts himself off abruptly, realizing he'd used your old nickname without thinking.

The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the distant sound of waves and other competitors warming up. Your hand has started trembling slightly, though you try to hide it by gripping the paint pen tighter.

"There definitely wasn't a jellyfish," you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper. "But there was that group of tourist girls watching, and you were trying to show off..."

"Classic JJ," John B jumps in, trying to keep the conversation flowing. "Always trying to impress the ladies with his 'sick moves.'" He makes air quotes with his fingers.

The moment breaks when someone calls out "Maybank!" from down the beach. It's one of the competition organizers, clipboard in hand. "You're up in heat three, twenty minutes!"

"Shit," JJ mutters, standing up and grabbing his board. "I should probably warm up or whatever." He pauses, looking down at your board. "The design's good," he says quietly, before quickly adding, "Both of you. It's... yeah." He turns and jogs toward the water, his board under his arm.

"Well, that was almost a normal conversation," John B observes, earning himself an elbow in the ribs from Kiara. "What? I'm just saying..."

"I should warm up too," You say suddenly, standing and picking up your board. The morning sun catches the shell necklace around your neck - the one JJ made you years ago - making it gleam.

"Want company?" Kiara offers, but you shake your head.

"I need to..." you gesture vaguely toward the opposite end of the beach from where JJ went. "You know."

They watch as you walk away, your hair blowing in the ocean breeze. John B wraps an arm around Kiara's shoulders. "They'll figure it out," he says confidently. "They always do."

"Yeah," Kiara agrees, leaning into him. "But how many hearts are gonna get broken in the process?"

The question hangs in the air as they watch you two paddle out into the waves from opposite ends of the beach, like magnets simultaneously attracting and repelling each other. The waves crash against the shore as the competition gets underway, the beach packed with spectators cheering from the sand. The morning sun glints off the water, creating perfect conditions for the surfers waiting in the lineup. JJ sits on his board, straddling it as he watches the sets roll in, his injured hand gripping the rails slightly tighter than necessary. He's in heat three, along with you and Kiara, a cruel twist of fate that has his stomach in knots.

From the beach, John B's voice carries over the crowd. "Let's go, JJ! Show these kooks how it's done!" Sarah and Pope join in with their cheers, their enthusiasm infectious enough to draw smiles from other spectators.

JJ catches sight of you about twenty yards to his left, the shell necklace he made you glints in the sun. You're focused on the horizon, reading the waves with an intensity he remembers well from your late-night surfing sessions years ago. Kiara floats between you two, creating a triangle formation in the water, her presence both a buffer and a reminder of everything that's changed.

"First wave of heat three!" the announcer's voice booms over the speakers. "Riders, get ready!"

A set approaches and JJ feels the familiar surge of adrenaline. He watches as you turn your board, positioning yourself for the wave. Your form is different now - more refined, more confident. You catch the wave with practiced ease, your movement fluid as you drop in. The crowd cheers as you execute a perfect bottom turn, spraying water in an arc that catches the sunlight.

"Fuck," JJ mutters under his breath, both impressed and frustrated. He spots his own wave approaching, bigger than yours, and paddles hard. As he pops up, everything else fades away - the crowd, the competition, the complicated mess of emotions. It's just him and the wave, the way it's always been. He drives hard off the bottom, launching into an aerial that has the crowd screaming. His injured hand protests as he grabs his rail, but he sticks the landing, finishing with a powerful snap off the lip.

Kiara catches the next wave, her style more aggressive than yours but equally skilled. She shoots JJ a quick smile as she paddles back out, no trace of their earlier conversation in her expression. You're all competitors now, regardless of your personal drama.

The heat continues, each rider pushing themselves harder with each wave. JJ finds himself watching you more than he should, noticing how you’ve incorporated new techniques into your surfing. There's a grace to your movements that wasn't there before, a confidence that makes his chest tight with something between pride and regret.

From the beach, Pope's voice cuts through the crowd noise: "Time check! Two minutes left in the heat!"

JJ sits up straighter on his board, scanning for one last good wave. He needs something big to secure his spot in the finals. A set approaches, and he can see both you and Kiara eyeing it too. It's the kind of wave you used to fight over during your dawn patrol sessions - clean, powerful, perfect for showing off.

The tension in the water is palpable as you all turn toward shore, ready to battle for position. JJ glances at you, catching your eye for the first time since you paddled out. For a moment, it's like nothing has changed - you're just two kids from the Cut, living for the next wave. Then the moment breaks as the announcer's voice booms: "Final wave of heat three approaching! Who's gonna take it?"

The tension crackles through the air as all three surfers eye the approaching wave. JJ's muscles tense as he prepares to paddle, but suddenly you make your move first, cutting across his line with precise timing. You catch the wave perfectly, popping up with fluid grace that makes the crowd gasp.

"Holy shit!" John B's voice carries over the noise as you drop into the face of the wave. Your form is flawless, body low and controlled as you set up for your first maneuver. 

JJ can't help but watch, even as he and Kiara paddle back to position. You carve up the face of the wave, your movements more aggressive than before, spraying water in an arc that catches the sunlight. You transition into a series of snaps that have the judges leaning forward in their seats, before setting up for your finale.

"No fucking way," JJ mutters, recognizing the setup. It's a move you used to practice together, late at night when the beach was empty - a risky aerial that you’d perfected during those endless summer sessions. You launch off the lip, grabbing your rail and rotating in a way that seems to defy gravity. The landing is clean, and precise, sending another spray of water toward the sky as the crowd erupts.

"That's my girl!" Sarah screams from the beach, jumping up and down while clutching John B's arm. Pope's got his phone out, recording everything while shouting his own encouragement.

As you paddle back out, JJ catches your eye again. There's something different in your expression now - a mix of pride, challenge, and something else he can't quite read. Kiara paddles up beside him, a knowing look on her face.

"Damn," Kiara whistles low. "She's been practicing."

"Time!" The announcer's voice booms across the water. "Heat three is complete! Riders, return to shore for scoring."

The paddle back is quiet, each lost in your own thoughts as the judges figure out scores. JJ can feel the energy on the beach, knowing without looking that your last wave changed everything. As you hit the shallows, John B and Pope rush out to help with your boards.

"That was fucking insane!" John B exclaims, grabbing your board. "When did you learn to fly?"

You push your wet hair back, that shell necklace still somehow perfectly in place. "Maine has waves too," you say quietly, but your eyes flick to JJ as you say it. "Different, but good for practicing."

"Attention competitors," the announcer's voice cuts through their conversation. "Scores for heat three are ready..."

The group falls silent, tension building as you wait for the results. JJ finds himself holding his breath, his injured hand throbbing. The morning sun is high now, turning the ocean into a field of diamonds, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembers teaching you that aerial on a night just like this, under a full moon with no one else around.

The announcer's voice crackles over the speakers: "In third place, with a score of 8.7 - Kiara Carrera!"

Kiara grins, accepting high-fives from the group. "Not bad for a warmup," she says, squeezing water from her hair. Her eyes dart between JJ and you, anticipating what comes next.

"In second place, with a score of 9.2..." The pause feels endless, "JJ Maybank!"

JJ's jaw tightens, his fingers flexing around his board. He knows what's coming, and can feel it in the electric tension running through their little group. Pope claps him on the shoulder, but he barely feels it.

"And taking first place in heat three, with a score of 9.8 - Y/N L/N! That final aerial was something else, folks!"

The beach erupts in cheers, but JJ's focused on your face - the way your eyes widen in surprise, the slight tremor in your hands as Sarah pulls you into a crushing hug. You look exactly like you did years ago when you landed your first aerial under his guidance.

"Holy shit, Y/N!" John B whoops, lifting you off your feet in celebration. "That was fucking incredible!"

"All riders advancing to the finals, please check the board for heat assignments," the announcer continues. "Thirty-minute break before the next round."

JJ watches as they swarm you with congratulations, his emotions a tangled mess he can't sort through. Pride, jealousy, regret, and something deeper, something that feels like the undertow that used to drag you both out during night sessions.

"You taught her that aerial," Kiara says quietly beside him, her voice carrying a knowing tone. "I remember watching you two practice it for weeks."

Before JJ can respond, you break away from the group, approaching them with hesitant steps. You're holding something in your hand - his old surf wax, the one he'd always let you borrow during your sessions.

"Found this in my bag this morning," you say, your voice barely audible over the beach noise. "Thought you might want it back." Your finger brushes his as you hand it over, sending a jolt through his system that has nothing to do with the competition.

"Keep it," he finds himself saying, his voice rougher than intended. "Looks like you're putting it to better use anyway." He tries to make it sound casual, but there's too much history in those words, too many memories of dawn patrols and midnight sessions and promises made under starlit skies.

The moment stretches between you, heavy with unspoken words, until Pope's voice breaks through: "Guys! They're posting the final heat assignments!"

The group moves toward the bulletin board, but JJ hangs back, watching you walk away. The shell necklace catches the light again, and he remembers making it for you on this very beach, his fingers working the knots while you talked about constellations and dreams and futures that seemed possible then.

"You okay?" Kiara asks, lingering beside him.

"Yeah," JJ lies, running a hand through his salt-stiffened hair. "Just... fuck." He doesn't need to finish the sentence. Kiara understands - she always has.

The finals loom ahead, but all JJ can think about is that aerial, and how your form was exactly the same as when he first taught it to you, right down to the way you point your toes during the rotation. Some things, it seems, don't change - even when everything else does.

The beach is winding down as the sun begins its descent, painting the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks. The competition crowd has thinned, leaving behind only the most dedicated spectators and the Pogues, who are sprawled out on their blankets celebrating their friends' success. JJ, you, and Kiara stand together on the podium, your medals glinting in the late afternoon light.

"Third place, Kiara Carrera!" The announcer's voice booms one final time. Kiara grins, holding up her bronze medal as Sarah and John B whoop and holler from the crowd.

"Second place, Y/N L/N!" You step forward, accepting your silver medal with a small smile. The shell necklace around your neck catches the light, drawing JJ's attention momentarily.

"And your first-place winner, JJ Maybank!" The crowd erupts as JJ accepts his gold medal, his signature cocky grin in place despite the storm of emotions brewing beneath the surface. His final wave had been spectacular - a combination of raw power and technical skill that even the most critical judges couldn't deny.

As you step down from the podium, Pope approaches with a cooler. "Time to celebrate properly!" he announces, pulling out beers for everyone. The group gravitates toward your usual spot on the beach, away from the dispersing crowd.

"To the most talented pogues in the OBX!" John B raises his beer, his other arm wrapped around Sarah's waist. "And to Kiara for not killing JJ when he snake dropped her wave in the finals!"

"Hey!" JJ protests, but he's laughing. "All's fair in love and surfing, right?" The words hang in the air for a moment, loaded with meaning as his eyes unconsciously drift to you.

"That last aerial though," Pope interjects, sensing the tension. "Thought you were gonna break your neck, JJ."

"Please," JJ scoffs, taking a long drink from his beer. "That was nothing compared to the shit we used to pull during night sessions." He freezes slightly, realizing what he's said, and who he's referencing.

You shift beside him, your silver medal catching the dying light. "Remember that time we tried to surf during a lightning storm?" You say quietly, surprising everyone. "John B had to come to rescue us in the Twinkie."

"Jesus," Sarah laughs, but her eyes are watchful. "You two were always doing crazy shit like that."

The group falls into a comfortable rhythm of storytelling and laughter, the competition tension slowly easing. JJ finds himself hyper-aware of your presence, the way you laugh at John B's terrible jokes, and how you unconsciously play with that shell necklace when you're thinking.

"You've improved," he says suddenly when the others are distracted by Pope's dramatic reenactment of a wipeout. "Your form, I mean. It's... different. Better."

You look at him, really look at him, for what feels like the first time since you’ve been back. "Had a good teacher," you reply softly, your fingers still toying with the necklace. "Some things you don't forget, even when you're trying to."

The weight of unspoken words hangs between you, heavy as storm clouds. Kiara watches you two from across the circle, a knowing look in her eyes as she catches JJ's gaze.

The Wreck is bustling with the usual dinner crowd, but Kiara's parents have reserved the back section for their celebration. The smell of fried shrimp and hush puppies fills the air as you pile around your favorite table, medals still hanging around the winners' necks. The sunset streams through the windows, casting everything in a warm golden glow.

JJ slouches in his chair, one arm draped over the back as he nurses his beer. His eyes keep drifting to you, who's sitting between Sarah and Pope, your hair still damp from the ocean. The shell necklace catches the light every time you move, a constant reminder of everything that's changed and everything that hasn't.

"Yo, check it out," John B nudges JJ, nodding toward the entrance where Topper and Rafe are making their way over. The entire table tenses slightly, years of rivalry making everyone wary.

"Hey," Topper says, stopping at their table. He looks different - less aggressive than usual, almost humble. "Just wanted to say... that was some sick surfing today. All of you." His eyes linger on you for a moment longer than necessary, making JJ's jaw clench.

Rafe, surprisingly sober, nods in agreement. "That move in the finals, Maybank? Pretty fucking impressive." He shifts uncomfortably, clearly not used to complimenting pogues. "And Y/N... didn't know you had moves like that."

"Thanks," you reply quietly, your fingers automatically going to the shell necklace. The gesture doesn't go unnoticed by anyone at the table, especially JJ.

"Yeah, well," JJ starts, his voice carrying an edge, but Kiara kicks him under the table. He swallows whatever sarcastic comment he is about to make. "Thanks, man. You weren't half bad either, Topper."

"Listen," Topper says, running a hand through his hair. "We're having a bonfire in Figure Eight tonight. Victory party kind of thing. You guys should come." The invitation hangs in the air, surprising everyone.

Sarah raises an eyebrow at her brother. "Rafe? You're okay with this?"

Rafe shrugs, looking almost uncomfortable. "New leaf and all that shit, right? Besides," he grins, some of his old cockiness returning, "can't let you pogues have all the fun."

The group exchanges looks, years of kook-pogue rivalry making them hesitant. It's Pope who finally speaks up. "Yeah, alright. Could be fun."

"Cool," Topper nods, already backing away. "Starts at nine. Bring whatever." He and Rafe head back to their table, leaving you in stunned silence.

"Did that just happen? Did we just have a civil conversation with Topper and Rafe?" Kiara says surprised.

"End times," Pope declares solemnly, making everyone laugh. "The apocalypse is definitely coming."

"Well, that was weird," John B says, voicing what everyone's thinking. "Think it's a trap?"

"Nah," Sarah shakes her head. "Topper's been different lately. And Rafe... well, rehab changed him. A little, anyway."

JJ snorts, taking another drink. "Still don't trust them." His eyes find you again. "You gonna go?"

The question feels heavier than it should, loaded with implications. You meet his gaze, something unreadable in your expression. "Maybe," you say softly. "Might be nice to see how the other half lives, right?"

The tension at the table shifts, everyone pretending not to notice the way JJ's grip tightens on his beer bottle, or how your fingers haven't left that shell necklace since Topper walked away.

"Well," Kiara stands up, ever the peacemaker, "if we're doing this, we should probably get more food first. Can't show up to a kook party on empty stomachs." She heads toward the kitchen, leaving the others to navigate the complicated dynamics at the table.

The bonfire casts dancing shadows across the beach as JJ stands near the water's edge, the sound of waves mixing with distant laughter and music from the kook party. He's already several beers in, trying to drown out the memories that keep surfacing every time he catches sight of you. The others have conspicuously disappeared - John B and Sarah wandering off toward the dunes, Pope getting caught up in some debate about marine biology with a group of college kids, and Kiara conveniently remembering she needed to help set up the speakers.

You approach quietly, your presence announced only by the soft crunch of sand under your feet. You’ve changed since dinner, wearing a loose white beach dress that catches the firelight, that damn shell necklace still around your neck. Without warning, you reach out and take his beer, replacing it with a bottle of water.

"The fuck, Y/N/N?" JJ protests, the nickname slipping out before he can stop it. His voice is rougher than usual, whether, from the alcohol or emotion, it's hard to tell.

"You've had enough," you say softly, but firmly. "And we both know you get mean when you drink too much." There's no judgment in your voice, just stated fact - you know him too well, even after all this time.

JJ runs a hand through his hair, agitation clear in every movement. "Yeah? And what makes you think you still get to make that call?" The words come out harsh, but he takes a drink from the water bottle anyway.

You settle into the sand, patting the spot next to you. After a moment's hesitation, JJ sits too, maintaining careful distance between you two. The fire casts an orange glow across your skin.

"Remember the last bonfire we were at together?" You ask suddenly, your voice barely audible over the waves. "Before... everything?"

JJ tenses beside you, his fingers digging into the sand. "Don't," he warns, but there's less bite in his voice now. "We're not doing this, Y/N."

"Aren't we?" You turn to look at him fully, the firelight reflecting in your eyes. "Because I think we've been doing this dance since I got back. Everyone sees it, JJ. Even Kiara-"

"Leave Kie out of this," he snaps, but you both know it's a weak protest. His hand unconsciously moves toward yours in the sand before he catches himself. The shell necklace gleams as you shift, drawing his attention. "You kept it," he says suddenly, nodding toward the necklace. "Even in Maine."

"Never took it off," you admit quietly. "Even when they..it was the only piece of home I had left. The only piece of you."

JJ's breath catches at your words, his fingers curling into fists in the sand. The firelight dances across your faces as the party continues behind you, but you might as well be alone on the beach. The sound of waves seems to grow louder, matching the thundering of his heart.

"You can't just..." he starts, his voice cracking.

"You can't just say shit like that, Y/N. Not after... not after everything."

You shift slightly closer, the hem of your white dress brushing against his leg. "Then what can I say, JJ? Because we need to talk about it. About that night. About why I really left." 

"Yeah?" JJ's voice turns sharp, defensive. "What's there to talk about? You made your choice. You left. End of fucking story." But his eyes betray him, constantly drawn to your face, to the necklace, to the way the firelight catches in your hair.

"It wasn't a choice," you say quietly, your voice trembling slightly. "My parents found the letters, JJ. The ones I wrote to you about... about everything. About your dad, about what we were planning..." You take a shaky breath. "About how much I loved you."

JJ's whole body goes rigid at your words. The water bottle crumples in his grip, forgotten. "Stop," he says, but it sounds more like a plea than a command. "Just... fuck, Y/N."

"You want to know why I really left?" You continue, your voice stronger now. "Because that night, after I left your house, after your dad..." you swallow hard. "After I saw what he did to you, I went home and wrote everything down. Every bruise I'd helped you hide, every night you climbed through my window bleeding, every time you flinched when someone moved too fast. I was going to turn him in, JJ. I couldn't watch him hurt you anymore."

The confession hangs in the air between you, heavy as storm clouds. JJ's breathing has become ragged, his jaw clenched so tight it must hurt. Behind you, someone cranks up the music, but it feels distant, muffled like you're underwater.

"My parents found the letters before I could do anything," you continue, your voice barely above a whisper. "They read everything - about us, about your dad, about how we were planning to run away after graduation. They didn't give me a choice, JJ. It was either Maine or..." 

JJ stares at the water, his whole body vibrating with tension as he processes your words. The firelight catches the tears threatening to spill from his eyes, but he blinks them away furiously. His injured hand flexes in the sand, leaving small indentations that quickly fill with darkness.

"You were gonna..." he starts, his voice hoarse. "You were trying to protect me?" A bitter laugh escapes him. "Fuck, Y/N. I thought... all this time I thought you just couldn't handle my shit anymore. Thought you got tired of dealing with the fucked up pogue kid."

You shift closer, close enough that your shoulders brush. The contact sends electricity through both of you. "I could never get tired of you, JJ," you whisper, your voice catching. "Even in Maine, even when they had me so medicated I could barely remember my own name... I never stopped..."

"Don't," he cuts you off roughly, but he doesn't move away. "You can't just come back here and tell me all this shit. You can't just..." he runs his hand through his hair again, agitation clear in every movement. "Fuck, do you know what it did to me? Finding your room empty that morning? Your mom wouldn't tell me anything, just kept saying you were 'getting help' like you were some kind of..." he can't finish the sentence.

"I tried to call," you admit quietly. "That first month, I called your number every day until they took my phone. Left so many voicemails I filled up your inbox." You touch the shell necklace again, a habit he's starting to recognize as nervous comfort. "Did you... did you ever listen to them?"

"Every fucking one. Over and over until the system deleted them." He finally turns to look at you fully, his eyes intense in the firelight. "I still have that old phone. Can't bring myself to throw it away because it's got your last message saved."

The confession hangs between you, heavy with meaning. Behind you, the party continues, but you might as well be alone on the beach. The waves crash steadily, a rhythm you both know by heart from countless night sessions together.

"I kept every letter," You say softly. "The ones they wouldn't let me send. There's a whole box of them under my bed. Three years' worth of things I needed to tell you." Your hand moves unconsciously toward his in the sand, stopping just short of touching.

JJ stares at the ocean for a long moment, processing everything. The firelight dances across his features as he finally turns back to you, his expression raw and vulnerable in a way you haven’t seen since that last night three years ago.

"Every time something good happened, or something shit happened, or just... anything happened, my first thought was always 'I gotta tell Y/N.' Then I'd remember you weren't there anymore." He lets out a shaky breath. "Took me almost a year to stop turning to tell you stuff."

Your hand finally bridges the gap between them, your fingers brushing against his in the sand. Neither of you pulls away. "I did the same thing," you admit. "In group therapy, they'd ask who we missed most from home. I'd always say my parents, but..." You touch the shell necklace with your free hand. "It was always you, JJ. Every single time."

JJ's thumb unconsciously strokes across your knuckles, a gesture so familiar it makes your heartache. "I can't..." He starts, his voice catching. "I can't go through losing you again, Y/N. I barely survived it the first time." The admission costs him, you can see it in the way his jaw clenches, the way his fingers tighten slightly against yours.

"I'm not going anywhere," you whisper, the words carrying on the ocean breeze. "Not this time. Not ever again." You turn your hand in the sand, properly lacing your fingers together. "I'm done running, JJ. From you, from us, from everything."

The silence that follows is heavy with possibility. Behind you, someone calls your names - probably Pope or Sarah looking for you - but neither moves. "We can't just pick up where we left off," JJ finally says, but he doesn't let go of your hand. "Too much has happened. We're different people now."

You nod, understanding in your eyes. "I know. But maybe..." you squeeze his hand gently. "Maybe we can start something new. Something better."

JJ looks at your intertwined hands, then back at your face - at the girl who's haunted his dreams for three years, who's sitting here now in the firelight wearing his necklace and holding his hand like you never left. "Yeah," he says softly, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through. "Maybe we can."

The party continues behind you, but you stay there on the beach, hands linked, watching the waves and starting the long process of healing what was broken. It's not perfect, and it's not fixed, but it's a beginning. And sometimes, that's enough.

The moonlight streams through your bedroom window as you and JJ slip inside, your footsteps quiet on the hardwood floors. Your room looks different than JJ remembers - new paint, new decorations, but somehow still unmistakably you. The fairy lights strung across the ceiling cast a soft glow over everything, creating shadows that dance across the walls.

JJ hovers near the door, hands shoved in his pockets as he watches you drop to your knees beside the bed. The fabric of your dress ghosting around your legs as you reach under the bed frame. His shell necklace catches the light as you move, making his chest tight with memories.

"It's here somewhere," You mutter, pushing aside boxes and old notebooks. "I kept everything organized when I moved back, but..." you trail off, stretching further under the bed. 

JJ forces himself to look away, focusing instead on the photos newly tacked to your wall. Most are recent - your time in Maine, new friends, new places. But there, in the corner, partially hidden behind others, he spots one that makes his breath catch. It's you two, three years ago, on the beach after a night session. His arm is around your shoulders, both of you grinning at the camera, saltwater still dripping from your hair.

"Found it!" Your voice pulls him back to the present. You emerge from under the bed with a large shoebox, worn at the edges and covered in doodles. Your hands shake slightly as you set it on the bed, looking up at JJ with uncertainty in your eyes.

"That's... all of them?" JJ asks, his voice rougher than intended. He takes a step closer, drawn by the box like a magnet. Three years of words you couldn't say, couldn't send, all contained in one shoebox.

You nod, sitting cross-legged on the bed beside the box. "Every letter I wrote. Every time I missed you, every time something reminded me of you, every time I..." you trail off, fingers tracing the edge of the box. "Every time I needed you to know I still loved you."

The admission hangs in the air between you, heavy with possibility. JJ moves closer, perching on the edge of the bed, careful to maintain some distance. The fairy lights cast soft shadows across your face as you open the box, revealing stacks of envelopes, some crisp and new, others worn from being handled repeatedly.

"You don't have to read them now," you say quickly, noticing how JJ's hands have started to shake. "I just... I needed you to know they existed. That I never stopped trying to reach you, even when I couldn't actually send them."

The tension breaks as he lets out a snort of laughter, picking up one of the envelopes. "Your handwriting still looks like shit, Y/N," he teases, falling easily back into your old dynamic. "Seriously, did they not teach penmanship in Maine?"

You gasp in mock offense, snatching the letter from his hands. "Excuse you, this is art." You fought back a smile though, relief evident in your features at his attempt to lighten the mood. "Not all of us can have perfect surfer boy handwriting."

"Perfect?" JJ grins, reaching for another letter. "Have you seen my grocery lists? Even Pope can't read them." He settles more comfortably on the bed, his earlier hesitation melting away. "Oh shit, this one's got little hearts drawn all over it. Fucking sap."

"Shut up," You laugh, shoving his shoulder playfully. "I was heavily medicated and missing your stupid face." You pull out another letter, this one covered in doodles of waves and surfboards. "Oh god, my therapy art phase. We don't talk about this one."

JJ snatches it before you can hide it, his eyes scanning the page with growing amusement. "Holy fuck, is that supposed to be me?" He points to a stick figure with spiky hair riding a wave. "My hair does not look like that!"

"It absolutely does when you first wake up," you argue, reaching for the letter. JJ holds it above his head, laughing as you try to grab it. "JJ Maybank, give that back!"

"Make me," he challenges, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. It feels like old times - him in your room, playfully arguing about nothing important, the weight of your earlier conversation temporarily lifted.

You lunge for the letter, causing you both to tumble backward onto your bed, letters scattering around you. JJ's still holding the drawing above his head, grinning as you try to reach it. "You're such an ass," you complain, but you're laughing too.

"Yeah, but you missed this ass," he quips, then freezes slightly, worried he's pushed too far. But You just roll your eyes, finally managing to snatch the letter back.

"Unfortunately," you sigh dramatically, settling beside him among the scattered letters. "Though I'm starting to question my judgment."

JJ clutches his chest in mock hurt. "Wow, three years and you're already tired of me? That's cold, Y/N. Ice cold." He picks up another letter, this one dated from about a year ago. "Oh look, more hearts. And are those little JJs surfing?"

"I'm going to murder you," you threaten, but there's no heat in it. You're watching him with soft eyes, taking in how the fairy lights cast shadows across his face, how his smile reaches his eyes for the first time since you’ve been back.

"Nah, you love me too much," he says automatically, then stills as he realizes what he's said. The playful atmosphere wavers for a moment, the weight of your history threatening to crash back in.

But you just smile, reaching out to fix his messy hair. "Yeah," you say softly. "I do."

The admission is simple, honest, lacking the heavy emotion of your beach conversation. JJ looks at you, really looks at you, surrounded by three years worth of letters you wrote to him, wearing his necklace, smiling at him like nothing's changed and everything's changed all at once.

"Well, shit," he says finally, a grin tugging at his lips. "That's convenient. 'Cause I might still love you too."

The moment stretches between you, charged with three years of unspoken feelings until JJ finally closes the distance. His lips meet yours softly at first, hesitant, like he's afraid you might disappear if he pushes too hard. His hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing across your cheekbone as letters crinkle beneath you.

You respond immediately, your fingers threading through his hair as you pull him closer. The kiss deepens, three years of longing and regret and love pouring into it. JJ tastes like ocean and bonfire smoke, exactly how you remember.

"Fuck," JJ breathes against your lips, pulling back slightly. His blue eyes are dark with emotion as he looks at you, his thumb still tracing patterns on your skin. "I've missed this. Missed you." His voice is rough, and vulnerable in a way he rarely allows himself to be.

You smile, tugging gently at his hair. "Yeah?" You tease, though your voice trembles slightly. "Even with my shit handwriting?"

JJ laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest where it's pressed against yours. "Especially with your shit handwriting," he murmurs, before capturing your lips again. This kiss is different - deeper, more urgent. His hand slides from your face to your neck, fingers brushing against the shell necklace.

You shift on the bed, letters scattering to the floor forgotten as you pull JJ closer. His weight settles over you naturally, like you never spent time apart. The fairy lights cast a soft glow over them, creating shadows that dance across your skin.

"Is this okay?" JJ asks between kisses, his forehead resting against yours. Despite his usual confidence, there's uncertainty in his voice. "We don't have to..."

You cut him off with another kiss, your hands sliding under his t-shirt to trace the familiar planes of his back. "JJ," you whisper against his lips. "Shut up."

He grins against your mouth, some of his usual cockiness returning. "Make me," he challenges, echoing your earlier playful banter. But there's heat in his voice now, promise in the way his fingers trail down your sides tracing the curve of your waist through the thin fabric of your white dress. His touch is familiar and electric, leaving trails of heat in its wake. The fairy lights cast a soft glow over them as he captures your lips again, deeper this time, more urgent.

"Fuck, Y/N," he breathes against your mouth, his voice rough with want. His fingers find the hem of your dress, playing with the fabric as he kisses down your neck. "Tell me if you want me to stop."

"Don't you dare," you whisper, tugging at his hair the way you know he likes, The action draws a low groan from him, his hips pressing instinctively against yours. JJ pulls back slightly, his blue eyes dark with desire as he looks down at you. The shell necklace gleams against your skin, making his chest tight with emotion. He leans down, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, following the path of the necklace.

"You're wearing too many clothes," he murmurs against your skin, his hands sliding higher under your dress. His touch is reverent, relearning every curve and dip of your body. When his fingers brush against the lace of your underwear, you both inhale sharply.

You tug at his shirt impatiently. "So are you," you breathe, helping him pull it over his head your hands immediately explore his chest. "God, I've missed touching you."

JJ's response is to kiss you again, hard and deep, as his hands work to dress up your body. "Lift up," he instructs softly, and you arch your back so he can pull the fabric over your head. The sight of you in just your underwear, his necklace resting between your breasts, makes him pause.

"What?" You ask, suddenly self-conscious under his intense gaze. But JJ just shakes his head, leaning down to press kisses across your chest.

"Just..." he murmurs between kisses, "trying to memorize everything." His hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through your bra. "In case this is a dream."

You reach up to touch JJ's face tenderly, your thumb tracing his bottom lip. "Not a dream," you whisper, pulling him down for another deep kiss. Your legs wrap around his waist, drawing him closer as his hands explore your body with increasing urgency.

JJ's fingers trace the edge of your bra, his touch teasing yet reverent. "Can I...?" he asks against your lips, and you nod, arching your back so he can reach the clasp. His hands are slightly shaky as he unhooks it like he still can't quite believe this is real.

"Fuck," he breathes as the garment falls away, revealing your breasts. The shell necklace rests between them, catching the fairy lights. JJ leans down, pressing open-mouthed kisses across your chest. His tongue traces patterns on your skin, remembering exactly how to make you gasp.

Your hands tangle in his hair as he takes a nipple into his mouth, your back arching off the bed. "JJ," you moan softly, mindful of the quiet house. His free hand palms your other breast, thumb circling the sensitive peak until you're squirming beneath him.

"Missed these sounds," JJ murmurs against your skin, switching his attention to your other breast. "Missed making you fall apart." His hand slides down your stomach, fingers playing with the waistband of your underwear. "Can still remember every spot that makes you shake."

To prove his point, he kisses down your ribs to that sensitive spot just below your left breast - the one that always makes you gasp. Sure enough, your breath hitches, your fingers tightening in his hair. "Still so responsive," he grins against your skin, nipping gently.

"Shut up," you breathe, but there's no heat in it. Your hands slide down his back, nails dragging lightly across his skin in the way you know drives him crazy. JJ groans, his hips pressing against yours instinctively.

"Make me," he challenges, echoing your earlier banter as he kisses lower, across your stomach. His fingers hook into your underwear, but he pauses, looking up at you with dark eyes. "Tell me you want this, Y/N/N. Tell me you want me."

You prop yourself up on your elbows, looking down at him with eyes full of love and desire. The fairy lights cast shadows across his face, highlighting the intensity of his gaze. "I want you, JJ," you whisper. "Always have, always will."

When you reach the waistband of his shorts, he groans softly against your neck. "Can I?" You ask, fingers playing with the button of his shorts. JJ nods against your skin, his breath hot on your neck as you work the button free. The sound of his zipper seems loud in the quiet room.

JJ helps you slide his shorts down his legs, his breath catching as your fingers trace the waistband of his boxers. The fairy lights cast a soft glow over his skin, highlighting the muscles that flex under your touch. "Fuck, Y/N," he breathes as your hand palms him through the thin fabric. His hips buck involuntarily, seeking more friction. "You're gonna kill me."

You smirk up at him, enjoying the way his breath hitches as you hook your fingers in his boxers. "That's the plan," you tease, slowly pulling the fabric down. JJ kicks them off impatiently, leaving him completely bare above you.

His hands slide up your thighs, fingers playing with the edge of your underwear. "These need to go," he murmurs, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your hip bone. "Want to taste you again."

You lift your hips, letting him slide the lace down your legs. The shell necklace gleams against your skin as you move, drawing JJ's attention. He leans down, pressing kisses along the chain until he reaches the shell pendant resting between your breasts.

"Still can't believe you kept it," he whispers against your skin, his hands exploring your now-bare body with increasing urgency. "Kept wearing it all this time."

"Never took it off," you breathe, arching into his touch as his fingers trace patterns on your inner thighs. "It was like keeping a piece of you with me."

JJ groans at your words, capturing your lips in a deep kiss. His hand slides higher, fingers teasing where you want him most. "Tell me what you need," he murmurs against your mouth. "Want to make you feel good."

Your response is cut off by a gasp as his fingers find where you need him. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, "You," you manage to say. "Just you, JJ. Always you."

JJ's fingers trace slow, teasing circles against your sensitive flesh, watching with dark eyes as you arch beneath his touch. His other hand explores your body with reverent familiarity, relearning every curve and dip that he's missed for three long years. The fairy lights cast shifting shadows across your bare skin as you move together on your bed. "Fuck, you're so wet already," JJ breathes against your neck, his voice rough with desire. His fingers slide lower, teasing your entrance as his thumb continues its maddening circles. "Always so responsive for me, Y/N."

JJ can't resist leaning down to trace the chain of the necklace with his tongue, following its path down to where it rests against your sternum. "Please," you gasp as he slides one finger inside you, your legs spreading wider to accommodate him. "JJ, I need..."

"Tell me," he murmurs against your skin, adding a second finger and curling them just right. "Want to hear you say it, baby. Tell me what you need." Your response is cut off by a moan as his thumb presses harder, his fingers finding that spot inside you that makes you see stars. JJ watches your face intently, memorizing every expression of pleasure that crosses your features. His cock throbs insistently against your thigh, but he ignores it, focused entirely on making you fall apart.

"You," you finally manage, your voice breathy and desperate. "Need you inside me, JJ. Please."

JJ groans at your words, his control wavering. But he forces himself to maintain his slow pace, wanting to draw this out, to make it last. His fingers continue their steady rhythm as he kisses down your body, paying special attention to each sensitive spot he remembers.

"Not yet," he whispers against your hip bone, nipping gently at the skin there. "Want to taste you first. Been dreaming about this for three years, Y/N. Gonna take my time."

JJ settles between your thighs, his hot breath teasing your sensitive flesh as he presses open-mouthed kisses along your inner thighs. His fingers maintain their steady rhythm inside you, curling just right. "Missed how you taste," he murmurs against your thigh, nipping gently at the sensitive skin. "Missed making you fall apart like this." His free hand slides up your body to palm your breast, thumb circling your nipple as he finally presses his tongue against your clit.

Your back arches off the bed, one hand tangling in his salt-stiffened hair while the other grips your sheets. The shell necklace catches the light as you move, a constant reminder of your shared history. "JJ," you gasp, trying to keep your voice down despite the pleasure coursing through you.

JJ hums against you, the vibration making your thighs tremble. His tongue traces patterns around your clit as his fingers continue their steady thrusting, finding that perfect spot inside you that makes you see stars. He watches your face intently, memorizing every expression of pleasure that crosses your features.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs, pulling back slightly to blow cool air against your heated flesh. "Want to see you come apart for me. Been too fucking long." His words are punctuated by another curl of his fingers, another swipe of his tongue.

Your hips buck against his face as he sucks your clit into his mouth, your breathing becoming more ragged. JJ's free hand slides down to hold your hips steady, his grip firm but gentle. "Close," you manage to gasp, your fingers tightening in his hair. "JJ, I'm so close..."

JJ doubles his efforts, his tongue moving faster as his fingers maintain their perfect rhythm. He can feel your walls beginning to flutter around his fingers and can taste how close you are. "Come for me, Y/N, Want to feel you fall apart on my tongue."

The combination of his words, his fingers, and his tongue finally pushes you over the edge. Tour back arches sharply, your thighs trembling as waves of pleasure crash over you. JJ works you through it, his movements becoming gentler as you come down from your high.

When he finally pulls back, his lips are glistening and his eyes are dark with desire. He presses soft kisses up your body as you catch your breath, paying special attention to the shell necklace that rests between your breasts. His cock presses insistently against your thigh, but he makes no move to rush things.

"Beautiful," he murmurs against your neck, nipping gently at your pulse point. "Fucking beautiful, Y/N. Missed watching you come undone like that."

Your hands slide down his back, nails dragging lightly across his skin in a way that makes him shiver. "Need you," you whisper, pulling him up for a deep kiss. You taste yourself on his tongue, making you moan softly. "Please, JJ. Need you inside me."

JJ positions himself between your thighs, his cock pressing teasingly against your entrance. The fairy lights cast shadows across your sweat-slicked bodies as he captures your lips in a deep, passionate kiss. "Need you to be sure," he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough with desire and emotion. "Tell me this is what you want, Y/N." His cock slides against your wetness, making you both gasp at the sensation. 

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "I'm sure, JJ," you breathe, your hands sliding up his back to tangle in his hair. "Been sure since the day I left. Want you, need you, love you."

JJ groans at your words, capturing your lips again as he slowly pushes inside you. You both freeze at the sensation, overwhelmed by the feeling of being connected again after so long. "Fuck," he breathes against your neck, his arms trembling as he holds himself still. "You feel fucking perfect, baby."

Your nails dig into his shoulders as you adjust to his size, your breath coming in short gasps. The fairy lights dance across your skin as you start to move together, finding your rhythm like you’ve never spent a day apart. JJ's movements are slow, and deliberate, wanting to savor every moment.

"Missed this," he murmurs, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your neck. "Missed you, missed us." His words are punctuated by slow, deep thrusts that make you gasp and arch beneath him. One hand slides down to grip your hip, angling you just right.

The shell necklace moves with each thrust, catching the light and drawing JJ's attention. He leans down to trace it with his tongue, following its path between your breasts. The action makes you moan softly, your walls clenching around him.

"JJ," you gasp as he hits that perfect spot inside you. "Please, need more." Your hands slide down his back, nails leaving light scratches that make him groan and thrust harder.

He continues his slow, deliberate pace, savoring every gasp and moan that escapes your lips. His hands explore your body with increasing urgency, one sliding down to grip your thigh as he adjusts the angle of his thrusts. "Fuck," he groans against your neck, nipping gently at your pulse point. "Feel so good around me, so fucking perfect." His words are punctuated by deep, measured thrusts that make your walls clench around him. The shell necklace gleams between your breasts, moving with each roll of his hips.

Your hands slide up his back, nails leaving light scratches that make him shudder. "Please, JJ," you gasp, your legs tightening around his waist. "Need more, need you harder." Your voice is breathy, and desperate, making his control waver.

But JJ maintains his torturously slow pace, wanting to draw out every moment. His free hand slides between them to circle your clit, making your back arch sharply off the bed. "Not yet, baby," he murmurs, capturing your lips in a deep kiss. "Want to feel every inch of you, want to make this last."

JJ's thumb continues its maddening circles on your clit as he thrusts deeper, hitting that spot inside you that makes you see stars. "JJ," You moan, your walls fluttering around him as you get closer to the edge. "I'm close, so close..." 

His thrusts become slightly harder, and deeper, but still maintain that measured pace that's driving you both crazy. JJ's free hand slides up to palm your breast, thumb circling your nipple as he continues to work you higher. The combination of sensations has you gasping his name, your body trembling beneath him.

JJ grins against your lips, his hands sliding down to grip your hips. "Want to try something?" he asks, his voice rough with desire. Without waiting for an answer, he suddenly rolls you over, keeping himself buried deep inside you as you end up straddling his lap.

"Fuck," You gasp at the new angle, your hands braced against his chest as you adjust. The shell necklace swings between you, catching the fairy lights as you move. JJ's hands slide up your thighs, gripping your hips as he guides you into a slow rhythm.

"That's it, baby," he groans, watching as you start to move above him. Your breasts bounce slightly with each movement, making his mouth water. "Ride my cock just like that." His hands explore your body freely from this new position, one sliding up to palm your breast while the other keeps a steady grip on your hip.

You set a torturously slow pace, rolling your hips in a way that has JJ cursing under his breath. Your walls clench around him with each movement, drawing low groans from deep in his chest. "Missed watching you like this," JJ breathes, his hands roaming your body possessively. He sits up slightly, capturing a nipple in his mouth as you continue to ride him. 

His hands guide your movements, helping you maintain that slow, deep pace that's driving you both crazy.

"JJ," You moan as he hits that perfect spot inside you. Your nails drag down his chest, leaving light scratches that make him buck up into you harder. 

JJ's control starts to slip as he watches you move above him, your head thrown back in pleasure. "Fuck, Y/N," he groans, his hands tightening on your hips. "You look so fucking good riding my cock like this."

He watches in awe as you continue to ride him, your movements becoming more confident with each roll of your hips. His hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts as you move above him. "Fuck, just like that," he groans, bucking up to meet your movements. His hands grip your hips tighter, guiding you into a rhythm that has you both gasping. 

You brace your hands on his chest, using the leverage to grind down harder. Your walls clench around him with each movement, drawing curses from his lips. "JJ," you moan, your head falling back as he hits that perfect spot inside you. "So deep like this..."

JJ works faster on your clit as he continues to thrust up into you, hitting that spot that makes you see stars. You gasp, and your movements become more desperate. He suddenly pulls out of you, making you whimper at the loss. His chest heaves with heavy breaths as he tries to regain some control, his cock throbbing painfully between you. 

"Need to slow down," he groans against your lips, his hands sliding up your sides. "Don't want this to end yet." His fingers trace patterns on your skin as you straddle his thighs. Your hands slide down his chest, nails dragging lightly across his skin in a way that makes him shiver. "JJ," you whimper, trying to move closer. Your pussy is dripping wet, clenching around nothing as you seek friction.

"Fuck, you're so wet for me," his fingers slid between your legs to tease your entrance. He watches as you gasp and arches into his touch, your walls fluttering around his fingers. "Could stay here all night, just watching you fall apart."

You rock against his hand, seeking more friction. JJ's free hand slides up to palm your breast, thumb circling your nipple as he continues to tease you with shallow thrusts of his fingers. "Please," you moan, your hands gripping his shoulders for support. "Need you back inside me, JJ. Been too long without you."

You shift in JJ's lap, deliberately grinding against his thigh. The friction makes you gasp, your wetness coating his skin as you rock your hips. His hands gripping your hips to guide your movements. "Fuck, Y/N," he groans, feeling your pussy slide against his thigh. "You're so fucking wet." His fingers dig into your flesh, leaving marks that will be visible tomorrow. 

Your hands brace against his chest for leverage as you grind harder, chasing the friction you need. The shell necklace swings between you with each movement, occasionally brushing against his heated skin. "JJ," you moan, your head falling back as pleasure builds.

JJ's free hand slides between them, thumb finding your clit as you continue to grind against him. "Please, more, need you inside me again." Your words are punctuated by the roll of your hips, your pussy sliding against his thigh with increasing urgency.

His thumb works faster on your clit as you ride his thigh, drawing you closer to release. "Come like this first," he commands roughly. You continue grinding against JJ's thigh, your movements becoming more desperate as pleasure builds. Your wetness coats his skin, making each slide of your pussy against him smoother, more intense. JJ's hands grip your hips tighter, guiding your movements as he watches you chase your release. 

"Want to feel you soak my thigh before I fuck you properly." JJ’s words, combined with the pressure on your clit and the friction against his thigh, finally push you over the edge. Your body trembles as waves of pleasure crash over you, your pussy pulsing against JJ's thigh as you come. Your wetness coats his skin, making everything slick and hot between you. 

"Fuck, that's it," His cock throbs painfully between you, demanding attention. "So fucking beautiful when you come." His thumb continues to circle your clit, drawing out your pleasure until your gasping and squirming.

Without warning, JJ flips them over, pinning you beneath him on the bed. His cock slides through your wetness, teasing your sensitive flesh. "Need to be inside you again," he groans, capturing your lips in a deep, passionate kiss. "Been too fucking long without this."

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Please, JJ," you whimper, still sensitive from your orgasm. Your walls clench around nothing, seeking the fullness of his cock. "Need you inside me."

JJ lines himself up with your entrance, watching your face as he slowly pushes back inside. You both groan at the sensation, your walls stretching to accommodate him again.  "Fuck, still so tight," JJ breathes, setting a slow, deep pace. His hands explore your body possessively as he thrusts into you, memorizing every curve and dip. "Feel so good."

Your hands slide up his back, nails leaving light scratches that make him shudder. Your pussy pulses around him with each thrust, drawing low groans from deep in his chest. JJ maintains his deep, steady rhythm as he thrusts into you, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force. "I’m close," you gasp, your hands clutching at his shoulders for support. "So close, JJ. Please don't stop."

His hand slides between them to circle your clit as he maintains his punishing pace. "Come for me again," he commands. His thrusts become more erratic as he feels his release approaching, his grip on your hips tightening with bruising force. The fairy lights cast dancing shadows across their sweat-slicked bodies as they move together with increasing urgency. Without warning, he suddenly pulls out, his cock throbbing painfully between you.

"Fuck," he groans, his hand wrapping around his length as he strokes himself. "Where do you want it, baby?" His eyes are dark with desire as he watches you beneath him, your chest heaving with heavy breaths.

Your hands slide up his chest, nails dragging lightly across his skin. "On me," you gasp, still trembling from your release. 

JJ's control finally snaps at your words. With a low groan, he comes hard, painting thick stripes across your stomach and breasts. The shell necklace gleams in the fairy lights, covered in drops of his release.

You collapse together on the bed, breathing heavily as you come down from your high. JJ reaches for his discarded t-shirt, gently cleaning his release from your skin. "Stay," you whisper, curling into his side. Your fingers trace patterns on his chest as your breathing slowly returns to normal. "Please stay this time."

JJ pulls you closer, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Not going anywhere," he murmurs against your skin. "Never again." The fairy lights continue to cast their soft glow over the room as you drift off to sleep, tangled together like they never spent a day apart.

His phone buzzes on the nightstand, the screen illuminating the dim room with a soft blue glow. He groans softly, careful not to wake you who's curled against his chest, your breathing deep and even. 

The group chat notification shows several messages from John B and Pope:

John B: yo where tf did you and y/n disappear to??? 👀

Pope: they definitely left together bro

John B: fucking FINALLY

Pope: 20 bucks says they're at her place

John B: nah man, bet they're at the chateau

JJ can't help but grin at his friends' messages, his free hand absently playing with your hair as you sleep.

His phone buzzes again:

John B: JJ we know you're reading these messages asshole

Pope: let him live, he's probably busy 😏

John B: BUSY WITH WHAT POPE??? 🤔😂

JJ rolls his eyes, typing out a quick response with one hand:

"fuck off both of you”

The response is immediate:

John B: HE LIVES!!!

Pope: told you they were together

John B: you better not fuck this up again maybank

JJ's jaw tenses at John B's last message, his arm tightening slightly around your sleeping form. The fairy lights cast soft shadows across your peaceful face as he looks down at you, remembering everything you’ve been through to get here. The shell necklace rests between you, a constant reminder of your shared past and the promise of your future but for now, in this room with its fairy lights and scattered memories, nothing exists beyond the two of you.

[maybanksmusings]

Hi! Can I request a Wally Clark fanfic where he is protective of the reader and is always by their side? 🫶

doberman : wally clark.

a/n: i am still alive who knew

warnings : afab!reader x alive!wally clark, master yapper ( me ), sfw just cut ‘cause i cannot shut up !

everyone viewed wally clark as a loveable, six foot something golden retriever. sure, he was easily excited and did in fact follow you around like a lost puppy, he was friendly, outgoing, adorable.

but you knew wally, and you thought a doberman was a more appropriate comparison.

wally was protective, but not in the aggressive way other guys on the football team were. wally could be terrifying without a word, just his presence was usually enough to deter any unwanted attention.

like at house parties after winning a game, wally was never far from you at the best of times, but the second some guy from another school approaches you he’s planted back at your side. his hand gripping your waist as he gently pulls you closer to him, he’s making conversation that anyone else would think is friendly, but you and the other guy are very aware that it’s anything but.

he doesn’t let you drive to school, or anywhere for that matter. he’s like your own personal chauffeur. you’re going to the mall with your friends? he’ll pick you all up and collect you when you’re ready to go home. you need something from the store? he’s already starting the car.

wherever you go wally isn’t far behind. he knows that it can come across as possessive as opposed to protective, so he always tries to give you a little space in group settings. that’s not to say he isn’t keeping an eye on you, making sure you were still okay.

like dobermans, wally is extremely protective and slightly intimidating to anyone that even attempts to get in the way of that. you know it comes from a place of love, he loves you so much that he will do anything to make sure your safety is a priority, that you never feel lonely or scared or uncomfortable. he knows sometimes he can be overbearing, and he often vocalises it, wanting to make sure you felt safe and not suffocated with him.

but he can’t help it, he’s so horrifically in love with you that you come first, you’re the most important thing, you are always his priority.

[yaut-jaknowit]

So I saw the post about Gawtin doing anything in her power to increase the readers lifespan. So I am thinking perhaps she is researching ways on how to do that when she stumbles upon something about their blood being able to increase a humans lifespan by quite a bit. So she goes and gets permission from the council (maybe a bit of arguing cause I don't think giving blood to a ooman is looked well upon) then ya giving blood to the reader

- 🥤

Forever At My Side

Pairing: Gawtin (Female Yautja) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 2118

Summary: With your time around Gawtin, she has come to dreadful thoughts you lifespan compared to hers. You will only live at most for a hundred years. That is far too short to experience your love and passion. Gawtin sets out to find what she can do to help. This gains unwanted attention.

Author Note: This made me do some worldbuilding and I love it! We get to see who is part of Gawtin's life and hear about a city on Yautja Prime as well. Of course, the city I've created isn't part of canon. I can't find much about Yautja Prime so I just get to worldbuild about it.

Masterlist

Ao3

There are special properties within Yautja blood. Many of them helpful to other species. Yautjas are seen as a superior species among the universe. The research of what their blood could do for others has been dove into. Not deep, but enough to know.

When Gawtin came to conclusion that she wants you till the end of either of your lifespans, she calls upon a favor.

Amongst the Yautja as a whole, the scientific side is reclusive. Not many will give up their life for science, believing the hunt is everything to them. Yet, despite this group being so small compared to the amount of Yautjas alive to this day, they’ve discovery plenty. This includes their main way of travel: their spacecrafts. Or their biomasks when a planet’s atmosphere doesn’t fit their own needs. Or even for a ooman living on a planet who’s air would suffocate you. All this done by those willing to sacrifice their livelihood to further the advancement of the Yautjas.

This is where Gawtin shots a message to a scientist in Kov; a major city on Yautja Prime. Someone who owes her favor. One she’s cashing in for you. Always for you. If there’s a chance to extend your life, she’s willing to do it. Anything to keep you with her longer.

In the beginning, Gawtin knew of the risks of taking on a ooman mate. Mainly their short lifespan. That was a concern. Of course, it was. But, she’s never seen a ooman like you before. So willing to put yourself between the scum who captured and hunted her while heavily pregnant. You even killed for her, protecting her from said scum. Though, she was forever in debt to you. She’s not doing this to repay such debt. She’s doing this for you to be at her side until her heart gives out.

Until Voth-ocheb gets back to her, Gawtin has wait as the patient hunter she is. The moss green Yautja has a feeling this won’t fail her. She feels it in her blood.

On one of the many days the two of you are relaxing, you find yourself in your mate’s lap. With your butt between her thighs, legs thrown over one thigh while your back rests against the other. It’s a seat you would die for. There was nowhere better to be.

One of the advancements you were extremely happy Yautjas have was the fact you could connect with earth’s internet. Even if you were hundreds upon hundreds of light years away. It was only one tap away. You find yourself tapping away on your tablet to fill the day. Today, you didn’t feel like drawing and wanted to snuggle up to your mate until sunset. Not that Gawtin minded. Not one bit.

In the middle of her reading, she turned her head towards the front door. Someone was coming. A little unusual. Yautjas are known to be mainly solidary. You knew you would be forced to get up so Gawtin could answer the door. In preparation, you shimmed off of her lap and next to her. Gawtin pressed a quick kiss to your forehead and began to make her way towards the door.

Halfway towards the entrance, Gawtin hesitated then cursed lowly under her breath in Yautja. Your burrows furrowed at the strange antic. Never have you ever seen the female act such a way. In all honesty, she almost looked… nervous.

Yet, that apprehensive expression was washed over by a neutral expression. Years of training falling into place.

On the couch, you peeked over and watched as Gawtin opened the door. Your eyes widened at the sight of a massive female standing a couple of inches taller than Gawtin in the entrance. What adorn her told you exactly who this is; only having met the Yautja once before when Gawtin had make her case to keep you.

Gawtin’s mother: Ma’tan-Aih. Ruler of this tribe. The War-ak’ox tribe. Baroness Ma’tan-Aih. It’s the closest title that could translate into English from Yautja.

An expression you were famialir with was etched into the moss green Yautja’s face as she looked down at her daughter. “Gawtin, may I enter?” Her voice was commanding in every sense, causing you to shutter. Her Yautja accent heavy and thick, nearly making it impossible to listen to her words. You jerked down to hide behind the back of the couch from her steely gaze. The last thing you wanted was for those purple eyes to be directed at you.

“Yes, Baroness Ma’tan-Aih,” Gawtin allowed and called her mother by the proper title. You tensed up, white knuckling the tablet at the knowledge Ma’tan-Aih was entering your safe space. Before either of them could come into the living you, you attempted to look busy on the tablet so the attention was off of you.

Their footsteps were light on the soft wooden floor. Both of them made their way into the living room. Right where you were. Gawtin returned to her seat next you and even scooped you into her lap. Your muscles refused to relax under the scrutinizing gaze of the baroness. This couldn’t be happening. Why did she even want to speak with Gawtin? The two of them rarely even say a word to each other. Now, her mother wants to have a sit down in Gawtin’s cottage.

Your hands trembled holding onto the device. Gawtin was quick to cup both of them in one of hers. It took all of her might not to purr. She despised the fact you were uncomfortable in your own home due to her mother’s sudden, unannounced appearance. Yet, this is her mother she was talking about. Unless she challenged for the baroness title, there was nothing Gawtin could do in this situation.

Despite your eyes glued to the screen, you felt the laser focus of the baroness’s gaze zoned in on you. Your chest rapidly moved with each intake of air. You attempted to focus again on the tablet, anything to get your mind off of her. That unfortunately failed.

Baroness Ma’tan-Aih sat down gracefully on a chair across from the two of you. Gawtin watched each twitch, each movement made by her mother closely. She knew this was farthest thing from a catchup. This was business.

“Daughter,” Baroness Ma’tan-Aiu started with, “It has come to my desk you are fiddling with something you shouldn’t be wasting your time on.” With her heavy accent, it was hard to know if you heard right. Your burrows furrowed while gazing up at your mate’s beautiful face. Questions whirled to life inside of your scattered mind.

“Dam, what I do in my free time is none of your concern,” Gawtin stated and laid down a firm boundary. Not that her dam had to listen to her at all. “I have my favors. I can use them to my liking.”

A single studded brow rose due to the borderline rude words of Gawtin. “Yet, you use them in a foolish way. Why waste such a favor on trivial matters? Things can be replaced for good riddance.”

Though, you didn’t know what the subject was about, you instantly felt the tension in the air grow increasingly taunt. You gnawed on your bottom lip and watched as one of Gawtin’s mandibles twitched.

“It can never be replaced,” she grounded out in a tone you felt yourself fear. “I will never replace such a thing.” Her hand clenched down on yours, causing the bones in your hands to creak under the sudden pressure. “My mate is here to stay. I have already completed the challenges you laid before me.” Wait, what? This has something to do with you?

The Yautja before you waved off Gawtin’s words with a flick of her wrist. “Yes, yes. I know,” she scoffed. “But to ask someone in Kov to research such a dangerous topic? Daughter, you are a fool. You must know to go through with this, you must go to the council of Cu'stouirll before you go to the monarch herself. Cu'stouirll is known not to be pleasant.”

Gawtin sat up a little higher in her seat. “I will do what is needed to follow through with this.”

It was all too much information at once. They were supposedly talking about you and either someone or something named Cu'stouirll. Which sounded to be a bad thing. You gazed up at Gawtin in hopes for an explanation but received none from the focus hunter.

Baroness Ma’tan-Aih bristled at her daughter words. “As much as I loved your sire’s stubbornness at times, this is not the time to flare it. You must know what this could mean… Especially for those who have also taken an ooman as their mates. This could be opening pandora’s box for the worse.”

It’s not hidden that many of the other Yautjas in this tribe dislike your presence. If it wasn’t for the fact you saved Gawtin and Qui’oky from death, your case would’ve collapsed before your very eyes. The baroness does not want other ooman mate’s to have the same opportunity to whatever Gawtin is planning. You knew whatever Gawtin was fighting for was for the good of you.

Yet, Gawtin didn’t change her stance on the subject and kept the same gaze upon her mother. “Then, let that happen. I will do whatever it takes to keep my mate at my side for as long as possible.” Even with that, you couldn’t piece together what was still happening.

On the other side, the green Yautja sat up from her seat to tower over the two of you. In that moment, you didn’t feel scared or intimidated by the baroness. Not with your mate at your side, prepared to do anything to keep you safe and out of harms way.

“Lady Gawtin, when this falls upon my court, you will have to ensure your case is concrete. I can already tell you, I will not accept this. Letting an ooman be injected with our blood?! It’s an abomination!” Baroness Ma’tan-Aih snapped then spun on her heel and marched out of your cottage.

Your lungs seized with a sharp gasp. Your eyes snapped up to Gawtin with uncertainty swirling inside of them. “Gawtin? What does she mean?” you asked immediately after her mother’s departure.

Her dark purple eyes watched the closed door for a few more seconds before she gazed down at you. One of her hands cupped your cheeks and gingerly ran a coarse thumbpad over your cheekbone. “I had wished not burden you with this theory until I have received the results,” she whispered, this time in English.

“What do you mean, love? I’m completely confused,” you begged for answers and hoped she could soothe your worries.

A sigh escaped the female Yautja. “Ooman’s do not like as long as Yautjas. It is a known fact. A fact that I have come to terms with. But, you, my mate, are everything to me. If I can do something, anything in my power to ensure you stay with me longer, I will go to the ends of Yautja Prime to make sure that happens. Even if I have to fight my mother for this, I will. She nor anyone else will not stop me from reaching my goal.” You smiled softly up at her, eyes closing to nuzzle into her hand.

“Oh love, that’s so sweet of you.” You reached up and cupped the back of her massive hand against your cheek. You carded your fingers through her own. “You don’t know how much I appreciate all that you do for me.” When you reopened your eyes, you glanced down at the couch cushions. “Your mother wasn’t very happy about that though.” A statement but made to be open as a question.

Gawtin shook her head, tresses swaying with the movement. “No, she’s never happy. I could care less about her opinion. Yours is the only one that matters. If wish for me to stop, I will. But if you are wanting to continue, I will let this go on. The choice is yours,” she offered wholeheartedly. Every step you’ve made in her world has been at the hands of you. You are in charge. As always.

You opened your eyes to look directly into hers. “If it means I get to stay with you longer, then the answer is yes. Anything to be with you longer is an easy choice.”

The Yautja burst out purring and leaned down, practically breaking her back to rub her head against yours. Vibrations raced along your skin. You giggled and nuzzled with her. A life by Gawtin’s side is a life you would never trade for.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hey I’m the anon that asked if you write for Tekken 👉🏻👈🏻 I always like the grumpy x sunshine trope, and I was wondering if you can write headcanons for Kazuya with an s/o like that? Very soft, sweet, affectionate, I feel in a way it would also be funny 😆

Idk if this is what you wanted but I have it my best shot. 🦦

Not me back on my Brutus and Pixie agenda (seriously it’s my favourite thing to reference at this point.)

All I’m going to say is; it’s not easy showing kindness to a man who had been so vastly removed from it from a young age, and the only memory he has of experiencing such kindness was from his mother; which in of itself was merely candlelight in comparison to the suffocating darkness.

So needless to say if you keep at it, not showing agitation or anger towards his inability to see your acts of kindness towards him as just that; pure acts of kindness. Then Kazuya will slowly -baby steps mind you, extremely small baby steps- begin to believe it to some extent.

Everyday is an uphill battle but you were willing to fight it forever without ever showing an ounce of fatigue if it meant earning Kazuya’s trust. Something that he one day noticed and will- in his own unique way- show his gratitude for sticking by him for as long as you have.

Let’s hypothetically say he came back injured, you naturally wanted to help him but much like showing affection or acknowledging how he felt towards you, he will have those walls up again faster then you could blink. It’s just natural for him this way to never pay any mind to the ‘weaker’ side to himself and reject any and all notions that could possibly end up in him becoming ‘soft’ and ‘pliable’ for those who might have it out for him.

So imagine the feeling of achievement you’d get the moment Kazuya let’s you tend to his wounds, listening silently as he slowly began to open up to you, even if it was a little bit, it was still something to celebrate for the both of you; especially when going forward into this relationship where you’d gradually bear your entire heart to the other, letting them see the most vulnerable parts of yourselves and silently praying that the other doesn’t destroy you with it in the future…

And imagine how nice it was to be hugged by a pair of strong arms, held against a firm chest by powerful hands and just finding yourself melting into him…smiling softly at the fact that Kazuya wanted to hold you out of his own accord. Feeling protected from any and all harm that could come your way. It was enough to make you want to cry but instead you smiled brightly and told him how utterly proud you were of him for taking the first step, for taking a chance on something he was once so vividly against.

This man looks like he’s never be told that someone was proud of him ever in his life. So hearing someone who had nothing but the most wholesome of intentions with him say it? He’s not going to know how to react, but from the way his grip on you would tighten slightly told you more than enough as you reminded yourself to keep reminding him how proud you were.

Is it a stretch to say that he would be protective? Especially towards the person who had shown him their truest self and shown him how being in love and being loved don’t inherently make you weak or lesser than, boldly proving him -a man dead set in his ways- wrong on several occasions and him not feeling an ounce of anger but instead a weird sense of relief? So Kazuya will want to keep you away from the shadier side of things in the instance that he might not always be there to ward away unwanted attention.

He may not say it aloud but then again why would he when his actions were loud enough for you to understand their intentions, no matter how few and far between they might be but at least you knew that he would stand by you and keep you protected by any means necessary.

He just has a fear of loosing the one good thing in his life because of who he was; For if he were to loose you then everything he originally believed would then become truth, that it would become reality.

The fact that you were both opposites would be made apparent in everything that you did but that’s what made your relationship work when in any other circumstances it probably wouldn’t. However it only made your appreciation of the other stronger than before.

It’s not perfect, not that I’m saying it ever was, but ultimately the hardships are what made you treasure your relationship with the grumpy man even more. You didn’t try to change or ‘fix’ him because that was not your job, you’re not fixer and you knew that as much as he did and instead you -with your unwavering kindness and gentleness- had let him taken his time with getting to a level of comfortability with you where he knew he could relax beneath your touch instead of flinching away.

You soothed his scarred heart whilst also loving it unconditionally without feeling the need to change it to fit your fantasy.

[her-devils-advocate]

To the dark I said pour and forgot to say when

pairings: Levi Ackerman x reader

genre: hurt/comfort, angst

summary: It's starting to become too much for you, training the recruits just to watch them die. You take pride in your position within the scouts, but pride can't suffocate the growing guilt. Luckily, Levi is there to help pull you together.

warning: mentions of overthinking, anxiety, and breakdowns

@humanitys-strongest-bamf, since you wanted to be tagged once it was finished! <3 Hope it's still okay to tag you in!

word count: 2,491

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55262311

It had been a while since he had seen you, not since earlier that morning on the training grounds. You had asked if he could take over training the recruits for you, the cold and crisp morning air had felt unusually tense when you approached him, almost as if he could sense the war raging behind your eyes.

You hate having to pass up duties like that, guilt tearing you apart as you think of the long list of responsibilities that he's had to put aside for you. Not to mention that you enjoy training the cadets. You enjoy watching them grow stronger each day and doing all you can to give them the best chance they can have within the Survey Corps.

Maybe that's why you passed the morning's session along to Captain Levi instead. 

His piercing eyes followed your every move as you tried to act natural. Your shaking hands tightly gripping your biceps as you crossed your arms, throwing him a sweet smile while you made the request. The fact that he hadn’t mentioned the evergrowing paperwork awaiting him on his desk had shocked you, the common tease often thrown between you going unused, yet you didn’t dare question it in case it ruined your chance of shifting routines. 

You simply thanked him before quickly retreating after he slowly agreed to do so, missing the way his eyebrows crinkled with unease.

You take pride in your position as one of the squad leaders within the Scouts, a position you take very seriously and have worked hard to achieve. While you know better by now, you can’t help but get attached to the people under your command. How could you not with so many different and young personalities looking up to you for guidance? You care for them and want to see them thrive.

Yet each new attachment brings a fresh crack in your heart whenever a mission goes badly. No amount of training or lectures can prevent the inevitability of the world you live in; while you wish for the best when it comes to your cadets, sometimes the world wishes otherwise.

The world is cruel and the titans are merciless.

You have lost many soldiers under your command, some of whom you consider friends. You still see their faces when you try to close your eyes, guilt flooding through you whenever you realise you have forgotten a name. You can’t remember the last time you slept the whole night instead of being haunted by the suffocating past.

How can you train these fresh faces when you have so many to remember already? 

Are you even capable of training them after losing so many?

What gives you the right to survive after so many have fallen?

The thoughts are relentless as you rush into your room, you slam the door shut behind you before diving into the worn mattress on the bed. The familiar sting of tears is the only warning you get before the dam breaks and all the unwanted feelings you had bottled up begin to rush down your cheeks.

You push your face deeper into the pillow, wishing that the thin fabric would drown out the thoughts rattling around your skull. You feel miserable as your mind torments you relentlessly and a part of you feels bitter that it couldn’t wait until nightfall before starting its assault. Your mind couldn’t even give you the decency of letting you hide your shame in the shadows.

The golden rays of sunlight flowing in through the window taunt you, giving the room a peaceful haze and ignoring the despair within. You stare up at the soft light, the river of tears silently flowing down your cheeks and onto the pillow, as you simply watch the silver specs of dust float around you.

Your tears grow and your breathing quickens, how dare you appreciate such a sight when so many you care for are now unable to? 

You weakly hit the pillow, as if you could transfer the thoughts out of your mind and into its damp cotton prison instead. 

You don’t know how much time has passed, but from the busy commotion echoing around the headquarters, you can guess that training has since finished. You’re not surprised when Levi eventually finds you, although you hate him seeing you like this. 

He slowly walks over to you, and the sight of your tear-soaked pillow causes his heart to clench. He had a feeling something was off when you had spoken to him and he regrets not stopping you and asking then and there.

"Hey, talk to me." 

Levi's voice is unusually soft as he takes in your red-rimmed eyes, slightly swollen from the hours spent crying. His eyebrows are furrowed in concern as he reaches his arm out, hovering just above your shoulder, almost as if he's conflicted on whether he should touch you or not in your current state. He quickly makes up his mind as he gives it a comforting squeeze. You timidly look up at him, finally meeting his gaze. Even through the blur of tears, you can see the worry on his face as his usual mask of composure slips.

"You'll think I'm pathetic." You say quietly. If it were anyone else, you would have ushered them out of the room by now, content to be left alone to drown in your self-doubts. If it were anyone else, it would have been an order, but it just had to be one of the few members ranking higher than you who had come to check up on you.

If you were in any other mood, you might have tried to jokingly order him away, teasing him with his rank in a way you know he pretends to hate. Instead, you simply sigh. You know he’s unlikely to drop the subject when it involves you, even more so when he’s concerned. And as much as you hate to admit it, you’ve given him multiple reasons to be.

"I won't."

The sincerity of his voice makes you freeze momentarily, part of you would be fine with him shrugging and walking away, silently agreeing and leaving you alone to deal with it. It would sting, giving you yet another thing to overthink once you get through the current bout of thoughts. Not that he would leave you in such a state, but at least that way you wouldn't have to bear the heart you dedicated with all the current cracks on display.

"You should."

"I won't. Don’t tell me how I should feel." His voice takes on a stern edge, the tone softened by the grip on your shoulder tightening before he kneels on the floor before you. His eyes are determined, unwilling to let you bottle it up, much like how he would. A habit of his that he would rather keep to himself than share, for your wellbeing.

You groan, digging the heels of your hands against your swollen eyes, trying to wipe away what remains of your tears. You take a few seconds to compose yourself and to try and quiet the whirlwind in your mind, just enough to vocalise your distress. You can feel Levi’s steel eyes following every little move you make, almost as if staring hard enough would unlock all the answers for him. “If only that would work,” you think dejectedly. 

“It was just too much.” The words come out as a small whisper against your wrist. You can almost hear his mind working to connect the pieces.

“It’s just one of those days, I guess. You know the ones where you wake up and everything just feels…wrong? Then I took one look at the recruits waiting for me to train them and remembered all the other recruits that I had failed.”

His gaze softens as he takes your hands, pulling them away from your face and forcing you to look at him. Gone is the aloof and somewhat intimidating captain that the Scouts have come to know. Before you is the man behind the title of Humanity’s Strongest Soldier, the side of him that only a select few get to see.

“That’s not your fault, not now, not ever. You can’t control everything that happens when we leave the Walls and I know that you know that.” He releases one of your hands so that he can gently grip your chin, tilting your head down to look him in the eyes.

Pure determination and understanding swim within the sea of silver that stares up at you. You want to hide from his gaze, feeling undeserving of it, yet his soft hand keeps you firmly in place.

“I’m not going to bullshit you and say that all the kids we’re training won’t drop like flies in a mission one day, and frankly if you wanted to hear that, you would have gone to someone else.”

“Technically, you came to me.”

The slight twitch of his eyes almost makes the corner of your lips lift.

“What I’m trying to say before you interrupt me again, is that what we can do is our damn best to prepare them. I’ve seen how you train them and it’s impressive. You have a talent when it comes to getting the brats to pay attention. We know the risks, as do they, but at least you are giving them the best fighting chance they can get. Got it?”

You stall for a moment, mind peacefully going blank at his words. You know he struggles to show the emotions he had buried deep below the wings of freedom adorning the breast of his uniform, but seeing him try for your sake causes a new lump to form in your throat.

Your silence tests his short patience and he gently tugs your chin, almost as if trying to force you to nod and accept his words. You fight the urge to jump into his arms, squeezing him tight in response. Instead, you clear your throat to try and dislodge the emotions building up.

“Got it, and you’re right. I’m sorry for being so pathetic. I know we can’t save everyone and that it’s a naive dream in the first place, which is why I always do my best to train them as much as I can.” You give him a watery smile, blinking rapidly to prevent the new wave of tears from escaping.

“I think everything I was trying to bottle up slipped out over time and snuck up on me today. Thank you, Levi.”

You receive an eye-roll in response, yet you don’t miss the way his shoulders relax, the one hand still holding onto yours giving you a warm and reassuring squeeze.

“Good. I don’t think those kids would have lasted this long if it weren’t for the rigorous training you’ve put them through.” Levi’s voice is low as he considers his words.

“Don’t forget that and don’t let this,” he gives your forehead a light flick as if to emphasise his point, “make you its prisoner. Overthinking like this will never do you any good, trust me. If you want to talk, you know where my office is. It’s not like you don’t already waste my time chatting my ear off about four-eyes’ shitty experiments or anything.

This time, you can’t hold back as a few tears begin to slide down your flushed cheeks, betrayed by the warm relief spreading through you. You scramble to wipe them away, having cried enough for the evening and maybe even a lifetime now.

“That will be twenty extra laps around the training grounds, by the way.” 

You can hear the amusement in Levi’s voice, yet his face remains passive as he watches for your reaction. You throw him a glare as his eyes crinkle, clearly happy with the response he has gotten. Your self-doubts and tormenting thoughts are now a thing of the past with his subtle distractions, something you slowly realise was his plan all along. If annoying someone out of their misery was a sport, you figure Levi would have dozens of gold medals by now.

“Why? Is this for getting you to train my squad earlier?” Your voice is raised in pitch, the confusion evident as you cross your arms.

“No, that’s for calling yourself pathetic in my presence. Twice.”

“I’m learning to make sure you’re not in range when I do so.” You mumble, unaware that the man before you has caught your private words.

Now it’s Levi’s turn to fix you with a glare of his own, clearly not amused with the idea. You begin to fidget under the silence, wondering if you had taken it too far, too soon. Before your still anxious mind can replay the last minute, he flicks your forehead again, harder than before.

“That's thirty laps now. I’ll make it fifty if I hear a single complaint.”

You release a dramatic sigh, showing your displeasure with the command without digging a deeper hole for yourself so soon. You anxiously break eye contact, earning a small eyebrow raise in response as you fiddle with the frayed blanket beside you.

“I’ve changed my mind,” his gruff voice cuts through the silence that fell between you, catching your nervous attention once more.

“Sixty.”

“By the walls, Levi. Stop making it higher, I’m not going to complain!” You throw your hands into your lap in exhaustion, your previous breakdown having sapped any strength you had for the day.

“I just… I wanted to thank you again, for checking up on me and for making me feel better.”

He clicks his tongue in response, his hand coming up to ruffle your hair, before giving one of the strands a playful tug. You groan at the action, playfully swatting him away while rolling your eyes.

“If you want to thank me properly, then you can go and make us some tea for the evening. Bring it to my office once you’re done. Bring a book as well, I need to finish this paperwork tonight and I don’t care for whatever trouble Hange has recently caused.”

“Aye aye, Captain.” You give him a lighthearted salute before rushing to the door, not even trying to hide the excitement at the idea of spending the evening curled up in his office, drifting off to the sound of his pen gliding across paper.

Once you reach the door, his low voice catches your attention once more, rooting you in place. “Oi, I mean it.”

“What? The stupid amount of laps you will throw on me if you hear me complaining?”

“Tch, not that. I meant it when I said you could come to me. Now don’t you have tea to be making?”

You hold back a retort, feeling too happy to bicker with him, even in a playful manner. Instead, you simply nod before silently moving towards the kitchen, your heart feeling lighter than it has in months.

[starryjkoo]

https://www.tumblr.com/starryjkoo/764070968826200064/why-did-you-delete-your-post-about-the-protect?source=share

Nah you don't even post that much about Fandom stuff so no idt you're being chronically online for saying that in fact these kinda things don't see light if people don't comment on it. One actually doesn't even need to be chronically online to see how things work in fandom. I was actually going to reply to it cause i agreed but when i tried to find it later it was already gone. so just Letting you know that i agreed with your post.

They have suspended Multiple tae antis but all jm antis are getting more followers and engagements. If these accounts can suspend dispatch account I'm pretty sure they can get rid off jm antis too but it comes to the will to do it and seems like there isn't much in that protect GC when it comes to jimin. Just saw how they didn't ask to report solos on a tweet regarding jm and Sabrina where Tkkrs and KTHs were dragging jm and the post was up for 4 days but they made one immediately for tae when same happened with him (posts regarding both solos should have been made but it came ONLY after op made tweet for Sabrina and tae), then yesterday all tkkrs were dragging jm because jin wished him happy bday and because he mentioned jkk calling him together but all this acct did first was post all jm solos who were dragging jm and Only made post for Tkkr after multiple ppl tagging them regarding Tkkrs dragging jm.

Few days ago an admin for the FB acct @Bts_beyond_army or something like that was the name got exposed for being a Tkkr who follows vile jm antis, interacts with all NSFW tkkrs even asked if humanlouvre needs any help because one of her account got suspended and then people wonder why humanlouvre ain't getting suspended like why would she when most of her followers are in fact armys? Like imagine running a BTS FB that makes tags and helps in other projects for boys, who's in a group with 200+ FBS or something being a vile tkkr as well?

A few days ago everyone was like"They're painting tae as villain" when jimin called the guest but as soon as jin teased jimin yesterday it's "Solos don't understand jokes" but no one said the same thing for jm. Even armys made tweets Saying how they're making tae look like he's unwanted and let everyone drag jm.

This is what goes on in Fandom but when you try to voice it out all you get in return is lectures about how those people are not armys those are antis lol. Idk when people are going to be upfront about what goes on in Fandom like every single time when there's a hate campaign against jm it always comes to light because his solo fans report on it. I never got any reports regarding jm first from armys it's always his solo FB (the 3-4 i follow) and then hrs or days later armys make tweet regarding it.

Won't lie but as a jimin bias it definitely feels suffocating in the Fandom. it feels the same as how you always have to trend tags or tag hybe to give jimim bare minimum when he releases music while hybe gives them easily to others. Same with armys you always have to ask them again and again, tag them and then once in a while you'll get them move for jm

Sorry for my rant as well but it really feels helpless there 😔

Helpless is exactly how I feel too, that’s the perfect way to put it. It’s just so frustrating because I tried REALLY hard to be involved in the ARMY community and just ended up being filled with so much bitterness and resentment. I have no idea how any Jimin biased can stand it there. And I agree with everything you said 100%, always feel free to send me long paragraphs or fandom vents 😭 Going to apologize for this whole essay, but yeah, this last year especially has really killed most of the goodwill I felt towards this fandom.

The last BTS report account was run by a group of TH biased tkkrs and that YoongiPD account who is a YG-diet and JM anti (they “left” being admin at one point, but they were involved) that “Bocia” person if you know who I’m talking about was also involved and they’re a JK-diet and tkkr (idk if they’re still around tbh). This report page followed like seven or so focused report accounts for TH, several for YG and other members and NONE for JM. They ended up setting JM up from info they got from tkkrs on IG and doubled down (after initially apologizing) and all the shooter accounts got super defensive and were backing up this fake info too, it was ridiculous.

I politely asked why they weren’t following any JM protect pages and I got blocked by several of these people and I promise you my account was fully ARMY, no shippers, no diets, no weird victimization posts. It really ticked me off. They had posted who some of the admins were before this and they were literally all just TH diets/tkkrs so it was easy to tell what was going on.

One of them was in a GC where someone was bragging about getting people to drop all the charting songs except for THs and JH’s, they insulted CTT, and were complaining about LC in the US. Again, an admin of that report account was in this GC, but their friends didn’t cancel them. These people always defend each other while being the first to point their fingers at JM biased and jkkrs.

They were all friends with that random tkkr account too who was called out for following a bunch of JM antis and then they were like, “using a unit name doesn’t make you a shipper!” and they and their moots proceeded to spam tkk moments and joke about it. Meanwhile they were spouting tkk narratives and reading tkk fanfic and following actual shippers, making a thousand defense posts for tkk (ofc none for jkk), following and interacting with JM antis, but apparently they’re not a shipper?

This group runs report accounts, shooter accounts, big accounts, chart accounts, meme accounts, update accounts, just whatever, they’re everywhere. And when one of them gets called out they just back each other up. And THAT’S why JM related accounts always face the most scrutiny, because who gets called out is just based on whichever faction is currently running most of the shooter/report accounts and it’s never jkkrs/JM biased.

IDK what happened to that account, it got suspended by boycotters and they remade but I never kept up with them (I just blocked most of those people and moved on tbh). But I KNOW these same people are all over that current protect accounts GCs because if you notice ANY time they call out a tkkr they HAVE to make a report on jkkrs even if it doesn’t make sense, and they always add shady captions. Like what is this lmao???? 😭

They just made up a whole new sentence, the shady admin note, the “TH snatching JK from JM” which is a tkkrs wet dream, pretending that jkkrs are threatened by tkk or something. They deleted the post, and this isn’t the first time they’ve done something super weird like this. And if you want my conspiracy on this, I think it’s because that account had several hit tweets on “why I believe jkk are real” and I fully believe that’s why they were targeted lol. Because choosing that account was so random?

I talked about this in another post but the best way to gain a bunch of followers quickly on ARMYtwt is to get very involved in whatever fandom crisis/drama is going on at the time, such as MHJ/the cult stuff/YG situation/boycott situation. That’s exactly what this report account did, they’re clearly YG biased and suddenly gained 20k followers in a month because they were providing helpful info about that situation. I don’t think they ever revealed their main account and that’s why I’ll never trust these accounts that pop up out of nowhere and suddenly gain mass followings (and they were constantly interacting with a well known problematic YG biased account too). IDK if that account admin is entirely bad or anything, and I appreciated some of their helpful stuff for YG, but I know what their GC is full of at the very least.

Anyways, I sat and watched especially the last few weeks leading up to AYS (and after the first two eps) how the hate for Jimin and Jikook just got SO out of control, just insane, and there were hardly ANY ARMY report tweets for it. The Jimin hate is just so normalized in this fandom, they never move, they’re never surprised or outraged by it anymore. Suddenly TH joins the show and is getting hated on by jkkrs and it was ALL over ARMY twitter. Like my moots who never talk about shipping drama were ratio-ing jkkrs (some of whom were just being shady about him being a guest which is hardly as bad as what they were saying about JM/Jikook). And the fact they were freaking out about flop jkkr tweets with like 500 likes while ignoring all the tkk tweets that had thousands of likes? It was just really frustrating to see the different responses.

And omg yes, the fact that “ARMYs” were literally talking about BH editing the show to be shady towards TH and make him look unwanted was INSANE! They were literally backing up tkk narratives, narratives that have done untold damage towards Jimin for years, and these weren’t tkkrs, these were ARMY accounts! Some that are very active in the community. Why weren’t ARMYs clocking these people? Do they ACTUALLY buy into the whole BH pushes Jikook thing? It’s just so tiring, you’re right. I see BS like this allllllll the time.

But it’s why I just got so mad when ARMYs a few months ago were talking about being BTS’s shield and how they have to protect BTS. It’s this obsession with MHJ or other fandoms, going on and on about how ARMYs are their shield and all this self-righteousness. But the audacity to claim that when the call is coming from inside the house, when the rot and the worst damage has come from INSIDE the fandom for years now?

If they protected BTS then tk-lives wouldn’t have 500k followers. The massive platforms tkkrs have are INSANE and they were just left to grow that big while spewing insane things about Jimin/Jikook (JK too, even TH) for years and years and ARMYs didn’t want to do anything about it, even when their insanity has actually impacted offline, real life stuff. That is the BIGGEST source of danger and damage to the fandom and to the BTS members, not MHJ, not kmedia, not Tokki’s! It’s akgaes and shippers (especially tkkrs). But ARMYs have literally just ignored it for years now?

One example is just straight up how they ignored the role that akages and shippers played in the way Jimin was harassed during FACE era and how all the drags that now get regularly thrown around (SA insults, sleeping with PDs for remixes, tagging Spotify etc) came from SOLOS during FACE era, because they just wanted to blame it entirely on kpop stans. They acted like it came out of nowhere during Seven era and not just that PJMs were parroting exactly what JJKs were saying about JM during FACE era (and I’m NOT justifying PJMs being vile back towards JK. It's just bizarre how many ARMYs were entirely oblivious during FACE era).

Then there’s the whole situation with Jimin’s dad. Literally akgaes and tkkrs started spreading that whole narrative attacking him because of AYS and Who. Kmedia picked up on it, and maybe because of the ongoing smear campaign on BTS they were looking for things to write about, but WHERE do they think that journalist got that info? The way that ARMYs were getting hit tweets blaming it ENTIRELY on MHJ was insanity. They LOVE themselves an easy villain they can rally against, but it almost feels like they straight up cover up for tkkrs and solos sometimes?

If they actually cared about protecting Jimin, wouldn’t they want to go after the original source of that? But no, just wanted hit tweets on MHJ and sensationalizing that because they are OBSESSED with her right now (don’t get me wrong, I obviously hate her too). They’re just so drama addicted, but they never actually care about the BTS members or they would do something about a HUGE source of hurt that’s been there for years. They don’t want to put in the hard work to clean up our fandom, they just want to fight with other fandoms or be loud and feel important, or bury their heads in the sand because they don’t want to deal with this mess.

And you’re right, it pisses me off so bad when you call this out and they’re like “they’re not part of our fandom!”. That's SUCH BS 😭 they ARE part of our fandom, you can’t just wash your hands from the things you don’t like. Literally most of those tkkrs have little sevens, or a lot of solos are ex-ARMYs, or ARMYS follow and interact with them or are diets. How many ARMYs are shippers and read fanfic and AUs and follow duo accounts that are clearly run by shippers? It was ARMYs in line buying that tk fanfiction in Paris. ARMYs make up the following for most of these accounts too. I mean, damn, a big shooter account I saw was exposed for interacting with that Jay/Mina person last year, someone we’ve been asking to report NONSTOP, but no, shippers are totally not part of our fandom right?

I swear I’m not even THAT chronically online lol 😭 but it’s just… hard not to witness this stuff if you’re active in the fandom at all? I mean, maybe it’s just my algorithm on my priv, but it doesn’t take much to see all this going on ESPECIALLY if you’re Jimin biased or a jkkr, if you follow any report accounts at all, so I’ll never understand how some of them are so content in this fandom when to me it’s mostly trash 😭

There are a handful of ARMY accounts I super respect, and I know the twt community and all of this is not always representative of the majority, but pretty much any fandom space you walk into is just full of this kind of stuff and it’s exhausting. You can build yourself a nice little community to have fun and retain your sanity, but if you want to be part of the larger ARMY fanbase? It’s just so toxic and biased. And I’m not even getting into the drama about their solo releases because that is ANOTHER whole thing 😭 there’s also probably a thousand more examples of ARMYs being hypocritical on top of everything you listed too (just remembered the whole situation with that k-fanbase ugh).

Sorry this is so long, just going to quickly throw out that I know ARMYs can be weird to ALL the members, every bias has something legit to complain about, but I just firmly believe that for a few reasons (some of which I’ve talked about here before, like seeing JM as a goalpost, shippers and so on) the fandom has the weirdest attitude towards Jimin. And that’s not to say I don’t call out when ARMYs are being awful to the others either, like it was actually insane and very sad how they treated JK over that post about NewJean’s, the way they hyped up those dating “rumors” about Namjoon and gave hit tweets on that while not supporting his music and so on.

I try not to let all this get to me TOO often because these people spend all their time being manipulative in stan spaces and trying to cosplay and whatever, but look at the actual charts 😭 Jimin has a LOT of support and a LOT of people who love him. Jimin lovers might not be great at cosplaying and manipulating and running ARMY big accounts, but damn they are at least good at streaming and supporting music, and that’s about a thousand times more valuable at the end of the day. Lots of ARMYs just passively interact with fandom and don't see any of this either. And all this stuff just kind of disappears when you logoff, sometimes I give it more importance than it actually holds, but I do find it annoying lol.

It’s definitely exhausting and suffocating though, and it does feel just super helpless in this fandom sometimes like you said. I definitely do not feel any loyalty towards ARMYs at this point. I’m here for Jimin, JK, BTS on my own terms and just follow who I like, I don’t really care about what the fandom at large thinks or any of their projects, and I’m beyond caring about backlash and I’ll just say what I think if people ask. It’s obvious to see why the fandom has deteriorated the way it has and ARMYs have no one to blame but themselves honestly. I just hope things improve when BTS returns.

[wellfell]

  ──  𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐒.   : 06. the haunting of hillh.ouse

      disclaimer ; so , this verse is inspired by the novel but is movie friendly and even if i fucked up the timelines , akina will be both present in novel and movie plots . she will be sixteen in novel and twenty six or more in the movie .

they say when you dance inside hillhouse , it dances with you too . the mess of firm walls and clear windows . akina never thought she'd find somewhere so warm and alive until doctor montague invited her in there to help him with a few other people to solve the mystery of paranormal incidents in the hillhouse ; year 1997 , an unwanted guest from tokyo in akina's uncle's house . he wasn't pleased seeing his relatives especially someone like akina , his sister's wicked little girl . the only survivor of the earthquake that took her house and mom and dad and anita . . .

professor montague saw her in a speech he was giving about the history of abandoned houses on the hills , in akina's highschool . an interesting sixteen year old girl , constantly asking him questions unlike the other students that seemed like they could care less .

one cold night akina runs from her uncle's house with a bag and the keys of his car , her journey to hillhouse was swift and safe despite the fact that she worried about the police catching her . she thinks her uncle never liked the car anyway , it was a miracle it hadn't collapsed yet and what better way to get rid of a parasite like akina other than letting her run off with a car that barely worked to an unknown destination ? doctor montague tried to send her back , god knows how long akina tried to convince him that she's ready to do it and she has nowhere to go but hillhouse .

hillhouse was paradise at first ; nell , luke and theodora and doctor montague himself , welcomed their youngest guest . luke was eager to learn some japanese , theo had a sharp tongue and sharper mind , and nell . . . nell seemed like she's finally come home . the house was never quite shy about revealing the unseen and trying to scare them off , even if it was very kind when it came to nell . akina was almost always busy reading the house's history books ; two sisters lived in here , one wicked and one beautiful . a handsome investor lived here with his wife , and the wife killed her baby . an old man with a cane bought it after them , nobody knows where his corpse is . it seems twenty years ago , an earthquake shook hillhouse and left it unstable . akina read through the articles about a japanese man building it up again ; a tall man with a beautiful wife and two daughters . she couldn't find a book that wrote about their time in the hillhouse but some nights she thought if she stared at the man's face long enough in the picture he looked familiar .

day after day , she started seeing her companions lesser inside the house . one day she didn't leave her room , one day she only sat with mrs dudley , sometimes she sat near the river and listened for hours and the water started to sound like it was suffocating someone's screams inside it . the house was getting scarier , the day she heard doctor montague speak to the phone in the other room, everything was made clear . the door was locked , akina was frantically trying to roll the lion shaped doorknob while doctor sighed on the other side of the room . ' ah , i'm glad she made it home mister mori . i will send her bags with a taxi tomorrow , no need to thank me , say hi to her . ' every time doctor montague paused for the other person to talk , akina heard a man's voice from the red room ; polite , gentle , smooth . the house was hiding her , forced her into a game of hide and seek when she wasn't even aware they were playing .

she watched nell drive the car into a tree after a day , a day she spent screaming and trying to get out . it took her two days , and half a sunny day to get out of the maze that was called hillhouse . when she reached mister dudley , she collapsed into the old man's arms with breathless sobs . trembling , crying , the poor man had to take her to his house to get her to calm down . his wife made warm tea , laid a blanket around her shoulders . she was shaking like a leaf . ' the house got me ! the house got me ! '

the crains moved in after doctor montague was done with the house , to make the house prettier . after years she saw the book written by steven crain ; the haunting of hillhouse . and tried to stay away from it until her curiosity won . . .

[vinhmakesanexperimentalfilm]

Proposal

Vinh Nguyen vhn7006@rit.edu

Working Title:

I Had To

Software, Material, and Technical Needs:

Program: After Effects, Premier, Pro Tools

Technical Needs: Mix Pre, A few old TV’s, and a Projector.

Found footage of old childhood tapes potentially

Medium(s):

Found footage. Projection.

Installation:

I’m not sure how many TV’s I would want but I want an old TV or two to be sat in between a projector and backdrop. It’ll have a loop of found footage (most likely a snippet of what I use within the film) playing while the projector projects repeated words onto it and as well as the backdrop. The TV(s) will cast a shadow on the backdrop itself and inside I want a little note to be hung with a little note. Maybe the message will say something provocative like “I’m not okay but, I have to be”. 

Aesthetic:

I’m going for a real “crunchy” found footage look when it comes to my visuals. Repeated words on a couple of screens aided with a projection on top of old TV’s. I haven’t solidified colors yet but, I might do something like a neutral yellow or muted oranges. Something that symbolizes the draining feeling of day to day mindless tasks. 

Pick a theme(s):

A monotonous lifestyle with a hint of grief and, maybe/possibly, a hint of commentary. 

The Written Proposal:

With this film I want to tackle a couple of things: As you know I want to make a film that can represent the monotony of living a day to day life. Something akin to feeling like a robot. That monotony can stress and stress until something breaks and all those unwanted thoughts and feelings find their way in. I want to achieve this exact feeling with this film. There are ugly things we tend to forget or shove aside and they don’t find their way in until we’re vulnerable to them. And ultimately we either run from them or accept them and walk with it. I want to reach a conclusion with this piece. I want to be able to let those thoughts wash over in that moment of vulnerability and come to terms and accept them. Maybe not a truly happy ending but more of an acceptance. Because I want to bookend the film with a similar repetition but, instead of it feeling like a slog, maybe, perhaps, it’s repeated with a certain resilience. 

There are many ways I wish to execute this film. One of the ways is to use found footage that can represent the repetition of a day to day life. I don’t know what’s at my disposal but a few obvious ones that come to mind are things such as: A populated highway, people walking in the streets, people working (factory workers would really drive this home), and similar things of that nature. Things that feel cluttered and busy almost to a point where it feels suffocating. And when the film enters the vulnerability state the footage used will be something that’s less beat to beat and more space in its moments. Visuals that linger just a tad too long and evoke this sense of fear or danger. Something like a slow crawl toward an edge of a cliff or potential use of empty liminal spaces. Another visual aspect I want to use to supplement the found footage is the use of repeated words on a couple of TV screens. I want to touch on this fact that the more you tell yourself something the more it can become a lie. That at first the lie can act as a shield to motivate resilience. But eventually that lie can crack. Coming to the question of what happens when the lie that has kept you going doesn’t help you any more? 

As far as sound goes I want to do my own sound design. This will range from recording my own voice, editing, and even a song to go with it. I’m thinking of something like a repeated note of some sorts that can eventually turn into something haunting or melodic when the flow of the film starts breaking. I want the sounds to be very glitchy and crunchy. Almost like the speaker’s voice is deteriorating as the film progresses. Specifically when we get to the breaking point where the sounds and voice will be moving around the audio space. 

The script will be a spoken poem. Specifically a revised poem titled “I Had To”. It’s a poem that deals with similar themes of repetition in life to the point where it will break you. The pressure of doing something over and over again cracks any strong will and invites these unwanted feelings. Before the revision the conclusion of the poem was to accept these feelings as law with a negative outlook. But revisiting it years later with a mature mindset I’ve revised it so that the voice of the poem chooses to sit in these feelings and comes to terms with it. It’s been a very cathartic journey looking back at what a younger me was feeling and how far I’ve come now. While not overcoming a lot of these emotions, I’ve definitely accepted them rather than run.

[haze-in-daze]

Death-Blessed

TW // death

About his new perspective of death after the sudden loss.

“…may he leads a better life. Amen.”

Worn out black suit along with a stem of wicked daisy—its petals are no longer complete—shoved into the left pocket. Despite all of those, he still looks undeniably dashing in the clothes wrapping his thinning body as the result of his inability to have proper rest these days.

As the sun goes higher, people, one by one started to leave the cemetery. The crowd, consisting of heart-wrenching sniffles and sad cries slowly losing its loudness, leaving the place with nothing but slightly suffocating silence.

The said lad’s still in daze, eyes never once leaving the colorful greenery where his treasured friend having their final rest under the angels wings, being fully guarded and protected from those unwanted possibilities.

“You should rest well,” muttering alone, he crouches down to put the daisy next to the tombstone, adding more white to those existing bouquets, his soft laughter spilled after his sentence came to the end. “Here, I’m congratulating you with this daisy; said it means a new start, a new beginning. Sorry, it’s no longer fresh since I bought it last night. Look, I’m so thoughtful, right?”

Obviously, there’s no replies coming. Just a delicate wind blowing, grazing his skin as if someone’s trying to comfort him, consoling the shattered heart due to the unfortunate event happened out of the blue.

All felt peaceful yet blue until the sudden laughter causing him to lift his head, trying to locate the source of the happy noises at this kind of place.

‘Unbelieveable,’ he thinks.

Heart paced up and he licks his lips, many series of long breathings leaving his lips as he tried to calm himself down. Both eyes shut tight, fingers grabbing his edge of shirt, letting it be heavily crumpled as the result of his action. Afterall, just because he’s mourning, it doesn’t mean others must mourn with him and their right of being happy is nullified. Just because he’s in heavy pain, it doesn’t mean everyone will put their sympathy on him and will cheer him up until he feels better. The universe surely doesn’t work that way.

By the end of the day, he can’t help but accepting the fact that never once the universe is being fair. The only fairness it always shows is no other than the unfairness itself, since it’s truly for everyone, no in between, no selection. The universe is undoubtly a perfect example of betrayal, one of the biggest cases, even.

Creaking noises as some branches being stepped on truly helped him getting back to the reality. As he finally regains his composure after those series of thoughts, tons of memories hit him like crazy, the will-never-happen-again moments kept flashing in his head, resulting him failing to keep himself balanced. Rather than fighting it, he just lets his body fell off to the ground, no longer care about the amount of dirt that will stain his clothes.

“Guess I’ll just sit here for awhile.”

Light tone along with soft laughter aired and he pops a thin, slightly painful smile on his façade with gaze still attached at the stone. Small tear escaped from the corner of his eye and he chuckles before taking long breaths, forcing himself to fill his lungs with oxygen as soon and as much as possible since the suffocation began to stress him out, ignite more pile of triggering thoughts.

Death always felt so unreal to him.

It’s crystal clear, how they both finally headed to their own rooms after a long, highly enjoyable night, chit-chatting over countless shots of alcoholic drinks. Laughter and jokes being thrown all night long, with several light smacks and snacks between the questions since they were doing the spill or drink game. It’s still as fresh as the scent of freshly baked breads on the tray being pulled out from the oven, ready to be eaten. Some Nutella spread on the surface followed by him taking a quick shower only to find his friend sleeping peacefully on the couch; that turned out to be an eternal peaceful sleep.

Just like how the warm breads gradually getting colder, the warmth that once there began to fade as well. Just like how the flowers welcoming the spring by popping colors at every inch of the city, that day they also created their very own garden of flowers.

It’s undoubtly weird to say, but really, what a peaceful day to sleep forever.

The sadness surely is easy to be spotted on; yet the fact how peaceful their death was and the cause of fatality brought a huge relief to him.

At least, they left at ease. At least, they died peacefully. At least, they smiled at their last breath.

His heart might felt like being stabbed by thousand swords, ripped and shredded into million pieces, squeezed out dry to the level he ain’t able to feel things for awhile. Crumbled and shattered, his world doesn’t exist for a moment. Yet at the same time, some people out there are celebrating things, focusing on their very own worlds.

“My days will be way more lonelier without you around,” he mumbled again, tears are overflowing, making clear rivers on both cheeks. “But I’ll try to live my best so we can reconcile next time. I wish I can be blessed like you.”

Big lump suddenly being gathered in his throat; heavy heart, heavy breathing, forcing him to tilt his head, facing the now greyish sky, ready to pour its water—to cry with him. Beads by beads, until he’s fully drenched.

It’s truly amusing how a moment can be interpreted into many things, depends on who and what are they currently having. Mourning in silence, both eyes shut with bowed head, crying to his heart content, letting his sadness to be washed out after feeling every single possible thing.

Fifteen, thirty, sixty—he truly lost in count at how long has he been there. The fact that he began to shiver visibly and breathing got way more difficult than before, tickling the last sanity left inside him, forcing him to get up from the now slightly muddy place. It’s hard to do, leaving the place when his heart is still there, lying six feet under. He wants to stay longer, but time is always rolling, forcing him to roll around with life even though he doesn’t want to.

As a loud thunder flared up at the sky, he unwillingly took his leave. Turning his head for the last time with a small smile on, waves his hand before getting lost in the very generous amount of rain that won’t be stopping at anytime soon.

“I envy you, for being death-blessed. Rest well, mate. We’ll meet again afterall, sooner or later.”

[casspurrjoybell-18]

Mutual Desire - Chapter 35a

*Warning - Adult Content*

“Excuse me, I need to go to the bathroom," Damien Clark mumbled abruptly.

Damien didn't give Alexander Nabokov time to stop him. 

He quickly set his computer on the table, got up and went to the bathroom. 

He entered and closed the door behind him. 

Instinctively, he stared at the bathroom as a whole, looking for an exit door to escape loosely. 

Unluckily, he found none. 

If this luxurious bathroom had been built with this door leading to the exit, Damien would've sent flowers to the architects and be greatly grateful to them. 

Nothing in the world made him want to go back to where Nabokov was. 

He couldn't and he had to find a way to get out of here. 

He had accomplished the task for which he had come here to do and now that it was done, he had to leave as fast as he could before... 

Before what? 

Damien himself didn't want to guess the possibilities of what would happen if he stayed a minute longer with Nabokov. 

He opened the tap, washed his sweaty hands with soap and took a last look at the big mirror. 

He then took a deep breath, letting a few seconds pass, his hand almost shaking on the door handle before opening it and exiting the bathroom. 

He spotted Nabokov's head who was still in the same position in front of the fireplace. 

Damien walked slowly towards him, like a killer in a movie. 

He wanted to just leave, without having to face Nabokov for the last time but he nonetheless continued to walk towards the billionaire, although everything in him encouraged him to leave. 

Damien walked around the sofa to face Nabokov. 

He was in a position he hated, standing in front of the Russian man, uncovered. 

And Nabokov seemed to greatly benefited from this new position, undressing Damien with his fierce eyes from head to toe and causing Damien to feel self-conscious.

“Uh, I'm leaving now. Thanks for... uh, for this second try," Damien mumbled, his irritation replaced by anxiety.

Nabokov continued scrutinizing Damien intensely, as if he were trying to read him. 

Damien was uncomfortable to say the least.

He had the impression that Nabokov was scanning him all the way to his inside.

“Why don't you stay a little?" Nabokov whispered tenderly.

Why?

Several reasons quickly infiltrated Damien's head. 

One in particular that he was trying to eject from his thoughts.

“I don't want to," Damien deigned to answer.

Nabokov leaned back, stretching out his hand on the top of the couch.

His relaxed posture revealed his entire splendor.

“Is this your way of thanking me for this... second try?"

Damien crossed his arms, feeling a little of his confidence come back. 

The fact that Nabokov expected some sort of reward after blackmailing him was outright insulting. 

This man was completely delirious.

“You've spent almost an hour in my company. Isn't that enough?" Damien snapped back.

A weak grin ended on Nabokov's lips.

“That's exactly it. It isn't enough for me," the Russian man affirmed by nodding slightly.

Damien didn't flinch, keeping a confident face.

“I can't help you with that."

Nabokov raised an eyebrow.

“Of course you can. Just stay."

Damien didn't move, stiffening his features to show his dissatisfaction to Nabokov.

“Please, sit down," Alexander Nabokov claimed with an almost pleading voice.

Damien relaxed the severe expression on his face. 

Nabokov's voice tone had managed to have unwanted effects on his body. 

He found himself wanting to hear this supplicating voice again.

“I really don't want to, Alexander."

Damien didn't intend on giving up so easily. 

For once, he wanted to stand up against the intimidated man and resist his demands.

"Then, what is it that you want?" Nabokov asked, the intensity of his eyes getting stronger.

Damien's Adam's apple went up and down with difficulty. 

This discussion was beginning to suffocate him. 

He didn't like the flaming glow that lit up Nabokov's eyes.

 He let a few seconds pass, fixing Nabokov with a certain assurance, before replying him.

“Nothing that you can give me," he finally replied, challenging the billionaire with a defying stare.

An amused pout crossed Nabokov's lips.

“How did you come to this conclusion when we hardly know each other?”

A rough, almost stifled laugh came out of Damien's mouth.

“That's the problem, isn't it, Alexander ? We don't know each other," Damien said with a certain disappointment that didn't hide the hardness of his tone.

“It was for this very reason that we met up last night. To get to know each other," Nabokov reminded him.

Not knowing what to say, Damien shifted his head to the side, looking into the void to avert the Russian's hypnotizing gaze. 

A few seconds flew away in silence, before Nabokov disturb it.

“What are you afraid of, Damien?"

Damien turned his head to confront Nabokov. 

A confused expression appeared on his face. 

Nothing seemed to explain why Nabokov was conveying this notion of fear into their conversation. 

Damien had no idea what gestures he had made or words he had uttered that had given Nabokov the impression that he was frightened of something. 

Admittedly, Nabokov was undoubtedly a powerful man, able to achieve and obtain all he desires at a snap of a finger. 

Though a dangerous vibe emanated from him, it didn't necessarily equal a feeling of fear or cause Damien to be afraid of the man.

“Afraid?"

Nabokov pushed his chest forward, his back no longer leaning and his arms on his legs. 

His body language showed he had become quite interested in the conversation that was going on between him and Damien.

“Yes, tell me," Nabokov said, encouraging Damien to open up.

“It has nothing to do with being afraid," Damien contradicted him.

Once again, Damien regretted the words he was using because he had just implied another reason existed but that had no connection with fear.

“So, what is it then?" Nabokov questioned Damien, asking him the question he was apprehending.

Damien laughed softly and nervously. 

Nabokov always succeeded in ambushing him with a question to which he had neither the answer nor the desire to respond to it.

“You don't give up, huh."

“Only the weak give up," Nabokov replied unhesitatingly.

Damien blinked, not knowing what his next move or word would be. 

What could he possibly reply to this? 

Damien's lack of comeback reinforced the silence between the two men. 

Nabokov only stared at Damien with an indistinct expression for several seconds. 

Damien would've much preferred a response than this silence and oppressive eyes that he was experimenting.

Nothing could explain why he remained nailed to the ground, undergoing Nabokov's penetrating gaze which was piercing him from everywhere, when he could simply evacuate the place. 

Damien couldn't say how many seconds passed before Nabokov finally decided to break this painful silence.

“Damien, in the next few seconds I want to see you take a seat on this sofa next to me," the Russian man ordered, his voice sounding as low as a whisper.

[lcvefriedman]

i’ll make them go away

i. tyler (hook) x thicker reader

ii. mentions of past friends with benefits, talks of insecurities, mentions of sex, very suggestive so minors...go away :)

iii. i probably won't do part two, sorry!

“do you have any insecurities when it comes to sex?”

you felt your body freeze as tyler placed the card onto the discard pile. your eyes flickered between the deck and your drink, seriously, seriously, considering just drinking the liquid in your glass and not answering. but this was tyler, your closest friend—your best friend even, and you knew he wouldn’t judge you. however, at the same time, you weren’t sure you should even be having this discussion with him, game or not.

“that’s what it was, just a game. a stupid game but still a game nonetheless.”

“y/n?”

the soft call of your name falling from his lips pulled you from your thoughts. 

“y-yeah, i um have a few...” you found yourself voicing.

“what are they?” tyler’s eyebrows raised, awaiting your answer as he took a sip from his own cup.

you let out a deep sigh, averting your eyes from his curious gaze as you found the grains in the table suddenly interesting. 

“that—,” your words were hesitant, eyes briefly meeting tyler’s before they fell to the table once more.

“that i’m not worth it.”

tyler’s face fell at your answer.

“y/n i—.”

“that i’ll make people uncomfortable because of my weight.”

tyler’s eyebrows furrowed as he listened to your concerns intently. you found your eyes welling with unwanted tears as you continued.

“that they’ll find me gross or that i’ll turn them off when i c—,” you cut yourself off, finding your cheeks heating at what you were about to say. 

“cum?”

your eyes widened, a single tear falling as they suddenly snap up to meet tyler’s at his utterance of the word. 

“y-yeah.”

he hummed as he slid his his drink back onto the table. his features were unreadable as he moved to settle next to you where you were positioned on the floor. you couldn't face him, suddenly feeling suffocated by the proximity between the two of you. 

“look at me,” you could feel the heat of his breath caress your cheek.

your eyes met his, surprised at the amount of hurt swimming in his gaze. his palm met your cheek, thumb gently removing the tear that had previously fallen. 

“did i —did i ever make you feel like this? did someone else make you feel like this?”

tyler had been a lot of your firsts. your first friend, first crush, first kiss, your first time, and your first love. the thing about tyler is he never ever made you feel insecure. in fact, you had never felt more beautiful than you had the night you slept with him. nothing could have prepared you for how attentive he was, how beautiful he had made you feel, the way he had worshiped your body. however, all of those feelings were fleeting and eventually your were left with an ugliness taking deep root within you. the more you thought about tyler’s previous lovers and those he pursued after your hook up, you couldn’t help but to get into your own head and start to think about all the things that made you insecure when it came to sex. 

“i’ve only ever um—” you faltered in your words, finding his gaze to be too intense.

“slept with you.”

you don’t know what had triggered it but before you could process what was happening tyler’s lips were on yours. you felt your skin tingle at his touch as he maneuvered you onto the floor below, hovering over you as you settled back into the carpet. his lips were addicting, their smooth glide against yours bringing back the memories of the first time he had ever kissed you like this.

“i’ll make those insecurities disappear y/n. especially the last one,” he moaned softly against your lips as he felt your legs wrap around his hips, bringing him closer to where you needed him the most. 

“haven’t been able to stop thinking of the face you made when you came. god you—do you know i still think about how you looked in that moment? it’s ingrained in my mind. you looked so fucking breathtaking.”

his words came as a surprise to you as you took note of the fucked out tone of his voice, watching as his tongue slicked across his plush lips. you inhaled sharply at the sight, feeling your face fall slightly as you let your insecurities get the best of you once more.

tyler seemed to pick up on the change in your demeanor.

“you need to tell me if i’ve done anything to make you feel this way.”

he hadn’t. truly you had been in your head. seeing the people that tyler had flings with after you, you couldn’t help but to feed into those insecurities you had developed.

“you didn’t.”

his features seemed troubled as he pulled away slightly.

“can—can i ask you something and you be completely honest with me?”

you nodded.

tyler bit his lip as his eyes shifted between yours.

“why didn’t you ever want to sleep with me again after the first time? you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to but…did i hurt you? did i do something wrong?”

your heart clenched as you watched tyler’s features form into one of sadness and uncertainty. you quickly shook your head as you brought a hand up to gently caress his face.

“no, ty, it wasn’t for any of those reasons. you didn’t do anything. you were perfect. i just—”

his eyes were glistening as he awaited your answer, he couldn’t bare the thought of possibly hurting you and you knew that.

“honestly i just—i had feelings for you and i thought it would be best if we just didn’t sleep together again. it wouldn’t have been fair to you.”

his eyebrows furrowed, “why not? was it not obvious that i liked you back? actually i still like you a lot.”

your breath hitched at the confession, eyes widening comically.

“w-what?”

a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as his eyes flickered over your shocked face.

“i like you y/n. hell—i think i even love you.”

your heart was pounding out of your chest and you knew without a doubt that he could hear it—feel it even as his chest was pressed against yours.

it was silent for a few moments between the two of you as tyler’s fingertips trailed softly across your chest. he still seemed to be troubled by something.

“if it wasn’t anything i did then can i ask why you feel this way about yourself?”

“i just—i’ve seen the people you’d hook up with tyler. i realized that i’m not even half the woman that they were...” you said sadly.

“so it was something i did, or rather someone.” he scoffed at himself, mumbling the last part as his gaze fell from yours momentarily.

“ty it’s not—.”

“y/n you aren’t half the woman they were.”

his words stung you, eyes filling with tears as you moved to shove him off. tyler faltered as he realized his words hasn’t come out quite right, grasping your wrists in his large hands as he pinned them to the ground to keep you from moving.

“you’re so much more than they could ever be. i’m sorry i didn’t mean to hurt you unintentionally but—god i just wish you could see yourself the way i do.”

your heart fluttered at his words, sighing as his lips caressed your neck. he pressed a tender kiss to the center of your throat, causing your breathing to stutter for what felt like the millionth time that night.

“i’m going to do everything in my power to take away those insecurities and show you how perfect you are. if you let me,” he breathed out as he pressed himself against you, basking in your soft moans as he pushed himself against you.

with a soft nod from you, he descended upon your body, spending the rest of the night showing you just how perfect you were to him and finally putting those insecurities to rest.

[ameliassecrets]

Maybe more? (S.R.)

Summary: You and Steve had been best friends before Sharon came along. Seeing them together now brings up some unwanted emotions, causing you confusion. Are you in love with your best friend?

Pairings: Steve Rogers x reader, Wanda Maximoff x reader (platonic)

A/N: I had this imagine in my head for a while now and wanted to share it. Hope that someone maybe enjoys this. Feedback is always appreciated.

-------

Steve had been in a happy relationship with Sharon for quite a while now. Three months to be exact. Three agonizingly long months, filled with the sweetest displays of affection you could think of. Displays of affection you were so desperately craving yourself now. He treated her like the true gentleman that he was and you could see that Sharon made him happy. So why was there a nagging little voice in the back of your head, taunting you with the fact that it was Sharon and not you?

You hated seeing them together and you couldn’t quite explain to yourself what had brought this on. You never disliked Sharon before and Steve was your closest friend. Seeing him happy made you happy.

But for some reason it also made you miserable. It put a heavy pressure on your chest, making you feel as if you were slowly suffocating every time you saw them. And for some reason they seemed to be bloody everywhere. Whether they were walking through the halls of the tower holding hands, lounging and cuddling on the couches watching movies or even working out together in the training room. Now that last one bothered you in particular. The training room was your sanctuary, the perfect place to get rid of all the pent up emotions inside of you and normally also the perfect hide out to get away from everything for a while. But now with the both of them constantly lurking around there too, you had to find a different way to let it all out. You were practically forced out of your own safe space and you hated it, having to resort to going for runs now instead.

Coming back from your run you walk into the elevator and press the button to your floor. You try to will your breathing back to normal while you wait for the ding, signalling you had reached it. As soon as the doors open you try to hurry into your room for a much needed shower, but unfortunately are met with the happy couple walking your way.

“Oh, hey Y/N.” Steve greeted upon seeing you. “Haven’t seen you for quite a while. Are you just coming back from a run?” he asked, with that gentle smile of his.

In return you put on your friendliest smile, ignoring the way Sharon was basically clinging to Steve’s arm, holding on for dear life. “Hey you two. Yes, just came back. I just had to get some fresh air, you know how it can get a little stuffy around here.” you joked, still slightly panting from the run.

The both of them laughed along, knowing just how true that was. “You’re telling me.” Sharon agreed.

“Anyways, I should get going. I really have to take a shower, not all of us can run more than five miles without breaking a sweat.” you teased. Steve let out another laugh at that. God how much you had missed that sound. Since the both of them had started dating and getting more lovey dovey around each other you had started to avoid them, only now realising how much you had in fact missed your best friend.

“Right, we don’t want to hold you up. We were just on our way for lunch anyways.” Steve explained. “Have a good day.” he added before continuing to walk towards the elevator with Sharon.

You and Sharon exchanged a last goodbye and you were thankful to just be able to get into the shower now. You couldn’t help your mind from drifting off as you stood under the warm stream of water, replaying the interaction in your head. You truly missed having Steve around a little more, but nowadays you couldn’t even get a moment alone with him. Everywhere Steve went, Sharon went; and the other way around. It’s like they were attached by the hip.

You went to grab a snack from the kitchen after your shower when you saw Wanda preparing something for herself as well.

“Hey Wanda. Whatcha makin’?” you asked. She looked over her shoulder, smiling at you. “Hey Y/N. I’m just making some pasta salad.” she answered, before offering you some as well.

“Oh I would love some. Thank you, you’re the best.” you gratefully replied, taking a seat at the isle behind her.

“So, how has your day been so far?” Wanda asked. “It’s been okay. Same as always, just came back from my morning run and took a shower, but apart from that nothing much. What about you?”

“It’s been good. I took the morning to relax a bit and now I’m making some food because I got hungry.” she happily replied, still working on the salad. “You know, I noticed that you go jogging an awful lot lately, which is weird because I’ve never seen you do that before. Is something bothering you?” she probed.

You knew that she could sense something being off about you, so lying to her was pointless anyways. Besides, apart from Steve she was your closest friend and basically knew you better than yourself. Not to mention her ability to read your thoughts if she was suspicious of you lying.

That’s why after letting go of a deep sigh you finally confess to her. “I don’t know what is happening lately but whenever I see Steve with Sharon I-I-.. I just feel so.. overwhelmed. And I don’t even know why, because I’m happy that he has finally found someone who makes him happy. I just don’t know if this is about Steve or if I just want what they have.. you know?”

Wanda turns around to face you now, thinking about what you just admitted to her. “Well, do you think it’s about Steve?” she asks with an inquisitive look on her face.

“That’s the thing. I don’t know. I mean it’s Steve. I’ve never really thought about him like that, but thinking about it now I don’t know if that’s just because I never really felt as if I had to.” You explained. “What if the only reason I never thought about it is that I never really expected him to be with someone else?”

“Well do you ever think about him in a romantic way now? Like.. do you get jealous of Sharon in a way of wanting to be in her place because you want to be the one he’s holding? Or is it more of an “I want that too, but like.. basically with whoever is willing to give me that”?”

You considered her words for a while, really letting them sink in. Truth be told you didn’t even know it yourself. You loved Steve. In your eyes he was as close to perfection as one can get. He was such an attentive and gentle guy, not to mention he was without a doubt the most handsome man you had ever laid eyes on. And before Sharon came along you were the one to snuggle up to him on the couch. In a friendly way of course. But now you couldn’t help but wonder.. was it just because you thought that with the way things were going, it would have to lead to something more eventually?

Or was it like Wanda said more of an attraction to what he stands for? A soft-hearted man, who would give everything for the woman he loved. Did you perhaps just crave to have a person who would treat you the same way, that Steve treats Sharon?

You felt like you were at a crossroads with your life and the more you thought about it, the more you felt entirely overwhelmed with your situation.

Do you love Steve? That is the question it ultimately all comes down to.

“I think you have some stuff to think about.” Wanda stated, gently placing a bowl of her pasta salad in front of you and leaving to give you some privacy.

[yanderart]

Another installment in my yandere pov series, and inspired by a few anon requests I got to paint dabi. 

Below the cut, as customary, is a one-shot I wrote for the backstory behind the portrait (Dabi x reader, 3k, dark themes). Hope y’all enjoy 🖤

Tws: nsfw, noncon, hinted kidnapping, inner turmoil. Overall nastiness.

   Staring at the marred back of the man lying beside you, eyes following the billowing pattern of his scars, it was easy to pretend you two were just another couple sleeping side by side. Pretend that you weren’t in a ratty motel room hidden away from the world, on a mattress that creaked with any slight shift of movement, and with the bitter taste of fear resting below your tongue.

   Pretend that he loved you, just like you loved him. Fantasize that it wasn’t the type of complicated infatuation corroded by trauma filled pasts, by bitterness and the phantom of brokered trusts.

  But then Dabi turned, the hitch in his breath warning you of his now alert state, and when his cobalt eyes held your stare all illusions were promptly shattered. Wishful words died on your lips before they even had the chance of being born, the frown on his face deepening as his arms circled around you, drawing you close.

   You tried to leave your mind blank then as he pressed your face into his chest, wishing it was easier to tune him out while he muttered lazy words against the shell of your ear. 

   “What happened, Princess?”, Dabi’s sluggish smile dragged the corner of his mouth upwards, making you feel the unmistakably texture of his metallic staples digging into the side of your face, “Are you lonely?”, He was mocking you, of course, and yet it was hard to not identify the hopefulness that hid behind his jest. 

   A hopefulness that went hand to hand with his need, with the sharp line of his body enveloping you and a rapidly hardening length heating up your lower abdomen. 

   A tremble shook you, prompting you to curse beneath your breath as a low chuckle was drawn from the man holding you. 

   “Or were you cold?”, and he was still teasing you, elated in your humiliation. 

   Because you were naked in his grasp, without even a blanket to aid you or any other heating present in the musty motel room. He had refused you any covers from day one, taking away what little you owned in terms of clothing and citing the fact that you needed not hide away from his glare. But you knew the truth behind his meager explanations, the reasons why he so rejoiced in seeing you exposed and trembling.

   In the death of winter, with the cold biting at your skin and the air feeling suffocating in its humidity, he was your only source of warmth.

   It became impossible not to let out a reluctant sound of relief as he dragged his palm through your sides, heating up your skin with languid movements. Although you were luckily way past the point of feeling any embarrassment at your own willingness to stop the cold, past the point of blaming your body for reacting in the way your captor had conditioned it to do so. 

   “Want me to warm you up, then”, Dabi muttered now at the base of your neck, his breath hot and almost painful as it grazed your nearly frozen skin, “Princess was so cold she couldn't even wait for me to wake up on my own, is that it?” 

   He wasn’t even expecting an answer at that point, just talking for his own sake as your shaking became even more pronounced, getting off on forcing you to hear whatever sadistic taunts his mind provided. Unwittingly pressing yourself against him as you tried to wiggle out of his grasp (dumb girl, should’ve known better than to think you would ever get away), by the time you felt the twitching of his bulge against your stomach it was too late to try and pull back. 

   His hands were pressing you down from the small of your back before you had a chance to think of voicing any discomfort, his sarcastic laughter turned into a low rumble as he proceeded to roll his own hips into you, angling you with ease so that he was pushing against a much more sensible spot lower down.  

   With your face away from him, it was too late for you to trick yourself into zoning things out. All you could see was the dirty mattress you were forced to lay on as he continued to mutter against your pulse, the rough texture of nails diving into your flesh as he coaxed you into following his movements, setting a cadence for you both as he continued to rut into you through the thin fabric of his boxers.

   All you could feel was the disgust climbing from your gut, the burning sensation of tears you hadn’t been able to shed since your very first few weeks with Dabi. 

   “I’ll warm you up, baby”, he was whispering as one of his hands crept up your stomach, tickling your ribs with its blazing touch and making you wonder if you were about to get marked again. He sounded so utterly pleased with himself, so absolutely content, that your mind was quick to conjure up images of blue flames licking at your flesh, of the barely fading scars that littered your entire body. 

   He took one of your breasts into his grasp then and snapped you away from your lingering memories, kneading it slowly, almost carefully, before his fingers made contact with the sensible bud of your nipple. Again, it would’ve been so easy to get lost in that sensation, in that revering touch, if your circumstances didn’t make it anything short of horrifying.

   (But you were warming up already, weren’t you? Your cunt reacting despite the disgust and horror you proclaimed, slick gathering as it greedily prepared for the impending intrusion. What a liar you were, Princess.)

   He continued his lethargic rhythm as his fingers toyed with your chest, teasing himself (teasing you both), before taking his other hand away from your lower back. You were trained enough not to try getting away from Dabi by that point, knowing better than to fight the inevitable, but it was still hard not to feel shame bubbling back up as you found your own hips stuttering down to meet his out of reflex.  

   In his hands, your own body became the deadliest weapon he could wield against you.

  (Yet you’re enjoying this, you like this. Therefore, you must like him too, right?)

   His now vacant arm slid up until he was roughly grasping your jaw. He angled your face down to stare into his gaze, into his scarred face and parted lips that morphed into a perfect picture of lust riddled reverence. And seeing the longing in those orbs was far crueler than all of his jests, all of the degradation and threats. Far scarier, too. 

   “Kiss me, Princess”, he commanded then, his stern voice almost succeeding at hiding away an eagerness you knew lurked beneath. 

    And you did, because you knew the consequences you’d otherwise face. You dived down to capture his lips in a mechanical way, moving dispassionately (or that’s what you tried telling yourself, as in denial as you were) until he took over. Much in the same way he had coached your hips earlier, the hand in your jaw instructed you with light movements until a pleased sound left the back of his throat. 

   “So willing for me”, he praised in a hushed tone as he briefly broke away, voice grave and dripping with desire. 

    And just like before, it wasn’t long before he decided you were well enough accustomed to the action, and then the grip holding your jaw was once more moving downwards, his scorching touch now merely tickling you as a palm pressed against your stomach, massaging your flesh as it continued its path to the same place his thrusts were directed at. 

   Your breath caught in your throat then, eyes closing as you tried to preemptively contain your emotions. 

   Dabi did not appreciate that. 

   “Look at me”, he uttered with a dark edge, a heavy order to loom over your quivering shoulders. 

   But you kept your eyes tightly shut, feeling fingers snaking between your legs and tracing the outside of your cunt as they quickly became dampened by the wetness gathering there. The squelching sound of his digits dipping inside your folds only made you cringe further, so focused as you were into keeping immobile and quiet. 

   You wanted to disappear. (You wanted to open your eyes and moan).

   Confronted with your tenacious refusals to comply, one of his fingers made its way to your hidden nub as a response, proceeding to mercilessly rub against it before he gave you any time to become accustomed. The spiralling stimulation made it difficult not to visibly shake. There was nothing teasing or slow about his movements, unrefined and harsh, yet you thought you could feel Dabi’s frustration at your stubbornness through that touch alone. 

   “Look at me before I decide that just humping your needy cunt won’t do”, he threatened, his own words breathless and hoarse.

   Which did give you a moment of trepidation as you tried and failed at ignoring his assault on your body. Your hands were now clenched into fists against his chest, nails digging into your own flesh while his fingers delved deeper inside you. They stretched you in a way which felt uncomfortably pleasant, quickly finding your tender spots in a practiced manner. 

   “C'mon, you don't have to make it harder. You've been so good for me lately, so sweet", and despite the terrible nature of his words, the slight softening of his tone had a terrible effect on you. 

   His words scared you, terrified you, and yet the backhanded compliment only made you more lightheaded, helping the unwilling pressure steadily building up due to his quick and nimble fingers. 

   You didn't notice his face getting closer, his breaths coming in hot puffs against the skin of your tender neck, but you did feel his lips as they closed against the crook of it, his teeth as they scrapped carelessly before claiming that same spot in a painful show of dominance. 

   You were trembling now despite a part of you still commanding your eyes shut. Inside you, his digits felt warm, so filling already, and you couldn’t help clasping around them despite your attempts at ignoring any unwanted excitement. 

  (Were you seriously going to cum on the fingers of your captor? Of the man whose face now plagued your nightmares, whose voice never left your conscious mind? My, my, what a hypocrite of a whore you were.)

   “Mine”, you thought you heard Dabi whisper as his love bites continued littering your skin “My princess.”

   And wasn't it fitting, how his awful nickname for you was the last thing you heard before his fingers achieved their goal. Two of them were slamming in and out of you, filling the room with horrible wet noises that you had unsuccessfully been trying to tune out, and a third one still insistently toyed with your clit. 

   It was fast, it was relentless, and your eyes were shooting open without your permission as a choked moan finally escaped your tightly shut mouth. You shook while you came, opening your fists against your assailant's chest and trying to ignore the pungent taste of shame as you found purchase on his shoulders instead. 

   From the back of your conscience, still overwhelmed by the shots of pleasure shaking your core (by his fingers that hadn't stopped for a second, insisting on accompanying you through your orgasm), you thought you heard a satisfied hum coming from the man holding you. 

   And as the pleasure numbed slowly, as the sensations turned painful while he refused to leave your oversensitive sex, Dabi was finally exiting the cover of your neck and his cerulean eyes were finding yours again. 

   There was a satisfied smirk in his lips, his expression almost soft if it weren’t for the hidden glimmer you had learned to tell apart.

   “Now, now”, he cooed at you as he continued to force your body into overstimulation, sobs fighting to exit your throat now instead of the unsolicited moan from earlier, “I knew you’d be good. You always listen to me now after all, don't you, Princess", his other hand had started kneading your other breast, left neglected until now, and your body was so unbearably hot by that point that you would have gladly welcomed back the terrible winter cold, “You'd do whatever I ask of you, wouldn’t you?”

   It was hard to think, hard to respond as the last vestiges of your pride still leaked out of you and facilitated his relentless attack on your flesh. Your nipple was being pinched roughly, only adding to the pain of being overstimulated.

   (But you were feeling It again, right? The tell-tales of your arousal awakening for a second time. So eager to please him, to be obedient despite whatever objections you claimed to harbor). 

   Another tug at your chest, this time nails lightly digging in, and you were slapped out of your dazed state into answering with rushed words. 

   “I'll do whatever you ask, Dabi”, your voice felt foreign to you, so small, so docile, “but make it stop. Don’t...”, a sound resembling a cry fought its way out through your sentence, one which neither of you knew if it was from discomfort or a pleasure quickly gearing its head back up, “make it stop, please.”

   He was so fucking satisfied to hear your meek little pleads again then, relishing on them like a man starved after so long of your stubborn refusals to speak. To his ears, it sounded like the chorus of heavenly angels descending from the heavens to reach him. He, who if there even was such a thing as Heaven, would be better fit for the scorching flames down below. 

   And that's when you felt it again, the threat of his now bare cock coming to rest against your pussy. It was a tentative probe, almost clumsy without hands to aid him in his search, and his fingers did not ease their assaults for even a second as you tried not to feel betrayed.

   (But did you really believe he would keep his word? That he'd just hump you like an eager virgin when he knew the alluring slickness waiting to hug him, to welcome him back? You were even dumber than you looked.)

    “I know I promised", he admitted while you felt his warm erection pressing slightly, teasingly, against your slit, your own body starting to reach its second cusp without the time to even completely get down from the first, “but you took too long this time, Princess. You were being such a brat…”

   And it was almost poetically ironic, how your second orgasm hit as his fingers relented and his cock finally entered you in their place. It stretched you in a way which was no longer painful but filling (it didn’t make you cry, having you fruitlessly trying to find anything to ground yourself to as it tore you apart. Not anymore anyways). You sighed and moaned while being stuffed full, finally giving in despite any apprehension, and your pussy took him in and hugged him tight as a response. It distracted you from the shame, the guilt, the remorse, and before long your keening was filling the room with its eagerness. 

   “Maybe next time”, he kept groaning against your ear, now both hands going down to grab at the supple globes of your ass, persuading your pliant body into follow the rhythm he was easily setting, “if you're better then, if you…”, even for him it was becoming harder to talk, entranced as he was by the welcoming hold of your inner walls, “if you don't wake me up, if you aren’t so needy. Maybe then, fuck.”

   You were still cumming as his halfhearted promises mingled with his excuses, as he became lost in his own pleasure, in using you as he saw fit. And, lost as you were in the sensations, you were foolish enough to think them true for a moment.

   Maybe next time, you repeated to yourself as his thrust become frantic. His grip on your ass turned painful as he lost sight of the force he was using, his palms heating inadvertently and your skin sizzling below them. You'd have more marks once all was said and done, more patterns to add to your growing collection. 

   Maybe next time he woke up he'd let you go. Maybe he'd finally understand love was not a prison nor a leash. Maybe next time he would ask for your forgiveness, understanding all the trauma and horror he was forcing you to endure. 

  (Or maybe you'd be the one asking for penance, kneeling in front of him and finally seeing him in the way he so desired. Maybe you would start understanding the dimension of his efforts then, of his love for you that he knew not how to show otherwise. A love that scared him as much as it damaged you.)

   As his hoarse moans mingled with your own, you were too drunk on your own fantasies to even attempt to squirm away before he was filling you up with his seed, your walls still convulsing around him as your body stayed attentive, pliant and tender. His lips were kissing you, licking you in poor attempt at providing comfort, and yet you felt a hopeful smile turning the corners of your lips ever so slightly. 

   So many things could happen next time. And anything would be better than this, right? Feeling his cum coating your insides as a litany of nonsense left Dabi's mouth, his softening cock refusing to leave and allow any drop to leak out. Anything had to be better than being owned, being conquered. 

   (So naïve you were, the only person you had gotten good at convincing was your damn self.)

   “Love you, princess", his head was buried in your neck again, his favorite place in your body to hide in while he slowly rocked you both, “so fucking much.”

   And in his own twisted way, as much as you wanted to fight and argue, you didn't doubt his words. Such a twisted love it was, but unquestionable in his burning desire. 

   Even as it charred you to a crisp, leaving nothing but ashes behind and deadlier than anything his quirk might subject you to. 

   Dabi loved you, his sweet little princess, and maybe if you weren't so stubborn you could start loving him back. 

****

Probably the longest one-shot I've posted alongside a portrait so far, since I'm still getting comfortable with the length of my writings (still cant believe people read and enjoy these lol). And special thanks to my pals @reinawritesbnha, @coyambition and @snappysnapo for lending me a pair of eyes before posting 🖤 love y'all !

🥀 Requests/Suggestions OPEN 🥀

[marvellovegalore]

Loving You

Chris Evans

Synopsis: Chris is over the moon, he's met you and life couldn't be better - you're all he's ever dreamed of and there's nothing you could do to ruin that.

Warning: explicit language, sexual content

No one in your industry would ever consider you difficult to work with, neither mean, arrogant, conniving or calculating. Most would go out of their way to praise you, proclaim their adoration for the movie star of dreams. On the other hand, your previous partners would. Ex-boyfriends that would bravely volunteer to be interviewed about your past relationship would recount their experiences with the same look as a shell-shocked soldier. If they could, they would gather in a support group for those left with deeply affecting, unresolved trauma - left by you.

You would deny it, if you could be bothered; or if the media had declared your heartbreaker ways to be of public interest. Which they are, but you’re largely untouchable therefore they're unreported. A Hollywood starlet, philanthropist, trend setter and tastemaker - alongside with being viewed largely as a sweetheart. Your childhood nannies coming in storming with adulations and saccharine recollections of a sweet and shy child. Friends that are more than happy to celebrate you on social media and fans who fill the internet with high production videos of you strutting on the streets and red carpets cement the idea that you are the moment, and you are loved.

To the world outside of the sphere of your ex-boyfriends, you were the most eligible bachelorette. There was no flaw in sight, no illusion to dispel or enchantment to break; you’re the real deal. Until you get bored, and you need to hurt someone. Because hurt people, hurt people. As the saying goes. There’s no need to go into that - just yet.

So, when Christopher saw you at the 2019 Vanity Fair Oscars after party, he fell head over heels. Your eyes cast a spell on him, and the enchantment was cast by the world’s master mage, you. You barely realised what you did, you were in no mood to flirt or truly fraternise. You were attempting to drown your sorrows of missing out on another Oscar win for the second time - in a mojito glass. You looked spectacular, possibly more than how you looked during the ceremony. But to Chris, your face of indignation looked like the angelic expression of a good second place loser with no hard feelings. He attempted to approach you, but too many people go into his way, they came with unprovoked film criticisms and pseudo interview responses that would get them into the academy board. All he wanted was to see your face up close and know how you spoke when you weren’t being regarded by a crowd of enraptured spectators.

He could see that you weren’t being left alone either, you hadn’t won the Oscar, but you are being treated as if you did. Your eyes bounce off of him every once in a while, but he couldn’t capture your attention - and then you left the party. You hardly made the French exit you were seeking. Stars old and young clamoured to say their goodbyes and kisses on your cheeks. You finally managed to escape. If Chris were to attempt to lie and say that he wasn’t disappointed, a blind woman could have seen right through him. His heart dropped, and he couldn’t explain why - he didn’t even know you.

Some other actor friends managed to drag him to a more intimate after party, the setting hardly intimate. A compound nestled in Hidden Hills, twenty-four-hour security circling the property, of one starlet who presented herself at the beginning of the night but chose an early slumber rather than socialising.

You came in half an hour after him, a miniskirt showing off your incredible legs - which were insured for an absurd amount.

His breath caught in his mouth. You were dressed down, but you looked too incredible to even try and claim you didn’t try. Everyone’s head turned and everyone was captured by the beauty at the door, accompanied by a friend. Your demure appearance fooling everyone into thinking that the attention was unwanted. You grabbed yourself a drink and half an hour later you were still enveloped with a group of equally intoxicated friends.

Though, Chris was determined to get your attention. He grabbed a drink off of the barman and slowly and easily made his way to you. The word ‘chill’ being chanted over and over again in his head. He was dead set on not making a fool of himself. Three steps away from you, glass of mojito clutched in his hands, his anxiety being beaten down and desperately suffocated into his stomach and away from his brain. He goes over his words, and before he finishes walking to you, you turn suddenly.

Your eyes pierce into his, a smirk glossing your lips. “Hi.” Your voice is low, characteristically different from your stage voice - your accent just as strong.

“Hey, got this for you.” Chris thrusts the glass into your unexpectant hand, some of the drink splashing out over the frosted rim. “Hope, it’s not too presumptive of me to have gotten it for you?” His eyes have glossed over, he shifts his weight from one foot to another. You shake your head no, a sweet smile playing at your lips. He’s even easier on the eyes much closer up. “Sorry you didn’t win that Oscar, real shame, I was rooting for you!”

You store it in the back of your mind that this man manages to look like a golden retriever even when he’s several drinks down, “It’s nothing, what does it mean anyway, I’ll still get more jobs in the future.” You take a sip of your drink after he takes a sip of his.

He compliments your eyes, your complexion and goes on an eager rant of how much he admires your capacity for acting. You drink in the adoration diluted by alcohol and take his words with a pinch of salt. After twenty minutes of solid, drunken conversation you’ve moved to a nook shadowed by statues. Your legs next to his on the red velvet sofa. You remark on the class of the artistic statues, clearly purchased illegally from a Mediterranean museum. He barely takes in your words, much preferring to intoxicate himself with the sight of you - and his fifth beer.

You’ve decided that you want him. Badly. But you’ve sussed him out. He’s not just going to be a one-night stand - in the animal kingdom he’s a Golden Retriever, and those aren’t dogs to be messed with. Your last fling was essentially a Doberman pinscher - discardable - but this Chris had to reeled in slowly.

You interrupt his musing about the Boston markets with a kiss.

Your lips smoothly capture his, your lipstick smearing over his lips. His hand presses tightly on the small of your back, arm underneath your waist holding you up higher. Stars explode inside your eyelids and his fingers grip tightly onto your shirt as your tongue licks his bottom lip. Your entry is granted, you lips pressing tighter against each other. Your eyelashes dance over his. Your hands rise to his face, your hands imprinting themselves onto his cheekbones. His hand brushes over the bare skin of your leg, his fingertips tracing the insides of your thighs. A small moan rises from the back of his throat.

The hold you have on him is cemented, you part away from him. You untangle yourself from him and stand up from the sofa, your eyes refusing to look at him, you smooth your clothes and slowly strut away from him.

Chris looks at the fire that you’ve set on his limbs in disbelief, he doesn’t grasp what you’ve just done. Did he do something wrong? Does he smell? No. You just didn’t care for the ceremony of the first ‘after-kiss’ moments.

He doesn’t see you for a year.

You truly are elusive - to the media and him.

He couldn’t get you out of his mind, and the fact that you starred in another award-nominated film did little to help him forget you.

You were curious to understand whether you really enticed him or not. You decided to not pursue that line of questioning, and never bothered to reply to his direct messages. It wasn’t done with the intent of hurting him, you just didn’t care. But life has a way of putting things in your way that deep down you didn’t know you wanted.

--

Nevertheless, here you are, with your boyfriend of a year - Christopher, sat across from you telling you story about his nephew. You simper, your eyes flitting between the sight of him and the view of the sea. The coast of Martha’s Vineyard enraptures you, you drink your wine, eyes steadily moving to the coastal view.

You grew up coming here. Your family often choosing the quiet island to rest in during the late spring holidays. You brought Chris back here to stay at your family holiday home as it’s not too far from his own family home, a perfect last stop after spending the week with his family.

He watches you curiously, his blue irises begging you to let him in to your thoughts. You refuse silently and beckon the waiter. You ask for the bill, it’s quickly on the table and you pay - ignoring Chris’ refusals. You smile at him, for the second time during dinner. He responds in kind, remarking on your bad mood and how he’s glad you’ve cheered up after having some food. He muses on the lovely weekend you’ve had together as you leave the restaurant. Candlelight following you as you make your exit with your hands holding each other tightly, his other hand in his preppy shorts.

You walk slowly, watching the sunset. His arm finding its way around your shoulders. His sweet and intimate embrace enveloping you in warmth. Your heart beats quickly against his bicep as you near your home. Your hands tremble for some reason and you practically sprint up the porch steps after you’ve crossed the gate and walkway, leaving Chris five steps behind you.

You open the door and make a quick beeline for the kitchen in the far back of the house. You enter the pantry, ignoring Chris’ questions of what is wrong. You take a bottle of Rosé out of the wine fridge and forgo pouring it into a glass and drink it straight from the bottle. It tastes incredibly sweet, and Chris finds you eventually in the pantry. He looks at you in surprise as you gulp the drink.

“Everything okay, baby?” He walks to you, his hands failing onto your hips, his adoring eyes almost boring into your soul. You refuse him entry into the pits of your emotions. Steeling yourself against the onslaught of therapy-like talk.

You don’t want him to know that hurt people, hurt people. And that you’re one of them.

You kiss him, silencing his calming words.

His fingers tighten on your sundress. The colour melding with the colour of his fingers. Your lips become one.

You go through the steps of getting out of the pantry in a seemingly choreographed dance, your dance ends in the smaller reception room; your bodies tangling themselves on the rug. Neither of you giving a care to fact that you’re undressing in front of the window overlooking the pool and coast.

The flickers of the setting sun’s rays highlight his now bare chest. He returns his lips to yours in a hypnotising kiss. Your hands dance with the muscles of his back as you caress his skin, his torso vibrating in between your legs with the fervour of his movements. Your dress is ripped off your body. He directs his attention to your right breast, his soft lips caressing your skin. His tongue lashes slowly against your nipple, you fight to hold back your moans as his hand lowers to your pussy. His fingers pushing aside your pants, his fingers sink into you like it’s their second nature. Your head rolls back as he makes love to you with his fingers and his lips lower down to where his fingers are. He licks you where you need him most, his love for you being written inside you with his tongue.

You orgasm. Slowly.

And all that runs through your mind is how much you’ll miss him.

You pull him up to you, you turn over and straddle him. Tasting yourself on his lips as the sun sets even lower. The waves crash against the shore violently as the wind picks up. You lower yourself onto him and start riding him, your hips bucking in an impassioned manner against his. He doesn’t hold back his moans as he caresses your breasts and stomach.

You realised you loved him four months ago, but every time you catch sight of his loving eyes when you’re fucking, it makes you fall in love all over again.

Chris switches and puts you on all fours, he grips your hair in his hands, the rising intensity making him grip you harder. His thrusts are merciless, his spare hand spanking you and stroking, you’re on the cusp of a sensory overload when he turns you over. On your back you have the most beautiful view. A strong ray of sunlight brightening his eyes as he makes love to you. His kisses are tender but intense. His hand grips onto yours, your fingers intertwined and his other hand griping onto your face.

A tear slips out of your eye, you wipe it away quickly. Your increased sensitivity makes the second orgasm come, Chris fucks you through your breathy moans and you throw your head back. Momentarily blinded by the bliss; the pink sky wakes up from the saccharine, cloudy state. Chris orgasms into you with four thrusts.

You push away from him and stand up; you pull on your silky pants. You sigh and leave Chris on laying breathless on the rug. You walk upstairs and enter your room. You use the toilet, wash your hands, have a glass of water and throw on a short black dress. As you pull on your boots Chris enters the room, a smile gracing his lips.

He pulls on some shorts, “Want to tell me what all that was about?” He gives you a confused expression as he lies back against the bed, taking one of the fluffed pillows from behind him and tucking it between his chest and arms.

Hurt people, hurt people.

You turn towards him, facing away from your walk-in closet. “When we fuck, I have to think about other men to get through it.”

His eyes widen alarmingly, he turns to you, the light of the tv making him blue. “Say that again?” The disbelief is almost tangible in his words.

“I feel embarrassed about being seen with you now. I feel I’m just too good for you.” You walk into the closet and you hear him stomp off the bed.

“No, rewind to what you first said.” His voice is louder, his features twisted with confusion and hurt.

“I have to think of other guys to get off,” your eyes connect with his, you don’t look away, you fight the smirk biting at your lips. “I can’t stand the thought of being with you any longer. I’m sick of it.” You grab the suitcase that was packed for you when you were at the restaurant. “Also, you’re not as ripped as you were when we met, there’s other guys that can provide that image for me.”

“Take it back.” The hurt he’s feeling is completely tangible now. “Take it back right now. Right. Now.” His eyes are pleading with you to have mercy.

You've decided that you've gone past the point of no return. “I’d be happy never have to see you or have to hear from you - ever again.” You scan his eyes, your heart swelling with an eerie feeling of pride as his eyes flood with held back tears.

“This must be some elaborate prank— “he chokes on his words, his hands reach for yours, but you step back.

“This year has been tedious, completely boring and I’ve gotten nothing but only ten decent fucks from you.” Not true, and both of you can attest to that, you've had the best sex, your mutual adoration is clear when you make love. So, Chris is at a loss to understand how this is all being said and happening. “I’m off to New York, stay as long as you like or don’t. I don’t care. Have a nice life.” You slip past him.

Taking his heart and soul with you.

He can’t stop the tears from ballooning in his eyes and then trickling down his cheeks.

He must be stuck in a nightmare. He doesn’t know how long he’s been pacing in this closet filled with your clothes, your smell haunting him.

He rushes downstairs and there’s no sign of you. He stumbles outside and there’s no sign of you or your driver. He rushes in to get his phone and calls you. Five times. The sixth time it goes straight to voicemail.

He feels his heart break.

He falls right in the spot he’s in. He vomits his heart out, the pieces being spat out onto the wooden floors. The blood shinning underneath the soft lights of the lamps.

He wants death. Slow and steady death.

——

Part Deux -

[retrogalwrites]

Title: “Shigaraki and the perfect girl” / see on ao3

Pairing: Incel!Shigaraki x f!reader

Summary: Shigaraki has a crush on what seems to be the perfect girl who everyone loves, and becomes obsessed with the idea of corrupting her.

Warnings: attempted sexual assault, virginity fetishization, dub con, creepy behavior, stalking, manipulation and somnophilia with a twist

Contents: creampie, vaginal sex, breeding kink, scent kink (in a gross way), mating press, slight dumbification, corruption kink

Word: 4873

Shigaraki had been watching you from the very beginning, all through your high school years. It hadn't been much of his fault, he always told himself, when your existence alone did nothing but to stand out.

You had always been the center of attention, the most popular girl in the entire school, little Miss Perfect. With your good grades, unrivaled beauty, hordes of friends, admired by all students and professors alike. Being always so kind and innocent, with a friendly demeanor towards everyone, including an unwanted outcast like Shigaraki.

On his end, he had always been the creepy one, the strange one, the antisocial one that sneered at others and cursed them under his breath. Everyone avoided him like the plague, at least whenever they weren't too busy tormenting him, all too eager to remind him of how unwanted he was.

The complete opposite of you, Shigaraki was a social pariah.

On your third year, whenever other students would bully him publicly, give him looks and tell him how gross and disgusting he looked, you always had to come right to his rescue.

"Stop it, guys! That's no way to treat someone." You'd say softly, standing between him and his tormentors like some kind of protector. "Leave him alone, would you?"

And they couldn't say 'no' to you, no one could. Reluctantly they would give in to your heartfelt request and leave him be, those fools always dancing on the palm of your hand, but who could blame them? The hottest girl in class, lusted after by every boy in school, including Shigaraki himself, there was no way anyone could resist doing whatever you wanted them to. So pretty, so sweet, so perfect.

You had it all so easy, didn't you?

Shigaraki hated you for that, deeply and passionately loathed your very existence, a resentment that only grew stronger every time you would turn around, with that expression full of concern, to ask if he was okay.

Yes, he hated you for that. He also desired you for that, adored you in fact, wanted you as badly as any other buffoon in your class did. But not in the same way as them. No, when you looked at him with those sparkly eyes, pouting lips, leaning over his desk to give him an eyeful of your chest straining against the fabric of your school uniform, the feelings that stirred inside him were ugly and suffocating, something too depraved to be love.

When the other guys glared at him for having your attention even for a minute, it made his heart beat faster, it made his blood boil as his hands itched to grab you and destroy you, bend you over his desk and tainting every corner of your body right in front of them.

"You're lucky [name] takes pity on your sorry ass, Shigaraki." One of his bullies would scoff, once you were out of earshot.

"I didn't fucking ask her to. Maybe the bitch has crush on me, huh?" He'd spat back with vitriol, just to be met with a kick to the shin. As he hunched over in pain, he'd always hear those same words.

"Know your damn place, freak. A crush? Please, she's too perfect for you."

And they were right, so very right, but it only made Shigaraki want you more, more, more. His infatuation was warped with the thought of revenge, the desire of getting back at everyone by taking you away for himself, and to get back at you simply for daring to exist.

So Shigaraki would curse you in his mind, every single day, and then every night he'd spent it pleasuring himself to fantasies of you, sometimes holding the items he had stolen from you in the past (a gym shirt, your lip balm, the pencil you'd chew on during class). Creating scenarios where he'd get you alone to taint you, destroy you, turn you into dust and ashes with his own hands until he had dragged you down to his own level: a freak, a pariah, the lowest of the low.

If only he had the guts to do it, if only he could admit to himself that he wanted to do it at all, for real.

—————

After graduation, not seeing you for the following months pushed his mind deeper into that brewing obsession, drove him mad with it.

Shigaraki stalked your social media, watching his phone all day to make sure he didn't miss any of your publications and updates, downloading every selfie you uploaded to keep for himself and fap to later. His infatuation had been growing more and more out of control with each passing day, you invaded his thoughts every waking hour.

And yet Shigaraki told himself that it was really only a coincidence that he had ended up in the same college as you. Despite having read through a conversation on the comments from one of your posts on your Instagram a month or so before graduating, about your college prospects. Despite writing down those prospects to later tell his school advisor that he wanted to get into that same school. Despite having begged his father to send him there despite the inconvenient distance away from home in his daily commute, despite having chosen a major he didn't care about just to be in the same class as you.

His self-denial kept that obsession barely restrained, keeping it from pouring out into reality, and you also had to ruin that.

"Tomura!" You had approached him on the first day at campus, excitedly calling his name with such familiarity. The sound made his breath hitch and his cock twitch inside his pants, stomach fluttering.

"Oh, umm...hey." He chewed on his chapped lip, looking away as he lied through his teeth. "Didn't expect to see Miss Perfect here, of all people."

Despite of his dismissive tone being cold as ice, you kept smiling at him, only laughing as if he had been joking.

"It's so good to see a familiar face, you know? Come, sit next to me!!" You had grabbed his hand without a second thought, pulling him along with you into the classroom. People already whispering just from seeing you two walking together hand in hand: a breathtaking beauty like you and him, a disheveled mess, who had been wearing the same dirty hoodie for already a week.

Yet you didn't let go of his hand, even when he had already started to sweat and his palm got all clammy against yours, you didn't let go. The thought of rubbing off his filth onto your skin filled him with joy.

You really were a fucking idiot.

Holding hands with your stalker so casually, with the guy that wanted to ravish you in a dark corner, break you with his cock until you were screaming his name, and make you beg for your life like a pathetic bitch. Yes, that's what he wanted to do, more than anything in the world. He wanted to destroy you, to violate you, to break you, to make you his. Those weren't fantasies, it was reality.

Shigaraki used that same hand to jerk himself off that night in his dorm, imagining that it was you being forced to stroke his throbbing cock. He imagined that you would be so disgusted by his filthy self, your clear skin getting all of his dirt rubbed all over, fat tears streaming down your face as he forced you to open your mouth and take him in until you chocked on his cock.

Soon enough, he was thrusting into his fist, cumming all over himself until his cock softened, and his hands and abdomen were covered in his sticky semen.

What would you do if you found out that the guy you had been so kind to all these years wanted to hurt you so badly? Shigaraki imagined the despair on your face, and soon he was hard again.

—————

For most people, life after high school plays differently. Once you get to college, popularity contests become a thing of the past...but not for you, it seemed. During that first semester, Shigaraki had to watch how everyone around you was back to fawning all over you. Stumbling over themselves to ask you out to parties and dates (how many times did he overhear guys talking about what they wanted to with your tits and ass?), professors favoring you for your perfect grades, everyone adoring you as the perfect girl once again.

He was still an unwanted pariah, ignored by everyone, looked at with scorn by others.  Except whenever you gave him your attention, of course, only then did people want to get all buddy-buddy probably hoping to get to you with his help.

God. He fucking hated you. And he fucking wanted you.

One day, he finally snapped.

Shigaraki decided that he was going to have you before anyone else got the chance to put their hands on you, the perfect girl that everyone loved so much, would belong to the guy everyone hated.

He was going to tear you down once and for all, like you deserved, for living all these years with a silver spoon in your mouth having it all so damn easy. Wipe off that smile off your face, take it for himself, and make sure you were sullied, miserable, broken.

So, Shigaraki planned his next actions very carefully then. For a whole month, he tried to be more open towards you, more friendly, taking advantage of how kind you had always been towards him despite of the dismissive way he always had treated you with. Despite his awkwardness at it too, something that anyone else would've been turned off by already, but you took his attempts with endearment.

It pleased him, how you fell for it so easily, excited to see him reciprocate your attempts at friendship, the excitement on your face whenever you two were paired together for a project or study sessions.

You were so innocent, and so stupid. He truly loved you.

—————

Shigaraki couldn't believe his luck, the day after an assignment when he got you to come with him to his dorm to start working on how you were going to plan around the workload.

His dorm room was, admittedly, filthy. Unwashed clothes and trash scattered everywhere all over the floor, wraps of junk food and snacks hastily piled on an full trash bin in the corner. Anime figurines, video games, and posters decorated the shelves and the walls. The only spot that was kind of well kept was his gaming corner, with his pc and monitors all sparkly clean. He knew it was a shameful way to live, and he excitedly looked at your face hoping to see any semblance of disgust towards it. The lack of it, made Shigaraki frown.

"Err...sorry, I didn't know you were coming so I didn't clean up the place." He feigned concern, trying to edge a reaction out of you.

"That's ok, sorry for barging in." You gave an understanding smile.

Shigaraki's twisted resolve only became stronger. He was going to wipe that smile off your face, and that thought echoed in his mind on repeat for the following hour you two sat down to work.

Though, of course, his attention was not in the books in front if him. Shigaraki was too focused on the fact you were sitting on his bed, your bare things peaking underneath your skirt making direct contact with his dirty bedsheets.

Could you even begin to imagine that those bedsheets were stained with cum from his daily fapping? That he furiously had been jerking himself off to you for months in that same bed? His blood had begun to run towards his loins, and his cock was starting to strain against his jeans. Shigaraki had to cover himself with the textbook as to not to give himself away.

"Tomura, can we take a break? I'm getting tired." You yawned some time later, putting the book away and stretching your arms above your head. An action that gave Shigaraki a perfect view of your pretty curves, the way your tits heaved slightly as you pushed your chest forward, and a flash of midriff peaked from underneath your top.

"We still got a lot to do, dumbass." He curtly replied, pretending he wasn't leering.

You pouted, like a brat. He couldn't understand how you got such good grades when you could be this lazy sometimes. "Please, just fifteen minutes?"

He pretended to think about it, before shrugging at you begrudgingly. "Alright, just stop looking at me like that."

With a pleased, cheeky smile, you let your back fell on his mattress. Something that actually took him by surprise, Shigaraki watched in disbelief how you bounced on his bed, thighs and tits jiggling. You yawned again as you curled into a ball, he wondered if you even noticed how he ran his tongue over his dry lips. Were you really going to make it this easy for him? Were you that stupid?

"Wake me up in fifteen minutes." and you closed your eyes.

"Sure thing." He couldn't stop his lips from stretching into a huge, sinister smile.

—————

Shigaraki had never been a patient man, but he exercised all of the patience he had within him just to wait out the agonizingly slow seconds as you gradually fell asleep. He kept his eyes glued on your laying form through the first five minutes, casually but excitedly palming his erection through his jeans as he watched you fall asleep. He waited, and waited, silently observing your breathing until it fell into slow, regular rhythm. Soft snoring sounds purred from your throat, leaving your lips.

His cock was so fucking hard it hurt.

Hesitantly, Shigaraki called your name once in a hushed voice, then twice a little bit louder, and when he got no response from you, he knew that the time he had waited for all those years had finally come.

The time to break you.

The beating of his heart hammered loudly in his ears, as Shigaraki crawled over the bed towards you. His weight shifted the shape of the mattress, so he moved as slowly as his desperation allowed him to, as to not wake you up yet. Positioning himself above you, his legs straddled you underneath him as he unbuckled his pants and pulled out his throbbing erection, veiny shaft all with the head red and swollen, looking like he was about to burst. Then, supporting himself on his knees, he leaned back for a moment just to take in the wonderful sight you made.

Spread on his filthy bed, so comfortably on your back, breathing through lush parted lips. The girl chased after by everyone at school, they all would've killed to be in his place and to see you like this, to have you like this. Looking so small, so fragile, so defenseless, so fucking perfect.

Years of abstinence came down crashing all at once and Shigaraki's depravity took a hold of him completely, and it felt damn good.

His lips came down to cover yours with such pathetic urgency, Shigaraki crushed your soft body underneath his larger, even if skinny, frame. Dry and chapped lips devoured the softness of yours, and they tasted so sweet and creamy, exactly the same flavor of lip balm he had stolen from you back in high school. God, he could feel your heavy, round tits pressing against his chest, his erect cock rubbing needy against the snug gash of your clothed crotch, the engorged head poking at your entrance like he was in heat like a dog, shuddering violently at the stimulation. He moaned loudly against your mouth, forcing his tongue between your teeth and into your sweet mouth, as drool trailed down the corners of his mouth and smearing against your pristine skin. God, he forgot to brush his teeth after his morning coffee, his mouth was surely filthy...not like it even mattered to him anyway. Neither did it matter that he was going to wake you up like that, he indulged on tasting you completely. In fact, he anticipated to watch you wake up, and realize what a stupid bitch you had been.

Bringing his hands to your face, he forced your mouth to press harder against his as he kissed you so sloppily, his throbbing erection rutting against your core.

"(Name)...oh fuck, (Name)..." He whined against your lips. Just a virgin that he was, Shigaraki couldn't help that the mere stimulation of your clothed pussy-mound rubbing on his bare cock was really firing him up, pushing him so much that he was creaming his pants already. He shuddered, muscles tensing as the head of his cock spurted huge jets if his smelly, sticky cum all over the front of your skirt and your thighs.

He breathed heavily, looking at the mess he made.

Then he heard you call out to him, and the sound of your voice was anything but distressed, or even angry.

Instead, you sounded disappointed.

"Aww, you already came?" His eyes shot to your face. You were wide awake, face flushed as you stared at him through fluttering lashes and glossy eyes, the expression of someone who was throughly aroused. Shigaraki was the one struck by shock, and confusion.

"Tomura, I can't believe you are such a quick shot. I was looking forward to this, you know?" Your disappointment somehow puzzled him more than the sheer anger of being called out for his quick ejaculation, and that was impressive on itself. His expression made you giggle.

"What the fuck are you laughing for?!" He growled with bared teeth, his hands moving to your writs to restrain them above your head, crushing you with his body again. You whined, not in fear, but need.

He couldn't begin to understand what was happening. You weren't freaking out, you weren't crying, you weren't despairing.

"Do you understand what is happening here? I'm assaulting you, stupid bitch!" He lost his cool so quickly.

"Of course I know." Speaking in a whisper, your back arched, pressing yourself further against Shigaraki, raising your thighs to catch his cock between the soft flesh of your exposed, sticky thighs. He hissed through his teeth,  the touch easily making his cock spring back to life, harder than before.

"Tomura, you've always been a creep." For the first time, your voice sounded harsh, condescending.

And disgusted.

Finally, that disgusted look. Shigaraki stared at you with a burning gaze through red eyes, mouth agape at the sound of those words being uttered by you, that look on your face that he had wanted to see for the longest time. His cock twitched, a spurt of cum drooling down the tip and getting on your exposed panties. The feeling made you shudder, your things squeezing his cock between them again. His back arched, hands restraining you gripped your wrists tighter, he cursed at how fucking good it felt.

"But I always liked that about you, honestly! How gross you are, how dirty and smelly you are, you are always so mean to me too! I wanted you to take me like this by force one day."

"You...wanted this to happen?" Shigaraki was starting to understand, though none of it made sense. You snorted, giving him a suddenly smug grin that made his blood boil.

"I always hoped it would." A candid confession, your own breathing had become erratic, the euphoria of pouring out your deepest secrets. "It always made me feel so hot to imagine that you fucked me and made me all dirty and disgusting, that you turned me into a freak like you."

It sounded like pure bullshit, and yet the genuine honesty in your voice left no room to question it. The reality you presented him with had shattered his own. And it made him so damn angry and so fucking turned on. He felt all light-headed suddenly, like he was in a dream.

"So you've been fucking with me all this time?! Is that it, you damn bitch?!"

One of his hands roughly grabbed your throat, fingers circling the frail column of bone and squeezing hard, you gasped at the sudden pressure keeping you from breathing. You stared up at him. His gaze bore into yours, face inching closer to snarl with pure, scorching fury.

And yet you still looked so ecstatic, a lewd expression that couldn't be further from that angelic, innocent look everyone always said made you so perfect. You looked absolutely wicked in that moment.

"Yes...I have." You spoke through labored breaths, clawing and the hand around your throat. "You fucking...disgusting...creep."

Shigaraki realized then, that you hadn't ever been perfect, in fact, you had been the same as him from the beginning. A depraved fucking mess.

And he hated you for that, loved you for that.

Shigaraki then let go of both your wrist and neck, slipping his leaking cock away from your thighs as he leaned back on his knees. Gasping for oxygen, your head already felt light by the time you felt your clothes being violently ripped off from your body, blouse and skirt tearing away and being thrown behind Shigaraki's towering frame, leaving you in only your underwear.

The frilly, see-through thing that looked more like lingerie. God, you really were such a fucking freak, weren't you?

Shigaraki's hands went to unclip your bra that so luckily opened at the front. Throwing the item with the thorn pile of your other clothes. The sight of your bare tits bouncing in front if him was like out of his deepest fantasies, and Shigaraki didn't wait a second longer to roughly squeeze your breasts in his calloused hands, taking handfuls of the supple mounds of flesh he had always dreamed to grope. They felt full and heavy in his palms, fingers sinking into their softness, and seeing the way you mewled when his thumbs teased the hardening nubs of your nipples, making you softly moan his name, Shigaraki lost it.

His mouth attacked one of your nipples, mouth latching to the puffy areolae and teeth sinking into the flesh as he sucked hard and desperate. Your reaction was immediate, hands tangling into his messy white hair and fingers pulling at his scalp, mouth parted to mewl his name in pain and delight. He kept suckling at your breasts, hungry and rough like he was hoping to suck milk out of them, the other hand already playing with the other breast, mercilessly pulling and twisting your hard nipple, bruising the tender skin.

"Tomura wait — ooh!!" Your body trembled as you whined out his name, another wave of pleasurable pain hitting you when Shigaraki squeezed your breasts together and brought both nipples into his greedy mouth. Sucking at them and lapping at the pebbled skin with his tongue, until your were squirming underneath him like a needy little whore.

One of his hands delved down to your panties, the thin string that held them up all to easy to break with one powerful tug. You gasped, a sound that turned into a loud scream when you felt his fingers teasing the hot wetness of your pussy lips, before he buried one digit into your core, testing your insides.

"Oh fuck..." You breathed, biting your lip, feeling him experimentally finger your inner walls. Shigaraki was fascinated at how hot and slick you felt inside, your fleshy walls sucking around his fingers so tightly that he wanted to stuff his cock inside that hole now, now, now.

He let go of your nipples with a lewd pop, spit dribbling down the abused skin. "Who would've thought...that you had such a filthy mouth." He snickered. "You are so fucking wet already, you goddamn degenerate, you want my cock so bad, huh? I'll let you know I haven't showered in a few days." It was like he was testing you by basking in his own disgusting habits.

"Y-Yes, I do, I want your filthy cock!!" Another loud moan, uncaring that other people in the dorm were going to hear. "Please, Tomura, make me filthy!!" The expression on your face, mouth agape with your little tongue out so unabashedly desperate for someone like him made his heart flutter.

Shigaraki would've wanted to keep you begging for so much longer, but in reality, his own desperation had him pulling back his hand from your pussy, leaving you empty and sighing disappointed for a moment, but not for long. Firmly anchoring himself down with his knees on the mattress, he raised your hips with a bruising touch and with the clumsiness of an inexperienced man, plunged his cock into your pussy in one punishingly rough thrust. The sudden feeling of being full had you arching your back and curling your toes, nails clawing at his forearms as you writhed in pain from the sudden intrusion. Shigaraki buried his cock into you until his pubes brushed your outer lips, and he was balls depp inside.

"Fuck, fuck, ooh...holy shit you...are fucking tight." Tomura groaned with his mouth agape, eyes rolling to the back of his head. His breath hot against your skin as he leaned over for a moment, taking in the unbelievably hot sensation of you squeezing around him. "This fucking greedy pussy, hngg..." Your insides felt so good, better than he ever imagined, you were so tight sucking him in like you were trying to rip off his cock. Was this what pussy felt like, or was this just you? Seeing what a slut you were, he didn't think you were even a virgin. And yet your velvety walls wrapped around his shaft in a snug fit inside that scorching, pulsating heat, Shigaraki couldn't imagine anything else comparing to it.

He couldn't stop himself as he began thrusting his cock into your hole, pulling only slightly before sinking back, selfishly unwilling to let go of that delirious sensation around his length. The harder he snapped his hips, the better it felt, his balls throbbed as they slapped against your plump ass.

"Tomura, i-it hurts....mmm, oh!" Tears swelled in your eyes, and yet your hips were needly sinking on his cock like there was anything else of him to take. What a glutton for punishment you were, but soon that burning pain became something just as good, even better actually, delicious pain, and your were soon arching your back and bouncing on his cock with all your might.

"Guess neither of us are virgins anymore, huh?" You panted with a laugh. Shigaraki froze then for a second, his eyes stared at your face contorted by pain and pleasure with wide eyes, enraptured and burning with something a little hotter than desire. A virgin, so even after the truth of your character, you really were as untainted as he thought.

Shigaraki was scrapping your virgin insides with his cock, truly making you filthy in the most pure sense of the word. He was tainting you, breaking you, the perfect girl everyone adored.

That was it, Shigaraki cursed under his breath as he pulled out, earning a confused and disappointed sound of from your lips, that then became a little help when he grabbed the back of your legs and pushed them up, bending them against your chest. He positioned himself over you and stuffed his cock back inside, thrusting into you as hard as he could, taking up a new merciless pace. In that new position, both of you could feel him reaching even deeper inside you, the engorged head on his cock hitting the entrance of your cervix, that little orifice sucking at his tip like it was begging for his filthy, fertile seed. The thought made him fuck you even harder, the image of him pouring his cum inside you and impregnating your insides.

"Tomura, Tomura, Tomura!!"

His name was a chant on your lips, arms thrown around his shoulders to pull him closer. You could smell the sweat and grime on his hair, and the thought someone so gross like him was taking you made your insides flutter and twist with the build up of an orgasm. "Tomura, don't stop, fuck...don't stop!!"

He didn't and soon you were clamping on his cock, your orgasm making you so tight that Shigaraki was shooting his load too reaching an abrupt climax, pleasure hitting him as his cum flooded your insides with its warmth, painting your walls white and filling up your womb until it was overflowing out of you, steaming down your thighs and ass onto his bedsheets.

It was like a dream, the best dream he had ever had. And he would've thought that it was nothing but a dream, too. If not for the arms that were still clinging to him and refusing to let go, the pretty mouth breathing against his ear.

"Tomura, you...really are disgusting." A satisfied voice filled with disgust, and affection. His cock began hardening inside you and you barked a laugh.

He hated you for that, and he loved you for that. The perfect girl everyone wanted, that was just so perfect for him too.