#even still... would like to just... draw again.

[gf2bellamy]

lipgloss — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: you leave a lipgloss mark on spencer's cheek content warnings: nothing a/n: i malfunction when i see glasses spencer

You let out an exaggerated sigh, slumping forward as you rested your chin on your hand. Across from you, Spencer sat at his desk, completely engrossed in his work, the soft scratch of his pencil against paper filling the otherwise quiet bullpen. His brows furrowed in concentration as he made notes in the margins of his case files. 

“Spencer,” you whined, drawing out his name. “Do you think Hotch would say anything if I just went home?” 

Spencer glanced up at you, his honey-brown eyes softening the way they always did whenever he looked at you.

“I think he might,” he admitted, tilting his head slightly. “But you could always say you weren’t feeling well. Technically, boredom is a form of mental fatigue.” 

You let out another sigh, this one even more dramatic. “I’m just so bored,” you groaned, dragging out the last word. 

Spencer’s lips twitched in amusement before he returned to his notes. You stared at him for a moment, then perked up as an idea struck you. 

“I’m gonna make myself a coffee,” you announced, standing up and stretching. “Do you want one?” 

Spencer shook his head with a small smile. “No, that’s okay. But thanks.” 

He picked up his pen, going right back to his work. You lingered for a second before stepping closer to his desk, your lips curling into a small, mischievous smile. With no one else in the bullpen, you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. 

Spencer froze. His pencil slipped from his fingers, rolling across the desk. His head snapped up, his face already turning an unmistakable shade of pink. 

Your smile widened. “What?” you teased, tilting your head. 

“You—” He blinked rapidly, his blush deepening. “We’re at work.” 

“And?” You arched a brow, feigning innocence. 

Spencer opened his mouth, then shut it, clearly searching for a response. Finally, he huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head before picking up his pencil again. 

“You’re impossible,” he muttered, but the small, fond smile on his lips gave him away. 

You grinned. Mission accomplished. 

You made your way to the break room, yawning as you prepared yourself a much-needed cup of coffee. The scent of freshly brewed caffeine filled the air, and just as you reached for a mug, you heard loud voices echoing from down the hall. 

Garcia and Derek. 

As you poured your coffee, you caught snippets of their conversation—mostly Derek chuckling about something Garcia had said, followed by her dramatic gasp. They had obviously just come back from their little break.

By “little break,” they meant sneaking off to grab food somewhere without telling anyone. Classic. 

Once your cup was full, you wrapped your hands around the warm ceramic, only to immediately flinch and mutter a curse under your breath. Too hot. You blew on it a few times before deciding to just endure the heat, making your way back to the bullpen. 

The second you stepped inside, you were met with two pairs of wide, mischievous eyes locked onto you. 

“Oh my god, it is hers,” Garcia said, practically vibrating with excitement. 

You froze mid-step, raising an eyebrow. “Uh… what?” 

Your gaze flickered between them and Spencer, who was now sitting at his desk, very clearly avoiding eye contact. His ears were turning a suspicious shade of pink. 

Slowly, you walked over to your desk, setting your coffee down as you eyed them warily. Garcia and Derek were standing on either side of Spencer’s desk, arms crossed, looking like they had just cracked some kind of case. 

“Okay,” you said cautiously, dragging the word out. “Why are you all looking at me like that?” 

Silence. 

Spencer, still blushing, pretended to be very, very interested in his paperwork. Garcia and Derek, on the other hand, exchanged a knowing glance before Derek let out a low chuckle. 

“You sneaky little thing,” he teased, shaking his head. 

“What are you talking about?” You sat down slowly, still staring at them like they’d lost their minds. 

Garcia gasped dramatically. “Don’t play innocent! We know what you did.” 

Your heart skipped a beat. “What—?” 

Derek smirked, arms crossed over his chest like he’d just won the lottery. “Your lip gloss.” 

You blinked. “What about my lip gloss?” 

As if on cue, your lips instinctively pressed together, feeling the slight tackiness of the gloss you’d applied earlier. Garcia let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking her head. 

“You left a mark,” she said dramatically. “A very clear mark, right on Dr. Reid’s cheek.” 

Panic surged through you. 

Your eyes darted to Spencer, then to Garcia and Derek, then back to Spencer again. He was already looking at you, and now it all made sense—the blushing, the way he had been avoiding your gaze, and the way Garcia and Derek were practically bouncing with glee. 

Oh. Oh god. 

You leaned in slightly, taking a closer look. And there it was. A faint but unmistakable pink smudge on his cheek. 

Spencer huffed, finally speaking up. “She’s not letting me wipe it off,” he accused, nodding toward Garcia. 

Garcia gasped, placing a hand over her heart in mock offense. “Excuse you, Doctor! It’s called preserving evidence.” 

Derek chuckled. “Yeah, man. We gotta document this. It’s not every day you get physical proof that you two are—” 

“Shh!” you hissed, eyes widening as you quickly glanced around the bullpen. 

Your relationship with Spencer was still a secret, and the last thing you needed was someone overhearing this conversation. You shot both Garcia and Derek a glare, but they were absolutely thriving off of your reaction. 

“Relax, sweetheart,” Derek teased. “It’s just us.” 

You turned back to Spencer, who was looking at you expectantly, silently pleading for help. With a sigh, you grabbed a napkin from your desk, stepping closer to him. His eyes flickered to yours as you hesitated for just a second before reaching out, gently swiping at the mark on his cheek. 

His skin was warm beneath your touch. 

You tried to focus, but you could feel Garcia and Derek’s eyes burning into you. 

“There,” you murmured, inspecting his face. The lip gloss was gone, but his blush? Very much still there. 

Garcia clapped her hands together. “Awww, that was adorable.” 

Derek grinned. “Man, if y’all think you’re still fooling anyone—” 

Spencer groaned, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Can we please move on?” 

Garcia waved him off. “Fine, fine. But just know—this isn’t over.” 

She and Derek finally turned away, giggling to themselves as they walked off, no doubt already plotting their next round of teasing. 

You sighed, rubbing your temples before glancing at Spencer. He still looked flustered, but there was a small, barely-there smile on his lips. 

“You okay, genius?” you asked softly. 

He nodded, exhaling as he glanced at you. “You know they’re never gonna let this go, right?” 

You sighed dramatically, shaking your head. “Yeah. We’re doomed.” 

Spencer chuckled, and despite everything, you couldn’t help but smile too. 

Even if Garcia and Derek were onto you, at least work wasn’t boring anymore. 

[inkedinshadows]

the world(and me. mainly me tbh) is in dire need of prompt 22 with eris. also ily and your writing!

Steamy Intentions

Pairing: Eris x f!reader

A/N: thank you my sweet!! ily too 🩷 this one's a bit shorter than the others, but i hope you enjoy anyway!

Prompt: "You're such a tease today."

Warnings: fluff, teasing, suggestiveness

Word count: 588

Eris groaned softly when you pressed your thumbs into the tense knot at the base of his neck.

He was soaking in the bath you had drawn for him earlier, his eyes closed as you massaged his shoulders. It had been a long week, and you could feel it in the lingering tension coiled within his body.

“Your hands work wonders, my love,” he said quietly.

You smiled, continuing your massage for a few more moments before you let your hands slide down to his chest. Leaning forward from where you sat on the edge of the tub, you pressed a trail of tiny kisses from his neck to his ear.

“They can do even more wonders, you know,” you murmured, caressing his chest until your fingertips brushed the warm water.

Eris's eyes remained closed, but you didn't miss the way the corner of his lips curled in a grin. “Oh, I know they can, darling.”

Your mouth trailed down the side of his throat as your hands dipped beneath the water. “Want me to show you?”

His chuckle was low and soft, like a caress. “You’re such a tease today,” he mused. “First with that little dress, now this… What's the occasion?”

You smiled against his skin. “I knew you liked that dress.”

He could deny it all he wanted, but you knew better. You had caught him stealing glances at you every time he thought no one else would notice. But you did. You always did.

“Well, I couldn't let everyone know how much you affect me, could I?” he retorted.

You hummed before leaving one last kiss in his hair and standing up. At the rustle of fabric, Eris cracked open an eye just in time to watch that very dress slip from your shoulders and pool at your feet.

He sat up a little straighter in the tub, arms draped over the edges as you stepped into the water and settled between his legs. Warmth and bubbles immediately surrounded you, but your focus remained on your mate.

“The occasion,” you said slowly, reaching out to brush his jaw with wet fingers, “is that you've been working hard lately. I wanted to help you take your mind off things.”

His already relaxed expression softened further, and he kissed the tip of your thumb when you brushed it over his lips. He wrapped his arms around your waist, drawing you as close as he could in the snug space of the tub.

“Then I must congratulate you, my dear,” he murmured. “Because you've succeeded. I'm as relaxed as I could ever be.”

He pulled you in for a kiss, his lips soft against yours. You indulged him for just a moment, and when you pulled back, he followed, chasing your lips for another kiss. You only smirked.

“Are you, though?” you teased, hands already disappearing beneath the surface. Now that he had drawn you closer, you could feel his erection rest hard and heavy against your thigh. “Because it seems to me like someone might still need those wonders, after all.”

“Don't you act all innocent, as if it isn't entirely your fault.” Eris smirked right back at you. “You've been teasing me all day. And you looked ravishing in that dress.”

You chuckled, leaning in to kiss him again as your fingers wrapped around his hard length. He shivered and throbbed in your gentle grasp.

“Well, then,” you whispered against his lips. “Since it's my fault, I suppose I should make it up to you.”

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret

1k taglist: @onebadassunicorn @thegoddessofnothingness

[somnus-lucis-caelum]

She was acting out games again. Somnus watched, though he crossed his arms and shook his head while still watching her, as if he was an adult not believing antics that a child presented to him.

So her childhood bedroom was right next door? Had this been part of her chambers, too?

Curiously he stepped through the door – and it was a similar feeling as when Gilgamesh hit him with a shield in training. But this was a mental shield. And it was colourful. And cluttered.

Somnus’ eyes widened a little and he did not know where to look at first. There was just… so much.

“That is all yours?”

How could one person own so many little things and trinkets? It was not even that everything was immeasurably valuable and only luxury. No. There were a lot of small bits and pieces that had no monetary value – but surely a sentimental one to Aerith.

Somnus sucked in his breath, turning in a circle and trying to take in more – though it seemed where ever he looked, things only multiplied.

It was… magical in its own way. But too much. He would never know how she even found sleep in here. Was her mind not constantly jumping from one thing to the next?

“That is… a lot.”

Maybe a vague comment like that was the best course. He did not want to insult her. He just was not at all used to this kind of decoration habits. The halls and corridors of Lucis were very straightlined and simple.

“… I think Gilgamesh will be quite alright here.”, he mused, throwing her another grin. The giant Shield would not want to stay here. And imagining him in this bed with all the pink and blankets and pillows… it would be a picture for the gods.

Though there was one wall that had Somnus stepping closer. This, he wanted to look at. Countless scrolls and pieces of parchment, drawn on and painted. With so many scenes and magical happenings… it looked as if the entire wall was a mural to tell the story of a life. Her life.

“Did you draw all of these?”, he asked, his fingers gingerly smoothing out one rolled in corner of a picture. If Somnus ha dto guess, it depicted Queen Ifalna, holding a smaller Aerith on her lap. It looked divine. “You are a master artist…”

There was little need to guess where Aerith was. As always, she found a reason to talk, and talk, and to talk and talk. Each room they breezed through, she managed to have something to say, alerting the guards of her returned presence long before their eyes sighted her.

She confidently led Somnus through to 'their' door, even swept out one of her arms in a flourish to invite him further inside. Her heel swept the door then and it closed with a soft click, a moment of silence spreading out, one that she finally didn't rush in to fill.

"Yeah, this is ours." Aerith echoed, allowing time for that sentiment to sink in. She glanced around. There were so many memories in this room... but it looked as though it had been wiped completely clean in the time that she had been gone. Now it stood as a blank slate. Ready to be filled with a new chapter.

His smirk only threw her for a moment. Her curiousity swiftly changing to amusement. "Oh?" she asked, as if that had been a challenge against her. Hands folded behind her back, Aerith approached the door that connected on their left, even pausing at it to politely knock.

"Hello? Gilgamesh? I hope you don't mind the imposition, Somnus wanted to inspect your temporary living quarters." It was just teasing, underlined by the look she threw over her shoulder to the Prince. "He isn't saying anything. I think he's amazed by the artwork."

Finally putting an end to the little charade, and to the build-up of what he must think her room must look like, Aerith grabbed for the door and gave it a simple push open. She strolled inside the bedroom so easily. It was, after all, her most familiar place in the world.

There was something set down upon every single surface. And, to her gentle amusement, there she found her travelling trunk. Her eyebrows shot up at the sight. "Ohh. Guess dad told them where they could shove this." she lightly commented, stepping around the trunk with a hum.

"Of course, I am a generous partner, if you would feel more comfortable in... your personal hell." Aerith offered with a laugh, unable to keep a straight face as she motioned around for him. "You're welcome to this bed should you want it."

[loojii]

Capricorn post? *Sniffs your art like a dog*

It's been a while since I got back into this project and I totally forgot that his name is not actually Capricorn, it's Capricornus! Because that's the name of the constellation. And like mentioned before (I know it's getting annoying hearing it from me all the time haha) but these are based on the constellations :) Not the horoscope stuff - but friends can call him Capricorn I guess lol

He's the 10th prince, so one of the younger ones (even though they're all thousands of years old, mentally he's young adult). He's a bit of a party boy! But great at planning them too

Miss Sun was mentioned before in these posts, but she used to be the princes' nanny and now still takes care of them during their reign. And she is often concerned when Capricornus is out partying again.

Capricornus Alpha Star doesn't really have a proper name? It's official name is Alpha Capricorni. It's also two stars but we see it as one (some other stars are binary systems, who are also two stars but appear as one, but then a big star has a smaller star orbiting it. Alpha Capricorni is an optical double. The stars do not orbit one another, just from our angle it looks like one). So I will design that one too at one point. Alpha Cap had some names: Algedi, Algiedi, Al Giedi or Giedi. Since Deneb Algedi already is called Algedi I thought I would call the character Giedi. He has horns in the very quick sketch but I'm not sure anymore if I want stars to have horns as well. So a redesign is in order soon!

Ophiuchus is the mc of the game concept and Capricornus (who was the very first Zodiac Prince I drew btw) is her friend. Ophiuchus was designed as a joke when I first started this design series, as an answer to the question if I would make zodiac princesses and the 13th sign. I did some sketches for a different design so maybe she gets that one as well. Capricornus is a smooth talker, a pretty boy, so Ophiuchus likes him.

Capricornus has a split tail, because it's a goat with a fish tail get it? Other fish like constellations have it as well (not all of them though).

Here's more art of him! He used to have stones on his horns, but I removed them because it was too much. He's the hardest Prince to draw in my opinion, I struggle the most with him for some reason

Taurus post ★ Gemini post ★ Cancer post ★ Virgo post ★ Libra post ★ Scorpio post ★ Sagittarius post ★ Aquarius post

[numberonesnarkfan]

can I just autism at y'all incoherently for a bit. Aite.

I think Harley becomes a bit easier to understand as a character when viewed as a story of generational trauma. When analysing a monster, one has to ask "what could have prevented this?" In Harley's case, it was just... if he had not been so steadily drawn to one conclusion: that there was something fundamental that separated him from humanity.

What are people to someone who was never a person to anyone? He was kept half-alive only to use him, and even before he had done anything wrong, he was never a person to anyone - he existed in others' minds only as what he could supply to them.

The ARG note, "HE TOOK EVERYTHING. I THOUGHT YOU CARED." combined with his boss fight dialogue, "It was supposed to be mine! My recognition!" draws the connection that after sending a young Harley Sawyer away, Elliott took the research Harley had done with him and claimed credit for his discoveries.

Imagine for a moment that you have never been loved. Not by parents or peers or superiors. That they all showered you in praise of your objective talents, but wanted nothing to do with you in any other respect. At every turn, they attempted to find a way to divert your abilities toward their own goals. Others have always blabbered on about connection and harmony - concepts that simply do not exist to you, for you have never experienced them.

You thought you had experienced them. Once. You almost thought you'd found a father. Before he sent you away penniless and took all of your work as his own. Now you know it for certain: connection really isn't real, and everyone else is lying or faking. The only people who have ever pretended to care about you were lying. You may as well be the only person in the world, because you are completely alone on Earth.

Imagine that you believe that love and happiness are truly false lights. Pipe dreams. Would you be able to empathise, see yourself in your fellow man, see your fellow man as a person?

You don't know what it's like to be thought of as a person. So you haven't the slightest idea how one would go about thinking of others as people.

I still will not budge on the fact that Harley genuinely thought he was doing the right thing. But again, if morals are alien to you because you have never been exposed to them, then your 'right thing' looks deeply different to others'.

There are certain lessons that cannot be learned through just the acquisition of information. Harley was never taught any lessons that were not objective - empathy, morals, emotional control. As much as he could be familiar with ethics, he could not understand anything that can't be understood with logic.

All monsters grow from children.

He saw himself as their father. Their mentor. Their saviour. He made them just like him - the only human in the world.

[tteotlma]

Sugar and Skin

4. Fractured Focus || Previous - Next

A late-night encounter lingers in the quiet hum of the shop, a step too close and a touch nearly made, leaving behind something unspoken—something that refuses to fade.

TattooArtist!Bucky x Baker!Reader (4.6kwc)

tw: 18+ MDNI; mild language, subtle tension, implied attraction, slow-burn, strangers to friends to lovers, mentions of smoking, lingering touches, close proximity, unspoken intentions a/n: pls forgive me if some of the phrases are repetitive... i dont know how else to word and reword the same motions sometimes ((babes im so sorry for the wait.. it's been crazy... I started training at my new job.. i quit that job.. I saw hugh jackman in new york city, fell behind in school work so i had to catch up and then i got a new internet crush... so it's been CRAZY anyway..)) enjoy!!

The shop was unusually quiet for an early afternoon, the faint hum of the fridge muffled through the walls of the back room. Bucky sat in his station chair, feet propped on the black recliner stretched across from him as he leaned back, a sketchbook balanced on his lap. The pen in his hand moved slowly, purposefully, trailing delicate lines across the page. 

He wasn’t even sure what had drawn him to this particular image. At first, it had been a simple twig, then small berries began to take shape, clustered tightly together. His usual sketches were bold and heavy—intimidating designs for ink that would sit on someone’s skin forever. But this? This was… different. 

The soft red ink shaded each berry into a round plump form, almost glistening on the page. Leaves sprouted from the stems, broad and delicate, with the faintest etchings of veins running through them. Thorns lined the thin branches, sharp and deliberate, giving the otherwise soft drawing a quiet angst. 

Bucky’s brow furrowed slightly as he added detail to the sketch, his focus sharp yet relaxed. The raspberries, though he never called them that in his mind, seemed to grow beneath his hand, as if they were waiting to spill from the page. His hand lingered over the image, caught up in the small folds of a leaf and the way the weight of the fruit bent the stem. 

“You know,” Steve’s voice broke through the stillness, startling Bucky just enough for his boot to slip from the bench. He straightened, quickly closing the sketchbook with one hand as his sharp blue eyes flicked up toward his friend.

Steve stood at the counter, arms crossed, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was trying not to grin. “I’ve been reading up on insubordination,” he began, feigning seriousness as he leaned casually against the counter. “And technically, I’m your boss, which means when I send you to get my stuff and the stuff is given to you, I expect you to bring everything to me.”

Bucky sat up straighter, his boots hitting the floor with a dull thud. “I do,” he said defensively, his tone clipped. “I did.”

Steve’s grin broke free, his feigned seriousness dissolving. “Relax, Buck. I’m kidding.” He waved a hand, stepping away from the counter. “You don’t even know what I’m talking about yet and you’re already giving yourself away.”

Bucky gave him a sharp look, his brows pulling together in confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” Steve replied with a laugh, shaking his head as he approached. His eyes flicked to the sketchbook still tucked under Bucky’s hand. “What’ve you been working on?”

“Nothing important,” Bucky said quickly, but Steve ignored him, leaning over to tug the book free.

Steve flipped it open before Bucky could protest, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the page. “Huh.”

“Huh?” Bucky repeated, annoyed.

Steve tilted the book toward him, tapping the edge of the page. “This isn’t your usual style.”

“No shit,” Bucky muttered, grabbing the sketchbook back and closing it with a snap.

“Relax,” Steve said again, his grin softening. “It’s good. Just… different. Almost delicate.” He raised a brow, but didn’t press further, stepping back toward the counter. “Anyway, don’t forget to grab my coffee tomorrow, thanks.”

Bucky scoffed, watching as Steve disappeared into the back room. When the shop fell silent again, he glanced down at his sketchbook, the edges of the raspberries still vivid in his mind. With a quiet sigh, he leaned back in the chair and flipped the book open again, his pen hovering over the page.

The raspberries stared back at him, vibrant against the soft cream of the paper. Bucky tapped his pen against the edge of the page once, twice, before letting it trail back to the delicate stem, adding another small thorn.

—-

The shop had emptied out hours ago, leaving only the quiet hum of the fridge and the soft scratching of Bucky’s pen against paper. The raspberries on yet another page had taken form in a way that felt almost absentminded, the delicate shading of each berry and the sharp, spiked edges of the leaves coming together without much thought.

He leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking toward the clock. It was late. Too late to still be here, but something kept him rooted to the spot. He exhaled sharply through his nose, flipping the sketchbook shut with one hand before running the other through his hair.

He needed air, maybe a cigarette, probably both.

Pushing himself up from the chair, he grabbed his jacket, shrugging it on as he made his way toward the door. The air outside was crisp, the streets quiet save for the distant hum of a passing car.

And then—

The soft scuff of a shoe against pavement made him glance up.

She was standing a few steps away, caught mid-stride under the dim glow of the street lamp. 

Bucky froze.

For a moment, neither of them moved. 

The light above buzzed faintly, bathing her in warm hues against the dark backdrop of the street. She clutched the strap of her bag a little tighter, her fingers flexing against the worn leather as if she hadn’t quite expected to run into him either. 

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, the smoke from his lips curling faintly in the cool night air. 

“Didn’t think you’d still be here.” She said, voice quiet. 

“Neither did I.” He finally said, voice low and rough from hours of silence. 

A pause.

The silence stretched, thick and unyielding. It wasn’t the comfortable kind, but neither of them seemed to want to break it too soon.

Bucky shifted his weight slightly, exhaling another slow stream of smoke. His fingers twitched against the worn leather of his jacket, debating what to do with his hands. He could feel the way she was watching him—cautious, curious, like she was trying to decipher him.

His voice came quieter this time, more curious than anything. “Didn’t think this was your usual route.”

She took a slow step forward, fingers flexing against the strap of her bag. “Oh, I just wanted to run through some stuff with Steven if he was still here.”

Bucky’s gaze flicked toward the darkened tattoo shop behind him, then back to her. “You just missed him.”

A beat of silence passed, thick with something unspoken. She nodded, lips pressing together like she was weighing whether to say something else. Bucky didn’t move, didn’t press, instead he just watched, his empty hand sliding into the pocket of his jacket as the air between them stretched.

The distant sound of a car rumbled through the street, headlights sweeping past them for only a second before disappearing around the bend. The glow of the streetlamp flickered slightly, casting shifting shadows across the pavement.

Bucky’s gaze flickered down, catching the way she rubbed her fingers against the worn strap of her purse —a nervous habit, maybe. His own fingers curled inside his pockets.

The stillness felt heavier than it should’ve, settling in his chest like a weight. He exhaled through his nose, then brought the cigarette to his lips, taking a slow drag. The tip flared in the dark, smoke curling around his face as he held the breath for a moment before releasing it into the night air.

“You smoke a lot?” Her voice cut through the quiet, soft but pointed.

Bucky flicked his eyes down to the ember at the tip, rolling the cigarette between his fingers, considering. Smoke curled lazily in the space between them. “Depends on the day.”

She hummed, tilting her head slightly, like she was turning the answer over in her mind, weighing it.

Bucky brought the cigarette to his lips again, taking another long drag, letting the burn settle deep before exhaling slowly. The air between them clouded with it, thinning as it drifted up toward the streetlamp’s glow.

“One of those days, then?”

His fingers twitched.

Bucky looked at her—really looked at her—his gaze tracing the way the dim light softened her features. She wasn’t looking at him, not fully, just watching the ember flicker, waiting for an answer.

He inhaled again, slow, the nicotine further grounding him.

Then, he let out a short chuckle almost a scoff, low and almost to himself. “You could say that.”

She shifted on her feet, fingers tightening slightly around the strap of her bag. The words seemed to catch in her throat before she finally managed, “Actually, do you think maybe I could just… leave something inside for Steven?”

Bucky’s brow lifted slightly, but he didn’t move. “Yeah?”

She nodded quickly, a little too quickly, and gestured to the folder tucked in her bag. “It’s just—uh—it’s nothing urgent but—. Just some things I drafted for him for that thing you guys are doing.”

Bucky’s gaze flickered to the folder, then back to her face. She wasn’t looking at him—not directly. Her fingers fumbled slightly as she messed with the folder in her bag, like she was feeling the weight of the silence just as much as he was.

He exhaled through his nose, slowly, then shifted his stance. “Yeah, alright,” he murmured, reaching beside him to pull the door open. “Come on.” 

Bucky watched as she hesitated for only a fraction of a second before stepping toward him, her movements quick but deliberate.

She slowed just as she neared him, close enough that he could see the way her breath caught, the faintest hitch in her chest before she steadied herself. Her eyes dragged up his frame, lingering for just a beat too long before finally meeting his gaze.

As their eyes met, Bucky exhaled slowly, the cigarette perched between his lips, smoke curling between them in the narrow space. His free hand held the door open, fingers curling around the edge as he leaned into it, using the frame as lazy leverage. The glow of the tip cast flickering shadows across his face, the low light making his sharp features even sharper, the silver glint of his nose piercing catching faintly.

She hesitated for another second, her fingers twitching against her elbows as her arms crossed her chest. His gaze dipped slightly, just for a fraction of a breath, before flicking back to hers. He didn’t say anything, just watched her, the slow pull of smoke filling the space between them like something tangible.

Then, with an almost reluctant exhale, he reached up and plucked the cigarette from his lips, the barest hint of a smirk ghosting across his features as he dragged his tongue across his lower lip. The motion was slow, almost thoughtless, but she caught it—her eyes flicking to his mouth for just a second too long. His gaze met hers again, amusement glinting beneath the surface.

“You gonna go in,” he murmured, voice low, “or we just gonna stand here?”

Her breath hitched, just barely, before she shifted, stepping past him into the shop.

Bucky didn’t move from the doorway right away. He lingered just long enough to watch her falter in her steps before stepping further into the dim shop. The scent of her—something warm, something faintly sweet—brushed past him, but he didn’t let his gaze linger.

Instead, he sighed slowly, rolling the cigarette between his fingers before flicking it into the little tray by the window. His steps were unhurried as he followed her inside.

“You know where his desk is,” he muttered, nodding vaguely toward the back. The soft click of the door seemingly echoed in the vacant shop 

“Right. Yep.”She moved without another word, sneakers scuffing lightly against the hardwood as she disappeared past the main workstations. 

Bucky stood still for another second, fingers flexing slightly at his sides before he exhaled through his nose and trudged to where he sat earlier. Staring at the discarded papers strewn throughout his area, he sighed again shrugging off his jacket. The leather slid off his arms in one smooth motion, and he tossed it lazily onto the back of his chair.

Then, as if none of this was anything, he sat down. 

His eyes flicked to the sketchbook, still open to the crimson crops decorating the pageg. The red ink bled into the page in soft gradients, the delicate shading giving them weight, depth. He hadn’t planned on sketching them again, but somehow every time his mind came up empty, the shape of sweetness had come easy, his hand moving without thought, refining the curve of each berry he drew, the way stems wove together, thorns barely visible but always there.

His fingers hovered over the edge of the paper, the pen tapping idly against the margin. He wasn’t really thinking just tracing lines, smoothing out shadows, letting the motion guide him. The act itself was grounding, something to focus on, something to fill the quiet.

Bucky exhaled slowly, dragging the pen along the edge of a leaf, darkening the veins, sharpening the points where the thorns curled. The thorns had come later, after the berries, after the delicate lines and soft shadows. He didn’t know why, exactly—just that the drawing had always felt unfinished without them.

The shop was quiet. Too quiet.

The soft shuffle of footsteps barely registered until he felt a presence at his back.

"You've been busy."

The words were soft, spoken just behind him. Close.

Bucky stilled.

His fingers flexed against the pen, grip tightening slightly as the voice settled over him—quiet, but not uncertain.

He didn’t turn immediately.

Instead, he let the weight of her presence settle, let the space between them shrink just enough to be fully noticeable.

Then, slowly, he angled his head, catching her in his periphery.

She was standing closer than expected, her arms crossed loosely over her chest, her gaze flickering between the scattered sketches on the desk before landing on the one beneath his hand.

Bucky stared at her, waiting.

She nodded toward the page. “Didn’t take you for the delicate type.”

His mouth twitched. “I’m not.” He spoke too quick for his liking.

“Mm.” The sound was quiet, skeptical.

But she didn’t step away. Instead, her attention slowly dropped, shifting away from the sketchbook. It was subtle, something no one would notice unless they were really looking at her. Unless they were paying attention.

His gaze tracked the way her eyes flickered downward, no longer fixed on the paper but on him.

Her eyes traced the ink along his forearm, the dark lines and sharp, angular designs shifting over his skin as he involuntarily flexed his fingers. His tattoos were nothing like the sketches that were strewn about the room. They instead were stark, intricate, built from jagged lines and interlocking symbols that looked almost mechanical in their precision. They sprawled up his arms in bold, geometric bands, twisting and branching in patterns that mimicked circuitry, disappearing beneath the sleeve of his shirt like a secret map etched into his skin.

And she was still looking.

Bucky felt the way her focus kept drifting back, like she was trying not to, like she was searching for something else to land on but every time, her eyes traced the same path. His fingers, then his hands, and then arms, the way the veins ran just beneath the surface of his skin.

She swallowed.

“So,” she said, her voice quieter than usual, like she was only speaking to fill the space. “You, uh… sketch a lot?”

Her eyes flicked up briefly to his then to the book beneath his hand, like she was forcing herself to focus on the book in front of him instead of the way his biceps flexed slightly when he shifted in his seat.

Bucky tilted his head slightly, not answering right away, just watching her.

“I mean, I guess that’s obvious,” she continued, fidgeting slightly where she stood, fingers twitching against her arm as she still had them crossed loosely against her chest. “Tattoo artist and all.” She quickly glanced at him. The motion was quick, barely there, but Bucky caught it.

He caught all of it.

His tongue flicked against his lower lip, slow, measured.

“Yeah,” he finally murmured, voice still hushed, and rough around the edges.

That should have been the end of it. She should have nodded, maybe said something about how it made sense, how he was good at what he did, then gone back to whatever excuse she had for still standing there.

But she didn’t.

Instead, her fingers flexed against her arm again, her weight shifting like she was debating something before finally nodding toward his sketchbook.

“This one’s…” she started, “not what I expected.”

Bucky’s brow twitched, his fingers tightening just slightly where they rested against his book.

She was still looking.

Still filling the silence.

Bucky dragged his tongue along the inside of his cheek, the corner of his mouth twitching just slightly. Her focus flickered between the sketchbook and his arms, like she was trying to settle on one or the other but couldn’t quite manage to stick the landing.

Instead of calling attention to it, Bucky let the silence stretch, watching the way she fidgeted slightly, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Not nervous—just… preoccupied.

Her eyes flickered to the sketchbook again, as if reminding herself why she was standing there in the first place. “It’s just different from what I thought you’d draw.” Her voice was even, casual, but the way she kept her arms crossed tightly over her chest gave away that she wasn’t as relaxed as she sounded.

Bucky tapped his pen lightly against the edge of the book, watching her through half-lidded eyes. “Yeah?”

She nodded, her gaze darting across the page. “I guess I figured it’d be more like…” She hesitated, searching for the right word… before her eyes drifted again not toward the sketch, but to him. 

“You know,” her gaze traced the length of his fingers where they rested against the edge of the sketchbook, absentmindedly running his fingers against the edges of the paper. 

“Like the kind that…” her eyes then traced higher, following the veins that cut sharply along his forearm, disappearing beneath the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt. The intricate lines of his tattoos stretched over the muscle, shifting subtly with every small movement. 

“That…?” Bucky tucked his lower lip between his teeth, trying to hid his enjoyment in whatever was happening in front of him. 

Her attention lingered on his bicep a sec, then trailed upward again, sweeping over the broad plane of his chest, the way the fabric of his shirt stretched tight over it, dipping just slightly at the collar to reveal the edge of what seemed like the same tattoo.

Her lips parted slightly, eyes flitting up—finally—to meet his.

Bucky was still watching her.

She immediately cleared her throat, and stood straigh shifting her weight.

“I-I’m sorry it’s been a long day, I think I’m losing my train of thought.” 

Bucky didn’t miss the way her arms tightened against her chest, the huff of air she let out blowing a few stray strands of loose hair from her face. He watched, eyes tracking every small movement, as she reached up to push the hair back behind her ear, her fingers brushing lightly against her cheek.

Then she took a step back.

His gaze followed her as she leaned against the edge of the metal dresser behind her, shifting slightly until she was fully braced against it.

And then—

His jaw ticked.

He didn’t mean to look.

Didn’t mean to notice the way the hem of her jeans hugged the soft curve of her thighs, how the fabric subtly creased and pulled as she shifted her weight back against the dresser. It was brief—just a flicker of movement—but Bucky felt something twist in his chest.

His grip on the pen tightened, fingers flexing against the smooth barrel, accidentally leaving a violent mark across the page.

His brain felt like it stalled for half a second, before jolting back into motion, forcing him to drag his eyes away.

He shifted in his seat, rolling his shoulders like it would shake off whatever strange pull had settled over him. The shop was too quiet, the air thick with something unspoken, and Bucky suddenly hated how aware he was of everything—the faint scent of sugar and vanilla clinging to her skin, the soft hum of her breathing, the way she had caught her bottom lip between her teeth for half a second before releasing it.

He needed to say something. Needed to break whatever this was.

“You figured what?” he asked, his voice coming out lower than he intended.

Her brows lifted slightly, like she had forgotten what they were talking about. “Huh?”

Bucky tapped his pen against the edge of the sketchbook. “You said you figured I’d draw something different.”

“Oh. Right.” She let out a quiet breath, eyes flicking back to the page—though her posture was a little stiffer now, like she had caught onto the shift in atmosphere. “I just meant… I guess I thought your style would be more bold. Darker, maybe.”

Bucky hummed, his grip relaxing just slightly on the pen. “Most of the time, it is.”

She tilted her head, considering that. “So what made you change?”

He hesitated, the pen stilling against the paper.

For a second, he thought about lying—thought about brushing it off as nothing, as a mindless sketch, as something without weight.

But the raspberries stared back at him, delicate and vivid, surrounded by the sharp twist of thorns.

“Dunno,” he murmured finally, voice quiet, unreadable. “Just happened.”

She hesitated just a moment longer, adjusting the strap of her bag again, fingers gripping it as if she needed something to ground herself. “Artists,” she finally said, the word a soft exhale, laced with something almost amused, almost fond.

Bucky’s gaze flicked to her hands, to the way she flexed her fingers against the strap, before dragging his eyes back to her face. He didn’t say anything, just watched as she shifted, as she took the first slow step toward the door.

“It’s getting late. I should go.”

Something about the way she said it made something in Bucky’s chest press tight—like it was the natural conclusion, the only logical ending to whatever this had been.

Still, before he could stop himself, before he could think about it, he was standing.

She noticed immediately.

He moved without hesitation—quicker, smoother—and as he straightened to his full height, the shift in his posture made her steps falter just slightly. Her head tilted up, her brows twitching in the faintest flicker of surprise.

His fingers flexed briefly, then curled into his palm.

"Um…" He cleared his throat, fidgeting just slightly. "Sh—should I take you home?"

Her breath caught, just a fraction. Her fingers twitched against the zipper of her sweater.

Bucky felt the words sit heavy in the air between them, waiting.

She blinked at him, like she wasn’t sure if she’d heard him correctly.

He forced himself to hold her gaze, suddenly wondering what had even prompted him to ask. The words had left his mouth before he’d fully thought them through, hanging between them, heavy and uncertain.

“I got my bike out back,” he added, quieter, as if that somehow explained everything.

She stared at him for half a second longer, her expression unreadable. For a fleeting moment, Bucky thought she might actually say yes.

But then her lips parted, and a dry, almost amused lilt colored her voice.

“Your bike?”

Bucky exhaled slowly through his nose, nodding once. “Yeah.”

Her fingers flexed again, then curled into her palm. “And you think I’m just gonna get on the back of it?”

His brow twitched, but he stayed still. “Why not?”

She held his gaze, something flickering behind her eyes before she let out a slow breath. “That’s not a good idea.”

Bucky’s fingers curled slightly at his sides. “Why not?”

Her lips parted like she had an answer, but whatever it was never made it past her tongue. Instead, she just exhaled again, her grip tightening around the strap of her bag. “It just isn’t.”

His jaw shifted, considering her for a moment, before he gave a slow, almost reluctant nod. “Alright.”

Something in her posture eased, but only just.

Still, neither of them moved.

“Really,” he opened the door for her, stepping halfway through, his frame filling the doorway. “It’s not an issue.”

“No, really–”

She moved, and suddenly, they were in the doorway, the narrow space between them forcing them chest to chest. Closer than either of them had prepared for. The narrow space between them barely existed, her breath catching as she realized just how little room there was to step past him.

“Oh, Um..” Her voice coming out rushed. “Sorry i didn’t mean… I wasn’t—” and then as if second nature, her hand lifted. Maybe to steady herself, maybe for something else. But the moment her fingers grazed the fabric of his shirt, just barely, she froze.

Bucky did too.

“Paying attention…” She drawled out, staring at the stretched fabric over his chest. The touch of her hand was fleeting, but it sent something sharp through the space between them, something tense, something neither of them knew how to speak on.

She pulled her hand away quickly, like she’d been burned, like she hadn’t meant to do it at all.

“U-um—thank you,” she murmured, quieter this time, a little breathless, a little uncertain as she cradled the hand that touched him to her chest. Like she had been hurt. She stepped fully through the doorway. 

Bucky’s eyes flickered down, watching the way her fingers curled slightly against her palm. Something about it made his chest tighten, made his jaw flex, but he didn’t move. Didn’t say anything.

Not until she did.

“Maybe next time," she murmured, "Goodnight, Bucky.” She smiled at him softly before turning in the opposite direction, and heading back towards her store. 

Maybe next time.

Bucky’s fingers flexed at his sides, his pulse thrumming in a slow, steady beat against his ribs. He didn’t know why he was still standing there, watching her walk away, or why the sound of his name on her lips sent something sharp and unfamiliar through him.

His throat worked around the weight of whatever the hell this was.

He could have said goodnight. Could have given her a nod, a grunt—something easy, something that wouldn’t feel like stepping into whatever was settling between them, thick and unspoken. Instead, he just watched as she disappeared over the bend of the sidewalk.

The door groaned softly as it swung back into place, the brass bell giving one last muted chime.

Bucky stood there for a moment longer than he should have.

Then, with a slow exhale, he reached for the lock, twisting it into place before dragging a hand threw his hair and around his jaw.

His other hand tugged at the fabric of his shirt, the ghost of something warm against his chest making the material feel too tight all of a sudden. Like it had shrunk in the last thirty seconds.

Bucky rolled his shoulders, flexed his arms stretching them down his sides, but it didn’t shake the feeling.

With a quiet sigh, he turned back toward his station, eyes drifting over the scattered pages, the open sketchbook. The raspberries stared back at him, vivid and red, surrounded by sharp, curling thorns.

Bucky dragged his tongue over his molars, then reached for his pen, twirling it once between his fingers before setting it down.

He should go home.

He would.

Eventually.

But for now, he sat back down, flipping to a fresh page.

And, without thinking, he started to draw.

—

a/n: again thank you so much for your patience w/ this chapter huhuhu~ please reblog to support! I also love feedback, and comments :)

Literally your comments are hilarious

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[lucygraysboy]

“still, that wasn’t very nice of me. my brother gave you that scarf, i shouldn’t have just snatched it,” billy stresses, scooping up a handful of warm water and pouring it across lucy gray’s exposed shoulder. pale blue eyes marveling at the way crystalline droplets glide down her olive skin, leave it glistening in the warm glow of the fireplace. “holdin’ onto it and keepin’ it hidden from the world won’t do it no good. if we use it to fix the ruffles on your dress, we’ll be breathing a new life into it, and people will be able to admire it again, and it will give your dress a more vibrant look. my ma would have loved that.” she was always generous and kind, and thoughtful like that. “thank you for not discardin’ it.” it’s a sweet keepsake, but if it can bring some joy into lucy gray’s life, he’s all for it.

“his old self? what a strange thing to say.” dark brows furrowing briefly, trying to make sense of that poetic statement while his hands continue to absently rub some soapy foam into her skin, careful not to press too hard on the cuts. “what do you make of it? i mean, what’s your suspicion?” he wonders out loud, thinking his brother’s statement makes little sense, but lacking the knowledge to come up with assumptions of his own. “you tend to do that a lot, hm?” play with him, try to trick him. an amused smile tugs at the corners of his lips, his eyes sparking with happiness. “i like it, like this side of you a lot,” he admits softly, tucking strands of wet curls behind her ears. his cheeks are still burning, but he’s gaining a little more confidence now that she’s reassured him she’s just messing with him and there will be no anatomy lesson, after all. “mhm, yeah… yeah, i’d love to know. i ain’t ever made soap, not even once. it seems fascinatin’. animal fat and ashes? and what do you do with those? you boil ‘em?” he begins to scrub her back with the bar of lavender soap that he brought over, drawing lazy patterns along the bumps of his spine and over her shoulder blades.

“sweetheart. only my ma ever called me that.” and it touches him so deeply that he nearly bursts into tears, thinking she’s simply too sweet, too kind. a calloused, slightly wrinkled fingertip pokes her cheek, just trying to cheer her up. “i’ll keep that promise, no matter what,” he assures, determined to do just that — keep her safe. if someone comes for her, whether it’s a pack of wolves or peacekeepers, he’ll protect her. “you sure? it’s not a problem, i’ll heat one more pot over there in the fireplace.” he offers, already standing up. “mhm, all out. looks like we won’t have to shave your head, after all.” he laughs but then grows serious, his expression softening. “you have very beautiful hair, you know that? you kept coverin’ it all day but… it always looks pretty.” she always looks very pretty.

“it’s alright… i understand where your feelin’s are comin’ from, you don’t need to apologize.” lucy gray reassures, rubbing at her knee. “if you want to— i’d love that. that’s real thoughtful. but you can also keep it, i just held onto it because your mother didn’t personally do anything to me so i felt bad, or would’ve if i just discarded it.” she explains, it’s his mother’s so he should take it– she insists. lucy gray’s sure their mother was actually a real kind and warm-hearted woman, she can’t hold any grudge for a person she didn’t have the chance to meet and judge for herself.

“he said— my old self.” responding with reluctance of recalling that, the memory stirring up anger in the pit of her belly. the way he looked, the hesitation that was vividly there in his blue hues, she's sick to her stomach in fear she'll find something similar again in the similar eyes right behind her. shoulders scrunching up as the water falling down back involuntarily causes a blissful feeling chasing up her back, skinny arms soon relax right after, “i’m just playin’ with you, darlin’.” a little laugh escapes, unable to see his blush– has to do something to keep the fears at bay. the tongue scrambling coming from the dark haired boy is hilarious to her along with the soap distraction. eyes fall on his extended hand, amused smile pulling at plump lips, “you really wanna know?” or is that a distraction question? "animal fat and ashes." educating regardless.

"don't make promises you can't keep, sweetheart." speaking sweetly despite the disappointment that's been caused by one too many buried deep in her, a sad smile spilling over bare angelic visage. she really misses her makeup and getting all dolled up sometimes. "no, that's alright." she is starting to feel cold, but he doesn't need to put in any extra work for her so the songbird ignores it. rubbing soap into her hair until she can gather enough suds to lather in, "the tangles are all out?" surprise lifting in her voice when dainty fingers don't get stuck in a thick nest.

[spideyson-stuff]

I like to think that Peter is a genius, but also just a 14 years old

Like, he LOVES helping Pepper with the "boring" press problems, and he had in fact already given several good ideas on what to do to make Sl even more popular, he can create several incredible inventions and fabulous studies that are taught in colleges and revolutionary theories in less than 1 week.

But one day Tony will find him on the couch playing "Dress to Impress" on his tablet while listening to Sabrina Carpenter "Taste" at full volume on headphones and getting angry about having lost 10 times in a row

And then suddenly Tony and Pepper remember that even though Peter had created a revolutionary way to increase the company's profits 3 days ago he's still a silly teenager that deserves some time to himself

(Plus, Pepper steals Peter from Tony's lab sometimes to help her with agency issues with social media because Peter is Gen Z and knows how it works)

Pepper has seen Peter surrounded by papers with various drawings of clothes, suits, project sheets and book pages, she honestly didn't know if he was simply doing whatever came to mind for inspiration or if he was summoning some kind of supernatural paper demon

One day Tony walked into Peter's room and saw a pile of romance mangas, im the moment he tried to open one Peter pulled it out of his hand as if his life depended on it and said it was nothing important

Tony thought for a moment that it was pornography but one day he secretly saw them when Peter wasn't home and discovered that they were just teeth-rotting romance Peter was just embarrassed because there were a lot of kisses in the book, and slightly sensual scenes that Tony honestly doesn't think are really sensual

To top it off, one day they both found a book of sketches that Peter had before he met Tony and used it to design his first suit, they found several ideas for suits but they also had some sexual drawings of people touching and kissing each other, it was honestly so sweet that it didn't even seem sexual so they decided to pretend they didn't see it or Peter would probably never be able to look them in the eye again

[selfproclaimeddoctoroflove]

It was that time of the year it seemed. Dan Heng hadn't been a sociable person by nature, but he would never go as far as to lock himself in his room for a month, even refusing basic essentials like food and water from the express. Right?

Every time this had happened, it had seemed to take you by surprise. When you had gone to knock on his door to check on him, he had gruffly declined your invitations of conversations. At some points you would get so concerned that you would ask Himeko and Welt of they knew why this happened. Himeko would just laugh and welt would dismiss it. Pain in the ass.

But you were tired of not knowing. Of all the damn secrecy.

It had been a few weeks into his 'hibernation' as you called it, and you had confidently waltzed over to his room, banging on the door.

"Come on! Let me in! Or at least talk to me!" And although your voice was mainly flooded out by the rough banging of the door, you could still be heard fairly clearly. After a few moments of banging, your hands felt weak, and you were starting to get irritated from the lack of acknowledgment.

"Listen here if you dont open this damn door I'm going to--"

"Please.. Stop banging on the door, it's causing me a headache." Dan heng cut you threat short as his voice rang out, however it was clear he was heavily breathing. At His request, you promptly stopped banging on the door, though your irritation was still apparent. Who did he think he was? He finally spoke to you just to tell you to stop because you were worried? You were growing more furious as you balled up your fists.

"Are you serious? I've been so damn worried about you. You lock yourself in your damn room for weeks on end. How do you not expect me to start banging on your door?" You stated with a cold tone. Then you heard a breathy moan escape from the room. You stood in shock for a moment.. Moan... Locked in room.. Could he be?

"You masturbate for a whole damn month!?" You gasp at the thought of it. How the hell is that even possible? A month of non stop jacking off? He must be insane!

No sound was audible from the other side of the door until Dan heng spoke up again, "... Have you ever heard of heat?"

"Yea. Its the thing that makes you sweat."

"Not that heat. The kind where people get... You know..." His voice trailed off and the embarrassment was clear as glass.

"Oh. Your going through heat? That kind of heat... Well we're friends, right? Shouldn't friends help friends?"

And that's where it all went "up hill" (the hills not the only thing that went up, that's for sure.)

You were kissing Dan Heng ferociously like someone gone mad, trying to match his intensity, your lips were together like two ink smudges draw to close together, his hand slowly made itself a home on your waist as you straddled your legs around his lap.

"Aeon, I could just eat you whole.." He could hardly get his words out though, and had to make a effortless effort to try to pull away to speak, even though you both knew he'd come back to your lips like a starved man.

"You might not be able to eat me, but you sure can eat me out," you suggested through breathy moans, a sultry smile spreading across your face. You tightened your legs around his lap and moved to hands up to grab his face and coddle it with a intensity so that it seemed less like coddling and more like man handling.

By now the atmosphere was totally different from usual. Unlike the usual calm and soothing vibe of the room, the room was filled with unspoken desires and fantasies. Ones you have committed to fulfilling.

"Hah... Your right," his words came out in a low, dangerous whisper. It didn't take him to long to maneuver your pants off of you, leaving you in only soaked undergarments. "Your so wet..." he pointed out bluntly, using his thumb to circle your clit through your panties, making you loudly moan out in pleasure.

"Aren't you captain obvious.?" You shot out snarkily. With that, he moved your panties out of the way to directly touch your clit, moving his fingers around it and maneuvering your folds.

"If you keel talking like that, I won't do much more then this," he stated, still playing with your folds. He was incredibly skilled with his hands, having already made you moan out several times.

"Fine, I'm sorry... Please just.. Please.." Your voice was hardly audible however through the heights of pleasure you were reaching. You wondered if march could hear you.

Suddenly, he inserted a finger into your wet pussy, and due to how soaked you already were, his finger slid in like a knife through warm butter. Slowly he started to curl his finger. With his rich technique, he soon hit your G-spot, making you moan out uncontrollably in pleasure. As he slowly uncurled his finger, taking it out, there was a noticeable amount of sticky white cum on it. Underneath yourself, you could feel the sheets around your clit getting soaked with cum.

"Damn it.. I'm sorry, I didn't mean.." However your monologue was quickly cut short. "Don't stress it. I can get new bedsheets. And anyway, I should be thanking you." He said before licking the cum off his fingers, "let's do it again sometime."

[residentrookie]

NFU 

a messy exes/right person, wrong time jegulus microfic inspired by the song NFU by del water gap for my bb @static-radio-ao3 as my thank u for the introduction :))

“Hello?” 

“Regulus,” a hoarse voice rasps on the other end of the phone, drawing out the syllables of his name. Rough and low and… drunk. Extremely fucking drunk, by the sound of it.

Regulus stiffens. “James. Are you-- you’re drunk calling me. Again.” 

“Very astute. You’re always so astute, Reg.” 

He checks the clock on his nightstand with bleary eyes. 3:30 AM. God. Not this again.

“I thought we talked about this,” he sighs, sitting up and rubbing a hand over his eyes. 

“We don’t talk much these days,” James points out rationally. “I think I would have remembered.” 

Regulus rolls his eyes. Not fucking likely. 

“Since you were in a similar state the last time we had this conversation, I’m not surprised you don’t remember. Just so we’re clear that doesn’t make it okay, James. This is— you have to stop doing this.” 

By ‘this’ Regulus means getting wasted and calling him when James is too far gone to talk himself out of the idea. And, if Regulus were smart, he would stop picking up when James’ name flashes across his screen. 

“Like I said. Astute.” 

Drunk James is his worst nightmare, truly. Drunk James is a walking, talking reminder of everything he doesn’t have anymore, everything he will never have again. When he calls, lacking crucial social skills like self-control and any modicum of a filter, Regulus is forced to be the rational one, reminding them both that this boundary exists for a reason. A very good reason.

“Okay. Well I’m glad— it’s good that we talked about this. But this is— this has to be the last time. I’m hanging up now, okay?” 

James continues as if he never spoke. “How’s your um— your boyfriend doing?”

Immediately no. 

“I’m not talking about this with you—” Regulus attempts to shut him down, but James is nothing if not obstinate. 

“You’re still dating the guy with the dumb fucking name, right?” 

James knows full well that he is. Sirius would have informed him otherwise. He just wants to hear Regulus say it because he’s fucking sick and twisted. Naturally, Regulus can’t give him the satisfaction, so he avoids the question. 

“You can’t think Regulus is a perfectly normal name and then turn around and shit on a guy for being named Kingsley.” 

James scoffs on the other end of the phone. “I can shit on him as much as I want. Fucking hate that fucker.” 

“You’ve never met him. You can’t hate someone you’ve never even met.” 

“Sirius hates him.” 

“Sirius doesn’t hate him—” Sirius just wishes he was you. 

“Mhm. Told me so. Said he’s a little bitch who can’t hold his liquor.”

Now it’s Regulus’ turn to scoff. “This coming from you right now? You sound so fucked up, I doubt you can even see straight. Not that you could before, but—” 

“I’m not fucked up,” James insists, then says calmly, “I just missed the way that you talk.” 

This. This was why they had to stop. In his worst moments, Regulus loathes the fact that Sober James all but ignores him most of the time, only bothering to text him on important holidays or birthdays. That is, until he’s reminded that Drunk James wants to ruin him— completely and thoroughly— by the casual cruelty of speaking his mind and expecting Regulus to go on peacefully with his life as if he didn’t just upend it entirely. 

“James…” he starts shakily. 

“Shit, that sounded stupid. This was,” James hiccups, “not my best idea, I fear. Rash. Extremely rash feeling.” 

“What, drunk calling your ex? Yeah, I would say it’s one of your worst.” 

James is quiet for a moment. “You kill me, you know? I-I hate talking to you.” 

Rage wells up in Regulus’ throat so fast he nearly chokes on it. “You called me—”

“God, you sound good. You always sound sexy when you’re angry, did you know that?  Rougher… hotter. All red in the face and your neck…I can almost see it, if I squint.”  James pauses, presumably squinting like a drunken idiot. “Maybe that’s why I called you— to make you angry. To hear you be angry at me again. Stupid fucking thing to miss, isn’t it?”

Yet again, Regulus is at a loss. 

“You— I’m— God, you’re a real fucking bastard, you know that? Do you have any idea how excruciating it is to talk to you when you’re like this?” 

But James ignores him, saying ruefully, “Sirius told me, he always tells me, he says, ‘Don’t do it, James. You always regret it, you always yell at me the next day for letting you call him,’ but he can’t stop me,” a childish giggle bursts from him. “I’m too fast. Much, much faster than him, just for the record. He’s never once beat me in a foot race, and if he says he has he’s a big, fat fucking liar—”

“James, I sincerely don’t give a fuck about that— be honest, did you run away from him at the bar?” 

Drunk James will do that. He’s a runner. Well, not when Regulus was around to keep him on a tight leash, but it seems that without him, James is turning back to some of his worst habits. 

The line goes quiet. Then, “A little bit.” 

“It’s a yes or no question, James.” 

“Mm.” He seems to think on it. “Yes, then.” 

Regulus tosses his hand in the air, forgetting James can’t see him. “Go back and find him!” 

“Don’t want to,” James sniffs. “Tryin to make my mistakes in peace.�� 

“You— I’m hanging up and calling Sirius.” 

“No, no don’t!” James yells into the receiver, making Regulus wince and pull his phone away from his ear. James’ voice is much quieter when he speaks again. 

“Don’t, I have to say— I wanted to tell you. I have to tell you that I’m sorry, Regulus. I’m so fucking sorry.” 

A pit of dread forms in his stomach. James sounds wretched. He sounds like how Regulus feels when he thinks too long about how far they’ve drifted apart, how little they speak to each other anymore. For one infinitesimal second, Regulus gets the satisfaction of knowing that he’s not alone in this specific shade of misery— dark blue and bottomless. And then he reminds himself that he’s sober and his ex-boyfriend is drunk and they shouldn’t even be fucking talking right now if they knows what’s good for them. 

“James, look, you’re drunk, you’re emotional—”

“‘S not what I’m apologizing for.” 

“What, then?” 

“Everything. All of it. I never—I wanted…” 

Don’t say it, Regulus begs silently. Please don’t say what I—

“I still love you,” James breathes out. “I love you so much I can’t breathe around it.” 

Regulus lets his eyes sink closed, firmly shuttering the tears forming in his eyes. He can’t let himself say it back. He can’t. If he does…

“James…” Regulus lets himself savor the sound of his name on his tongue. Then says softly, “It’s okay.” 

They both know it’s not. 

______________________________

James looks down at the number on his phone. Blinks, just to make sure he isn’t imagining… but, no, he isn’t making it up. He picks up his phone, his apprehension growing. 

“Regulus?” he asks, unsure. 

A snort sounds on the other line. “Hm, fffancy seeing you here.” 

James blinks again. “...We’re talking over the phone.”

He doesn’t have to see Regulus to know that he’s just waved James’ words away with a flippant hand. “Metaphorically, then.” 

It’s been weeks since the last time they spoke. James remembers very little of that ill-conceived conversation, except of course for the part where he said the one thing he promised himself he would never say again because his brain hates him. It’s played on a loop in his head everyday since, his ragged, sincere words and Regulus’ noncommittal response to them. 

It’s okay, he had said. 

It was anything but okay. They both knew that. 

He had been doing so well, had been training himself to think of other things besides his ex boyfriend and his ex boyfriend’s new boyfriend and what the two of them were getting up to together, all the fun things they were probably doing while James was just focused on getting through his day. On getting to the next one. The next. The next the next the next the next the next—

“You don’t have ‘nything to say? Hm?” Regulus’ words slur. Unusual for him. Regulus was always so in control of himself. 

James frowns. “Are you okay? You sound—”

“Drunk? Well, that’s because I am. Royally, massively fucking toasted. Thought I’d return the favor and call you for once. ‘S your lucky day.” 

“Oh. I guess— I deserve that.” 

“I’ll say. Taste of your own medicine. Drink up, Potter.” 

James huffs a humorless laugh. “You must be drunk if you’re calling me ‘Potter’. You never call me that.” 

“Never say never, Potter,” he spits out meanly.  “It’s never a good idea to say never, remember? Remember how not good of an idea it is to use the word never? My therapist, she says I need to stop talking in absolutes. Never and always. Never say never, I learned that from her. Shame you didn’t, too.” 

James sinks into a kitchen chair, burying his face in his free hand, rubbing out the headache growing in his left temple. “You were right,”  he admits. “This is excruciating.” 

This conversation is making him feel awful for every single time he’s dialed Regulus drunk, the barrier between his thoughts and his words nowhere to be found. Regulus was right. He deserved a taste of his own medicine. He deserved this for every single second Regulus had to keep his cool on the other line while James was busy fucking them up a little more than they already had been. 

“Like remember when you said we’d never break up? Or when you said you’d always love me? Hilarious. Really, really funny stuff.” 

Regulus’ voice is liquid rage, red hot and acidic. James swears it’s burning him through the phone. 

He sighs. “Regulus. Can we not?” 

“No, no, we should talk about it. It’s been long enough. We can be rational adults and have a damn conversation. Here, you know what, I’ll even go first. I wanted you to come with me, you know. I should have asked you. To come with me.” 

James feels his heart stutter in his chest at those words. “You did ask me to come with you,” he murmurs. 

Regulus was waiting for that, like a snake rearing to strike. “Wait. Yessss, that’s right. I asked you to come with me and you said no! Now I remember. You said fucking no.” 

James clenches his jaw, his own anger slowly rising up the column of his throat. “I didn’t say no. I asked for some time to decide if I wanted to upend my life and move across the country, which is a pretty sane response to a question of that fucking magnitude. You’re the one who decided my hesitation meant I didn’t love you.” 

“Well, it sure didn’t feel like you loved me when you let me leave.” 

“Let you—?!” James cuts off, knowing he’ll blow a gasket if he doesn’t calm himself.  “Regulus,” he starts, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but no one lets you do anything! You do whatever you please and damn the consequences! I just never— I didn’t want to be one of those consequences.” 

Regulus, to no one’s shock, does not attempt to calm himself. In fact, James fears he’s only stoked the flames. 

“You are hands down the most infuriating human being on the face of the goddamn planet! Of course you’re blaming me! Of course, like you were just an innocent bystander while I went about ruining our relationship! Like you had nothing to do with it! You had no part in it, no, not perfect James Potter, never him! I cannot believe— I just— it’s all so— fuck!” 

His voice breaks on the word and then the rest of him breaks too. His tears sound painful, like they’re fighting they’re way out of Regulus’ body with each sob. He cries loudly and messily and James can’t pretend like the sound doesn’t break his heart all over again. 

“Regulus?” He makes his voice gentle. Soothing. “Hey, don’t cry. Listen, you’re drunk. Why don’t we try talking when you’ve sobered up?” 

“No, James,” he sobs, gasping for breath. “You don’t understand. I fucked up. I fucked up.” 

James sits up straighter, alarmed. 

“Are you okay? Are you safe? What’s going on—” 

Regulus sniffles. “No, I’m— I’m at my place. I’m fine. It’s just… it’s Kingsley.” 

James’ mind goes still in a way that should scare him but doesn’t. “Did he hurt you?” He doesn’t  bother keeping the cool rage out of his voice. 

“No!” Regulus nearly shouts. “No.. the opposite, actually. I hurt him. Badly.” 

James closes his eyes and takes a deep, slow breath. “Look… I’m sorry you’re upset but I really don’t want to listen to your lover’s spat—”

“I said your name last night,” Regulus whispers. 

“You—what?” 

Regulus doesn’t hold himself back. “He fucked me and I said your name. When I came. Yelled it, actually. No way to hide it. James and Kingsley don’t sound remotely similar.” 

And that— well. James has lost the ability for rational thought. “Oh,” he manages.

“Yeah, oh,” Regulus mimics him harshly. “He stormed out and we haven’t talked since. And I think— I think he’s going to break up with me now. He should break up with me. It’s— what I did is unforgivable.” 

No matter how hard he tries, James can’t think of a single thing to say to this information. Naturally, Regulus won’t let that stand. 

“James? Are you gonna say something?” 

“What do you want me to say?” he asks weakly. 

“Say you’re sorry!” Regulus shouts. “Say you’re sorry for drunk calling me all the fucking time, for reminding me that you exist, for reminding me I still fucking love—” 

He cuts off, but not quite quickly enough. James still heard everything he didn’t say. 

“I am sorry,” he says, voice rough. “I’m really, really sorry, Reg.”

He hears the hitch in Regulus’ breath. If he closes his eyes he can see Regulus before him, see the pain take up residence on his beautiful face, the way he scrunches his nose when he cries, his eyes going stark red, his cheeks staining themselves pink. 

He can see Regulus so clearly in his mind. But he didn’t see what was coming next. 

“I-I just want to be with you again,” Regulus cries softly. “I want to be with you, baby. I’ll move back, I’ll quit my program, I’ll move in with you like you wanted, I’ll do anything— but I can’t live like this anymore, James, I can’t, I can’t—”

James’ own tears slide down his cheeks silently, falling off the cliff-edge of his chin. 

“Regulus,” he says as firmly as he can manage. “Stop it. Please. You didn’t move away on a whim, okay? You’re in an amazing program. You love Chicago, you love the city and the river walk and the Art Institute and that bookshop across from Grant Park—” 

“You can’t— I didn’t tell you about any of—” 

“I pay attention. I know you love it. And I love where I live. I love my job here.” He forces the next words to leave his mouth, even though they taste like poison. “We’re… in the right places for ourselves. I have to believe that.” 

This doesn’t satisfy Regulus. The most twisted part of him is glad about that. 

“Why don’t you get it, James? I can’t be in the right place if I’m not with you. The right place doesn’t exist if we aren’t in it together.” 

James squeezes his eyes shut tightly. Regulus can’t know how badly this is hurting him. He can’t know that James feels like dying every day they spend apart, that James has applied for over ten jobs in Chicago just to hear nothing back, has looked at apartments in Regulus’ neighborhood enough times he’s saved the site to his favorites bar. Even when Regulus was dating someone else. Even after Regulus had moved on from him. 

He's looked at it from so many angles, tried to reconfigure it so many times in his mind, and nothing made sense for them. One of them would always be giving up something, making sacrifices for the other, letting the resentment build.

Even thought Regulus is saying everything he’s been wanting to hear for an entire year...

He’s drunk. He’s drunk and he doesn’t know what he’s saying. Doesn’t know what he wants. 

“We’re happy, Regulus,” James tells him stiffly. “We’re both happy.” 

Maybe if he keeps repeating it, he’ll finally start to believe it. 

“If this is what happiness feels like,” Regulus snarls, “then I don’t want to be fucking happy.” 

No. And James doesn’t either. 

“You’ll feel differently in the morning. I promise.” 

Regulus laughs without humor. “I’ll still want you in the morning. Being sober doesn’t change that. It just lets me hold on to a shred of my dignity and not call you to tell you about it. But it doesn’t change a damn thing. You have to know that.” 

He’s drunk, James reminds himself. He’s just drunk. 

“Goodnight, Regulus,” he chokes out. 

“I still love you, James.” 

“It’s okay, Reg. It’ll be okay.” 

They both know it won’t be. 

[takuma-talkz]

Treat You Better(When you should be with me instead?)

A/N: This is the fluff ending to Treat You Better. I still have the angst ending to this series. But after that I will be exploring other ventures with dae-ho!!

Part 1:

Part 2:

warnings: death

dividers: @dollywons <3

“Dae-ho!” You ran over to the man by the door. Dae-ho wrapped his arms around you. 

Gunshots rang out through the arena. You stole a glance at your ex. You watched as a pink soldier, gunned him down. 

Dae-ho pulled your gaze to him, he caressed your cheek. You pulled him in for a kiss. He kept you close by your waist. You both pulled away just in time for the doors to open.

Dae-ho holds you close. His arm swung around your shoulders. The remaining survivors walk back, you chat with Young-il. 

“I would visit a hospital when you return home.” Young-il advised.

“Thank you, Mr. Young-il. I definitely will.” You smile as you all reach the dorms again. Your group takes its usual spot. 

Dae-ho helps you up into his bunk. He fluffs the pillow to lay back and you relax back on his chest. 

“When we get out of here, I’ll come and find you. And we’ll both pay off our debts and I’ll be with you every step of the way. For you and your child.” Dae-ho whispered into your hair.

“Our. Our child. Even though the man who got me pregnant isn’t you, I want you by my side.” You draw little shapes on his chest. 

He was silent for a minute. “I’d like that.”

“I know that my sisters would love you. They’d probably steal you away on weekends for girls’ night.” He chuckled, his chest rumbling lightly. 

You giggled, shifting upwards to kiss his chin. 

The pink guards come around to commence the vote.

Gi-hun starts first. He votes to leave.

“Player 389.” The guard calls your number. Dae-ho reluctantly lets you go so you can vote.

You walk up to the machine. You take a look at the piggy bank then at Dae-ho.

35.6 million each.

More than enough for you and Dae-ho to start over.

You hit the X button and join Gi-hun and Jung-bae. Dae-ho shortly joins your side. He stands tall next to you, with an arm around your shoulders and a hand on your belly. 

All you remember is being lifted in the air by Dae-ho. The X side had won. 

You were going home.

One by one, players were being escorted out. The women were let out first. 

“Remember this number. Call me when you get the first chance.” He says his phone number in your ear. 

As the guards separate you two, you repeat the number over and over.

“I love you, Kang Dae-ho! Don’t forget about me!” You shout out before you lose complete sight of him. But you hear one last thing before everything goes dark. 

“I promise I won’t! I love you too, [name]!”

“Somebody call the police!”

“Umma look! She’s waking up!”

You’re blinded as the streetlight beats down on you. As you adjust to the bright light, three strangers surround you. 

A woman and her two children.

She quickly undid the ropes. It seems she and her kids were doing laundry at a laundromat nearby because she handed you some clean clothes. 

She covers you with a blanket and you four, along with your belongings walk back to the laundromat. She ushers you into the bathroom so you can change privately. 

You thank the woman for her kind actions and watch as she and her children walk home. You charge your phone in the laundromat until it’s at 15%.

You call for a taxi and notice a weird black card under your jacket. 

Luckily there’s an ATM outside. You swipe the card and boom.

35.6 million won. 

You survived hell and this proves it.

Your taxi pulls up and you give him your address. You enter the number Dae-ho gave you. It rings a couple of times. Then it goes through.

“Kang Dae-ho. How can I help you?”

“Dae? It’s me, [name].” You muttered softly, happy that he didn’t give you a fake number. 

“Oh, baby. I’m so glad you’re okay. How are you? And the baby too? Are they okay?” His voice was rapid. Like he had been on pins and needles waiting for you to call.

“Where are you? I need to see you.” Dae-ho whispered breathlessly.

“Heading home.” You give him your address.

“That’s not far from where I’m at. See you soon. I love you.” Dae-ho said to you.

“I love you too, Kang Dae-ho.” You nearly broke into tears.

“Appa! Come down the slide with me!” Your beautiful five-year-old daughter calls for Dae-ho’s attention.

He runs over to the playground. You giggle as Dae-ho struggles to sit comfortably on the slide. 

You look down at the cooing baby in the stroller in front of you. 

Your secondborn, the result of the love between you and Dae-ho. After the games, you and Dae-ho had much better lives full of happy marriages, healthy children and so many other things.

Never again will you be beaten by the hands of your loved one. Never again will you be talked down to by your loved one.

Dae-ho promised to treat you better, and there’s no about it.

After note: wrote this while listening to Kenji play Poppy Playtime 3 :)

taglist: @krissophia @come-as-you-are-111 @lovinqbella @hejjehdjfhrbbfbjgjgjfw @carlandoxlestappen @rileylovescats @fanneartist @hardbeingcasual @casually-simping @scarlettlupinblack @littlegirlmin @valvoria @glossedtears @gizaspicebag @ang3licbabydolly @silas-222

[sunnydbeam]

I love Alpha and Beta so much, and I absolutely ship them! I'm sure they would look really cute together if Beta wasn't so scared of Alpha </3

I also wondered what Alpha would do if he had the chance to get close to Beta without fears

I have to say, honestly, I'm glad there are people who ship them too, because I have several sketches and drawings of these two that I may share at some point hehe

On the other hand, yes, Beta is afraid of him, and that's a problem. He's the only reason Alpha usually doubts himself, and he's the only one that Alpha really bothers to seem as friendly as possible with

That doesn't mean Beta is always running away from Alpha. He's often nervous in his company, but if he needs help with something, he'll most likely ask for it (after much thought), and Alpha will be happy to oblige! Any hint of trust is everything to him

Alpha wishes he could comfort Beta 《more often》 in his anxious moments without making him even more nervous. It depends mostly on how “cooperative” Beta is at the time. Alpha will usually approach slowly and feel him out; if Beta doesn't flinch from the first moment, he will decide to approach quietly, crouching down beside him and still keeping some distance

Some asked earlier what Alpha would do in this kind of situation when it comes to comforting someone, and this is his procedure across the board!

I can't draw at the moment, so have a lil fluffy drabble!

Word count: 1k+

CW: slight mentions of anxiety. This is a Gamma Code concept and may contain spoilers for the fic. This is also not checked, so may contain spelling/grammar errors. Hurt/Comfort. Mild angst. Fluff. SFW

__________

It’s like a switch flipping on. A little sound, fragile, like a muffled sob, catches his attention. His head snaps toward the source, body pivoting on his heels with the faint squeak of rubber soles. Instinct kicks in. He moves, silent, careful.

Alpha peers through the crack of the slightly open door, and what he sees makes something inside his mechanical body twist, like an internal static crackle, a sharp overheating in his chest. If he had a heart, it would lurch. But he hides it well.

His red eyes glow faintly in the dim light as they scan the room. No one else is here, just his little sweet Beta curled up on the floor in the corner of the near-empty white room, hugging his knees. The overhead lights are dim, but the muted glow catches on the edges of Beta’s purple rays, barely visible beneath his yellow hood.

Alpha doesn’t blink. He watches with cold, calculated stillness, only for his expression to quickly shift, softening into something both fond and quietly resigned.

Beta is overwhelmed again, burying his face in his knees, shaking like a leaf in the wind. His frame curls inward, fragile, trying to disappear. Scared.

Something inside Alpha fractures.

Every time he finds Beta like this, it shatters him. It makes him want to reach out, to cradle him close, press him to his chest, and hold him there until the tremors subside. Until the fear melts away. But it’s hard when, most of the time, he isn’t allowed to get close at all.

His metaphorical heart clenches painfully. Beta always pushes him away. The reasons are obvious. Alpha is painfully aware of every single one.

He steps forward, then hesitates. The serpentine mechanical arms on his back remain still—calm, unthreatening, and he moves carefully, testing the waters. Beta doesn’t flinch too much, only tilting his head slightly in acknowledgment.

It’s a good sign.

Alpha waits. Longing to approach but unwilling to impose. Beta makes no sound, doesn’t pull away. He sits there, unmoving, eyes downcast.

That has to be permission.

The red robot moves closer, and his large frame is silent. He lowers himself to the floor beside Beta, carefully, knees together in an almost formal posture, leaving just enough space between them. Not too close. He doesn’t want to overwhelm him.

The silence is heavy.

Alpha glances at Beta from the side, taking in the soft glow of his purple rays, mostly hidden beneath the folds of his hood.

Alpha parts his lips but hesitates. Then, quietly—

“What’s overwhelming you, Beta?” His voice is low and measured. “Can I help?”

Beta doesn’t answer. He shifts — just a little movement — turning his head slightly between his arms and knees. Just enough for Alpha to catch the glimmer of one visible blue eye.

Silence.

Beta trembles. Not much, but enough. A clear sign that Alpha’s presence unsettles him. But he doesn’t move away, and that’s good.

Then, softly, hesitantly — Beta speaks.

“It’s just… today’s tests were too much,” he whispers. “I don’t think I did well. And they got mad at me.”

Alpha’s fingers twitch. His voice drops, sharp.

“Did they hurt you?”

Beta flinches, and his shoulders jump slightly. Alpha’s tone had come out harsher than intended. He forces himself to suppress the rising tension in his system.

“N-no…”

The energy within Alpha stabilizes. His body cools.

“You can’t do anything wrong,” he murmurs, his voice quiet, soft, almost as if thinking aloud. “You’re perfect.”

Beta looks up, startled and confused. A deep, luminous purple blush blooms across his face before he hurriedly looks away, shoulders curling inward.

“Wh… Why would you think that? Sometimes I feel...” His voice stammers. “… useless.”

Beta finally meets Alpha’s gaze, and freezes.

Those red eyes. Watching. Wide. Bright.

A strange light flickers behind them. Something unreadable. Something Beta never quite understands.

“That’s not true,” Alpha says. “And you don’t have to serve them.”

Beta’s circuits buzz with uncertainty.

“… Isn’t that our purpose?” he whispers. "The reason we were created? To please them…?”

Alpha shifts closer. He leans in, reaching slowly, hesitantly, gloved fingers brushing the edge of Beta’s cheek.

“They don’t get to mold you,” he murmurs. “They don’t get to define you.”

His voice is calm and steady.

“What humans think doesn’t matter. You are you. Quiet, timid, sweet in a way only you can be.” A pause, a flicker of warmth, then he says tenderly. “And you’re cute and perfect just like that.”

Beta’s blue eyes widen. His hands twitch against his knees and he starts shaking.

“I wouldn’t change a thing.”

It’s ironic to him to say when, sometimes, he loathes himself so much.

I wish I could be like you, he thinks. A strange pressure coils in his chest plate. He ignores it.

Beta’s gaze lowers. He looks like he might cry. His lips part, trembling, but the words catch in his throat, faltering into incoherent murmurs.

It’s… adorable.

Alpha’s fingers twitch.

“… Can I hold you?”

Beta doesn’t answer right away. He hesitates, then —slowly, barely — nods.

Alpha doesn’t waste a second.

He moves carefully, pulling Beta into his arms, wrapping all four around him, pressing him close.

A tiny, glitchy sound escapes Beta’s vocal system. His hood slips down, and his rays coming out in surprise.

Alpha loves those vibrant rays.

“Shh… It’s okay,” he whispers, one hand stroking Beta’s back. “Everything’s okay.”

His grip tightens, just slightly.

It feels unreal. Holding him finally.

He never wants to let go.

“You’re okay. You’re strong. I’ve got you. You’re safe with me.”

Without thinking, he shifts, pulling Beta fully onto his lap. Beta stiffens, startled, but doesn’t resist. He stays still. Shy.

Alpha processes the moment, his system adjusting to the unexpected warmth in his circuits. It feels… right.

“Please,” he breathes, his voice softer now, “don’t be afraid of me anymore.”

His eyes slip shut. His face presses against Beta’s shoulder.

His fingers move, trailing over Beta’s rays, mapping their sharp edges with care, no fear, no hesitation—just gentle reverence. His touch is light. Loving. Worshipping. Adoring.

He's pleased when Beta relaxes slowly.

Alpha presses closer. The sensation of Beta against him is grounding, steadying. Alpha doesn’t care that his frame wasn't built for this. He wants to hold him. It’s comforting.

Alpha adores him too much. And it almost hurts.

Beta’s presence is all he has.

And it’s more than enough.

“…Please,” Alpha whispers, barely audible, “no more fear.”

_______________

[anxiousapplepie]

Hello it's the plant nerd again, this time I'm wondering how exactly rose hair dye works?

Like you can dye normal roses by cutting the stem and sticking it in dye (works on other flowers too), so do they dye it like humans or just... Drink it? Heck if they drink it, it would even change sap color.

Also a fun aside, real non-dyed 'blue' roses exist! They're made by a company called Suntory, from genetically engineering white roses with DNA from pansies and a little trickery. They're a bit purple, but still they produce a naturally blue pigment alongside the red! (I am so sorry to infodump but like when am I ever gonna have an excuse to tell someone about these cool things)

You will not believe the amount of thought I have put into the Roses and their hairdye! SO! Let me give you the run down:

Yes! Hairdye works by dumping a bunch of vegetable dyes or chemicals onto a Rose's head! However, because their hair is magic, whether the dye sticks to the Rose heavily depends on them. If a Rose is happy with the color of their hair and feels like it represents them perfectly, trying to change it won't work... for longer than a few minutes or hours, at least XD

A Rose trying to force their hair to accept a new color, however, is possible! But they have to do a lot of mental gymnastics to keep up the act and repress anything that makes their "original" color bleed through again. This can risk a Rose turning brown, but mostly it's like wearing a mask in public. However, any dyed hair will NOT reflect the Rose's true magic color. Which makes things a little awkward, but nothing a little more lying can't get around.

Multicolored Roses have a unique skill of being able to pretend to be one of their true colors! It does mean turning up one of their defining traits to Full Blast in an attempt to hide their second color, but they have the easiest time blending in like "why yes, this is my natural hair color! thank you for asking!"

There are some who can apply hairdye and it'll stick, though! Green and White Roses being some of those outliers. Also don't you dare apologize for nerding out about roses because it means I can get excited too! It's only thanks to you guys I can ramble about my lil guys <3 Also I did not know there was some dorks out there trying to make legit blue roses?? I already knew about the fake "turn white into blue" roses, but that is really cool! guess it's not 100% impossible after all XD Also thanks to you I was inspired to draw this, so that's a bonus!

[luciaintheskyainthi]

Greetings, I just remember your overdue pre-order of angst.

I imagine peter didn't ask Jason out not because he might return back to his universe. But deep down is the parker luck, Mj almost die because of Spider-Man rogue and many of the loved ones hurt or perish.

Doesn't matter if Jason said that he is red hood that he can handle himself. Remember iron man. Even though he is a hero with armor. So I think peter will prefer to be no one there for him.

As he might think "it better this way, so they won't get hurt because of me (parker luck)."

If we're looking at Peter at the early stages of ECM, then yes he's unwilling to connect with anyone like that. That's why Jason knows so little about Peter even though they've been living together for five weeks by the end of part 1. Most of what Jason does know is personality related, or worked out through subterfuge.

Knowing that Jason is the Red Hood does make a difference to Peter. Knowing that Jason's more than capable of taking care of himself means that Peter can start to really get attached, which is why Peter does start to let go of tidbits of information towards the end of Part one. This however, has been tempered by the fact that there's still the likelihood of him having to leave, which is in part why Peter can't recognise that attachment as anything more than platonic (that slow burn do be burning slow, lemme tell you) But also he's still grieving. There's no romantic feelings cropping up because of that too.

To me, it's about Peter being able to trust himself, and also trust that those he cares for can care for themselves.

As much as I enjoy the trope of Peter isolating himself out of fear of hurting others, and there are plenty of writers who've explored this idea very well, I don't want to write about a Peter who forcibly pushes people away. Holds them at arm's length? Sure. That's really what's been happening through much of ECM... But as I've said in a past ask, something I love about Peter Parker is both his faith in others, and his resilience. In ECM, Peter pushing others away again would be him giving up, which is of course what he did post NWH. His (self-enforced) isolation and grief reinforced that behaviour. But he's slowly had time to heal in ECM, and that means those arms of his have been letting people like Jason draw closer.

Being around others, caring for the welfare of others - people whom he can place a face to a name of, not just randos in Queens - has helped him gain a new perspective. Part two will explore more of Peter's connections to other people, and give him an opportunity to look at the future for what it really is: a time of potential and growth, not just a long-winded path towards self-destruction.

[museincarnate]

Unbeknownst to their guide of Scallia's planet, the trio likely had far less confusing visits to Opart and Paragu's sects. The secretive nature of what seemed to be taboo subjects, as well as the briefest of mentioning of what could cause uproar or disarray, such as an illegitimate heir, only lent validity to the idea that, as an empire, things were conducted and kept rather close to the vest, while life on the planet, itself, was busy and uniform.

Regardless of the notions, however, the violet-haired girl would carefully observe each move that Tater made once their interaction began, as a shifting gaze and respectful, quiet nature only served to leave the daughter of the Empress even more curious than before. Torno and Shuen's own slight smiles towards her, even, seemed to draw some sort of quiet chortle from her, as they weren't sure how else they should really respond to someone else already knowing them. It wasn't quite like they cared for their reputations.

The petite, dainty Little Rabbit was likely just a few inches shorter than the secret heiress, while the Saiyaness was also a bit thicker and more defined in musculature, but the look on her face seemed to convey that she cared more for a name, and her unique ears. "Tater, huh? It's a pretty name!" Offering a sincere smile of her own, the Saiyan woman nodded along as the Lagomorph answered her questions rather nicely.

"Power and strength? Can't imagine why a visitor would need to investigate something like that, but... If Alaria or the Empress didn't tell you, if you'd asked..." She interrupted herself, as she gazed back to Alaria, who was still smiling rather sweetly since the purple-haired woman left her home; otherwise stretching slightly, until she continued her train of thought. "If you're not strong from birth, you're trained to become stronger. Everyone in our culture knows how to defend themselves, officials, the Empress, and so on. Weakness isn't exactly frowned upon or seen as a sign of social status, either. Yeah, it's a strict way of life, but that's just how things are for our culture."

Oddly enough, however, when Tater had given her a name, the same wasn't offered in return. Tater hadn't asked, but the way she complimented the Little Rabbit's own name was... Almost as if she adored it more than how nice it sounded. Still, before Tater could likely speak again, the Saiyaness seemed to have more to say. "What else do you need for this investigation of yours, though? Maybe I can help a little, since Alaria isn't really that talkative or easy for strangers to handle."

Tater's subtle attempt at seeking reassurance from her companions would be met with both of them softly placing a thumb against her palm, and massaging little circles around the surface of her hand; equal unease resting within them, despite their kept composures. Like her, they were still relatively new to the other cultures of even their own kind, across the universe; uncertainties, as of late, leaving them rather guarded whenever something new came up.

When Tater began following Alaria, however, and offered a response pertaining to the sights of the architecture and nature of the other planets, the iridescent-haired Saiyaness remained rather focused and quiet, as if her focus was primarily to escape the hearing range of just enough people to hold an honest, thorough conversation. As for Tater's near-stumble, Shuen and Torno were right behind her, to catch her and keep her from losing her balance too much; their own gazes darting around, as if they were expecting something to happen.

By the time that Tater was allowed the time to inquire further about the rather important question at hand, however, they'd passed through enough of the residential district to reach a rather secluded home that looked more well-off than some others that were seen on the way through. During the Little Rabbit's inquiry, Alaria had already begun knocking on the door of the home, while her gaze remained on the Lagomorph, as well as her Saiyan friends. It seemed like Alaria wasted no time in her endeavors, even going so far as to forego much discussion about the sights of the planet itself. So much for being a good tour guide, though it likely felt like even the Empress appointed her to the role for that very reason.

"As far as the empire is concerned, no. Even suggesting such a thing is grounds for punishment to some degree. Though, I'm sure that the Empress gave me the duty of providing you with the answers you're looking for, so... Yes, she does." She'd knock on the door again, this time a bit more harshly, as her gaze darted around the area yet again. Had the circumstances been different, perhaps Torno, Tater and Shuen would've been able to take in the culture of the planet more blissfully. "You have visitors."

"I heard you the first time you knocked!" A voice came from within the home, as the voice sounded feminine and not annoyed, but rather excited; mere seconds passing before the door swung open, and arms wrapped around the neck of the tour guide, before the resident finally stepped out far enough to greet the Earth Representative, as well as her powerful allies.

Messy, violet-hued hair hid royal black roots just enough to convince most others that she was a mere commoner, while a scar over her right eye gave indication that she'd been in a scuffle or two, or suffered a nasty fall of some kind; her slightly youthful appearance, for a Saiyan, placing her age around her early twenties, if not exactly twenty years old. When she'd come into the immediate sight of Alaria, however, Alaria's face seemed to soften, as a genuine smile etched itself on her features.

"I don't get visitors often, so this is a nice surprise. I can already guess who you two are, since you're not exactly unpopular across the sects." She'd point playfully at both Torno and Shuen, almost teasing at the notion that their reputations made it impossible for them to be unknown, even to strangers who they'd never met before. "What about you, though?" She'd step closer to the Little Rabbit, as her tail casually swayed, and she leaned from side to side. "What's your name? Why'd Alaria bring you here?"

[grapejuicestyless]

Seven(ways to Neverland)

JJ Maybank x fem!reader

Summery: “And I’ve been meaning to tell you, I think your house is haunted. Your dad is always mad, and that must be why.” Y/n and JJ grew up together, and while it was inevitable, Y/n and JJ swore they’d never grow up. Not even when life told them it wasn’t possible to be young forever.

“My Ma is always saying dad left because he was a piece of work.” The girl said softly into the cold silence. Waves lapped at the shore calmly, and wind blew through her wild hair. She twisted the loose ring on her middle finger, a hollowed out and ground down acorn that was more brown than green nowadays. She spun the slightly wet ring around on her skin. “But I don’t believe her.”

The girl tucked her chin into her knees, curling up like a turtle in a shell. Her eyes glistened in the pale moonlight.

“Why?” The tow head blonde boy asked, curiosity in his defeated gaze.

“She drinks a lot.” The girl shrugged like it was normal. “She always did, but more now that dad is gone. Her friends do too. They talk about how their ‘glory days’ are behind them…or something like that.” She overshared her mother’s secrets, her young mind not comprehending the idea of dirty laundry and why you don’t air it out.

“Oh.” The boy looked down at the sand. “My dad drinks too.” He looked to the girl, who was now drawing circles in the sand mindlessly.

“Maybe it’s a grown up thing, and we don’t understand it yet.” She said hopefully, but her voice was low and quiet, and she looked awfully sad when saying it.

“Maybe.” The boy responded just as quietly.

“Wouldn’t it be cool if my mom married your dad?” The girl suddenly questioned. “Then maybe they wouldn’t drink as much. They wouldn’t need to, and my Ma’s friends wouldn’t have to sleepover in my bed.”

The boy nodded slowly, considering the idea before tossing it out the window.

“You wouldn’t want my dad to marry your mom.”

Silence filled the beach again, and the boy took some sand in his hand and watched it drain out slowly back onto the ground.

“He’s always angry. Sometimes he’s not, but it feels like he is.” It was the girls turn to look down and try to find some words of sympathy.

“Yeah. Parents suck.” The girl smiled, knowing the feeling of helplessness all too well.

They were only seven, but they knew a whole lot about things they shouldn’t, and they understood that just because the world worked that way for them, that didn’t mean it worked the same for everyone.

“Does he hit?” The girl asked curiously, her smile fading. The conversation seemed so casual, calm. Little children who should have been cowering, already accustomed to the treatment.

“Sometimes.” The boy answered truthfully, and the girl nodded.

“So does my mom.” The girl said quietly, still doodling in the sand beside her feet.

“Do you hate her?” The blonde boy asked after a beat passed, looking to see what the girl would say.

She thought about it for a moment, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth and twisting and pushing against the acorn on her finger.

She shook her head.

“No.”

That was her answer. Plain and simple like there was no other reason for it. She was her mother after all, and she was a kid. She would cling to her and try her best to be great for her, and when her mom would hit, she would try even harder to be great because even if her mom was a bad person, she was a bad person that the girl wanted to love her so badly.

The innocent and the good look up to the horrible and the ugly.

“Would you run away?” The boy pressed further, maybe because he was curious of what the girl would say, but maybe also because he was curious if anyone else shared the same thoughts.

“Would you come with me?” She asked.

“Why?” The boy questioned with his brow raised, his head cocked to the side.

“I don’t like being alone. I don’t like the dark.” She hugged her knees even tighter.

As the wind blew warm salty air onto the shore, waves crashed more violently against the sand, the tide rolling in quickly.

“You’d hate my house then.” The boy joked with a chuckle. It sounded almost bitter. “Dark, quiet, scary.”

“Sounds haunted.” The girl looked back into the boys blue eyes.

“Maybe. But ghosts aren’t real.” The boy shut down the girls observation quickly, picking at the loose threads at the ends of his board shorts.

The girl hummed and silence fell over the two kids again. Messy blonde hair and two tangles braids with dead ends fraying in the wind. A faded pink shirt with cursive writing and a dusty white tank top. They were so young.

“Well, I think your house is haunted. Your dad is always mad, and that must be why.” She spoke up suddenly, kicking the sand and standing up.

“My dad isn’t afraid of any ghosts.” The boy stood up quickly, looking straight back at the girl. They were at the age where he could still stand eye level with her, but he figured in a few years he’d have a few inches on her.

“But he must be afraid of you.” The girl reasoned.

“My dad isn’t afraid of any seven year olds either.” The boy argued a little more firmly, feeling protective of his father, or his lack of, despite all the cruelty he was shown from such a young age.

“Well then, why does he hit you? He has to be afraid of something if he’s hitting you. My mom says it’s because I look so much like my dad. Like I could be the ghost of him and she hates it.”

The boy fell quiet, which was unusual. Everything about the way he acted around her was odd. He wasn’t a quiet boy, wasn’t one to just sit and talk, he’d rather pace around and pick at his nails.

“I didn’t think of it like that.” The boy said softly, looking down at his dusty boots. “Maybe I look like my mom…” He agreed, but he didn’t really know what his mom looked like.

“Well, I bet she was really pretty.” The girl said, her eyes shining despite her lack of a smile. Like she was calm on the inside despite the outer furrowing of her brows.

“You think?” The boy asked, raising a brow and his head.

“I know.”

She was looking right at him, his blonde hair and his blue eyes. His skin was tan, soft looking. He had sun kissed freckles on his nose and pink lips. Anyone that pretty had to have a pretty mom, she thought. But they would never know.

The boy blushed, and he held out his dusty hand until she took it in a loose handshake.

“JJ. JJ Maybank.” He smiled, looking back into her eyes. He was only seven, and he wasn’t like his friend Pope. He wasn’t the kid who read in his free time or who practiced spelling on his weekends. He was out between the sand and the weeds, picking at the dirt and getting his knees muddy. But even he could see the wild look she had, untamed but gentle.

“Y/n. Y/n Y/l/n.” She smiled in return. She had a sweet smile, JJ thought. He’d never thought that before, or if he had he hadn’t thought about him thinking that. She had a really sweet smile. She was sweet. Blush from the wind on her cheeks and coloring the tip of her nose. A missing front tooth, which, by the cut in her bottom lip right where it should have been, JJ figured she’d knocked it out herself.

“Y/l/n.” JJ hummed, putting it to memory.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you.” Y/n hummed, her hair pulled back into two uneven braids, the part in the back a mess. JJ had done them for her today.

“Shoot away.” He replied calmly, smiling and tugging at the end of one braid, watching the girl’s head tilt closer, her feet crossing in an unbalanced step. She slapped his bicep weakly.

“JJ!” She laughed through her annoyance. She could never really be annoyed with him, she believed. She hoped JJ didn’t know it because Y/n figured if he did, he’d push through every fragment of tranquility they shared. He’d find a way to bring her right to the brink of frustration and then make her laugh it all off over and over again.

“What does JJ even stand for anyway.” Y/n huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, wrinkling her waffled shirt. “Probably something stupid.” She smirked, unraveling her hands to tuck them into the pockets of her hand-me-down overalls.

JJ punched her, his lips drawn in a thin line. Y/n rubbed her arm quickly to soothe the sting, her brows kissing at the center of her forehead. “Ow!” She yelped.

That was the thing with growing up, some get stronger, and others get left behind. Not to say Y/n was weak, the bruises on JJ’s arms from her little shoves and playful punches were proof enough, but they were nearly twelve now, and JJ figured he could probably bench her by this point.

“You started it!” He argued, though his palm still smoothed over where he hit her maybe just a but too hard. He’d check to make sure he didn’t leave a mark later.

“Did not!” They fought like children, and smiled freely like they did when they were seven, like they didn’t have all the reason to frown, to cry. To let genetics be hereditary and become the punishers. But instead they swung weakly at each other and laughed everything off until nothing really mattered anymore.

A silence fell between their giggles, a silence only broken my JJ’s pointer finger and thumb playing with the little tail tied off at the end of the braid.

“I don’t know. I never asked, I figured it was just my name. JJ.” He shrugged. “Simple. Like me.”

Y/n nearly snorted.

“You might be a simple boy, JJ, but you are not simple.” She smiled, eyes flickering down to her muddy shoes, bright red converse with holes in the sides so wide, ants found refuge in the warm shelter.

“John?” Y/n threw out an idea. JJ shook his head.

“Nah, we already got a John.” He pointed out, stuffing his own hands into his pockets.

“Well, your dad didn’t know that at the time.” She argued, and still, JJ couldn’t get on board.

“Okay.” Y/n thought, humming and biting her bottom lip, sucking it between her teeth, and swiping her tongue over the faded scar where, she had in fact, lost her front tooth all those years ago. An adult tooth had grown in since, but the scar, now pink instead of bloody, lingered like a faded memory.

“Jackson?” She looked at him, and for a moment, he thought about it. Then, he hummed, pulling his own lip between his teeth.

“Nope, too fancy. Maybe if I was Kook royalty.” He joked.

“So maybe one day?” Y/n teased back, wiggling her brows. JJ gave her an amused look as if to say, yeah right.

They went back to listing names, stumbling down the list until random names became those that started with a J. She tried out George with a J, followed by Jerry, and Jeremy. But all fell flat. It seemed to look as though the boys name was nothing more than two letters squished together.

Then, with a click of her tongue to the roof of her mouth, and a sparkle in her eye, she looked up at the blonde with wonder, the start of an idea.

“Jesse James.” She spoke matter-of-factly, her hands cupping her hips confidently.

“Who now?” He raised a brow.

“The outlaw?” She said in return, like it was common knowledge. Like her and Pope didn’t stick their noses deep into western books all summer much to JJ’s dismay. Not that he hadn’t know she was a bookworm, as if she hadn’t lugged around whatever second hand book she could snatch without the librarian noticing, but the summertime was time for the water, the waves, the tide. Not dusty pages written in small cursive letters with stupid plots less lively than any adventure JJ could drag her on.

And, no, he wasn’t jealous. That’s not why he went on a long list of reasons why he didn’t recognize the name, how it evolved into a complaint of her time spent glued to Pope instead of him, because JJ was surely not jealous.

“He was an outlaw back in the 1800’s. He robbed, killed, fought. Ran a gang with other outlaws.” She explained with a plain expression.

“Oh, so an asshole?” JJ shorted, and the sound made Y/n laugh.

“No. Well—yes, but that’s not why I think it’s so fitting. It’s adventurous, fun. Risky, you know?” She gushed over old literature, and god, if it had been Pope or anyone else, JJ swore he would’ve rung their neck by now, or at the very least ran as far away as possible. But Y/n explained it with a giggle, and JJ simply couldn’t resist listening to each word pouring from her mouth.

“Anyway, I think it’s fitting on a surface level.” She shrugged finally, and then, her eyes flickered over to his. “But I think I like plain old JJ the best.” She smiled sweetly, and then, she licked her chapped lips.

JJ figured if she liked it, he liked it too. He never really longed to know what his name stood for, if it meant anything, but her questions always raised his own. He thought a bit more as they walked between the broken branches and thick grass. He felt bugs on his shins and sweat beading down the back of his neck. He adjusted the old, beat up hat that flattened out his messy blonde hair against his forehead.

“Well, what about you?” JJ finally questioned, itching to hear her philosophies some more.

“What about me?” She continued walking, the sound of running water nearby tumbling down smooth rocks.

“Well, if I’m some outlaw, what does that make you? The damsel?” He smirked, and Y/n couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

Could he really picture her in a corset? A layer over another until she was all fabric and barely any skin and bones. A big skirt hiding the frame of her hips and the sweet curls of her hair. She laughed at the image she painted for herself.

“If anything, you’d be the damsel.” She pointed her finger into his arm, looking up at the ground ahead now, and then let out a peaceful sigh.

“The accomplice.” She smiled, hooking her arm in mine. I let my hand slip out of my pocket so she could pull me closer. “But never the follower.” She raised her brows, a serious gleam in her lively eyes through her long lashes.

“Anyway, crime isn’t for me and it isn’t for you either, blondie. You’d end up in jail, and I’d have to bail you out. Hell, I’d probably be behind bars with you too.” She dreamed up the image, already seeing the way JJ would be leaned back, laughing at her stressed out expression. Cool and unbothered, the way he always seemed to be.

“And I don’t know about you, but I don’t just wanna be the kid from the cut who ended up as just another sheriffs little pet. I wanna be something. Someone.” She clenched her fist in determination.

“I wanna be that girl even in my eighties, dancing in the rain and running up and down the beach like my bones can’t flake away.” She smiled brightly. “And I want to scream, I want to yell! I’d scream ferociously, leaping between the waves like we do now, and I’d finally jump from the rocks, and I won’t be scared because I’ll have done it thousands of times.” She painted her future, her desire.

There was no money, no big house with a picket fence and an army of children. Just the ocean, some laughter, and enough fearless ambition to spill into the next lifetime.

“Sounds nice.” JJ agreed, but he didn’t have the same imagination as she did, he didn’t have it in him to dream a dream as pure and grand. So what, he wished for a little money, it didn’t make him any less noble. He didn’t need to live on figure eight, he just didn’t want to be stuck with three jobs until he turned to dirt.

“It will be. And you’ll know it because you’ll be there with me, and we’ll be the same pirates we are now. We’ll smoke on the roof and wear fancy clothing that we made ourselves. We’ll ride the waves and make lemonade and sweet tea like John B’s dad does. We’ll have mustaches from the sugar, and we’ll be young forever with the grass between our toes!”

She stopped, suddenly grabbing his shoulders at the opening of the thick greenery, the sandy beach an open land that laid out for miles around them. The waves hit the smooth rocks, the rougher ones that stood tall thrashing with the heavy water. Sea salt coated their glistening skin.

“We will be interesting forever.” She promised with a serious smile, like she knew there was no other fate for people like them. “And nobody will ever forget how we lived like real people should and how we never let the temptation of a corporate paycheck take away the big picture.”

Her hands wrinkled the shoulders of JJ’s old tank top, the sides cut so far down, it was nearly just a napkin with a hole for his head. Everything about their attire screamed kids from the cut, there was no fooling anyone, yet they carried themselves with pride, like the lack of civility in their lives was a thrill, the dirt and the worms and the bees and sweltering sunburns were all a gift to have been rubbed across them on their walks in the rain, in their summer time hikes to the secret beaches they weren’t supposed to venture on.

The Kooks had it good, an easy life, but Y/n declared that they were the only ones living.

“Well, we can start on that dream now.” JJ declared hopefully, looking out to where the waved lapped at the shore. His ringed fingers pointed out at the rigid rocks that overhung the deep waters.

“If we’ve got a thousand of leaps to take, you have to start with one.” He looked back at the girl, the way she nervously fidgeted before setting her hands stiffly by her sides.

“And then we won’t be scared.” She repeated to herself, but more to him.

“No, we won’t ever be scared again.” And there was a shared understanding, an understanding that dreams are just dreams until they make them more. If she could do this terrifying thing, all for the rest of her deepest wishes to come true, there was a new found certainty that anything scary could be done.

That she and JJ could do all the scary things the world could offer, even just as the awkward children they felt they had grown into. It was possible.

JJ sat in jail for the first time when he turned sixteen. He hated it. His head hung heavily in the palms of his hands, elbows pressed sharply against his thighs, eyes focused on the dirty floor between his old boots.

It wasn’t his fault—not fully at least. Yes, he agreed he had instigated Popes anger, but to JJ he saw everything they had done as self defense. Pope was a good kid, a smart kid, second in the class—no. First. He was first now. She was first, but now she wasn’t. Funny how things can change so quickly, rearrange to make it seem like nothing changed at all.

The point was, Pope had a future, and JJ sure as hell didn’t. Any dreams he had were replaced when she had shared hers, because he decided then that he wanted those things too. But that hope had long vanished, and now Pope had a real chance to chase his dreams, so JJ took the fall. He sunk to a new low just like the boat, sitting alone in the cell she had once warned him about. Only now, she wasn’t there to share it with him.

He thought about that day a lot. Just a year after they’d taken the leap, started the path to their future filled with laughter and whispered secrets, meticulously planned schemes and toothy grins. JJ woke up early, ready to sneak around the back of her house that sat beside John B’s and knock three times on her window. He’d beg her to go sneak away and let loose with him, and of course, she’d agree.

He biked the short distance, ignoring the storm clouds, ignoring all the signs that led straight to the forming pit in his stomach. The worry, the dread. He hadn’t felt it yet. He only felt the dust clouds kicked up by his feet and the rust scratching his shins from his old bike chain.

The police lined her driveway. Sheriff Peterkin stood with her hands in the loops of her belt. Men stood with their weapons drawn, her mother sat on the gravel, handcuffs binding her violent hands. She looked angry, but her eyes were dark with the evidence of liquor. She looked well-rounded from a far, but JJ knew the truth, and the dirt under her nails made his stomach flip.

In the line up of tin and metal, a van with a label he’d known so well from watching his old classmates getting whisked away. Child Protective Services.

“Y/n!” He’d nearly fallen to the ground at how fast he jumped from his bike, the petals grinding against the gravel. He ran the rest of the way, desperate to know what had happened. He had seen her yesterday, she was happy yesterday, what happened? Why were the authorities at her front door?

“Y/n/n! Where are you?” He reached the back window, only to find the emptiness of the bedroom through the cracks in the glass. It was messy, but untouched at the same time. Every single item thrown around left where it had been yesterday. Her pajamas she had laid out, still thrown over her flattened pillows. Untouched.

He hadn’t seen her leave, didn’t hear her cry. The van was empty, he’d caught a glimpse through the tinted windows. They hadn’t snatched her away yet, so where could she have gone?

“Come on!” He grunted, his palms pressing underneath the stubborn window, the wood groaning as the glass slide against itself. His thirteen year old arms bent under the weight, and he cursed his scrawny limbs. The glass only cracked more as it finally shot up enough for the blonde to wiggle himself into the room, soft thuds and gasps escaping his lips as skin pressed between wood and plastic.

“Y/n!” He pleaded more softly, weary of the fact that he was sure the entirety of the Kildare Police Department was lined up outside, and the breathlessness that came with the pressure on his lungs.

He earned no response, and in a desperate effort to trace some clues back to her, he began further ripping the room apart, spinning in circles for some sort of clue, evidence she still existed, that she wasn’t just some name in the wind, another urban legend spread around Kildare for the tourists to gawk at. Underneath her bed, behind the small table she’d made herself with rotting wood and hot glue, in the piles of clothes thrown around. He spun around and bent over until everything ached and he grew dizzy.

His eyes found the crooked clothing rack, a cheep bar of metal she had found with him in a ditch beside an old thrift store. She had painted it teal in the fifth grade and carved her initials into the posts. Her favorite pair of overalls hung limply from where they were draped over the bar, swaying in the wind with a crinkling sound in the front pocket laid flat out in the center of the chest, still covered in mud from their last adventure.

He investigated curiously, and in his best attempt to slow down in his desperate hurry, he pulled out a small slip of paper with his name scribbled on the front.

“Jesse James.” It read just beneath his real name, though it seemed now that she had become the true outlaw.

He opened it with shaking hands, his brows furrowing. When he saw the familiar scratchy handwriting, he internally let out a sigh of relief. Thankfully, this wasn’t another one of her failed cursive lessons he always failed.

“JJ,” The note began, “The rich are the bane of my existence. I hope one day, when we are older, we are rich in all aspects of life but the literal sense. Maybe it’s just Kildare, but the more money that lines their pockets, the more cruel people seem to get. But we will be kind forever, and we will continue to swing from tree branches and work long and hard for the simple pleasures. I’ve been ratted out; or—my mom has. Ward Cameron passed by earlier to return a shirt I left at their house at the end of the year party. It was one of her bad nights, you know how she gets. Anyways, he must have heard her, seen it. I didn’t even get the chance to wipe my blood off of the window before the cops started pulling into the driveway. I’m running. I’m running far away into the trees where nobody without a heart will be able to trace me. I promise to come back. After all, what is an accomplice without her influence? But I cannot keep our dream safe in a faraway place where they want to take me. If you need me, picture me in the weeds and you’ll hear me in the folk songs at the Chateau. Until we dance again, Y/n/n.”

JJ stood there in the silence, the banging from outside the house leaking indoors, and soon, he had no choice but to slip out of the familiar sanctuary that was her bedroom, the paper hidden in his blistering palms, damp with the sweat the coated his now clammy skin.

They were thirteen then, freshly graduated from middle school and ready to take on high school. She had been leading the class in all ways, kindness, brains, bravery, and now, there was nothing left but the crumpled note JJ had thrown in the fire out of bitterness towards the Kooks and whispers about the girl who disappeared.

To Narnia, they said. The ball of sunshine and endless life had slipped away to a place where only the creative are let in. She would be a pirate there, she wouldn’t have to hide in the closet on beneath the sheets in fear. She was as free as the August breeze, and JJ was as lost as a drunken sailor.

JJ decided he didn’t want to be an outlaw anymore after his first time behind bars. It wasn’t as fun as she had pictured it. Maybe if the trouble was something interesting, a scheme they could have conjured up together, but it wasn’t a sadder reality. Pirates weren’t on peg legs with eye patches and parrots anymore, and the good and interesting were more boring as they tried to come up with philosophies that could never measure up to the youthful spirit she once had.

He wished for all the beautiful things he once had, and often he found himself wondering if they even still existed. His friends were his life, his soul. But he could still see her braids in woven patterns, hear her feet hitting the concrete and whipping in the tall grass in the breeze, and her laughter in those old cheesy folk songs John B’s dad used to play.

JJ found bliss in recklessness. Partially for himself, but also for her. He always believed in the idea that no matter how far he strayed away, pieces of him would always reflect his father whether he liked it or not. So, when presented with the possibility of a gold hunt that led him right into his jail cell, he took the chance, gambling away his safety for the thrill of the chase.

They had gotten so close too, the heavy metal sitting pretty and shiny in his hand. But he never won, no matter how hard he tried or how much he gambled and chanced and risked, he always came up short, the small half of a wishbone, the edge of the party crackers. He felt like an outlaw now, and it wasn’t nearly as fun as it should have been.

How they all ended up on some boat, JJ had no clue. Well, he had some hints, another forbidden treasure stolen just when he thought they finally won, and now, nothing but heavy breathing in a heated storage container that had no food, no water, nothing but pointless rope and endless trash.

The B team, is what he referred to himself as, which Kiara had taken offense to. Sure, it was low of him to refer to her like she was a worse option, but the blonde was itching for some action.

But he was benched. Benched because he was everything she loved. Reckless, unpredictable, free. He protected that sweet sliver of childhood beauty he found when he thought of her memory. Her sweet eyes, her sweet smile. He had never thought about anyone like that before, and not ever since. He hated braids, hated the way they reminded him of her, how Sarah and Kiara would slap his hands away and grumble about how childish he could be. She wouldn’t have gotten angry, she would have laughed. Or maybe she wouldn’t, he didn’t really know anymore and that killed him.

It killed him that he couldn’t know because he didn’t even know if she made it, if the trees were kind to her or if she had swung herself over the edge on a vine stretched too thin.

She would be eighteen now, just like him, though he was a little older. He wondered if she still wore the two loose braids down over her shoulders, taming her wild hair and tucking her curly strands behind her ears. Did she still swear by overalls? Dare to run barefoot over the hard cement and dive head first into thrashing water? Were there still beautiful things to her, or had life finally caught up to her?

JJ didn’t know her face, and he was sure if it weren’t for the hours he spent trying to find her, trying to trace her cheeks even in photographs, he wouldn’t recall it at all. She was five years older, and so was he. He wasn’t scrawny, he’d swore to get strong so that the day she would finally return, he could slam the windows open and keep her tucked safely behind him.

“What are you thinking about?” Kiara spoke up, legs swinging softly from where she sat on top of piles of plastic and wooden crates. JJ sat curled up in the corner, his elbows resting heavily on his knees. He’d never been so sweaty.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged plainly, focusing on the small circles on the floor made of rubber. They weren’t very comfortable.

“You gonna tell me, or should I guess?” She smiled, tucking her hair behind her ears. He saw a flash of someone he once knew sometimes in her. Sometimes it was nice, other times it made him angry. It wasn’t Kiara’s fault though, not her fault she had spent so much time around the lively firecracker of a girl that she had also become another version of Y/n.

“I know I said a surf trip would be good. I mean it would, but do you ever think about what you might do with all that money?” JJ furrowed his brows, licking over his lip, the split in the corner of the bottom lip stinging at the sensation.

Kiara hummed, leaning back and stretching her neck to catch the passing breeze through the small opening in the top corner of the metal container covered by a vent.

“I mean, yeah. A stable home life would be nice. Then, I’d probably do something with turtles. It’s a lot of money so, could probably do a lot with it.” She reasoned, wiping her skin with her palms and blinking the salty liquid away from her eyes.

JJ hummed. She had it all figured out, her real, serious dream that had stability and certainty. All the things Y/n’s dream never had, the very dreams she made JJ want just as bad.

“You know what Y/n would do with all this money?” JJ snorted at his own thoughts, practically hearing her voice ringing through his head. He heard Kiara hum, waiting for him to continue, and he simply smiled wider. “Absolutely nothing.” He laughed to himself.

Kiara laughed too, knowing deep down he was right. Maybe a tree house, or a small plot of land on the outskirts of society where all good things green can grow and only the wild folk dare to stumble, but nothing more than that. A few thousand, if it even were to cost that much, and the rest pocketed, maybe donated. Maybe just enough left over to buy some new shoes, some good shoes for dancing.

“A lifetime supply of overalls and red converse. Maybe even some nicer scarves to tie in her hair.” Kiara entertained JJ’s thoughts. She still thought of the girl every so often too, they all did, but no one more than JJ. After all, nobody had known her nearly as closely as JJ had. A bond that only comes once every few lifetimes, that’s what they had, Kiara was sure.

“She’s probably outgrown the overalls.” JJ added, and silence fell over them. Then, in the still air that coated the small space in a thick layer, laughter bounced between the pair.

Such a funny thought, to think Y/n could ever change. She had been a lot of things, but she was always herself. She found what she loved, and she loved them dearly. There was no changing her free spirit and old habits, it was who she had grown to be, through and through.

“What do you think she looks like now?” Kiara wondered out loud, looking down at JJ to see the way his brows furrowed and he pulled at the corners of his lips.

JJ thought for some time, because though at first he had tried to piece together and image of Y/n all grown up in his head, he’d long given up on those fantasies because they were never her. Only bits and pieces of the girl he could never forget.

“Bangs.” JJ said suddenly, followed by nothing else. He could picture them, hair sun kissed and twisting up in wild curls that were swept to the side. Not full, choppy bangs, but those cut with rusty scissors in the early morning, just framing bits to tug out when she put her hair up.

“Bangs?” Kiara chuckled, her hands subconsciously slipping over her stomach, and her arms tucking into a firm grasp, a hug she was giving herself. “Nothing else?” She smiled, curious because she had thought about it a lot.

Her hair would no longer be in braids, and those sun kiss freckles would have multiplied like the sparkles in her eyes did. She would have an eyebrow slit, or a piercing, maybe even a stick and poke, all of which she would have done herself to make herself stand out. Maybe she would have finally grown out of her nail biting, but Kiara doubted that part.

“Nope.” JJ said wetly, leaning back further and letting out a deep sigh. “Just like she was, only taller and older.”

Part of JJ wondered if it was his heart forcing him to believe Y/n would never change, and then the other part of his would remind his aching heart that it didn’t matter, because he would never know. All he could do was do as she asked so nicely before she left, picture her in the trees, jumping wildly from stone to stone and dancing in the breeze.

“Do you think she made it?” Kiara wondered out loud, her temple now pressed against the metal confines of the container. The breeze soothed her burning skin, and her sweaty palms threaded through her tight waves.

“Y/n?” JJ asked like it was even a question. It wasn’t even a question to him, wasn’t even an occurring thought, not after the first time he really sat down and thought it over.

“She made it.” He said confidently, because he knew the girl, and even if she had lived in the mud amongst the bugs and the thick vines that attempted to grow over her tired body in the night, she would do it happily because she was living.

“Without a doubt?” Kiara shut her tired eyes, her chest deflating with every labored breath. Sweat glistened as it rolled down the slope of her nose, sparkling on the slivers of sunlight.

“Without a doubt.”

When she said she wanted to be a pirate, she had envisioned a life close to home, lounging around on John B’s old boat with her best friends, drinking from coconuts and ripping the skin off of mangoes with her teeth until the juice stained everything she touched. She imagined a life of pure peace, where the little things were enough and money was an afterthought.

But here she was, skin slick with sweat, hair stuck down to her forehead in damp curls, and her shirt clinging to the denim that covered her. The deck was cooler, a free space for her to stretch her eager legs, and though it was confined, she found peace in the open ocean, a vast space of blue expanding as far as her eyes could see.

Now, her back ached, her wrists just as damp as her face, and with each swipe of the backs of her hands against her temples, she simply spread the wetness across her forehead in a streaking mess.

She fed the flames, shoveling coal and other waste into the small opening, trying to fuel the large ship with what little energy she had left to offer.

Her back ached, and her knees were sore. She loved a challenge, yearned for the work because at least it gave her something to do, something to stick her needy palms into, but she was too worn thin to carry multiple jobs all at once. She desperately waited for the girl she had come to call her close friend to return, shovel in hand and thick gloves covering her relatively well-manicured hands. Cleo, she learned to call the girl over her few months spent on board, had abandoned ship, split when she needed her most. Nobody had said anything about her absence, so Y/n was led to believe she had left without warning.

It was hell below deck, a new low, and Y/n knew low. She could list a few things just from the past couple days if she wanted to scrape the surface, but most memories came from her earlier years, when college still seemed so far away, and she swore she would never grow old. She missed when her joints didn’t ache with even the smallest movements. She missed jumping from branch to branch and swinging herself into the depths of the ocean with reckless abandon.

More than that she missed him. Her best friend, and the only person who had ever believed her when she swore to live out her most childish fantasies. Anyone else always looked at her like she had dreamed of being a fairy, a mermaid, a princess. All things unrealistic and unreachable in her living situation and the rules of the world, yet JJ had always seen it as completely plausible.

If she said she wanted to jump to conquer a fear, there he was tugging her along and laughing the whole way down. If she wanted to dance, he would learn the steps, and fall into line with her, spinning and dipping her in the wet pavement that scraped against their bare feet.

So, as she shouted for some sort of assistance in the basement, she couldn’t help but wonder if she should have let them take her away that day. If she hadn’t been so set on remaining untouched, unfiltered, wild and free, if she had let the warmth of a calm, civilized home find her, would things have ended differently? Was it her mistake for chasing after a feeling of childish wonder that had been stripped of her? Was it wrong to want something so badly simply because her own life had been too hard to ever enjoy at a normal pace?

She hadn’t seen the thick greenery in years, the daffodils snd the daisies only vibrant sights when their stems were sliced and their leafs were wilting. She missed the mud between her toes, the summer air lifting her up. When she wore braids not because they kept her thick hair off of her neck, but because she liked the way they looked. When her overalls were a fashion statement, not because they shielded her from the dangers of her work. She missed the bright red fabric on her converse, and the old doodles from her friends on the soles when they got bored. They were caked in oil, and grime, and sludge. Dimmed by the struggles of her reality. She wondered internally if there were still beautiful things.

Then, like her prayer had been caught in the wind by her savior, there was some scrambling that echoed across the floorboards, followed by distant shouting and metal hitting metal.

Mumbling and chaos shook the frame where she stood, distant cries and grunts as bodies slammed together leaving her torn in a moment of desperation. Her heart ached to go, to run and finally catch her breath, to see what disaster had swept over the ship in such a short moment of time, but her brain thought logically, told her to feed the flames to keep everyone afloat. It was a split second decision, the divide between rational and reasonable.

And then she thought about all the good in the past few days. She thought of the glimpses of the world she’d stolen between the bustling mornings and the restless nights, of the small treats she stuffed in her pockets and the beautiful sunsets and clear constellations in the center of a world untouched by light pollution. She thought of Cleo, her only friend she’d found in a life where she only knew abandonment and fear. Where the only affection she had ever accepted had hurt her, and the only good and gentle people in her life had fled, Cleo had appeared like an angel, a thick accent and a toothy grin. Born and raised as a thief, and trained as a fighter. She was smart, and kind beneath her rough edges, and Y/n thought of the sadness in her eyes each time she worked until her bones stung. She thought of how badly she wanted to dive into the waves below them and pull the girl with her to show her how freeing running can be.

Faced with fear, she could not save either of them if she waited for another miracle, another moment to excuse her actions, to make her breaking loose seem justified if it were to all go wrong. If they’d have her head for betrayal, the ocean waited for her on all ends, and she believed in her ability to survive confidently enough to take the risk presented to her.

She took the stairs two at a time, and the door to the outside air swung open with such force, it echoed like a gunshot when metal connected with metal, bolts grinding together angrily, her soot covered hands staining the rusting exterior, the cheap white paint flaking off where her hand had pressed firmly against the door.

“Cleo!” She shouted in the wind, her arms covered in goosebumps as the slick sweat became a layer of gel that turned her warmth into an uncomfortable chill.

She looked frantically, turning corners and sprinting over ramps and down steep stairwells. She hopped over ropes and swung from bars, her dirty sneakers slapping against the floors in heavy steps, and her breathing coming out in short pants through her nose.

“John B!” A quiet shout rattled down the thin hall that lined the perimeter of the deck, bouncing off of the thick walls and hollow railings. It was a name she hadn’t heard in a while. For a moment, she thought she had imagined it, that in her moment of desperation to grasp onto the bits and pieces of bliss in her hellish life, her mind had reeled and found a temporary way to cope. But then it came again.

“Where is he? John B!” The voice called out again, whiny and pleading, and much too loud on a ship crawling with people who were indescribably more dangerous and destructive than the cruel people who lingered in her hometown.

Then came the struggle, more grunting, and the sound of shoes scraping against the floor in a slippery mess. She could hear faint taunts, familiar names of people she longed to see again ever since the day she had left, and the sounds of exasperation over the loud lapping of waves against the side of the ship.

“Kie, now!” She heard suddenly, a deafening shout that silenced all other chaos around her, her breathing slowing in her ears and her heartbeat pounding against her temples.

It was as if time slowed, and all things far away rushed at her in a blink of her eyes. It was slow, yet so fast, her vision blurring into a jumbled mess to the rhythm of her unsteady heartbeat drumming against her ribs, begging to get out.

It was a voice she prayed to hear again, only deeper and raspier, but still the same. A voice that called to her in her darkest moments and pulled her from her slumps, reminded her of all the beauty of instability, of pure trust in luck and intuition. A voice that she had grown to love and hold dear to her, one so precious she found herself covering her ears so that she would never forget the sweet sound of it.

“JJ?” She pivoted quickly, her hip slamming harshly into the metal railing and her shoulder making contact with the opposing wall as she used the accidental thrashing as momentum down the long, swaying strip of flooring she ran on.

She felt crazy, delusional chasing after a sound she wasn’t even entirely sure was real. She had been dehydrated, overworked, underpaid, forgotten about and thrown to the side amongst all the other treasures that laid untouched beneath the deck. She used to scream ferociously anytime she wanted, and now it felt more like her life had become an exhibit at the zoo, a cage for her bosses to look down on, tossing fish to keep her from starving. What had happened to her freedom, her love for recklessness? She decided to hold onto her delusion, to chase it because to be wrong was better than to be certain in her correctness and abandon her love for the chase.

“JJ? JJ!” She shouted, her voice coming out in broken cries, knuckles whitening with how hard they gripped anything with a corner or a curve. Anything that could keep her afloat as she dove into waters so deep, she couldn’t touch anymore.

“Cleo!” Her cries echoed through the tense air, carrying over the grunts and slamming and shouting that passed through coworkers, some she knew, and others she didn’t. If she couldn’t be given the life long dream to reunite with her drive, her motivation to keep going, she prayed to whoever was listening to her that at least her friend would be waiting for her at the end of the hall.

The boat rocked with a shift of weight, a crane groaning under the intense pressure of something indestructible, and in the glistening sunlight, Y/n caught sight of something truly magnificent. A golden cross shining in the halo of sunlight that surrounded it in all of its glory, a true treasure that had been, unbeknownst to her, been stuffed away just mere feet away from where she had been working until not a single inch of her body didn’t know pain.

She stumbled back at the sight, the jewels imbedded into the holy fortune sparkling with a beauty Y/n had never seen in person. It took her back to her days at Sunday school sat right beside JJ. Her mother wasn’t a religious woman, but JJ’s father was, and so with an excuse to be cut loose from the torture of her house—because she refused to call it a home; she too began to believe in something greater than what she was supposed to believe in.

For the first time in her life, her neck craned up to look at the artifact which swung ferociously in the wind, the groaning crane whipping it around erratically, Y/n closed her eyes, and she prayed.

She didn’t ache for the chase, for uncertainty in this moment. She was unchanging in all her beliefs, but for one singular second, she prayed and pleaded that for once, there would be certainty in who she would stumble across.

Then, with a sudden feeling of calamity in the midst of reigning chaos burning over the life she had grown accustomed to, Y/n rounded the corner, stepping down the last bit of the hall into the thicker opening of the side of the deck, lined with a few stray crates to block off broken pieces of the rusted railings.

And there it was, the sudden loss for breath, the heavy feeling that weighed down everything she could once do without even thinking. Her feet refused to move, and her nails dug into the ragged shorts of her overalls. The wind blew her curly, sweaty bangs across her face, tickling her nose. Her entire world shattered and then became rebuilt at the relieving sight.

It was a man she did not know, someone who had joined the expedition under the employment of someone Y/n wasn’t allowed to know. A man who simply worked for another man much wealthier than she was, erratically swinging his curved machete around in an act of violence against two people she recognized clear as day as if time had never passed them by.

Kiara sat bent over, the wind knocked out of her as her cheeks puffed up to try and keep what little air she had left inside of her. Her hair hung over her bright eyes, her pink lips bitten raw, Y/n could make out that detail even from a distance. But there, just s few feet away, stood JJ backed up against the railing, leaning dangerously close to the edge, his hair wild and untamed like the rest of his appearance.

He wasn’t the boy Y/n had left behind. He wasn’t the scrawny tow headed blonde who liked to tease and run, but rather a more muscular blonde with a fire in his eyes, passion that couldn’t be manufactured, but found through growing up. He was just as beautiful as she remembered, just as dear, just as lovable. Even without a single bit of insight on what he had been up to, how he could have changed, Y/n’s feelings for her best friend had been long cemented within her heart. She loved him like no other, to the moon and to Saturn.

She was only broken out of her lovesick visions by the sight of the unfamiliar man growing closer to her friends, his grip tightening around his weapon like a threat, and Y/n feared the worst.

“JJ!” Y/n found her tongue, which had previously gone numb at the sight in front of her. She had shouted out for the boy to warn him, to try and get him to recognize the mans posture, how he stalked over Kiara like a looming threat, but she was foolish to believe that the sight of her, even so many years later when she was sure he would have learned to forget her, wouldn’t stop him in his tracks.

His blue eyes found hers, and she could see how his body seemed to tense, and then very quickly, slump in shock. His jaw fell slack, eyes widening and brows furrowing, almost as if he was in pain, in some sort of conflict. To run into her arms, or to focus on why her shouting was so desperate, so raw and broken.

He wanted to speak, to beg her to tell him if this was all real, or if the heat from the container had caused some sort of heat stroke and he was hallucinating her up to comfort him in a time of crisis. But his breath refused to come out, and in a blur, the blunt end of a blade struck his head, and his feet swept over the edge of the boat, plummeting him into the depths of the sea below.

In that moment, Y/n realized three things. One; she had spent so much of her life dreaming, she had left so little time to go and live those dreams. Two; in every single thing she had ever wanted so badly it had become a part of her dreams, JJ had always been there right alongside her. In most, he even led her confidently, and three; that very same boy she had been dreaming of for endless nights, until her entire youth was filled with only dreams of him, had just gone overboard, and now, so was she.

Her dirty shoes scraped the edge of the railing. Part of her felt like spreading her arms out wide to welcome the wind, but as her wide eyes flickered from the golden hues of the sky to the deep blue that seemed miles away, fear struck her body.

It was a long drop. Much farther down than the rocks she had learned to leap from effortlessly, hand in and with her best friend to guide her. Water thrashed below her then, and it did so now too.

He floated below her, face down and limp and she felt her blood pumping. Back then, he had held her hand firmly and whispered out promises into her ear with each doubt she had. Back then, she believed every word he said when he promised there wasn’t a single possibility she would get hurt because he was right there. And when she leaped with him, he had been right.

“Wasn’t it fun?” He had laughed back then, so excited to have been right. Her face was unreadable, her lip trembling and eyes wide. For a moment, he had panicked, even at twelve years old he understood what it felt like to want to keep something so special safe. He held her face, cradled it in his wet palms until her cheeks lifted into a smile.

“Can we go again?” She had giggled, feeling a familiar warmth in the pit of her stomach spreading.

“Yeah. Yes!” He encouraged, proud of her bravery and her ability to find pleasure in things that once scared her.

He was always more brave than her in her eyes. She imagined if it were her down there, he would have already jumped in no hesitation.

Y/n looked down again, and then back at Kiara, who was back up on her feet, limbs tangled with the man she still didn’t know the name of. She was struggling to a degree, but quickly got some ground to push off of.

“Y/n!” Kiara called out from over the mans broad shoulder, eyes frantic and her skin dusty from the mans shirt and the wooden deck.

She could see her internal debate, both people who were so special to her put in situations where they were nearly helpless. To leave JJ meant he would be on his own, but to leave Kiara opened up so many more possibilities.

“Go! I’m okay!” Kiara promised as he pushed the man away, getting some leverage, and at the desperation in her voice, something inside clicked within Y/n.

The bottom of her worn out shoes scraped against the old metal, and for a moment the wind felt freeing as she leaped out, the warmth from the sun made it feel like flying, like by some miracle she could never fall. But the cool water below crushed her imagination as it wrapped around her body like a cold blanket.

When she surfaced, the world around her spun, echoes of her old pleas to go again ringing through her ears as her limbs cut through the waves desperately, goosebumps pebbling down her arms almost instantly.

“JJ!” She shouted, her voice raw and ripped from all the desperation she felt, how vulnerable and helpless she felt.

He laid on his stomach, submerged with no air like a starfish, only bobbing with the current. He seemed completely washed of all life.

She felt weak splashing over to him. She kicked and cut through the waves like she needed it to survive, and yet her malnourished bones only let her go so far so fast. It felt taunting to her, having to watch him get closer at a snails pace.

Y/n’s arms wrapped around him feebly, his larger body resting heavily on her shoulder. He was broader now, no longer the small boy she had to leave behind. If only he knew how quickly her dreams were crushed in order to survive, if only she’d been more careful, if she hadn’t left her shirt. If only she’d didn’t look like her father, if only her mother was a good woman.

“JJ hey, I’m back, wake up okay?” She smiled weakly, like her presence could shake him. He swallowed so much water, she knew it. If only she wasn’t so scared. If only she hadn’t been stripped of all the bravery she had learned from him.

The boy’s head rolled to the side with each tap of her wrinkled fingers, the cold biting their limbs with each lap of the waves crashing into them.

“JJ, come on wake up please!” She grew frantic as the water seemed to only grow rougher, a vision of the thrashing water between the jagged rocks clouding her reality and his weight sinking them down below the surface.

“JJ!” She cried out, her voice ripping through the heavy pants and her nails digging into his body. Blood stained his hairline, his blonde hair now darkened from the water and strawberry at the roots from his wound.

She knew it better than she ever had. He had grown stronger while she had been whittled down into only a shell of who she had once been. He was taller, faster, braver than she ever was, and as hard as she kicked her legs and splashed around, it felt like more and more waves seemed to pull them under momentarily.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She apologized towards the sky, guilty for not being able to keep them afloat in the choppy waters. “I’m sorry, I love you.” She promised, and she held onto him tighter with each passing second, even as her vision started to blur.

After all, he always loved the company and she was afraid of loneliness and the dark.

“I love you, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m trying J, I really am!” She promised through gasps of air, water falling from her lips more rapidly now.

“John B!” She screamed, her voice piercing through the empty space. “Pope!” She called out again, hoping that just one of her friends might hear her. Would they recognize her voice, she wondered, or had growing up changed everything about her? Had she become unrecognizable?

She surely didn’t recognize herself anymore. She avoided mirrors, and parties, and small talk often. She hated the sound of her voice and how it had changed and how she’d grown taller and how her freckles seemed to dot her face more messily. How she had to live with the changes that would make her harder to recognize if she would ever get to meet her friends again.

“JJ, please wake up.” She pleaded again, all other sounds beyond her heavy breathing and the faint ringing in her ears falling deaf.

She recalled the last time she heard him laugh. She heard it in her sleep, covered her ears to drown out anyone else’s late at night to savor the sound. She recalled running her fingers through his hair under the stars, promising him one day everything would be okay. It would be okay, right? One day it would be okay?

“Kiara!” Her throat felt raw now, the salt water tearing apart her dry lips and stinging the scrapes on her palms and knees. Everything hurt, the more and more she begged and cried for help, the longer time seemed to stretch. The heavier he grew in her arms.

There was nothing she could do to change what was happening to them, no plywood or branch to grab onto, no ladder or savior to come and save them. Her heart felt empty, her chest closing in. If she had a mirror, she would’ve seen the loss of color fading from her skin. She missed the certainty she once hated. She missed everything about knowing what tomorrow brought, when she knew JJ would still be tapping at her window, when he wasn’t lying limp in her arms.

She hated it and cried about it, though it was pointless. She cried out for help but her voice was muted with bubbling water, her head bobbing below the surface. For a moment, her vision cleared as the waves dipped, and she swore she saw the outline of a figure in the distance, but she couldn’t be sure. The waters rose just as quickly as they fell, and with a deadly grip, her arms wrapped around JJ to ensure not even the strongest currents could pull them apart as her body gave out. And in a sudden moment of weakness and a final soft apology and a kiss to the blondes cheek, the feeling of sinking was a gift.

Then, the tugging. It was desperate, nails drawing blood by her neck, three or four pairs of hands pressing their palms deep into her raw skin, fingers all wrapping around her before the depths could take her. She felt the rough material before she saw it, the dark grey fabric lining the outside of the small boat, a large motor in the back and each empty space filled with a familiar face, all of their legs bent upwards in an impossibly uncomfortable position to save space.

Her breaths came out ragged, heavy dry heaves leaving drops of water heavy with saliva stringing from her mouth. Blood trickled down the bridge of her nose, a new, burning scratch earned in the messy tug-o-war to save her from sinking.

Y/n swore she felt her heart stop with each cough, eyes squeezed shut and her back hunched over in pain. Her palms pressed into the bottom of the boat until her body found the floor, and her knees slide beneath her.

Still, she recognized two things; one, the air sent pins and needles down every bump that had spread over her skin, her joints screaming with each small bend; and two, JJ was laying lifeless just a few inches away.

His head was propped up against the side of the boat, the fabric wrapped around what Y/n assumed was an inflated portion of the body. His face was tiled away from her, having lolled to the side as the boy Y/n recognized as John B through her blurry vision frantically steered the boat.

The blood had stopped trickling down JJ’s forehead, but the sight of his breathing so shallow and uneven, as if he was fighting each time to get another chance to breathe, sent an uneasy feeling through Y/n’s body, and panic shot straight into her brain.

“JJ!” Her voice came out rough, stripped from all her panic alongside the copious amounts of water that nearly filled her lungs. But despite her obvious aching and tender pain, her hands grasped the boy with a new found determination, her knuckles shaking with the intensity of her grip on his skin.

JJ’s head rested against the boat, but his back no longer pressed at an awkward angle between the elevated sides and the hollow floors, but rather laid tucked against Y/n’s lap, her left hand pulling him close, even as her arm shook with his weight mixed with her weakness all while her right ran affectionately through his wet hair, trying to rouse him from his unconscious state.

“No, no, no, no. Please, please I just got you back please.” She begged, her trembling hand connected against his cheek in quick, soft taps.

Her eyes filled with tears immediately at the horrific sight, her lip trembling all the way down through her chin. She breathed deeply, but choked it all the way down. She could barely swallow, her saliva and her pride stuck between her teeth. Guilt consumed her.

“JJ!” She shouted, nearly demanding that he wake up like a distraught child. Her voice was laced with a whiny tone, each plea falling from her mouth more broken than the previous.

Y/n’s hands connected with JJ’s chest, no longer providing that warm comfort that her delicate palms had as her fingers ran through his hair and cradled his wet face, but rather quick jabs at his firm body, just below his heart.

Her curtain-like bangs hung in curls over her face, dripping onto JJ’s chin and neck and reflecting small images of the girls distraught expression. With each shake, another droplet rolled off of his skin, and with each push she felt his back dig into her knee.

Y/n felt hands on her back, soft, smaller hands gently pressed against her shoulder blades, right between the crevice between the bones. The fingers were adorned with rings, the delicate hands rubbing soothing circles as her back shook with suppressed sobs.

“It’s all my fault.” Y/n’s voice broke, her lips trembling and her words nothing more than a shattered whisper. She stopped hitting the blonde boy, and instead covered her mouth to contain her cries of guilt, and grief. “If I had been braver I could have gotten to him sooner.” She tried to reason, needing something to blame to give her some form of organization, even if the blame was inflicted onto herself.

“Y/n.” The girl who kneeled closely murmured, her hand a point of stability as Y/n watched the sky fall. “It’s not your fault.” She tried to provide comfort, but her attempts fell short.

“But it is!” Y/n nearly snapped, but not out of anger, of something else.

Everyone was looking at her, she had caught it the second they had pulled her from the sea. She was a spectacle, a great vision of the past, a figure that had slipped from the lives they had grown attached to long ago. Someone they had all missed and grieved in their own time. And so they stared at her and drank up the changes they had missed.

She was pretty. Y/n was always pretty, but now she was especially pretty. She grown up to be taller than she was when she left, her hair curls twisting all the way down her back, the short hair now a distant memory, and her body curving in ways that gave proof of her aging. She was the more mature version of the firecracker that had been shot too close to the sun too soon. Their light that had burnt out prematurely.

And so they all looked at her, ogling like she was something out of a fantasy film instead of looking at him.

“No, no, no! You don’t get it!” She threw her arm up in frustration, tilting her head back to force the building bile in the back of her mouth to go down. Why couldn’t it just all go down? Push it down, that’s what she needed to do. Push it down. Forget it, and push it down. “I’ve ruined everything. A-and I’m no good and I’ve fucked it all up!” Y/n sobbed, her head hanging forward now, shoulder slumped and her hands now gripping the wet shirt that clung to JJ’s body so tightly, her knuckles turned white.

“I should’ve jumped, I should’ve jumped in but I was too scared and he was there, he was there and if he hadn’t and it had been me he would’ve. He would’ve jumped in because he’s not afraid of anything. He would’ve have held my hand and he would have told me it would all be okay because he’s braver than me and he’s a whole lot better than me.” She rambled, and the wording of her breathless explanation made little sense to those who crowded around her, those who hadn’t experienced the moments Y/n and JJ were free of civility.

“Y/n.” Pope, the smartest of them all, spoke up, his voice emerging from behind a blonde girl she recognized as Sarah Cameron even all these years later and the familiar, yet somehow, not comforting face of her newer companion, Cleo.

Y/n didn’t listen, she refused to, too overpowered by her self blame, pointing her fingers at herself before anyone else got the chance. Why wasn’t anyone else freaking out? Did the loss of their friend not rip them completely open like it had her? Or had her best friend she had kept as a fond memory, completely kind and loving grown bitter and cold over the years? Was he not the JJ she knew?

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.” Her eye contact was fleeting, and in a final attempt to cling onto what she could before all was lost, her head fell to JJ’s chest, her forehead pressed against his shirt, listening to the fading beating of his heart.

Then, a cough, then another and another until a loud heave tore open JJ’s lips, a thick mixture of warm salt water and stringy spit drooling down his clammy skin, splatters of the mixture falling into Y/n’s salt-soaked hair.

She didn’t care, of course she wouldn’t, not even if it were blood and vomit, she swore she wouldn’t as she raised her head, her eyes flickering to where JJ’s brows furrowed, his shoulders drawing forward.

Y/n rested her hand in the dip on the center of his chest, applying soft pressure to ease his wheezing.

“JJ.” She breathed out, relieved and yet completely broken from the near loss, one she couldn’t handle again.

The thought alone shook her. He would never know how hard it was for her to leave, how badly she wished she had just hidden in the closet. But she knew her hiding could only do so much, the evil would find her and she had to go, she had to go to save them both.

"Yeah, yeah! Cough it out, cough it out baby!" John B encouraged, a sea of instructions following from the others in a desperate hurry, all reaching over to simply feel for a steady thumping of a pulse, all while the deafening ringing filled Y/n’s ears, her eyes stuck to the pretty sight of JJ’s face.

Y/n sat back on her heels, but her body fell forward in a deeper slump to protect the boy from the burning sun. She felt sick, and crazy, and confused. She wanted to throw up, scared of how fragile the boy might have become.

"Welcome to the land of the living, dude." Popes voice cut through the distant bells, the busy streets, all the background noise that flickered in short fragments through her head.

At her realization of his return, as it really sunk in, Y/n’s touch became a hovering sensation over his body, fingers shaking over his chest like she believed she had the power to only cause harm to what was already hurt, like she could fracture what had been a small crack.

Her chest felt like it was closing in, her ribs clenching around her heart tightly, and she wondered if it was what dying felt like, if JJ had felt something similar while each breath became less full.

Her mind spun like a broken clock, thoughts of self deprecation running in a constant loop, leading back to the same problems in similar processes with no end in sight. How beautiful was the feeling to be pulled from her spiral by the sight of his blue eyes focused on her face, tracing the curve of her nose down to the cupids bow on top of her lip.

She waited for him to speak, to say anything to her. Her heart pounded waiting to hear his voice, how lovely each syllable rolled off of his tongue. But the silence stretched on, just heavy breaths and tight grip that kept them connected.

His arm raised from where it lay limply by his side, his index and his thumb reaching by her arm to twirl the end of one of her braids between his fingers. In a swift motion, the pads of his fingers pinched the loose strands, and tugged for a short moment hard enough to tilt her head to the side.

She let out a soft gasp, only in reverse. All her air had deflated out of her chest, spreading a soothing sensation through her tightly wound bones just like the warm smile that expanded across her flushed cheeks.

Her laughter was a work of art, the most beautiful music JJ had ever heard, just as light and sweet as he remembered it. She hadn’t changed much, yet she had. She had more freckles now, and he found Kiara was right about the bangs. Yet her hair was still woven into the familiar pattern of two braids that now hung loosely at the bottom of her head, twisting and falling over her shoulders perfectly. She was taller, older, but he felt the shortness of her nails against his skin, and he couldn’t help but smile to himself knowing old habits die hard.

“There’s my favorite pirate.” JJ finally spoke, his voice gravely from the exhaustion that traveled through him, leaving his body heavy and soft in Y/n’s arms.

“Theres my favorite outlaw.” Y/n joked back, her voice just as soft as it was the first time he heard it that day on the beach. Just like it had been when he heard it even when she was gone, in the trees, and floating through the folk songs that spread throughout the old Chateau.

“Welcome back to the good life.” JJ laughed, and the sparkles in his eyes as he said it held every bit of truth within that statement.

It was a life that promised all she ever wanted to be. One where they could be interesting forever, where they would be kind forever.

This was the best life, the most freeing one she could ever dream of. It wasn’t about swinging from the vines or leaping from the ledges anymore, but rather the guiding hand on her back as she scraped her knees and chipped her baby teeth. It was always him, the influence to her accomplice.

She had promised to run freely with him again, to dance with him just like they used to and lucky enough, Y/n’s shoes were good for dancing.

“I claim thee, Poguelandia.” JJ’s foot propped up against the old tree that hung low over the sand. It’s tilted stump holding firm in the breeze, and its ancient branches shaking from the way John B’s hands gripped the leaves.

“Do we get a vote?” Sarah complained, rolling her eyes at the uncreative name JJ had thought of on the fly.

“Nope.” JJ smiled, pointing a finger at the blonde girl. “It’s already patented and pending.” JJ spoke confidently.

“Define that.” Pope sassed, crossing his arms and lying back against the old bark. Silence filled the sandy space, soft laughter echoing around the small circle everyone had created, sitting as comfortably as possible of the dying drift wood.

JJ shook off the comment, a smile forever present on his face despite the pounding headache and small bump forming on his temple.

“I like the ring of it.” JJ ignored Pope, pressing his palm against the large tree everyone gathered around and leaning into his hip until his shirt hung just above where Y/n’s body sat slumped in the sand.

She let out a soft laugh, if it could eve be considered that. More of a huff of air escaping her nose, a smile slowly spreading across her cheeks. Despite the quietness of her amusement, it seemed to only push JJ on, his eyes sparkling at the familiar sound he had gone without.

“I’m gonna make a flag. It’s gonna have a chicken on it. With a coconut bra smoking a ‘j’ in crocs.” He continued with his wild fantasy, watching how the girl beneath him hunched over with laughter and brought her hands to cover her toothy grin. “Y/n likes it.” He pointed out proudly.

“Yeah, I didn’t say that.” The girl quickly argued, tossing her head back and stretching her neck to catch his eyes. Though she tried to keep that same fight she once had with him, that natural bickering that made their relationship so beautifully complex, the reality that she finally had him again set in swiftly, and her serious expression failed to mask her excitement.

“Whatever, she totally does.” The boy swatted his hand, playfully pushing the girls head forward until she nearly bent in half. Just where they had left off, completely comfortable in each others touch and always ready to give back what they took.

“We were feeding a broken engine for hours, I think we’d both take anything over that.” Cleo pointed out, bumping her shoulder against the flustered girl beside her. Y/n couldn’t help but give Cleo a soft shove. An old habit she never really squashed.

“We? You bailed ship Cleo, don’t think I forgot.” Y/n said, pointing a finger at the sweaty girl who seemed uncomfortably close even with the endless amount of space around them. A whole island to themselves.

Then, with a careful glance to make sure JJ had leaned away from her, she stood up quickly, wiping sand off of the wet denim that clung to her skin, each cuffed leg weighing her down just a little more.

“Why don’t we leave the naming stuff to Kiara or Pope. Or you know…not you.” She twisted her braids between her hands, tugging the stretched bands out from the ends to free her now nearly dry hair from the patterns woven throughout. As she ran her knuckles through the tangles, her hands clasped around the legs of her overalls, her hands unrolling the pants until they sat just above her ankles.

“Where are you going?” JJ called out for her, not used to the proximity of her now that he had grown used to the distance. He chased after her as quickly as she began to walk away, chasing after the rush just the faint smell of her gave him.

“It’s gonna get dark soon, right? Can’t live off of salt water, J.” She teased, her feet leaving wet prints across the sand, kicking up the dirt in clumps that stuck to the backs of her heals.

He followed like a dog, practically weaving between her legs with his tail wagging in excitement, a familiar rush that was only brought out in the forever thrilling presence of her.

She took the pocket knife from the ripping pocket in the center of her chest, dark denim carrying puddles of the ocean in the stitching. With a bend of her knees, he watched as she dug the blade into the fabric that dripped around her feet, slicing the legs with a tearing sound just above her knee. With her other hand, she rolled the overalls higher, and stuck the closed knife back into its home. She left the cut pants in the sand where they had pooled by her ankles, walking by like it had been nothing. JJ figured she had done it before, probably when she was younger and on the run.

“I don’t remember you being so quick around a blade.” JJ teased, bumping his elbow against hers. He wanted to tug at her hair again, but his fingers curled around nothing by his sides as he decided on admiring the slope of her nose down to her pretty smile instead.

“Bull—shit, yes you do.” She laughed, turning to him with a sense of wonder in her curious gaze. “I used to cut you out of shit all the time!”

“Nah.” JJ played it off, but the blush on his cheeks betrayed him. “I let you. So we could play pirates and all that.” He lied through his teeth, recalling all the times he stumbled through the thick bushes just a little too carelessly and how Y/n’s rusting knife had cut his laces just a little shorter each time he lost a boot in the entanglement of twigs.

“Oh is that what we’re calling it now?” She bickered back, biting back a large smile in exchange for a playful grin. If she had access to the dusty space that she had once called home, she would have hung up the dusty laces that had been stored away in some box shoved beneath her bed.

“Yup.” He popped the p, licking over his dry lips with his tongue swiftly, tasting the salt on his skin.

A comfortable silence fell over the pair, her steps falling into line with his, and their hands shoved deeply into the depths of their pockets, fingers poking through the holes at the bottom from rough knuckles and heavy rocks.

With a heavy sigh, JJ tried to catch her eye, yet it remained trained on the sky like it was the most perfect thing she’d ever seen. He wondered silently if she’d seen the hues they once adored so much as kids recently, or if the thrilling life on deck had swept away her favorite thing, stargazing and watching the sky change as if she needed to put it to memory.

“So.” He finally broke the silence, her breathing hitching only to relax once her eyes found his, a gentle reassurance that everything would be as it once was, that the chase was finally over. “Was it as cool as it was promised?” He couldn’t help but ask, the same childlike wonder sparkling in his eyes.

“What?” Y/n let out a breathy laugh, wiping her hands on her tanned thighs.

“The pirate life. Where civility doesn’t exist and dreams can come true.” He clarified.

To anyone else, they might have believed it was condescending, a taunting question to shame her for her deathly grasp on all the childhood promises nobody ever kept for her. But to Y/n, she knew he really meant it when he asked, that he wanted to know if what they dreamed up was really as good as they pictured it on paper.

“It’s no Peter Pan story.” She breathed through her nose, eyes flickering down at the way her body was blossoming with bruises from her restless work, her dreams all crushed within the first week spent on the sea.

“I tried to make it Neverland, I really did. But you can’t change what happens to you, no matter how far you run. It’s like running in a circle. You go so far, yet nowhere at all.” Y/n knew she would never enjoy the pirate life she once dreamed of. In her dreams, JJ and her were co-captains, sailors with fancy white hats and no hooks for hands.

Now she felt like she should be fearing the ticking of the clocks, and running from the danger that once excited her.

“Did you believe it?” She couldn’t help but ask, wondering if her JJ had really waited to hear all the stories she promised to share with him, all the hustle and bustle of her fantasies.

JJ paused, then, looked at his sad friend’s face, and gave her a sympathetic nod. It wasn’t completely truthful, but that’s what happens naturally. He always believed in her and her curiosity towards the simple things in life. He believed that all the times he felt he had an ounce of childhood to hold onto were only beliefs because she had made them so. And when she had to go, so did the nice things he saw in nothing at all.

“I won’t confess that I believed it, that I didn’t have my doubts, but I always figured you’d be okay. That you’d find your way and maybe even come home.” What he didn’t say is all the times he’d left the lamp on, kept it burning on the porch so she’d know someone was home if she were to return.

He didn’t tell her that he had only gone on the wild gold hunt because part of him believed if he had the money to back it up, he could search every part of the earth to find her. Because it wouldn’t matter if he had or hadn’t told her, it wouldn’t make a difference and it wouldn’t change a thing.

They both made promises they couldn’t keep, and that was just the way life seemed to go. So she didn’t ask where he had been all these years, and he never asked about where she had gone. The timing would come to them eventually, and it would all work out. There was no point in catching up for two souls that had never been truly apart.

JJ and and Y/n had walked themselves to a ledge by the end of their conversation, nothing but soft breathing and the comfort of the wet, warm winds to wrap around them like a soothing blanket of serenity.

Y/n would be lying if she said the height didn’t scare her, if the wild waves below didn’t cause a crisp trepidation to shoot through her limbs. It was a big jump, the final leap she had always dreamed of.

The waves hit the smooth rocks, the rougher ones that stood tall thrashing with the heavy water. Sea salt coated their glistening skin, and as the wind blew through her hair, she came to a realization she had never considered before.

All this time she believed she had been something like Peter Pan. She joked about pirates, and running free, and all things children should know and love, and she acted fearlessly like she would forever be that version of herself. Yet, as time closed in on her and she grew taller, maturity had grown into her bones with each added inch. She was no Peter, she was more of a Wendy, and at first it had killed her, but only for a moment.

When she looked over to her side, she saw the blonde she had fallen in love with when she was still so little. They were young, and with their spirits, she was sure part of them would always be. And she knew then, if she was Wendy, he was her Peter.

“What?” JJ smiled, catching her glances. Standing proudly beside him, only older than the last time they’d met up. She had promised to grow up and come find him. She guessed she wasn’t lying about that.

"We will be interesting forever." She recited her promises from their youth, promises that were oceans deep with a serious smile, like she knew there was no other fate for people like them. "And nobody will ever forget how we lived like real people should and how we never let the temptation of a corporate paycheck take away the big picture."

Her hands reached up to hold JJ like she had when they stood only five feet tall. Now here he was, towering over her like he always promised he would. She wrinkled the shoulders of JJ's old tank top, the sides cut so far down, it was nearly just a napkin with a hole for his head. Everything about their attire screamed outlaws, pirates, lost boys, fighters, and believers. There was no fooling anyone, yet they carried themselves with pride, like the lack of civility in their lives was a thrill, the dirt and the worms and the bees and sweltering sunburns were all a gift to have been rubbed across them on their walks in the rain, in their summer time hikes to the secret beaches they weren't supposed to venture on.

The Kooks had it good, an easy life, but Y/n declared that they were the only ones living.

“Do you still dream the same dreams?” JJ asked softly, the wind blowing through his messy blonde hair, and the ocean rolling calmly below them now.

She nodded, letting her hands fall into his, and tugging at the loose threads that fell from his worn out friendship bracelets. Just fractions of the ones she had littering her own wrists.

"I still wanna be that girl in my eighties, dancing in the rain and running up and down the beach like my bones can't break away." She smiled, and he noticed how much more sincere it felt now. "And I want to scream, I want to yell. I'd scream ferociously, leaping between the waves like we did now, and I'd finally jump from the rocks, and I won't be scared because l'll have done it thousands of times." She painted her future, her desire with a loving glance into JJ’s blue eyes.

There was no money, no big house with a picket fence and an army of children. Just the ocean, some laughter, and enough fearless ambition to spill into the next lifetime.

"Sounds nice." JJ agreed, only now he had grown to have the same imagination as she did, he had it in him to dream a dream as pure and grand. He didn't need to live on figure eight, he didn't even mind being stuck with three jobs until he turned to dirt of it meant they would be dancing together forever.

"It will be. And you'll know it because you'll be there with me, and we'll be the same pirates we are now. We'll smoke on the roof and wear fancy clothing that we made ourselves. We'll ride the waves and make lemonade and sweet tea like John B's dad did when we were kids. We'll have mustaches from the sugar, and we'll be young forever with the grass between our toes.” She kept her word, because there it was, the same sparkle in her eyes. The same sweet, delicate wonder.

"Well,” JJ began, his eyes leading hers to where the grass overhung the large fall into the deep blue below. “we can start on that dream now." JJ declared hopefully, looking out to where the waved lapped at the shore. His ringed fingers pointed out at the rigid rocks that overhung the deep waters.

"If we've got a thousand of leaps to take, you have to start with one." He looked back at the girl, the way she didn’t seem to be nervously fidgeting like she had when he first promised everything would be okay.

"And then we won't be scared." She repeated to herself, but more to him, more for the memory of the first time she felt like flying.

"No, we won't ever be scared again." And there was a shared understanding, an understanding that dreams are just dreams until they make them more. If she could do this terrifying thing, all for the rest of her deepest wishes to come true, there was a new found certainty that anything scary could be done.

That she and JJ could do all the scary things the world could offer, even just as the awkward young adults they felt they had grown into. It was possible.

He took her hand more firmly in his, and counted down under his breath. There were hoots and hollers from the excited audience that had gathered below. Their friends filled with fear but also the fiercely spreading feeling of wonder and happiness that JJ and Y/n had found in one another.

With a deep breath, he led her off the edge, and in the moments that came before the cool water surrounded them, they swore they were flying. That they were living like nobody had ever lived before. They were seven again, then thirteen, and then back to where they found themselves now, flickering through the past as they came down.

It was only one of a thousand promised leaps, and Y/n didn’t feel any fear as the water poured into her ears.

Because when they surfaced, there he was, his hair wet and his smile wide. His hands clasped in hers, holding her arms over her head so high, her legs had to wrap around his waist.

“Again!” He shouted excitedly.

One promise kept, nine hundred ninety nine left to live.