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[funnybearkidsclothes]

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[mulders-too-large-shirt]

my favorite scully moments from s2

after the x-files are shut down, she gets moved to teach at the academy, and in episode 1 she does a little monologue on how a person’s body is a physical manifestation of a lifetime, which one of the students describes as “spooky”

when mulder sneaks off to puerto rico in the same episode, she goes into his place to try and figure where tf he went, and prevents his sneaking about being caught by the investigators who broke into his home with the power of feeding his fish

lecturing about the dangers of eating raw steak in episode 2, then getting lost down a rabbit hole of worm science

when no one was answering the door in episode 3, she just walks in. this made me laugh hysterically, i cannot explain. both of these guys WILL enter your home.

every single time she is a bit of a medical nerd, like when she learns about the surgery that allowed people to survive without sleep in episode 4, which she describes as “incredible”

(and the freckles + flower earrings combo were also a fave)

when she scans the piece of metal that came from duane barry in a grocery store in episode 6, and the cash register goes crazy. and she denies involvement and just walks away LMAOOO <- honestly i'd do the same!!

she wakes up from her coma in episode 8 and wants to write a thank you note to the nurse that took such good care of her, only to learn no such nurse ever existed. scully got to witness the paranormal for once!!!!

in episode 9, someone brings up a volcano scientist in conversation, and she says she had heard he was brilliant, which means that somehow she is keeping up with volcano news. she is a woman of many layers.

being deeply worried about this scared looking grad student she just met, and once again not waiting for an answer to enter her room and figure out if she is okay

(and when said grad student is being consumed by a fungus, scully thinks quickly enough to get herself locked behind a door, keeping herself safe, despite being handcuffed and otherwise looking death by fungus in the face)

in episode 11, mulder walks into his office, only to learn she has been there and has been going through his stuff since 6 in the morning. queen of getting results!

in the same episode, an old man overdoses on mushroom pills, and she shifts into Doctor Mode, yelling about “ventricular fibrillation” and “milligrams of lidocaine” and it was, like every other time she goes Doctor Mode, so deeply satisfying to watch

when she meets the two cops in episode 12, and can immediately tell they are having an affair and that the detective is pregnant, and despite the detective pleading with her not to tell a soul, the absolute MILLISECOND she is reunited with mulder, she spills the tea. and he is SHOCKED! <- arguably my favorite moment in the entire series so far

(and, to make the woman feel more comfortable, she confesses to also having had feelings for coworkers before which. elaborate on that, please)

but she really does care; when the detective ends up in the hospital, scully brings her a change of clothing <3

when she is so shaken by what she sees in episode 13 that she goes to the FBI’s onsite therapist; she’s too scared to tell mulder how she feels because “i don’t want him to feel like he has to protect me”

(as if there was ever going to be a choice; he is the protector and he Will protect, it's just his nature)

((and then later sobbing into his arms, realizing she doesn’t have to always put on a front))

toads start falling from the sky in episode 14, so she rationalizes that they likely came from a nearby tornado. this is a scully-approved theory.

they’re investigating a murder in the same episode, and a teenager starts pouring her absolutely horrific trauma out to both of them, scully holds her while she sobs into her jacket

honestly any time either of them know weird information, i love it. she says that it would take hours for a snake to eat a man and then weeks for it to digest in episode 14, and mulder makes some funny remark but it’s sooo endearing to me. she knows her snake facts.

then in episode 15, she notes poison in someone’s blood, but specifically that the poison comes from pufferfish eaten in Japan… girl i’m crying, she just knows stuff!

during that same case, they get rooms near each other like always, and she knocks on a door thinking it’s mulder’s. he doesn’t answer. she walks in and hears water running, so she just talks to him through the door to the bathroom. and i love this so much. i love that they are close enough to just walk into each other’s rooms and talk from behind the door while the other showers. it’s such married behavior.

working on the case in episode 16, we see her at home wearing a flannel, checking her computer, still serving looks but now giving casual

(and seeing the art she keeps on her walls- little postcards of beach scenes <3)

in the same episode, she knows mulder left to go get himself in trouble, so she bursts into skinner’s office to ask for help. but she feels bad for barging in on skinner, so she apologizes to him. which was very sweet.

when mulder is gone, she goes to his apartment to look for clues, and falls asleep on his couch

(and when X knocks on the door, she knows he is hiding something, and screams at him to tell her where he is)

this whole monologue from episode 17, which i loved more than life itself:

“several aspects of this case remain unexplained, suggesting the possibility of paranormal phenomena. but i am convinced that to accept such conclusions is to abandon all hope of understanding the scientific events behind them. many of the things i have seen have challenged my faith and my belief in an ordered universe, but this uncertainty has only strengthened my need to know, to understand, and to apply reason, to those things which seem to defy it”

(and that is just Her, isn't it? the need to understand, to rationalize. the worldview shaped on science- if she doesn't understand something, it's because a key piece is missing, and she'll find it. because the world Has to work that way, has to be bound by a greater logic, even if it is yet to be understood. to imagine otherwise would be impossible, to imagine otherwise would be to abandon hope in everything, and she cannot abandon hope)

((and maybe the idea that the world being something she cannot perfectly comprehend is a failing of her own understanding makes me a little emotional. but still))

she says that the whole loaves and fishes deal was a parable in episode 21; she is not a biblical literalist

(she then makes some sassy remark about things generating spontaneously, and mulder laughs in the corner. good to know he thinks she is funny)

every single time she answers the phone, she says “mulder, it’s me”, and idk i just think it’s so endearing

she thinks she might have been infected with a killer disease in episode 22, but mulder calls, so she tells him she’s okay and to take care of himself out there.... those are the last words she chooses, just in case they never talk again </3

and every time she says unsettling things, like “could be the residue of burnt human flesh” or “darkness covers a multitude of sins”, both in episode 23, i eat that up

reassuring her student who has just become a detective that she is doing just fine!!!

and then going to said student's funeral when things do not turn out fine... she loves her students that she taught for like 3 months so much :(

getting pulled aside by skinner and her bosses after mulder just acted wild in episode 25, and denying that she had seen any top secret files even though they say they will fire her if she lies lmaooo <- she is a ride or die!!!

but also going to his place, demanding assurance that she is doing the right thing by assisting him, and i love that. i love a character who will break all of the rules as long as they believe they are doing the thing that is morally Right, and that definition is so deeply her own, but she is committed to it, and she'll do anything to stick by it. and he just says something about getting the code that he wants broken, and despite how awful he's being, she goes through with it anyway because it's the Right thing to do.

later, her being the one to realize that mulder should not leave the house after his father was killed because he will be the prime suspect (he does not listen to this sound advice)

he stumbles into her place with a million degree fever, and she carefully lays him down in her own bed, despite the fact that he is soaked in his dead father's blood. and she takes care of him.

this one honestly deserves its own post because it is so incredible, but: shooting mulder with enough precision to get him to knock off his wild behavior that was going to make him look like he killed his dad, but not actually HURT him, then finding out krychek was putting LSD in his water, knocking him out, and driving 2 days to New Mexico to get him where he needed to be. AFTER he had been acting wild because he was inadvertently drugged, and had accused her of spying on him and being a traitor. that level of love is deep. very very deep. she is a Lover.

[runraerun]

Steddie Amnesia Ficlet: 2/3

-> Part 1 | Part 3 | AO3

cw: more head trauma/concussed!Steve discussions.

Steve hears Eddie call after him, but he doesn’t stop—he can’t face it. Not right now, anyway. Not when his eyes are stinging and his heart is pounding in his ears, each pulse more painful than the last. His legs take him to the building he’s supposed to go into, fueled purely by muscle memory. Not brain memory, of course, because nothing up there works properly anymore, apparently.

The Brain Injury Recovery Center.

It’s where Eddie expects him to go. He’ll catch Steve if he goes in, or he’ll wait for Steve by the doors until he comes back out—both options involve facing Eddie after Steve had made a total idiot of himself. Both feel utterly mortifying.

So he ducks into the alleyway beside the familiar brick building instead, just to catch his breath. It takes Steve longer than the average bear to sort out his feelings now, after all. Jesus, who’s he kidding? Everything seems to take him longer.

Steve feels hot tears streak down his cheeks before he angrily scrubs a sleeve over them. Of course Eddie isn’t his boyfriend. Eddie’s funny and cool and he’s in a band and he lights up every damn room he walks into—and Steve… well, maybe Steve was something a few years ago when he was in high school, and maybe he was even something before his accident, but now…

There’s a sharp clapping noise that sounds like thunder. A door slamming, Steve’s brain sluggishly supplies. It’s followed by shouting.

“Steve? Steve!” Eddie calls from somewhere on the street.

Steve’s heart feels like it’s going to fall out of his ass. His face is probably still blotchy and wet, his breathing hasn’t evened out yet and his eyes are still leaking like a goddamn faucet. He’s pathetic.

Can’t let Eddie see him like this…

He ducks behind a metal garbage bin, careful not to let anything but the bottom of his sneakers touch the sticky looking surfaces around him. It stinks, like rot.

“Steve?” Eddie’s voice echoes off of the alleyway walls. Steve claps a hand around his mouth to muffle out any of the pathetic sounds that seem determined to escape from him. So much of his body just does whatever the hell it feels like now. Out of Steve’s control, like everything else.

For a few, tense seconds, there’s silence. Eddie’s listening for him, maybe. Steve shuts his eyes and waits him out.

It feels like an eternity before he hears Eddie’s hurried, retreating footsteps, continuing his shouting for Steve. He sounds almost as panicked as Steve feels. Almost.

Steve gives a noisy, wet sniff and does one final scrub of his face before getting to his feet. He starts walking.

As he goes deeper into the alleyway, he thinks back on all the things he’s been wrong about. The fact that Eddie had some of his band t-shirts mixed in with Steve’s clothes… well, that was because they were both guys who wore about the same size, and Eddie left his shit everywhere. It’s no wonder some of his stuff got mixed into their laundry. And the times Eddie’s driven him places? That’s just… what friends do, Steve supposes. And all those times Eddie made Steve laugh? Made him feel like the center of the universe? Well, that’s just… Eddie. He must make everyone feel that way. It’s like his super power. But it isn’t romantic… It doesn’t mean anything more than Eddie being a magnetic person.

Steve is just so stupid. Painfully so.

He blinks as the sun hits him. He must’ve reached the other side of the alleyway.

Steve cups a hand over his eyes and grimaces. His migraine wasn’t backing down. He sighs. Time to head back.

Steve turns back into the alleyway he’d emerged from, only he’s about halfway through when he realizes the color of the buildings on either side of him are wrong. They’re brown on one side, painted green on the other. That isn’t right…

His heart jackrabbits in his chest, but he keeps walking forward. Maybe he’ll recognize the street once he’s back on the other side.

But when he gets there, it’s as unfamiliar to him as the alleyway. Steve turns, looking up and down the road to see if he could spot Eddie, or his van, or the Center. But there’s nothing.

And when someone shoulder checks him, Steve supposes he was sort of asking for it, standing in the middle of the sidewalk like that. He apologizes, but it’s too late. The person’s already out of range to hear him.

It’s as if everyone else is on fast forward while Steve’s stuck on pause. The world keeps moving along while all he seems to be able to do is watch it go by.

Why would he ever think someone as dynamic and spirited as Eddie would hitch his horse onto Steve’s busted up, barely mobile cart?

Stupid, stupid, stupid…

He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and wills himself not to start blubbering again like a goddamn baby. His life is already one big, painful lesson in humility as it is, he doesn’t need to wallow in it.

Steve keeps walking. Figures he’ll spot something, or someone familiar to him eventually. The pounding in his head’s eased off to a dull ache, at least. Maybe there was something to this exercise and fresh air thing the doctors were always going on about, after all…

The thing is though, Steve doesn’t spot anything familiar. Not even vaguely so, and it’s not until the streetlights turn on that he realizes he’d spent the majority of the day wandering around the streets like some lost dog that managed to slip his leash.

It’s cold too, and all he’s got on is jeans and a polo. It’s October, isn’t it? No wonder he’s got goosebumps all up and down his arms.

Then, he finally spots something familiar; a phone booth. Steve breathes a sigh of relief. He’d just call his parents. They’d come pick him up.

He gets the booth and lifts the receiver before he blanks. A quarter. He’d need that. Duh, Harrington. So he hangs up the phone and pats his pockets until he finds a wallet, but all that’s inside of it are a couple of crisp bills. He’d need to break one.

Steve turns, scans the street until he spots a well lit, invitingly warm looking diner. The joint looks so damn cozy that he forgets to make sure the street is clear before he steps out into the middle of it.

Tires screech, harmonizing with the horn that’s blasting at him—Steve flinches, reaching up to cover his head and braces for impact.

To his great relief, the hit never comes. Which, thank fuck. He can’t afford anymore accidents. As it is Robin’s threatened to make him wear a helmet full-time.

Steve doesn’t listen to whatever the person yells at him, he just hurries to get the hell out of his way of the other moving vehicles.

“Smooth, Harrington. Real smooth.” He mutters to himself as he catches his breath.

He pushes the door to the diner open with shaking hands, but it’s blissfully peaceful inside, and he can actually feel his insides unclench as he stands inside of it.

“Sit anywhere, hun, I’ll be right with you.” A woman’s voice tells him. Steve nods and slips into the nearest booth overlooking the street. Watches the cars go by. There’s even a couple of cop cars, sirens blaring, lights flashing. Steve wonders briefly what sort of emergency they’re rushing off to when the waitress comes to his table.

“What can I get you, handsome?” She asks, cheery and warm like the rest of the diner.

“Uh…” Steve frowns, taking a few seconds to process the question, “nothing. I’m just waiting for my parents to come pick me up.”

The waitress taps the side of the notepad. “Well you gotta order something, hun, or you can’t stay here.”

Steve wants to stay here. It’s warm and smells fucking amazing, like “pancakes?”

She waitress smirks. “Yeah, we got those. You want a stack?”

“Yeah, please.” Steve smiles back, laughing along with the waitress like he’s in whatever joke that’s currently so amusing to her. “I’m starving.”

“You want some coffee too, to help you sober up, maybe?”

“Oh, I’m not drunk.” He huffs out a little self deprecating laugh, “I wish. No, I—uh, my meds, they’re the kind that you can’t mix with alcohol. Coffee too. Bummer, right? Yeah… But, uh, it is what it is, I guess—so…”

He can feel it. The way his mind so often wanders. He’s lost his train. His track. He frowns, eyes drifting towards the street again, watching the headlights zip by.

“…so just the pancakes then?” The waitress asks, jolting his train back onto its rails. His attention snaps back onto her.

“Yeah, pancakes. Sure.” Steve flashes her what he hopes is a charming smile.

She returns his smile and leaves him be, and he lets himself relax. Props his head up on a fist and watches life go on for everyone else but him.

He gets his pancakes, and some juice too that he doesn’t remember ordering, but hey, that’s nothing new. And damn, the pancakes taste even better than they smell. He needs to remember the name of this place so he can come back with everyone. What did the doctors say? Repeat something in your head over and over until it sticks. Repetition. Repetition, repetition, repetition…

It’s around the time his fork hits an empty plate that one of the police cars stops in front of the diner window, lights on, but the sirens are off now.

Hopper steps out.

Huh. That’s weird. Steve wonders what sort of emergency he’s here for.

When Hopper enters through the glass doors, the bell hung over the entry way rings out pleasantly. An angel getting their wings.

His eyes land on Steve and the older man sighs, shoulders falling. Relief, Steve recognizes. Hopper pulls the radio from his belt and says something into it before stomping over.

Then it clicks.

Oh. Steve’s the emergency.

He feels his face heat up. The handful of other patrons scattered across the diner are all looking at him.

“There you are.” Hopper sighs, gruff and exasperated.

Steve sinks into his seat, just a little. “Shit. I fucked up, didn’t I?”

“Just a little.” Hopper chuckles dryly. He takes off his hat and slips into the booth across from Steve, apparently not in any sort of hurry now that he’s found the runaway dog.

Steve runs a hand through his hair, a nervous tic he’s developed. “Sorry.”

“Nah, don’t be sorry. Just strangle Munson for me when you see him next, will ya?” Hopper drops his hat onto the table and waves the waitress down. He orders a coke.

Munson. Eddie.

The memory of how he made a total and utter fool of himself comes rushing back, slamming down onto him like one of those cartoon anvils. Jesus, how did he forget that..?

Suddenly the pancakes aren’t sitting so good in his gut. Feels like he’s gonna ralph.

“Was he freaked out? Eddie, I mean.” Steve asks, cautiously approaching the question. Did Eddie say anything about why…?

“Yeah, him and Robin both. Then the kids found out too—don’t ask me how. I suspect the curly-haired one has an illegal transmitter.” Hopper leans back in the booth as the waitress drops off his coke. He takes the straw out and drinks it right from the glass. Steve waits for him to finish, doesn’t say a word.

When Hopper puts the glass down, Steve just sits and watches the way the drops of condensation run down the cup, distorting around the fingerprints Hopper’s left. “Anyway, they’re all out on their bikes looking for you too.”

Hopper smiles fondly, like it’s something charming and not… pathetic. “You got a lot of people that care about you, kid.

Steve swallows around the lump in his throat, and nods. Tries for a grin, but it’s weak. Probably wouldn’t fool anyone, much less a cop. “Yeah, I’m a real lucky guy.”

Hopper looks like he wants to say something else, but he just takes a breath and nods. Steve’s grateful he doesn’t argue. Doesn’t think he has the energy in him right now to fend off the ‘but look how far you’ve come!’ ‘Your speaking’s gotten so much better!’ ‘It could be a whole heck of a lot worse!’ comments.

“What do you say we get you home? Unless you want dessert? My treat.” Hopper offers with a grin.

“No, I just want to go to sleep,” he says, before remembering his manners, “thanks, though.”

“Alright then.” Hopper glances down at the cleared plate of pancakes and the half finished coke before sliding out of the booth, followed by Steve. He takes out wallet, but Steve beats him to it. He tosses down a few bills, hoping it’s enough. Hopper doesn’t comment, so it must be.

The drive back to his and Robin’s apartment is a solemn one, but it’s strangely peaceful. Hopper’s got the heat on full blast due to Steve’s lack of coat, and the motion of the vehicle along with the darkened sky leaves Steve feeling wrung out in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time.

In fact, when they finally arrive, Hopper’s gotta shake his shoulder to wake him up.

“We’re here.” He rumbles out in his gruff baritone.

Steve lifts his head from his folded arm and looks up at the modest building. He wonders how far they live from the pancake diner. If they could walk there, sometime, him and Robin and Eddie.

But then Steve realizes he never got the name of it. He feels his insides sink. Another thing lost to him.

“Thanks, Hop,” Steve gives Hopper a nod and what he’s sure is a tired smile. “I’ll, uh—I’ll try not to run off again.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it.” Hopper says, diplomatically. “Let me walk you in.”

Steve cringes at the idea. He’s grateful for Hop and all he’s done—especially the part about not making him feel like a complete dummy—but he just wants this all to be over and for things to revert back to how they were. And at this point he’s so close he can taste it.

Steve busies his hands by undoing his seat belt. “No, it’s okay, really—“

Hopper looks like he’s about to argue but Robin damn near crashes out through the building’s illuminated front doors. She makes a b-line for Steve, who’s just barely gotten out of the cruiser.

She wraps her arms around him and doesn’t let go. “Steve! Holy shit, you scared me so bad. I’ve been out of my mind!”

Steve’s arms are trapped at an awkward angle, but he reaches around her as best he can, arms like flippers. “I’m okay. Seriously. Look, not even a scratch.”

She doesn’t laugh. Just squeezes him harder. Truthfully, Steve doesn’t know if he’s okay, but it’s what everyone always seems to want to hear from him, so he says it often.

“I’ve already killed Eddie like three times.” Robin murmurs into Steve’s chest, before finally pulling away. Her eyes are bloodshot, her nose stuffy, like she’s been crying.

“It’s not his fault, Rob.” Steve’s brows pinch together as he frowns, “is he…”

But when Steve looks up towards their building, he can see Eddie standing in the doorframe, his dark silhouette illuminated by the entry way lights. He’s still as a statue, holding open the door for them, arm extended out into the cold autumn night. Steve’s insides squirm.

“You got him from here, Buckley?” Hopper calls from his cruiser and Robin ducks to meet his eye before giving him a thumbs up. She loops her arm around his waist and they start towards their place—towards Eddie.

Before they reach him, Steve keeps his voice down as he asks, “Can I just go to bed? I don’t—I can’t talk about it right now.”

“Okay.” She nods, “I get it.”

But she doesn’t, not really.

Steve avoids eye contact with Eddie when they finally reach the building, and before he can say anything, Robin interrupts. “He’s going straight to bed. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” Eddie says in a small voice. He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t even follow them back up to their apartment. Maybe Eddie’s even relieved he doesn’t need to confront it tonight. Maybe they won’t ever confront it… maybe he’s hoping Steve’s brain will take care of everything and make him forget. Make it like it never happened. Part of Steve wishes—

No. He doesn’t wish that. His brain’s already functioning at half capacity, he doesn’t want to thank it for fucking up, even if it might make Steve’s life easier.

Whatever Eddie’s expression is, Steve doesn’t look back to find out. He keeps his eyes on his feet, focusing on putting one step ahead of the other.

When they finally arrive at Steve’s matchbox sized bedroom, he doesn’t even bother changing into pajamas, or even out of his jeans for that matter. He just falls into his bed, pulls a pillow over his head and wills himself to let go of the day and surrender to the sweet pull of blissful unconsciousness.

🫣 Oops, I made it worse. But I promise the Eddie and Steve confrontation is in the next part! 🙏 This is tagged angst with a happy ending for a reason.

Tag List: (message me to add or remove yourself.)

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[nadal-designer]

[takamiwife]

guys.

bear with me but

imagine

elementary teacher y/n

like okay

this mf might as well be on the payroll cuz..

keigo would fly by the window, especially if your room was on a higher floor, waving to the kids and disappearing when you turned around, and you would pretend you had no idea he was there, telling your kids “i think you guys are just imagining things” while trying not to smile, all while they insisted that mr. hawks was right there!!!

bro would be so popular during recess. he’d stop by to say hi when you’re on recess duty, but all of a sudden he’s got a line of kids in front of him who all want to fly with him (which he does, of course) (he got in trouble one time because he was distracted with this while someone was getting robbed lol). if the kids ask him to race, it seems that all of a sudden he’s lost all his speed, and they win every single time

oh no, a kid forgot their lunch at home?? that’s so funny bc when keigo bought you two lunch, they just happened to give him an extra meal, and that he’d just hate for it to go to waste

during christmas time, keigo sees you making little baggies to hand out to your kids before the holiday break (candy, pencils, etc), but decides those aren’t good enough for his your kids, and you two spend the day shopping for gifts for all of them, and they love it

oh the kids are giving you a rough day? guess who brought you your favorite drink and a snack to pick you up

one day you fell asleep while grading papers so keigo decided to do it for you, but he couldn’t read anything they wrote so everyone got 100s

he’d always ask you if any of the kids in your class needed anything like food or clothing, and you always assured him that if they did, there were programs in the school that helped them. so he definitely listened and did not make sure to put extra money in their weekly take-home bag of food. definitely not.

he drank a little too much at the staff christmas party and made far too many snarky comments at your coworker that’s been giving you a hard time

it seemed that when you would watch him play with the kids at recess, for a moment, it seemed he was little again, with tiny fluttering wings and a wide smile, far before the world was cruel to him

[featherandferns]

rumours (fic)

jj maybank x grumpy!fem!reader | HEAVILY inspired

content warning: mentions of drinking and smoking; absent parents

word count: 20k.

blurb: your life has been surrounded by rumours, and so has JJ Maybank's. One night, out of the blue, he strikes up a conversation with you. From there, the rumours only grow, and some rumours are far worse than others.

There was a rumour that you and your sister weren’t allowed to date until graduating high school. That one was true, until March of Junior Year.

Kildare Academy was full of spoilt assholes.

Well, in fairness, not everyone fit into that category. Some people were spoilt but bearable, and some people were assholes but not particularly spoilt. Rafe Cameron was the perfect culmination of both. He was in your junior year despite being a senior. He flunked so hard last year that the academy insisted that he retake it to graduate with a subpar diploma. At the yacht club, it had been the talk for about two months, much to the displeasure of Ward and Rose Cameron. You’d found yourself sharing nearly every class with Rafe since the year started and, man oh man, was it torture.

He found you the perfect bear to poke, never passing the opportunity to make a jab about your clothes or your face or your overall demeanour. The latter to mean that you weren’t the most approachable of people. Whilst you self-described as tempestuous, others might prefer the term ‘heinous bitch’. Rafe Cameron knew how to push your buttons it seemed, and you in turn knew how to bite back just enough to leave a mark.

“I can’t wait to get out of this town,” you complain to your friend Mia. “If I have to spend another seventeen years surrounded by these half-wits then I’ll pull a Sylvia Plath, I swear.”

“Clearly today has been a good day,” Mia chuckles. She’d known you long enough for the bitter grump of your character not to phase her. “Rafe bothering you again?”

“He’s intolerable,” you tell her, indirectly answering her question. “In music today he thought it’d be funny to put cola in the trombone. Men blow my mind with their stupidity. God knows how the patriarchy was even formed with how little brain cells they use.”

The two of you walk down the stairs of the school, heading to the parking lot amongst the herd of students. The spring weather is finally creeping in now that you're in March. The floral smell of blossoms hangs in the air, embracing the world in a warmish breeze. The briefly pleasant moment is rudely interrupted by none other but the devil-boy himself. His bright red Mercedes whips into the throughway of the parking lot. He doesn't seem to care about hitting anybody. To him, others are like bowling pins: he’d probably take delight in taking someone out.

You and Mia ignore him as you walk up to your car. At least, that was the plan, until you look up from your keys in time to see your younger sister Charlotte hopping into the back of Rafe’s pimped out ride per his offer.

“That’s an interesting development,” Mia remarks.

You watch as Rafe revs the engine - grinning like the pompous asshole he is - before jetting away. He narrowly misses knocking some poor kid off his bike in the process.

“It’s disgusting, is what it is,” you correct, promptly blinking away the surprise.

You follow Mia into your car, tossing your track bag into the backseat, and start up the engine.

Charlotte was only fifteen. She was young, innocent, carefree and (more often than not) insufferable. You couldn’t be more different. Whilst Charlotte searched for the good in people, you tried to find ways to stay as far away from them as possible. The only tell that you were related were your features. The same nose and same chin, you taking your father’s eyes and her your mother’s. At school, Charlotte enjoyed pretending that she didn’t know who you were. Your reputation didn’t pair well with hers, and at fifteen, nothing was more important to Charlotte than popularity. Those things didn’t matter to you. What someone thought of you didn’t make much difference to your mood or your future. Studying on the other hand? That was the stuff of consequence. Nevertheless, you cared for your sister. Her cushioned upbringing made her vulnerable. She had been sheltered by your family’s wealth and because of your father’s obsessive protectiveness, her experiences with boys were minimal. That to say, having her in Rafe’s line of sight certainly made you uneasy.

You drive home chatting to Mia about the plans for the weekend - planning to head to The Wreck for lunch on Saturday - but you can’t stop thinking about Charlotte sat in the back of Rafe’s car. When you pull up outside Mia’s house, she pauses just after opening the door.

“What do you think that was about? With Charlotte and Rafe?”

“Honestly, I have no idea,” you reply, turning down the radio. "But I’m not gonna let it go any further.”

“Amen,” Mia agrees. With that, she gives a small wave and climbs out the car. “See you tomorrow.”

“See ya.”

When you pull up outside your house, you spot your dad sitting on the porch. He’s probably reading notes about the latest case he’s taken on. As one of the best lawyers on Figure Eight, he always has plenty of work to be chipping away at. Sometimes it feels like he has a new client every week.

You make your way up the neatly kept garden path, the creaking gate giving you away.

“Afternoon sweetheart,” he says, not looking up.

“Hey dad,” you reply, walking up the steps.

“How’s your day been? Made anyone cry yet?”

“Not yet, but the day’s still young,” you return, only half joking. With that, he glances up. “How’s the case?”

“Long. Boring. Don’t let on that I said that.” he says. “Where’s your sister?”

Before you can delight in telling, as if manifested into existence, Charlotte comes floating up the pathway. Her ridiculously short white tennis skirt floats in the wind like a dove’s feathered wings taking flight. Not one hair is out of place and not one eyelash misaligned. You resist the urge to roll your eyes as she makes her way up the stairs.

“Where’ve you been?” your dad immediately quizzes.

“Nowhere daddy.”

“How come you’re later home than your sister?”

“Well, somebody wouldn’t give me ride,” Charlotte replies, shooting you a glare. Her perfect smile takes on an edge when you lock eyes.

Your dad sighs and looks up at you. “We talked about this. Until Charlotte gets her license, you drive her to and from school. Y’all are both heading to the same place anyway, so what’s the big whoop?”

“She hijacks my radio and plays fluffy pop crap.”

“Taylor Swift is not ‘fluffy pop crap’. She’s the bible itself. You’re just not used to listening to good music,” Charlotte replies.

Swallowing your anger, you correct your stance, folding your arms across your chest. Biting back a smirk, you say, “ask Charlotte which guy drove her home today.”

“Don’t change the—Guy? What guy?”

Charlotte’s face goes to drop but she recovers quickly. Taking a reproachful step towards your dad like he’s an unpredictable stray dog, she talks in a sickly-sweet voice.

“Now, daddy, don’t be angry, but there’s this boy at school and I think he—”

“Believe me, I think I know what he’ll be thinking,” your dad immediately cuts in. “And the answer is no. It is always no.”

As your little sister’s eyes flash to yours, you grin victoriously. Enjoy, you mouth to her. The angry twitch in her brow is delightful.

“Daddy, this is ridiculous! I’m the only girl in high school who isn’t dating!” Charlotte whines.

“You’re fifteen, you don’t need to be dating. And you’re not the only girl. She isn’t dating either,” your dad replies, shoving a thumb over his shoulder in your direction.

“And I don’t intend to. I got bigger fish to fry,” you say. Charlotte’s deadly stare hardens tenfold. “Besides, the boys in this town are whack jobs.”

“Like music to my ears,” your dad practically sighs. Very rarely do you seem to please him, but your stance on boys appears to be the one common ground the two of you have. “Now y’all both know the rule: no dating ‘til you graduate.”

“This is so unfair! The two of you are so unhinged!” Charlotte goes on. She seems about a minute away from stomping her feet and waving her fists like a toddler throwing a tantrum. You’re only half ashamed to say that you relish in every moment of it.

You see, Charlotte was a daddy’s girl. Pretty, pink and poised, she loved the theatrics of Kook life. At the yacht club gatherings and the monthly dinner parties, the two of them would soak up every minute whilst you’d skulk in the back, headphones in and bitch-face on. You’d never much connected with either of them. Your mom understood you well, but she wasn’t around now, so, what did it matter? All the Kook crap was just that to you: crap. Fickle people who were so rich that their nerves were deadened, leaving them to enjoy nothing more than gossiping about everyone and everything. Whilst one half of the island waited tables and sweated out in the sun day-and-night to keep the lights on, the other was complaining about their golf clubs not being shiny enough. It was all crap.

“Alright, fine. Here’s how we fix this. Old rule out, new rule in. You can date,” your dad says to Charlotte. Her smile is instantaneous. As your mouth goes to gape open in horror – the thought of Rafe Cameron snapping up your sister like a crocodile preying on a bunny – your dad makes your day. “…when your sister does.”

“What!?”

“Har har,” you grin.

Charlotte points accusingly at you. “But she’s a mutant! You couldn’t pay a guy to date her!”

Your grin only grows with the thought.

“Then I guess you’ll never date. Oh! I like the sound of that,” your dad gloats. God, you have never loved him more. “Now get out of my hair, the both of y’all. I need to get these notes done for tomorrow.”

“Thanks dad,” you chirp, promptly heading into the house. Charlotte is quick to follow.

“You’re evil,” she hisses.

You shrug, back facing her as you start up the stairs. “And you’re spoilt.”

“Urgh! Has it ever occurred to you that you’re like clinically insane!?”

“Don’t care!” you sing-song before darting into your room, closing the door behind you. Through the wood, you hear Charlotte let out a shriek.

Smiling, you dump your school bag and take up shop at your desk, hoping to get some studying done, peaceful at last with the thought of Rafe Cameron never getting near your sister.

There was a rumour that when JJ first spoke to you, you spat in his face. That one was false.

“Hiya princess.”

The rasp of a guy’s voice interrupts your conversation about the yacht club’s annual spring-ball with Mia. Slowing turning your head to your left, you come face to face with a dirty-blonde haired boy. He looks to be about seventeen. His skin is slightly glossy, presumably from sunscreen and sweat, and there’s a smirk hiding behind his smile. That’s when you know that this boy is trouble.

“You talking to me?” you ask, unimpressed.

“Who else?”

“Hopefully anyone,” you say.

Mia snorts. You look away from him to share a bemused look with your friend. This guy cannot be serious…

“You need’a hand there?”

Eyebrows pulling together, you glance at him. He seems to think you’re confused about what he’s referring to, nodding down to the Sprite bottle in your hand. The cap’s still on. The truth is, you’re confused as to why he’s even talking to you at all. Wordlessly, you lift the bottle to your mouth and secure your teeth around the cap. There’s the satisfying click-crack as it comes lose and you spit it on the floor by his feet. Then, holding his gaze, you take a drink. His eyebrows quirk up in surprise.

“That’s, uh, certainly one way to get a guy’s attention,” he says, chuckling to try and regain some charm.

“My mission in life,” you return. Then, before he can cook up something else to say, you turn to Mia and loop your arm in hers, guiding the two of you to the exit of The Wreck. You’d been planning on heading out anyway, having finished your lunch earlier, and this was a sign from the universe that whatever good time you’d been having was officially over.

Unfortunately, the guy doesn’t seem so easily deterred.

“I’ll pick up at eight then?”

“Oh, yeah, eight. Uh huh,” you agree dismissively.

He falls in step with you on your left, hands casually shoved in his short pockets, combat boots loudly thudding on the wooden floor.

“Well, you know, the night I take you to places you’ve never been before.”

You see his boyish grin in your peripheral, making you whip your head around to meet his stare.

“Where? The seven-eleven off main street?”

His lips part, blundering for some quick-witted reply, but you don’t give him chance.

“Do you even know my name, screw-boy?”

The smirk is back, full force. Tilting his head slightly, self-assured, he replies, “I know a lot more than you think.”

“Doubtful. Very doubtful,” you assure.

Finally, you and Mia seem to shake him. He doesn’t follow you to your car door and he probably made the right call, because you were moments away from using the bottle of Sprite as a weapon. As you unlock the car, Mia leans against the side of it.

“What was that all about?”

You spare a glance back to The Wreck to find him stood there, glancing inside the building as if debating heading back, scratching the back of his neck. His misplaced confidence seems to have dwindled significantly. Ah, success.

“God knows."

“You know, I think that’s JJ Maybank. One of them Pogues who hangs out with John B,” Mia says.

JJ seems a fitting name for him, you think. You vaguely recall seeing the Pogues hanging around. Kiara from the academy seemed quite close with them. You watch as he pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting up and taking a drag. Gross.

Pulling open your car door, you look back to Mia. “Come on. Let’s hang out at the beach.”

“Yeah, and far away from that nutjob,” she snorts, walking around the car to the passenger side.

As you go to climb in, you find yourself looking one final time to the entrance of the restaurant. The messy haired boy is nowhere to be found. Good riddance, you think to yourself. Happiness restored, you swing into the driver’s seat and shut the car door.

There was a rumour that your mum was in witness protection. That one was false.

You weren’t entirely sure how it got so late but it was nearly one in the morning. Having spent the past three hours studying, you’d sort of lost track of time. Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head when you’d checked your phone screen.

“Goddamn,” you mumble. Pushing away from your desk, you close your notebook and switch off your lamp.

Walking to the bathroom, you don’t bother closing the door. You know your dad’s asleep by now and with his own en-suite, there’d be no reason why he’d need to use this bathroom. Charlotte is probably asleep too: beauty rest and all that. You turn on the faucet and pull your hair out of your face. You wash and dry and reach for your toothbrush. That’s when Charlotte appears.

“Oh,” she startles. “Didn’t know you were still up.”

“Could say the same to you.”

You take in her pyjamas. They’re Roller Rabbit, selling at $150 a set. Pastel pink and plum purple, they sit sweetly on her dainty frame. You on the other hand are dressed in an oversized t-shirt that you got given for free at an indie film festival, and a pair of boxer-short bottoms.

“Cute pjs,” you tell her.

“Thanks. Daddy bought them for me,” she chirps.

Charlotte makes a b-line to the vanity. She opens the drawer and retrieves the tweezers. You watch her in the mirror as she tames her already perfect eyebrows. She makes eye contact with you through the reflections, taking in your own nightwear. “You could try a new look, you know? People might like you if you weren’t so hostile.”

“I’m not hostile,” you defend. You put toothpaste on your toothbrush, breaking the line of gaze. “I’m annoyed.”

“Potato potata. I wouldn’t be able to stand it if people didn’t like me.”

“You forget that I don’t care what people think,” you reply honestly. What would it matter if some thought you unwelcoming? Everyone ends up as bones in the ground anyway.

“Sure you do,” Charlotte says. “At least on some level.”

It’s too late in the night (or early in the morning) to argue. Instead, you start brushing your teeth. Charlotte goes on pimping and preening her appearance in the mirror silently. She produces a jade face roller and begins massaging her cheekbones and jawline. It takes everything in you not to roll your eyes. As you’re rinsing out your mouth, you see Charlotte’s extensive skincare routine continue. If someone was to walk in, you’d think she was heading to the Oscars at the crack of dawn. She unbuttons the top two fastenings of her polo pyjama top and shrugs it down enough to reveal her collarbones, taking the effort to jade-roll them too. That’s when you notice the string of pearls around her neck.

“Nice pearls,” you comment, putting your toothbrush away. They did suit her, as did most delicate jewellery.

“Thanks.”

“Dad buy them for you too?”

“No,” she says. “They’re moms.”

Your stomach twists like a viper. “Moms?”

“Yeah. Daddy found them in a drawer last week.”

“And what? Now you’re just gonna start wearing them?” you say aghast, spinning around.

She frowns, looking over her shoulders. “It’s not like she’s coming back to claim them any time soon.”

You scoff. “You’re woefully missing the point.”

“Whatever,” Charlotte mumbles. She looks back to her reflection, smiling at herself, lifting a hand to fiddle with the small beads. “I think they look good on me.”

“Well trust me, they don’t,” you lie before promptly leaving the bathroom.

There was a rumour that you wrecked Rafe Cameron’s car. That one was true.

“Morning Lucy,” you greet, walking into An Offer You Can’t Refuse.

“Morning. Early start for a Saturday, don’t you think?” Lucy replies from behind the counter.

You shrug and shift your tote bag further up your shoulder. “Wanna get first dibs, I guess.”

“Well, all the new stuff is back there, like always,” she says, gesturing with her head to the far end of the store.

You were somewhat a regular at the shop. It was the only spot in town that sold old movies. Not old movies like the nineties. Old movies like the early 20th century: the black and white classics, with extravagant sets and telephone-voices and an untouchable charm that modern things just couldn’t quite capture. You weren’t a film snob exactly. You’d sit through a Marvel movie and tag along with Mia to see the latest cheap jump-scare horror. But those weren’t as gripping, as enthralling, as captivating as the classics. Somewhere along the way, you’d made it your life mission to see every old movie on earth.

Flicking through the cases, you pick out a couple that had been sat on your list. One was a thirty’s flick and the other from the sixties. Lucy settles up with you and you slot one in your bag. You keep the other out to read the back, scanning over the summary as you walk out the door.

“Nice car.”

Stunned, you stop and look up, finding none other than JJ Maybank. He’s sitting on the bonnet of your car with such carelessness that one would assume he owned it.

“Are you following me?” you outright ask.

He looks offended by the insinuation. Gesturing across the street, he says, “I was in the fishing shop. I saw your car and I came over to say hi.”

Rolling your eyes, you put your movie in your bag and continue to your car. “Hi.”

Before you can reach for the handle for the door, JJ slides over, effectively blocking it and forcing you to meet his gaze once more. You catch a whiff of his cologne. It smells more modest than some of the fancy crap the guys at school practically drown themselves in.

“You’re not much of a talker, are ya?”

“Depends on the topic. My car doesn’t really whip me up into a verbal frenzy,” you return, folding your arms across your chest.

JJ takes a moment simply watching you. It’s annoying. First, he interrupts your pleasant weekend by wiping his grubby cargo shorts all over your car, and now he’s trapped you in the most disinteresting conversation of all time. You quirk a brow, hoping that your displeasure reads plain and clear on your face.

“Can I help you?” you prompt, annoyed.

The smile he gives you is less cocky than usual. It’s almost curious. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

You frown. “Afraid of you? Why would I be afraid of you?”

He shrugs. “Well, most people are.”

“Well, I’m not,” you counter.

Whatever he was thinking before seems to have passed. His grin turns smug again, as quick and smooth as the moment dusk turns to flat-out night.

“Well, maybe you’re not afraid of me, but I’m sure you’ve thought about me naked, huh?”

Oh, brother.

You gasp, feigning your fluster by lifting a hand to your sternum. “Am I that transparent? I want you, I need you, oh baby, oh baby.”

With that stellar performance, you practically shove him out the way whilst forcing the car door open. JJ seems to take the hint and backs off, shoving his hands in his short pockets. He watches you climb in your car and he pulls out a cigarette in the process. You’re half-surprised he doesn’t keep blabbering away. JJ doesn’t seem as wounded this time by your dismissal and you’re not sure whether that ticks you off more. As you glance in the rearview to reverse out the parking spot, none other than Rafe Cameron drives up behind you. He then parks illegally in the middle of the parking lot, blocking you in.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

“What is it? Asshole day?”

Rafe shuts off his engine and walks past your car with a faux swagger in his stride. It makes you sick.

“Do you mind?” you loudly ask him as he goes by.

He doesn’t even spare you a glance. “Not at all.”

Your blood is bubbling under your skin, boiling up your nerves and burning up your patience. Doing one last glance at the Rafe’s back as he walks away from you, you don’t think twice before pulling your keys out the ignition. Getting out the car and slamming the door shut, you storm over to the ugly Mercedes. With the car key positioned between two fingers, you lean down slightly and dig it through the paint and into the metal, dragging it along in a satisfying streak. The sound is as pleasing as nails on a chalk board. One cut doesn’t seem to diffuse your anger enough, so you go in for a second. You debate doing a third but better to be safe than sorry. So, you pocket your keys and start walking home. You can pick up your car tomorrow. As you go to leave, you catch JJ’s impressed expression in the reflection of Rafe’s blacked out windows.

There was a rumour that you and JJ hooked up at an outdoor movie night. That was completely false.

Over the dialogue over the movie, the swell of the orchestral music, and the mumbled chatter of friends and families, you can’t hear the soothing lap of the sea waves on the sand. That didn’t take away from the beauty of the scenery. Twilight had painted the sky in the most ethereal pinks, purples, oranges and blues. The boats which had taken anchor looked like shadows with how the sun had dipped. Huge trees framed the waterline cinematically. You can’t seem to help glancing at the view every now and then. It feels like something from a coffee table book. No wonder the beach was your mother's favourite place to be.

There were few island traditions which you liked, but the movie nights were one of your favourites. From March onwards, they ran bi-weekly. A huge screen would be put up in a lawn and people would come with deckchairs and picnic blankets and take up space on the grass. Snacks and cakes and drinks would be shared in the jovially calm atmosphere of the evening. There was a snack bar over near the bathrooms selling bags of candy and pre-prepared tubs of popcorn. When you hadn’t been shooting looks to the view, you’d been looking to the snack bar, debating buying some. At the rumble of your stomach, you relent.

“I’m gonna go get some snacks. Want anything?” you ask Mia in a whisper.

She doesn’t look away from the film when she shakes her head.

“Okay. Be right back.”

Standing up, you whisper out apologies to other movie-goers as you slink away from the lawn, venturing to the snack bar. It’s only when you’re seconds away do you recognise JJ Maybank. He’s wearing longer pants this time, still of the cargo material, and an old t-shirt that says Pelican Docks on the left breast. It looks well-worn at the sleeves. His hair is tucked under a cap. The most notable thing you pick up on is the fact that he isn’t smoking. Every other time you’ve seen him outside, he’s had one of those cancer sticks stuck between his lips. It’s annoying to admit to yourself that he looks good.

Ignoring him, you head straight to the girl manning the snack bar.

“A bag of Sour Patch kids please,” you smile, holding out a couple of dollar bills. She exchanges them for a bag of sweets. Candy in hand, you walk over to JJ.

“If you’re planning on asking me out again, you might as well get it over with,” you tell him, already disgruntled.

He looks away from the movie screen. “You mind? You’re kinda ruining this for me.”

You frown, glancing between himself and the film. “You like ‘Singing In The Rain’?”

JJ shrugs. “Course. Don’t you?”

The guilt from assuming is overshadowed by your curiosity. Before you can think of something to quiz him with, he’s talking again, eyes fixated on the actors.

“I mean, it’s no ‘Casablanca’ or ‘Some Like It Hot’, but I’ll take it,” he says casually.

Your eyebrows must shoot up into your hairline. “You know the movie ‘Some Like It Hot’?”

“No doy. It’s a classic,” JJ says. “Jack Lemmon is a natural in roles like that. It’s kinda rogue of me to say but I gotta admit, I think he’s better in that than in The Odd Couple.”

The question ‘you know The Odd Couple?’ is on the tip of your tongue but it’s silenced by a loud crash in the movie, catching your attention. You watch the theatrics of Cosmo as he performs ‘Make Them Laugh’, and you can’t help but smile. It’s one of your favourite parts of the movie.

“You know, I saw you earlier and I was gonna come over,” JJ admits, drawing your gaze to him once more. “I’ve never seen anyone look so sexy without even trying.”

The pre-teen at the counter snorts, clearly having overheard. When you and JJ look to her at the same time, she flushes bright pink and presses her lips together in embarrassment. It makes you laugh though, and when you look back to JJ, he’s holding back too. The sunset and reflection of the screen is painting his face in a youthful glow. The smile on his lips seems more genuine than before; it’s no longer bolstered up with ostentatious flare. His self-assured demeanour remains though. You can see it in how relaxed he stands, shoulders loose and back.

“You’re not surrounded by your usual cloud of smoke.”

“Yeah, I quit. Turns out they’re bad for you,” JJ says.

“You think?” you mirthfully reply.

Come with me to the keggar tomorrow night,” JJ asks out of the blue.

You don’t roll your eyes this time. In fact, you’re not even annoyed. Instead, you find your smile growing. “You never give up, do you?”

“Is that a yes?”

You chuckle under breath, passing your candy bag between hands and turning to return to Mia. "No."

You begin to walk away.

“Well, is that a no then?” JJ calls. Someone shushes him abruptly.

Sniggering, you call back, “no!”

“Nine tomorrow night! I’ll pick you up!”

“Hey, shut it, man!”

“Sorry, dude. Jeez,” you hear JJ mumble.

You bite back your laugh, making your way back to the film. Mia is waiting impatiently for you. Taking your spot on the blanket again, you fight the urge to look back over your shoulder to JJ. She takes the bag of candy despite her earlier turn-down.

“What took you so long? You missed the best song,” she whispers.

You shake your head and steal a gummy, eyes fixating on the screen again. “Doesn’t matter.”

And then, you’re lost to the cinema. 

There was a rumour that you threw up on JJ’s shoes at the keggar. That one was (unfortunately) true.

You know you’ve made a mistake braving going downstairs for a snack the moment your foot hits the final step.

“Daddy, it’s only for one night!”

Charlotte is there, whinging away, stood beside her friend Laura. You didn’t like Charlotte all that much but you liked Laura even less. Whilst Charlotte was losing her sense of humanity bit by bit, Laura was a hollowed-out husk dressed head to toe in Shien. Maybe if she had a stellar personality you wouldn’t care, but she didn’t. She was cruel, two-faced and you trusted her as far you could throw her. So, you were obviously thrilled to find her stood in your house.

“You know anything about a party?” you dad asks you, roping you unwillingly into the conversation.

You shrug, shaking your head no.

“Of course she doesn’t know, she’s a cave troll,” Charlotte snarls.

“That’s a new one,” you mutter under breath, starting for the kitchen.

“If she isn’t going, you’re not going,” your dad tells Charlotte.

“Urgh!” Charlotte exasperates. She rushes over to you, taking you by the shoulders and forcing you to meet her gaze. You’re a little surprised to find how genuinely desperate she is to leave the house for a dumb keggar. “Can you please forget that you’re completely wicked and just be my sister for one night. Please.”

You suck your teeth, feeling your conviction dwindle. Suddenly the half-completed page of notes about maths drops in your priorities. Charlotte seems to notice. The puppy-dog eyes come out in full effect - the ones that she used to get the new Mac book and the ones that she used to get your old pair of converse when they suddenly became trendy again.

“Please,” she begs, doubling down.

You sigh, shaking your head as if in disbelief of your own actions. “Fine, I can make an appearance.”

Charlotte looks over to Laura and they begin to squeal, hopping up and down like the floor is lava. You realise that she’s wearing the pearls still, but before you can think much more about it, you’re trapped in a hug. Everything tenses, from your head to your toes, and it isn’t over soon enough. You open the downstairs cupboard and retrieve a jacket to combat the spring breeze that’s likely going to haunt the beach at this hour. Your dad is lecturing Charlotte and Laura as you shrug it on; you pass them to the door.

It's a little frightening to open the front door and come face to face with someone who you’re not expecting to be there.

“What are you doing here?” is the first thing out of your mouth when you meet JJ’s eyes.

“Nine o’clock, right?” he replies.

It’s impossible to bite back the smile that’s coming to your face at the sound of his voice. When did that start to happen?

“Well, I’m little late, so,” he admits almost sheepishly.

You blink out of your stupor with that. A man who can’t even be on time for a date that he practically begged for – once again, the bar is on the floor.

“Whatever, I’m driving,” you tell him, brushing past and down the porch steps. He follows.

“Nice digs here.”

“Thanks,” you reply. You pull open the front gate and it creaks like it might snap off any moment.

“Y’all rich and can’t afford to oil that damn thing?"

“Help yourself to it,” you jokingly quip back. You pull your keys out your coat pocket and unlock the car. “Hop in.”

The drive to the keggar is mostly quiet. JJ points out the turnings you need to take and you refuse to let him turn on the radio. He goes to put one leg up on the car seat but must see your sideways glare, making him stop. Instead, he rests an arm on the window frame and taps his fingers along to a non-existent beat.

He’s dressed rather nice. Quite casual, but you supposed for a keggar, it didn’t much matter. It wasn’t like you were dressed to the nines either. A grey sweater hangs slightly big on his frame, but it sits on his broad shoulders a little too nicely. He’s wearing a pair of black cargo shorts which are muddied with dust on the thigh, probably from biking, and those damn cargo boots again. No cap this time, he lets his blonde hair sit mussed, seemingly from running his fingers through it. That’s something he seems to do. A lot.

When the two of you park up, the beach is already buzzing. It’s swarming with people from your school and his, yapping away to one another. People are passing drinks and passing out. Some are carrying coolers in and others are shot-gunning the moment their feet touch the sand. Sighing, you mentally prepare yourself for a hellish night.

JJ tries to walk beside you but you seem to be one step ahead every time. He takes to following your tail around the keggar as you survey the scene. A girl vomiting in the corn; a group passing around a bong; a group of horny dirtbags jeering and cheering as two girls make out. A brunette girl comes stumbling over, practically throwing herself at JJ.

“Kiss me,” she slurs, clearly hammered.

JJ doesn’t look too thrilled but it doesn’t keep you from rolling your eyes and continuing on.

“Not tonight, girly,” you overhear him say. You then hear his footsteps behind you once more.

His popularity among the Pogues is startling. Soon enough, someone else is coming up to him, followed by a third. You overhear good-humoured conversation kick up, spirits high, and the smacking of hands as they enact a brief handshake. It seems a good opportunity to ditch him.

The moment of freedom is over quicker than the final week of summer. Rafe Cameron, in all his knobheaded glory, saunters over.

“Didn’t peg you as a keggar girl,” he tells you. Even on the night, you can’t catch a break from him.

“You know me: full of surprises,” you return dryly.

“Surprising in that outfit too. Nice to see the puppies out today,” he says, licking his teeth as his eyes shamelessly flit down to your top.

You roll your eyes. “Eat crap creep.”

Rafe doesn’t seem to be finished. He follows after you leisurely when you walk around him. “Your little sister coming tonight?”

“Stay away from her, Rafe,” you warn.

“Oh, sure, sure, I’ll stay away,” he nods, raising his hands in mock surrender. The most wicked, twisted grin sinks into his skin. “But I can’t promise she’ll stay away from me.”

Your disgust must read plainly on your face. Rafe chuckles darkly, apparently finished with the interaction, and you watch as he makes his way over to his pack. You shiver out your repugnance and distract yourself by making another lap of the keggar, hoping to find your sister in the process.

Unfortunately, you’re not quick enough to get to her before Rafe. He’s fiddling with a strand of her hair, looking down at her in a way that she might think is doting but you can only read as looming. Your stomach sinks as he notices you, jutting up his chin proudly.

“Yo. Look who found me,” he taunts.

Intestines are now in your shoes as you spot his hand looping around her waist and laying grip. Charlotte tangles her fingers into his, a red solo up in her other hand, and goes to lead the two of them away. You quickly dart after her.

“Charlotte, wait, can I talk to you?”

“Don’t address me in public,” she hisses, horrified.

You hope your expression is as pleading as hers was earlier, but it mustn’t be, because she continues to move away from you.

“Go, enjoy the night,” Charlotte says. She probably thinks she’s being nice, putting your mind at ease, but it makes you all the more concerned. “That’s what I’m gonna do.”

Looking around as if something or someone might tell you what to do next, your eyes fixate on the coolers. You soon find yourself taking a swig of tequila. It burns as it runs down your throat; you close your eyes with wince.

“I’ve been looking all over the place for you!”

You open them to find a very disquieted JJ.

“I’m getting trashed bro,” you reply, lifting the bottle up in proof. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do at a party?”

“Not with that crap,” JJ replies.

Rolling your eyes, you take another shot. “Whatever. I’ll catch you later.”

Then you’re walking away from him and weaving through the crowds. The trashy RnB music playing over a loudspeaker thumps through the sand and rattles through your bones. You find yourself collecting drinks like a pre-teen collects trading cards. With each sip, the alcohol goes down easier and easier, and your control becomes lesser and lesser. You’re only half sure of the time. Nobody here looks familiar to you and you have no idea where Charlotte has gone. The thought of her with Rafe has you reaching for another drink but it’s taken from you before the bottle can meet your lips.

“Hey!”

“How about I have this one?” JJ offers.

You snatch it back. “No way, this one’s mine.”

Was that your voice? Jeez, maybe you’re more drunk than you thought. That doesn’t keep you from necking the whole thing, some dumbass cheering you on. Dumping the bottle in the sand, you pull a face to JJ, extending out your arms as if to say ‘see – what you gonna do about it?’ .

The makeshift dancefloor becomes randomly appealing. The rhythm of the music seems to have finally crept out of the ground and into your bones, and you stagger your way to the crowd of dancing, swaying drunks and begin to move to the music. Closing your eyes, you drag your hands up your sides and into the air, hips dipping and diving to the song. It isn’t your usual thing but you find the groove to it. The reason you lose it is the elbow that suddenly jams into your back. You wince in pain and tumble forward, balance screwed from all the drinks. The ground comes to meet you surprisingly quick and you don’t have time to put your hands out to save your head from hitting a stuck-out branch from driftwood.

“You alright?”

It’s JJ.

“I’m fine,” you slur.

When you go to stand, everything is spinning. It makes you slip in the sand and nearly face plant a second time.

“You’re not fine. Alright, come on,” JJ mumbles as his hands gently take your biceps. You grumble out complaints as he helps you off the ground.

The music drifts away from you as JJ guides you somewhere. The shakiness of the world makes you feel nauseous so you opt with keeping your eyes closed. There’s a throbbing from where you hit your head.

“Can I talk to you?” someone asks. You don't open your eyes to find out who.

“Not right now, man. I’m a little busy,” you hear JJ return, patience clearly dwindling.

“Can you give me a second?”

The firm but friendly hold JJ has on you momentarily vanishes. You hear the crunch of sand as he walks away a few steps but you’re too busy fighting to keep yourself upright to see where he’s gone. Just as you’re about to lose the fight, JJ’s back, catching you and steadying you on your feet.

“Woah, woah,” he chuckles. “Come on.”

As the mayhem of the party fades, you find the pounding in your head to lessen. You’re slowly lowered to sit on a piece of driftwood.

“This is so patronising.”

“Leave it to you to use big words when you’re smashed,” JJ says.

Braving to open your eyes, you find JJ digging around in his cargo pockets. “Why are you helping me?”

“I’m worried you might got a concussion,” he tells you. He produces a small box from his pocket, no bigger than the palm of his hand, and he cracks it open.

“You wouldn’t care if I never wake up,” you snort. The scrunch of your brows has you reaching up to the stinging pain of your head wound. Before you can touch at it, JJ’s pulling your hand away by the wrist.

“Sure I would.”

“Why?”

 “Cause otherwise I’d have to start taking out girls who actually like me.”

“Like you could find one.”

“See? That right there, makin’ me swoon, mama,” JJ ribs. He reaches out for your face then. “Alright, this might sting a little.”

His fingers are warm as they touch your skin. He lightly coaxes your head up and back by the edge of your jaw. You watch with half-blurred vision as he concentrates, gently dapping what must be an alcoholic wipe to your cut.

JJ has a pretty face. Dimples that are visible even when he isn’t smiling. A soft jawline that sharpens when he’s flexing, whether it be in concentration or aggravation. The long slender nose sits nicely on his face, guiding into surprisingly neat eyebrows and eyes with lashes so long Charlotte would cry with envy.

The wipe hits the deepest point of the wound. Flinching back, you hiss in pain.

“Sorry,” JJ mumbles.

“S’okay,” you quietly reply.

He finishes dabbing the blood away and sighs, pulling the wipe back. JJ seems to notice your stare at that point, flitting his eyes down to meet yours.

“What?”

“Your eyes have a little grey in them,” you observe.

His lips twitch in a smile. Maybe it’s the warmth of the booze, but you’re half sure that the boy blushes. Your eyes glance down to his lips, the one part of his face you haven’t yet analysed. JJ clears his throat and removes his hand from your head. He litters the wipe on the beach floor and shoves his hands in his short pockets, creating some distance. He doesn’t move any farther away from you though.

“How’d you know to do all that?”

“Cleaning cuts?”

“Mhm,” you say.

“Kinda have to learn, when you grow up in a house like mine,” JJ vaguely replies.

You spare a glance at his side profile to find his eyes trained ahead in an almost vacant stare. He comes back to himself, looking at you.

“So, uh, why’d you let him get to you?”

“Who? Rafe?”

“Uh huh.”

“I hate him,” you state.

JJ purses his lips and nods. “Fair ‘nough.”

Someone whoops out to another in the far distance. You try to ignore it, instead focusing on the susurrus of the wind, the sighs of the sea, and the steady inhales and exhales of the boy sitting beside you.

“So, your mom a nurse or something?” you ask.

“My ma?”

“Yeah. With the cut cleaning and all that.”

“Nah, she ain’t a nurse,” JJ replies. “Fact, I don’t know what she is. She ain’t around anymore.”

“That sucks,” you say.

He shrugs. “Happened a long time ago. She walked out on us so guess there can’t be much to miss, right?”

“I guess,” you agree, though you’re not sure if you fully do. For some reason – maybe because of the alcohol blurring your barriers – you find yourself telling him, “My mom walked out on us too.”

“Really?”

You nod, and instantly regret it.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It gave the yacht club something to talk about for like a year,” you say, cracking a smile.

JJ grins. “You Kooks gotta have your gossip.”

“Oh yeah,” you whistle, nodding. “Otherwise we’d actually have to start making conversation about shit that matters. Or realise how little we all like each other.”

The two of you laugh and lock eyes. His dimples are now out in full force, teeth shining in the off-cast street lamp glow and enchanting moonlight.

“You know, you’re not as vile as I thought you’d be.”

His smile only grows. “Thanks. I think?”

The pulsating pain in your head seems to vanish for a moment. You think it’s because of JJ and his weirdly wonderful ways. You think it is, until you realise it’s because your body is distracted by a whole new problem.

Head whipping down, you aim away from your shoes and somehow directly at JJ’s.

And then bam: vomit.

There was a rumour that you and JJ hooked up in the back of your car. That one was false.

It’s abnormal seeing JJ sat behind your steering wheel. His elbow is propped up on the window ledge, knuckles cracked as he grips the wheel at the top, guiding it with the other hand. You keep stealing glances. He focuses ahead on the road. It’s pitch-black asides from the glare of the headlights and the few and far between streetlamps. You’re not entirely sure how you got to this point with him, to have him driving your car and to find yourself completely okay with it.

The playlist that the radio is humming out changes to the next song. You instantly feel your body soften in the passenger seat with the swell of violins and cellos. Naturally, gradually, they find a melody. It’s solemn and serene all at once.

“I love this song,” you hear yourself say.

“What is it?”

“Love Theme, from Cinema Paradiso,” you reply.

JJ’s lips twitch with curiosity. “Never heard of it.”

“It’s my favourite piece of music of all time,” you tell him. “It makes me cry.”

“Really? Don’t know if any song’s ever made me cry.”

“Then you’re listening to the wrong things,” you're quick assert.

JJ chuckles at that, but he doesn’t disagree.

The piano chimes in now; steady waltz-like chords which complement the strings flawlessly. You sigh and watch the world pass by through the window. After throwing up, draining the alcohol from your body in the least flattering of ways, you feel more stable. There’s still a blur to the edge of the world hinting that you’re not fully sober but you no longer feel out of control. The three mints which you had the moment you got in the car helped to freshen your mouth.

“It’s a pretty song,” JJ observes. You’re surprised that he’s listening to it. “Is it meant to be happy?”

“Sort of. It’s the third version. There’s three reprises of the song throughout the film. The movie’s sort of a culmination of genres. It’s a love story about Salvatore and Elena, this girl who he’s completely infatuated with throughout his teens. But it doesn’t work out. It’s also about his relationship with Alfredo, this old man who runs the cinema. Salvatore falls in love with cinema and Alfredo is like a father figure to him. As he grows up, he’s pushed to leave the small town and live his life.”

JJ whistles lowly. “That’s a lot’a unpack.”

“Sorry,” you meekly reply. Maybe you rambled on a bit too much.

“Don’t be. It’s interesting,” JJ says.

You glance over to him and see him smiling, and you struggle to bite back your own, looking back to the road.

“You seem to have a thing for movies,” JJ notes.

“I love them,” you sigh, pushing your hair behind your ears. The music builds at that moment, with the wind instruments taking control of the melody and pushing the emotion to another level. You find your eyes slipping shut on reflex. It’s with them closed that you find the confidence to admit, “I want to write movies for a living. But nothing like the new crappy things. Films like the old ones. The ones with real emotion and meaning behind them. I’m so sick of the cheap rewrites and remakes. All the CGI junk that fills the cinema now and the empty scores.”

“So, why don’t you? Write movies, I mean?”

As JJ asks you this question, he pulls up outside your house.

You scoff. “Yeah, my dad would just love that. He wants me to go to school for accounting or economics. Something with ‘a future’.”

The engine shuts off but the song continues to play. JJ glances down at the radio, his eyes scanning over the song title. He seems lost in thought, or perhaps lost in the music, and you feel a small smile settle comfortably on your face. He’s so pretty in this light. He’s pretty in any light.

He seems to remember himself, coming out of his stupor in a similar manner to how he did back on the beach. Looking up to you, JJ catches your gaze. He reflexively switches off the radio, cutting the song off and enveloping the two of you in silence.

“You uh,” he begins, gesturing lamely to the house, “don’t seem the type to ask for your dad’s permission.”

“Oh what? Now you think you know me all of a sudden?” Your tone is teasing. It’s so different to the usual bite it has from your other interactions.

JJ shrugs. “I think I’m starting to.”

The honesty behind his words has your lips parting, somewhat taken aback. The bad-boy façade that he hides behind seems to have slipped tonight. You hold his gaze and he offers you a warm, tender smile. There’s a nervous yet excitable thrum in your chest. It's terrifying.

“Yeah, well, the only thing people know about me is that I’m scary,” you say dismissively.

“Well, I’m no picnic myself, so,” JJ muses.

And it’s things like that which catch you off guard. Your efforts to push him away and close him off are so easily dismissed. He seems to have a talent for peeling away your walls and it never feels intrusive. Instead, it makes you feel seen. Understood. It’s something that you haven’t really known since your mom walked out. Mia understood you to an extent, but you weren’t sure that she knew you. You weren’t sure if you’d ever let her, as awful as it sounds.

“Well, thank you. For driving me back,” you quietly say.

JJ nods. His eyes never stray from yours. He’s so beautiful it’s unfair.

“Course. Anytime.”

He takes a breath and it’s shaky, tempered with nerves, and that’s when you wonder if his heart is beating as fast as yours. If his stomach is full of butterflies too, bringing about the most addictive of anxieties. As his tongue darts out to dampen his lips, you find yourself taking the leap. Slowly, so slow that you’re not sure you even are, you lean forward to him, letting your eyes slip shut. In the moonlight, in your car, after the conversations of the night, you finally feel as though you have seen the real JJ, and he’s seen the real you.

A second passes.

Then another.

Then a third.

You hear the rustle of clothes and the creak of the car seat as JJ shifts. It makes you open your eyes. He’s watching his fingers trail along the leather grip of the steering wheel, knuckles uncomfortably tight and lips rubbing together.  

“Maybe we should do this another time,” he eventually says.

For a moment, you just sit. You take him in. He doesn’t appear cocky or disgusted, or even amused. He seems timorous. It’s so confusing and irritating that you find yourself defaulting to anger. It’s that anger that smothers the burning hot embarrassment you feel deep in your chest. It conceals the crumbling disappointment of not having his lips on yours. Suddenly, you want to be as far away from him as possible.

You scoff and push open the car door. It slams loudly behind you as you storm back up to the house, arms wrapping around yourself in comfort as you feel your heart painfully pulling at your throat. The sting of tears is hard to fight but you manage to keep them at bay until you’re in your bedroom. It’s there that you feel safe enough to cry.

There was a rumour that JJ tracked you down in a movie shop. That one was true.

Have you ever had so much on your mind that it’s physically impossible to concentrate, even on the simplest of things? Ever since the keggar three days ago, that’s how you’ve felt. Studying was more gruelling than usual. You would start reading an exert from Romeo and Juliet and somehow, you’d find your mind drifting to the sound of JJ’s voice on the beach, telling you about his mom. Watching movies was no longer an escape because any guy on screen had you back in the passenger seat, basking in JJ’s beauty. Even now, stood in An Offer You Can’t Refuse, you find yourself staring blankly at the back of a DVD case, trying to make sense of the blurb.

Sighing, you give up and shelve it. You wander back to the main throughway of the store and look at some of the more recent releases. Tugging your cardigan tighter around you, you round the end of the shelve, heading for the exit, to instead come face to face with JJ.

It’s a shame that your stomach twists unpleasantly at the sight of him.

“Excuse me, have you seen ‘Breakfast at Tiffany’s?’ I’ve lost my copy?”

You hold back a grunt and opt to roll your eyes instead. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard there was a secret screening,” JJ tells you, humour lining his words.

You scoff. “You’re so…”

“Charming?” he offers.

You breeze past him.

“Wholesome!”

“Unwelcome,” you correct.

“You’re not as mean as you think you are, you know,” JJ suddenly tells you, tone taking an edge.

Mystified, you return, “and you’re not as badass as you think you are.”

“Oh, somebody’s still got their panties in a twist,” JJ quips.

Spinning around, you raise a finger threateningly. “Do not for one second think you had any effect whatsoever on my panties.”

JJ lightly taps your hand away. “What did I have an effect on then?”

It’s moments like these that you’re thankful your mouth is quicker than your mind. “Other than my upchuck reflex, nothing,” you lie.

JJ sighs, frustrated.

In the corner of your eye, you see the movies of the week. The universe works perfectly sometimes. Snatching up a copy, you shove Breakfast at Tiffany's in JJ’s chest before leaving the shop.

It sucks to be mad at JJ. You don’t want to be, but you don’t know how not to be. The whole night felt like an oxymoron. There was a moment when things felt so perfect and then he shattered it. It was abnormal. All that hard work to get you out on a date; the time taken caring for you and driving you back, checking you got home safe; and the conversations that felt far from empty and false…And then nothing. You knew JJ wasn’t a virgin. Not all rumours are based in truth – you knew that – but when it came to JJ Maybank, it was common knowledge that he had a way with girls. You weren’t the first girl for him to lay eyes on, and you certainly wouldn’t be the first girl he’d kiss, so why did he suddenly seem so discouraged? It didn’t make sense.

Whatever.

You close the car door and start up your engine.

You had more important things to sort out than deliberating over JJ’s intentions. Since when had a man ever interrupted your life before? There were some math notes which needed finishing back at home, and a track meet practice to prepare for tomorrow. Life was bigger than some pretty teenage boy.

Catching your eyes in the rearview mirror, you harden your gaze. “Get a grip.”

Your day doesn’t seem to improve when you get home. Whilst you’ve managed to put thoughts of JJ to bed, letting the irritation rest, your dad seems unwilling to give you peace. You walk through the door to hear himself and Charlotte talking animatedly about the Spring Ball at the yacht club.

“I’m not sure,” your dad sighs.

“But daddy, I’ve gone to them before.”

“But this one’s different. The guys there are older now. You’re older now. After last year, and our reputation, I’m just…”

The creaking floorboard before the kitchen doorway gives you away. Charlotte jumps at the chance to lasso you in.

“What if she comes?”

“She has a name,” you mutter, heading to the cupboard for a snack.

“I mean, if your sister goes then you can go, but I doubt she will.”

“She will what?” you ask. Cereal bar in hand, you tug away the wrapper and take a bite.

“Go to the Spring Ball.”

You guffaw loudly. “Yeah. No.”

“Knew it,” your dad says.

“Oh, come on! What’s wrong with the Spring Ball?” Charlotte carps.

You roll your eyes. “They’re stupid and performative and in bad taste. And old-fashioned. It just makes me feel icky. Whilst the Cut are trying to raise money to renovate the parks, we’re throwing balls for the fun of it. Plus, they’re boring. It’s just a bunch of rich morons talking about other rich morons. No offence, dad.”

“Plenty taken,” mutters your dad.

“You’re exhausting,” Charlotte tells you. “And unhinged.”

“Thanks,” you grin before taking another bite of your snack. You go to leave. “I’ll be upstairs.”

There was a rumour that JJ snuck into your school. That one was true.

You started running track following your school guidance counsellor’s advice. It was after you kneed Kelce so hard in the balls that he had to go to the nurse (you pride yourself for that achievement daily). Track was a good way to let off steam though. The world felt smaller and simpler on the circuit. You felt as though you could run away from all the things that were bothering you: Rafe, your dad, Charlotte, your mom. And now, JJ. The steady beat of your feet hitting the sand-topped track works like a metronome for your musings.

You’d heard the rumours that had been circulating about the night of the keggar. Charlotte hadn’t told you what happened between herself and Rafe, but there was a rumour that he didn’t drive her home. Apparently, someone called Louis had given her a ride back. You’d seen him at school every now and then. He’d only transferred a few months back so there wasn’t much to know about him. He seemed harmless enough though. Compared to Rafe, a rabid dog would be preferred.

“Good pace!” your coach praises loudly to you as you complete a third lap.

You’re panting in the warm sun. April was right around the corner now and the temperature was picking up, bit by bit, every day. Slowing to a jog, you direct yourself to the benches and retrieve your water bottle.

As your swallowing your third sip, you hear the loudspeaker system crackle to life. At first you don’t pay it much mind, assuming it’s one of the band members checking everything is working for a game tomorrow night or something. But then a voice is droning out of the speakers. It has a Carolina twang to it that is more common on the Cut and a youthful rasp that’s now all too familiar.

JJ.

‘Morning you wonderful Kook folks.’

You stare wide-eyed at the speaker.

‘Y’all are probably busy preparing your caviar or whatever the hell it is that you be doing out here on Figure Eight, but I’m here to read something I prepared. Brighten up your day and all that.’

Surely you have heatstroke. Surely this is not happening.

“’I’ve come here with no expectations, only to profess, now that I am at liberty to do so, that my heart is, and always will be, yours.’”

Sense and Sensibility. You glance around the field as if to check that you’re not the only one hearing this and - yep, you’re not.

“‘Me? I’m scared of everything. I’m scared of what I saw, I’m scared of what I did, of who I am, and most of all, I’m scared of walking out of this room and never feeling the rest of my whole life the way I feel when I’m with you.’”

Dirty Dancing. Lips twitching into a smile, you’re in disbelief. Some people are sniggering at the cheesiness, others are completely befuddled by the whole thing. It is rather random. If you didn’t know what he was doing, you’d be confused too. Well, you still are, in fact. Did he know you'd be at the track today?

“And my personal favourite, ladies and gentlemen: ‘No, I don’t think I will kiss you, although you need kissing. Badly. That’s what’s wrong with you. You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how.’”

Your perplexed smile turns more sober with that. Something trills in your chest – most probably your heart – and you nod in quiet approval.

“Alright then, Kooks and…Kooklemen. Y’all have a blessed day.”

The speaker clicks off with a crackle and some people on the field whoop and cheer, laughing and jeering. You shake your head and finish your drink, grinning like an idiot.

Maybe, just maybe, you can find some room to give JJ another chance.

There was a rumour that JJ Maybank spent his free time fishing. That one was true.

JJ Maybank was like a candy bar. He had a way of being sweet without being sickly, and he stayed on your mind the same way one gets chocolate stuck between their teeth. After asking around, you’re told that the best place to find the so-called delinquent was at a local fishing spot, down some old jetty. The floorboards creak unnervingly with every step you take. The sun is high in the sky, it only being mid-morning, and you find JJ easily. He’s perched on the end of the jetty, leaning forward against the rotting wooden railing. In one hand he’s supporting a rod, the wire of which is submerged deep in the water, waiting for a bite. There’s a small cooler by his feet alongside a bag of fishing tack. The back of his t-shirt has a large circular graphic on it. It’s well washed but you can make out the ‘sex-wax’ text.

“Yo,” you call out.

He startles then turns. There’s a strange flurry of emotions that cross over his face in a second when he lays eyes on you.

“Hey. How’d you find me?”

“I have my ways,” you reply, finishing the journey to him.

JJ moves so his back rests against the fence, body now facing you, and you pause a comfortable foot or so apart.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh?”

“I was kind’a an asshole at the movie store, the other day,” you say, uncomfortable in your confession. The proud twitch of his brow doesn't go unnoticed. “So, I figured it was only right to fess up.”

“Mhm. Anything in particular brought this on?” JJ wonders innocently.

You smile at that, rolling your eyes. Nevertheless, you play along. “You know, it’s so weird. This voice came over the speakers at school yesterday and it got me thinking.”

“Oh? You know who it was?”

“I don’t know,” you sigh, scratching your hairline. “Maybe God?”

“You sure it weren’t an angel?” he checks, tongue poking through his teeth with his boyish grin.

“Nah, but he sure had the voice of one,” you play along.

The entertained lift of JJ’s brows makes your smile flatten into something more genuine.

“Did you get in trouble for it?”

“For breaking into Kook Academy and hacking your intercom?” JJ asks. His face scrunches up as he shakes his head falsely. “Nah.”

“Mhm. Sure.”

“I’m a pro, sweetheart. I was in and out, like an ops-mission,” he recounts, using his free hand to gesture lamely like a discount spy.

You roll your eyes once more and move to stand next to him, separated only by the cooler. Leaning your arms forward on the jetty fence, you sigh and close your eyes, basking in the sun.

“What’re you doing right now?”

“Right now?” you say, opening your eyes to look at him. He nods. “Nothing much.”

“Wanna go to the break? Hear the waves are meant to be pretty sweet today,” JJ asks.

Your lips twitch at the corners. His seem to mirror. “Sure, yeah. Sounds good.”

“Sweet. Lemme just pack this stuff up,” he says. “My friend’s lent me his car for the day so we can ride there in that.”

There was a rumour that you nearly drowned when you went surfing with JJ. That one was completely made up.

The water is so blue you can almost taste it. The gradient of blues and aquamarines is mouthwatering in beauty.

Sighing, your feet sink into the sand, desensitised to the burn on the soles of your feet. On one shoulder you have your rucksack. It’s packed with snacks that the two of you picked up from a local shop: granola bars and a large back of chips, that sort of thing. JJ found some cans of soda when turfing through the cooler. Tucked under your other arm is a surfboard that JJ’s letting you borrow; there were three attached to the roof of the beat-up camper van he’s borrowing. JJ’s carrying a tattered looking picnic blanket that he dragged off the backseats and his own board. It seems JJ’s surfboard is the thing that is the best kept out of all the belongings he has.

JJ whistles. “Pretty good swell, huh?”

“Hell yeah,” you agree.

He walks in front and dumps the picnic blanket, lazily spreading it out with his foot. You put the rucksack down with it before leaning down to place your board carefully on the sand. As you go to stand, you find your eyes falling on JJ’s back. He’s tugging off his shirt, lats and triceps tensing and relaxing with the quick change. You can’t help but stare. The guy’s in good shape – nobody can disagree with that. He turns and catches your eye just before you can divert your gaze to the water, frowning as if assessing the waves. There’s an amused smirk that comes to his face, cocky like always.

“Enjoying the view?” he asks.

Your face scrunches in deliberation. You pretend that he’s referring to the sea. “Yeah; the waves look pretty strong.”

“Mhm,” he hums, entertained.

It’s then that you decide to seek some revenge. Casually, like the whole situation doesn’t make your heartbeat with elated anxiety, you pull your top off, revealing a crotchet-style bikini top. Living in Kildare meant that bikinis instead of underwear were sort of a given. Unbuttoning your shorts, you wiggle them down your body before stepping out and tossing them on the blanket. Glancing up, acting as if you’d completely forgotten JJ was there, you quirk a brow. He’s staring shamelessly at your body.

“Something up?”

“Not yet,” he mumbles.

It’s hard to bite back your smile. Hard, but not impossible. Dipping down to retrieve the board, you strain a little as you lift it.

“Come on. We’re wasting daylight,” you tell him, walking past towards the water.

“Yes ma’am,” you hear him say.

The crunch of sand behind you tells you he’s following. Then, his pace picks up and he’s rushing past, taking a moment to dab at your head jokingly.

“Hey!”

His laugh is light like buttercream frosting. You chase after him, towards the break, and soon enough you’re sliding atop of your board and paddling through the wake. JJ’s just a bit ahead. His back glistens in the sunlight with saltwater. You swallow your pride and dignity and let your eyes trail up his legs and butt. The water makes his clothes stick more than usual. He steadily rises to his feet, finding his balance on the board in such a natural manner that one would think he was born on it. The way he leans forward and back is effortless. He tames the waves like a creature of the sea, dipping on the currents and following the dives. You can’t help but sit up on your board for a moment and watch. His face is tight with concentration but the joy is as clear as the water. The sharp edge of his jawline teases you as you watch him surf. The tremble of your heart and knot in your stomach isn’t unfamiliar and yet it still catches you by surprise. To distract yourself, you paddle out some more before rising to your feet.

You know the old saying ‘time flies when you’re having fun’? You never much believed it until today. The two of you must have been on the water for an hour. Somehow, simultaneously, the two of you agree that it’s time to call it off. The scratchy over-washed cotton of the blanket is only slightly uncomfortable on your legs as you sit. JJ takes your rucksack and digs about for a snack. You opt for taking in the quietness of the beach; it feels as though you’re the only souls for miles.

“Who’s this?” JJ asks.

You glance over to find JJ holding up a photo he’d taken from your wallet. A part of you wants to make a jab about how he’s snooping around, but you don’t. Instead, you smile weakly.

“My mom.”

“Oh,” JJ says, looking back down at the photo with new interest. “She’s pretty. Can see where you get your looks from.”

“Thanks,” you smile.

JJ reaches back into the back and pulls a can of soda free. He tosses it to you and you crack it open.

“I go through phases of having it in there,” you say, nodding down to the photo that he continues to hold. “Sometimes I want it around and other times I don’t. I know that probably sounds dumb.”

“No, it doesn’t,” JJ responds rather easily.

He tucks the photo back away in the wallet, safe and sound, then grabs a can of sofa for himself. He reclines on his elbows. Your eyes fixate on the shark tooth necklace hung around his neck on a discoloured piece of yarn. It rises and falls with each steady breath he takes. As your eyes trail down his stomach, you notice the water droplets drying in the sunlight. In a desperate effort not to stare, you find yourself watching him crack his feet, outstretching them on the sand. Crossing your legs, you take a sip of your soda and glance back up to his face. Then, you follow JJ’s line of sight to the water. The routine of the waves pulling in and pulling back, over and over, is calming in a way few other things are. As the sky’s mosaic of colour darkens by the minute, the water reflects it back like a mirror with a pretty shimmer.

“Sometimes I wish I had a photo of my ma.”

“Don’t you?” you ask, looking to him again.

He shakes his head. “My dad went on this crazy rager when she left and burnt up all her stuff. I was too young and stupid to take a photo for myself and hide it somewhere.”

“Bold of you to assume that you’re not still those things.”

JJ snorts, shooting you a glance. “Thanks.”

You smile back but correct your manners. “Seriously though, that sucks. I’m sorry.” It’s a lame understatement for the reality of it, but it’s all you can think to say. Tenderness isn’t something that comes very naturally for you.

He shrugs, looking back to the water. You know he’s trying to act like it doesn’t bother him, and maybe if you’d only met yesterday, you’d believe it, but there’s something about his composure that tells you that it isn’t true.

“I just wish I could remember what she looks like, y’know?” he says, looking to you once more as if seeking affirmation. You give a small nod. “I mean, I can’t even remember her voice. Not that it should matter. Fuck her, right? She’s the one who left.”

He takes a hasty sip of his soda, breaking eye contact. You frown and watch him, and deliberate whether to speak your mind. I mean, of course you’re going to, but it feels good to deliberate first.

“Well, no, not ‘fuck her’,” you eventually say.

JJ looks to you, eyebrows knotted: bordering on angry.

You continue. “I think it ain’t that simple. It’s why I go through phases of having that photo of my mom in my wallet. You can be mad at someone and still miss them. At least I think you can. They’re not binary things, or mutually exclusive. So, I don’t think it’s as simple as ‘fuck her’.”

There’s a moment where JJ just looks at you, as if he’s soaking you in the same way the two of you are basking in the warmth of the sun. It’s a certain kind of stare; the kind where you don’t feel calculated under his gaze but unquestionably seen. There’s a momentary concern that you’ve offended him but then JJ gains this almost-smile that’s becoming more and more familiar to you, and he nods.

“I’ve never really talked to anyone about her before,” JJ confesses.

You smile sadly. “Me too. About my mom, I mean. Dad shuts down when I bring it up and Charlotte…She remembers things differently.”

“Well, it’s nice to talk about it.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “It is nice.”

The whispering of sea waves melts into the sound of songbirds and geese, singing and squawking in a weirdly melodic harmony. There’re crickets in the dunes which chime in from time to time and you take a moment to look back to the water, close your eyes, and enjoy it all.

“So, what’s your excuse for it?”

“My excuse for what?” you wonder, never opening your eyes.

“You know.” There’s a soft scrape on your skin as JJ kicks some sand off his feet and onto yours. “For acting the way we do.”

Sighing, you deliberate on how to answer. JJ has this way of opening you up. With others, you were hard-shelled and closed off, but like a pistachio, he knew where to pry just right to get you to spill. It was like he already knew the password so you never questioned letting him through the door.

“I don’t want to care what people think of me. It makes no difference, whether I impress them or not, so what should it matter? Why should I waste my time with it?”

“‘Makes no difference?’ Like makes no difference whether they stick around?” JJ wonders.

You open your eyes and look to him, a little taken aback by how easily he translated your words. “Sure. Like that.”

“Like your mom?”

It doesn’t affect you when he asks that. If someone else were to, your fury would spike suddenly and you’d snap. Say something you’d regret. But maybe because JJ might understand more than others, it doesn’t. So, you nod.

“Yeah,” you quietly reply. “Like my mom.”

“I get that,” JJ muses. It’s with that small token that you feel comfortable to elaborate.

“I think it really came clear after she left, how fake people can be,” you say. “Seeing how all our so-called friends reacted. At the Yacht Club, my dad was the laughingstock. Everyone talked about him, about mom leaving, like they didn’t know him. Like he wasn’t this great guy - which he is - and like they hadn’t been drinking cocktails and pints on his tab for years. It was so fake. That’s when I realised that people will think whatever they want to, even if they say another thing. So…why bend yourself backwards to try and change it?”

Sniffing, JJ nods in understanding as he digests your story. His toes dig into the damp sand and you find your own spare hand reaching out and playing with the grains, sifting through them soothingly.

“What about you? Why do you act the way we do?”

“I guess the same, in a way,” JJ replies. You notice that he likes to gaze ahead when he talks about himself, like eye-contact is too painful. Too vulnerable. “With my dad being who he is, people just assume the worst about me. I’m sick of trying to prove them wrong. They’re gonna think what they wanna think so what’s the point, right?”

“The ones who care enough won’t judge a book by its cover. They’ll get to know you and see through all the bullshit,” you assure him.

His head turns with that. Unblinking, he asks, “like you?”

You’re momentarily stunned by the bluntness of the question but soon enough, you’re smiling at him.

“Yeah. Like me.”

When JJ smiles, his teeth peak through in this adorably youthful way. There’re dimples that poke through his cheeks and no tension in his forehead or jaw. Just happiness. You like him like this, all tousled and sun-kissed and seawater bathed. It’s strange. Sitting here with him on the beach feels like the first time you’ve ever been to the water and truly appreciated it. It’s like you’d always thought you would sink, so you never swam. But now, with JJ looking at you the way he is, and the way the two of you seem to click in an inexplicable manner – as if you’d been the two missing parts of the other’s jigsaw puzzle – you realise that maybe you were wrong to make such an assumption.

“It’s weird. We come from such different lifestyles but I don’t think anyone understands me as good as you do.”

JJ’s voice is quiet but not small when he tells you this. It’s a private thought that you’re honoured for him to have shared. There’s only one way you can think to answer.

Leaning forward, you leave your drink abandoned on the blanket and cup his jaw, fingers damp from condensation. His lips meet yours willingly. The kiss the two of you fall into makes your feelings for him all the more obvious to you, and all the more terrifying.

There was a lot of rumours about the both of you. Some were true, and some were not.

JJ drops the campervan off at his friend John B’s house. It’s this quaint fishing shack that could definitely do with a lick of paint on the boarding, and a few fresh nails to keep the porch from caving in on itself. But it’s homely by how clearly lived-in it is. There’s no emotionless ornaments like in your house; only fishing gear, empty cans of beer by the stairs leading up to the front door, and far-from-new throw pillows. You wait on the grass at the bottom of the stairs as JJ heads up to the door, skipping one of the steps entirely. He raps with his knuckles on the door before letting himself in.

“Yo! John B, you home?”

“Back here!” you hear a guy call back. JJ vanishes into the house, car keys in hand, ready to hand them over.

Shoving your hands in your short pockets, you glance out to the backyard. There’s an impressive sized tree from which a hammock hangs, and a less than stable looking jetty. A sort-of shed stands, filled with all sorts of tools and gear, and a half-waxed board lies on a table.

“Alright, let’s bounce,” JJ says, reappearing. He hops off the porch and grabs your hand like it’s second nature, guiding the two of you away from the house.

“You known John B a long time?”

“Since kindergarten,” JJ replies.

“Damn. Don’t think I’ve ever known someone that long. Well, apart from Charlotte.”

“What’s her deal, anyway?”

“Who? Charlotte?”

“Yeah. Like, is she as conceited as everyone says she is?”

Your brows quirk up. “People say she’s conceited?”

Watching JJ fumble and stumble over his tongue is entertaining. He looks to you, mildly panicked. “Well, like, I don’t say that but—”

“I’m just messing with you,” you grin. He unconsciously gives a small sigh of relief. “I know she’s conceited. And spoilt. And bratty.”

“Hm. Sounds like you’re really fond of her,” JJ chuckles.

You laugh under breath and rock your head from side to side in deliberation. “She’s hard to love but harder to hate.”

“That’s ice cold, girl,” JJ whistles.

The moment your feet hit the tarmac of a main road, you realise that you’ve been following the blonde-haired boy blind.

“Where are we going, by the way?”

“To mine.”

“To yours?”

JJ seems to catch onto the innuendo. He looks to you and adds, “my bike’s there. I can give you a ride home.”

 “Oh.” Something inside you sinks with disappointment. You don’t dwell on it though. “Thanks.”

The weight of JJ’s fingers nestled between yours is casually intimate. Usually you’d feel coddled and clammy and want to pull away, but instead you feel safe.

“What’d you think I meant? When I said we were heading to mine?” JJ asks you.

You quirk a brow and pull a face which seems to be answer enough. He cracks up. “I mean…I’m down if you’re down…”

“Slow and steady, JJ Maybank. Slow and steady,” you return with a grin.

“That’s my motto baby,” is his sultry reply, topped off with a wink.

You’d be lying if you said your body didn’t flush with that comment.

“You’ve got a reputation, JJ. I’m not gonna be another notch on your belt,” you jokingly say.

JJ rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, half of my reputation is bullshit rumours.”

“Same here, amigo.”

“Yeah, I’ve gotta admit, I’ve heard some pretty batshit things about you,” JJ tunefully says.

Smirking, you turn to look at him. “Oh really? Like what?”

He takes a moment to think. The eventide light shadows his skin like a painting. “The state trooper?”

Ah. You remember that one. Bobby Cromack spread a rumour that you’d kicked a state trooper in the balls during a protest. On accounts that no protest ever existed that month in Kildare, that was a lie.

“False,” you say. You take the opportunity to debunk some of that you’d heard about JJ. One that you were certain wasn’t true was the rumour that he ate an entire turtle raw. “The turtle?”

He blows a raspberry. “Bullshit. The college guy?”

“Hearsay,” you say. Apparently, a friend of a friend of someone at Kildare Academy saw you at a frat college party in Wilmington, snorting coke off some guy’s chest. Incredible how easily fake news flies. “The hooker?”

“Lies,” he debunks. So, JJ didn’t lose his virginity to a prostitute. “The Banksy side-gig?”

You guffaw. “Complete crap.”

Yes, it appeared that people at school thought you were spending your free time running around Kildare, throwing up mediocre spray paint art as an act of rebellion. Stunning.

“Damn. You’re just full of disappointments, ain’t ya?”

JJ leads the two of you up a small dirt road and through a culmination of trees and shrubs, a house begins to emerge. It’s slightly bigger than John B’s but still small. It is somehow even more banged up, but not in an inviting way like his friend’s. No, this place looks desolate and lonely. Sad even. You feel a sympathetic tug when you notice JJ’s shoulders tense at the sight of it. You’re not even sure he realises that he’s doing it. There’s a bright red bike that you recognise; it’s sheltered under a small shack in the garden. It seems that neither of you are ready to close off the conversation yet. Instead, JJ takes you to the steps of his porch and the two of you sit. You lean against one pillar and him against the other. The wood is splintering and the paint is peeling off in strips. Facing one another, you slot your feet between his staple combat boots.

“Tell me something true.”

“Something true?” he checks, rubbing at his jaw. You nod. “I don’t like snakes.”

Laughing, you shake your head. He seems to like your laugh, smiling at the sound and sight. “No. Something real.”

JJ reaches out and plays with one of your laces.

“Something nobody else knows,” you explicate.

“Okay,” JJ nods. He retracts his fingers from your shoe, using his hand to help him keep his balance as he leans forward. You can smell the salt on the skin of his neck from the sea as he presses a kiss to your skin. There’s something sensual about the warmth of his breath on the apple of your cheek.

“You’re sweet,” he says. Your lips push together, suppressing your smile, and JJ pulls back only to move to the other cheek. “And sexy.” He pulls back so he can plant a kiss on your lips. You love how JJ kisses. “And completely hot for me.”

You guffaw, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “You’re amazingly self-assured, has anyone ever told you that?”

He frowns momentarily before nodding, saying, “I tell myself that everyday, actually.”

The smile that his joking response brings you quickly fades when he kisses you again. There’s something different about this kiss. Something passionate, and emotive, and sensuous. When his hand reaches up to cup at the place where your jaw fades into your neck, you find yourself leaning into his hold, deepening the kiss. The brush of his tongue on yours sends electricity shooting from your head, down your spine, straight through your toes. It’s over all too soon. When he speaks, he’s close, and he asks his question against your lips.

“Go to the Spring Ball with me.”

“What?” you dumbly ask, eyes slowly opening.

“The Yacht club spring ball. Go with me,” JJ clarifies.

Your smile doesn’t falter as you gaze into his eyes, admiring the flecks of colour. The answer is easy. “No.”

His brows gently tug together. Smiling, he repeats, “come on, go with me.”

“Is that a request or a demand?” you half-joke. The magic of the moment is dissipating as quick as vapour. He doesn’t reply but the way he holds your gaze suggests that he’s still waiting for an answer. “No.”

“No? Why not?”

You pull away now. “Because I don’t want to. Because it’s a dumb tradition for fake rich people.”

“Come on! People won’t expect you to go. Plus, it’d be a laugh seeing the look on those Kook asshole faces when you show up with me, don’t you think?” JJ prompts.

You frown. Something manifests in your gut. It weighs heavy like a stone. Cocking your head, creating more distance between the two of you, you ask, “why are you pushing this?”

JJ’s lips part. You see them try to form words but nothing comes out. It makes you prod further.

“What’s in it for you?”

He turns, sitting fully on the porch, feet side by side on the step below. You watch his side profile and notice how his jaw ticks and tightens, like he’s annoyed. Like you telling him no has annoyed him. That stone turns into a rock.

“So, you’re saying I need a motive to be with you now?” JJ asks, tone clipped.

Your anger ticks. “You tell me.”

He scoffs and shakes his head, glancing out to the unkept yard. Suddenly, he looks to you. There’s a dark, twisted look on his face that’s so scarily unfamiliar. “You need therapy, you know that? Has anyone ever told you that before? Like you’re actually sick in the head.”

The words hit like darts aimed straight for your heart. You swallow the pain and keep your gaze steely but your voice gives you away. It’s shrinking and holds no conviction as you say, “answer the question, JJ.”

The ugliness of him only grows as he shakes his head once more. There’s a sick smile on his face that comes and goes quick like a hurricane before he sardonically says, “nothing, alright? Just the pleasure of your company.”

The rock in your gut is a boulder; it makes you feel like you’re sinking into the ground. The shock barely has time to settle before he delivers another blow. You watch JJ dig into his short pockets and pull out a pack of cigarettes, shucking one free and propping it between his lips. He said he was quitting. Scoffing, you reach out and take it as he searches for his lighter. You toss the cigarette carelessly on the ground before getting to your feet, hastily walking away from him. It’s like you can’t get away fast enough. Your arms wrap around you in a far from comforting hug the minute you feel obscured by the foliage. When you realise that JJ isn’t following you, your head dips and lips tremble. With the call of a songbird, your mind flashes back to earlier that day, at the beach, and your tears finally start to fall.

There was a rumour that your sister wanted to go to the spring ball with Rafe. That one was (thankfully) false.

Academics don’t hurt you the way people do. Math equations can’t talk back and Shakespeare quotes don’t bite. Throwing yourself into your studies seems the best way to get your mind of JJ’s cruel words. The look on his face when he snapped at you was so different to the way he’d been with you before. It was cold and callous and downright mean. It was also befuddling, how defensive he got. JJ and Spring Ball didn’t seem like the most obvious pairing to you. You knew that JJ liked to stick-it-to-the-man and get under the Kook’s skin, but pushing the spring ball just to take the piss was so abnormal. Maybe that was what hurt the most.

You’re halfway through analysing a sonnet from Romeo and Juliet when there’s a soft rap on your bedroom door.

“Come in!”

It creaks open and you glance over to find Charlotte. She softly closes it behind her. Then, she takes a seat on your bed.

“What’s up?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” you say, closing your notebook. Spinning around in your desk chair, you face your younger sister.

She takes a moment to gather her thoughts before speaking. She stands out like a sore thumb in your bedroom, amongst your old movie posters and tapestries and postcards, and the deep grey and white of your bedsheets. Her blossom pink skirt doesn’t quite fit the theme.

“Why don’t you want to go to the spring ball? Is it just to keep me from going?”

You sigh and look away, down at the floor. Shaking your head, you say, “no. I just don’t like the yacht club people. You know that.”

“You act like you’re not one of us,” Charlotte tells you.

“Because I’m not,” you reply quickly, offended. She quirks a brow.

“Look at where we live! At the car you drive! We’re in a lucky position in life and it’s stupid to act like that isn’t true!”

“I can acknowledge my privilege without leaning into it,” you say.

You weren’t stupid. You knew your socio-economic status gave you an advantage in life. Not once had you ever had to worry about money, or not having dinner on the table, or not being able to go for coffee. Your dad worked hard to get to the place where you were at now; it wasn’t handed to him. Nonetheless, spending more time with JJ, seeing his and John B’s homes, made you realise just how easy you had it. That didn’t mean that you liked the frivolities of the lifestyle, though.

“Look, I know you think the yacht club is dumb and fake and all of that stuff,” Charlotte reals off. “But I actually care about it. I really do. It means something to me.”

“But it’s so—”

“You can preach all you want, but it won’t change my opinion,” Charlotte interrupts. You slam your mouth shut. It’s a fair point (something she rarely makes). “Look, there’s a guy that I really like, and he wants to take me.”

“Rafe?”

“No.” She says it in a way that makes you think she’s almost amused at the thought. “Louis. He’s actually nice.”

“Actually?” You check.

She smiles and nods. She has a pretty smile. “Yes. Actually. But daddy won’t let me go if you don’t and I really want to go.”

You swallow. It’s clear where this conversation is going now. Sighing, you look out the window. It’s windy today. Blossoms keep getting blown from the trees and they pass by your window like fake snow.

“The thing with the yacht club isn’t just as simple as not wanting to get all dressed up for some dumb tradition,” you admit. “I don’t like how they treated dad, after mom left.”

“I know,” she says. Then, after a moment’s thought, adds, “But that wasn’t everyone. Remember how Mrs M brought us casserole for a week? And Mr Cameron invited dad out on a fishing trip? Some people are fake, that’s true, but not everyone. Not everyone has ulterior motives.”

That last sentence has your eyes snapping back to hers. She doesn’t seem to realise what she’s said. In fact, it looks like she’s waiting for you to tear into her like you usually would. But when you take her in, you see a sweet fifteen-year-old girl who’s a little tightly wrapped in cotton wool, who wants an excuse to wear a pretty dress and dance to trashy pop music and get to know a cute guy. The thought of keeping her away from that makes you feel guilty. Plus, if you’re there, at least you can keep an eye on her from the outskirts. Check that this Louis isn’t just another Rafe in disguise.

“Fine.”

She blinks at you, confused. “Fine?”

“I’ll go. We can go.”

“We can!?”

The way her whole face lights up like New York at night makes the night of horror already worthwhile. Starting to smile, you nod. The hug that Charlotte fires at you nearly sends you falling out of your chair. As much as you hate hugs, this one might be the best one you’ve ever had from her.

There was a rumour that JJ’s dad beat him. He never told you that was true, but you had a feeling.

JJ’s house seems eerily quiet. It isn’t the sort of quiet that makes you feel as though nobody’s home. It reminds you of the quiet in the movies when the hostages are hiding from the bad guys. The kind where nobody wants to step on a twig and give away their location. Something about it stops you from heading up the porch and knocking on the door. You’ve barely rounded the corner of the house, about to see what you can spot around the back, when someone is grabbing at you from behind. It’s a man, you can tell by their arms. One wraps around your middle, fastening one of your arms to your side, and the other comes to cover your mouth. It muffles your panicked yelps.

“Calm down, calm down, it’s me,” JJ’s whispering frantically in your ear.

It doesn’t stop your struggling though. He’s barely pulled you away from the house before you shake free, shoving him off you. He takes you by the wrist then, guiding you into the marshland.

“What the hell, JJ!”

“Shut up, alright? He’ll hear,” JJ shortly replies.

You do as he says begrudgingly and let him take you further from the house. Eventually, JJ lets go. He takes a second to catch his breath, bringing his arms up to clasp his hands behind his head, back facing you as he paces.

“What’s going on?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “Don’t matter.”

Turning around, it seems as though his whole demeanour has reset. Well, almost. There’s a tension in his muscles that he can’t fully shake. You overlook it the same way you overlook the bruise forming near his eye. It’s brown and purple. Definitely caused by more than a tap on a doorframe.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“I had to come see you,” you say. Suddenly, with the spotlight on you, the confidence that Charlotte instilled within you falters. “About the other day.”

“The other day?”

“Yeah, on your porch…” you clumsily say.

JJ raises his brows, changing his weight from one leg to the other. It seems easier to fixate on his cap rather than meet his eyes. It’s green and purposefully frayed on the edges; it compliments his skin tone well. Swallowing your pride with a sigh, you awkwardly twiddle your fingers.

“I came to apologise for how I reacted.”

“You did?”

Your eyes dart down from his hat to meet his. “Yeah. I shouldn’t have questioned your motives. It was dumb of me, and stupid, and…dumb.”

“Said that one already.”

“Shut up.”

“Right.”

You sigh and rub at your forehead like this conversation is causing you a headache. It turns out pride and stubbornness are sisters.

“Anyway, I just wanted to come and say sorry and see if you still wanted to go. Maybe,” you rush out.

“You wanna go to the spring ball?” JJ frowns.

“Yeah. Charlotte wants to go and my dad—You know what, that doesn’t matter. Because you’re right,” you tell him, cutting yourself off in the process.

His eyebrows almost shoot into his hairline with that. Something tells you that he doesn’t hear that phrase a whole lot.

“It would be funny to rub it in the kook-club faces. And maybe I’d actually enjoy the night if I went with you.”

JJ purses his lips and plants his hands on his hips, looking off to the greenery. You know what he’s doing. He’s basking in this moment, with you stood, tail between your legs, and milking it for what it’s worth. It isn’t exactly amusing, but it does somehow ease your anxiety.

“So, you’re saying that I’m right and that you want me to take you to your fancy spring ball?”

“Yes,” you reply through gritted teeth.

“Huh.” JJ nods, pulling a face. “So this is what it feels like to be right…"

Silence.

"It’s oddly unsettling.”

“Look, do you wanna go or not, cause I’ve got plenty of other things I can do with—”

JJ makes it to you with two large strides. Your face is enveloped by his hands as he guides your lips to yours in a smooch-like kiss. It’s awfully annoying how all of your worries seem to melt away with that one gesture.

“Yes. I’ll go with you,” JJ says the minute he pulls back.

You want his lips on yours again already, but you practice restraint. Bringing a hand up to lay over one of his, you look up into his eyes. God, he’s so dreamy.

“I’m sorry for questioning your motives,” you repeat, more sincerely now.

JJ swallows before nodding. “You’re, uh, you’re forgiven. I’m sorry too, for saying the things that I did. I gotta pretty ugly temper sometimes and I just speak without thinking.”

You missed the smile that comes to your face. Nobody makes you smile like JJ does. Nobody gets you like JJ does either. As if trying to tell him so, you lean up and kiss him again. You can feel his smile against yours, melding and merging like you’re two of the same souls. You assume that this is JJ’s way of saying yes; he’ll join you to the spring ball.

There was a rumour that your sister punched Rafe at the spring ball. That one you weren’t sure about.  

The yacht club was a cream building with pastel green shutters and doors. It stood in front of the beach, surrounded by perfectly trimmed green fields and a stone’s throw from a golf course. Several flags stuck out of the thatched roof, waving proudly in the air. For the spring ball, the porch had been decorated with ivy and flowers. Purple and blue blossoms were intertwined with foliage and string-lights, dancing up the poles as if growing. The main event was held in the back, facing the sea. The extensive decorations continued, only now with white sheer-like fabric hanging from place to place, creating somewhat of a shelter. A makeshift dancefloor was put down using wooden boards directly before a small stage for live musicians to perform throughout the night. Tables for snacks which looked as though they’d been meticulously crafted by God himself lined the back wall of the building.

“Holy crap,” you can’t help but mutter at the sight of it all.

JJ whistles lowly in wordless agreement. His fingers intertwine with yours, squeezing, and you look up to him.

“Ready for this?” he asks.

“Are you?”

He grins with that. “Baby, I was born ready to show these Kooks a good time.”

You roll your eyes, smile flowering on your features, and guide the two of you up the porch. The moment you pass Mr and Mrs Johnson, dressed in the over-the-top attire, you hear their hushed whispers. It makes your smile grow.

JJ manages to snag a couple of drinks for the two of you from the bar. You sip and lead the two of you outside, into the belly of the beast. Adults stand chatting away, gushing falsely over their lives. Did you hear the Carol got accepted into Yale? Oh, isn’t it just marvellous! You spot Charlotte fairly quickly and it brightens the night. She’s dancing with Louis, giggling like a child on Christmas morning, and he’s watching her like she hung the stars shining in the sky above.

You and JJ find a quieter spot to the side to people watch. Your leg rests against his as you perch, sipping on the champagne.

“You look beautiful, by the way,” JJ says, breaking the silence.

Looking to him, you smile. He’s the only person who can make you bashful. “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, I kinda forget to say earlier,” he admits, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. You love when he does that. It makes you giddy to know you have that kind of effect on him.

“Well, what I think you said was ‘wow’,” you correct.

You know that’s what he said. You think the look on his face, somewhat mesmerised, and the way that the words made your heart hammer like you’d run a marathon, will be permanently etched in your memory.

JJ smiles, looking down to his shoes. You have no idea where he got them from. They’re seemingly brand-new leather loafers, starkly different to his worn-down combat boots.

“You don’t clean up too bad yourself, Maybank,” you clumsily compliment.

He shrugs, confidence somewhat boosted. Glancing down at you, he asks, “Oh really?”

“Mhm. Kinda like you in a penguin suit,” you say.

You fix his collar just for an excuse to touch him. He seems to realise this, wrapping his fingers around your wrist to hold it steady before dipping his head down. Your lips meet his in a chaste kiss that has your toes squirming.

“You wanna walk around. Show my penguin suit off to a few more people?”

You laugh quietly, nodding. “Sure.”

The peruse of the party is probably heightened by the alcohol that JJ keeps managing to sneak for the two of you. At any opportunity, you’re whispering in his ear or his in yours with jokes and jabs about people’s outfits. Rose, looking like lady liberty. Mr Dulany, here to haunt us from his grave. As the night rumbles on, you find yourself actually enjoying it. Somehow, someway, the two of you find yourselves on the dance floor. You’re letting JJ swing you around in some makeshift jive to the mini orchestra’s upbeat rhythm. His theatrics have you practically doubling over. JJ was born with two left feet and then some. You don’t care though. It’s perfect.

When the song ends, there’s a lull as the band catches their breath and sips on some water. The crowd applauses, including yourself, and JJ nods at you as if approving of the talent. It makes you laugh even more. Just as you go to make a joke about it, an all too familiar swell of violins emerges from the stage. Your lips part, head darting over, hands pausing mid-applause, because there’s no way. There is no way that they’re playing what you think they’re playing.

The melody materialises out of the melancholic chords and your heart breaks into a million pieces. Cinema Paradiso: Love Theme.

You scoff in wonderous disbelief, extending a finger dumbly to the stage as you look to JJ, mouth agape. He’s grinning, watching you like he was waiting for your reaction. It patches your heart back together in an instant.

“They’re…” you begin to say.

He nods. Leaning forward, beside your ear, he tells you, “I called in a favour.”

You pull back suddenly, meeting his gaze, checking for some sign of a lie. But he isn’t. He’s smiling, sweet and safe, and you can’t help but step towards him and wrap your arms over his shoulders, around his neck. He accepts your embrace willingly, hands finding solace around your waist. JJ holds you against him as the two of you sway. You practically hide your face in the lapel of his blazer, smiling like a drunk. He did this for you. He remembered this specific song, this specific reprise, for you. The weight of the realisation nearly brings you to tears. Nearly.

In this cocoon of JJ, it feels as though the music coils around the two of you like a snake, trapping you in the lovingly lugubrious song. It ties in perfectly with the distant sound of the ocean. That’s when you realise that you’ll never be able to hear either of those things again without thinking of the seventeen-year-old boy who busted his ass to win you over. You have no idea what you did to deserve him, or what possessed him to pursue you, but whatever it was, you’re eternally grateful.

It takes a split-second to register the hand shoving at your shoulder. It pushes you apart from JJ, making you stumble over your heels as they catch in your dress. After untangling it, you look up to find Rafe’s back facing you. Stepping around him, about to intervene, you see JJ’s face. Something about his expression stops you. He looks anxious.

No.

He looks terrified.

“Look, I didn’t pay you to take out her psycho sister just so some little punk can take out Charlotte instead.”

In that instant, JJ looks like someone who’s just found out his whole religion is a lie, and it’s his fault.

The words parse together slowly. Each syllable as it registers feels like another vice wrapping around your lungs, robbing you of air.

Pay you…

To take out…

Her psycho sister…

JJ isn’t looking at Rafe. He’s not even acknowledging that he exists. He’s staring at you. It doesn’t feel like his usual stare; the kind that makes you feel like he can see you through smog. No. It makes you feel exploited.

That’s when you finally find enough oxygen in your body to form some words.

“Nothing in it for you, huh?”

That same God-awful feeling from the other days returns but tenfold stronger. The urge to just get as far away from JJ as humanly possible. The urge to run. You turn and rush away from the dancefloor, from the crowds, from whatever chaos is bound to follow Rafe like a shadow. From JJ. From the only person you’ve ever really trusted since your mom.

Even though you’re outside, the air feels suffocating. You’re trying to navigate your way around the building, to the carpark where you can call an Uber or just walk home. Anything, anything¸ but stay here, near him.

But JJ’s persistent. You’d known that from the moment you met him. You can hear him calling for you, his voice desperate, and it makes everything hurt even more. He’s faster than you, especially when you’re wearing heels. When he catches up to you, his fingers wrap around your upper arm.

“Please! Please, just lemme explain!” JJ pleads.

“You were paid to take me out by the one person I truly hate.”

You shake him off and turn to face him. He looks guilty as sin and you can’t do it. Can’t bare it. Turning again, you continue to walk away.

“I knew this was a set up.”

The gut feeling from the porch is so horrifically ironic. You should have known. You should have known.

“It wasn’t like that!” JJ insists.

“Really?” You snap. He grabs for you again and you stop, meeting his gaze. You’re not sure how you’re not sobbing. “What was it like? A down payment now and then a bonus for sleeping with me?”

“No, look, I didn’t care about the money, alright!?” JJ desperately insists. You can’t seem to look away. His eyes hold so much feeling but it all feels so lifeless now. “I…I cared about you.”

It all feels so fake.

“I don’t believe you,” you whisper.

Shaking your head, you swallow thickly. The tears finally come, teasing at your waterline, stinging like Rafe’s words from moments ago.

“You’re so not who I thought you were.”

JJ almost physically winces. You push his hand off your arm and go to leave but he’s relentless. He takes you by the wrist with a firm grip, his other hand taking you by the jaw. Then his lips are on yours. The kiss isn’t like the others. It’s dirty and disgusting and disingenuous and desperate, and you shove him off by the shoulders. You glance over him, wet cheeked, like he didn’t cause this. But he did. He hurt you. He hurt you.

This time, when you walk away, JJ doesn’t chase you. Maybe that’s what hurts most of all.

There was a rumour that JJ was paid to take you out. That one was horrifically, painfully true.

When your mom left you cried for a week. Endlessly, morning through to night, tear after tear. It would sometimes pass, but then it would hit again, out of the blue, like a boat colliding with an iceberg in the sea in the vast darkness of night. But after a week, you didn’t have anything left. You just felt hollow and empty. Then you promised that you wouldn’t cry about her anymore.

“You want the moon? Just say the word and I’ll throw a lasso around it and pull it down.”

You sigh and try to focus on the comforting black and white picture on your laptop. George Bailey stands beside sweet little Mary, stood in the night.

“Hey, that’s a pretty good idea. I’ll give you the moon, Mary.”

“I’ll take it.”

The gentle knock on your door is almost a blessing. It’s hard to distract yourself from the awful pain in your chest.

“Come in,” you call out.

Charlotte creeps in, closing the door behind her. She leans against it and looks at you. You’re wallowing in your bed, tucked under a blanket, surrounded by comfort snacks that Mia brought for you and tissues.

“What’s up?” you ask her when she doesn’t speak.

She shakes her head and walks over, climbing onto the bed. She crawls around so she can lie on her back, and you wordlessly turn yourself over, rest your head on her stomach, and begin to cry for what feels like the millionth time. Her fingers lovingly stroke your hair, soothing you through your pain. Suddenly, you’re immensely thankful for your sister. You wouldn’t want her any other way than how she is, no matter how whiny and spoilt she can sometimes get.

“Charlotte?” you sniffle.

“Yeah?” she quietly asks.

It feels like another splinter cracks into your heart as the confession falls from your lips. “I really miss mom.”

She’s still a moment, and then she’s wrapping her arms around you, hugging you tight and close. For once, you don’t pull back. You let yourself be held by your little sister.

“I know,” she whispers. “I do too.”

There was a rumour that JJ regretted what he did. You weren’t sure if that one was true, but you wanted to know.

About a week after the spring ball, you finally brave the outside world. The old movie shop is your first point of call considering you made your way through all your ‘to be watched’ films in the past seven days. It’s nice knowing that you won’t run into anyone in the shop; that you can lose yourself to the world of fiction in sepia and black and white.

The brass bell chimes as you walk through the door.

“Hiya Lucy,” you say.

She glances up from the spreadsheet she’s ticking at, smiling at the sight of you. Then, as if something dawns upon her, she’s waving out her hands for you to pause. “I have something to give you!”

“Oh?”

You didn’t put anything on hold. Wandering over to the counter, you lean against it as Lucy ducks down to rummage for something under the desk. Eventually, she heaves an old typewriter onto the counter.

“What…”

“There’s a note, too,” she says, bobbing back down to search.

Whilst she looks, you reach out a finger and trace it over the iron letters. They’re cold and a little dusty, and beautifully ornate. It’s painted black with gold accents. You’ve never seen something so beautifully vintage. Maybe your dad or Charlotte put it aside for you, as a pick-me-up. You can’t imagine it to be very cheap, not with the quality it is in and the year it was made.

“Here,” Lucy sighs. She holds out a small envelope for you. You take it with a small thanks and open it up.

For you to write your movies.

JJ

The two initials printed in black ink make you pause. You stare at it, throat constricting painfully at the sight. You look to the typewriter again and then back to the note. Just like everything else with JJ, you’re overcome by a confusing concoction of emotions.

Remembering Lucy, you flash her a hopefully unbothered smile and tuck the note in your back pocket.

“Thanks, Lucy,” you say. You brace yourself and lift the typewriter with a huff.

“You got it?”

“Yep, yep,” you strain, beginning towards the door. Some nice old lady holds it open for you as you struggle out, hollering a farewell to the storeowner as you go.

The whole drive home, the typewriter watches you. It watches you as you park and it watches you fight your way up the stairs. Finally, in the quiet of your room, you sit and digest the note. It’s funny that a one sentence message has left you so stumped. But you don’t know what it means. An apology, most likely. But is that enough? An apology for lying to your face for over a month. For letting you open up to him and for letting you believe that he was doing the same, only to find out there was a paycheck at the end.

It's so frustrating that no matter how you try to, and no matter how much easier it would be if you did, you just don’t hate him. You don’t. You can’t. You can’t believe that everything that happened between you was a front. Every little anecdote and gesture, ever look and kiss, was all an act. It just can’t be. Just like you’d said to JJ on the beach, feelings aren’t mutually exclusive. ‘You can be mad at someone and still miss them.’ Is that what this was?

Pulling open your desk drawer, you turf around for some pages of plain paper. You tuck them into the typewriter and practice a few of the keys. There’s the aesthetic clack as they mark the page and the ping when the edge of the page is met. Once you feel confident in how it works, you slot a new piece of paper in the machine and sigh. And then, you begin to type.

I hate the way you talk to me

And the way you cut your hair.

I hate the way you drive my car.

I hate it when you stare.

I hate your big dumb combat boots

And the way you read my mind.

I hate you so much it makes me sick.

It even makes me rhyme.

I hate the way you’re always right.

I hate it when you lie.

I hate it when you make me laugh

Even worse when you make me cry.

I hate it when you’re not around

And the fact that you didn’t call.

But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you.

Not even close.

Not even a little bit.

Not even at all.

You reread the poem time and time again. It feels like healing, in a strange way, almost as if you’re soothing your wounds with a homemade balm. Finally, for the first time in a week, you feel yourself give a genuine smile. Gently taking the paper from the typewriter, you deliberate what to do with it. The answer comes to you clear like the water at daybreak.

There was a rumour…

Like clockwork, you find JJ on the fishing jetty. His back is to you once more, only this time he’s wearing a loose navy-blue button shirt. Those same cargo shorts and those same combat boots adorn his lower half. His long, tousled mousy-blonde hair is out free, not buried under a cap: your favourite style on him. You make your way down the jetty slowly, giving yourself time to change your mind. There’s a nervousness in your stomach and it doubles when JJ glances over his shoulder at the sound of footsteps. The moment he sees you, he leaves his rod propped and turns around fully.

“Hey,” he breaths.

You come to a stop in front of him, leaving a safe distance. “Hey.”

“What, uh…I didn’t know you were coming here,” he eventually says.

You shrug. “I didn’t know I was, ‘til now.”

He nods, uneasy, and pushes his fingers through his hair. His wonderful nervous fidget. You love that one almost as much as the neck scratch.

“The typewriter?”

“Hm?”

“The typewriter. What’s that for?”

He shrugs, gesturing out to you. “For your movies. So you can write those films that you wanna make.”

“But what’s it for?”

JJ catches your gaze and flounders. He shakes his head and glances off, inspecting a corner of the jetty. You take a step forward but he seems to think you’re going to leave, because suddenly he’s looking up at you again and talking. “I’m really sorry about how everything went down.”

You pause in place and watch him. In one of your hands is the poem, folded up into a tiny rectangle, withered at the seams from fiddling.

JJ shakes his head. “I’m not proud of it. At first, I was happy to. I mean, I was getting paid to take out some random chick. I don’t come from much and that amount of money can stretch a long way.”

“I know,” you quietly say.

“No, you don’t,” JJ says. He isn’t exactly angry; it seems he just wants to be clear. “My dad’s a deadbeat, alright? He gets fired from every gig he gets and I gotta help keep the lights on. It ain’t your fault, and I’m not blaming you, but you don’t know what it’s like living from paycheck to paycheck. You ain’t ever had to worry about going hungry, or not having gas or power for a week, or going without internet for a month. So, when Rafe offered me $50, course I said yes. I’m a scumbag who’s dirt-broke with no fucking morals.”

You can’t help but close your eyes. It hurts to hear him talk about himself like that. It hurts to hear him admit to taking the money.

“But then I actually got to know you,” JJ continues.

He’s watching you when you open your eyes. Gauging your reaction.

“And I meant everything I said to you. I didn’t make any of that shit up – the real stuff. And I meant it when I said nobody has ever understood me like you do,” JJ tells you. His voice is thick and weighty with emotion.

You purse your lips in a bid to keep from crying. “What about the movies?”

“Well, I didn’t like them all that much before I met you,” JJ admits. “But you’ve made me a fan. To be honest, they make me think of you.”

“And the typewriter?” you can’t help but ask.

JJ’s lips tease to smile. “Well, this asshole paid me a whole bunch of money to take this really cool chick out. But I messed up and I fell for her, so I had to do something useful with the money.”

Your thumb brushes over the paper of the poem. It feels like a safety blanket. You can’t tear your eyes from his and it seems he feels the same. He nods, gently, as if confirming whatever doubt you have.

“I don’t expect you to just forgive me. I know you don’t trust easy and I threw that in your face. But I don’t wanna lose you. I want you around forever, if you’d let me.”

The heaviness in your gut is gone. There’s a feeling of enlightenment that washes over you. Here, stood before you, honest and open, pockets empty and heart on a platter…You find yourself taking a chance. The pain from your mom leaving you without rhyme or reason fades behind one simple fact: all people are different people.

You no longer want to give JJ the poem. It doesn’t feel right to, at least not right now. Pocketing it, you dampen your lips and deliberate.

Eventually, you nod, “I’ll let you. It’ll take time for me to trust you again, like I did before…But I don’t want to lose you either.”

JJ’s smile slowly grows. It’s your smile, the one he saves just for you, and you feel the pain already passing just by seeing it. Stepping towards him, you make the first move to reconnect. He’s more than happy to accept, pressing his lips to yours in a tender, tired kiss.

“‘Sides,” you say, looking up at him, arms thrown around his shoulders. “Everyone knows the best movies are when the couple gets together at the very end.”

[angel-of-the-moons]

Marc x reader smut where reader is down in the dumps and is getting insecure of not being good enough (compared to Layla) and hates that but can’t help it so Marc figures this out and fucks the insecurity outta reader?

More Than Enough

Marc Spector x Fem!Reader (Implied Steven/Jake x Reader)

TW/CW: NSFW, Smut, Feelings of inadequacy, unprotected PiV, Mirror Sex, Praise, Mostly-clothed sex, Marc has a few of his own issues and is not a licensed psychologist

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: I am so sorry this has been sitting in my ask box for so goddamn long, enjoy the word vomit aksbldbldbld

You knew it was a stupid thing to worry about, your insecurity. You felt... sub-par.

Compared to other people, compared to other women, compared to... her.

You could tell they had something special at one point, something almost-unbreakable. But then the issue with Steven realizing who he was, hunting Harrow, fighting Ammit, finding out Marc was there when her father was murdered... Jake goddamn Lockley...

Layla el Faouly was, honestly, a head-turner. She was funny, smart, beautiful and had a way of getting people to open up to her.

Even you, to a point. But you still felt inadequacy, even a bit of envy when it came to Layla. She was with Marc for so long--hell they had been married!

You couldn't keep lying to yourself, and you couldn't keep lying to them. So... You came clean. And the look Marc gave you made you wilt.

It was even worse because he was silent. You couldn't bear to be under his scrutiny so you turned around and wrapped your arms around yourself, staring into the floor-length mirror with a mixture of shame and embarrassment.

Your eyes darted towards Marc's reflection. At first, you thought he was looking at you; but then you realized he was having a mental conversation with Steven and Jake about the situation. You wished you could be privy to those conversations, worrying about any possible arguments that may be waging behind his eyes.

Your shoulders drop and you sigh, eyes closing. "Just--forget I said anything? Please, I'm sorry that I..."

Your eyes open and you instinctively gasp--Marc was standing right behind you, his dark and stormy eyes locking with that of your reflection's. "M-Marc--"

"You fuckin' kidding me, doll?" Marc asked you, frowning. The tone of his voice alone made you wince.

"I--I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..." You try.

"Damn right you shouldn't have."

You squeeze your eyes shut once more, hating yourself as that stone of regret pings around in your belly.

That is, until he growled, hands bunching your shirt at your waist, yanking you against him, his lips barely curling into a snarl at your ear, "Cause that's my girlfriend you're fucking talking about."

You shiver, a small gasp coming from you as Marc's mouth was on your throat; licking, kissing, mouthing away at your skin, making goosebumps prickle across your body.

His mouth comes to a halt for a split second, his eyes focusing on his reflection once more; "...Right. Our girlfriend."

He takes a small bit of your skin between his teeth and nips; "And we know for a fact that our girlfriend isn't doubting for a single fucking second if she's "good enough" for us."

"I... I just..." You babble as his grip goes white-knuckled in your shirt.

You gasp loudly when he grips just a fraction tighter and rips your shirt open, the buttons flying in different directions in the room, skittering across the floor to be hidden until Steven's next "cleaning day" spree.

"M-Marc! My shirt--"

"Is hidin' you. Gotta show you what you're blind to, baby." He muttered against your skin, his hands spreading over your belly, one going up to pluck at the bra you wore. It wasn't fancy or sexy by any means. Just one of those stretchy, mesh, wire-free ones you opted to wear when you didn't want your skin irritated by the wires and elastics fo your typical ones.

"Wearing Steven's favorite one, today." Marc hisses in your ear, groping at one of your breasts through the fabric, running his thumb over the bump of your nipple as your heart begins to pound.

"I... I didn't--"

"Wanna know why he likes it?" Marc asked, biting onto your earlobe, grabbing the loops of your jeans to tug you against him; allowing him to grind the growing bulge of his cock against the curve of your ass.

One of his fingers pluck the stretchy fabric, letting it go to ever so slightly smack against your skin; "Because it don't fucking hurt you. Because, it looks way more natural--way more comfortable."

He chuckles warmly, a soft smile playing on his lips, "That, and the way that they bounce more in this bra than the others tends to distract him, too. Makes these," His index finger swirles over the bump of your nipple once more. "way more visible."

Shame and the heat of your self-esteem make your cheeks flush, and you look away. Marc frowned stubbornly, "Baby..."

"Marc, I don't think that I'm..."

He growled again, the typical sound that came from him when he was frustrated. He'd never used it on you, before; so the sound made a thrill run down your spine.

He shoves his hand from your bra to the front of your pants, yanking the button open and pulling your fly down. He hastily shoved the denim down your thighs, revealing your soft, lacy panties.

They were a dark gray color, with bits of green and red--vines and roses across the lace. They left very little to the imagination, but they were so soft sometimes you'd forget you were wearing any at all.

"Damn, baby... wearin' Jake's favorite, too?" He grinned against the skin of your shoulder, staring down your reflection with the hardened gaze of a soldier sighting down his target.

His rough and calloused hand stroked over the fabric, his fingers dipping low to tease the seam of your panties, feeling a damp spot that was slowly spreading. It never failed; you were light a string in a guitar, waiting to be plucked so the most melodious of tunes would come from your weet lips.

Marc continued to stroke your damp panties for a moment, humming against your soft skin. "Wanna know what the favorite thing that you're wearin'?"

"Wh-what?" You breathe.

Marc withdrew his hand and gently encapsulated your fragile wrist in his fingers, holding your left hand up, where a gold ring was snugly fit around your ring finger; "This. This here means that you're mine. That you're ours. So don't you think for a minute that you're second-best, that you're not good enough for us."

In that moment, you felt stupid all over again. How could you forget? The weight of the ring felt so obvious to you, now. Marc's fingers caress the cool metal, smiling in a gentle way at your hand.

"Baby, you gotta understand... You're right."

Your heart thudded against the delicate cage of your ribs as he let that sentence hang in the air, keeping you in suspense.

"You're not Layla. You're nothin' like her." He continued, "You're you. You're funny, you're soft-spoken, you have a habit of always finding animals to play with and pet when we go out... And that little giggle-snort you do when you laugh so hard you're outta breath? All. You. We fucking love every single goddamn piece of you, baby. So... Please stop comparing yourself to Layla... If you keep doing that, you'll just tear yourself up inside until you're all hollow. Believe me, I did it so much that... well, you know what happened."

He brings your hand up and kisses your knuckles, "And we can't have you falling apart on us... you're the closest thing we have to normal... we need you."

Your heart squeezed in your chest and you sniffled, feeling tears well up in your eyes as your lip wobbled. Lingering feelings of doubt still clung to your subconscious, even in the face of all of Marc's affirmations, "But... but I don't feel like I'm good enough, Marc... Sometimes... sometimes I just feel so useless, and..."

Marc grunts, the sound coming from his nose in a hefty exhale as he drops your hand. "Alright... Maybe you need a little extra convincing."

You almost turn, confused by what he meant, when his hand flattened between your shoulders, shoving you against the mirror so your hands were spread across the reflective glass.

"M-Marc--!"

"Shush, and don't you stop looking at that mirror. Want you to see how fuckin' pretty you are while I fuck you." He murmurs, leaning back to undo his own jeans, hastily shoving the and his boxers down to free his cock, red and throbbing.

His rolled his hips against you, his cock grinding against the soft lace of your panties, smearing a small droplet of precum onto the fabric. Marc lifted his eyes to lock with yours in the mirror.

"Don't look at me, baby. Already told you."

Your breath leaves you in a stutter, your eyes dragging down to look at your own flushed face; your parted lips and torn shirt, your breasts heaving, the soft fabric stretched across them as their soft weight swayed and bounced as Marc maneuvered your body.

He slides your underwear off to the side, gripping the base of his shaft as he slides the tip of his cock through your budding wetness. Your eyes go wide when you feel his tip catch at your entrance, and you barely have a moment to breathe as he slams his hips against you, sinking inside of your body in one fluid thrust.

The stretchy was sudden; the lack of proper preparation left you with a stinging sensation that battled evenly with the pleasure of having his thick cock settle deep inside of you as he pressed against you; the dark hairs at the base of his cock tickled the skin of your ass.

"Baby, you're--fuck." He whined, his brows creasing as a stray curl falls over his forehead as he bows forward, relishing in the moment how good it felt to have your soft, velvety heat wrap and cling around him.

"Shit, honey." Marc sighed after what felt like eons; his hands stroking and gripping the flesh of your ass in his meaty palms. "You're like fuckin' heaven..."

He pulled back once, and slammed back in, making you cry out as the burn and ecstasy once more fight each-other in a bare-handed brawl; making your eyes roll back and flutter closed. God, why did it feel so good?

His mouth was at your ear, his voice tight and strained as he rocked his hips into yours, his cock sliding in and out of you easier and easier as the pleasure began to mount; tickling your spine. "...and I should know, angel..." Marc grunted. "I was in heaven for a little while..."

"Marc..." You whimpered, dropping your head as he began to pound into you, your chest burning with every heavy breath you took as Marc roughly crammed his cock inside of you, pressing hard on every single spot inside that had your head swimming with euphoria.

"Gh--fuck!" Marc barked, grabbing a fistful of your hair (carefully, ind you, he didn't want to hurt you at all) and pulled your head back so he could see your face, "I told you... watch yourself, baby. Don't look away."

You hiccup. Marc was fucking you so roughly from behind that you were almost concerned the pressure you were putting on the mirror would shatter it.

"That's it..." Marc groaned, his eyes rolling back with a blissful sigh as he tipped his head back.

You could see his Adam's apple bob, his jaw tighten as he fucked into you like a rutting dog. His hand lets your hair go and slides down your back, beneath the fabric of your torn shirt to caress the curve and contour of your spine.

Marc's eyes meet yours in the reflection, and his lips quirk up as he gives you another sharp thrust; your voice punching out of you in a breathless cry.

"Baby... do I gotta tell you again?" He sighed, gripping you by the back of your elbows and yanking you upright against him, so your back was pressed against his chest.

You groaned in bliss as you felt him shift inside of you. This position was new... and not unpleasant.

One of his hands curls around you, gripping your chin and jerking your head up, snarling in your ear; "Fuckin' watch, baby."

Your eyes slide down, and between your spread legs, your panties hastily shoved aside... You could see Marc's cock pull out almost to the tip before he slammed his hips up, rutting up into you in another frantic thrust.

"'m gonna show you how fuckin' good you are to us... Even if it means I gotta prove it to you all night long."

He slammed into you once more, his lips curling against your ear as he watches himself disappear inside of you.

"Even if Steven and Jake gotta take over after. I'm done with you."

[echantedtoon]

A Lovers' Circle (Poly Haishira x Reader) Ch15 Setting Hearts A Blaze

(There'll be a small time skip as things will be repetitive until we cut over to the Rengoku household.Plus a funny meme I made for fun.)

Taglist: @shadyd3ar @jcrml

@tengensangel @miniverse-zen @mysteri0uz @jjamsbangtan

@the-unknown-fandom

@lavenderdropp @mimisweetz. @purplesoulsapphire

@kksmush @denkpanda18 @whomisi @lessthanimperfect @silver-rin

@rotting-alone @namis-noodlebox

@k1ttyluverz @akiramente

@rascalraccoon @ravenclawkae1

@gilded-sunrays @crescent-blades

@yukari1k

Remember if you want to be added to the taglist lemme know

The sounds of traffic and wheels on the road was all that filled the early morning air as you stifled a yawn threatening to leak out of your mouth. It was rather early but you promised to drive your Aunt to the airport the day after Halloween. You hadn't gotten much sleep the night prior staying late at the party and spending a lot of time removing glittery make up on your skin. On top of that you were going to be a little late for work because of said trip you had to take.

"Thank you so much for dropping me off, Hun. These late night readings are killing my posture," your aunt said stretching out an arm. "Now I know why women my age get grey hairs! HAHA!"

You rolled your eyes at her joke before slowly coming to a stop at a stop sign. A giant suitcase was behind her in the passenger seat and you were ninety nine percent sure it was mostly packed up with fliers and other business promotional things. Not something you thought would be taken to a wedding but then again you  were talking about your aunt here. Nothing she did ever made sense.

"It's not a problem. And I did promise I would." Turning on your turn signal, you turned left going on down the road where you could make out the airport just a little bit aways. "When are you coming back?"

She waved a hand. "Two or three days from now. I'll call a taxi when I get back don't worry. I just appreciate you being nice enough to take me." She then smiled at you before reaching out to ruffle your hair like a kid. "You're a good kid. Now I can see why that big teddy bear likes you so much!"

"Not while I'm driving," you waved her hand off but smiled. "But I guess so. I feel so lucky to have him after everything that happened. It was like life finally decided to stop making me it's punching bag ....At least when it comes to dating."

The older woman smiled more. "He's a good one. I predicted a happy healthy like for you two."

"You mean when you read his palm without asking him first?"

She shrugged. "He didn't mind and everything I saw was predicable anyhoo- You still haven't let me read yours."

"Because I don't believe in those things no offense. Besides the last time you read my palm, you said I would 'be so beautiful many men and women will fall for me'." You rolled your eyes again putting on your turn signal again before slowly turning into the air port's parking lot. "And that was five years ago get it still hasn't happened."

"Give it time! My foresights always come true sooner or later." She smiled despite you sighing in response. "WHELP! Looks like I've got a date with the skies! See you in a few days!" She had just grabbed onto the car and was about to open it and step out-

"Wait!" In question she turned back around with a raised brow at you as you started patting down your clothes and frantically digging around in your pockets until you eventually pulled out something. Well a lot of somethings. "I need your help with something."

"Oh?" What she thought was a deck of cards, was actually..a deck of cards but not the playing card variety. It seemed to be a stack of business cards that was held up to her.

"There's someone who's loosing business really badly. He runs a dojo somewhere around here and I feel like I want to help him. I know you're pretty good at networking and know everyone there is..Do you think you can help?"

The softer eyes of the older woman eyed you in interest before glancing at the business cards. Taking them with a hum and eyeing the words inked onto their flimsy cardboard bodies... Before she smiled. 

"I think I can do something with these. I'm surprised you want to help a stranger so badly."

You shrugged. "I don't know why I want to...it just feels like the right thing to do. Plus he's one of Gyomei's friends. It might be good to try and get along with them."

Your aunt hummed again and you flinched as she suddenly grabbed your hand. Looking at the palm very closely and her brows rising in some kind of realization. "Interesting."

"What is?"

"Oh, nothing.~" She giggled dropping your hand and waving you off. "Don't worry about a thing honey. Just leave everything to me. By the end of this month, everyone is gonna flock to ya!"

Your face turned to confusion. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh you'll find out soon enough. Oh. Look at the time! I better go before I miss my flight. You better get going before you're late too."

You hadn't the foggiest idea of what your eccentric aunt was talking about but shrugged it off as her being eccentric again. With he out of your car, you just made the long drive back home and to the college where you were unsurprisingly late and trudged yourself into the daycare tired and sore. Hopefully the children behaved especially good today so you wouldn't have to worry about anything else other than being scolded by your boss. 

"You look sleepy, Ms. Y/n," one little girl pointed out as soon as you slowly walked into the large playroom trying to tie your apron in the back.

....Yeah. Today might be a very long day for you. 

Unluckily the comment made by the little girl, whom you gently shooed to go listen to a story someone else was reading to other kids, was not missed by your boyfriend who looked up from where he was wiping glitter glue off a toy someone dropped on top of the arts and crafts table. You couldn't help the tired sigh that escaped you as Gyomei was quick to walk on over and you felt his form practically loom over you as his head tilted.

"You're tired." It wasn't a question, it was a statement that you winced at. 

"A little bit."

"I thought I asked you to stay home if you didn't get enough sleep."

You waved him off despite the fact that he obviously couldn't see you. "I'm not gonna pass out. I'm just a little bit tired, and I have things to do today."

"Such as?"

Working? Getting today's notes from Giyuu, the project you have with him, and you promised to bake a few things for everyone.  Not to mention grocery shopping, bills, cleaning up your house-

You jumped as a large hand suddenly tilted your head back up towards the staring white eyes. "None of that." He spoke as if he could literally read your mind. "After work I want you to go right home and rest. I'll inform Shinobu and Tomioka you won't be able to make the appointment today."

"W-What? But I promised them I'd do it with them not to mention that I also-"

A warmth presses against your head making you instantly turn red and a few little kids gagged and closed their eyes at the sight. One pointed at you both with a disgusted face.

"Ew, Mr. Mei! That's cooties!," she accused him to which he chuckled at her and smiled 

"Perhaps so. But I meant what I said." You were wide awake now as he patted the top of your head. "Go home and rest. If you don't I'll just take your keys and carry you home myself."

"Yo-Yo-You're bluffing!"

He hummed. "Am I?"

You decided against wanting to see if he'd actually do that and quickly scurried away when one of the younger toddlers cried out in frustration at his building blocks falling over again and again. His chubby little hands and waddle walk keeping knocking over the blocks he did stack up again and again. You'd have to console him and played with the little guy to make sure he was having a good time. 

Things weren't really too much different for the rest of the day. You did your job and helped to start clean up and check out the kids as their parents started arriving. However you didn't see Sanemi turn up. It wasn't even Kanae. Or Giyuu or Shinobu or even Mitsuri whom you were pretty good friends with by now. Instead you were treated to the sight of a tall and visibly muscular man whom walked in through the doorway. Orange hair framing his brightly smiling face and just as fiery eyes blinking around until they settled on you.

With a beaming smile he walked right up to you and you blinked as he stood before you. "HELLO, Y/N!!"

You winced at the high volume but still smiled. "Hi, Kyojuro." You greeted the positive man. "What are you doing here?"

"I've been sent to fetch Koto!," he proclaimed hands on his hips, "Sanemi's running late with his tutoring classes so he asked me to come get Koto for him!"

You blinked. "Really? I don't remember Sanemi telling me this and it's policy to call ahead of time for alternate pick ups."

His head tilted like an owl. "Really? He told the front desk lady this morning."

Oh right. You weren't here that morning. You held up a hand. "Let me go ask real quick. No offense. It's just part of the job."

"NO OFFENSE TAKEN!!"

You still chuckled despite yourself and left for just a few minutes. Confirmed with a coworker who was there that morning. And then returned a moment later with Koto on your hip and his daycare bag Sanemi always dropped off with him slung over your shoulder. The toddler was fiddling with a little car but let out a happy gasp upon seeing the red haired man.

"Ren-Ren!," he cheered throwing up his hands excitedly, "Hi!"

"Hello, Koto!" He greeted holding out his arms to the toddler. "Did you have a fun day?"

Koto was happily accepted into his arms with a nod. "Uh huh! Miss Toji reads us Beauty n da beast."

"Ooh. A fun story."

"Where's Nemi?"

"He's late, but I'm gonna take you to the park while we wait."

"YAY!!"

You chuckled at the adorable sight of him holding  up the bag. "Here. You'll be needing this. How's Mrs. Shinazugawa by the way?"

"Thank you!" The bag was taken away from you before he again tilted his head in question. Like he seemed to be studying you for a second. "She is doing better. Still a little stressed about paying back everything, but eventually she will and everything will go back to normal for everyone involved. However I believe that you had a hand in her soon to be relief."

You blinked at him. "Oh. You mean the money." He nodded and you hummed. "Well like I told everyone else, he just needed it more than me."

"A thousand dollars and free food for an entire year are a hard thing to give up for most people..and yet you have it all away to a at the time complete stranger."

You winced. "That's not totally true. I-..I didn't really think about giving it to him at first. Really I didn't think of anyone else but myself at first but-.."

"But?," he asked raising a brow in question as you sighed.

"I dunno. I didn't really have a mom growing up so-"...You looked down fingers drumming on the countertop. "So I guess seeing him trying so hard to help his mom made me feel really sorry for him. Maybe it's something I'd wanna do too if my mom was around y'know..Uh.." You stopped when you saw him intently staring at you Koto mindlessly toying with his toy. "Uh. S-Sorry. Didn't mean to ramble on."

"Please. Do not apologize for the honesty. It's rare for someone to have an honest heart and even rather for them to admit things we may not be proud up." His smile got even wider if that was possible. "I can now see why you were able to make such great friends with everyone. You're a good person!"

Despite yourself a small pink appeared on your face, hand waving at him. "Shucks. Stop it. You're embarrassing me. Oh. That reminds me. How's your dad doing? Anything change?"

He shook his head. "Not yet but a few of Senjuro's classmates have shown interest in the dojo! We just have to remain optimistic and keep working at it!"

Ah. So your aunt hadn't worked her magic yet. Makes sense. It hasn't even been a whole day yet...Eh. you really shouldn't expect results to just happen like that. It was as unrealistic as her predicting that men and women would fall for you like some badly written fantasy story.

You nodded. "We gotta look on the bright side of things for sure! Anyways it was nice to see you again, Kyojuro. I hope to see you again sometime."

"INDEED! And thank you again for those delicious cookies! Everyone loved them!"

"Cookies?"

"Not for you I'm afraid!" In one movement the energetic man turned on his heel towards the door. "Now come! The swing sets and slides await us!"

"Yay! Swings!"

You couldn't help but laugh at the goofy man as he left with the giggling child. He certainly was a bright fellow. Everything would be ok. You were sure of that. Even if your efforts did nothing, surely the Rengoku's would be able to get by well.

Days passed by. 

The October fall being kissed goodbye slowly as the leaves still fell and gave way to that weird time of the months of November where the cool of fall was merging with the soon to be cold of winter and snow. Jackets, scarfs, and mittens were already being seen on so many walking around. 

It was on one of these days that a slow miracle was creeping up to its unsuspecting gift-y. Not quite a Christmas miracle but it'll do in a pinch for what was to be taken place that evening. A hot bowl of soup and a little bit of rice was always a quick and nice meal for a cold night like this. The kind of meal that'd help to cheer him up and reminded him just how much he loved his wife's cooking when the tray was placed in front of him and a warm kiss was pressed to his lips for a second.

Smiles were always his favorite part of her. Couldn't get enough of it as she smiled at him. "Here. I made some miso soup today. It ought to help you warm up after all the work you did."

Hard work? If you can call cleaning a barely used dojo and moping around all day hard work. He would've laughed at himself if he hadn't felt so frustrated with himself right now. Instead he kept quiet and pulled the bowl closer to him muttering a barely audible thanks. Her smile slowly gave way to a sad frown before she sighed and turned away. Slowly allowing herself to start preparing her own meal and a second tray for her youngest boy. She'd take him a meal as he was busy studying for a few exams before the Christmas break. 

The scooping of hot soup sloshing around in the pot was only paused when the distant sounds of a familiar beeping noise cascaded through the air. Catching her attention and only making her husband grunt again.

"Are you going to answer that?"

She didn't answer him. Letting the ladle spoon plop back down into the soul with a watery noise and quickly making her way towards the den where no doubt the home phone was ringing out for someone to answer it. It was not too long before the cold plastic was picked up from the receiver and help up to her ear. 

"Yes?"...Red eyes blinked. "Oh? I wasn't expecting a call from you. Is everything alright?" Her head turned around back towards the man still lazily picking at his soul with a spoon and not eating it. "Yes....Alright then."

Pitiful eyes didn't look up from the sloshing liquid of the soup even as footsteps approached back softly or even when he saw a pair of legs stop at his side out of the corner of his eyes. But he did blink as something was held out to his face. Took him two seconds to realize that it was a phone, and it took him one more second to look back up to his wife in question.

"Dear, it's Mr. Ubuyashiki."

A blink. "Who?"

"He's the chairman of Senjuro's school." The phone was nudged closer to him. "He wants to talk to you."

What? He grunted looking annoyed. "So? What does he want? If Senjuro's done something then-"

"Dear, please just speak to him."

There was a small three second pause before with an annoyed look the phone was taken from her and reluctantly held up to his ear. "Yes?"

"Ah! A different voice!" The voice of the phone was a man's. Clearly one he's never heard before. "Am I to assume that this is the husband of my wonderful calligraphy teacher?"

"What do you want?" He wasn't in the mood for the cheery bull that this voice seemed to have.

"Straight to the point then I see! Then I won't beat around the bush." The voice chuckled but gained a more professional feeling with it. "I heard that you are quite a coach!"

...Another blink. "What?"

"Recently I attended a little celebration of a good friend's son. Your name happened to be on a little business card handed out to me and I was reminded of your son. Polite young man he is."

"What is the point to this? Either spit it out or I'll hang up!" He REALLY was not in the mood to be talking to a man that liked to make random small chit chat even with the stern frown his wife was giving him.

"Of course," the man remained polite and patient despite his annoyance. "It reminded me of the petition Senjuro presented to me a little bit ago to start a kendo club. Usually I wouldn't mind clubs but one of our biggest school sponsors thought it would be a great idea to have an official kendo league added to our school. Frankly I couldn't agree more."

Huh. So his youngest finally did something worthwhile huh?...Guess that was good for him but-

"What does that have to do with me?"

"Well naturally if we're to add kendo to our track and other sports teams we'll be in need of a coach to teach said sport." He completely froze at his words. "But unfortunately we have none."

The world seemed to slow down as the silence continued to stare off at nothing. His throat suddenly felt dry as he swallowed thickly in order to not let his neck to become a desert. "What..are you getting at?"

"Mr. Shinjuro I've heard quite a good deal about you from your wife and others. I'd love to hire you as one of our new sports coaches starting next semester! And have you coach our new established kendo team if that's an option for you."

CLINK. CLI-CLINK.

Ruka blinked as the spoon dropped from her husband's hand and clattered to the table flinging small droplets of miso soup around the oak wood surface. Her brow rose higher at the wide eyed stare he seemed to have. Like he just saw a ghost.

"Honey? Are you ok?"

[marlynnofmany]

Paws in a Circle

There’s a poster I saw once, back on Earth, that had a silhouette of a bear with deer antlers, and it was labeled “Beer.” I had forgotten about it completely until I met our newest client, who by that logic was definitely a beer.

I’d already done my part of the interaction by carrying out one of the heavier boxes, so while the captain went over the delivery fees with her, I was free to stare politely and decide which other Earth animals she resembled. (Fur coloring more like a red fox, and semi-upright posture that was less bear and more extinct giant ground sloth.)

I was so focused on watching the client handle the datapad with her giant paws that I completely missed it when the hovercar behind her sprung a fuel leak.

Paint saw it, though. “Oh! Your car!” she yelped, pointing. “I’ll get Mimi!” She was off in a flash of orange scales, back into the ship in search of our mechanic.

The client growled a swear word that didn’t translate, shoved the datapad back at Captain Sunlight, then galloped over to her car. While I expected her to throw open the hood in search of the part that was leaking, she instead made a beeline for the back seat.

When she threw open that door, I saw why.

“Kids! Out of the car! It’s not safe!”

A half dozen bundles of spotted yellow fur tumbled out, making distressed noises that didn’t need translating. They had tiny little antler buds and very big eyes.

Captain Sunlight was busy talking to someone through her communicator, probably Mimi. I stood there uselessly by the packages. What did I know about fuel leaks? Nothing helpful. I knew the puddle was growing by the second, and was probably flammable, but that was about it. And this backwater spaceport barely had an information booth, much less a local response team.

The client ushered her cubs over to where we stood just as Mimi and Paint returned. Blip and Blop followed with a big toolbox carried between them. Mimi was already taking charge and waving tentacles about, talking to the captain about the lack of reliable repair shops this far in the boonies, telling Blip and Blop how best to use their muscles in opening up the engine, and reassuring the customer that this was fine, actually, that model hovercar had a known issue with the fuel lines.

When the client dithered over minding her cubs and being present for the repairs, Captain Sunlight pointed a scaly yellow hand at me. “Our human can keep your little ones entertained. Bring them over here.”

“Uh,” I said.

Captain Sunlight looked up at me, still talking to the client. “She has extensive experience in tending to small furry creatures.”

I wanted to say that veterinarian training and childcare were two very different things, but I wasn’t about to make the captain look bad. And knowing Mimi, this would be quick.

The client said, “Thank you. Kids, you need to stay over here, okay? Next to these boxes, but don’t touch. Listen to the tall one. I’ll be right there helping fix the car.”

The tiny-voiced replies were recognizable words in the most common trade language, though their pronunciation made me clock them at around three or four years old in human years. They were very cute.

And they were suddenly my responsibility, all looking up at me like spotted teddy bears while the rest of the adults fretted about the car.

The questions were immediate.

���What are you?”

“Where’s your fur?”

“Did you lose it because you ate the wrong thing? Mommy says we have to eat our vi’mins so our fur doesn’t fall out.”

“Is this instead of fur?”

I freed the tiny paws tugging at my pants. “I’m not supposed to have fur. I’m a human. And yes, I wear clothes to keep me warm instead.”

“It looks funny.”

“Do you have to brush it?”

“Do you know any games?”

I brightened at that. “Games! Sure, I know some games.” I wracked my brain for something that would keep them entertained without causing new problems. “What kind of games do you like to play?”

They all answered at once in an avalanche of words, bouncing around in excitement, with a couple grabbing each other’s fur to keep from falling over. I couldn’t make out a thing they were saying. But I had the beginning of an idea.

“Do you like dancing in a circle?” I asked.

They had no idea what I was talking about, and possibly no understanding of basic shapes yet. Three of them spun in place while the others waved their arms.

“First you stand in a circle, like this,” I said, sketching out the shape in midair. “Here. You stand here, then you there…” With some gentle nudging — they were so soft — I soon had them arranged in something like a circle. “Now hold hands with the person next to you.”

I was a little concerned that their paws weren’t suited to this, since they had long blunt claws already and didn’t look very dexterous, but they managed. With lots of giggling and hopping in place.

“Now everybody step to the side, in this direction.” I ushered them into a clockwise rotation, nice and slow (and giggling), with no risk of any little fluffy heads bonking onto the spaceship landing pad. It took them a second, then they got the rhythm without tripping over their own feet.

Then they unanimously spun faster, hopping and laughing with squeals and barks that were probably making more than one adult turn to stare. I don’t know; I kept my eyes on the littles. My arms were out and ready in case somebody stumbled and brought the whole circle crashing down.

But no one did. The half dozen youngsters wheeled and spun, bouncing with glee and showing no sign of stopping.

“That’s new,” rumbled a voice behind me. I tried not to flinch when I looked up at the mama bear. Beer. Whatever. She asked, “Is that an activity from your planet?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Pretty basic, and it seemed good for kids.”

The antlered head nodded. “Looks like valuable practice at coordination, as well as teamwork. There are a few adults I know who could benefit from that.”

Images flashed through my head of huge antlered bear aliens doing ring-around-the-rosie as a corporate teambuilding exercise. And professional athletes trying to improve their footwork. “Yeah, they probably could. And it’s a fun bit of community bonding time.”

Mama Bear nodded. “Okay children, the car is fixed,” she announced. “Time to go home.”

The cubs made the exact same disappointed noises as human kids. Even when their mother waded in and picked them up one by one to urge them towards the car, they didn’t want to stop playing. They grabbed hands in pairs and spun off that way, even faster than before. I did have to catch one fuzzy little teddy toddler, who just laughed about it and hopped around some more.

Peripheral vision told me the rest of the crew was helping move the packages into the hovercar’s storage space and mop up the last of the fuel. Overheard conversation told me that the good captain had tactfully gotten us a bonus payment for the mechanical assistance. I couldn’t tell if childcare was part of that, and I didn’t ask. I just focused on herding the excitable youngsters back to their car, where thankfully they all knew how to get into the safety harnesses without help.

Mama Bear closed the door. “Thank you for everything,” she said, directing that at me as well as Captain Sunlight. “I will recommend your services highly to anyone who asks. And we will probably need more deliveries soon, once we get the new house set up, so perhaps we will see you again!”

Captain Sunlight nodded. “Perhaps so. It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

I waved goodbye to the kids, who had found the button to open the window and were just as excitable as ever. “See you later! Maybe next time I can teach you the Hokey Pokey. That’s big on my planet.”

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[chronicowboy]

When Connor finally comes over to the loft, Buck can only think thank god.

Its not that he doesn't like Kameron, he actually really enjoys her company. She's funny and bubbly and enjoys learning whatever new facts he'd found on Wikipedia that day and she has killer commentary for shitty reality TV.

Its not even the whole pregnant thing. He laughs when she balances her plate on her belly and he always braves her adventures in craving combinations even if it ends with him gagging and swearing never to eat tuna or jelly ever again - sidenote: chips and whipped cream is a new go-to snack.

He's just fed up of feeling like a perpetual roommate in his own apartment yet again. And his couch fucking sucks.

Also, like, its great that Connor and Kameron are starting to talk things through.

But his couch sucks.

So, when Connor comes over looking sheepish and apologetic, Buck welcomes him in with a smile. Kameron... not so much.

"I'm... gonna head upstairs," Buck mumbles into the awkward silence of the kitchen, "and get into my running gear." He nods once before fleeing up to his bedroom.

Buck dives for his headphones when their hushed voices start hissing at each other, connecting them up to his phone with fast hands and blasting his workout playlist as loud as he can bear. He strips efficiently, pulling on a pair of shorts and a tank top in the bathroom when the voices get louder. Then he's rushing downstairs and grabbing his sneakers, wondering if it would be wise to run all the way to Eddie's house.

His hand is an inch away from the doorknob when Connor stops him. With a silent sigh, Buck pops a headphone out and turns to face the scene in front of him.

Kameron is leaning on the kitchen island, palms flat against the marble, fingers curled under her hands, head hung low. Connor is wide-eyed and pleading, his grip on Buck's wrist tight and unyielding as he keeps him fixed to his spot.

"Buck, tell me you could raise a kid that wasn't yours," he begs, something frantic to his voice. Buck thinks he recognises the fear in Connor's eyes, thinks it looks a lot like Chimney haunting the loft weeks after Hen and Eddie had returned home. Not a fear of covid or DNA, but a fear of fatherhood cloaked in a thousand defences. "Tell me that it wouldn't bug you every single day."

Buck blinks. He opens his mouth, but something thick and cloying crawls up his throat and stops the words from coming out.

He sees flashes. Too-long curls and crutches and glasses. Nights spent huddled on a couch in front of the same shitty kid's film that Buck would happily watch a hundred times over, days spent hunched over worksheets at the dining table, mornings heavy with sleep but light with joy. Trips to the zoo, visits to the aquarium, tours of the observatory. Nightmares and tears and a run away on his doorstep. Sodden clothes and clasped hands and such visceral fear that Buck had thought he was dying. Saying no to one last game, mixing veggies into the sauce, putting his foot down on screen time. A bag full of pharmacy supplies and the tiles of the bathroom floor cold under him and growing pains Buck feels in his old bones.

"It wouldn't," Buck croaks, it feels a lot like a confession. "My captain has been more of a dad to me than my father ever was." Buck shakes his head, shrugs. "Its not about DNA, Connor, its about love."

"But." Connor's chest heaves with panicked breaths. "So, you'd do it? You'd raise another man's kid?"

Buck recognises the fear again, but this time its his own. Connor is feeling the same fear that had Buck staggering through the ravaged streets of Los Angeles. The same fear that had Buck withdrawing, trying to chase Eddie and Christopher out of the door with a list of all his sins. The same fear that had Buck reminding Eddie of Christopher's biological family. The fear Buck feels every time he has to say goodbye to Chris.

Its then that Buck's phone buzzes. He glances down at the new notification. A picture of Eddie scowling down at a cookbook captioned uh oh - backup needed ASAP.

"Oh," Buck breathes down at the screen.

All the flashes suddenly comes together, one beautiful mosaic of parental devotion.

Buck remembers the way Chimney's dad's words had lodged something sharp and painful into his chest, remembers wondering why. He remembers a quiet conversation on opposite sides of a hospital bed, remembers wondering why me. He remembers scribbling hearts together for an assignment, remembers its his turn to save you. He remembers wondering if he could be a donor not dad and Eddie asking if he knew any of Christopher's secrets.

"Buck?" Connor prompts.

"I'd do it," Buck says, only looking up from his phone when it fades to black. When he says it, it sounds a lot like you know I wouldn't. "Because... even though that kid might not be my blood, he'd still be mine," here, his voice cracks right down the middle. "I'm sorry, I have to go."

"What? Buck!"

"Sorry." Buck yanks the door open and looks over his shoulder with an apologetic shrug. "My kid needs me."

[funnybearkidsclothes]

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[braxlrose]

tons of hcs about dating/friendship tokio hotel - imagine your dating whoever you want to date :)

• georg goes to the gym a lot and gets all cocky when he notices you watching him doing push ups on the hotel floor.

• gustav licks your face like a dog when your mad at him to make you laugh.

• bill posts myspace pictures 24/7 and constantly takes pictures of you.

• bill takes you shopping all the time and loves buying you new clothes.

• tom does the same except he also gets you lingerie.

• tom makes you breakfast sandwiches in the morning and brings you breakfast in bed.

• georg loves doing your hair at night and in the morning.

• bill binge watches movie and TVs shows with you whenever he can and will eat all of the pop corn.

• gustav brought georg on your first date when you guys were 12 because he was scared to go alone on a date with a girl.

• tom used to throw mud at you as a kid bc he thought he was funny 😐.

• bill kisses your forehead every single night before you two go to bed even if you two had an argument.

• tom loves taking bathes with you and won't get out until his fingers are all pruney.

• gustav loves eating peanut butter and will sit on a counter just eating it out of the container with a spoon.

• georg kisses your shoulders when you're in a dress that shows them off. he really loves it if you have freckles on your shoulders too.

• tom takes bites out of tomatoes like they're apples and will chew really loudly to annoy you.

• tom gets flustered easily even though some people think he's just this cool, tough guy it's all an act.

• gustav does clay face masks with you every single night.

• bill likes to sleep naked next to you and run his fingers through your hair.

• bill paints your nails every day and everybody complains when you guys take out the nail polish remover because its so strong and smells so bad.

• georg loves bon fires so much and brings out marshmallows, chocolate, graham crackers and other stuff to roast over the fire.

• gustav washes your entire body for you in the shower so you don't have to because "this is what boyfriends are supposed to do".

• tom proposes to you every time he gets drunk.

• bill comes up behind you and scares you all the time because it'll always shriek because he's so tall and walks so quietly.

• gustav always holds your waist or your hand at parties so he doesn't lose you.

• gustav bakes you a cake on your birthday and decorates it himself.

• tom always takes you out to super fancy restaurants for dates, especially on holidays like Valentine's day.

• you, bill, tom, georg, and gustav have snow ball fights every winter and there's always someone complaining because the teams arent equal

• georg ties your shoe laces for you because it's "gentlemenly".

• georg kisses your "boo boos" whenever you get hurt. even if it's just a teeny tiny little scrape

• gustav learned most of his bad words from binge watching South Park

• bill bakes muffins for you. all different kinds, blueberry, lemon-poppyseed, plain, strawberry, etc.

• tom loves going kayaking with you.

• gustav loves being the big spoon when it comes to cuddling with you because he can hold you super close and tight. he especially loves doing it when it's super rainy out.

• tom loves it whenever you where his clothes to bed because they look so adorable and big on you.

• georg brings you out to arcade dates whenever you two want to do something more low maintenance

• gustav gives you big bear hugs.

• bill wraps his arms around you and rests his chin on your shoulder in the morning when you cook him breakfast.

I'll do more + NSFW hcs, I just thought I should post something bc I haven't in a while

taglist: @hearts4kaulitz @burntb4bydoll @bored0writer @fishinaband @billsleftnutt @tokiiohot @saumspam @5hyslv7 @memog1rl @80s-tingz @billybabeskaulitz @victryzvv9 @banshailey @nyxwritesshit

[thegainingdesk]

The Shirt

Ollie had to admit it to himself - he kind of looked sexy. His new shirt looked and felt great and he didn't know the last time he'd felt so confident. He usually didn't go for patterns, but there was something about the cute little dancing bear motif that really charmed him.

He'd held out on buying any size large shirts, convincing himself it was a boundary he wouldn't cross, that he'd lose the small amount of chub he'd accumulated, that he wasn't nearly as big as that yet. Wearing it now, he realised how silly he'd been. Not being constrained from all angles, not having to suck in his middle all the time, not having to worry about bending down or twisting the wrong way - it was like a weight was lifted.

Looking in the mirror now, finally wearing clothes that fit, it was obvious that most of the size was in his head. What's a large, really? Nothing. Okay, he wasn't skinny, but he wasn't fat either - he'd always been naturally broad, hadn't he? He was never going to fit into mediums like his mates. He just didn't look like a kid anymore.

"Looking good man!" Geoff said, sticking his head through the door. "New shirt? We're heading off in a bit, you joining?"

"Yeah, yeah, just give me a minute," Ollie said, smoothing the front of the shirt down and taking one last look at himself. Time to upgrade the rest of his wardrobe if it's all going to look this good, he thought to himself.

-

"You okay?" Ollie's date Malik asked, one eyebrow raised. "You look a little uncomfortable."

"No, it's fine," Ollie said as he tugged his shirt down and tucked it in for what must have been the tenth time since he'd reached the bar. "Really, I'm fine. My shirt's just a bit stiff. Reckon I must have washed it funny. Sorry, you were saying about your course?"

"Right, okay," Malik said slowly. "Anyway, like I was saying, it's so interesting looking at all these artists all together, I just…"

Ollie struggled to listen, instead fiddling with his shirt. It strained a little in his armpit, seemed to pull at the side, the way he rolled up his sleeves seemed to cut into his arms in a way they didn't usually. He hoped he could fix whatever he'd done in the wash - he'd come to think of it as his lucky date night shirt.

Still, it wasn't all bad. It was more comfortable to have the top couple of buttons open and he found the effect of his chest hair spilling out quite sexy. He wondered idly if it really was the shirt or it might be his body - after all, he'd borrowed Geoff's dumbbells a couple of times recently. He tried to flex his pecs a little. Yeah, that was it - he was just bulking at the moment. When he got around to cutting he'd look phenomenal in this shirt.

-

"Fucking hell mate, what's that about?" Geoff laughed as Ollie walked up.

Ollie looked down at himself, looking for stains, only to see the familiar dancing bear pattern. "What are you talking about?" he asked.

"That shirt! It barely fits!" their mate Dan said, howling with laughter.

"Oh, right, that. It's, well I mean, it does fit," he stumbled on his words as his fingers tried to tug the bottom of the shirt towards his waistband, trying not to get too turned on by the feeling of brushing against the soft fat. "I'm just bloated at the moment, that's all. This is my best shirt, it fits perfectly."

"Fits perf… Right, gotcha," Geoff said, his shoulders shaking a little as he chuckled into his pint. "Well, I'm not being funny, but I think you've been bloated for a while now Ollie."

Ollie grinned, making a show of how little he cared. He did his best to ignore how the buttons gaped and cut into his middle as he sat down, even as he sucked his gut in. He set his pint down and flipped the menu open. "You lot eating then?"

Dan burst out laughing again. "You were bloated a second ago, what you wanting to eat for?"

"No, it's not like that," Ollie protested. "I didn't mean, bloated bloated, you know. I mean like, you know, it's just retaining water. You know, from the protein - I'm bulking," returning to his oft stated excuse whenever he was asked why he was eating so much.

Dan and Geoff exchanged a look. "Retaining water, right," Dan said, as Geoff muttered "Got to keep up the bulk."

Six pints, a burger and chips and a couple of side orders of onion rings later, Ollie struggled to suck in his gut anymore. As he walked back to their table, he did his best to hold the pints in front of the gaps in between his buttons where his belly hair was poking through. He set the pints down, exhaled as he lowered himself into his seat slowly and-

A ping rang out as the button hit Dan's pint, who fell under the table laughing. Ollie's hand flew down to his stomach, feeling the expanse of skin and hair now visible in the space opened up.

"Jesus Christ Ollie!" Geoff said, laughing. "Buy some new fucking shirts! Right, well we'll have to head home now, won't we?"

"What for?" Ollie asked. "Because it's your round next? Nah, don't worry about me, shirt's not going to fix itself by getting home any earlier, is it?" He wondered how much of a spectacle he could make of himself by the time they left. "Do you reckon they're still doing food?"

-

"What the fuck are you doing?"

As Ollie turned around the see Geoff stood in his now open doorway, he heard a rip and felt a breeze at his side. His hands scrambled for the two still-fastenable button on the shirt, his clumsy fingers struggling against the tension in the fabric. He inhaled, strained to shrink his swollen stomach just a touch. His fingers found some purchase, dug underneath the first button-hole, then the second, and the sides of the shirt burst open. He exhaled, and his gut hung out and down, the two halves of fabric framing his heft.

"Sorry Geoff, I was just, uhh." He looked around the room, trying to think of some plausible explanation. He hoped his gut, or at least the attention it was drawing, might hide his throbbing cock. He knew it wouldn't, especially with how tight his trousers were. "I wanted to see if this shirt still fit."

"Right, well, it doesn't," Geoff said. He looked to the side, clearly trying to spare Ollie's dignity by some small measure. "I think you'd sort of be able to tell without trying it on, to be honest."

Ollie shifted, and he tried to ignore the way his body wobbled and folded, willing his erection to stop. "I thought I'd maybe see how bad the damage was," he said with a small chuckle.

"I mean, do you really want to…" Geoff sighed. "The damage is pretty fucking bad, if you really want to know," he said, still averting his gaze. "You were smaller than me in first year, now you're… fuck Ollie, you're properly fucking fat."

Ollie nodded, reveling in the way his chins creased against each other. "I appreciate the honesty mate, really," he said. "I've uhh, started a diet," he lied. "Thought it could be an inspiration thing, you know, see if I can fit back into it at some point."

Geoff closed the door a little, shuffling out the room. "Right, well… anyway, we're going to the pub," his voice came through the door. "If you want to join."

Ollie peeled the shirt off his body, doing his best not to increase the size of the hole in the side seam. "Yeah, I'll be with you in a bit," he said, the sleeve inside out and sliding past his sausage-like arm. "You eating there, do you reckon?"

-

Ollie panted and strained. With one hand he gathered as much of his gut as he could, with the other he leaned past and underneath to what little remained uncovered of his dick. He squeezed his eyes shut against a wave of pleasure.

The shirt cradled his breasts like a makeshift hammock, a single button hidden in the deep crevice above his belly and below his chest. His rhythm halted for a moment as he dug one hand into a tiramisu and brought it to his mouth, cream smearing across his face. He grunted as he did his best to reach beneath himself, and he began to buck and thrust against his own hand, helping himself along.

He plunged his fingers into his mouth, counting the calories as he sucked down the last of the rich dessert, as he quivered and a sticky wetness covered his hand and filled the soft unknown beneath his quivering middle. He brought his hand up and smeared his cum against his shirt, falling back against his pillows. The motion proved too much for the tortured fabric, and it finally gave out, the button falling to the mattress and the shirt falling open around soft hairy man tits.

-

Ollie waddled as quickly as he could to the stall, and he smiled at the young woman manning it. He thumbed through the hangers, each shirt brushing against the furthest extent of his gut. 

"I used to have this one!" he told her cheerfully, pulling one out and holding it out, looking closely at the images of little dancing bears. "I've been looking for it for years. I outgrew it ages ago, I'd sort of given up hope of replacing it."

"Oh, right," the woman said, an uncertain smile on her face. "Well maybe we'll be able to help you with that."

Ollie grinned. "Maybe - what sizes do you do?"

The woman looked Ollie up and down. "Well, you see…" She looked around, as if searching for help. "We only stock up to XL, but we can do custom orders to 3XL." The last part was added with a clear tone of hope, however vain.

"Ah, right," Ollie said. "Not sure when I last wore 3XL. A couple of years at least."

The shop assistant smiled awkwardly. Ollie knew that look well - no one knew how to respond when he talked about his weight so openly. "I'll take a 3XL anyway," he said, thinking about how hot it was to obliterate the last one.

"Do you want to try it on?" the assistant asked, happy to be back to more standard shop-floor conversation.

"Oh no, don't worry. There's no chance of it actually fitting," Ollie laughed.

"Ah, okay then," the shop assistant smiled, her confusion apparent. "For one day in the future, maybe?"

Ollie shrugged. "Sure, why not?" He paid for the shirt and left. He couldn't wait until this shirt fit as poorly as the previous one.

[jessicas-pi]

Bo and the Blueberry AU incorrect quotes

Bo-Katan: How’s school going? Ezra: Terrible. I want to stab everybody there. Bo-Katan: Okay, just don’t get any blood on your clothes. Ezra: …you shouldn’t be condoning this.

---

Ezra: If history repeats, I'm so getting a Mythosaur.

---

Sabine: I'm not mean. Name one mean thing I’ve ever done. Ezra: When we were kids, you convinced me eggs weren't real. Sabine: They're not. Ezra: Haha, very funny. Sabine: I'm serious. Didn't you hear? Ezra: No… what happened? Sabine: …Why would you fall for this again-

---

Din (after Ezra becomes Mand'alor): I think I mostly want to see what happens when this whole place breaks apart.

---

Sabine: You know what’s funny about Ezra? He’s my best friend, and anyone who’d hurt him is someone I’d murder, probably.

---

Bo-Katan: We'll talk about this later. Ezra: Ok, I won’t be listening.

---

Tristan: I found an old note that said Note to self: Get revenge on Ezra. Tristan: Except I couldn't remember what I was supposed to get revenge for. Tristan: But I trusted my own judgment, so I went with it. Ezra: Hmm… I don't know what you were supposed to get revenge for, either. Tristan: I can only assume you got what was coming to you. Not 100 percent sure, though. Ezra: Well, whatever I did, I guess I deserved it. Tristan: Let that possibly be a lesson to you.

---

Bo-Katan: Come on, Ursa. Nobody actually believes that Din is in love with me. Ursa, to the other Mandalorians: Raise your hand if you think that Din is helplessly in love with Bo-Katan. *Everyone raises their hand* Bo-Katan: Din, put your hand down.

---

Korkie, looking at his friends: I need to become a therapist faster.

---

Ezra: I’m not being weird. Am I being weird? Tristan: Yes, and that’s coming from me.

---

Ezra, to Sabine: You drink too much, swear too much, and your morals are highly questionable. Sabine: … Ezra: You are everything I’ve ever wanted in a best friend.

---

Ezra: Your smile? It makes my day. Sabine: Your happiness? I live for that. Korkie: A room? Get one. Tristan: Hotel? Trivago.

---

Ezra, texting Bo-Katan: *sends a voice message* Bo-Katan, texting back: I’m a little busy, is it urgent? Ezra: No, don’t worry, just listen later. *later* Bo-Katan: *presses play* Ezra's voice message: THERE’S A FIRE-

---

Sabine: Relationships should be 50/50. Ezra tries to be Mand'alor while I sit on the armrest of his throne looking intimidating.

---

Ezra: I need life advice. Korkie, sipping Space Gatorade and eating cookie dough: You came to the right person.

---

Sabine: Okay, I’m going to make sure the flower decorations have arrived. Ezra: Perfect, while you do that I’ll check on the ring bear. Sabine: … Sabine: You mean ring bearER, right? Ezra: … Sabine: Look me in the eyes and tell me you are not going to bring a dangerous wild animal to our wedding.

---

Bo-Katan: I left instructions for everyone while I'm gone. Ezra: Mine just says "Ezra no." Bo-Katan: I want you to apply it to every possible situation.

---

Tristan: Why is Ezra making me do the dishes again? You haven’t washed them in a week, Sabine! Sabine: It’s because I’m Ezra’s favorite. Tristan: I hate you.

---

Korkie: I have a bad feeling about this, guys. Sabine: Oh don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Ezra: Yeah, what’s the worst that could happen? Korkie, being bailed out of jail the next morning: I hate you all.

[goquokka00]

Stray Kids on Weed

The Bangchan Strain In which the love of their life smokes the mary jane, and they give it a shot for the first time...

Bangchan | Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin Jisung | Felix | Seungmin | Jeongin

A Few Notes: This is purely just supposed to be funny and a joke. I've also never been high and while I am friends with those who have either tried weed or do weed on the regular, I only know so much. So please just bear with me and have a good laugh, okay? Okay. Love you guys ❤️❤️❤️

I have a very firm belief that Mr. Bangchan over here in the corner's first time ever even dealing with weed is through a joint. He gives me the vibe that if he ever did smoke, it would be from joints, and he'd be good at rolling in general.

He sees you smoking it from time to time, and this time, he wanted to give it a shot. Of course, with any first time smoking, he ends up going into a coughing fit. I mean, you're breathing in smoke, why wouldn't you cough the first time? Hello?

But once the initial high kicks in, I see Bangchan as someone who'd be very giggly. Like, anything and everything is funny to this mother fucker. The picture that has been hanging for forever on your wall that was honestly really beautiful is immediately the funniest thing Bangchan has ever laid his eyes on because, and I quote, "The bear be kronked."

It isn't just the picture. It's watching dance practices, his own music, texts he's had with you in the past, need I say more? And if he found something funny when he was sober, then you bet your ass Bangchan's pissing his pants laughing. One time you had him rewatch the video of Jisung twerking that the younger member had sent out to just the members specifically, and Bangchan was on the floor, struggling to breathe from how hard he was laughing.

I also have this feeling that Bangchan would end up being way more emotional. Since he doesn't really show emotion when he's sober, I feel like more of his emotions would come out when high because you're relaxed, and riding the vibe train to who knows where. But I'm not talking just being more susceptible to his emotions.

I'm talking the stereotypical "Teenage girl is on her period and literally can't control her emotions." Bro will literally hear one sad thing and start bawling, only to giggle a few minutes later because he thought he sounded funny and saw you laughing at him crying.

And don't even get me started on the stripping issue.

I have this gut feeling that Bangchan would find clothes...uncomfortable...when high. They're clinging to his skin, tickling his arms, his jeans just feel weird, or his sweats are too hot. And so he'd just take them off, right then and there. And I mean everything.

If you're not there to watch him, or if he gets into the mary-ja-mooch when you're not there, you're gonna end up walking into the living room to see Bangchan ass-naked and laughing at his schlong because of how it's moving.

By the time his high is finally dissipating, you're usually able to get him back onto the couch curled up with a blanket and some water. And once he's sober, you both agree that this strictly stays between you two and that the kids will NEVER find out about his.

Do I think that Chan would go back to smoking? Maybe, probably not? I feel like he'd only do it on occasion, maybe if he's had a really stressful day and needs a break, but I feel like since he always ends up like...y'know...he tends to keep it on the down low.

Hey! Firstly, thank you so much for reading this post, and I really hope you enjoyed! If you did, please like, reblog, or comment so I can see how I'm doing with writing and getting feedback! I hope you have a lovely day! Sleep well, stay in good health, and eat something if you haven't! ❤️❤️❤️

Taglist: @miss-daisy04 @kayleefriedchicken @wolfs-archive @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @wolfs-howling @rose-w-00-d

[grapejuicestyless]

Could You Imagine That?

JJ Maybank x fem!reader

Summery: You failed. The gold, the cross, the fame, the fortune. But really, who cared? Not when you had the best gift of all. Inspired by the song: Forever by Noah Kahan

We listen to Pope and Kiara argue about who knows how to build a fire better, throwing logs into a heap by a pile of rocks and lining stones in a circle in the sand. John B and Cleo make beds for everyone to sleep on and Sarah works on some sort of spear for us. Yet, JJ and I haven’t even given a second thought of how long we just might be here for.

Maybe a few more hours, a couple days or years. In the end, did it really matter? We’d been just fine so far and we’d swear the feeling of freedom was worth it no matter how starved we became or how cold the nights were. We’d screamed about Poguelandia hundreds or times already, calling out the name of this great island and hoisting the flag we’d painted with rocks and the mud packed beneath them. Our hands pruning from the salt water and our shorts left on the edge of the shore line while we ran around in our underwear, splashing around like little kids and laughing like old friends should.

“We’re broke!” We laughed, finding the fact that we failed more funny than anything. Because had we really failed if we got a greater gift than what being filthy rich could give us?

“But real rich in our heads!” JJ would scream back, chasing me down along the edge of the ocean. And when the waves slowed my strides he lifted me from my waist with his tanned arms, not minding how our wet bodies stuck together like glue and our clothes would surely stink like ocean for as long as we’d be here.

“Won’t be alone for the rest of our lives!” I laughed in his hold, and his grip restricted my lungs but I would take the ache that came with it over any other feeling in the world. Because even after he loosens his grip, he never really lets me go and I am reminded of how he’s always within arms reach. Ready to make me smile, make me laugh. And it’s worth more than anything money could buy.

“Can you guys help us?” Kiara calls out desperately, but even she can’t hide the smile on her face, how much she loves the idea of it just being her and the Pogues all together and safe for just a small moment in the grand timeline of adventure ahead. No parents, no threats, no blood or tears. Just the sun and sand beneath our feet. A good cooked fish roasting over the fire and beds woven with leaves under our heads.

“Come in the waters just fine!” JJ splashes, catching a glare from Pope as the salt water briefly tames the fire they just started. And when Kiara catches his line of vision, we don’t have to look back to know their broken laughter is because their stripping to join us in the sea. Ready to splash around carelessly like children do, like we do.

“Can you imagine being here, like this forever? No more window shopping or late rent!” I laugh, bearing all my teeth in my smile when Kiara wraps her arms over my shoulders and places a sloppy kiss to my cheek.

“Won’t be alone for the rest of our lives!” She repeats my words back to me, eyes shining with the glow of the sunset that casts a warm hue over her sunburnt cheeks.

“Poguelandia forever, baby!” JJ’s arms pull Kiara away from me, and like glue, I’m stuck to him with nothing more to offer than the sweetest smile and the world shining in my eyes. I feel more alive than ever and theres not an ounce of gold that could replace it.

“Oh my god!” Cleo laughs at the scene in front of her, dry wood under her arm and a soft blush in her cheek from the sun. We’re all drenched in salt or sweat but we can’t help but feel absolutely okay with it.

You could fly over head at that very moment, on the search for miserable teens in need of help and you wouldn’t even look twice. The way everyone laughed like brothers and sisters and cherished what the world gave them, you’d think we were on some vacation. Like we hadn’t washed up here by accident.

Broken bones and aching muscles worth every moment that led us to this island and this life.

Looking back at JJ, I see the stars in his eyes and the world under his feet. It’s all we’ve ever wanted. A simple life by the ocean with all the people we love. So, we might be broke, we might be hungry and by god we might smell but by god are we richer than most.

“Poguelandia forever.” JJ whispers only for my ears to hear, forehead pressing against mine and his eyes observing the crinkles by my eyes. His thumbs lift from my hips to rub against my cheeks. Then he kisses me, kisses me in a way I hadn’t felt since before death looked at us in the eyes and grief was all we knew. Like we both knew finally that it would all work out and we would be okay.

When we pull away, we share the same hazy look we had plastered on our cheeks before and his hands plant themselves firmly on my hips once again. Squeezing the skin between his fingers playfully and drowning out the world around us.

“Could you imagine that.”