#he'd also know how to fill in any gap in time... which is mostly with singing and joking around

[stoneshipper]

imagine your f/o...

... going on a scenic train ride with you! the two of you could get a private sleeper car together and take in the view while you ride along the tracks for hours. sometimes you sit in silence while staring out the window, occasionally speaking up to point out some beautiful sight on the horizon. other times you're laughing together, sharing a meal, or falling asleep leaning on each other. the gentle hum of the train car and the beautiful sights make your f/o sure that there's no other way they'd want to spend their time than doing something so special beside you ❦︎

dividers made for me by kynibyou! 🍂 prosh¡p dni.

[tortoisesshells]

do you have any favorite headcanons about Burke you'd wanna share? :3c

I don't think I've gone very far off the beaten path; he's got a well-established past (well. maybe not the last five years.) in-show that works, I think? There's not a lot of gaps that need filling in - this is more like some light embroidery on information that's already in the show? Also - I think he's really interesting as a character that others react to - that forces other characters to adjust, or to reveal something to the audience about themselves in how they react to him - that Joe Haskell, who hates Burke's guts, can still draw a straight line in between what happened with Roger, Burke, and Laura and what's happening with Burke, him, and Carolyn now? Or that he and Vicki are in no small ways mirrors of each other - Vicki representing his past as a poor kid working for the Collinses; Burke representing a bad possible future for her of what happens when the Collinses throw someone under the bus to protect themselves? If that makes sense? But! In order of most-to-least textually supported!

He dropped out in high school: he reminds Bill Malloy that he (Bill) paid him a man's wages working for him when he was just a boy, but later mentions physics class. Given his father abandoned the family when he was nine, and Burke doesn't mention his mother ever (I know there's a cut line of dialogue that says she worked in the cannery, but.), or any siblings, or close relatives, I tend to assume he did it for money? Besides. He's a poor kid from the wrong side of the tracks in Collinsport: he was always going to end up working for the Collinses one way or another. Senior year English wasn't going to change that.

He's not touchy about doing what he had to to survive and get ahead as a teenager, but he's nowhere near as educated as most people he's socializing with now, and that is a sore spot with him - buying and bullying only gets someone so far, I think. He may be richer than the Collinses but it's a little hard to buy respect or belonging outright.

There's cut dialogue (I can't remember which episode, maybe @widowshill does) that implies at least one of the times he ran away from home as a kid was because his mother died - the dialogue itself doesn't quite square with what he says about when his dad walked out on "us", but I buy it in broad strokes - Burke talks mostly fondly about recreational fishing with his father, but even so, his dad beat the hell out of him at least once. On the whole, and I don't think I'm going out on a limb here, I think he had a much better relationship with his mother - while she was alive.

(I think, too, that's backed up by his past good relationship with the Evanses? Maggie says he was always around when she was younger; Sam says he was so used to him being around that if they didn't see him for a few days he'd send Maggie to look for him? The implication being there wasn't much keeping him at home.)

(Which makes the revelation that it was *Sam* whose testimony was the clincher devastating. Absolutely maddening to me that they dropped that in one scene and it never got revisited. but that's not a headcanon.)

Absolutely hilarious to me that apparently everyone but him seems to think that David's his son, not Roger's. I go back and forth on whether I think David is, biologically, his - on the one hand, it makes everything worse for Burke - that he's become an absent father just like his; on the other hand, it makes it a matter of biological determination that he and David get along like a house on fire, and not that Burke's one of the few people who treat David like a person and not The Last Heir To The Collins Line or a whipping boy?

speaking of David: I tend to read what happened ten years ago less as a love triangle and more as he, Roger, and Laura were all involved simultaneously.

Lastly, and strictly because it amuses the hell out of me, not because I think it's remotely likely: as far as I can tell, Burke's never been an amazingly popular first name for men, and certainly didn't crack the top 200 names in the 1920s or 1930s. Either it's a family name - his mother's maiden name, maybe? - or, I argue, his parents were weird about 18th century English political philosophers: his full name is Edmund Burke Devlin, he'll just never admit it. not even Laura or Roger know.

Thank you for the ask! I'm not sure what it is about my brain, but the minute this hit my inbox I suddenly had never thought about Burke at all. ever. head empty.

[professorspork]

I’ve been wondering how much of Yang’s cheerfulness may also be her filling in the gap that’s been left by Ruby? Not to say that she can’t and hasn’t been cheerful on her own, but could she be subconsciously overexaggerating? Humor is her defense mechanism after all 🤧

I don't disagree, and I do think the difference in Yang's mood and affect between episodes 1 and 2 of Volume 9 is striking, but. I think it would be a misdiagnosis to say that this is only something Yang's started doing in the Ever After. this has been going on their whole entire lives in a weird, sad see-saw.

it is time to talk about the XIAO LONG ROSE SISTER OPTIMISM FEEDBACK LOOP.

You are Yang Xiao Long, and your mother is gone. your dad is spiraling out into a depressive episode you have no way of knowing will take years for him to climb out of; all you know is that it's right now and right now might as well be always. he is not reading you stories; he is not making you breakfasts and dinners. he is not checking on you, or joking with you, or doing any of the things he'd usually do. and sometimes Uncle Qrow can do those things, but most of the time Uncle Qrow is gone, and sometimes even when he's not gone he FEELS gone, he's sloppy and tired and distant in a way that's totally different but no less alienating than the way that your father is sloppy and tired and distant. and that--well, it's not okay, but you're a big kid now. mostly. you can handle it. you can take care of that stuff on your own if you have to.

but your sister is not a big kid. your sister cannot take care of that stuff on her own. and you can take care of it for her, too-- sometimes, mostly-- but the thing you're never sure how to handle is the questions. you don't know how to answer her when she wonders why you're doing these things instead of dad. you don't want her to worry. and so the best way to make sure she doesn't ask questions and doesn't worry is to make her laugh.

you get really, really good at making your sister laugh.

you get really, really good at feeling like the best way you can contribute to any situation is making ANYONE laugh, because then it's not as bleak. taking care of Ruby doesn't get to be something you count as "good at," because it's non-negotiable, and it has to happen so you make it happen. but you refuse to let it be a burden. it's going to be fun. you find a way to make it fun, for her.

but.

You are Ruby Rose, and your mother is gone. Your dad and your uncle both love you and you know that, but there are a thousand little things that they never do for you-- a thousand little things that your sister always does for you, instinctively, automatically, without you ever having to wonder about it. it takes a long time for you to realize this is not how things are maybe supposed to be, which is what she wanted.

it is not, you begin to realize as you get older, what she NEEDED.

the more you grow up, the more it dawns on you just how much Yang has taken onto her plate that she had absolutely no right volunteering herself for at such a young age. and you cannot tell your sister that she doesn't need to do these things-- because she'll never believe you or listen to you, for one, but also because she does need to do these things, for another. someone has to take care of you. you're not naive enough to say that's not true.

but what you can do is make yourself as easy to take care of as humanly possible.

mostly, this is not hard. you really don't need a lot. 90% of the time, give you a hug and a cookie and you're good to go! but for the 10% of the time when it doesn't feel like enough, you make it be enough. you make sure it's not a problem. because Yang's already given everything for you. so you laugh at her jokes, and you make sure your smiles come easily, because. she can't think she's screwing this up. she's not screwing this up, she's amazing, she's your favorite person. the least you can do is make her job a little easier, right?

you get really, really good at reassuring your sister that no matter what, you're going to be okay.

you get really, really good at convincing yourself that if you stop finding a way to believe everything's going to be okay, nothing will ever be okay again.

everything that the sisters are going to be wrestling with in the Ever After are things they have been dealing with since the very beginning. Yang has always sublimated her own needs for Ruby; Ruby has always sublimated her own needs for Yang. humor and cheerfulness has always been the vehicle for that sublimation. each has been painting on a smile for the other for YEARS.

and so I can't categorize Yang being aggressively silly ("high five? high five?") right now as a reaction to Ruby's implosion in the same way that, say, Blake's willingness to take on decision-making is a one to one reaction to Ruby faltering, because Yang isn't reacting. at least, not as though this is novel. this is what Yang has ALWAYS done. there's no way of extracting it from the rest of her personality in any way; it's baked in.

but the opposite is true, too: Ruby only got that way in the first place so Yang could take the W and feel like she was getting it right. which isn't to say she was lying, because she wasn't, but. Ruby's optimism was always a conscious choice she made, rather than a naive trust in the goodness of the world.

it's not sustainable when it's non-negotiable and you're never allowed to show weakness or fear

and no one's gonna be allowed across that cloud bridge or through that tree until they've dealt with that.

[simlit]

5, 10, 13, 23 for you know, the usual two suspects!

How far is your OC willing to go to get what they want?

I'll answer for both at once since it's a similar answer. This comes as maybe no surprise in Taryn's case, but Yehl, I think, is just as equally driven, given the right circumstances. Once Yehl has the power not to take no for an answer, whether it be through his influence over Taryn, his eventual power as Celaedian, or his own growing self-confidence, he steadily starts to stand up for himself more and more. I think once he reaches full adulthood, one would be pretty foolish to try and stand in his way. To protect or keep what they love, these two would lie, steal, cheat or kill (depending on who needed killing), hands down lmao.

What's an AU that would be interesting to explore with your OC?

I've had this idea in my head for years now, but never the time to even kind of conceivably work on it, it's called Last Train Out. A pseudo-30s/40s AU based on this old photoset I did wherein Yehl is a successful jazz singer and Taryn is a seasoned soldier about to be shipped off to war and they have this sort of dreamlike whirlwind romance before the separation. I do also have some early drafts of their modern AU, which more closely resembles the actual events of AoA, called Forevermore, and actually have some sets built and plans to post that one (maybe someday). But LTO I'm sure will never see the light of day so we can be sentimental about the might have beens ;)

If you met your OC, would the two of you get along?

LOL. I'd love to say I'd get along with both of them, but given their high standards, I don' think they'd get along with me. At least they can both bond over their superiority complexes.

What emotion is the hardest for your OC to process? How about express?

Taryn - Empathy. Love being a close second, but I think he manages to bridge that gap as best he can. His "love" for Yehl might always be slightly different than your conventional idea of love, but is just as, if not more intense. Empathy, however, is not something he ever learns. He rarely feels remorse for others, though does feel guilt for the things he's done in the past that have directly caused pain or trouble for his own kin. But that comes more with his burden of responsibility as king, and if he was anyone else and not born to fill a role, I doubt he'd feel the same. He only outwardly protects the elves on Yehl's command, and later spares mankind out of sheer civility. Even with Yehl, he struggles to feel sympathy for his struggle, oftentimes using this knowledge as a means for manipulation, but he does have a fondness for Yehl's brokenness. Again, I don't think any of that is particularly healthy, but he is still a dragon and very much falls back into animalistic behaviors as a baseline nature. Yehl - Ah, this is so much harder. I'm going to say... isolation. Which is... he's not unaccustomed to loneliness, but he fears being entirely abandoned. This is a sentiment that expands rapidly upon meeting Taryn, but even when he was younger, he's always has someone to rely on. First his mother, then Nuuriel, Judine, and eventually Taryn himself. But because of what Taryn is, Yehl is constantly put in a position where he feels sort of... left out to dry, for lack of a better term. Taryn can only meet him halfway, and for most of act one, he doesn't even allow him that much. Ironic, considering I can safely say Taryn fell in love first, it's just that Yehl's emotions manifested faster and in a way Taryn couldn't understand or reciprocate. This breakdown in communication and behavioral differences causes them so much strife, and a lot of pain, mostly on Yehl's side. Just because he's literally standing next to the person he loves most and feels a thousand miles away.

[mannatea]

sings the tune without the words, a Tales of Symphonia ‘fic in the Our Aselia series (Chapter 4)

Current Word Count: 16,243 Summary: 4,000 years after the events of Tales of Symphonia, our heroes have been reborn. Chapter Summary: Lloyd and Colette get married. :) Pairing/Characters: Lloyd/Colette, Sheena, Zelos, mention of Presea and Genis. Background ships that I won't tag in the story to avoid disappointing people are: Sheena/Zelos, Genis/Presea, and Regal/Raine. Extra Info: Done for @colloydweek 2023, prompt #4: soulmates! Rating: T Genre: Friendship, romance, and a lot of fun (I hope!).

The title is the link to Ao3. Please leave a comment if you have time!

Notes beneath the cut.

The "long-haired weirdo" is Yuan lmao.

Even cheap weddings, when they're done "properly" are really damn expensive. I barely spent any money on mine (just had a backyard ceremony) but plenty of people I know had 30,000$ weddings. I don't think Lloyd and Colette would go that crazy, but they'd want at least something kind of nice—and the time off to actually enjoy it.

Genis and Lloyd both failing to tie a tie properly was just so much fun to write. They did their best, okay. I also really needed Regal to have a moment with Lloyd, so it worked out.

One thing that's different about this 'fic is that a lot of the connections the characters have are actually through Colette this time instead of Lloyd. Lloyd's so much a "boy next door" that I feel like, without a good reason for him to be out and about meeting new people, he'd just live his life in Iselia without fuss. He's mostly a big adventurer in the canon due to circumstance, so in this story Colette, who wants to go to college and stuff, makes for much better Team Glue.

You know Raine 100% won that bet. (But Regal knew she would lmfao.) I really wanted to include Raine being absolutely ruthless with getting photographs at the wedding of everyone else while being shy about being in them herself, but sadly could not find space for it. Alas.

Lloyd's wedding gift to Colette won't come up again in this story. It's wedged in some of the years I didn't write about (so...potential future story).

This is kind of an issue I ran into while writing this anyway: tons of years within which to write stuff, but a limited scope for what I could do for just seven prompts.

I actually had the general timeline/ages for each chapter settled before I even outlined everyone's backstories, but the limitations of the ship week did definitely lead me to writing out everyone's backstories in case there was room to include other stories—not just for Lloyd and Colette, but for the other characters/ships also.

Regal/Raine will never have a ship week, but there could theoretically be a Sheelos or Gesea one. So I could (again, in theory) write stories for the other characters in this manner, too, to help kind of fill in those bigger gaps we don't get to see.

Regal's gift to them is obviously an upgrade to the honeymoon suite (which is probably what it's called now). And maybe other little surprises, like passes to the park or something. He wouldn't attend a wedding and not do something nice.

This was also a very fun story to write. I probably won't do another wedding 'fic for these two for a decade but I'm pretty pleased with how this turned out.

[outrunningthedark]

My real big problem with BuckTaylor is him wanting to date Taylor in the first place despite knowing what she almost did during the brownies accident, which also happened briefly in Season 2 until he decided to be with Ali because seriously, it just makes him look very stupid in comparison when he can be more than that. The only real acknowledgement to Taykay's behavior from the firefam that I remember of is that during Jonah's investigation via Chim and Hen's silent gesture, the same episode we're seeing her "true nature anyway" so it's redundant and Athena talking about her to Lou which does not go anywhere and she does nothing with it afterwards.

Babying Buck or not, Taykay's writing is riddled with stupid, stupid decisions one after another.

Look, it's really easy for us as viewers to question the choice to bring TayKay back as a real LI and then never truly address her previous behavior, but (IMO) we would have a better understanding if we thought like a show runner.

*LI is going to be temporary, mostly to fill the void left by Maddie (one woman leaves, another is available) and Madney as a couple. What would be faster/easier? Creating a whole new character, or reinserting someone the audience doesn't have to get to know? *LI's career should have some sort of connection to the first responder life so she can fill those gaps in screen time, but not be important enough where her presence or absence affects the overall story. TayKay is a reporter whose segments meant crossing paths with the firefam, but once the narrative shifted she was easily swapped out for another voice (they don't even need to be seen!) who could do the exact same job. *Not atoning for prior actions served two purposes: keep any newer members of the audience (s4 was when the fandom *really* took off, I think) from dwelling on a past version of a character they never knew, and hope that by not having Buck or any of his friends question why he'd get involved with her again, the audience wouldn't think twice about his change of heart. And for the most part, it seemed to work, especially around here. We've seen the gifsets about #charactergrowth after 4x11 when she made her "celebration" at Buck's about solving two cases rather than a promotion. Hook, line, and sinker. (Good thing those edits don't circulate anymore!) *Her work didn't negatively impact the people in Buck's life (this part is important - those of us who always saw TayKay for what she was had no problem criticizing her obsession with solving the husband and wife murder plot or how she tells other people's stories to hide from her own, but none of that hurt anyone directly connected to her bf) until it was time to end the relationship. When her quest for the truth crossed the line for the second time, Buck realized she was never truly going to prioritize their relationship or his trust in her over a chance to make headlines. Does it make sense? Not to people who over-analyze and assume the show runners like to have some grand plan at all times. But remember what Kristen said after 5A - TayKay wasn't even supposed to be in as many scenes as she got that first half despite being a reporter. She was always meant to be a "for now" option, not "forever", and the writing had to reflect that. (Unfortunately, not everyone could see the story for what it was, hence the panic over trying to legitimize her as Buck's future from Buddie fandom and then the BeeTees claiming the show switched things up last minute because they couldn't handle the idea that their fave was made "better" until the show brought all the mains back where they belong.)

[29pageshomestuckeveryday]

Homestuck, page 2,244

Vriska: Answer white text guy.

Author commentary:

It's already evident that Doc Scratch has been manipulating circumstances to help this gruesome series of events unfold. He's always there at the right moment to nudge people in the direction of doing the nasty thing that, deep down, they already know they want to do. Like any self-respecting devil figure would. A couple pages ago, you might have noticed Terezi and Aradia alluding to his presence, when Tavros was in the process of jumping off the cliff. He asked them for help, but they didn't answer. The reason apparently was that Doc was distracting them, to ensure Vriska had the time to get the job done. It also seems likely he egged her on too, given what he's saying to her here. Maybe he'd been inflaming her contempt for Tavros leading up to that moment as well? Whispering things in her ear about what a loser he is, how he'll never become strong without her "help." He'd surely know just what buttons to push.

One reading of Doc is as a manipulative devil-creep in the model of many fictional characters who fit this description; he's a fairly recognizable and traditional presence in the story, when viewed that way. A less traditional reading centers on his role on a metatextual level, as a nefarious, all-knowing, profoundly evil alt-author presence. A guy who has the full powers of the author, who essentially IS the author with certain dark authorial impulses greatly exaggerated, while functioning as a character in the story who can speak to and influence other characters in support of an evil agenda. (That is, the summoning of yet another, even more satanic alt-author being into the comic.) Viewed this way, his conversations with other characters take on a different quality. Normally, the author remains a disguised presence and influences the thoughts of characters with an unseen hand, simply by writing their thoughts directly into their heads, their words into their mouths. This alt-author is essentially doing the same thing, but as an actual character and a known presence to those he influences. He whispers in their ears, gets them to do the nasty, terrible things that are latent within their nature to do, which I as the unseen author easily could have done myself through a conventional writing process. But I outsourced that dark influence to this guy, thus establishing him as a narrative construct in the story on the same level as, but at odds with, the actual author. This surreptitiously lays the groundwork for a future point of tension: a narrative war between an Idiot God and a Genius Devil. Which, admittedly, when the shit finally hits the fan, mostly reads as one buffoon's struggle with a figment of his imagination, in the form of a wrestling match with a floppy, inanimate puppet. It's actually the perfect metaphor signifying the creative rocess behind this comic.

Doc here refers to the dark spots, the pockets of void on which his vision is built. These hint at limitations to his omniscience. As an alt-author figure, his omniscience makes sense, since the author has sweeping knowledge of story details as well. Because I "know everything," he "knows everything" too. Of course, as I write the story, there are plenty of things I don't know yet, and the "not knowing" is always an important part of the process in this largely improvisational medium. The known gaps are worked into the story, evaded through time skips and other tricks, filling out the surrounding narrative until certain answers become clearer, and then revealed at the right moment. The voids are built around, and in a real way, become foundational, almost load-bearing gaps in knowledge, just as he describes. Pillars of shadow. So his dark spots are not only a limitation to an otherwise ridiculously overpowered villain that can be exploited, they're a feature of a specific type of "authorial omniscience" copied into his profile.

[moodymisty]

🌖Linens and Lace🌒

Authors Note: This was a feat to finish hoo boy, but I hope you enjoy! (Also maybe part 3 soon? We’ll see?)

PART 1 (though only loosely this can be completely standalone)

Summary: Khonshu is a fervently jealous god and quite honestly; You're sick of it.

Relationships: Khonshu/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Height differences, Age Gap(I mean, it's Khonshu lol), Jealousy, Light Angst, Body Worship, God Complex(again; It's Khonshu lol), Lingerie, Bruises

Words: 5916

AO3 Link

In hindsight, if you had known how Khonshu would become, you probably would’ve never entertained his proposition in the first place. After your pledge to become a priestess to the God of the Moon-though mostly in title, as apparently the duties had changed a lot over the hundreds of years-Khonshu’s attitude changed almost instantly. You didn’t know however if it was truly a rapid change, or if he’d simply been on good behavior before. Either way, within days Khonshu had become what you could only describe as; fervently, irrationally, and possessively jealous.

Not one man could come within your radius and say more than a few sentences before you saw Khonshu standing outside a window, on a roof, or worse case, directly behind you or him. Each time he would throw insults, or indirectly attempt to cut your conversation short. This included Jake; Who while he knew the god existed of course, found the whole thing ceaselessly annoying. Khonshu would always plague you with the worst timing as well; Just chatting with a teller or delivery man and suddenly there’s yelling in your ear, or a trash bin blows over and nearly hits a window. At least he'd been seemingly busy for today, and hadn't bugged you once yet. It let you finish everything you'd needed to get done, leaning back in your desk chair and looking at the ceiling. You could feel a headache just considering blooming, and if you kept staring at a computer screen it probably would. Getting up from your seat, you looked at your mess of a kitchen and sighed.

Takeout was something you’d been a bit guilty of enjoying too much, as often times you were far too busy, or lazy to cook something. It also didn’t help that there was multiple good food joints all within short walking distance, even one that you could see out of your bedroom window. And after deciding you were not in the mood to do much of any cooking, you threw on your coat and took a jog down the building steps. It would also be nice to get out for a bit for some fresh air, and away from your messy apartment filled with dirty old scrolls and tomes that had been gathering up. Most of which were related to the Ennead; Having been stuck withering away in improper cases inside someone's private collection. Jake had stumbled upon them-you wouldn't ask where or how-and Khonshu had insisted he give them to you. As restoring them fell more in line with you. They couldn't give them to Steven, not when he and Marc were still unawares that Khonshu was still technically in their lives. Many of the relics were also about Khonshu; And even if he insisted whatever you wanted to know he could tell you better than any book, you still found it amusing to read all of the ancient passages.

Keys jingling in your pocket as you walked the night was beginning, the sun still partly visible behind a thick amount of clouds. Quickly running across the crosswalk, you stuck your hands deep in your pockets, up until you needed to push open the door to the restaurant. Once inside the radio gently playing music over a single speaker, quiet enough that the lyrics just sounded like mumbling. 

"What can I get you?" Looking and spotted a man leaning against the counter, you took two quick steps closer and started pulling out your wallet. The man suddenly perked up, seemingly remembering something.

You, apparently.

"Oh wait, you're..." He snapped his fingers, thinking before suddenly spouting off what you usually ordered from this place. You smiled and nodded.

"Yeah, same old same old. Can't risk ordering something I end up not liking on accident, right?" Writing down your order, you decided to sit down on one of the bar stools while you waited, playing with your phone. While typing in the code to unlock it you glanced up and towards the door, looking through the glass to the street outside. You'd bet money Khonshu was had been there, and just vanished.

With your phone unlocked you decided to text a friend and surf the web randomly, up until you glanced up and noticed he man who took your order holding a paper bag in his hand.

"Here you go. Made up fresh, so take it home fast."  It smelled delicious, the scent piercing through the food container and paper bag. He smiled at you, watching you take a peek inside the bag as the steam hit your face.

“It’s about to storm, should hurry on back before you get rained on.” You took it from him-a bit of steam rolling over your hands-and smiled back.

“Thanks for the warning; Don’t get rained on yourself either.” He shook his head, leaning against the bar counter. Only two other people were in the restaurant of note, and both were eating alone in their respective corners.

“Nah, still got a few more hours in here. Hopefully it’ll be stopped by then.” It seemed pretty late, and checking your phone, it was well into dinner time. He responded quickly when you commented on it.

"Yeah, manager has me here late because it's the weekend." Glancing around the small restaurant once again you noticed it's overall slow business, and wondered why the manager hadn't just taken the hint and closed up shop. 

"Believe me, I wish he would. More than welcome to keep me company here if you want to wait out the rain," He gestured with a thumb to the bay windows in the front, which indeed had rain beginning to trickle down them. it was coming down faster and faster, water pooling in the dips and cracks of the sidewalk. You also saw something else, and scowled. 

Of course he'd show up now, it's like he could sense you having a nice, normal conversation. 

Turning away from the window you looked back at the man, smiling and taking in a deep breath at the good smelling bag of food beneath your nose. Maybe it wouldn't be the worst idea to eat here instead in good company, who just told you his name while leaning against the counter. You gave him yours; Placing your bag of food on your thighs and holding it against your stomach. 

"You are wasting your time, little one."

Unable to resist a glance around, you didn't see Khonshu anywhere close by. It was just his voice. Ignoring it and continuing to talk, the man was in the middle of telling you about trying another thing on the menu when suddenly a few bottles fell over off the shelf behind him. It startled him enough, and Khonshu spoke again as he leaned over to pick them back up.

Of course he was going to throw a temper tantrum, just because you ignored him once. 

"And here I thought you wouldn't have Jake's indignant attitude rub off on you."

He's awfully one to talk; Given you weren't the one who was blowing around bottles of liquor because someone wasn't talking to you. 

Wrapping your arms tighter around your takeout, the cashier still hadn't seemed to realized you weren't fully paying attention, and you tried to catch up on what he was talking about. Just as you did however, you suddenly felt a jolt of coldness against your shoulder, causing you to almost jump up from your barstool. 

"You alright?" He looked concerned, eyes darting around your upper body as if looking for something wrong. You quickly shook your head, giving a nervous smile and rubbing your face. 

“Oh no no sorry, It's just really cold in here and I got a bit of a shiver.” Already having almost made a fool of yourself once you decided to just head back home, before your food got cold. Or Khonshu made you an even bigger idiot. Sliding off the bar stool and taking your bag with you, brushing against your thigh, you quickly pushed open the door and scurried out onto the sidewalk, throwing a quick goodbye behind you.

The rain was still coming down and only increasing, pulling the hood of your coat up to try and minimize how soaked you were going to get. You didn't mind rain, at least when you were nice and tucked up inside with some hot food; Not out in the rain, pissed off because of Khonshu. With clenched fists you walked past a few random passersbys, and once you were clear of anyone:

"Khonshu. Khonshu!"

You began muttering in the hopes to summon him, taking the first left turn you could find into a small alleyway. There was awnings and air conditioning units overhead, stopping the rain enough that only a few droplets could hit your coat. Once you were far enough down that it was quite noticeably darker, you turned around and as expected; Khonshu appeared moments later. He was standing fully upright and well towered over you; Noticing that the raindrops were either unable to moisten the linen wraps covering his body, or they were phasing right through him.

"You should know better than to speak a gods name in vain."

Of course that's what he's on about, completely ignoring how angry you were at him. “Khonshu! Can you just stop! Am I not allowed to just talk to another person in peace!” Leaning down in a quick jerk that long curled beak came incredibly close to your nose, but you held firm as his deep voice wrapped around you in the cramped alleyway. "Do not try and lie to me! You know well that your goal is not conversation!”

When you muttered a ‘so what?’, the god’s shoulders tensed underneath linen wraps. He leaned back up, fingers flexing around his staff. The god quickly responded, either not noticing or not caring that you clearly weren't looking for an answer. “Because you are a Priestess of the Moon! And you are well beyond dealing with a man below your ken.”

You raised your eyebrows and gestured your hands outward. It was obvious to you that there was more to this whole thing than him just being upset his newly sworn priestess-if you could really call yourself that, you'd hardly done anything you thought deserved such an stuffy title-was having a normal conversation, with another normal human. Crossing your arms, you rolled you eyes and lamented. Your food was going to be ice cold now when you got back. “And pray tell, who isn’t below my ken?” You held firm, but when his staff’s base hit the ground as he took a forward step, you leaned back. You spit out your next sentence before you could really process what you meant by it, looking away to a brick wall to your left. It was covered in graffiti and advertisements; All surely out of date. “You?” A god well into a meter taller than you leaned back down, beak just brushing past your face. And while you stood firm, you couldn't quite keep your eyes looking right at him darting around while you licked your lips. You hadn't meant to say that, at least not out loud. “You may think you’re being snide little one, but I know quite well whose name you think of when you’re alone under the moon; And it isn’t any of theirs.” 

Your lips pursed trying to keep your face firm and not spout anything else, as Khonshu raised back to his full height. You'd hoped he hadn't caught caught those; Thoughts that turned into sounds you mistakenly let pass your lips when you were alone in bed with wandering hands. But this wasn’t about that, this was about Khonshu’s constant butting into your personal life, even if it served no purpose than to annoy you. You always did everything he had demanded of you, and then some, he was just being an irritant. You cleared your throat and breathed harshly through your nose, struggling not to get angrier.

Unable to find many other words after he divulged your own secret to you, lips pursed and you again looked to the brick wall of the building beside you.

“Dammit Khonshu, just leave. Go pester someone else, will you?” Hands bunched into fists you had little care of demanding the god to begone from your sight; Even if he seemed quite displeased by it. Though within seconds he vanished, smoke departing with the wind as you stood in the entrance of the alleyway; Now finally alone.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Khonshu had been absent for the next few days, leaving you to live life largely uninterrupted. You’d nary seen even his silhouette in the distance, when you’d glanced around looking for it. You wouldn't lament over it; If anything, you were glad to have a few days completely free of his pestering. 

Having left from work awhile back and gotten a warm meal for dinner, you decided to head back home, taking a brightly lit shopping street back. It was slightly longer than your normal route, but it was a bit more lively, and you could browse the various shops as you walked. It had been a decently bit since you'd been shopping, spending to long cramped up inside your apartment in dirty shirts and sweatpants hovering over dusty scrolls. You hadn't exactly desired the homebody life outright, but you'd been leaning into it a bit too much recently. Solace was nice, but maybe a new pair of sweatpants not covered in soot from your projects would be nice too.

Passing by storefront after storefront, most of them failed to have anything that interested you enough to delay going home and stop inside.

Apart from one the last ones on the street however, which in it’s display window had a beautiful piece of lingerie dressed on the mannequin. You stopped and glanced over it after it had caught the corner of your eye, stepping forward and out of the main path of the sidewalk. It was a sheer gown, soft white with lace accents. If you put it on the bottom hem would surely pool around your feet, covering most of your body but at the same time, leaving little to the imagination.

It reminded you almost of priestess robes, but of a far more sensual variety. Long sleeves went all the way down to the wrist, cuffed at the end with a delicate lace. You hummed and admired it, before glancing at the shop's front door. If Khonshu was going to act like he was an angry, spitefully jealous lover, you might as well just go all the way.

The bell chimed as you opened the door, stepping inside. Behind the mannequin laid folded versions of the same outfit, and you grabbed your size before pulling out your wallet. The cashier paid you not much mind beyond the basic formalities, clearly on the last few hours of her shift.

You paid and quickly left, tugging your coat closer to your body small bag on in your hand as the evening chill proved slightly colder than normal.

It wasn’t a far walk from where you’d been shopping to your apartment, walking inside the main building and taking the lift up. It was the same routine as you’d done a million times before, but for some reason your heart was thumping and your throat was tight, even as you unlocked your front door and slipped inside; Throwing your shoes in the corner and coat on the coathook.

Inside you threw your things on the couch apart from your shopping bag, taking that with you into your bedroom. You’d eaten enough for dinner when you were out earlier, leaving you open for the rest of the night.

Crumpling up the receipt and throwing it away, you pulled the lingerie out of the bag and laid it on your bed.

Under the soft light from your windows it almost seemed to shine, having a tiny amount of sparkle woven in the threads. You hadn’t noticed it when you’d bought it, but it was a detail you quickly loved.

It also only increased your desire to try it on, eventually giving in and slipping your pants down to your ankles. With them went your underwear as well, leaving you completely nude as you tossed your shirt into the laundry basket. You'd forgotten flick the bedroom light on, but there was still a decent amount of light from your window that you didn't feel the need to.

Slipping on the soft pair of lace underwear that came with the dress they laid softly against your skin, almost as loose and flowing as the dress itself. Which you pulled the main slip over your head and let it fall down to the floor, only a few loose seams giving the shape of any sort of bra. Other than that it laid completely flowing against your body, and would surely billow outward in every direction if you were to twirl about. And with the sleeves coming down to your wrist being loose and delicate with soft lace, it felt far more comfortable than any of the other sorts of lingerie you'd seen in shop windows or advertisements. 

The bottom hem tickling the top of your feet as you walked, taking a look in the full body mirror in the corner of the room.

It looked good, damn good, well worth the money you’d spend on it. The soft amount of glitter seemed to shine even brighter now that it was laid out properly, just enough to catch you eye but not distract. 

Reaching down to twirl a bit of the skirt around your finger, you saw the curtains surrounding your open window billow inward from a harsh gust of wind through the window. Just afterwards, you heard the voice you expected to hear.

“New attire, little one?”

After five days now he finally shows himself, standing just behind you as you watched him in the reflection of the mirror. You’d long since gotten used to his sudden appearances, swallowing each and every gasp of surprise at times when he managed to startle you.

His voice sounded distinctly displeased, but also curious. He had let out a one note scoff afterwards, as neither of you had yet budged on the topic you’d left open. He seemed to think you'd have mellowed on it in the few days he'd left you alone; But judging by your stern look even through the mirror, this was one of the rare times he was wrong.

thought you noted that it wasn’t often Khonshu would be visible and not speaking, standing behind you in silence. Once you turned around, you couldn’t help but be just a little surprised at his noticeable change in posture as you looked right at him. He could see your eyes looking up at him, even in the darkness of the room.

“Do you like it?” Khonshu’s head tilted only slightly, his drastic height difference to you making him able to see all of you at once. His fingers flexed around the hilt of his staff, while you watched his body language. You were expectant, hiding any hint of nervousness behind the fact that you didn't care how he thought. Even if you actually did, eyes glancing up and down him once. He adjusted his posture just a bit, head turning but still looking at you.

It was hard not to wither under his gaze, even more so as his voice was coated in a syrup you’d never heard before. “You think you can seduce a god?”

The open window pushed in a cool breeze, chilling your skin and cooling the heat of your face. The corners of your mouth twitched just barely, breaking the seal of your pursed lips with the softest pop.

“I can try.” Khonshu's shoulders noticeably relaxed, before his fingers slowly loosened around his staff. It fell backwards, softly landing on your bed. Afterwards Khonshu sat down on said bed as well, the frame taking a sizable dip under his weight. It was one of the first times you’d actually be at somewhat equal height as him, unblinking as he looked over you. You had since turned around from the mirror, watching him and only taking one glance at your open window.

“Come here.” You stepped closer, the thin fabric sliding over your thighs as you stood right in front of where he was sitting. When he was seemingly unsatisfied by you standing between his knees, you had to hike your skirt up, it pooling around your knees as you struggled onto the bed with his hand tugging at your wrist. Khonshu sat legs slightly spread along the edge of your bed, watching as you now sat upon his lap. Even in your own bedroom, he almost seemed to make it his as you kneeled on the bed in his shadow. It almost felt like you were judged worthy or unworthy, laid bare like this before him.

“Your god is the only one who can tame this in you.”

You wouldn’t deny the idea, though you also wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of agreeing with it. Fingers softly grazed over the sheer fabric, watching it wrap but not hide your skin underneath. “I will make you want for no other touch than my own.”

His hands were already trailing up your sides, along the dip of your waist. There wasn't much in keeping things from him anymore, swallowing as you felt his hands underneath the slip against against the small of your back, curled around your waist. “I already do, Khonshu.”

Pushing the thin fabric of your slip up higher, it went over your hips and bunched just above your ass. Once it was, large hands slipped between your skin and the lace of your underwear, the sides interwoven between his fingers gently encouraging them off. It took a little movement on your part, but you managed to get them down your thighs, tossing them on the bed not far from where his staff laid abandoned. Linen wraps soft against your skin, one hand stayed grasping your hip and bottom, while the other started straying away. Each movement left trails of firing nerves, hands against his chest flexing as the tip of his index and pointer finger slid downward into the dip between your thigh and groin. When your hips moved in response, trying to push into him more, he stilled for a moment and scolded you.

“Patience.”

They stayed only for a moment before moving again, softly grazing over your outer lips with the slightest pressure. No matter which way you moved your hips, he would always drift away just enough to keep it the same, only just slipping between your folds. Ever so softly dragging one finger in-between it was a merciless tease, just brushing against you. 

The bed creaked in response of you moving, groaning under weight it wasn't meant to handle as your body writhed.

You pursed your lips; Bit them, trying to contain a long moan as finally one long finger slid between soaked folds and inside your heated cunt, only for a second to follow not long behind. They moved slowly but consistent, his other hand on your hip keeping you from moving and writhing away under him. It left you almost frozen; Unable to move away but also move closer, hips wanting to twitch forward as his fingers curled inside of you. Hearing him speak it was softer than he normally was, but still held his confident, assertive tone.

“My beautiful Priestess of the Moon; Tell me, how does it compare?” 

You knew what he was referring to, your own touch not having a chance against his.

Hands gripping the bandages against his chest tight you bit your lip, his large palm rubbing against your clit as his fingers moved. You didn't answer him, letting out a sigh that only just barely overtook the wet sounds echoing in your bedroom; Your thighs slick. His other hand slowly trailed down your skin until it slowly pulled away, it leaving trails of sensation underneath your skin even after it was gone. It did however brush against the inside of your thigh for but a moment, but you were far too distracted to memorize every limb. 

You could barely keep track of your own; Grasping for balance as his body loomed over you. 

The whole rest of the room and everything beyond it seemed to fade into obscurity, only the two of you as his fingers slipped from you only to be replaced by his cock rubbing against your thigh. Back and forth you moved your hips to try and grind against him, both adjusting your own bodies against each other silently until you let out a shaky sigh as he slowly pressed just inside of you.

Fingers slipping between layers of frayed wrappings as you grabbed his shoulders, slowly lowering down onto him. His own hands curled tighter around the backs of your thighs, torso leaning down until you could feel the tip of his beak just barely grazing your shoulder blades. As your body raised up and down it wobbled the bed enough that Khonshu's staff, long since forgotten, rolled down and knocked against the foot of the metal bed frame; Getting stuck between it and the mattress.

You might've hated to admit it, to give Khonshu the gratification of it; That with the feeling of his cool touch against your skin, his body pressed against you looming over you as he stretched you wider than you'd ever felt before, it was doubtful anyone else could make you feel this way. 

"F-Fuck, Khonshu," The only response you got back was a chuckle, almost a whisper in your ear. 

Laying your forehead against his chest your eyes threatened to flutter closed, raising up and down in his lap. Knees bunching the blankets as you tried to keep yourself upright, Khonshu's hands gripped your thighs harder, moving for you when your own body failed you. They also kept you close, almost suffocatingly so. 

"So little required to make you loose that sharp tongue of yours."

You couldn't glare at him, not from this angle; So instead you gave a smack to his shoulder. It didn't serve to much, but it wasn't like you'd meant much by it either.

When you could no longer keep up with the pace he wanted Khonshu finally stopped entertaining you with a feeling of control, gripping your ass with an almost painful amount; Fingers digging into the softness of your body. Instead he slid your hips up and down his cock far more than you would've been able to on your own, thighs sliding farther apart over his lap as your muscles gave up. With hands gripping tighter against his shoulders nails digging in you moaned, loud enough that if you hadn't muffled it against his chest. But it was getting harder and harder to swallow up moans like that; With Khonshu filling you more than you'd even been before, upper thighs slick. 

You would've doubted your windows were open if it were not for the breeze, as the room felt hot and suffocating in the pocket of air surrounding you. It had you raking your hair from against your forehead, before sliding it down between your bodies. You were so close, Khonshu's beak brushing against your skin. Your own fingers pressing against your clit your thighs tensed, moaning against tightly pressed lips. 

You were absolutely without a doubt going to be sore in the morning, letting out the shakiest moan against Khonshu's chest as you finally came; Tight around him like a vice. He still moved your hips even through it almost to the point of it being too much, only when your hand tightened and you started to sound pained did he slow to a stop. Long, slow breaths coming from your mouth you came down slowly from your high, body feeling limp. At least your new slip was still in good shape, not a single tear in the sheer fabric. You would've been quite upset if there was, but it looked still brand new, apart from wicking the tiny bit of dew from your heated skin.

Forehead still against his chest your heart stopped thumping so hard against your sternum, and you were finally able to catch your breath. You didn't make any attempt to move, however. Khonshu's head raised up more so he was looming over you less, watching the sheer fabric against your arms as you moved them away from his shoulders. He appeared largely unphased, the bastard, watching as you gathered yourself in his lap and slid off of him.

"I presume you've learned your lesson?"

If it had been Khonshu's goal to teach you something, then you were pretty sure you didn't learn a single thing. Or you now learned the exact opposite moral of what he'd been trying to show.

Sighing, you trailed your hands against his chest before leaning away a little.

"I'm tired, is what I learned." You slid off his body and onto the bed, letting out a large breath. Rolling to lay more on the bed, you adjusted to in a more normal manner. Somewhat at least, as you were still somewhat diagonal. Khonshu had since retrieved his staff, standing at the side of your bed largely unmoving, other than the wisps of his once cape floating in an invisible breeze.

"Then sleep. Your other thoughts can wait till the morning."

He stepped forward, even as you sighed and laid your head back against the pillow. You wouldn't complain against a good night's rest, especially after the amount of late nights you'd been pulling. As well as now feeling sore, Khonshu having put your body through quite the wringer. 

It only seemed like a second after he had brushed a hand over your forehead, you were completely asleep.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

When you woke up you stared at the ceiling for a moment, mind and body still turning on before you finally decided to sit up. Once you did your body groaned in displeasure, aching as you slouched over. The sun was bright and pouring through the window you'd left open, clearly getting close to midday. You must've slept in, slowly turning until your feet touched the hardwood floor. It was cold as you walked, pushing your hair from your face and going into the bathroom. You still had your new slip on, but it hadn't seemed to gain any wrinkles after you'd slept in it. Looking in the mirror you noticed your overall state, messy and showing that the night before hadn't been just some incredibly detailed dream. You pulled and adjusted your clothing after noticing something, turning in the mirror to have a closer look.

Blooming bruises and scratches from rough linens were spread across your skin; The after-affects of laying with a god.

You wouldn't regret it, that's to say for sure. Though you did wonder where Khonshu was. Normally he wasn't around much at all during the day, not even speaking in your head, but after last night, you had maybe hoped he would stick around. 

A bath might've been something to consider, if the tub wasn't currently overtaken by a current project; Some old artifacts you were in the process of cleaning. They required a gentle hand, and honestly you didn't feel like pulling them all out just for a quick soak. 

Going back into your bedroom you pulled off the sheer slip, grabbing a hanger and putting it on before putting it in your closet. Slipping into comfortable clothes and leaving the bedroom, you could hear your neighbors doing something loud already next door. Rolling your eyes at the sound of something thumping in the neighboring apartment, you decided to make yourself something to drink. But the kettle was on a high shelf, forcing you on your toes to reach up and get it. The soreness in your back complained, a soft bruise probably there. You managed to just barely nudge the kettle handle with your fingers closer unto you could grab it, filling it and rubbing the sort spot on your back. You heard the telltale sounds of movement behind you, but continued filling the kettle with water anyways.

"It is quite easy to forget how fragile humans truly are."

You didn't miss a beat in responding to him, turning the burner up to high as you placed the kettle on it. You adjusted the raised hem of your shirt, presumably how he saw the light bruising.

"They'll fade in a few days. Nothing's broken, at least." Khonshu hummed, unreadable. You however let out a breathy chuckle while leaning against the counter.

"Don't tell me now you're starting to grow a heart, Khonshu." Once more the god mumbled something about your indignant attitude, though made no real effort to scold you for it. Still waiting for the kettle to whistle you suddenly heard your phone start to ring, bare feet pattering on the floor as you jogged to your desk to grab it. Snatching it up and turning around, Khonshu was gone; At least physically. 

Though you could hear his discontented noise as you glanced at your phone, seeing the name on the caller id. 

"Oh relax, it's just Jake." 

"That does little in the way of reassuring that you'll not find some sort trouble." 

There was a sweatshirt flung over the back of your couch, grabbing it and throwing it on while you grabbed your keys and wallet and answering the call just before it ended. While do did, you decided to also fish out a thermos from the cabinets, pouring your newly made tea into that instead of a mug. 

"Way to leave someone in suspense," You rolled your eyes and took a sip of your hot tea, even if he couldn't see it.

"I'll be there in a minute, I'm on my way out the door right now." Jake hated talking on the phone, and largely just used it so he tell you he wanted to meet. It didn't look like it was raining outside so you didn't need your umbrella, double checking you had everything for a trip across town. Khonshu was standing by the door as you went for it, turning the knob while he looked down at you with his arms crossed.

"Can my avatar truly not do something alone and requires you? 

Of course he's already back on this jealousy streak now, even after everything. Or he could just be irritated at Jake which wouldn't be out of the question, but given the current track record...

"Can it, Khonshu." Khonshu let out an indignant scoff as you went out the door, turning around to close it behind you. He was now leaning against the opposite side of the same wall, but now leaned off it more as he spoke to you angrily. 

"Just because you have my favor does not mean you can be belligerent!" 

"Oh, I have favor? How sweet~" You could hear Khonshu complaining in your head as you locked your apartment door, tugging the strings of your sweatshirt tighter as you walked down the hall.

"Incorrigible. Perhaps I should have picked someone different." Pressing the button for the lift, you stood in the middle and and adjusted the top of your pants so they were more comfortable, as they had been pressing against a blossoming bruise.

"That would involve someone else having the patience to deal with you, my Moon God." Khonshu didn't speak up again; Though, you did hear his distinctive grumbling.

[tsarinatorment]

Hi! This is totally random & meant in good faith but i see a lot of people say "Riordan made Nico gay out of nowhere/for diversity attention points only!!1!1" I'm wondering if you have any theories on this- when in the writing process do you think riordan decided to make nico gay and why him? also why will solace be the love interest?

Quite frankly, anon, I don't have a clue when he added that detail to Nico's characterisation. Unfortunately I'm not inside Rick's head, so there's only so much I can guess from the outside anyway, and even from that - when I first read PJO, I was a sheltered good little Christian girl at a Catholic school who didn't even know people could be anything other than straight, and while I took a big gap in keeping up with Riordanverse (I stopped reading after MOA for about a decade), when I did pick it up again, I'd already been spoiled on Nico's sexuality and Solangelo, so I honestly never had a chance to spot where Rick might have started trying to sneak hints in.

That being said, as someone who does work on original stuff as well as fanfiction, and therefore has a whole cast of original characters lurking in the back of my brain, it would not overly surprise me if it just felt right to make Nico gay (heck knows some of my own ocs like to surprise me with little factoids about them I was not intending in the first place). That being said, given the massive push for diverse representation in HOO (regardless of how well or poorly executed parts of it are), especially compared to the far less diverse PJO, I would also not be overly surprised if Rick had thought "I should include a gay character", looked at the interactions he'd already written between Nico and Percy, and went "that works, I don't even need to bring in a new character" (especially given how a lot of Rick's worldbuilding is full of glossed-over holes that he can conveniently fill later without contradicting himself too much; it's certainly not a world-building tactic I could follow - I get way too bogged down in the minute details which is why my original novel has existed for seventeen years but has never got past chapter four - but it's one he's mostly managed to make work for him).

It also works to pulverise/ostracise Nico even more, as though he's not been bullied by the narrative enough already... Rick, bullying Nico is now a very, very dead horse, it's time to let him have his happy ending and not throw him back into Tartarus, just saying...

As for why Will; honestly, I suspect there's at least one of two factors coming into play here. Firstly, Will is an already-existing character of similar age who has no narratively important links to the main cast. (Malcolm could also have fit, except for the fact that he's Annabeth's half-brother and given the whole Nico vs Percabeth thing, a child of Athena was likely out of the question). Rick did not need to pluck a brand new character out of the air, but Will was minor enough that he had a lot of space to expand and explore (which he has still mostly not done, I would add, and the scenes in BOO are painfully obviously setting up the ship - a little too blatant and sudden, if you ask me). Secondly, people love the opposites attract trope, and a son of Apollo is pretty opposite to a son of Hades, especially if the life/sun aspects are emphasised compared to the death/shadows ones.

I don't think he picked Will because Will could be Nico's personal healer, however - for starters, as I keep saying and will continue to keep saying, that's an incredibly unhealthy/toxic relationship dynamic, and throwing your one canon gay character into a toxic relationship... that's a really, really bad move. Also, we clearly see that not being the case in TOA - they have a very good, well-balanced relationship where Nico supports Will at least as much as Will supports Nico (if not moreso), and Nico is going to Dionysus for help, not dumping everything on Will and expecting him to fix it.

[s-brant]

Angels Roll Their Eyes (2/2)

(gif: @toesure) (PART ONE)

Summary: Hurricane Agatha approaches Kildare Island during the aftermath of the eventful Fourth of July party. JJ and Y/N are determined to continue avoiding each other after what happened at the party, but John B has other plans for them.

Warnings: Smut, strong language, angst, implied physical abuse, depictions of anxiety/panic attacks, and sickeningly sweet fluff.

Word Count: 24k

A/N: Here we goooo! To celebrate the trailer dropping today, here’s part two to Devils Roll The Dice. If you haven’t read the first part, I suggest you read it and come back so this makes sense. This one has all the drama and spice, so buckle up! Thank you for the love and support on the first part. Let me know if you enjoyed this and have fun, cause I had a blast writing it.

Hurricane Agatha.

It was the first thing she heard about as soon as she woke up yesterday to the sound of her phone blaring with an obnoxious tone that reminds her of waking up too early in the morning for work or school.

Her sleepy eyes couldn't make out who was calling, so she pressed the button to answer and lifted the phone to hear her mom's voice squawking through the speaker at her about the hurricane projected to hit the island in the middle of the night tonight.

The problem is, her parents are out of town this week, leaving her all alone to prep the house and endure the storm alone. And for someone who flinches whenever she thinks she hears the sound of thunder in the sky, that is the worst it can get.

It's a fear her friends are conscious of. One time when they were out on the HMS Pogue, a quick summer storm started to drift overhead and it took all of her self control to not fall into a blind panic when thunder began to rumble above. John B was already steering them back in the direction of the Chateau but she knew it would do nothing to calm her nerves until she was back inside of the house.

The anxiety was starting to become too overwhelming when JJ sat down beside her and threw his arm over her shoulder. It was their first month of knowing one another, so the casual friendly gesture made her jump at first and turn her head to look at him, but he acted like everything was normal.

The next person to notice was John B. With JJ currently out of commission, the only person she thought to call to help her prep the house for the incoming storm was him. Since they never got hurricanes up where she used to live her whole life, she needed someone who's been through a couple to help her while her parents weren't home.

That's how she ended up here. Sweating bullets in the front yard of her house as she unloads the contents of the van with John B was not how she envisioned her Saturday night to go, but she's glad she has someone who's willing to help.

In the past five months of being with the Pogues, she's learned that it's lovely to have friends. She never used to have any before she moved, so in situations like this or when she got so drunk at the party, she never would've had anyone to be there for her. It's quiet moments of kindness and companionship like this that make her realize how much better life has been on the other side of uprooting everything to move here—self-inflicted boy drama and all.

The sandbag on her shoulder sends a growing ache through her back muscles with every step she takes to follow him up the length of unpaved dirt path up to her front door. As usual, he makes it look way easier than it is, and it almost makes her want to laugh at how different they are.

Most of her new friends are effortless, naturally picking up anything they decide to try at while she is inept by comparison. It's part of what attracted her to JJ in the first place. He may have his insecurities the same way every other individual does, but in her eyes, he has nothing to be insecure of. Even when he wipes out on a wave and appears out of the water with sand clumped in his salt-kissed strands of blonde hair, he manages to make it look cool.

"What are you smiling about?"

John B's laughter makes her look up from where she concentrated on the dirt path to see him looking back at her. He stands at the entrance to her house with the rest of the sandbags they carried up placed meticulously in front of the door to prevent water from entering the house. They did the same thing with the back door an hour ago.

Is she smiling? She hadn't even realized her expression changed from one of exhaustion and fear at the dark clouds closing in above to a grin, so her face instantly drops in guilt. After running out on JJ for the second time two days ago to go to work, any mention of him from their friends has left her drowning in shame.

She can't recall the bulk of her memories from the night of the Fourth of July party, but she fills in the gaps between those flashes of memory with what their friends told her about it.

Thanks to her overindulgence, there are holes poked in the fabric of her memory.

It jumps from her last fully sober moment of seeing JJ across the room with the kook girl to dancing clumsily with Kie to the floral scent of her makeup wipes that she can't attach a specific visual image to.

Then, she can remember waking up with a start in the middle of the night to throw up in a pot beside the bed while he held back her hair. Before John B explained it, she was quite confused after waking up about how she somehow got from being jealous over JJ flirting with another girl to waking up in the same bed as him.

She grunts as she plops the last sandbag down into place and decides to take a seat on the steps leading up to the door.

"It wasn't anything special," Y/N says and watches him come down to sit next to her, "I was just thinking about taking something so I can pass out and avoid having a panic attack over this stupid storm."

Unlike JJ, she isn't that skilled of a liar. It's obvious to anyone who knows her well when she does it based on the way her eye contact begins to drift away and her voice raises in pitch when she speaks. She's too honest with her friends to handle keeping secrets from them, which is why it's been so difficult for her with everything that has happened recently. Not only does she lie to the Pogues, she also avoids them by association in the process of trying to avoid JJ.

Regardless of how obvious her bluffing is, John B doesn't call her out on it. Instead, he focuses on a different part of what she said.

"Are you sure you're gonna be okay alone? I know your parents are out of town till next week..." he trails off into concerned silence.

The tip of her sneaker hangs off of the edge of the bottom step and absentmindedly digs a line into the dirt as she takes in his question.

Being alone when she's prone to panicking is a recipe for disaster. Anxiety and loneliness have a relationship similar to that of a weapon and ammunition. It takes very little for her to fall down the rabbit hole of obsessive thinking and break down into a hyperventilating, fearful mess, especially when no one else is there to tug her out of those dark thoughts.

Most of the time, the people who help her with that are her parents. If they're home during one of these episodes, she'll come stumbling downstairs to them from her room for help, and they'll do everything they can to bring her down from hysterics. Her friends, on the other hand, have yet to witness her have one of those moments.

"Having people with me helps, you know? But it is what it is, I'll just try to cope the best I can and hope for the best."

He nods, and though he's a portrait of understanding, she wonders if he finds it as juvenile and stupid as she does.

Logically, she knows that this anxiety is something many people experience. She understands that it's something that is mostly out of her control but can't help but tear herself apart over it.

She thinks to herself, What kind of weirdo can't sit inside during a thunderstorm or hurricane without losing their shit? Why am I not the one in control of my own mind when this happens?

Do her friends think similar things? Do they think it's as pathetic as she does, or is she just paranoid that they pick her flaws apart as much as she does? And, of course, she wonders what JJ would think if he saw her panic like that. He may have seen her start to become anxious on the HMS Pogue, but he hasn't seen her panic panic before, not in the way that her parents have, and she wonders if he'd think less of her for it.

Right when she's about to change the topic and steer him away from a chance to think of how ridiculous she's being about the approaching hurricane, he says something that makes her look back over at him.

"Then come spend the night at the Chateau. I can distract you. We can play board games and shit."

"Really?" she asks.

The idea of anyone wanting to waste an entire night playing board games and possibly signing themselves up for having to talk her down from a panic attack makes her heart melt.

"Yeah, why not? You need a friend tonight. You know any of us would do anything for you. You're like my little sister, dude, we'd all probably hack off a limb if we thought it'd help you. Especially JJ."

John B's last second name-drop is designed specifically for where he wants this conversation to go. Underneath the need to get his friends back to normal, he does feel a little guilty for having to do this. She thinks he's only offering to let her stay with him to help her—and he is, even if there weren't a rift between her and JJ, he'd still offer—but he has a different reason.

"Right," she says softly. "Speaking of which...is he gonna be there tonight?"

With how often he escapes his house to spend a night or two in temporary safety at the Chateau, it's not an unfounded assumption. He and John B spend more time together than any of them because of this, and when she goes over to hang out, she knows that he and JJ often come as a package deal.

He tries to play it cool and not give up anything that could make her suspicious of him, looking off at the van parked in the driveway as he takes a second to collect his thoughts. It's never easy for him to deceive people he cares about, even if it's for their own good. It wasn't easy when he invited JJ to spend the night a few hours ago with the knowledge that he'd soon invite Y/N too either, but he managed.

As always, Pope is the brains behind this operation. He was the one to suggest inviting them both over to wait out Agatha together when the three of them put their heads together to come up with a solution to their oblivious friends' drama. After JJ stormed out of the house the morning after the party, they knew they had to do something about it. This was what it came to.

"Nah. I offered but he said he's staying at home until this whole thing blows over."

He isn't sure why she buys into it.

She knows JJ well enough to know that he would literally rather eat glass than be trapped in a confined space with his dad for an entire day. Perhaps it's only because it's what she wants to believe. She wants to believe that she won't have to see him again tonight after everything that happened. How can she handle having to tell him why got so drunk that night and made an ass of herself? She can't bear to tell him all of that unnecessary drama started because she was jealous.

What right does she have to feel that way? He isn't hers. They aren't together, and she thinks it's quite obvious that he doesn't want a relationship out of whatever it is they have together. It was one night. She has no right to be mad at him for flirting with other girls because of it.

"Then I'll definitely be taking you up on that offer. Thank you," she says.

The old wooden stairs make a squealing sound when she stands to make her way inside to gather her things for the night, but the feeling of a warm hand gripping her forearm stops her mid-step. Her eyes follow down the length of her arm back to where he sits, glancing at her with this knowing look in his eyes that makes her want to turn and hide.

"When are you gonna talk things out with him, Y/N?" he asks. "He misses you."

Since the party, no one has had the courage to burst her bubble of pretending not to care until now, but now that someone has, all of her bottled up emotions stir inside of her at a simple concept she hadn't considered yet.

JJ misses her.

For the first time since they began this stupid game of cat and mouse, she is confronted with how desperately she misses him back. So consumed with the task of concealing everything that happened and trying to avoid him, she hadn't acknowledged that all she ever really wants is to be with him lately.

She misses his jokes and the way he looks at her when she giggles at them. She misses his smile when they play fight on the HMS Pogue. She even misses when he dangles her over the edge of the boat as a means to end the wrestling match, making her squirm in his strong hold as he threatens to toss her overboard.

But what she misses most of all is how he never lets her fall in. It's something about the way he looks at her as he pulls her back onboard, how time itself seems to stop in the moment between when he's still holding her and when she feels her feet touch the deck again.

Then, they'll suddenly want nothing to do with each other for the next half hour.

JJ will make himself busy forgetting the way her hands felt holding onto his shoulders for dear life, burning the memory of her palm prints into his skin for the next few hours. And she'll try her hardest to forget that charming smile and the feeling of his arms around her. But it won't work, not really, and when they're both laying down to sleep at night, they'll have one thing keeping them awake.

She takes a second to internalize what he said and avoid exposing the effect it has on her to hear it before asking, "Did he tell you that?"

The sky overhead grows darker and darker by the second, but she has yet to notice it due to the topic of their conversation. With JJ involved, her attention shrinks to a tunnel leading only to him. There's no room for anything else but the audacious idea planted in the back of her mind that he might miss her as much as she misses him.

"No, he didn't," John B admits, and right when she's about to say more in response, he cuts her off, "but hear me out. I've known him since we were kids, so I can tell when things aren't right with him, and ever since your relationship with him got complicated, I picked up on some weird vibes."

Y/N doesn't give anything away with how she reacts. He can't tell if she's about to bolt like JJ did or stay to talk and open up to him. All she does is cross her arms over her chest and lean back against the railing.

"Weird in what way?"

"Weird in a way that makes me think you two have to talk it out before you ruin your friendship. I've never seen him act this way over a girl."

That doesn't surprise her. He has a reputation for chasing after any girl available to him, something the Pogues have gently teased him about, and it factors into why she doesn't want to have this dreaded conversation with him. She doesn't want to sit there and listen to him tell her that she was just another one of those girls to him.

Going for broke and being honest about what he thinks of their situation is a better strategy for trying to get her to talk to JJ than the other way around. John B can look back on what happened the morning after the party and see where they went wrong in their approach of trying to get him to talk, but she's less unpredictable and turbulent than he is. The fact that she's hearing him out is enough proof of their differences.

She sighs.

"I know we need to talk sooner or later, but it's hard, you know? I'm so embarrassed of how everything went down at the party, even though I was too fucked up to remember most of it, and I just—" There's a brief second that lapses between when she stops and when she starts again where he can almost see her working through it in her head. "I don't wanna get hurt."

John B's face falls at the mention of the party and her feelings surrounding it.

"You have nothing to be embarrassed of. You drank too much but who cares? The only person who should be embarrassed about that night is the guy that tried to take advantage of you."

That part is the most fuzzy in her mind.

She can remember what led up to it and the moment she saw JJ pull him away from her, but she can't remember anything about the interaction itself. It wasn't as if he did anything to her—not yet—but the thought of it alone makes her skin crawl because she's seen that before. She's been the JJ in that situation, pulling a wasted Touron away from someone who thought nobody would be looking out for other people at the party, and she knows how quickly those situations can escalate past "harmless" flirting.

The sound of JJ shouting at Tyler echoes in her mind as she reaches for any remaining memories left from the party. He said it right after he punched him, when he was starting to rush forward to follow him onto the ground and pin him there.

"If I see you near my girl again, you're fucking dead! You got that?"

She doesn't remember realizing that he called her that at the moment. She was confused and upset and all she wanted to do was stop him from getting himself in trouble, so she pulled him away from hitting Tyler again without realizing what he said. And even now, she tries to avoid acknowledging it. She reasons with herself, telling herself that he was pissed off and didn't mean it, because if he did, why hasn't he told her how he feels yet?

Y/N looks up and sees how dark the converging clouds have gotten in the time since they began working on prepping the house for the hurricane, so her next words are shakier than usual.

"I guess you're right." She pushes off of her spot against the railing. "But can we not talk about JJ tonight? I kind of wanna hang out and forget about the rest of the stuff I've got going on right now."

This makes him feel a pang of guilt inside of him for the ulterior motive he's kept hidden from her for the duration of the conversation, but he knows it's for the best. Even if her and JJ's inevitable conversation goes in the wrong direction and they don't end up mending fences, it's better that they let it out sooner than later. If they wait any longer, it'll make it worse, and he knows that they're stubborn enough to keep this childish game going for another week or so.

So, he keeps her in the dark for now and offers a kind, "Sure, that's cool with me," despite knowing how messy the night will soon become.

A smile pokes at the edges of her mouth, making the sides of her eyes crinkle, and she extends a hand to help him up from where he sits.

"Now," she says as they make their way inside the house for her to pack a bag, "are you ready to get absolutely crushed in Monopoly?"

It started to rain before they left her house, and by the time they pull into the driveway of the Chateau, it's pouring down on them with violent winds whipping droplets at their faces hard enough to hurt.

The rapid pace of her pulse beats with such an intensity, she can feel it in her head. They shouldn't have taken so much time at her place before heading over here. While she was packing, they talked and dilly-dallied the whole time, and now they pay the price for it.

If she knew that it would start this soon into the night, she probably would've hurried things along sooner, but it's too late. She's already starting to feel that tightness in her chest and each breath of air feels less satisfying with every inhale. It's not so bad that she loses complete control of herself, but it's getting there, and she can't express how badly she doesn't want to lose her shit in front of John B.

The passenger side door is slammed shut by the force of the wind behind her, the noise becoming swallowed up in the rest of the budding storm, and she stifles a sound of surprise that escapes her in reaction to it. They're lucky they made it here in the first place. Any later in the night and they probably would've had to take refuge at her place until it blew over.

She decides to focus on how the edges of her white sneakers are swallowed up by the muddy earth on her way through the front yard to distract herself. It stains them a deep brown color and simultaneously washes them clean from the rain coming down from above, which she'd probably be annoyed about if she weren't such a nervous wreck. But, because she's too busy keeping her backpack raised over her head to shield herself from the rain on her way up to the front door, it's not high up on her list of priorities.

Since both the screen door and the door behind it are unlocked, she doesn't hesitate to come bursting into the house as she usually does.

Y/N lets out a deep breath, feeling that telltale tension in her chest and shoulders, and laughs at the sight of John B running in as she kicks off her shoes. His t-shirt is speckled with rainwater, and his hair is saturated enough with it to stick to the sides of his face after he crosses the threshold into the Chateau.

The sound of her laughter makes JJ's heart stop from where he stands in the kitchen.

"There was an umbrella right on the dashboard, why didn't you take—"

Her heart might as well have stopped just as abruptly as the sentence she was in the middle of saying when she turned and saw him standing there.

Maybe they're both a tad too dramatic, but it takes a full few seconds for them to stop staring at each other in surprise. He looks like a deer in the headlights, eyes wide with surprise like he was caught doing something he shouldn't even though all he was doing was grabbing a beer from the fridge.

It's been two days since they last saw each other. For him, the last glimpse he got of her was when he peeked through the blinds to see her pedaling away on her bike to go to work, but hers was somewhat different.

The last time she saw him, he was asleep. Their legs were tangled together underneath the sheets and his face was smushed against her chest, allowing her to feel the soft puffs of his exhales on her skin every few seconds. It's a wonder that she managed to slip away unnoticed once she remembered she had work that morning. He was holding her closely, so closely that she found it hard to discern where she ended and he began in the dazed, hungover headspace she woke up in.

It's when the conversation she had with John B on the front steps of her house comes back to the forefront of her mind that she puts together what's happening right now. Now that they're here, it's far too late to leave. With how aggressively the wind and rain batter the area surrounding the house, it's obvious that they're not going anywhere.

It seems to click with them at the same time, because JJ turns to look at him only a half second after she does.

Y/N says, completely serious, "If you did what I think you did, I'm gonna kill you."

Before either of them can think of doing anything, John B shoots out from the doorway and runs past her in the direction of the hallway where his bedroom is.

"Gotta catch me first!"

They both chase him, JJ hopping over the back of the couch to run after him, but they end up coming to a screeching halt at the shut door right when they hear the lock turn and click.

Neither of them knows what they were planning to do when they caught him, cause it isn't like they'd hurt him, but they bang on the door nonetheless. The sound is drowned out by the sound of the wind and rain pounding the outside walls of the house, picking up speed, and for a second she wants to kick the door open.

She shouts, "John B! Open this door!"

The last thing she wanted tonight was to be trapped in a house with the one person she didn't want to see. Doesn't John B realize how embarrassing it is for her to be around him when she knows that he's gonna reject her? He may have said something about JJ never acting so weird over a girl before, but he's wrong. There's no way JJ actually wants her...right?

"I can't hear you, this storm's kinda loud!" he yells back at them through the locked door. "Maybe try again later!"

Neither of them wants to acknowledge the other. In fact, they don't even want to look at each other right now, so all they can do to stop themselves from acknowledging the elephant in the room is continue trying to get answers out of John B. What does he think that locking them together in the Chateau for the night will accomplish other than make them ignore their own drama and team up to plot their revenge on him?

Though he's significantly less angry than she is, JJ pulls the doorknob enough to make the door whine on its hinges and pleads with their friend, "This isn't funny, John B. Open the door."

"Not until you guys stop being immature and talk to each other."

She furrows her brows at him even though he can't see her, saying, "It's none of your business. You can't just trap us here cause you think you know what's best for us."

The sound of thunder rumbling above the house makes her flinch, hand shooting out to latch onto JJ's arm on an instinct she couldn't consciously resist. Feeling the warmth of his skin beneath her palm and the fingers clutched around his wrist sends shocks of familiar electricity up her body. Touching him always makes her feel hyperaware of herself, leaving her to wonder if he can sense her pulse picking up or notice how her breathing pattern turns uneven.

With that being said, it's safe to say that the night they spent together took that sensation of electricity and hyperawareness to a height it hadn't reached before.

That time, it wasn't a brush of their hands or an arm over her shoulder, it was the epitome of physical closeness. She couldn't handle it. He was so sickeningly sweet with her, yet, at the same time, he knew all of the right times to be commanding and in control too. There were awkward moments at first, sure, but once they became comfortable with each other, it was game over.

And whenever they've touched since, she hasn't been able to get those memories off of her mind. It's less prevalent now, since she's only holding onto him out of fear, but it's still there underneath it all—the unfiltered desperation of the lust in his eyes, the low noises that escaped his parted lips, and the strong pair of hands that pinned her hips down on the mattress to give him the leverage to really give it to her at the intensity she begged for.

It's pathetically easy for her to be sucked right back into the vortex of emotions, memories, and fears that haunt her whenever they touch, but he brings her back out of it just as easily when he speaks.

"You okay?"

John B was as good as forgotten by him as soon as he felt her jolt next to him and grab onto his wrist like she was hanging from a ravine and he was the only thing preventing her from falling. It makes him feel like a fool, but even when they're ignoring each other, the urge to comfort and protect her from anything that displeases her never disappears. He'd literally fistfight Zeus if it meant there'd be less thunder to scare her.

If he weren't hiding behind a locked door to avoid their wrath, JB would probably be calling him a simp right about now.

The concern on his face is so pure and unaffected by any of the chaos that surrounds them, both physical and emotional, that it makes her stomach turn with a sick feeling. God, he really does care about her. Why does that scare her? Why doesn't she want to believe that he cares? Why is she so set on believing that he wanted nothing more than a quick fuck from her?

Her eyes turn down to see their connected hands, realizing all in one moment what she did and pulling her hand away as if she were burned.

"I—Yeah," she stops, looking up at him, then back to the closed bedroom door, "I'm fine. You know how it is, it's just the storm."

They're both left with no choice but to face the music after days of avoidance that had no good reason behind it other than the respective doubts and fears they have. Yet even now that they're standing here, unsure of what comes next, they're hesitant to say or do anything that might disrupt the illusion they've created in the week and a half since they first ruined their friendship for good.

It feels as though the tension that has been boiling between them is coming close to turning explosive and all it will take is one tremor of their self-control for it to spill over.

Every feeling they have feels so contradictory. They want to but they also don't. They almost do it, then hesitate and decide to ignore each other for days. At the party, this tug of war game was at its peak for JJ when she was telling him about her jealousy and cuddling up to him, but he couldn't do it then, not when she was drunk. And by the time he had a whole night to think it over and see her biking away, he didn't want to risk it.

She looks away from him, hoping that "out of sight, out of mind" may ring true for once, and says to John B through the door, "Whatever, have fun. I won't hold JJ back when you finally come out of there though."

He won't actually do anything to him, maybe just a non-serious fight that'll end with her walking in on them rolling around on the floor trying to wrestle each other, but she likes to fuck with him anyway. For the dick move he just pulled, she thinks he can withstand a little teasing.

Without anything else to say, Y/N turns and walks off to make herself useful elsewhere—anything to distract from the buzzing, anxious energy that surrounds her from both the hurricane and being forced to confront JJ. She tries to play it cool though she is anything but at the moment, allowing herself to grimace once her back is turned to the blonde boy still standing against the wall in the hallway.

Maybe if she keeps pushing this false sense of normalcy, it'll work. It worked when they both started pretending things never happened between them initially after they had sex, so who's to say it can't work now?

All they have to do is get through the next 12-24 hours without talking and all will be well. Right?

They tried.

They truly tried to get through the night without inciting chaos within the Chateau, but, for these two idiots, not inciting chaos is a task easier said than done. Not only was John B much more stubborn with staying in his room than either of them bargained for, he didn't even attempt to speak to them for the first five hours and they were left with nothing to do but find new ways to avoid talking to each other.

It was simple in the beginning.

She went off on her own and sat with her headphones in to drown out the sounds of the storm.

With her eyes fluttered shut to block out anything but the sound of The Cure blasting into her ears, there was no reason for her to have to worry about anything once her nerves began to settle. Since the songs drowned out any sound and all she could see was darkness behind her closed eyelids, she was able to drift away with the distraction of the music.

The thing is, after a while, she started to see pieces of him in every song she skipped to. She made it a full minute into Just Like Heaven before a supercut of her most treasured memories of him began appearing in her head. Fade Into You? Skipped as soon as the first dreamy lyric flooded in through the tangled cords of the headphones. Cloud 9? Forty seconds in. By the time Dirty Little Secret came on, she decided that her playlist was mocking her.

The headphones were out of her ears, hastily wrapped up, and stowed away in the small pocket of her overnight bag before the chorus of the song could hit. Thankfully for her, JJ wasn't looking when she ripped the headphones out and put them away in a huff, so by the time he turned to see her again, she was laying down on the couch to "nap"—meaning she laid awake for another hour and cursed John B for making her endure this.

While she was daydreaming of a John B voodoo doll, JJ was worried about her.

Yes, the topic of their relationship/friendship/situationship/whatever-the-fuck-it-is was bombarding him against his will every five seconds, but not without him coming back to his concern for her. A small sound of thunder on an otherwise perfect day was enough to make her zone out and start getting antsy that day on the boat, so he didn't want to know how bad it could get during a time like this.

He tried to play it cool, and, in all honesty, his remaining scraps of sanity lasted a lot longer than hers. Four and a half hours passed, then, as the storm began to do its worst on their town, the power flickered out and left them in complete darkness. At that point, John B was passed out in his bedroom, so he didn't care nor notice when they had to find a few candles and stumble through the dark.

Somewhere along the way, having to search through the dark house for candles to light and place around the living room led them here...he isn't quite sure how.

JJ can hardly open his eyes enough to see through the rain that pounds against him the second he runs after her through the back door. The wind is so aggressive and unrelenting, it almost sends him stumbling a few steps when he follows her blurry figure a few paces behind where she tries to flee the house in a panic.

"Get back inside!" he shouts as he picks up his speed to catch up, "Y/N!"

The part of him that isn't focused on the pure physicality of trying to see and move through the stormy weather is utterly overwhelmed with fear. Not for himself but for her. She's deathly afraid of mild storms, let alone hurricanes, and yet she ran through the back door when he tried comforting her through an anxiety attack. One would think that she wouldn't want to go directly into the thing she fears the most, but what sent her running for the hills wasn't the panic itself, it was him.

It's hard for her to think rationally in this state, but all she knows is that he was there, he was saying all the right things and holding her, and she couldn't do it. The fear began to blend to one centered around both him and the storm. The hours of useless distractions and ruminating in her thoughts built up to this point of contention, then it snapped.

Between the thunder, his voice, and the voice in the back of her head that was urging her to confess her feelings and do as John B advised them to, it became too much. Maybe it was the most idiotic split-second decision she made without any regard for logic or reason or her safety, but she bailed. For the third time, she couldn't handle the pressure and ran from him.

The only difference is that he couldn't let her leave this time.

He gasps for air against the streams of water flowing down his face, soaking his hair and making it hang in his eyes to obstruct his view more than the weather already has. It happened so fast, neither of them are wearing shoes. His feet sink into the muddy yard with every stride he takes in his frantic pursuit of her and it frustrates him no end because of how it slows him down.

There's endless dangerous possibilities with her being out here. She could be knocked over into the marsh by the wind, or stuck and hurt by a piece of debris—merely thinking about it makes him call out her name louder in the hopes that it'll wake her from her panicked trance.

After trudging through the mud all the way to the edge of the yard, he finally manages to get to her.

"What are you doing?" JJ shouts, turning her around and grabbing onto both of her arms as if one gust of wind would sweep her away if he didn't, "You're gonna get hurt!"

Stumbling backwards in the direction of the screened-in porch that surrounds the back door, he uses their difference in strength to tug her away in the direction she came out in. The rain makes it difficult to keep a firm grasp on her, and she almost slips away a couple of times when the wind picks up enough to make him too unsteady to hold on.

His arms slip around her waist for a better grasp on her the closer they come to reaching the house. The last thing he wants is to almost get her back inside and lose her at the last second. She isn't thinking rationally right now with the panic she feels taking full control of her responses. He knows firsthand how it feels to be thrown headfirst into a panic attack, he's been in her shoes before and knows better than anyone the lengths your irrational mind will go to if it means survival. And for whatever reason, her response is flight, not fight.

The door to the screen porch takes all of his effort to open against the power of the wind blowing it back against the house.

He grits his teeth as he forces it open, one arm secured around her midsection, and helps her in before he slips inside too. The second he lets go of the door, it's sent slamming back into place and rattling in the frame behind them, but he doesn't spend anymore time on it other than the few seconds it takes to lock it. As soon as it clicks with him that they're safe—most importantly, that she's safe—he whips around to face her with a cold rage flowing through his veins.

"What the fuck?"

She stands in front of him with water pouring off of her in rapid drops onto the rug, and there are no thoughts in her head outside of the ones telling her to leave. Her tears blend in with the droplets of rain so seamlessly that he wouldn't know she's crying if not for the sound of it.

In between her rapid breaths and sobs, she yells back at him, "I was scared, okay?"

"Why'd you run out into the storm if you—"

"I wasn't afraid of the storm, I was afraid of you!"

The silence that follows is louder than anything they've experienced. Nothing can rival it, not the thunder, the rain, or anything can drown it out while he stares at her in shock. His eyes are wide, lips slightly parted as he reaches for something, anything, he can say in response to that, but there's nothing. For once, he is absolutely speechless.

Things got awkward between them in the initial aftermath of last week, but not like this. There was never an instance where he felt like there was nothing left for him to say to her to fill the uncomfortable silence that always brought forth memories of them together until now. Until she said the last thing he wanted or expected to hear.

His anger subsides as he picks over what he did in his head for anything that could've made her feel unsafe.

Before it evolved into him chasing after her through the hurricane, he noticed how terrible it had gotten for her when he lit the first candle. Her cheeks were streaked with tears and her chest began to rise and fall faster with each second that passed. He could see it on her face that things were getting worse, but, now that he thinks of it, it got worse once he reached out to put his hand on her shoulder.

It felt like a dream sequence in his head, so hazy and faraway now that it's over, and he was so stunned by what she was doing, he didn't run after her until a few seconds later. There was a delay in which he stood there in surprise and tried to process what the hell just happened to no avail. Though it wasn't very long, he remembers it feeling like eternity tucked into the cramped space of four seconds.

JJ's voice is softer than she's ever heard it, asking into the void of the near-darkness that encloses them, "What'd I do?" And it breaks her heart in half to hear him sound so concerned, so terrified of the idea that he did something to hurt her when all he did was try to help. "I never meant to scare you, I swear. I know how bad it can get sometimes, and I know we haven't been talking but I'd never try to hurt you if that's what you thought..."

His thoughts run rampant with the possibilities of what she was thinking at the time, and he realizes that he can't stand the idea of her thinking anything badly of him. He never cares about what people think, but, fuck, he loathes the idea of her having any ill feelings toward him.

Y/N immediately starts shaking her head, her face scrunching with the emotion and incessant tears.

"I know you'd never hurt me. I was scared because..." she stops herself mid sentence, catching it right when she was about to admit the one thing she promised herself she wouldn't.

But the need to say it doesn't go away this time. Usually, once she catches herself she comes to her senses and realizes how foolish it would've been to confess, but this time is different. This time, the urge to speak her mind and tell him everything sticks around. The words left unsaid creep up her throat, thrashing and begging to let out after months of being pushed aside.

The look in her eyes is strangely reminiscent of the way she looked at him the night they hooked up, almost yearning in its nature, and he couldn't be more confused. She's scared of him, but she's looking at him like she did when she was two seconds away from jumping his bones. And if he didn't do anything wrong, why was she afraid enough to face her worst fear in order to avoid him?

"Because what?" he asks.

That frustration from when they first stepped into the porch hasn't vanished, it only took a backseat once she said she was afraid of him, not the storm, and he can feel it stirring up again. He's tired of not having answers. He's tired of mixed signals and loneliness and unrequited love. Most of all, he's tired of her running away all the time. At this point, he questions whether or not it's worth it to expose his feelings to her and suffer the consequences.

John B was right. This isn't healthy for them, nor is it healthy for them to put their friends through this along with them, and it might be better to not be friends than to stay this way forever. At least that way they wouldn't be wishing for answers that would never come for the rest of their time together.

She decides at this moment that this has to be said before it gets worse, before she runs away again like a scared, immature child and ruins everything.

"Because," she has to shout over the lightning that cracks down on the earth down the street, something she would be trembling in fear over if she weren't so focused on him, "I've been in love with you for a couple months and it scares me more than anything, even this stupid fucking storm! And I've tried so hard to ignore it because I know you don't feel the same way, but you touched me and I just"—a soft cry escapes her—"I couldn't do it anymore."

There it is.

After months of ruminating over it and hiding everything, he knows, and her immediate feeling after she says it isn't what she thought it would be. She expected trepidation and regret, but what she finds on the other side isn't either of those, it's relief. Her dad often tells her when she's nervous about something that the anticipation is worse than the thing itself, and that has never been as true her as it is now.

However, some of the nerves return with the time that passes after she spoke in complete silence. Much like the delayed reaction he had to her running out of the house, it isn't as long as it feels to her. It's a short span of time that it takes for her words to process with him, but it feels like an eternity that he stands there with his head facing the floor in quiet contemplation.

Her heart sinks.

This means he doesn't feel the same way, doesn't it? If he were the one telling her he loved her, she likely would've leaped into his arms and said it back, but he stays where he is.

Then, after what feels like forever, she thinks she sees him start to smile and feels like she's losing her mind. It's quite dark out here, so there's only a limited amount of light to allow her to see his features, but there's no doubting it when a flash of lightning floods the porch with a split-second of harsh light.

Oh God, why is he smiling? What does it mean?

Much to her frustration, the first thing he says after her confession isn't much help in making her understand his feelings either.

"Why didn't you just talk to me?"

Why? The voice in the back of her mind asks incredulously. Is he seriously asking why? He ignored me too. He didn't want to talk about it either, so what else was I supposed to do?

Maybe she was undeniably worse when it came to the avoidance and lack of communication, but he could've reached out to her too. They both could've. Instead, they spent day after day waiting for the other to make the move and pushed the tension further and further until it finally broke. Now she's waiting for him to hurry up and reject her so she can move on with her life.

She shivers from the wind blowing at her wet skin through the screens separating them from the outside world, crossing her arms over her body to hug herself. His eyes follow her movements down to the breaths that are slowly evening out without her realizing it. It turns out that confessing your love for the guy you've been crushing on since the day you met him is a hell of a distraction.

"I thought you wouldn't wanna hear me being all emotional and shit over a one time thing. You've literally never had an actual relationship before. And that's fine," she rambles, "I'll be okay eventually, but that's not who you are and there isn't a problem with that. I just caught feelings when I shouldn't have."

In her defense, she isn't making baseless assumptions about him, he hasn't had a relationship before. His love life hasn't ever really revolved around love itself, it was mostly comprised of random chicks he'd meet at parties or at the beach during the summertime when tourists come to visit the island. Out of all of them, he's the last one the Pogues would expect to fall in love with someone and commit to a relationship, but then...

He looks over at her with a swell of emotion within him that he's never felt before. It wasn't like he hadn't known before now. He did. He even said it out loud to himself that morning after the party, but this is when it feels the most real. Now that she's said it to him, he doesn't feel so stupid for toying with the four letter word in the back of his mind for the entirety of the past week.

In all honesty, he was the last person he would've expected to fall in love with someone this quickly too. He thought he knew himself better than this. He thought he could keep himself hidden away and not let anyone close enough to see him—the real him, faults and feelings and vulnerability included—but she proved him wrong. In walked Y/N with her pretty smile, teeny bikini bottoms, and oddly strong opinions on Ratatouille, and he stood no chance.

This sudden crescendo of emotion only continues to grow when he watches her shiver, soaked to the skin, across from him and decides that he never wants to deny himself of her again. Those feelings of inadequacy that forced him to question his relationship with her may not have gone away, not by a long shot, but they can't stop him anymore. Nothing can.

Like a light flickering to life in this swirling, stormy darkness, she hears JJ's voice asking her, "What if it is who I am?"

It was said so softly, she nearly lost it beneath the rain and wind. But it was not said with a lack of certainty, which is why she questions if she heard him correctly. He sounded so sure of himself that it feels too good to be true. After his reaction, or lack thereof, to her telling him she loved him, she accepted what was coming and this was not it.

"What?"

He doesn't miss a beat.

"You heard me." There's a pause. "Maybe I needed to meet the right girl."

There is no way he's saying what she thinks he's saying because if he is...if he is then that means the tears and frustration have all been for nothing because he loves her back. But if he loves her, then what was with the kook girl? Was it to make her jealous, or is she misinterpreting him right now and he was flirting with that girl because he doesn't have real feelings for her?

"JJ..." she trails off, looking down and thinking to herself how thankful she is that it's too dark for him to fully see how nervous he made her, "don't do that."

Partly, he should feel offended that she'd think he'd toy with her feelings like that, but he isn't. He's too busy wondering what on earth made this poor girl so insecure to think that someone has to be joking to confess their love to her. It makes him wonder if anyone wronged her before she moved here, and he feels that switch of impulsive anger inside of him flip at the thought.

But that anger has nowhere to go, so it shifts into something different—a need to spend every waking moment of the rest of their time together proving to her that she doesn't have to be so afraid. Does it make him a hypocrite? Probably. It wasn't too long ago that he was telling the Pogues how much he didn't deserve to be with her, but he doesn't see himself the same way he sees her. In his head, he has reasons to believe he doesn't deserve her love, but how could she ever think that herself?

He steps closer to her, the movement something so natural and unconscious to him that he doesn't recognize he does it until he hears her breath hitch in the back of her throat. They were already close enough to reach out and touch each other if they wanted to, yet now it's the kind of closeness that wipes the slate of her mind clean with nothing else but the thought of him there to stay.

He starts to say, "I'm not fucking with you, dude, I'm being serious—"

"Then prove it."

Oh.

The sound of his unfinished sentence lingers on the tip of his tongue as he blinks away his surprise at what she said, though it was less of a statement and more of a challenge. What the challenge is, he isn't too sure, but he thinks there could be a couple of meanings there.

The fire in her eyes when she looked up at him is one he recognizes very well, it stars in one too many of his daydreams that center around their secret night together. She rose to the occasion without fail and matched his chaos every time, and that steely-eyed stare is reminiscent of it.

Yet, the sexual undertone isn't the only part of it to be discovered. There's a clear meaning there for him to actually prove it, to put his money where his mouth is, grow a pair, and tell her how he feels with no room for confusion. No more miscommunication, running away, or insecurity getting between them, just a clear cut confession like hers.

His hand runs through his hair to sweep it out of his eyes and keep the wet strands from dripping down his face. It helps him see her a little better too, grounding him to the moment and calming him at the dimmed sight of her expectant, wide eyed gaze.

There were a million versions of this whenever he let himself imagine admitting it. He only let himself picture it on the worst days, days like the one two days ago when he went home to his dad, ending the night by cleaning his own cuts and inspecting his own bruises in his locked bedroom. He did it to distract himself from wanting to storm out of the room and finally kill the son of a bitch after years of suffering in silence.

JJ closed his eyes, shaking with anger, and dreamed of how he'd tell her. There were versions with long speeches that were far too sappy to exist outside of the realm of his imagination. There were versions with him burying the words between friendly jokes to play down the extent of his feelings too, but he thought it worked best in its simplest form.

So he puts it as simply as it gets, lips fighting a soft smile as he crosses the space between them and rushes in to kiss her. It's charged with an accumulation of the pent up love, anger, and sexual desire that has been repressed until now, resulting in something utterly explosive.

He stops for a second to whisper, "I love you too," into her parted lips, and she finally lets herself go at the sound of those words.

Forget that they've only known each other for five months, when you know you know. This is the real deal. This is the kind of feeling that possesses every accessible inch of her heart and she'd never be open enough to admit that to anyone but him at the moment, but neither of them minds that. It's such a new, rapidly developing feeling that they want to protect it and keep it close to them for the time being.

His arms twine around her waist, tugging her the last bit forward and leaving no space between their bodies this time. The sudden movement draws a sharp gasp from the back of her throat and sends her hands out to brace themselves on his shoulders. The sound of the gasp that disappears into their connected mouths only fuels him on more. It makes him more eager with how he touches her with his hands drifting down the plane of her back, one of which playfully slipping beneath the hem of her soaked shirt in a way that makes her smile into the kiss.

He knows exactly what he does to her. He can sense it in the small reactions that would often go overlooked if it were someone less familiar with her.

It's easy to tell by the way she completely surrenders herself to him, letting out these soft little noises she doesn't even realize she's making when he takes control of the interaction and kisses her like he's starved for it. In a way, he is starving for affection and attention from her. He never knew it was something he needed so badly until he got it, and now he never wants to go without having her again.

That's why it doesn't surprise him when she starts getting antsy after a moment or two, especially after keeping away from him for days.

Her hands run down the length of his chest over the soaked t-shirt, taking a quiet victory in how his stomach flinches inward in response to her exploring touch, and she could swear his next exhale trembles as she continues lower. Never once does she break the kiss, which, by the way, has gone past the point of being passionate and straight to downright needy, but her concentration does falter. The perfectly paced rhythm of her mouth moving with his is interrupted when she touches him over the fabric of his shorts.

Those plushy soft lips go on an exploration of their own too. Leaving him with the first opportunity to catch his breath in minutes, she dips her head beneath the sharp edge of jaw in pursuit of the sweet spot she remembers reducing him to a grabby, moaning mess the last time they did this. It doesn't take her long, not if the tightening of his arms around her and the satisfied hum of a moan she feels vibrate beneath her mouth has anything to say for it.

He loses himself in it for a second or two...okay, fine, maybe ten.

The separate sensations combined spark a flame inside of him that burns so hopelessly for whatever she'll give him. His mind sends him images of them together, both real memories from their first time together and imagined fantasies he only let himself visit in his dreams, and he realizes how thinly spread his self control has become lately.

First, it's the thought of her from last week, thoughts of her gasping, writhing, and begging beneath him that makes his cock throb under the teasing contact of her hand through his shorts. But then he's brought elsewhere. Then, though he hasn't thought of it since the day after the party, he thinks of the mix of jealousy and anger he felt when he saw Tyler with her.

He remembers being sane one moment and charging across the room like a madman the next. He remembers how it felt to watch another person's hands slip under her dress, how it felt to see someone else try to kiss her the way he had, and this raw wound of a memory is all it takes to spur him into action.

It happens so quickly, she doesn't even notice what's happening until he has her scooped up in his arms with her legs around his waist. She doesn't even have the chance to voice her surprise or crack a joke at the expense of his neediness before he reconnects their paused kiss with enough force to make her teeth ache in the collision.

JJ's rings are colder than ice, digging into the flesh of her thighs as he holds them with a tight grip and blindly takes the few steps necessary to reach the back entrance of the house. His wet handprint smudges on one of the cracked-open glass doors and sends droplets of water dribbling down the surface. The teardrop of rain zig-zags at the swinging motion of the door on their way in, only changing course again when he nudges it shut behind him a little too loudly.

"Wh"—her question is cut off by him laying her down on the rug-covered floor in between the couch and coffee table—"What if John B wakes up?"

His first thought was to bring her into the spare bedroom, but then he realized that it shares a wall with John B. Then, he considered the pull out couch but realized that would be louder than the room adjacent to their friend's. His only conclusion was this.

It isn't nearly as romantic as either of them would've pictured, but they're not exactly picky either. They're so desperate for it, they'd likely do it on the porch in the middle of a hurricane if there weren't another option. And in their own weird way, they make it romantic.

There's no one else she'd rather risk rug burn for, and that is the peak of romance.

"John B sleeps like a fuckin' rock," JJ says, "and it's own his fault for trapping us here anyway."

He follows her down onto the floor without a second thought, not even looking up to see if they woke their friend with the sound of the door shutting behind them.

Hovered above her, he looks particularly captivating in the flickering candlelight. The fire burning in one of the three-wick candles they scoured the bathroom cabinets for brings out the warm hues in his blonde hair and highlights every edge of the angular face that looks down at her. The porch was far too dark for her to see him in all of his near-perfection, but this is enough for her to notice a multitude of things.

His slicked back, wet hair allows her to see his features better and the way he looks at her...it's enough to make anyone feel red in the face. How hadn't she see it before? She knows it was denial, but, somehow, she used to overlook the small hints along the way like how he looks at her like she's the only thing that makes sense to him. For the first time in a while, she allows herself to embrace the idea of being loved without looking for something to justify her fears surrounding it.

The sound of her voice brings him out of the mesmerized trance he fell under at the sight of her.

"I've missed you," she says softly, "like a lot."

The sweet admission slows him down for a second, making him stop to ignore the distracting desire that she sparked to life a moment ago and take the time to cherish this moment of rare serenity with her.

It's a wonder that she hasn't even acknowledged the storm raging on outside since they've come back in. It's all thanks to him, of course, since she's been too focused on everything happening between them, but it surprises him. It makes a sense of pride flare up in him on her behalf for being capable of forgetting something she fears so much.

But, on the other hand, it reminds him of how distraught she was right before their conversation/argument on the porch shifted from her panic to the topic of their relationship, and he can't help but hesitate a little.

"I missed you too." The hand he isn't using to support himself above her cups her face, his thumb tracing the line of her cheekbone. "Are you okay though? You were just crying and I don't wanna make you—"

"Yes."

It was so said so quickly, there was zero hesitation. It's not that it doesn't surprise him that she's as eager as he is after what started to happen out on the porch, but it does make his eyes widen a little. His mouth curls with a slight grin. It's the kind that never fails to make her stomach fluttering and light with butterflies.

"You don't have to worry about me. I'm okay, and I promise I'll let you know if I'm not," Y/N clarifies.

"Okay."

There's a short moment where all they do is look at each other with a complete loss for words to convey what they feel right now. It isn't as awkward as it would've been prior to tonight. Before they confessed their feelings, they wouldn't have been able to look at one another for any longer than a few seconds without needing to walk away to break the tension. Now, things have changed. They don't feel the need to conceal how much they care anymore.

They're still the same bickering duo they've always been with the added fun of being head over heels. She never used to understand how some people could let their feelings for another person drive them crazy, but it's done more than make her crazy this past week. It made her jealous, obsessive, and somehow happy too, and no one has ever made her feel so many varying emotions in her life.

Her fingertips graze the stretch of skin between where his cargo shorts sit on his hips and his shirt rides up the side of his torso, and he swallows thickly at the feeling.

"Do I make you nervous?" she asks.

Her lilting, smooth voice is enough to soothe any nerves he could possibly have. It's as if hearing her ask that paired with the hand teasing the waistband of his shorts pulled him back to the place he'd been before when she was teasing him over his clothes.

He answers honestly, his head going fuzzy with the crushing desire that courses through him, "Not as nervous as I make you," and closes the space between them again.

The cheeky comment doesn't go unnoticed by her, not one bit. It makes her face heat up in embarrassment that is purely instinct after having to hide her feelings from her for so long. Maybe after they've been together for longer, it won't make her blush every time he acknowledges the effect he has on her out loud, but that day isn't today. Today, she goes hot in the face from a sole second of his attention, let alone this.

JJ lets his hand climb up the length of her torso as they kiss as if they have all the time in the world, as if their best friend isn't sleeping less than twenty feet away from them, until it flattens at the base of her neck. It doesn't curl around her neck and squeeze, nor does it do anything but remind her how much she loves the feeling of him touching her, the large palm of his hand simply stays draped over her throat to flaunt his ability to sway her nerves.

She's pretty sure if it were anyone else, it wouldn't work, but he's JJ for fuck's sake, and the quiet display of dominance sends an exhilarating little thrill rumbling through her. It isn't anything over the top or exaggerated like some people would do in an attempt to stake a claim over the person they love, just a simple gesture that they both know the meaning of.

She's his. After five months of friendship, two months of silent pining, and a week of sexually confused hell, she's his, and he'll never let her forget it.

The wind rattles the windows over the couch with its force and she notices that his hips grind into hers at the sudden sound. Even in the midst of such a heated moment, it's downright cute how he still makes an effort to distract her from what she fears. And, boy, does it work.

Their panting breaths in the brief seconds they allow themselves to break away from each other are the only sounds audible in the small living room. The storm drowns it all out for now, including the noises that start to leave them from the steadily building pleasure of their bodies moving together.

She can feel how hard he is through the layers that separate them with every absentminded thrust that brushes the fabric of her panties up against her clit each time. It leaves her breathless and wondering, despite already knowing, what it'll feel like when he finally slips inside of her again.

They both fantasized about it in the time they spent apart. Neither of them would dare deny it, least of all JJ. It actually became frustrating after a while because she started to become the only scenario he could conjure to get himself off when he had a rare moment of privacy. His fantasies, all stemming from the night that was so perfect, he began to question the reality of it, linger in his head.

The best part of his fantasies were the parts of them based in truth, and if he knows anything about her when she's in this state, it's that she's needy. Her tongue swipes along his bottom lip in a silent urging to let her deepen the kiss, and he complies without a second to spare, willing to entertain her every whim so long as she keeps being so good for him.

He revels in her muffled squeak of a moan when he presses down on the sides of her throat at the precise moment his hips grind down to meet hers. She can't keep herself still for any longer than a half-second, always meeting his movements halfway and unknowingly doing another thing that will be the death of him.

She leads his shirt up his body without having to second guess herself, knowing that he's always on the same wavelength as her no matter what. This was how it was the last time too. Anything she did, he was already one step ahead, and tonight isn't much different. By the time her hands ball up the dripping cotton fabric, JJ is lifting the hand off of her neck to reach for the neckline of the shirt and help tug it off.

There's a sense of urgency in everything they do. Charged up with frustration and jealousy that brewed within the days they spent apart, there's nothing to stop them from reducing themselves to a pair of panting, impatient lovers too consumed in each other to care about the outside world.

The sopping wet fabric is thrown beyond her line of sight and lands on the hardwood floor with a 'thwack' that accompanies their cacophony of moans and gasps, and she whimpers at the sight of him. It may have to do with the fact that he's guiding their bodies together at a cadence and pressure perfect enough to make her legs tremble, but seeing him like this does nothing but aid the sensation.

Golden skin glistening under the candlelight, tendrils of half-dry blonde hair falling into his face with the lazy effort of his movements, and a stray raindrop that squeezed from the wet shirt dripping down his chest...she's not gonna make it out of tonight alive, is she? In her memory, she knew he was a sight to see in the midst of a heated moment, but, fuck, memories do not hold up beside the real experience of it.

Y/N is so caught up in his seemingly endless beauty, she doesn't notice him peeling her damp denim shorts off of her hips until they're halfway down her legs, and the only reason she does notice is because he must shift his position to do it. Suddenly, the budding feeling that stirred from their needy antics is plucked away and left to ache for more in the absence of him between her thighs.

Her middle and index fingers hook around the front of his necklace to pull him back down to her, but he doesn't budge at first. He's too busy trying to rid her of her shirt to care.

It was too much of a distraction while they kissed for him to resist slipping it off of her when he got the chance to. Much to his frustration when he first realized they were trapped with each other, she's braless underneath, and it's only worse now that the t-shirt is soaked to her skin and clinging to every delicate curve.

Once the clothing gives way to the canvas of her bare skin, he submits to her urgency and follows her down by the fingers hooked around his necklace without any qualms.

As soon as they resume, it's as if they never stopped to begin with, and they start to realize how seamlessly they fit together as the seconds elapse. Neither of them are actively thinking about it while he dips his hand into the front of her panties, but it is in their subconscious.

It's a revelation of sorts, an ah-ha moment where it hits them both in a sweeping realization that it was obvious from the day they met. They should've known sooner, they should've dropped their pride and admitted it as soon as the first inklings of desire began to pop up, but they didn't. Instead, it washes over them now and they let the current take them away together.

Her mouth falls open against his cheek at the feeling of his fingers swiping through the arousal that pools in her underwear for him, dragging the wetness over his fingertips and spreading it up to brush fleetingly against her clit. It's a split-second of a touch that it makes her hips lift up off the floor on their own accord to seek out more. It makes her dig her nails into the skin stretching over his taut shoulder muscles in a wordless plea for more that he doesn't indulge her in at first.

He makes her earn it from him without having to say a single word. He touches her, but he doesn't touch where she wants or ease his fingers into her to satisfy the need she feels yet. It's a blessing and a curse that he manages to turn her on to such an extent. He does it for her like nothing else can, so much so that she's noticed a distinct difference in how it feels when she's alone versus when they're together. When she's alone, it can tend to feel like active effort, but when she's with him, it's as natural as the urge to breathe.

His smirk is felt against her skin the entire time she begs for it through the revealing actions of her body—her hips jerking up toward him, her chest pressing tightly to his, and the sound of her murmuring, "Please," in a breathy tone that could stop his heart.

"Tell me what you want," JJ says, every word constrained and tight in a way that tells her he's a lot less composed than he lets on, and "accidentally" swipes his thumb over her clit again. "Talk to me, baby."

She almost forgot in their time apart how much of an effect he has on her, but this is the best reminder of that she could possibly imagine. If she could, she would find a way to bottle the feeling he gives her and keep it with her forever so that, no matter what happens between them, she'll never have the misfortune of forgetting him.

What he said simultaneously melts her heart and frustrates her to no end because he knows! He knows damn well what she wants from him and won't give it to her unless she asks for it, and she hates herself for loving it. She hates herself for enjoying the flushed-face embarrassment it brings to her cheeks to be so open with him about what she needs.

She swallows the lump in her throat and tries to focus through the clouded landscape of her head to speak to him. It's hard to concentrate when he's above her like this, touching her, calling her pet names, and looking at her like that.

With his lips worshiping the sensitive skin along her neck, she finds it hard to choke out the words, "I want you," into the humid air that has infiltrated the house.

It's not a lie. Anything regarding her wanting him or any related feeling is no longer something she can hide anymore, but they both know it isn't exactly what he wanted. No matter how it took his breath away to hear her say it, he was seeking something more specific. He was aiming to make her ask, maybe even beg, for it. They're both too impatient to wait and based on how wet his fingertips are from barely dipping into her, he can tell she's as eager as he is.

It's been thirteen days too long since the last time they allowed themselves to meet this way, and neither of them wants to let it happen again.

She was nearly trembling with the urge to go to him whenever they were together in the company of their friends, unable to think about anything except for how badly she wanted him. All the while, he appeared so unbothered, especially on the night of the party when he flirted with someone else, that she didn't even believe he felt the same way back. Thankfully for her, she couldn't have been more wrong.

He clicks his tongue and says, still teasing her with light touches that never linger in one place for too long, "That wasn't very specific."

Part of her should know that he's about to do something based on how he withdraws his head from its cherished place in the crook of her neck, but she's too caught up in the anticipation and seeing his face for the first time in a minute to think about it. How dare he look so good? She could cry in frustration, although she might actually already be tearing up a little with the rush of neediness hitting her in its full force.

Never has she felt so turned on by so little physical contact before. It usually takes longer for her to get to this point, whether it be alone or in the past with previous partners, yet all it took was being kissed, touched, and being given his undivided attention and now...She realizes she's in trouble. He has her in an emotional and sexual chokehold at this point, and she fears that no one can compare.

"I want—" her voice is snuffed out in an instant when he eases two fingers into her, "Oh!"

So that's why he pulled away from her neck to look at her.

It was worth abandoning the mark forming on her neck just to see the expression on her face shift. She gets this cute look when anything overwhelming starts to happen where her brows scrunch a little to create a soft wrinkle between them as her mouth drops open in a moan. And after ten steady minutes of doing nothing but some over the clothes action and painstaking teasing, this is as overwhelming as it gets without it crossing the line to being too much.

It never occurred to her how much larger his fingers are compared to hers until now. This type of pleasure is like an itch only someone else can scratch to her, she feels virtually nothing when she does it to herself, but when he does it, it's like an explosive being set off inside of her. Especially with the thumb that sneaks up to circle her clit without stopping to tease her again, she is putty in his hands at this point.

Every smooth stroke of his fingers into her reaches a spot she can never quite find on her own, and she can feel the cold bite of rings when they're buried into her to the knuckle.

It's a surprise every time, even when she knows to expect it. Like a delightful chill running up through her body and down her spine exactly how it's intended to. It strikes an idea in her head for when he eventually pulls them out of her, conjuring the image of her sucking them clean for him just for the sake of imagining what it'll do to him.

With that idea tucked away in the back of her mind, he's the center of her world right now. All she breathes, thinks, and feels is him. Whether it be the sight of him, or the feelings he's giving her, or even the taste of his kiss that still lingers on her tongue, it connects to one common thread.

"What were you saying?" JJ asks, and she wants to wipe that smirk right off his face.

It's virtually impossible for her to piece together a coherent thought, let alone a sentence detailing every filthy idea she has for him, but she tries. It takes another moment or two of her succumbing to the rapid incline of pleasure that he gives her, watching her in wonder through any greedy buck of her hips or gasping inhale that makes her head loll back onto the floor.

At first, what she wanted to say was that she wanted him to touch her, to do anything more than the fleeting touches he gave before. Now, she wants more than that. Now that she's drawn in closer to the eventual high that's to come, she doesn't want it to happen like this. She wants to feel closer to him than this, wants to feel him throb inside of her and fuck her with all of the urgency and desperation that has accumulated in their time apart.

That's why her hands start to grab at the belt loops of his shorts to tug him closer by them, meeting his gaze through the hazy bliss of his fingers pumping into her. It's not enough.

"Please"—she keeps pulling him closer to her, so close that there's hardly any space left to cross, and he revels in her desperation—"just fuck me already..."

Internally, JJ is losing his shit.

Though this was what he wanted, what he coaxed out of her with the teasing and the pretend sense of a nonchalant attitude on his part, it hits him harder than he expected it to to hear her say it. It's not necessarily the act of begging itself either, it's the fact that she's the one doing it. She may have been jealous of the girl at the party, but she had nothing to worry about. Not in the slightest.

Before her, he never thought he'd fall for someone this way. It's not like he had a hatred for love or anything, he understood the appeal, it simply wasn't his thing.

He was perfectly content with his only form of companionship being his friends. Then, she came along and changed it. So to hear her say something like that isn't just breathtaking, it's the kind of thing that makes his heart ache for her. It hits him precisely where she wanted it to, and he has never felt as consumed with love the way he does now.

JJ can do nothing to stop himself from pouncing on her at this point, like some animalistic form of himself has worn down the restraint he used to keep himself at bay.

The loss she feels when his fingers slip away from her is an emptiness she mourns at first before she realizes what's happening. He pulls away slightly to reach down between them for the front of his shorts, and their hands clash as they both frantically try to undo them together. The rings adorning his fingers glisten when they catch the light and remind her of the thought that popped into her head when she first felt their coldness against her skin.

That idea paired with the promise of what they're trying to accomplish in their uncoordinated attempt to get the rest of their clothes off makes her want to press her thighs together. Her hands abandon the task of undoing his shorts for the sake of ridding herself of the last layer that separates her from him.

Her most embarrassing old pair of brightly colored panties, courtesy of past Y/N's questionable decision to trust her mom to buy some on her behalf, are hardly a sight to behold. They're the kind that come in a value pack from Walmart, vibrant blue with the word, "Tuesday," printed on the front of them, and she could hide her face into the rug in shame if she weren't so determined to get them off. Of all the days to wear the day of the week undies her mom accidentally got her, of course she chose today.

By the time she reaches for the waistband, he has pushed his shorts and underwear down his thighs and comes back to her with just as much excitement as he left with, but when he helps her tug her panties down her legs, he laughs. Apparently, he had also been too eager to touch her to notice what was written on them before.

"Cute," he breathes out through a laugh, then adds as the cotton fabric slips over her knees, "Pretty sure it's not Tuesday though."

"If you tell anyone, I swear I'll—"

He cuts her off, "Whatever you wanna threaten me with won't work, chances are I'm gonna be into it."

Her eyes are alight with a certain fire he's had yet to fully lure out of her. Even her voice is slightly more airy and seductive as a result of it.

"Promise?"

JJ grins down at her as he finally tosses her panties aside with the rest of their clothes, "Cross my heart, pretty girl."

His hands grip her thighs and tug her down the  rug to him with a quick jolt that snaps them out of the playful nature of their back and forth teasing. No matter how lighthearted of an interruption it was, the mini-conversation might as well have never existed for how easily they fall back into it again.

She watches with her forehead pressed against his as he strokes himself a few times, then drags his tip, messy with precome, through her wet heat. And though she watches it happen, her body still arches into his when he lines up with her and sinks his hips forward.

She anticipated it, but she still gasps and digs her nails into his biceps at the sensation of him pushing into her. Neither of them bothers to worry about the obvious lack of a condom—it was discussed the first time around when he offered and she told him it was okay. He's often the one to silence the alarm on her phone warning her in its title to, "Take your birth control or else, bitch," while she searches her bag for it anyway, so he trusts her.

Both of them prefer it this way enough to risk the  minuscule failure rate of the pill anyway. It's more intimate, closer, and they can both feel the warmth of each other in a way that would've been somewhat muted with an added layer between them. It makes the feeling of him entering her all the more gratifying as she tenses up around him in reaction, drawing a groan from where his parted lips brush against hers.

She lifts her head off of the floor as much as she can to capture his mouth with her own and stifle the sonorous sound despite the storm doing a better job of it.

It seems that every blast of wind and roll of thunder is in their favor tonight, so much so that he isn't even worried about getting walked in on. It's not a thought in his head at this point, the only thought he's capable of having is this. Forgive him for being shortsighted, but he doesn't give a shit if John B notices or hears what's happening when he's buried inside of her so deeply.

His hips are flush with the backs of her thighs in a matter of seconds, and right when he pauses to give her a breather, he feels her shake her head ever so slightly against where their faces are pressed together.

The touch of her hands on his hips is not timid by any means, it's commanding. Her palm prints singe an indelible claim into the surface of his skin as she guides him to start moving without a second spared to dwindle the discomfort of him filling her up. It's less like a pain and more of a pressure blooming from the insistent presence of him, not so overwhelming that it's painful, but it's an effort to breathe evenly and the only thing that'll ease this transitional moment is to continue.

At first, their bodies start to rock together lazily as though on autopilot. They'd hardly be conscious of the fact that they're doing anything if not for the initial sensations of heady ecstasy that flash like the sparks of a lighter in response to their movements. As soon as he felt her hands coax him into action, he sighed happily and surrendered himself to the instinct of wanting to move.

The merging of their bodies is less of the aggressive rutting motions they'll surely succumb to once their current pace is no longer satisfying, but that doesn't make it any less intense. She's partly sure that this is one of the most vulnerable moments either of them has ever had when it comes to sex, and it wouldn't work if it weren't them together. No other person could consume her the way he does, taking up every unoccupied space of her soul until there's nothing left but the silent begging of her heart for him.

Their kiss is messy when it breaks to allow them the chance to suck down a couple breaths of air, saliva shining on his lips in between the seconds it takes them to come crashing back together.

It's loving enough to rot her teeth with its sweetness, a slow but impossibly deep grinding of their hips together that continually presses the tip of him into that sweet spot inside of her, but it takes a turn.

Not only do her hands shift from his hips up to the sides of his waist to get a firmer hold on him, the kiss starts to become vigorous, almost hungry, in search of something more. The dreamlike sequence of the first moment or so they spent slowly fucking under the warm hues of candlelight starts to unravel to reveal the baser instincts that guide them forward.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he whispers the praise into her mouth.

As soon as the words are said, he can feel the effect it has on her. The hands braced on his waist pull his body closer to her at the same moment that she involuntarily squeezes down around him, making the smooth drag of his cock against the velvet-soft heat of her walls even tighter than he thought possible.

The sudden feeling of it makes his first returning thrust much harder than the last. He jerks forward into her with none of the restraint he's retained for the past few moments, and her reaction is nothing short of perfection, at least from his perspective. He watches her throw her head back in a moan, hips bucking to him in pursuit of more, and feels the tips of her fingernails digging crescent-shaped marks into the unmarred skin along his waist.

"JJ!" she gasps in surprise, and if her initial reaction weren't enough to spur him on in a frenzied state of desire, this is.

He almost forgot how intense it had been the first time. Their confessions of love preceding this made them both somewhat softer and sweeter in their approach when they started, but he knows how she likes it.

Nobody would expect it from her. He's another story entirely, especially considering how much John B and Pope know about him, but her? He didn't have any in depth conversations about it with either of them, so none of their friends know how dirty she is.

But when you start to tease it out of her, she's got a side to her that makes his blood run hot. Considering how polite she is, he sure as hell didn't see it coming. For fuck's sake, she's the kind of person who'll apologize to a chair if she bumps into it. With that in mind he never thought she'd be the type to demand such things of him.

Just like that, with one moan of his name, it's like she flipped a switch in him that they forgot was there in the first place. It'll never stop surprising him how little it takes to get him going when he's with her, and he doesn't see that changing no matter how long they spend together in the future. Just a touch from her is all it takes, so it's needless to say that the sound of her calling out his name was more than enough.

Those slow, deep movements he made to sink into her again and again have turned rapid and rough, but still controlled enough to have a semblance of precision to them, hitting in all the right places.

"I bet," JJ speaks lowly, "that you want John B to walk out and see us right now."

She doesn't want to admit how much of an instantaneous effect those words have on her, but the feeling of her clenching around him as she bites back a moan completely betrays her. Partly, she worries that he'll take that the wrong way and think it has something to do with John B when it has nothing to do with him at all, but he doesn't. For the spare second of thought she's allowed to have before her mind goes hazy again, she notes how much more eager he is on the upstroke of the next thrust.

Noticing how right he was in his assumption about her liking the risk of getting caught jumpstarts his heart and makes everything he does rougher. She can sense that he's starting to lose control over himself and is acting on instinct alone.

It makes her much more sensitive to everything he does, and all she can do is cling to him and enjoy it as she takes in everything he says and does. It's hard to pick one thing to focus on between the switch up in pace and what he said.

"You want John B to know you like getting fucked like a slut, don't you?"

She could get off on the sound of his voice alone. Hearing him say stuff like that kills her, it makes the swirling bliss that builds in the pit of her abdomen with every thrust he gives her triple in its extremity.

Her legs are tightly wound around his hips to keep him as near to her as possible, her hands sliding up around his waist to keep a steady grasp on him while he pounds into her. The rug scratches at her back enough to make it sting alongside the immense pleasure building in her, but she doesn't care. When blended with the good sensations, the pain underscores the addictive feeling of him inside of her, fucking her exactly how she asked him too.

Looking up at him when he's like this is simply unreal. There's no other way of describing it in her eyes except for that. He's so stunning, she's inclined to believe that he isn't even real as a means of explaining it. This shouldn't be real. It should be one of her daydreams while she steals covert stares at him as they hang out with the Pogues, but it isn't. She can't wrap her head around it.

Those strands of hair that were damp from the rain are mostly dry as they fall into his eyes with the force of his movements. The sight of him alone, set aside from the rest of it, is enough to make her writhe beneath him and claw at his back in tandem with another thrust that sends her jolting against the rug.

He takes one of his hands up from where they both held her hips for leverage to weave his fingers into the roots of her hair.

He demands between the panting breaths and moans that flood the limited space between them, tugging on her hair, "Answer me."

She instantly blurts out the words, "I want him to see us." The feeling of him tilting her head back by the fistful of hair he has wrapped up in his hand is her persistent reminder to concentrate enough to continue, and she bites down on her lip to contain a moan before speaking again, "I want him to know..."

Her cheeks burn with the mere thought of it, let alone saying it out loud. He's the only person she'd ever let in on this intimate side of her, the side that makes her crazy when she hears him say stuff like this. The reason she feels so comfortable doing this with him is that she knows he understands her. It's as if he can read her mind without even having to try, knowing exactly what to say and when to say it.

It wouldn't matter if the topic of their exhibitionism were any other Pogue or a stranger, it isn't about who it is, it's about the thrill attached to the concept of almost getting seen during such a heated moment. In all actuality, John B is probably snoring face down into his pillow right now with no care for what's happening out here, but he knows what it does to her when they push the boundaries of decency this way. It's the same rush he gets from stealing random, useless things every so often, it's the thrill of getting away with something.

The hand tangled up in the roots of her hair sneaks down between their colliding bodies to rub her clit, and her mouth drops open to take in a shaky breath.

The sight of her beneath him is undoing in and of itself. Head tilted enough to expose her neck to him, chest rising and falling rapidly with her breaths, and breasts bouncing gently with the momentum of their actions—seeing her this way makes his thrusts ramp up into more of a frenzied, uncontainable pace rather than one with the same control and cadence as before. But it's mostly the eye contact that kills him. She doesn't dare to shut her eyes the entire time, as if she can sense that he'll tell her to look at him again the second she does.

"You want him to know what?" he asks, and she knows he won't let her get away with not saying it.

She whines, utterly helpless to the climax starting to build inside of her, "Please."

What she's pleading for, she isn't quite sure, but he can tell by how she's acting that she's starting to get closer, and he wants nothing more than to tease her with the impending chance of her orgasm.

"If you wanna come, you're gonna have to do a lot better than that."

Just like that, he withdraws his hand from between them and leaves her desperate, blindly grasping for the peak she was so close to reaching, she could almost feel it already.

With JJ rocking into her at a relaxed, slower rhythm, the pleasure hasn't disappeared completely. It's there, but she can sense the feeling of her orgasm receding as quickly as it had creeped up on her as soon as he slips his hand out from between them.

It's instantly clear to him how desperate she is as all of her previous shyness surrounding having to admit this to him out loud withers away in seconds. She isn't beneath begging again at this point. He could tell her to crawl across the floor to him and she'd happily do it for the chance of touching him. It's pathetic but true. As much as she has him wrapped around her finger, he has done the same to her and she isn't afraid to admit it anymore.

Her hips jerk toward him in search of the familiar frenzy they were in before that sent her to the brink of climax, but he is impressively stubborn. Despite the fact that it physically pains him to dial it back again, he tries to keep the signs of his own frustration at bay. She knew what she had to say to get what she wants, so he'll only cave when she does.

This time around, she doesn't give a fuck about how badly she blushes or the voice in the back of her mind telling her she should keep this side of her to herself. This time, the one thing she needs to do to prompt her to open her mouth and speak the dirty words he asked her less than a moment ago is look at him. One second of staring up at him and here she is, driven mad enough to say or do anything to get him to pick up where they left off.

She says between the soft noises and breaths coming from them both, clinging to him through every slow but deep thrust that sends sparks ricocheting through her body, "I want John B to know I like getting fucked like slut." Her voice is breathless, and he hangs off of each word as she pauses, looking up at him with a challenging attitude swirling in those pretty eyes. "So stop being a tease and fuck me like one."

His jaw clenches at the bratty statement, one he's too far gone to resist at this point, and right when he's about to respond to her, she speaks again.

"Either that," she says, and a deceptively sweet smile crosses her kiss-swollen lips, "or I can go ask him to—"

She doesn't even get the chance to voice the rest of that thought before he's set into motion.

The hands on her hips flip her over with such casual strength, all she can do is yelp in surprise at the sudden movement that blurs the living room in her peripheral version until she lands with her hands and knees pressing into the rug. He was so swift in pulling out of her and tossing her onto her front like she was nothing more than a rag doll, she hardly had the time to take a breath before she ended up here.

There's hardly any time between when he pulled out to flip her over and when he returns to her again, but it feels like an eternity for them. The few second transition might as well be a few years as she feels his hands guiding her body where he wants it, pushing down on her back until it arches just so, and falls down onto her arms. But as soon as she gets situated, she feels a pair of hands yanking her arms away from where they were braced against the floor and put them behind her back.

It's only then, when he has an unflinching grasp on where he keeps her wrists behind her back with one of his hands, that she is met with the relief of him sinking into her again.

Y/N's jaw goes slack, and she cries out into the rug that her cheek is pressed into as he gives her no chance to adjust or catch her breath before resuming the brutal pace they kept a moment ago. Mentioning anyone else but him doing this to her was the quickest way to get him to snap, so it's safe to say that she's getting what she wanted. After all, she did what he asked, it's fair that she gets rewarded for it.

Amidst the sounds of the storm waging war on the landscape outside of the house, the one thing she can hear over the buzzing pleasure that drowns out her senses is the sinful blend of sounds they create together. It's the sound of their bodies merging, his name falling from her lips, and the curses he makes under his breath that never fail to drive her a little wild.

The hand that isn't holding her arms behind her slides down the length of her curved back until it wraps around her throat to pin her down, and her reaction is everything he could ask for. Seeing her rock back against him to meet him halfway makes his grip on her wrists tighten enough to turn his knuckles white.

Her hair is spread in endless directions in a fan around her head, and he can only see one side of her face from where he kneels behind her, but that glimpse is more than enough. Brows scrunched in pleasure, mouth dropped open in a gape as soft 'uh's and 'ah's escape her on the upstroke of each thrust—she's a mess right now. A beautiful, perfect mess.

"Oh God, JJ," she moans between her rapid breaths and the strong hand constricting her neck, "I'm so close. Please, just let me come."

It took virtually nothing for her to be pushed right back to the edge of the peak she was at less than a minute ago. It took a mere half-minute of this and she's once again reduced to incoherent pleas for more and shaking with no control over herself. Her legs tremble with the effort to keep herself up in this position, and she isn't even the one doing most of the work. In all fairness, this change in position has made the intensity triple. It's deeper this way, and with how harshly he slams into her, it's as though she can feel it in the base of her abdomen.

It's the enjoyable type of pain, however, not the bad type. It'll surely end up with her being sore tomorrow, but she can't hide how much she loves the painful pleasure of how rough it's getting. Being denied an orgasm when she was so, so close to it was initially disappointing too, but it was worth it. If the build up to what would've been her climax before was a spark, this is a flourishing fire spreading through her with no chance of smothering the flames.

He lets go of her throat and taps the side of her jaw in a silent request that she picks up immediately, letting her lips fall open to suck his fingers into her mouth without a second of hesitation.

The taste of her arousal on them is faint, but still there, and it occurs to her that she thought about this earlier before things evolved into chaos. Her tongue swirls around the tips of his fingers as he starts to pull them away in what feels like the blink of an eye to her, leaving him to remember what it felt like when her lips were once wrapped around a more sensitive part of him a week and a half ago.

The one other time he let himself remember it was when they were on the boat with the Pogues, yet that wasn't really of his own volition. It was hot out, so Kiara bought ice pops for them and his mind wandered far from where it should've stayed.

Shining with her saliva, his fingers are pulled from her lips with a soft 'pop' in pursuit of that sensitive collection of nerves at the apex of her thighs. She just needs is a little push to go over the edge, and when he slips his hand down her body to rub tight circles onto her clit, she loses whatever remnants of control over herself she had left.

The steady rhythm of her hips moving back against him falters as she is overwhelmed with the separate sensations culminating into one and giving her the push she needs to come. Her entire body tenses up in anticipation, and since she's pinned to the floor with her hands behind her back, she can only lay there and savor the feeling as it hits her.

After what felt like ages of having it build and build within her, then having it taken away to start the process over again, finally being given a release is a relief beyond any she's felt before.

It's so consuming, it takes away her ability to think of anything outside of how it feels to dissolve into the shockwaves of euphoria rushing through her. Every pulsing wave is prolonged by him, not even through the peak of it does he let up on his precise touches and unforgiving thrusts into her that turn a typical orgasm into the most intense thing she's ever felt.

She's melting in his arms through it all, and as if the change in position didn't make it worse, her involuntary spasms leave him hanging on by a thread.

JJ collapses onto her, barely having the chance to keep himself propped up on his arms as he lets go of her wrists and falls forward onto her sweat-slick back.

The heat of his panting exhales raises goosebumps in its wake where his face is buried into the curve of her neck, and he whines at the impossibly tight feeling of her squeezing around his cock through the end of her climax. Those sounds he doesn't realize he's making have her writhing through the aftershocks, answering with a sound of her own that almost makes him come instantly.

For that reason, he makes the decision to pull out and flip her onto her back.

At this point, she's so dazed and fucked out that she doesn't register any of it until she notices the hollow absence of him inside of her, but it doesn't matter when his face appears through the partial darkness above her.

Despite how sensitive she is right now, the sight of him makes her hands reach out blindly to pull him closer again. They're frantic in their need to get back to one another, grasping and clawing until he finds his way back to her in less than a second, hiking her legs up around his waist with a touch that is somehow demanding and tender at the same time.

It's only when he's inside of her again that it occurs to her why he rolled her onto her back again, and it makes her want to kiss him until her lips turn numb. It may be undeniably hotter to pin someone down and fuck them hoarse, but, no, that wasn't what he wanted. He wanted to be able to look at her, to see her face, and the thought of that has her biting back a sudden confession of love. She isn't sure why she doesn't say it right away, since it isn't like they haven't already done it, but she keeps it to herself for a second first.

It's different now. It's not less passionate or frenetic. It isn't as if he isn't being as rough with her as he was before, but they can both sense a shift in the energy between them as soon as he reenters her. It's less about the pursuit of pleasure and more about the feelings they've kept hidden away for so long. It's a simultaneous realization that hits them a little late after they initially confessed their feelings for each other: this is reality. It's real, and when she touches him this time, he isn't going to disappear if she opens her eyes.

The realization of what happened tonight had yet to hit them until right this second, but now that it has, they move forward with a sense of sentimentality that remained partly dormant before.

If there's anything JJ dislikes, it's being vulnerable. The idea of letting someone in to see every part of him, including the parts he doesn't want to see of himself, has always terrified him after years of being made to believe he's undeserving, yet he isn't uncomfortable right now. Somehow, he feels safe with her. Sex has never been something so emotional for him until now, until her, and he doesn't want it differently.

Their bodies are drawn in close, her arms thrown around his neck, and he's so close, he can feel the muscles leading down past his lower abdomen contract with the inevitable approach of his orgasm. She can sense it too in how he acts.

When he gets close, he becomes clingier and lets his feelings get the better of him. His hands squeeze at her hips, sliding up her sides and back down to hike one of her legs up high around his waist to press deeper into her. He can't bear to allow his touch to stay in one place for too long before exploring another part of her, wanting to memorize the delicate intricacies of her body in its entirety.

It's as if she can read his mind too, cause even when she's sensitive enough to gasp when he pushes her thigh to her chest and throws his remaining energy into fucking her at a satisfying pace, she understands what he needs. She knows to reach up and run her fingers through his hair, to tug on it gently until the light strands are taut from his scalp. She knows to lift her head off of the floor enough to trail tender kisses along his face, his jaw, his neck—anywhere she can access.

"Come for me," she says into a kiss placed on the edge of his cheekbone, reeling in overstimulation as she jolts with his quickening thrusts, "I want to watch you..."

Hearing those words, paired with the kisses and fingers pulling on his hair, does it for him. It doesn't take more for his hips to falter and jerk forward into her a final few times before he comes.

Their foreheads press together as they cling to one another for stability, though it's mostly JJ clinging to her while she watches in adoration, and she has to bite her lip to contain a moan at how it feels. The aftershocks of her orgasm have yet to fade as the feeling of pulsing warmth inside of her makes them stronger, reigniting the fire she felt a moment ago if only for a second.

There's a closeness to this situation that they hadn't felt the last time, and they know it has everything to do with what was said before this happened. The sex itself feels like a dream sequence in her mind now that she's coming down from it with him, moving together slowly and gently beneath the candlelight until they ride out the ends of their highs. It was like they were put under a trance by each other, and now that it's over, the first thoughts that come to mind are of what comes next.

It's not the sole topic on their minds though. They're more focused on catching their breath from where they lay, tangled up together, on the living room floor. As soon as the very last of his orgasm faded from him, he fell onto her without a single ounce of energy left to spare. He's careful not to crush her, but, for the most part, he relaxes on top of her and lets his head rest on her heaving chest.

Strong arms slip down to loop around her waist, and she sure that she couldn't get him to release her if she wanted to, which she doesn't.

But they can't stay like this, not for any longer than a few moments anyway, since they don't know how if John B might wake up and come out of the safety of his bedroom after hours of leaving them to their own devices. JJ was right. He's out cold, but for as much as it turned them on in the heat of the moment, neither of them finds getting caught by him as hot with the clarity of their rational minds coming back to them.

He's the one to break the silence.

"As much as I wanna stay like this, we should probably move in case John B wakes up."

The sound of his voice settles in her with the effects of a sedative. It calms her more than anything else could, especially with the added comfort of him cuddling her so closely. One of her hands strokes through his hair and pushes the damp tendrils of sunshine away from his face as he cranes his neck to look up at her. And, for fuck's sake, what else is she to do except admire him?

His cheeks are dusted pink in a way they often are when he spends too much time outside without one of his hats shielding his face, and she thinks he's never looked better.

Ever since they became friends, she's had this theory about him. In the unrealistic landscape of her overactive imagination, JJ didn't come to this world the way the rest of them did. To her, it seems impossible that someone so good, even in his worst moments, could've come from someone like his dad.

So, in idle moments where she would watch him on a day out with the Pogues or daydream about him, she decided that he's the sun.

She imagines he was created in those breathtaking but brief moments where the sun meets the horizon atop the ocean and washes the sky with a vast array of colors. She likes to think he's the incarnation of it. Golden, warm, and bright for everyone but himself, he keeps the world light for her and their friends without intending to.

Some days are warmer than others too. Some days, the light is dimmed by another bruise beneath his clothes or a bad run-in with some kooks, but today is not like that. This moment is eighty-five and sunny with a balmy breeze. Looking at him right now feels like basking in the sun, and she'd burn here forever if he let her.

Without realizing she zoned out, she jolts when he pinches her arm to rouse her from her ridiculous thoughts. He has this dopey half-smile on his face that nearly draws her back into them again.

"You know what they say," he says, "if you take a picture..."

Her soft laughter invades the room, filling his heart with this light, fluttery feeling that always finds him when she's near. His smile grows as she playfully shoves him and reaches above their heads for her wet shirt to cover up with just in case. Odds are, their friend isn't waking up at the exact moment before they seclude themselves to the spare room and get dressed, but she doesn't wanna take that chance.

"I wasn't staring."

She was totally staring. But who could blame her? When someone looks at a person the way he looks at her, how could they ever stay away?

"Whatever you say."

JJ keeps smiling to himself while he pulls his underwear and shorts up his legs and waits for her to be decent enough to sneak past John B's bedroom to the bathroom at the end of the hallway.

The clothes are soaked through with rainwater, so they feel quite uncomfortable to slip back on, but they merely redress enough to be covered. She stole his shirt to avoid putting her shorts back on, the hem of the grey tee hanging right at the tops of her thighs when she walks. As soon as she slips her panties back on and picks up the rest of their cold, wet clothes, that's the cue he needs to scoop her up and take her away.

Y/N curses under her breath in surprise at feeling her feet being plucked off the ground, but she relaxes again once she's settled in his arms, realizing that it was just him who snuck up behind her and lifted her into his arms.

She doesn't say anything on the way to the bathroom. Instead, she lays her head on his shoulder in exhaustion and finds herself staring at the mark she left behind on his neck.

It's a deep, purplish red against the backdrop of his tan skin...the Pogues will surely notice the next time they see him. And while it will make her blush, it won't make her scared as it once would've. There may be a lingering sense of doubt and insecurity within her, but she wants this with him. Even if it means being teased by their friends or dealing with the jealousy of watching kook girls and tourons at parties hit on him, she wants this.

By the time the shower is spraying the rainwater from her hair and washing her clean of sweat sticking to her skin, she realizes that he isn't saying anything either, but she doesn't think it's out of any awkwardness or miscommunication. There's truly nothing to say, at least for now.

Though they didn't have the chance to talk in depth about everything yet, neither of them thinks of that right now. All they know is that they're together, whether it be officially or not, and it feels good. For once, something in his life feels right, and he lets himself enjoy it in silence.

The shower is a cramped space when shared between them and the wet clothes they have draped over the back edge of the tub, but they make it work. It's not like they mind anyway.

They bump into one another whenever they do so much as breathe, and the white walls echo the sounds of her giggling when he tries to tickle her. She leans her head back against his chest and lets out a laugh with shampoo dripping down the front of her face, and he'll be damned if he ever heard a sound as intoxicating as that.

It's a little weird. He's never been as soft and loving with a person before, and he has already felt overwhelmed in the lulls of quiet between them when he's given the chance to think about it.

When she washes his hair for him, insisting that she must return the favor after he so kindly washed hers, he was struck with the same mixture of wanting to simultaneously lean into and pull away from her that he felt the night of the party.

The warmth of the water loosens his sore muscles, washing suds of the green apple scented shampoo over his shoulders and down, down, down until it circles the drain beside his feet. All the while, her fingertips are delicately tracing over a healing bruise on his torso. Those pretty lips of hers are painted in a suppressed frown that she can't hide from him.

"Are you okay?" Y/N asks.

His instant reaction is to fake a smile, to brush it off and distract her as he usually does, yet he doesn't. He forces himself to remain neutral and not push her away.

"Happens all the time," he murmurs, shrugging and averting his eyes to reach for the soap off on the ledge.

The hands holding either side of his waist tighten as he tries to turn, pulling him back to her with more strength than he knew to anticipate from her. Their chests gently collide back together beneath the stream of water, and she can feel his breathing catch for a second or so in response.

The fact that their relationship has changed doesn't change how she handles this aspect of his life. Their new confessions don't have an impact on the part of his life he never wants to let anyone see, so she isn't going to force him to talk about it because they're trying out this whole relationship thing now. He has hard boundaries that she knows not to push sometimes. That's the way it is, and it might change as they grow closer but she knows to accept it for the moment.

As soon as he hears what she has to say next, he could crumble in relief at the realization that their new dynamic doesn't change anything.

"I didn't necessarily mean...that...I meant generally, you know? It's just that—" she sighs, "you shrink away a little when I hold you, and I wondered if I was making you uncomfortable."

Before she could finish the sentence, JJ was already thinking of what to say to prove her wrong, because that's not it. That's not what it is, and if she thinks she's done anything wrong, he'll do anything to convince her otherwise because it isn't her. It's him.

It's his dad lingering in the darker trenches of his mind, commanding his fear and attention so that even when he isn't physically present, he's still here. Part of why he denied wanting her was because he knew these types of things would arise in the beginning, that there would be difficult adjustments to make and conversations to be had, and he didn't want her to leave him as soon as she was faced with one of these things.

He shakes his head.

"You didn't do anything."

The feeing of her chest rising and falling with his begins to steady him after a moment of allowing the initial hesitation to dissolve. His internal reaction to her touch is the mental incarnation of a flinch. It's him waiting for the other shoe to drop and expecting her to do something, to hurt him, before his mind catches up with his heart. But once he realizes everything's okay, he loves it.

"It's kinda embarrassing, but I guess when you touch me, I'm expecting something else," he says softly, scared that if he speaks too loudly, everyone in the world will know how weak he feels.

She should've figured, but hearing him say it is different than wondering what the reasoning behind it is. Hearing him admit it after months of strict avoidance on the topic is a sucker punch to the gut.

Both times they had sex, he was too distracted and thoughtless to get caught up in that part of himself, but it's when the bliss of the afterglow disappears that it creeps back in. That's why he could always handle touch when it came in that context. It was his way of obtaining what he wanted without having to face this side of it—a temporary fix to a greater web of issues.

But there's nothing temporary about her. He doesn't want her to leave him, not without him resisting the urge to beg her on his knees to stay and at least remain his friend, so there's no choice but to face these momentary challenges head on.

She pauses for a second, thinking, then says, "You don't have to be embarrassed about it, I get it. We'll just have to take it day by day then. We can take it slow, and you'll let me know if it gets to be too much, okay?"

It's hard not to be shocked by how well she's taking it. A lot of people probably wouldn't feel too great after someone they love tells them they expect to be hit whenever they touch them, yet she's taking it in stride.

Things are back to normal as soon as she sees the grin on his face.

"So, you're saying you're gonna be trying not to throw yourself at me all the time?" JJ asks, then clicks his tongue as though in thought. "I give you a week. Tops."

Her eyes go wide as she looks at him. She holds her hand over her heart as she pretends to be scandalized by such an accusation, but they know it's true. They both can't keep their hands off of one another, which is why it confuses him. How can he want to reject and enjoy her touch at the same time? Sure, the discomfort disappears after the first split-second, but the fact that it happens in the first place annoys him to no end.

She rolls her eyes and tries to hide the fact that she's giggling as she reaches for the soap.

"You're a little shit, you know that?"

He doesn't miss a beat, saying back, "Yeah but I'm your little shit, so I feel like that says more about you than it does me."

While he's too busy rinsing the rest of the shampoo out of his hair, she smiles to herself at what he said.

Hers.

Nobody has ever been hers before, or proclaimed themselves as belonging to her as proudly and casually as he just did, and her heart melts over the sweet sentiment he didn't think twice about.

Less than a day ago, she was agonizing over her relationship with him and trying to ignore how powerful those feelings for him were, and now they're here. She no longer has to steal glances when he looks away or hide how jealous she feels when other girls flirt with him. To finally let the tension disappear is an immense weight off of her shoulders.

The rest of the shower is as quiet as the start of it was, and that comfortable silence continues through from when they're drying off and redressing to when they hit the mattress in the spare bedroom with tired sighs.

After the day they had, the mere suggestion of sleep is enough to make them start yawning, so being able to slip beneath the sheets and rest their heads almost sings her to sleep instantly.

Their bodies are laying in the exact outlines of where they laid the night of the party, the only difference this time being their mindsets. This time around, they aren't holding themselves back from anything, and it's most evident in the little things. Like how she doesn't turn around to shield her face from him, instead laying with her head propped on the other end of his favorite pillow.

They're so close, their noses brush if they make any slight movements, and this would be enough for him to submit to the urge to drift into sleep if not for the fact that he feels her jolt when thunder rumbles loudly outside of the window.

Much like his own fears being pushed to the side amidst their desire for each other, her anxiety about the storm wasn't on her mind until they laid down to sleep.

She was so wrapped up in him and everything that happened between them that she didn't have the time to think again until now, until she hears the violent patter of rain against the roof and feels her stomach drop at the sound of the thunder. Suddenly, she's not the one reassuring him about his fearful reactions, it's the other way around.

His warm hand takes hers, snatching it up as though he's worried it'll disappear if he doesn't take it quickly enough, and she lets him. Her eyes flutter shut with the release of a slow, deep breath, and she lets the presence of his hand in hers bring her back to earth.

JJ asks into the darkness, "Can I take you out on a real date?" After a beat of silence, the comforting sound of his voice returns to her. "Not that this isn't fun, but I think you deserve a little more effort than John B's living room floor."

A short-lived chuckle escapes her—a win as far as he's concerned. It's difficult to lure her head from the clouds when she gets this way, and it isn't like he has much experience with calming her during these moments either, but that sounded good to him. It sounded like she wasn't thinking about the increased pace of her heart or the howling wind outside.

He was planning on asking anyway. However fitting of a first night together this was, he wants to take her out for real sometime soon. He doesn't have much money for it, like at all, but they can come up with something special together, even if it's similar to the same shit they usually do together. As long as it's time alone together, they don't necessarily care if it's a perfectly traditional first date.

The tip of his thumb rubs comforting circles onto the back of her hand in the brief time it takes her to respond, stroking the soft skin as if to tell her that everything's okay. It seems to say, I'm right here. Nothing can hurt you. And it might make her crazy, but she believes him. JJ could take her back out into the eye of the hurricane at this very moment and she'd still believe his unspoken promise of not letting her into harm's way.

"Of course," she says, then pauses, and the sound of her sleepy voice hardly reaches his ears when she speaks again, "...I'm sorry I avoided you for the past few days. I was scared to tell you how I felt but I shouldn't have left that morning."

The memory of waking up in his arms is fresh in the forefront of her mind, so much so that she can remember the way his breath felt where it exhaled in warm puffs onto her skin.

In the first few moments of consciousness, it was peaceful.

She laid awake for a minute or two to count his breaths and soak in the comfort of being cuddled up next to him, wishing she could stay there for hours. It wasn't until another moment passed that it clicked with her where she was and what was going on between them recently, and that was what prompted her to slip away from the bed to get ready for her day at work.

It was the second time in a row that she left him in that bed with nothing to wake up to but the cold absence of her body between the sheets he slept under, and he can't deny that it's part of why he holds onto her hand so tightly tonight. Even though she's promised him otherwise, he can't help but think she'll be gone by the time he wakes up. At this point, he's struggling to stay conscious. She can see those pretty eyes drooping more and more by the second, yet the hand holding hers doesn't loosen its grip.

He takes a deep breath and scoots closer to her, keeping his one hand in hers while the other arm drapes itself over her waist, and he can feel her relax into the touch.

"It's okay," he says.

It's easier for him to adjust to so much physical contact when he's the one initiating. He knows that's why she only reached out to hold his hand. If she had it her way, she would've already been cuddling with him as soon as they laid down, but he likes that she gives him the space to initiate it. In the ways it counts the most, she cares about him more than anyone else has.

The touch in itself is his way of accepting her apology. However, truth be told, he already forgave her for it before knowing his love was reciprocated could be a possibility.

Right when she's about to fall asleep, the screen door slamming open and shut with the wind on the back porch makes her whip her head around to look over her shoulder in the direction of the sound. It seems like every time he successfully distracts her from it, the storm finds new ways of reminding her of what's happening outside of the safety of the Chateau.

There's the sound of a barely audible, sharp inhale, then her whispering into the dark room as she looks at the closed door, "I can't believe I went out into that. What the fuck was I thinking?"

It's beginning to close in on her again; the sounds of the storm, the sense of being trapped no matter how safe they truly are, and the rising tidal wave of anxiety that picks up speed the more she tries to will it to stop. This is the part where she tries to relieve it in some way, usually by smoking weed to sleep or going to one of her parents so they can help her through it, but she can't help herself right now.

Debris was being picked and tossed around in the wind like it weighed nothing when she was out there, she could've been knocked into the marsh or struck by a piece of debris.

How could she be so stupid?

Not only could she have hurt herself, she could've hurt JJ knowing that he'd likely follow her out into the storm to bring her back inside, and the thought of him being hurt makes the tension in her chest heavier. Her breathing picks up speed, the anxiety starting to snowball out of control when—

"Hey, look at me," JJ says, reaching up to turn her head to face him, and she damn near crumbles in relief at feeling his hand cup her cheek. It doesn't make it all disappear, but it provides a momentary comfort that she doesn't take for granted. "You're safe here. You know damn well I'll do anything to protect you. I mean, shit, dude, if I have to go out there and tell that rain to fuck off, I will."

This draws out a laugh from her, chest stuttering with the happy sound through the tears glistening in her eyes, and he never wants to stop hearing it. His thumb swipes away the first teardrop that falls before it can slip over the apples of her cheeks. I'm Her quiet cries and shaky breaths continue for a while after the laughter disappears. For a second or two, he watches with his thumb still wiping her tears away and hopes that it'll be enough to comfort her, but it can't do it completely.

He pulls away from her to get up from the bed with an idea popping into his mind, but upon hearing her whine at the loss of contact with him, he pauses to say, "I'll be back quick, don't worry."

The remaining humorous side of her left wonders if he's actually gonna go tell the rain to fuck off, but he's just opening the bedroom door to trot out into the living room.

A candle burning on the coffee table illuminates the space for him, guiding him straight to the forgotten backpack she left slumped against the arm of the couch hours before their relationship was changed for the better. It takes him an instant to get there and back with the bag in hand, and he's digging through it for a second before climbing back into bed with her.

If anyone else rifled through her bag, sifted through her personal belongings, and dug her phone out of it, she'd probably be annoyed, but she never is with him. She's inherently protective of her things, but JJ can do whatever he wants and it has always been that way. It should've been the first warning of what was to come.

He pulls the sheet back over his body and scoots up close to her, trying to resist the urge to retreat at first when he maneuvers her to lay with her head on his shoulder. It should trigger the flight or fight response that often alarms in his head, but he's able to push it away.

She's so vulnerable right now, so gentle and in need of the warmth of another person that he isn't as intimidated. It's not that she couldn't hurt him if she wanted to right now, she could, but he knows her. He knows that the last thing she'd ever want to do is hurt him, so he has to remind himself of that and give himself the permission to enjoy the physical intimacy of her touch. The part of him that questions if he even deserves it can't reach him now, not when he's so focused on her.

"Thumb?" he asks with the phone held out expectantly.

The screen is less than two inches from her face, so she has to push it back slightly, but she flattens her thumb to the button without further hesitation.

When he unwraps the pair of headphones from around the palm of his hand and plugs them into the charging port, she realizes why he left in the first place.

When she was facing away from him, eyes shut and headphones in to distract herself with music earlier, he was stealing glances at her every so often. He tried to keep away from her for the most part. It was difficult though, especially knowing what she said about being jealous the night of the party and knowing how scared she was of the hurricane. He couldn't help but keep an eye on her, for both his own selfish needs and his worry for her.

He keeps an arm tucked around her, pressing her body into his while he pops one of the headphones into her ear and the other into his. The thing is, her eyes aren't trained on the screen like his are once he starts looking through her vast collection of not-so-legally acquired music for a song that suits both of their tastes, they're trained on him.

Their taste in music tends to diverge in certain ways and overlap in others, so there's always a fifty/fifty shot of him liking what she plays when she's the one picking the music. That is why he smiles to himself and halts the endless scrolling in its tracks to hover his thumb over one song.

He obviously heard it before she played it that one time, but it's different for him now. They were riding together in the backseat of the Twinkie on the way to the beach with John B, Kie, and Pope when they let her take her turn to play a song.

That's how it is with them, the driver goes first, then it goes to the front seat passenger, and so on and so on until they make their way back to the beginning of the rotation. It was her turn when she picked this song, and it could've been the song, or the sunset shining through the window, but he felt as though his heart exploded when he looked at her in the middle of it.

He remembers feeling confused, confused as to why he couldn't catch his breath and why he suddenly adored the song he only heard casually a couple of times.

It was her. It was everything about her. The soft hum of her voice murmuring the lyrics, too shy to actually sing them in the presence of anyone else, was too delicate for the others to appreciate over the sounds of the van. He heard it though. He clung to it and admired her, so unashamed in his staring that he didn't realize he was doing it. It wasn't until she noticed that he stopped.

"Do I still have ice cream on my face or something?"

Her fingers came up to wipe at the corner over her mouth, and the action sent him turning his attention away quicker than he knew he could move, pulling the lighter out of his pocket to fiddle with as he mumbled, "Yeah, but you got it off now."

The cheery melody of Just Like Heaven bursts out of each headphone into their ears.

How did he know? How is he constantly reading her mind without realizing it?

This was her first song on the couch that she couldn't stand to sit through without thinking, naturally, of him when confronted with the topic of love. Somehow, it's like he knew that, and instead of feeling exposed and scared he'll know her feelings like before, she feels loved.

She is never skipping this song again.

"Go to sleep," he murmurs, clicking the screen off and resting it on his stomach.

It takes him a short thirty seconds to fall into an easy, calm pattern of breathing that tells her he isn't asleep, but soon will be. But she's fighting her sleepiness to continue looking at him. His eyes are fluttered shut, hair messy on the pillow, and she'd want to reach up to kiss him if he weren't trying to fall asleep.

Instead, she settles for matching her quickened breaths to the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath her hand and shuts her eyes along with him.

By the time the song reaches its end, she thinks he's asleep, but she still whispers, "Thank you," and feels his arm squeeze around her body in response.

The next songs fade into white noise at this point for her, drowning out the storm to the point where she begins to forget it's happening out there.

Maybe they can be each other's safe place when things get rough. After all, he handled this wonderfully considering his lack of experience with her anxiety and she never pushes him on his plethora of unsorted issues, even when she wants so badly to be the one to initiate the touch.

She never makes him think she pities him, or wants to "fix" him like so many partners with savior complexes who will never try to understand how it feels often do in these situations. With each other, maybe it doesn't have to be so complicated anymore, even when they have those inevitable arguments here or there.

The last thing he does before allowing himself to be dragged under is brush his lips on her forehead in a tender kiss. And when he eventually wakes to the rising sun shining through the windows in the aftermath of the violent hurricane, she's still there.

Tag List: @jjjmaybank, @its-simply-fanfiction, @naughtydild0swaggins.

[randomfansstuff]

Jared was having a really weird week. A small part of him thinks it's exciting- but most of him thinks it's just... weird.

He's been working at this gas station for two and a half years now. It wasn’t much, the work was as average as his usual daily life was, and he did work himself up to the position of store manager. His girlfriend was quite proud of him for it.

And you see, the actual source of this weirdness isn't recent. Not at all.

For the past two years, he's been mostly managing this gas station alone. But he wasn't always alone. He used to have a co-worker.

Quite the attractive fella, he was. Young, in his twenties, brown hair, glasses... the basic gist, you know? Jared was working with the guy when he first started, two and a half years ago. He was the one showing Jared how the shitty slushie machines worked.

They never talked that much. Just the casual conversation. Simple 'how are you's and 'any plans for the weekend?'s. Jared invited him to go out once, but the guy always denied.

And then one day, his co-worker was gone. His old manager, whos position he got to snatch after the guy got into a college across the country, told him that his dear co-worker decided to take a gap-year. Or something like that. Regardless, he quit the job, quite impulsively.

That wasn't anything weird, right? That's normal. People move on from their jobs. Jared thought about quitting several times himself. All good, normal, usual.

What wasn't... exactly normal... was the fact that this guy, a few days ago, drenched in water while there was an entire storm happening outside, appeared right back in the gas station and asked for his job back.

And holy fuck the guy had looked wrecked.

He had been wearing an old, brown coat. His hair had some weird white streak, and there were a ton of scars littered across his face and what he could see of his collar. The guy looked like he'd gone thru a whole war.

Even stranger was, though, how his entire face lit up the second he looked at his name tag and realised that yes, indeed, he was the old Jared and still working at the gas station. The guy looked as if it was one of the best things that ever happened to him.

Honestly, Jared was prepared to call an ambulance, or the police, or whatever the guy needed, but what he wasn't prepared for was that the guy asked for his job back. The fucking gas station job. He stood there, drenched in the storm, and asked to work at this gas station in the middle of nowhere again.

Considering the guy looked like he was seconds before a breakdown, Jared decided that he wasn't the type of guy to deny an old co-worker his old position. He needed the position filled anyways. So, through a daze, he got out the papers.

Jared was also pretty sure last time they saw eachother his last name wasn't 'Soot', it was something like Kraft or whatever, but who is he to pry? He's just a guy working at a gas station, giving another to opportunity to be the same.

The rest of the document was filled out... slightly dubious. He stared at the 'address' section for two minutes straight before writing down something, and then Jared was pretty sure he saw the guy write and then rub off the words 'leadership skills' under the 'qualifications' section.

But, it was done, and once more Jared now had Wilbur Soot as a co-worker.

That was a few days ago.

Things around Wilbur have been very weird ever since. The guy almost started sobbing when Jared gave him the orange work jacket, and sometimes he looks off into the distance as if deep in thought. Like some war veteran.

Wilbur's hands shake a lot. And some normal words get a weird reaction out of him. Jared got a death stare once after he off-handedly mentioned the dream he had last night, and he can't quite put which of the words he said put Wilbur off.

Sometimes Wilbur stares at the post cards.

Jared never asked about the two years. He doesn't think he will.

So, yeah, the last week has been quite weird. Though, on a positive note, for the first time Wilbur didn't deny the offer of hanging out after work. So, that'll be fun, he supposes.

[musedblues]

A Taste Of Honey (Part 2)

summary: A 1920's Deacy au! In which the reader, who comes from a family heavily involved in the American temperance movement, meets John, a bootlegger from overseas.

a/n: Well here it is. I'm fully aware interest may be completely lost in this fic but I'm very proud to have finished it. Im not sure where my writing journey will go from here. All I know is that this has been a very long time comin'... enjoy if you dare!

part 1 - 2

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

"If anything happens, Deacy, I'll have your head!"

Ivan shook his fist from the front porch, illuminated by the light flooding from the opened front door. 

"I'll be fine!" You dismissed, skipping toward the car, still getting used to the sway of the heavy golden dress you borrowed from Alice. 

"I'm talking about my car!" Ivan shouted, correcting you. John let out a laugh at the remark, and gave your brother a nod, while he opened the passenger door, nudging you toward it.

Your brother and his wife had loaned the essentials to send you and John away for the party a man you never met was throwing. It was a small thrill, the prospect of such fun to be had, in comparison to the sickening exhilaration that coursed through you at the thought of spending any kind of evening at John's side. And the fact he'd asked you to. 

The ride was quiet and short, but dragged on with each new glance you dared to steal at the man driving. Both of John's hands relaxed on the wheel. A hint of that deadly smile on his lips. 

By the time you got to where you were going, you'd been so preoccupied with thoughts of the man by your side, that you'd nearly forgotten your plans for the evening.

If you had any expectations, they were blown clear away. Before you was an estate made up of too many windows to count, draped in vines and hanging lights. 

Even the crunch of the gravel that decorated the winding path you entered into sounded oddly elegant.

Inside was a fever dream of all the things you'd imagined on your short journey into the threshold. Across a giant winding staircase and below the shimmering chandelier were people from all walks of life, crammed together to have one grand time. Different music came from different corners and wild laughter filled the gaps, if there were any. 

And before you, John led the way. You couldn't recall the moment your hand found the bend of his arm, or if he cared that you'd reached out to him as he weaved through the crowd. But the grin on his face when he turned back to catch your eye had to be a good sign; despite the way your heart nearly burst at his look. 

John led you past hoards of people and trays of half full glasses. There was only one way to go, further inside the home, but John seemed to move as if he had an idea of where he was headed. Sure enough when the pair of you met the landing of the staircase, the host of the party was there to greet you. 

The host's initial booming hello was focused mostly on John. And without more than a glance your way, the party thrower shuffled John away from your side, insistent on sharing a chat with him on the top landing of the stairs.

You were left to linger, stalling at the base of the stairs and studying the crowd around you. Girls in beaded skirts and men with slicked back hair passed you by flashing well meaning but entirely distracted smiles. 

You'd felt mesmerized enough by the scene to slowly start to drift into it yourself. Reaching to brush your finger across meticulously carved bookcases and daring to take a glass from the extended hand of the first person to smile directly at you. 

You reached for the stem of the blue stained flute, and managed to make your talk small enough for the interested lad to wander far off. But offers kept coming. Glasses of this and that shoved in your face. You accepted the offers more out of respectful politeness than any eagerness to lose your wits. 

By the time you lost track of everyone's kind gestures, and a man was leading you closer to a table decorated with cards and chips, another hand intervened.

John was back, letting his fingers curl around your shoulder and nudging you in another direction of his choosing. Thrilling as it was for you, to have been handled just so by him, you were a little taken aback. 

Funny how after the sips of this and that, you felt steady as ever. But one look from John and your knees threatened to give out and all your cares too.

In the middle of the packed house, with John looking at you that way, you felt like the only person alive. And somehow this all added up to equal your new found courage to speak a little bolder than usual.

"Are you on strict orders from Ivan to steer me clear of any strange attention or do you maybe fancy me a little, John?" You dared wonder. You almost didn't care of the answer. So long as he kept guiding you through this evening with a strong steady hand.

"Both." John seemed to decide, continuing to guide you along. The pair of you had reached the patio doors by now, and the cool night breeze rushed through in perfect time to ease the heat that had rushed to your cheeks at John's response. 

"Let's go see the gardens!" You decided at first glance of the sprawling greenery that surrounded the estate. 

John let you tug him along, darting between couples and groups who'd come to ruin the fresh air with all their smoke.

He followed along, a very good sport, smiling as you pointed out flowers and trees you didn't realize could bloom in this part of the country. As you turned from marveling over a certain rose's colour, John seemed almost enraptured. Maybe not by your subject but certainly by some part of you. His gaze was fixed, and he seemed to bite back a wider grin. And your already lightened spirits seemed all the more weightless as your eye's met his. 

"If you keep looking at me like that, John, I'm going to have to kiss you." You let a small laugh escape, as the foreigners' expressions remained steadfast. 

He'd kissed you only the night before, on your brother's staircase. It was the only reason you felt free of regret enough to lean in and brush your lips against his again. John reciprocated fondly, letting one of his hands creep around the bend of your waist. You never realized it was possible to feel so happy. 

"Did you do that because you've been drinking? Or do you perhaps fancy me a little?"  John mocked your earlier statement, when the kiss died and your eyes locked. 

"Both." You smiled, charmed enough to try it a second time. But this kiss was broken much sooner than you reckoned any kiss ought to be.

"You know I'll be leaving soon. Just a week's more time." John killed the mood with a few words. You glanced to your feet and muttered understanding, noticing his hand still clutched your waist. 

"I just don't want to see you disappointed." John spoke up after a beat of heavy silence, and the words seemed hard for him to piece together, but he spoke them all the while. 

"Then don't disappoint me." You shrugged, glancing back up to the perfectly handsome man, who's smile seemed sad now.

"Come on, then." John said, moving his hand to find your own. "Not even I get to enjoy parties like this too often."

And you let him guide you back inside. You let the sun set on all the pretty flowers. And you let yourself feel grateful for the rest of the evening at John's side. 

///

He rode the train home with you the next day, sitting across the bench from you, and not saying very much. 

You felt the need to chatter at the pass of every few minutes. You got John to ramble a little about the other places he was due to visit in the states. The guy only one more stop at some.fancy hotel after your town, in the big city, next week. Then he'd head home. 

After explaining as much, the man went quiet again. But you couldn't let the silence last. It was as if you didn't work to hold his attention, it would be lost the next time you looked up. Maybe that wasn't true. But you couldn't risk letting John slip away so easily. Not when your heart practically lept from your chest each time his eyes met yours. If it wasn't meant to be, then so be it. But you were going to fight for the chance that you had, while it was still within reach. 

So when the train pulled into your neighborhood, and John stepped onto the platform, you stopped him waving goodbye. 

"Will you be back? To our shop, I mean?" 

John took a step closer toward you with a very serious expression that softened just before he spoke. 

"I wouldn't dare leave before telling you goodbye." He promised, in a low, sweet manner. 

John pressed his lips to your temple for one brief heavenly moment. And then he turned away to hail a cab. 

At least now, in your terrible mix of emotions, something very bright and warm burned within you. And you got to believe, for a moment, that the same reigned true for John.

///

But all was not well at home. How could it ever be? 

Your mother was horrified that you'd up and left for the night without so much as a word about it to her, and to your brother's home no less. 

Her disdain for her first born left you sick to your stomach more and more each day. 

But this was nothing new. You knew to give the woman a showy apology and to stay silent as she confined you to the kitchen table as she lectured about morality. Tomorrow things would be back to her regular sort of unhappiness. 

What really stopped you cold in your tracks that night, though, was the sight of your father stood in the doorway of your room with his arms crossed.

To bring a frown to his face was your greatest fear. For he'd loved you and shown it. And you dreamed of doing good by him every chance you got. As you stalled in the hall and waited for him to speak his mind, you hoped this would only be a reprimand for causing your mother unnecessary grief, for her madness made you all ten fold more miserable. 

"I know you've been with your brother..." Your father nodded with understanding, not looking right at you as he spoke calmly. "But that also means you've been with John. And I don't like that."

Oh. Ivan had warned you this might be your fathers mood. But you'd ignored his warning in hopes it wouldn't have been true. 

"You know John!" You countered, "You work with him! You're telling me you get to work with a man you don't like but I can't see him?"

"He's a fine man. But all wrong for you." 

"You're supposed to be the one who lets me find these things out on my own." You reminded. Your mother did plenty of directing you from day to day. Your father knew of what you spoke and nodded reluctantly, uncrossing his arms and looking you square in the eye. 

"Well not this time. Stay away from John, you hear me? He'll be gone before you know it anyhow." 

Your father rested a hand on your shoulder, giving you a reassuring squeeze as if to ease the blow of his demands. But as he walked back down the hall, the uncertainty that had stormed within you since John left you at the train station, raged wilder than before. 

What a jam... 

///

There was nothing stopping you from returning back to the depths of the coffee shop, the next time Ivan started up his business. 

Your mother was sound asleep, and your father was already there, serving the last of the coffee up top. Once you arrived you knew he'd be cross but unable to march you away. 

So you slipped on your finest dress and twirled down the rickety staircase that led to the party your brother charged for. 

There were already a good deal of friends jam packed into the small basement; dancing to swells coming from the gramophone and lining up to grab a glass from Ivan's makeshift bar. Your brother flashed a grin when he saw you sauntering in, but his smile turned somewhat more into a worried grimace when he saw you march up the man near the end of those overturned book shelves.

So was everyone concerned over your connection with John? Even the man who'd held your interest sort of frowned at the sight of you demanding his attention. 

John had his fingers curled around a glass. You took it from his grasp and the action made the bootlegger grin oh so slightly. But his frown returned after you slammed back the swallow of liquor in his glass- unsure yourself by what had come over you.

"Hey, come on, don't be that girl." Ivan called to you from behind the bar. You couldn't be sure if he was commenting on the way you'd claimed Deacy's drink for your own, or on the way you seemed too eager to get the stuff in your system. 

Before you could snap back at your brother's comment, though, John spoke up.

"Don't worry about it," He insisted in the charming draw of his. "Just pour me another." And as the man who you adored stepped past you to hold your brothers attention, John sort of let his hand brush across your waist. And he left his fingers to linger along your sides as Ivan, disgruntled, poured another for John. 

"Is that all you cut in line for?" Ivan sighed, nodding toward the few people, impatiently waiting to fill their glasses, stood in a row behind John. 

And you hadn't really considered this before your brothers prompting. But at his asking, you were moved to pull out a twenty dollar bill from your coin purse, and demand he give you your money's worth.

Ivan was reluctant, going on for a bit how once your father spotted you here, like this, that he'd surely be disappointed. And you didn't want that, did you? But little did Ivan know, you'd already disappointed your father. And you were determined to get something you wanted tonight, one way or another.

So with a sigh, Ivan poured you a tall drink and informed you were good to come back for a few more, to match your payment. 

So began your evening of ignoring John's worried remarks about slowing down. And as you kept the drinks coming you weren't even sure why. Perhaps it was to test your very own limits. To somehow prove you were more in control of your path than all the others who seemed to have something to say about the direction of your life. 

And damn John, for the way he kept his eyes locked on yours between the distance he silently kept insisting upon. And damn him for helping you find your balance, despite the steps he kept taking away from you. For letting his hands stay secure around your waist, long after you'd straightened up from stumbling.

And damn your father. He had to have been behind John's change in attitude. From the moment you'd met, John had been a flirt. And steadily, his quips kept getting bolder, until the last party you attended. Ivan's rambling about your fathers dislike of your fondness of John had to be what caused him to step back.

And damn your father, for finding you all dizzy in John's well meaning clutch, now. Your dad pointed to the door and demanded you find your way out of this scene. 

"I know you're not taking her back to your hole in the wall you've been staying at, in the state she's in." You father grumbled in a low curse, his eyes searing into John's. You tightened your hold on the fellow, shooting your father a glare all the same. He couldn't tell you where to go or with who. 

"Take her upstairs if ya like. But don't step foot past the alley. I'll be up in a minute."

After a shared look, John moved, pulling you alongside him. You moved,  happily leaning into him, disgruntled by the course of the evening all the while. Even Ivan seemed to shoot you a sorry grin when he noticed you being marched away, from across the room.

The alley was a little cold. But John's figure was warm. And as you followed his lead pausing just beyond the backdoor, you could feel this chance waiting to slip away. 

"You like me, don't you?" You wondered, turning to face the man you'd been so taken with since the moment he showed up at your door.

"Of course." John nodded, and answered so softly and with such care truly felt as though it were melting. 

"Then kiss me, John." 

"You're drunk."

"But we may never get the chance again. One or both of us are about to be beheaded. Either way, that'll make kissing hard to do from now on." You implored, letting your head fall to rest precariously on his shoulder as you finished your plea. You heard John let out a somber little chuckle as he dared to tighten his arm around you. 

And then you heard a shuffle beyond the backdoor, and let out a sigh at the timing of your father coming to ruin everything. 

But instead, the door bursts open to reveal Rita in a fluster. Her usually perfect makeup streaking down her cheeks. At the sight of the girl you'd always admired, a pang shot through your chest. But not immediately for her upset, whatever it was, but because you realized you'd failed to see your friend here all night, until now.

Before you could apologize, or ask what the matter was, Rita sucked in a breath and let out a string of words for you. 

"He was a snitch. He-he told my parents everything." She stammered, wild eye'd. 

"Who?" You begged to know, having turned away from John, but not having totally turned your attention away from his hand still rested on the small of your back. 

"The pastor's son. Cole. He- he said he was alright with this whole thing. But he... He told your mother. She's on her way here, she's-" 

Sound of a car roared closer, and the engine died away, drowning out the last of Rita's warning. For a second, you thought of making a break for it. But then the click of heels on the pavement seemed to count down your fate.

And then she stood there before you. Your mother, dressed to the nines, complete with her usual scowl.

You couldn't let go of John. Your nails seemed to dig into his side on their own accord. The pair of you stared ahead to the woman who gave you life, and kept you from living it all the same. She stood and stared too, almost like she was giving you a chance. And that was the scariest bit of it all. 

As time seemed to pause, John let your name escape him in a nervous breath, like a warning. Trying to alert you that your hanging off him wouldn't help. But there was no way you were gonna let him go now. 

It was then your mother decidedly sauntered up to the two of you, letting her eyes search your from the top of your head to the tips of your toes and back up again. 

When she let out a scof, you realized you'd been holding your own breath. And when you opened your mouth, willing oxygen in, or words of mitigation out, your mother decided what was next. 

Before you could blink, one of her strong hands was digging into your arm, and she was tearing you away from John's gentle hold.

And despite his caution earlier, you could feel John's hand still trying to keep hold of you, as you were yanked away. The sensation of being taken from the man's clutch was horrid, but what was more painful was the feeling of his fingers trying and failing to keep hold.

So when your mother tossed you aside, toward the brick of the coffee house wall, you were hardly affected; not like you'd only just been.

And when you looked up, after steadying yourself and dusting your stone imprinted hands of dust, John was stepping closer toward your mother. He shouted something at her, about how she didn't have the right to treat you just so. But before he could finish defending you, he was shut down.

Your mothers hand flew across his cheek, and the sound of the slap and John's shocked hiss echoed through the alley and caused something vile to rise in your gut. 

You pushed yourself from the wall then, indifferent to the dizziness you felt, desperate to reach out to the man you'd been so fond of; calling his name.

But your mother was there, more sober and more angry. And she halted your mission to make it to your man, digging her nails into your sides and forcing you in the other direction. 

"John I'm sorry, John..." You called past the lump in your throat. That was when Ivan came upon the scene. He darted from the doorway and did his damnedest to block your mothers storming off. 

"You're a monster. Let her go!" Your brother fummed, as your mother managed to storm around her first born, pushing you along. 

"I'm her mother. And I'll do as I see fit to keep my child out of harm's way." Your mother stated, almost calmly.

"You're no mother. You're a walking nightmare. She's not your plaything-"

"Word's won't fix this, Ivan." You said, reminding him that his defying of the woman only ever made her ten times more evil.

"I'll pray for your children, son." Your mother nodded, opening the passenger door of her car, and flinging you toward the bench. "They're going to need it."

You didn't look to Ivan, as your mother drove off. You didn't dare look to John. You only hung your head and cried silent tears while your mother peeled down the road. And the whole way home, she spat vile things about you and Ivan. Her own children. About your father, her beloved husband. And aout John, a man who, since his arrival, had only tried to help out.

You let your tears dry when the car pulled up to the house you'd never really felt at home in. And went willingly from the ride to the door, knowing you would get very far in the countryside if you dashed away now. You'd need a wiser plan. Still, your mother dug her claws into your arm and marched you up the staircase to your room, like you were a girl no oler to know better. 

"Stay here." She demanded after pushing your further into your bedroom, her fist around the doorknob, establishing total control. 

You expected to be banished here. What you didn't expect, however, was the return of your mother with boards to nail against your windows. You might've laughed if you weren't the one being all locked up. Wasn't this sort of thing only supposed to happen in twisted fairy tales? You're life was twisted enough, you supposed.

She left you there, trapped in the space that was meant to be your own, meant to be safe. As you sulked in silence, the memory of your mothers assault on John haunted you. The horrid sound her action resulted in. His gut wrenching reaction, the small hiss, his stalling in the place she put him in. 

And the way he watched you being dragged off, helpless and sorry for you. It was pathetic, the situation you found yourself in. So you let your tears bubble up again and you cried and cried; until exhaustion set in. Tomorrow was a new day....

///

There was a pounding at your door, loud enough to jolt you from slumber.

"Open up!" The sound of your father calling from beyond the hall stirred you fully conscious. In one swift dash you were stood before your door, jiggling the handle, feeling silly for hoping that would work. 

"She's locked it." You groaned. "Do you have a key?" Your wonder was nearly frantic, and so were you- trying still to twist the knob. At the sound of your fathers grumbled cursing, you began to bustle about for some hair pins, but quickly realized you wouldn'tve had a clue to how to finess the tools into working like another. 

Then you heard your mother. She  shouted down the hall, telling your father to get out of her sight, to leave you be. Shouting that you were better off confined. That you'd be locked away until she found the right reformatory to ship you off to. You knew she meant it. You knew she'd send you away without a care of your consent. 

"She's not a child anymore. You can't just treat her like a bad pet who needs training."

"I'm her mother. And I'll be damned if I don't do what's best for my child. I failed the first time. God knows you never cared about either of them like I care." Your mother spat, breaking your heart and your fathers too no doubt. 

Their bickering lasted a while longer, and you spun away from listening in to force yourself to think. There had to be a way out of here, out of this life. There had to be a way to a better world. 

And the best you could do was wait.  Until dinner. Wait until your mother brought you a tray of soup and bread, trading a few put downs before she twirled from your room. And then you checked the time, and counted down the hours to her always predictable nightly routine.

And you waited still, until your bedside clock ticked well passed after midnight.

And then you used a lamp to pry the nails away from windows. You could tell her bedroom light was out by leaning against the sill.

With no time to spare, you tossed a change of clothes in your purse, and the envelope stashed with tips you'd been saving for over a year. 

It wasn't a very long way down. With the help of a lattice panel and the dark of night, you found grassy freedom in no time. Your heart beat heavy as you crept toward the road. It wouldn't be safe, not until the city lights were in view. But your shoes were flat and your hopes were high.

Miraculously, no one stopped you. Not the truck who zoomed by somewhere still deep along the dark country road. Not the school kids on the edge of town, tossing bottles off the bridge. And not the sleepy clerk at the desk of the hotel you raced into. 

"Be here, be here, be here..." You prayed under your breath, hurrying to the room you remembered John booking. And right as you rounded the hall, the door of the room you'd been in search of opened. 

But the squeak of wheels gave away the presence of a maid, pushing her cart of cleaning supplies out into the hall.

"He's gone?" You sighed, stopping at the end of the hall, your feet aching after moving so ceaselessly through the night. 

"Whoever was here left a while ago." The maid stopped for a moment, looking to you with a sorry expression. "Around dinner time."

"Right. Is there a phone at the desk?" 

The maid nodded and wished you luck, and you thanked her for it. You'd need as much as you could get. 

The clerk who was still kicked back, sleeping, startled at your ringing the bell on the desk. And though they didn't seem pleased at your begging to use the phone, they let you.

It only rang twice. 

"Hello?" Your fathers voice was a pleasant surprise. Of course he'd gone to stay with Ivan, in the midst of all this chaos. 

"Dad, Im-"

"Where are you? Does she know you've gone? I'll come fetch you."

"No." You implored, holding up a hand as if he could have seen your insistence.  "No I've phoned to let you know I'm taking the train to the city. I've got to find John before he leaves. And I'm sure of where he is. I've got to try." 

John had told you where he was headed next, on your last train ride together. And you'd felt silly for keeping the details at the front of your memory... until now.

The other line went quiet for a beat. And you'd fully prepared yourself for your fathers disapproval. But then he just said,

"Okay." Your father seemed to realize the weight of your feelings, you thought, by his tone of voice. "I knew you'd get out of there, eventually." And once more, you could tell by his tone he wasn't just referring to the room you'd been locked in for the last couple nights. "Phone us again, when you're safe and sound. I know you will be."

At his blessing, tears sprung in your eyes. You were going to go no matter what. But to have your father on your side made you even more determined to fly out of this hotel, and to the next one you knew John was meant to be staying at. 

///

Booking a train ticket was nearly impossible. And if you had spent much longer pleading with the station, you would have missed the bus pulling up down the block, offering rides in the right direction. 

The couple hour journey was maddening, and thrilling, and terrifying all at once. You were on your way to change your life. No matter what John said, or how he greeted you; no matter if he fell into your embrace or left you in the hotel lobby, you'd never go back the way you'd come from. 

And luckily, you managed to find the hotel John had briefly spoken of, without much trouble. It was the grandest of the business booming on this side of the city. Folks flooded in and out of the revolving doors, as you considered the past set of days that had led you to standing before here with such an erratic heartbeat.

But you only stayed paused for a moment. Your feet were darting inside before your mind caught up with how close you were to the mission at hand. 

The lobby was just as full of people as the revolving doors had been, lines forming near the desk, groups fighting to fit their luggage into golden elevators. 

And though you hated to be the person you'd decided to be, you dashed to the end of the front desk, hoping the clerk would spare you a minute at most. 

"I just need to know if someone's booked a room." You begged to know, shooting sorry looks to the people you'd cut in front of. The clerk seemed to have no patients for you, but miraculously, another set of hands swooped in to help. Some nice older woman flipped through the bookings to find John's name, after you gave it, and came up short.

"What about Deacy?" You hoped all of a sudden, quickly beginning to lose your ambition the longer she shook her head.

You'd done what you could, rudely so. And scurried away so your unwelcome presence would no longer be in the way of things.

And as you sauntered away, giving one last pathetic glance about the crowded lobby, you reminded yourself that it was all alright. You might not have found John. But you were finally free.

And then you pushed through the revolving door. And past your ghostly reflection, you spotted a familiar set of grey eyes. 

John seemed to wait until your gaze registered his own, before spinning around to make it indoors. You ignored the chilly night air and pushed on until you were right back where you'd just started to leave from. 

There he was, before you as real and sure as the sun and moon.

"You never gave me a proper goodbye." You reprimanded through a growing smile. He'd promised to give you a farewell, once. 

"How about a rain check? I've got lot's more important things to tell you, as a matter of fact." The man you'd come to adore smiled then, and offered his arm. You held on without hesitation and managed to follow his lead through the crowd, to the room he'd been staying in.

It was a humble little space, his suitcase opened on the coffee table and a yellow lamp left on by the window. John shut the door behind you with a soft click, loosening the pale blue tie round his neck, as you glanced about the room.

"I came by. Your place, I mean." John admitted, leaning against the closed door, as you turned from admiring the wall art to face him.

"You did?"

And then John said your father had dragged the Brit along, that night he'd knocked at your door. John was outside with high hopes. But your mother had caught your father before you'd even known there was a plan. 

"So you did try to come and tell me goodbye." You laughed a little, kind of glad he wasn't able to. This reality where you'd run to him was much more befitting to the situation, you thought. 

"Well, no." John pointed, not laughing along with you. "I never really wanted to say goodbye."

You stood there, taking in the sight of him. Watching John's brows oh so slightly furrow upward, hope pouring from his expression. You considered the gleam in his eye and the way he slowly seemed to shift his posture a little closer to you. 

"So we haven't got to part ways in a hurry then?" You wondered. Asking more than if you could linger a while longer in his rented room.

John seemed to know what you were asking. He seemed relieved, too. His shoulders loosened as the man crossed the space between you, in no big hurry. It seemed the two of you had all the time in the world at your disposal, now. John took his time, reaching out to tuck away some loose hairs near your ear. And his smile grew steadily too. By the time the guy pressed a kiss to your lips, you'd been wondering if the dawn would be breaking any time soon.

But the longer John went on kissing you, the less you thought of the sunrise. As John enclosed you in his arms, all your thoughts were of the man you'd come to adore. 

And as laid next to him and closed your eyes to the rising sun, you couldn't recall ever having experienced such a bright morning. 

"So you're not too eager to head back home, yeah?" John asked, once you'd both stirred from a restful slumber.

"I think I found a much more suitable place to be." You smiled, referring to the spot you'd settled under John's arm. 

And it didn't take much convincing on his end for you to agree on catching the next boat across the pond. 

///

The other line rang so long you'd almost decided to hang up. Then your brother answered. 

"Helllooooo!" He sang in a chipper timbre, making you wonder if he'd been expecting you at exactly this time, or if he answered everyone that way.

"Well I was going to ask how you were but it seems you're so well I don't have to wonder." You laughed into the receiver. 

The morning was early, and a breeze blew back a sheer curtain, obscuring your view of the grey English morning. 

Ivan spent the next few minutes yaking about how glad he was to hear from you. And you were glad to listen. On your rather spontaneous journey overseas, you were bogged down for a brief moment, at the thought of being so far from your dear brother. But as he rambled in your ear now, you'd never felt closer to him.

Ivan asked how things were. He asked after John, and that mattered so much more to you than his concerns for your well being. And when you had had your fill of the attention being on you, you begged your brother to give you all the details of what happened after you ditched home.

He said your mother was as furious as expected. Said she tried to blame your brother and her husband for your running off. Said she tried to get the police to shut down the coffee house for hosting such an undignified business after hours.

"You should'a seen her face when she found out officer Willard was our most loyal customer." Ivan chuckled. 

"We did have to pay a fine, in the end, so she'd quit her raving. It was almost everything we'd saved away for the baby." 

Your brother sighed. And you cooed his name in commiseration. 

"But my friend who owns that estate, the one who threw that party John took you to," Ivan explained. "He was good enough to loan us a bit of cash to stash away." Your brother said the man tried to give the money away outright, as a thank you to Ivan for helping start up his own speakeasy of sorts. But Ivan was dead set on paying him back, one day.

"Now we can't decide to name the babe after him, or John." Ivan chuckled. 

"And what if it's a girl?" You mused. 

"That'll just have to be a surprise." Ivan said, and just then the line went dead. You called your brother's name with a little hope he'd come back to tell you more. 

But you didn't worry when the line went on buzzing. You'd see him and his darling wife and his child to be, one day. You'd see your father too, if he was still hiding out at your brothers place. Hell, maybe they'd all come over here. 

Maybe you'd build a life with John, in his humble little English flat. You certain felt at home, watching the guy of your fancy stay dreaming as the sun rose. 

John had been kind to you. He'd been your friend when he didn't have to be. He'd let you lean into him, and he laughed at your jokes. He invited you into his world and smiled wide the closer your ship rolled toward London. 

And he'd treated your shoes as if they'd always been stored in the middle of the welcome mat. John opened his space up to you, and asked every night for the first few weeks, if you were happy, if you needed anything more. Your answers were always yes and no. 

And he didn't need to ask for honey in his coffee anymore. You just knew to add a little in the warm cup you'd have ready near the place he liked to sit in the morning. 

It was familiar and it was sweet, and so was John. Maybe he liked honey in his tea, too. And dear God, how you prayed every year from here on out; got to be spent guessing at life alongside the man who'd thrilled you by wondering all your answers all along.

[mementofloreo-archived]

@sorrowmarked || smoochie prompts || hehehehehe[this is cut bc it is SUPER FUCKING long. This is literally the longest thing I've written for you I think]

His team has had a couple of practice matches against the soccer club from Ken's school since they both entered high school, in part thanks to Daisuke's friendship with him. Even without any influence from dark gears or things like that Ken has managed to remain an excellent player with a wide reputation.

Daisuke is unknown, of course. There was no soccer club at his middle school, after all, so he wasn't able to play competitively. He stayed on top of fitness training, even adopting some of the rigorous conditioning routine his sister had used for prep after being scouted by a pro team. Still, with no reputation to boost him he had to earn his place on the main lineup when he entered high school.

...Which he's done, really. He's far exceeded anyone's expectations, especially his own. His drive, his vigor, and his honest love for playing have earned him a lot of strong friendships, and apparently also skyrocketed the morale and motivation of his teammates on more than one occasion. They went from a club thought of as 'not bad, but nothing special' to semifinalists at the prefectural tournament all within the course of his first year. They'd lost to Ken's school, in fact, by a single point shave in the last two minutes of the match.

At his school, first years who join the club via application and not recommendation don't play starting positions in tournament matches(common practice, really). Daisuke still managed to distinguish himself, though. When he was played as a starter in practice matches against Ken's school he was usually placed in a midfield winger position. It gave him some flexibility for movement while relying on the one thing the coach and captain already knew he had, which was stamina.

When their first tournament rolled around, he was put in as a substitute for their attacking midfielder. The position was considered the playmaker, as far as team structure. They were responsible for helping to direct the flow of the team's offensive play, connecting the defensive positions to the forward ones and managing the support for the striker, who was the primary goal scorer(and the position he had played in elementary). For Daisuke, it felt like a test, an opportunity and a show of faith all in one, and so he'd pushed himself past his limits to live up to those expectations.

His fierce, quick, and precise play style coupled with his apparently 'freakish' stamina and adaptability in the position have since earned him a place as its starter as well as the team's vice captain in his second year.

When he was ten or twelve, he'd have been gunning for the striker position. It was flashy and considered the really 'cool' position in most formations.

Now, though, he's stopped caring about looking cool. He wants to play his best, he wants to have fun- and he wants the rest of the team to have those things as well. Realizing that his play sense and his technical skill are best suited to that position when those goals are in mind, he's both content with and proud of his current place.

Ken is a striker. And in their practice matches this season his team has, as usual, come out on top(even if it's usually close).

In the prefectural finals this year, Daisuke's team drags Ken's into a lengthy and brutal double overtime- in the pouring rain, no less. Everyone is exhausted, sore, soaked and filthy. Losing momentum, losing cohesion, desperate for a goal just so things will be over.

...Daisuke, though, ignores it. His burning legs, the sharp pain of his overworked lungs, the chafing of his drenched uniform, the slick ground beneath him and the way the water impedes the ball's movement. He puts himself in a mindset as if he were playing a one on one scrimmage against his sister. She's a professional player on a high ranking team in the highest tier women's league of Japan's professional circuit and has even earned a place on its national team.

If Daisuke's stamina is freakish, then Jun's entire spectrum of skill is on the same level as a natural disaster. The ferocity and lack of hesitation she shows on the field would terrify any normal high schooler, boy or girl, and even a lot of capable players from the men's league.

Which means that even a casual match against her demands ignoring his body's pleas for a break and pushing past its screaming to keep playing at his top form no matter how exhausted he is.

That's the extent he exerts himself to in that double overtime. He's in a state where he barely even registers physical sensation because he's so focused. He barely even registers the directional tips he shouts to the other mid and forward positions, and he doesn't register at all the captain calling for everyone to follow Daisuke's lead.

There's a single thought in his head: keep moving. If he stops or even slows down for just a split second, he knows he'll keep losing steam and he won't get it back. He has to barrel forward no matter what until the game is over. He doesn't pay attention to the faces or numbers of the opposing team. He focuses on keeping the ball in play, keeping his body in motion and staying at least aware of where his teammates are, though he doesn't differentiate between them very well.

When he scoops the ball right out of Ken's grasp, turns sharp, rockets past him, he doesn't know that it's Ken. He doesn't try to close the full distance to the goal either. The moment he sees a small gap in the defense he shoots. For the left corner and with every ounce of strength he has left.

The ball hit's the keeper's open palms- and blasts right through them like they're made of paper, making a loud snap sound and spinning against the net. Daisuke watches it sail in, speechless, and slowly he sinks to his hands and knees, well past being completely spent.

His awareness comes back to him gradually in the several seconds both the players and spectators are left in shock to process the split second reversal and upset of a team that made it to the nationals last year. Even the referees take a few second to declare the clean goal. But once they do, everything erupts around him.

He hears it, registers the shouting and the celebration, the exhausted and frustrated but still impressed acceptance of the other team. And he lets himself laugh breathlessly in relief, still completely unaware that he left Ken dizzily in the dust a few moments ago. Right at that second, he's mostly glad he still pre-medicates with his inhaler before any kind of exercise and keeps it on hand as a rescue. He's going to need it.

His teammates, bless them, have the presence of mind not to jump on him the way they would normally. The captain and Ken make sure he's not injured and help him to his feet, and once he confirms he can walk with some support they help him to the sidelines. The teams shake hands, exchange congratulations. Both for a hard earned victory and a well played match despite a loss. The coaches and officials are able to get the attention of the crowd enough to let the players have some breathing room for a few minutes.

Ken informs Daisuke of exactly what he did in those last few seconds while he digs for his inhaler and then takes a long drink from his water bottle. Daisuke is a little shellshocked by it all now that he's properly registering it, but he's happy all the same. He's helped carry his team to nationals, a first time accomplishment for them.

Moreover, he had the time of his life with this match, even as exhausting as it was. The frail little kid he used to be would never believe he could accomplish something like this.

He makes a note to himself to call Jun with the news- this isn't the kind of thing he should relay via text. She'd just drop everything and call him to yell about it anyway.

There isn't a formal locker room building at this field, but there's covered areas around the benches and a lot of the seating. Daisuke and a lot of his teammates take some time to rinse the mud and sweat off of exposed skin, towel off, change into dry shoes from their cleats, put their warmups on to keep from catching cold.

Everything is so hectic that when he finally shoulders his bag and shambles off the grounds a half hour later he's completely forgotten that Hikari was planning to try and be at the match.

So when he sees her he's not really shocked, but he does sort of stare at her for a few seconds, brainless.

She's been his girlfriend for less than three months. Having her so openly focused on him is still a new experience. In general he's really not used to being anybody's first priority. He still pinches himself sometimes to make sure he's not dreaming when Hikari ducks under one of his arms to curl against his side on the train or in front of the television.

Still, he manages a weary smile, and greets her. "I'm glad you managed to make it out," he says, and his voice is hoarse, "I know you weren't sure you'd be able to see the whole game, or even be here at all."

He lifts his neck towel and wipes some lingering rainwater off of his face.

...She's a little flushed, he notes. Wearing a decent raincoat and carrying an umbrella. She's just a bit damp, where he's still pretty drenched. (the moisture and humidity add just a touch of wisp to her hair though, lift it just a little from its usual straight line. It's cute.)

A half suppressed laugh trickles out of her as she looks up at him. Daisuke's not very tall- he's right around average height- but he's strong, filling out a lot as he nears the end of his growth period, so Hikari looks almost tiny next to him now. (She certainly feels delicate when he hugs her)

Her eyes are shimmering. It's easy to see she's feeling pretty emotional right now, and she still hasn't said anything. Daisuke rifles a hand through his hair awkwardly.

"...Uh...Hikari-chan?" He asks, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she blurts, beaming, "Sorry. You were just- you were incredible out there. I think you left everyone there starstruck."

"O-oh," he feels himself flush, "Y'think? Those last few minutes I was running on autopilot, so I wasn't really-"

The rest of whatever rambling he was launching into freezes and catches in his throat. If real life came with record scratches or freeze frames, this would be one of those moments.

She's usually the one to kiss him first. He's a little shy, still, not completely confident taking the initiative with affection yet.

But this is- she's never jerked him down by the collar before. Certainly not so suddenly and so sharply that he's actually unbalanced and brought in.

It's a hell of a kiss, to be frank. Firm, held out for so long, her hands moving to his shoulders, pulling herself in as close as she can until he has the presence of mind to lift her at the waist and kiss back.

He's outright dizzy when she finally lets him break away for air, and Hikari is flushed and beaming.

"Uh," he fumbles, "Oh, uh. Okay."

She peppers his face with short, sweet little pecks until he's laughing, and then she hugs him tight.

"I know how hard you worked to get here," She murmurs, "I'm so proud of you. Congratulations, Daisuke."

He tenses just a little in response. Hearing this kind of praise from anyone is always a bit of a tearjerker for him, but from Hikari it's a million times more significant.

"Yeah," He breathes, setting her down and holding his hand out for the umbrella. "...Let's get to the station, though. I want to get somewhere I can change into dry clothes. And then maybe pass out for a couple of hours. I'm beat."

[bigskydreaming]

I saw you're old post on JayKyle and like I had a quick question: Ignoring that Jason's love life is embarrassingly bad, do you ever think that he'd might swallow his pride and go to Dick for advice? Because Jason focused on revenge for so long, his social skills (especially when romance is involved) are a little rusty when he's trying to be honest, and he would remember Dick being in a relationship before he died and stuff (also what advice do you think Dick would give to him?)

Absolutely.

See, this is one of those things where I think its key to remember that these characters - no matter how well established or fleshed out they might be - are ultimately still just fictional characters. The choices they make will never be anything other than the choices they’re assigned to make by the writer.

Which means that ultimately, execution always matters more in individual character choices than premise.

Because people are complicated, and good characters are too. People do contradictory things, they do inexplicable things, there’s very rarely anything where there’s just NO situation that could result in characters doing a certain thing. And so yeah, in premise, as I’ve talked about “oh Dick goes around killing people without a care in the world”.....not really plausible. Doesn’t really fit his character. But in execution, “the murderer of Dick’s brother taunts him with his brother’s death and Dick kills him”....not only plausible, it happened and was completely in character.

There’s very very little that can’t be done with just about any character....but you gotta do the math. Put the work in to explain WHY its not out of character, what about THIS specific scenario and execution of character choices and actions adds up to something that’s believable....even if nine out of ten times, it wouldn’t be, just on the surface. 

To bring all this back to your question....I think its not really an issue of WOULD Jason ever go to Dick for romantic advice, but rather....could a case be made for Jason plausibly ever going to Dick for romantic advice.

And before getting into that, I wanna raise a question of my own:

If not Dick....who WOULD Jason ever go to for romantic advice? Bruce? Not likely, just as like, even if they are on good terms at the time, how often do people usually go to their parents for romantic advice as their first choice...especially if that parent doesn’t exactly have much in the way of longterm relationships themselves? Alfred? Ditto - Alfred’s like Jason’s grandfather, and do you usually think “oh, I’ll go ask Grandpa” when thinking hey who is the best person to ask for dating advice? Especially when you’ve never seen them in a relationship either? 

Or how about Tim.....is it really at all MORE likely for someone like Jason to go to a YOUNGER sibling for romantic advice than an older one, even IF we were to ignore (as fandom usually does) that its actually Tim that Jason’s canon issues most commonly crop up with, rather than Dick the way fanon likes to invert that just to enable The Jason and Tim Show? (Sorry, letting my bitterness leak in there, lol, I’m just never not gonna be annoyed that so many fics handwave away the literal bad blood between Jason and Tim - which hey, everyone’s more than welcome to do, especially in the name of family unity - but WHILE at the exact same time inventing bad blood between Dick and Jason where it literally didn’t exist, just to have DISHARMONY in the family, but that’s specifically the fault of one person and one person only, that Dick. But where was I...)

I mean, that basically leaves Babs, which again, you certainly can go with, but the reality is they were never all that close in canon, and if Dick and Jason didn’t have a ton of in-canon bonding moments, he and Babs had even less, so again....

The question is: Given that Jason is mostly associated with just the Batfam, particularly pre-Reboot (and with his Reboot associations usually as often BEING his romantic counterparts as being someone he might feasibly go to for advice with romantic counterparts)....

Who else, other than Dick, really even EXISTS as a MORE plausible option for Jason to go to for dating tips?

(With again, the reality being that just as you can make a case for Dick being someone Jason goes to, you CAN make a case for him going to others.....with the point here being just that there’s really no one else out there that’s somehow MORE plausible for him to turn to here, and thus no reason Dick should be seen as a particularly IMplausible option here).

Whereas, if you strip away the fanon interference between Dick and Jason having any kind of decent sibling relationship, certain actual canon truths start to become more evident....

Like the fact that Jason was excited, in canon, to be Robin SPECIFICALLY. Not Robin as in Batman’s partner, but Robin as in ROBIN. Jason, contrary to popular opinion, looked up to Dick. He respected the older man. He was HONORED to walk in his shoes. Its why despite the machismo he’s usually written with, he never once in canon (okay at least pre-Reboot) talked shit about the Robin costume or wanted to change it. Its why in all of his ACTUAL canon interactions with Dick, he clearly wanted to impress him. He valued Dick’s opinion and insights. He always has.

Or the fact that compared to the relative lack of longterm relationships among the other significant figures in Jason’s life, pre his death, Dick was in a happy, committed relationship with Kory for the literal entire time Jason was Robin and knew him. Like, despite the fanon that Dick is a disaster in relationships, or that he’s had a billion of them, or that they always end because he doesn’t know how to actually be in one....none of this could be further from the truth, all his relationships end as much due to external plot wtf-ery as having ANYTHING to do with his inability to handle intimacy or romantic entanglements, and he’s literally the one and only major figure in Jason’s life that Jason can look at and cite memories of seeing him actually SUCCESSFULLY in a happy romantic relationship....which is again, something you tend to look for in a person you ask for romantic advice.

And so on along similar lines, with the point being....this, like so much else to do with Dick and Jason’s dynamic and even just Jason’s character individually.....is actually FAR more plausible than kneejerk fanon or fanfic impressions I think would make it out to be....and in fact, this is a far more plausible dynamic to exist between Jason and Dick in specific, than Jason and anyone else. Like, I really don’t know who else you would have him turn to for this specific issue, without having to invent the reasoning for that wholesale, having to put even MORE work into making credible than just building upon the idea that Jason goes to his older brother for advice in this department (even if he only does so with a lot of reluctance and awkwardness and “you better not laugh about this” threats, like......again, its all about the execution, and I’m not saying Jason would be GRACEFUL about going to Dick for help here, just that there’s waaaaaaaaaay more groundwork to build off of here than there is anywhere else).

And in conclusion, this also brings me back to my popular refrain of how - due to the fact that Dick is linked and pivotal to SO much of the Batfam’s interpersonal history and dynamics - the more you reduce even just him to one note, the more you constrain his dynamics with his family members to being just one thing and one thing only, and so often that one thing being a negative - the more you actually hurt and limit all the characters around him too, inadvertently. 

Such as Jason. Who innately becomes limited in how well and how believably he can engage in romantic storylines in general, due to not just to his own relative lack of history and experience there....but because the ONE character who is actually MOST ideally situated to be the best person for Jason to turn to for help there, for advice, to fill in the gaps where his lack of history and experience makes him reticent to even TRY dating.....that one person is automatically discounted as not a possibility simply because so many people don’t WANT him to be a possibility. Because they’d rather Dick be the villain of Jason’s stories than an actual positive, supportive older brother helping him to have nice things.

But when you take away those kneejerk assumptions as to why Jason would NEVER go to Dick for help here, with almost all of them stemming from fanon assumptions that Jason neither respects Dick or trusts or values his opinion, nor is he willing to allow himself to ever be vulnerable around Dick......or else stemming from fanon assumptions that Dick doesn’t like, trust or value Jason enough to be helpful or encouraging, or to not take advantage of his vulnerability or fail to respect the effort being vulnerable asks of Jason......

Suddenly, without those largely fan-formed obstacles in the way.....there’s little to no ACTUAL reasons why Jason wouldn’t or couldn’t ever go to Dick for help or advice with dating or romantic relationships.