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psalm22-6 · 1 year

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"John the Jack" is a children's adaptation of Les Mis by Australian clergyman and schoolmaster Stacy Waddy, published in 1915, soon after the outbreak of WWI and the book's proceeds benefited the Red Cross. The book is 104 pages and was printed as Macquarie Streets, Parramatta, New South Wales. It begins by introducing the cast of characters:

People who come into this story: John: A man just out from gaol, after nineteen tears. He is hunted by the police all his life. Javert: The police-inspector who took the lead in hunting John The Good Bishop: Who was so kind to John that he changed John's heart Father Madeleine: This was what John called himself at one time in his life. Petit Gervais: A little Italian organ-grinder. Cosette (or "The Lark"): The little girl whom John saved and made happy. Marius: The man Cosette married in the end. Thenardier and His Wife: The only really bad people in this story. Gavroche: A plucky, witty little gutter-boy Fauchelevent: An enemy of Father Madeleine; but Father Madeleine saved his life.

Here is the book's intro to give you a feeling for the book's tone and messaging:

WHAT IT IS ALL ABOUT I am going to tell you the story of a man who found life very hard. His name was John. Everything seemed to be against him, from the time he was born till the time he died; life pressed very hard upon him, and he nearly became a very, very bad man. Only you will hear how, just at the right time, he met a very, very good man; and that changed John; and always afterwards John tried to be very good himself. And he had some wonderful adventures, but he always behaved like a hero; and he was tremendously strong, and could lift great weights, and could climb any wall, and hit the mark with a bullet every time. And while we are telling his story we will hear about other people too who found life press very hard upon them. There is little Cosette, who had no father or mother, and was very cruelly treated by the savage Thenardier and Thenardiess (they are the only really bad people in these stories). And there is Javert, who hunted Old John for years and years—but John saved Javert’s life. And there's sharp, plucky little Gavroche, and Fauchelevent, and the two little stray children, and Marius, and the dear good old Bishop who changed John’s heart. And we shall see what happened at the Bishop's house, and at the Convent of the Petit Piepus, and inside Gavroche’s elephant, and when Marius watched through the peephole into Thenardier’s room. And these things happened—not long, long ago, but only about a hundred years back from to-day. The great Napoleon was Emperor during part of the time; the dear old Bishop knew him; then Louis was king; then Charles the Tenth. And we will hear about the terrible battle of Waterloo, and about the people fighting against the soldiers behind a barricade in the streets of Paris; and about the cruel way the French people treated men in gaol (but our English people were nearly as bad). I cannot say that the things in this story really and actually happened. But at any rate they are just like things that really happened to real people. The man who wrote this story was a great Frenchman named Victor Hugo; and his heart was sorry for the hard life that men like Old John had and Gavroche, and poor helpless little Cosette (but Old John saved her, and at last she married and lived happily with Marius). And Victor Hugo wished to make us sorry for such things too. It is true that things are much better now. But there is much still for us to grieve over; and when we grieve over a thing, then we should try to make it better.

Up through the part with Petit-Gervais, it is a fine adaptation for something aimed at children and includes many details. There is even one whole chapter on Myriel, how he went to Italy because of the "terrible French Revolution," how Napoleon made him a bishop, and the episode with the stolen goods from the Cathedral, which probably would be interesting to children? But no Conventionnel of course haha. Myriel is described like this:

He loved all men; and especially he loved to help people who were in misfortue, even if it was their own fault and they had been wicked.

The book is about as Christian as you would expect. Then we get introduced to Javert and are told:

We must not blame Javert too much [for being suspicious of Mayor Madeleine; he was just what the laws made him. They wanted policemen to be like hounds, who only care to follow a scent and hunt down the man they are chasing like a wild beast. This man had to catch men and put them to prison. 0, Father Madeleine, it will be terrible for you if Javert gets an idea you have been in gaol! You must be very, very careful not to give him any sign that you are John. [. . .] We will see that, in the rest of [John's] life, he could have lived happy and rich if only he would have stopped helping people sometimes, when it showed who he was. For Javert was watching and watching. And Javert was like a tiger to people who had been in gaol. He would have hunted his own father or mother if they had escaped from gaol. He said, ‘If a man has been in gaol, he is absolutely bad. No mercy to such men.’’

There is very little Fantine, predictably. (She is never even named.) This is what we get:

There was a poor woman who had become bad just because she could not get any work. [. . .] One night Javert caught this poor woman; he said she had been making a noise on the street. It was not really her, but a cruel man; but Javert said she must go to gaol for six months. [. . .] Javert said, "Policemen, take her away to gaol." Just then Father Madeleine came in, and he made Javert let her go. Javert was terribly angry and that very night he wrote to the head policeman at Paris and said, "Madeleine is really John, and must go back to gaol."

Then we get the trial at Arras which also has some good book details and also "John's" rescue of the sailor and subsequent escape. Surprisingly there is no Sister Simplice though. I guess they didn't want to teach kids that lying is permissible. Now we get to Cosette:

Cosette was terribly afraid of the dark. No one had ever taught her about the good God and the holy Angels who watch.

John takes Cosette to Paris:

I must say that when John saw that he was sent to gaol again, even though he had been so honest and kind while he was called Good Father Madeleine, he had begun to forget about the Bishop a little, and to have bitter thoughts about men like Javert [. . .] but then God sent him Cosette. And that made him loving again [. . .] So we see that the strong man saved the little child, and also the little child saved the strong man.

John and Cosette escape from Javert into the convent and we even get the coffin escape. Now it is time for Marius's backstory.

Later on we will see that John and Cosette went out of the Convent, and met other people. So now I must tell you about those other people, who were going to become part of John’s life and Cosette’s. If you had looked into that old house where Cosette had left Catherine, you would have found that in one room lived a young man called Marius, who wore very shabby clothes, but seemed to be a gentleman; [. . .] His father had been an officer in the army of the Emperor Napoleon, who was always having wars. After each battle, Napoleon would write down the names of those who fought bravely, and often he wrote, “George Pontmercy has been very brave.” That was Marius’s father.

We do get Mabeuf telling Marius about his father although he is not named. We also get Theodule (unnamed) spying on Marius.

The old man [Gillenormand] screamed out bad words about Napoleon and Marius's father. Marius felt as if he had a whirlwind in his head. Then he shouted bad words about the King. [Marius leaves, refusing to accept his grandfather's money] He thought of his heroic father; and he thought about the King, who did not govern well, and he felt, "If ever I get the chance, I will fight for the people, and drive this King away." This is why Marius was poor.

The book briefly mentions that Marius was in love with Cosette and that the Thenardiers were his neighbors (Eponine is not named). The attempted robbery at the Gorbeau house is recounted, complete with John burning his own arm and Javert offering his hat. Next, we meet the momes.

"Haven't you a father of mother?" [Gavroche] said. "Yes, but we don't know who or where they are." (Now I know who they were. And who do you think were the father and mother of those two little boys? Why, those brutes of Thenardiers! [. . .] But God sent Gavroche to them! And, wasn't it wonderful?

No sir it is not wonderful. Also that wasn't God. That was Victor Hugo. Next. This is a children's book of course so there's lots of repetition and not so subtle foreshadowing, like this comment about Gavroche when he gives the momes bread:

"Surely, if he had grown up, Gavroche would have been a loving many like old John!"

Montparnasse isn't named but of course, we do get the story of his attempt to rob John and the subsequent sermon (since this is quite a Jesus-y adaptation that should come as no surprise. Actually the sermon is surprisingly abridged) and he asks Gavroche to help break his father out of prison. Then it takes a quick turn.

[Gavroche] never saw the little ones after that morning, though he told them to come back to the elephant and he would look after them. And now I must tell you the last adventure of little Gavroche. There was fighting in the streets of Paris. The people hated their King, and got guns, and built up barricades with stones and carts, and fought the soldiers. And Gavroche thought, ‘I must have a share in this. How grand!" [. . .] The fighting was terrible. There was a cannon firing at the barricade; the men inside would not surrender, but determined to die. That poor old man to whom Gavroche had flung the purse, was there, and a bullet went through his head and killed him. He would never want food any more.

Then Gavroche gets killed too. Then it flashes back to John and Cosette. It even mentions the scene with the chain gang. It is very out of order at this point and tells us that John wanted to leave France because he saw Marius and Thenardier and Javert all sneaking around his house. Marius finds out Cosette is leaving.

He thought, "I have lost her; I do not care if I die." At that very moment he got a message from some of his friends, saying, "We have built a barricade; we are going to fight against this King and his soldiers; come and join us." Marius rushed off. It would be a relief to him to fight savagely and die, he felt. It was that very barricade to which Gavroche went. The Captain and the other men there welcomed him gladly.

For some reason this is quite out of order and we are back in time to Gavroche being alive so that he can deliver Marius's letter and identify Javert. We keep getting told that Javert is very brave, such as for facing down Thenardier's gun or not crying when captured. Also Marius kills a soldier and saves Gavroche. Things happen as you would expect, John arrives with the fifth uniform, he secretly frees Javert, now it is time for the end of the battle:

All the men were killed at last but the Captain. He threw away his weapon and said, ‘‘Fire—shoot me!” He folded his arms. He was grand; any man is grand who dies for what he believes to be right. The soldiers made a line opposite him. The sergeant said, “Would you like to have your eyes bandaged?’ “No,” said the Captain. “Take aim,” said the Sergeant. Suddenly a man rose up; it was a friend of the Captain’s; he had actually been asleep in spite of all the noise and danger. He said, “Stop.” The soldiers lowered their guns. He said to the Captain, ‘May I die with you?”’ He stood up by his side. The soldiers aimed and fired. They both fell dead.

Then comes the escape through the sewers, about which the narrator/abridger says "of all the things that Old John did, I think the bravest and most wonderful was the way he carried Marius miles and miles through those drains and got him out safe." Thenardier lets John and Marius out of course.

Suddenly, right in front of him [John] saw—Javert! John did not know it, but this was really a trick of that brute Thenardier. For Javert had been chasing Thenardier, and had seen him go into the grating: and he sat and waited. Thenardier thought, “If I let this fellow go out, Javert did not see it was me who came in, and will not, look for me any more.”’ So he let John out.

Javert and John take Marius home. The narrator continues to encourage John, saying "Oh well done John, well done indeed!" Next is the chapter called "How John Conquered Javert At Last," which is this book's version of Javert Derailed. We are told:

"[Javert] walked on and on, thinking more deeply than he had ever thought in his life. At last he came to the river; and he leant on the railing, thinking. His thoughts were tossing in his mind like waves of the sea, just as John's had been when he had met the old Bishop. And it was the same kind of reason."

Javert is torn between the voices of two people in his head, the head of police and a mysterious person: God.

Javert seemed to see John wearing the ugly dress they wore in gaol, but with a halo round his dead. Javert hated to think it. He wished that John has killed him in the barricade, after all.

Throw in some antisemitism for good measure:

[Javert] could not help feeling that [to turn in John] would be like Pontius Pilate handing over Jesus to the Jews, and washing his hands and saying, "I have nothing to do with his fate."

Javert writes his letter containing "some things that he wanted to tell the head of the police" and goes back to the river.

"Well then, I must not live; I must die" [thought Javert.] And next minute, if you had been there, you would have seen Javert fall into the water. Old John had beaten him at last, not by being clever, but by being good.

That's not good! So Marius and Cosette get married but John leaves the party.

His brave heart seemed to break. He hid his face in Cosette's old clothes. If you had been there, you would have heard terrible sobs. John had defeated Javert, and harder still-- he had defeated every thought of self in his own heart.

Then Thenardier shows up with "one of his daughters." ("The other daughter was dead; poor girl, she was not so bad as the rest.") He tells Marius he wants to go to America to find a gold mine. He tells Marius about John's supposed crime ("Truly the ways of God are wonderful," comments the narrator) and Marius says he already knew about it (even though he never saw John tell Marius about his past.) Marius gives Thenardier the money to go to America "but [Thenardier] did not become a better man. He became one of those cruel men who buy and sell slaves. He is the only really wicked man in all these stories." Then the narrator says hey remember that daughter that I said was not as bad as all the rest? What happened to her? Then he jumps back in time and tells us how Eponine stopped the robbery at the Rue Plumet and died to save Marius. Then the narrator says btw let me tell you what happened to the momes :

I don't know what happened to the little fellows after [the episode with the bread in the garden.] They had to look after themselves, just like Gavroche. Perhaps they grew like him-- knowing a lot of bad things and bad people, but brave and willing and kind. Perhaps they got into prison like Old John; and if they did, perhaps like him they did not become bad, but met kind friends and turned out good true men. Poor little fellows!

Now time skips back and John decides to tell Marius about his past.

I am afraid that Marius was so horrified to know that John was from gaol that he wished him never to come near Cosette again.

Without Cosette, John becomes very sick. The doctor gives him a crucifix which keeps him alive for a while but he is about to die when Cosette and Marius come to ask his forgiveness.

John was gazing at Cosette. He was quite calm. Suddenly he arose, and seemed to be strong. He walked firmly to the wall, took down the little figure of the Saviour on the Cross, laid it on the table and said, "Behold the great Master." Then he sank back in the chair.

To the book's credit I guess they do include that John declined to see a priest.

With his last words he told them where he would like to be buried, and talked about Cosette when she was little, and told them to give money to help poor people. [. . .] He said that from the Invisible World he would watch them. Then as they knelt by him, each holding one of his hands, and choking with tears, he fell back dead, with the light from the old Bishop's candlesticks on the white old face turned up to heaven.

The End.

#les miserables #john the jack #other adaptations #lm in australia

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hows-my-handwriting · 1 year

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Into the Rift (spiderverse!pacific rim au)

so going into more detail because the actual drawings are coming along really slowly xD (i love drawing robots but coming up with original robot design hard)

The story would be essentially the same as the movies where a mysterious rift opens up in the bottom of the Pacific ocean releasing giant monsters. To combat them, the world governments join together for the good of humanity and create the Jaegers. Those are giant robots piloted by two people through a process called a 'drift'.

The only thing that changes is the characters and the story developed from that idea.

this post has been sitting in my drafts for like a month now oml

(loooooong wordvomit under the cut)

So the jaeger program is basically a stand in for the spider society and all the spiderfolk are pilots or staff. Everyone is also aged up 2 or 3 years to cover international military requirements and such.

and for the sake of the story having a 'pilot shortage' in which only the lucky few being able to actually pilot a jaeger, drifting is much harder and rarer. this leads to the program accepting younger applicants than they normally would. (eg. miles, pav, peni etc)

(character list in order of rank or.. something)

Miguel (34-35) is the stand in for the marshal. I'm not totally sure if he *is* the marshal or not? because he could absolutely just be the pilot manager or the mission overseer. but for now we shall stick with marshal. He primarily serves as the head of the department and representative for the pilot body. He also doubles as a pilot of a gen 1 jaeger (Blue Revenge*) with Peter B Parker, previously Jessica Drew.

Jessica (34-35) is Miguel's ex copilot. She served for two years and during a faux time of inactivity from the rift, she and her husband decided to try for a child. She was called back during the next attack but in the post-fight medical checks, she was ordered to go on maternity leave. She did, for a couple months, but very quickly felt frustrated that she wasn't helping. She moved back into the military base and instead took up a leadership position in combat training. I think her rank would be lieutenant but I don't know enough about the military to make that official.

Peter B Parker (42-43) is a retired pilot. He served as a pilot up until the gen 3 jaegers went into production and was sent home when he got a major back injury. During his time off he started a family in his old New York home and began to forget about the jaegers and the war. He chose to live in ignorant bliss until it all came back when he was summoned back. He brought his entire family, despite the many warnings, and has rather enjoyed his grand return. Currently copilots with Miguel in the Revenge*. Previously piloted the Crimson Core*.

Ben Reilly (24-25) is a jet pilot. Previously a jaeger pilot of the Scarlet Gutter that was decommissioned after it suffered extreme damage in a fight he took solo with a class 2 kaiju. His twin brother was his copilot and died early on in the fight. He currently pilots a fighter jet as backup. The impact of that fight still haunt him and everyone knows to leave him be.

LEGO Spiderman (24-25) and Peter Parkedcar (25-26) are two unrelated pilots that are drift compatible. LEGO Spiderman (Lee Godwin aka LE-GO for short) has a chronic condition with locking joints and Peter Parkedcar is a selective mute. They pilot the Titanium Wall that is essentially just an immovable object to the kaiju's unstoppable force. Yes this is a meme lineup. Laugh.

Peter Porker (31-32) is the head of research. He's john mulaney in all aspects except for occupation. He is more of the morale backbone of the entire operation and spends more time out of the lab making sure to bring a smile to everyone's faces. He wears a cute pig beanie when out and about. He always has candy on him and is famous in the kitchen for hot dogs. No one knows where he gets the hot dogs from, since those are rarely stocked. There's a rumor going around that it's kaiju meat, not beef. Absolutely fascinated kaiju and a biology fanatic.

Margo Kess (20-21) is the head of technology. She's the surveillance guy who takes orders directly from Miguel and is in charge of relaying commands and judging actions on the battlefield. She's a young college graduate- more accurately a child prodigy- and took the first opportunity she had to put her skills to the test. She's very friendly and will always get to know the pilots personally. Drift compatible but has avoided training to not have people learn about her strained home life.

Peni Parker (17-19) is the daughter of the head of engineering. She is just under the required age to actually assume the position but has the most knowledge on jaeger design of anyone else in the program aside from her father. Her father was killed when one of the outposts was destroyed in a kaiju attack. Parentless, the organization arranged for her to stay at the main base, waiting for her 21st birthday so she can acquire an actual rank. Had a personalized jaeger her father had been slowly building, fit for one person, that she's slowly been working on to one day pilot in combat.

Peter Benjamin Parker (Benji or Ben for short) (22-23) was hired as the strategy lead after his impressive work as a police/military investigator. Had a lot of experience with international crime networks and hand picked by Peter B. He was enthusiastically handed over to the Jaeger program after he got just a bit too close to some apocalypse-profiting corruption. No one really knows why, but he's taken more of a liking to pilot training and has shied away from Miguel's leadership team and more towards Jessica and the recruits. He has a good eye for cadets with amazing potential and even applied to be a pilot himself, stepping away almost entirely from any kind of leadership role. Pilots Silver Noir with Hobie(**).

Hobie Brown (20-22) is a pilot. He was recruited early on as one of Britain's undesirables and turned out drift compatible. He was assigned a jaeger that was built and sponsored by the British Government named the Union Jack. Disgusted, he refused to respond to that name and instead calls his jaeger the Stark Screamer. The name has been adopted by command and no one has bothered to correct it. His pilot quit for unknown reasons after only a year on the field and the Screamer was retired until they can find another pilot to partner with him. Has been paired with Benji for the time being.

Gwen Stacy (18-19) is the youngest pilot to date but more than capable of jaeger combat. She was brought in by Jess, despite her father's refusal, and skipped all cadet training except for the essentials and given a jaeger assignment almost immediately. She was picked out when her father, a military rep instead of a cop, was visiting one of the bases that Jess happened to be in. She showed incredible potential in [insert event that im not 100% sure about yet] and was incredibly interested. Originally paired with Hobie because of their similarity in hobby and age. They were drift compatible but she didn't like the Screamer's kit or fighting style and requested a new assignment. She's still best bros with Hobie though. She marks the beginning of the youth recruitment.

Pavitr Prabhakar (17-18) is a cadet in training. He volunteered along with a large number of Indian civilians to chase the fame and glory that surrounded the now-martyred jaegers. Of the hundreds, he and a handful of his peers were selected and he was sent to his specific branch to complete training. He is drift compatible with almost anyone. Having no sense of fear or darkness in his past or his present, he's an incredible asset- if not a little naive. He and Hobie became best friends as soon as they met and has been promised to pilot the Screamer when he completes his training.

Miles Gonzalo Morales (17-18) is a new cadet starting training. He was supposed to be one in a pair but his twin was stuck in Spain with a travel complication. Miles could wait a couple months though and eagerly started training. He was selected because he had an identical twin- which are usually assumed to be drift compatible- but ended up being paired and drift compatible with Gwen. Despite him not having clearance, Gwen and many others think he shows enough potential to pilot a jaeger within the first month of his stay. He is currently assigned to a new jaeger in production: a gen 4 titan named the Clawed Viper***

Mateo Davis Morales (17-18) is a future cadet. He and his twin were split up before highschool for [insert reason i haven't figured out yet here] and he moved to Spain to finish his highschool education and eventually enlist in the jaeger program. However, due to transportation delays and possibly finances, when he and his twin were drafted, Mateo was stuck in Spain until nearly three months later. Just in time for . . . well, the drama (tm).

*Blue Revenge is not final. i don't know if i like it or not but the other option was the blue panther, for the shits and giggles. pretty sure i want to keep the blue but idk. Crimson Core is also a placeholder, but it does sound cooler

**Silver Noir is not final. I want to work in Noir somewhere and make a matte black jaeger but not a lot of words go with 'Noir'

***Clawed Viper is not final. Viper is final, but again, not a lot of words go with 'Viper'

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kiekiecarrera · 1 year

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One thing that annoys me watching OBX reactions is how people kind of side with Kie's parents in S2 'cause "they're just worried parents" and only clock how awful they are in S3 when they basically have her kidnapped but to me in S2 they were already done. People only clock it when it gets physical as if there weren't already lot of precedents of verbal altercations and deep relationship issues.

I agree that Kiara hasn't always been the perfect daughter and did things behind their back but they are the reasons she acts that way, they haven't built any form of trust with her, she feels forced to hide things 'cause all they can do when she's open with them is belittle her and her opinions, denigrate her friends and actually slut shame her 'cause yes, that's something her mom kept doing in S2 always pointing out "oh the things you do for those boys" "it's always about the boys" as if she's their little dog who blindly follows them around and would do anything they tell her to please them.

That's not even the worst part, the worst part was how the completely shut her down when she went ask for help about John B. Kie was absolutely right in my opinion to tell her mother to basically get her head out of the gutter 'cause it wasn't about her, it was way bigger than their little family drama, your daughter is coming up to you telling you her best friend OF 17 YEARS OF AGE is being framed risking the death penalty AND SHE HAS PROOF HE'S INNOCENT and you're just turning your head the other way? You're hearing with your own ears there's a CHILD who's about to be killed for nothing and what do you do? You kick your daughter out of the house when she asks for help? Plus you don't have to believe a word she says, you don't have to get involved, you don't have to like her friends...but she's coming up to you telling you she has information about a murder case, are you not gonna sit down and listen AT LEAST?

To me that's incredibly awful, they might have been concerned parents and I don't doubt they love Kiara but they ALWAYS had so little consideration of her and always thought so little of her, they always made her feel insignificant and like her problems didn't matter 'cause "look around Kiara, you're rich and we give you everything you need", being parents is much more than providing with money. They were always incredibly tone deaf people who didn't look past their own interest and their own reputation.

That's why the scene at the end of S3 when they're standing there clapping and looking all proud makes me so angry. Not only they were applauding Kie in which they never believed in and trusted, they were there also clapping for JJ who they showed nothing but hatred and disdain for, they were there clapping for John B who they would have easily let get the death penalty (as if it was so hard to believe they were framing the poor kid from the Cut) 'cause it was better for their daughter to not be around "those boys". They are not good people and never have been and it goes further than Kiara, they have always been judgmental, ignorants with prejudices, tone deaf and unhelpful turning the other way from minors who were struggling despite having the means to help.

Kiara wasn't always on her best behavior but it's not as if they ever offered her an environment were they encouraged open discussions and honesty with understanding, they pushed her away slowly from the very beginning.

I agree to an extent because I feel like that storyline and how you see it really relies on your situation and your experiences. For me, I don't like Kie's parents, but up to 2x05, I could kinda understand why her parents were this stressed - she was disappearing for days on end, they barely ever knew where she was, and as far as they were concerned, her friend had died chasing treasure, so they might've been worried she was going to be next.

I think the lack of communication and trust goes both ways, but I def think they're mostly in the wrong here because Kiara's a kid so she's not always supposed to know better, but they are. And the problem is they mistake knowing better with knowing best - no matter what Kie tells them, they believe their way is the right way and that's the biggest problem there. If they just spent more than 5 minutes actually listening to their daughter and trying to understand her, and actually get to know her friends, they'd be halfway there.

But 2x05 put an end to any understanding I had for them. Anna lost any sympathy I had for her when she kicked her daughter out, and Mike somehow managed to become even worse in s3.

Anyway, like you said, they are concerned parents, which is why I think everyone can understand their motivations, but that doesn't really justify anything they do or how they act. I mean they literally had their daughter kidnapped while knowing she was abducted like weeks before and was still dealing with her trauma.

Idk how they're gonna come back to them and make the 18 months later scene plausible, but I don't have high hopes tbh. The Pates tend to brush things like that under the rug, and chalk it up to complicated family dynamics, but we'll see.

#answered #Anonymous #kiara carrera #it's complicated doesn't really work here

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29pageshomestuckeveryday · 1 year

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Homestuck, page 2,567

Kanaya: Reply to memo.

Author commentary:

"IT TURNS OUT YOU CAN'T ALTER THE OUTCOME OF DECISIONS MADE BY MORONS, NO MATTER HOW MUCH YOU YELL AT THEM.” Not to get overly political down here in the laugh gutter. This just sounds like the tagline for the result of the 2016 U.S. election.

When Current Karkat actually starts arguing with Current Karkat, not only did he not notice he was doing it, I think it's safe to say that even we didn't notice he was doing it. A lot of arguments he has with other versions of himself are hard to differentiate, because it's always gray text, and it's always yelling. It blurs together. Much later, he "solves" this problem by switching to red for a bit, during one of his more pathetic conversational loops of self-hate. A little further down he starts wondering what they did wrong in the session. Which, as I was saying earlier, is not really anything, and he kind of almost has that epiphany here. But then loses that epiphany once he discovers the humans, decides to hate them with a refreshed sense of rage, and starts blaming all the wrong things again for their failure, including himself. It's almost like he gains clarity in his rage gaps. When one fog of rage subsides, he starts seeing things clearly, but that all goes away the moment he enters a new fog of rage. Regardless, we're getting close to the end of Hivebent now, and you can kind of start sensing this wildly fractured, manic narrative start to gather itself and point itself back in the direction of where we left off. The new hate-hobby Karkat discovers, of course, we know to be the humans.

This is also the first time in Hivebent when we spend any real time tuning into a part that takes place on the meteor they end up stranded on after whatever catastrophe causes them to flee there. For all the zipping up and down the timeline we do, we never actually go that far until now. Again, it's about starting to gather up and organize all these loose threads and direct them back into something we recognize as connecting to the main narrative line. Even when certain stories or arcs are really chaotic and wildly out of order, I think most of us have good intuitions when it comes to picking up on when a story is making moves in preparation for the approach to its own endgame material. This memo starts feeling like that turning point. You've also got Kanaya weighing in, playing the role of a sort of wise, sympathetic ear to a down-and-out protagonist. You know That Moment in the movie. We all do. We're all experts. Homestuck knows you're a media expert and uses that assumption to its "advantage" all the time. The only time it backfires is when it turns out you're nowhere near the expert I thought you were. You know those moments when you see me shaking my head in grave disappointment? That's why I'm doing that, FYI.

Karkat suggests Aradia isn't a great Maid of Time. I dunno about that. She time traveled to make a thousand doomed robotic copies of herself to help defeat a crazy-strong Black King. Seems pretty good to me. He's probably remarking more on her mental stability than her competence. Of course what's really going on here, story-wise, is that he's foreshadowing her violent freakout in the End-of-Hivebent animation coming up soon.

Karkat mentions here an "invisible riddler." This is an idea that comes up from time to time throughout the story. Recall the "unseen riddler" in the narration during John's early animation, when he's listening to the wind in his neighborhood. It conjures the idea of a hidden Loki-like figure somewhere, whose pranks have nihilistic designs, an intangible force of mischief that robs its targets of a meaningful or dignified existence. In John's case, the nihilistic rumination about this figure seems to focus on the shapeless and uncertain direction of his life. Karkat's remark here focuses on the futility and self-fulfillment of one's own foolishness, passively allowed to play itself out by this prankster figure, who he links to "Father Time" as well. There is no one true god of Paradox Space, but to whatever extent there is, it's probably this riddler figure, which is why it's left in doubt as to whether he even exists at all. He's never discussed without also referencing his invisibility, or dubious reality. A much less cagey explanation is, it's probably best interpreted as the forces of mischief and authorial cruelty or callousness toward the subjects within this fiction, which are laced into the entire narrative and relate closely to the quality of "authorial scorn" that was mentioned earlier in some of the Vriska meta. When galvanized through more extreme figures like Caliborn, these forces become less passively nihilistic and prankstery, and more actively hostile and destructive.

That Kanaya has trouble imagining how Karkat could have a strong handle on the subject of romance without access to an online manual (like her access to Rose's walkthrough) says something about the way she thinks, and views skill or expertise. Here she says romance and psychology aren't her strong suits, and a couple pages ago she was expressing doubts about her role as a Space player. Some characters struggle with self-loathing issues (she's talking to one of them now), but she seems especially troubled by self-doubt issues. Maybe this is why these two resonate as friends so well. One is there to reassure him he is not loathsome, the other to reassure her she is not incompetent. We've been over Kanaya's role as a mother figure to a bunch of people, and it helps for a good mother figure to have a good son figure as a counterpoint, a son who's there to remind her, "No, you're not bad at this. Stop it with that talk."

Karkat's dissertation on magic is a pretty good summary of the ongoing tension between the realness/fakeness attribute of magic throughout the story. We get pretty flippant about magic in Homestuck, don't we? It's just a word you can use to describe certain forces, in the same way that you can use the word "luck" to evaluate certain outcomes, if you're fixated on that concept. This isn't really mind-blowing wisdom here. I'd describe it more as premise-level information, upon which the story elaborates in certain ways. Magic and luck are more like states of mind. If there is any deeper truth to sift from these semantics, it's an idea that the story keeps returning to, which is that the power of belief is the key to everything. Believing in things reduces their fakeness attribute. It's the force that shapes your reality, used to snatch personal meaning from the jaws of a cynical and nihilistic environment. Could this be why Hope is framed as the most fundamentally powerful aspect? Even the other aspects themselves are ideas like this (recall: luck=light), whose power is subject to the ebb and flow of one's belief in them. And belief itself isn't necessarily just a trick of willpower. It can be an expression of one's willingness to embrace an idea, or pursue a deeper understanding of it.

Obviously Karkat is reacting to the moment Kanaya saws off Tavros's legs, while Equius watches creepily. We saw one frame of that earlier. Yes, it's a funny beat in the conversation that calls back to that moment, but it also establishes an important hour of missing time for Karkat while he's passed out. This gap where he's asleep on the floor comes up again later in Act 5. The second part of Act 5 does a lot of what Hivebent does. Where Hivebent skips around, chaotically fitting together the greater puzzle of the troll session until we finally reach the end, A5A2 skips around a lot, fitting together the puzzle of their stay on the meteor and sorting through the mystery of exactly what happens and when. So there starts to be an accounting of many little moments like this, to use as points of reference for when certain things are happening. "Aradiabot explodes" is another such benchmark for the reader to use to track surrounding events. Interestingly (maybe), Karkat uses this idea too, by setting "Jade's dreambot explodes" as a similar benchmark to help Jade get her bearings through a nonlinear swamp of communications.

#gif #pesterlog

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goldengoddess · 3 years

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lover - jj maybank

moments with your one and only lover, jj maybank // based on the song ‘lover’ by taylor swift

authors note: i worked so hard on this and it’s super self indulgent but i hope you all like it anyways! a little out of character for jj but <333

word count: like 6k ? wow

warnings: alcohol, jj’s abuse is mentioned, cursing, some sex jokes

and you'll save all your dirtiest jokes for me and at every table, i'll save you a seat, lover

“maybank!” you called over at the blond boy standing on the other end of the cafeteria.

he paused his surveillance of the room and whipped his head in the direction of your voice. when his eyes met yours his grin widened. casually cool as ever, he strolled through the mess of teenage bodies, right over to your table.

you watched him, feeling the center of your chest tighten in happiness. when you felt your cheeks burning you turned your attention back to kiara. she was sitting right in front of you and her eye brows were raised in your direction. you shook your head and averted your eyes to your food.

when, out of the corner of your eye, you could see jj getting closer, you moved your backpack from the seat next to you onto the floor. his eyes widened slightly at the gesture but took his seat there.

next to you, john b nudged your shoulder. you shoved your shoulder against his, more forcefully. he only grinned and stole a fry off of your plastic tray.

now that the boy was comfortably to your left, you turned your attention to him since everyone else was wrapped up in their own conversations. “hey maybank.”

he smiled and also took some food off of your plate. you pushed the tray so it was in front of him. the boy would never remember to eat lunch if it wasn’t for you.

“surprised you actually showed up to school.”

he rolled his eyes and pinched your arm, “mean.” he stuffed his face with food and then paused. “thank you for saving me a seat,” he whispered. almost like he was shy.

you pinched his arm back and then rubbed over that spot. “i’ll always save you a seat, dumb ass.”

he forced back a silly grin by biting his lip. there was a soft yet tense moment passing between the two of you. you took a sip of your drink but before you could swallow jj spoke.

“your ass looks really good in those shorts by the way”

you choked on your drink and spit it out a little. you turned to him, eyes wide, as did the rest of the table since jj didn’t have any clue how to keep his voice down. color and heat rose up your neck but you tired to play it cool by slapping jj’s chest lightly.

pope let out an awkward cough and everyone resumed the conversation from before, something about weed probably. you payed attention to your fingers.

jj leaned closer to your ear and whispered, “hey.”

“what,” you answered back, still not looking at him.

“what goes in hard and dry and comes out soft and wet?” he whispered.

then, you turned to him. slapping his chest lightly, “jj maybank!”

he gave you a stupid grin, that sent your heart into a fucking frenzy. “it’s chewing gum.” at your face he gasped in mock offense, “god sunshine, get your head out of the gutter.”

you rolled your eyes but smiled at him. “another one,” you pleaded.

it was a stupid silly thing the two of you had always had going on. he would find the stupidest dirty dad type jokes, and tell them to you. it had been an on going thing since you’d met him, making primary school a lot more fun. and it was stupid, the two of you knew it. usually the jokes weren’t even funny. but it was your thing. and any part of himself that jj would give you, you’d take. even if it was platonic and childish.

he grabbed his chin to pretend he was thinking and then said, “why can’t you hear rabbits having sex.”

“why?”

“because they have cotton balls.” you couldn’t see it but jj smiled wider a the sound of your giggles. the rest of the table was watching the two of you, with knowing looks. like everyone in the world could see how stupid the two of you were for each other, minus the two of you.

you took another sip of your drink and shook your head. “maybank, every time your jokes get worse and worse.”

he only smiled and placed a sloppy kiss on your cheek. it made you swoon, you wanted to pull him in by the collar of his shirt and kiss him straight on the mouth. instead, you wiped your cheek in fake disgust.

“you love them though.”

you nodded in affirmation. he swung an arm around your shoulders and said, “you’ll always save me a seat and..” he trailed off, expectantly. you bit your lip, smiling.

“and you’ll save all your dirtiest jokes for me.”

and i’m highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you, i’ve loved you three summers now, honey, but I want 'em all

you had no idea why you continued coming to these parties. they were boring and filled with people that you hated.

and those that you didn’t hate still managed to piss you off somehow.

the heat of the summer night was starting to cause you to sweat. and though these nights used to be your favorite, slight breeze, lots of stars, drinking with the pouges, summer was coming to and end. and it was bittersweet already without the added shiftiness of the party.

you felt the cushion next to you sink, indicating that someone had sat down next to you. you turned your head to the side and found kie giving you a knowing look.

“what?” you asked, already annoyed.

kie was all knowing, somehow everything that went down in the outer banks or within your small group, she had figured out ten days earlier. so she just raised her eyebrows further in her signature ‘don’t play dumb with me look’ she loved to send your way.

“spit it out kie, i know you’ve got something to say.”

she rolled her eyes at your words and offered you her red solo cup, which you gladly took from her hands. “don’t act like you don’t know what i’m about to say. you’ve been angry glaring at jj for the last half hour. what’s going on?”

at her words, your attention suddenly shifted back to the tall boy, red cap on backwards like always, standing on the other side of the room. he looked angelic, like always. just the sight of him sent your entire stomach into a stupid flutter of butterflies.

but before your heart could get all wrapped up in the magmatic force of the man in front of you, your eyes, once again, noticed the pretty red head standing in front of him.

now you knew first hand that jealousy was an ugly look. it was often times irrational and led to more fighting and less love. and there was nothing to even be jealous of. jj wasn’t yours. yeah he was your best friend, but he wasn’t yours.

but every time she placed a hand on his arm, leaned in closer, or laughed a little too hard at something he said, something deep within your chest began to burn. part rage and part hurt. not jealousy but something close to it. that was your jj.

kie, attentive as ever, looked between the girl and jj and than back at you. she sent you a playful smirk. “ah, so that’s the problem.”

you glared back at her, “there is no problem.”

she gave you a look, “you’re jealous right now.”

you let out a sigh and tried to take a couple of deep breaths. you angled your body towards your friend. “i’m not.. jealous ? i don’t know it’s an odd feeling. i shouldn’t be feeling this way should i? he doesn’t want me that way.”

you whispered the end of your sentence, hoping kie wouldn’t hear your moment of vulnerability. but she did. she placed a gentle hand on your shoulder and pulled you into a quick and comforting embrace.

“oh sweetie, i love you, but you can be so dense.” she rubbed your shoulder when you looked at her, confused. “you’ve liked jj what? three years?”

“three summers” you whispered more to yourself than to her. your eyes uncontrollably moved back to the maybank boy, accidentally catching his eye.

she nodded her head anyway. “exactly, and you’ve known him a lot longer. we’re about to be seniors, just one more year! you can’t keep harboring up your feelings. you know everything there is too know about that idiot. and yet,” she paused. “and yet you can’t see the way he’s absolutely crazy about you too.”

you whipped your head in her direction, eyes wide. she wore a smirk, clearly knowing that her words would earn that reaction from you. but before you could question her and shake more information out of her, she got up and walked off, winking at you before turning away completely.

and even before you could recover, maybe process and reflect on what she’d just said, a familiar body placed itself right where kiara had just been sitting.

you met jj’s blue eyes with the smile you reserved only for him. leaning back casually, he mirrored your smile with a lopsided grin. he took your hands and started playing with your rings, the way he always did at these sorts of things.

“you having fun?” he asked you casually, eyes set on your fingers. smaller than his.

“no,” you mumbled, distracted by the way his fingertips traced so delicately over your palm.

he immediately looked up to meet your eyes. he furrowed his brows and you hated the sight so much you yearned to reach up and gently soothe away his worry lines. “what’s up buttercup?” he asked, always concerned for you.

you ignored his question and moved your eyes to the girl he was chatting up earlier. “im highly suspicious that everyone who sees your wants you” you tried to make a joke of it but your bitterness was reflected in your tone. when you met his gaze again it seemed that he was trying to hold back a laugh.

confused you asked, “what?”

he shook his head in disbelief. “nothing sweetheart it’s just,” he laughed softly. “it just blows my fucking mind how smart you are and yet how stupid you can be at the same time.”

you tilted your head to the side, even more confused than before, kiara’s words echoing in your mind. the redhead sent jj a small thumbs up and shuffled off of the open porch. only then did you realize the space was practically empty other than you and jj.

he picked up your hands properly, interlacing his fingers with yours. his thumb traced your skin softly. there were very few moments where jj was ever soft.

“there’s nothing for you to be jealous of sunshine. everyone i talked to today just heard me talk about how great you are.” he kissed your hand. “i’m all yours, always have been. you just couldn’t make the first move could you? had to leave all the work up to me?” he joked softly, placing another kiss on your opposite hand.

“jj” you whispered, the smile evident in your voice. “don’t fuck with me right now, what are you saying?”

he grinned at your choice or words and let go of your hands to trace his thumb over your lower lip, the way he never did with anyone else.

“i’m saying, i’ve loved you three summers honey, but i want them all.”

my hearts been borrowed and yours has been blue all’s well that ends well to end up with you

there is nothing, in the history of heartbreaking things, more heartbreaking then watching someone you love hurt.

and nothing more frustrating than someone you love not letting you help them. it was infuriating actually.

the combination of those two things, was overwhelming at times.

your boyfriend, filled with love and always giving, didn’t ask for help often. as much as he needed it. but he was yours and you were his and the two of, officially together now, worked really well.

so as you sat on your bed, working through the stacks of homework that had piled up over the last few days, you texted the blue eyed boy.

to: lover <3

hey jay everything okay? you still coming over so i can crush you in mario kart?

from: lover <3

not coming over today.

since the first day that jj had gotten a cell phone, the two of you had daily check in’s. nothing big just a quick ‘i’m okay’ or ‘i’m staying over a john b’s today’. you wanted to make sure he was okay, and vice versa. sometimes his messages weren’t so positive. a quick ‘:(’ made you drop whatever you were doing to find him and make him laugh, even for just a few minutes.

it was important to the both of you. he never missed it and you didn’t either, even when you were busy or having a bad day. especially when you were having a bad day. whenever jj would run out of data, he’d connect to a free wifi (usually the wreck’s wifi) just so send you a quick message making you aware he was doing okay. and overtime, he’d gotten decent at asking for help from you when he needed it. you two had made progress.

so the fact that he didn’t sent in a message, worried you.

when it came to jj’s well being your mind usually went to the worst case scenario. usually that scenario included luke maybank.

at his text, you dropped all highlighters, pencils, and study material. still in your pajama bottoms, you slipped on one of jj’s old sweatshirts and climbed out your window. you grabbed your bike, like second instinct. and without really thinking about it, just reacting, you started pedaling towards your destination. the place you knew jj would be.

the chateau is a safe place for jj. a haven of sorts. and it wasn’t unusual to find jj there after a bad day. but your gut, and jj’s lack of check in, was telling you this was a different kind of bad day. a my dad is a deadbeat kind of bad day.

the bone yard is a popular tourist and party spot. on its best days it holds pouges, tourons, and kooks alike. usually all just there for the free beer. but on the off season, the place was practically always empty. peaceful almost. and it was jj’s favorite spot to calm down.

dropping your bike without a second thought, you quickly took off your shoes. you slipped your toes into the cold sand of the beach. the autumn breeze caused you to pull your, jj’s, hoodie tighter around your body. slowly, you made your way over to the edge of the boneyard.

jj’s spot. an old structure, barely standing, painted in a faded red, that used to serve the purpose of a life guard look out. they’d sit and watch everyone swim around in the ocean, it’s tall vantage point allowing everything to be seen. now, it was used more to catch a good view of the sunset.

you carefully climbed up the ladder until you were at the top point. there, you saw the blond boy sitting on the ledge, his legs dangling off the side. you let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding, relived that he was there at least. you knew that he was aware of your presence by the tension in his shoulders.

without saying anything, you took a seat at the edge as well. a couple of feet away from where he was sitting. you didn’t dare look at him, not yet.

for a while, the two of you sat in silence. you tried to admire the beautiful sunset in front of you, the pink and red colors as vibrant as they always were in the outer banks. you were mostly trying to calm down your breathing and heart rate, convincing yourself and your body that everything was alright. that at least jj was sitting next to you, alive.

but the sunset didn’t make you feel the way it usually did. didn’t have the same affect it usually did on your mood. it didn’t make you feel the way you had the first time jj had brought you up here to watch the sunset in middle school. and out of the corner of your eye you could see a dark black eye matched with a busted lip on his face. and for that reason the sunset didn’t feel the same.

when the red sun was completely set at the horizon, and you and jj were engulfed in darkness, you shifted your body so that you could really face him. his black eye and bleeding lip were paired with a couple of other bruises and scratches and a bruise on his arm that looked a lot like the outline of a hand.

“jay,” you whispered softly. “you didn’t check in, i was worried about you.”

“i don’t have to tell you about every single moment of my life, i can miss one fucking check in,” he snapped.

internally, you winced. but you tried to keep your cool. you’d known jj a long time. the way he presented his hurt was either through anger or fake self assurance. today it seemed like the former.

you took a deep breath to prepare. “i know you don’t. but we have the check in’s for a reason. i just want to make sure you’re okay, do you wanna talk about it?”

“there’s nothing to talk about,” he growled, still facing forward. “i don’t have to check in about the little things.”

you shuffled closer to him, willing him to look at you. “but this isn’t a little thing. what you did scared the hell out of me all day. i was worried, but this isn’t about me. this is about you being okay, letting me know if you need my help. he can’t keep doing this to you, i could-”

“god it was one check in,” he interrupted harshly. he finally turned his head toward you and those bright eyes were blood shot and much darker than usual. “and what could you do, huh!” he questioned sarcastically. he pushed himself up and started pacing the small space of the deck, his fingers pulling at his hair. “what could you have done? nothing, you can’t help me and i don’t need your help,” he spat.

you pushed yourself up as well to be at his level. you glared at him. “jay, just cause your angry doesn’t mean you don’t need help. if you had talked to me i could have come picked you up, you could have stayed over. hell we could have come here together. you’re not doing this alone so quit acting like it,” you lectured. when you shut your mouth you were standing close enough to him that if you stood on your toes you could kiss his cheek like you always did.

he opened his mouth to respond but nothing came out. his shoulders sagged and his entire body seemed to deflate, all the anger rushing out. you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him towards you into a hug.

you ran your hands up and down his back, gently. he sniffled into the crook of your neck. the two of you stayed in that embrace for a couple of minutes. then he pulled away and his eyes softened at the sight of you, while your heart broke into a million pieces at the sight of his bruised eye. you gently ran your fingers over the area. and he leaned into your touch, the way he always would.

“why didn’t you just call me?”

he sighed and tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear. “this was so much easier when we were just friends. fuck, i needed you today. i wanted to let you know. but i didn’t want to burden you. you deserve so much more than what i can give you as a boyfriend. i guess i didn’t want to remind you of that.”

you shook your head in disbelief. he continued on, “you’ve had other boyfriends before me. they’ve all had your heart, and earned it. they could give you more. i guess i’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop and for you to realize you could do a whole lot better than me.” he tried to joke and smile but it didn’t reach his eyes.

you placed your hand on his arm and caressed the skin, feeling him get goosebumps at the touch. “my pretty, blue, boy,” you cooed. “jay, some people just hurt more than others, sometimes you need help and sometimes i do. this isn’t about being better or being less fucked up. we’re all fucked up.”

he opened his mouth to protest but you kept going. “all those boys have only borrowed my heart. you’re the only one who’s ever really had it. only one who ever will. you are so much more than i deserve.” you took his hands into yours and tugged him closer. “if you need me, i’m here. it shouldn’t be any different now because we’re macking.”

he scoffed, but you could see the smile he was holding back. he placed his hands on your cheeks and kissed your nose affectionally. “are you wearing my sweatshirt?” he mumbled as he took the fabric between his fingers.

contently, you sighed. maybe jj didn’t want to continue talking now but he’d heard you. and you hoped there wouldn’t be a repeat of today. you nodded and leaned placed your head against his chest, “yeah i am.”

“i like it.”

you hummed in response and reached for one of his hands, you lead him back to the ledge the two of you were sat at before. this time it felt better. probably because jj’s arms was spread over your shoulder, tucking you into his chest.

“so,” you ventured, “tell me about your day. really bad?”

he looked down at you, meeting your big eyes already watching him. he shook his head.

“all’s well that ends well.”

we could leave the christmas lights up 'til january and this is our place, we make the rules

“sunshine, light of my life,” jj cooed, cupping your cheeks mockingly. “it’s almost january, therefore christmas has passed, we gotta take down the christmas tree.”

you let out a whine and buried your face into his cheek. “but look at how pretty it is.”

he ran his fingers up and down your sides, as you sat comfortably on his lap. jj’s body shifted as you felt him turn his head towards the tiny tree the two of you had decorated only a couple weeks before. the day after thanksgiving to be exact, per tradition.

a smile slipped onto his face at the memory. him dropping about five ornaments onto the floor. you pulling pine needles out of his hair and your own for days. the two of you fucking up the eggnog recipe that jj found after a two minute google search. getting drunk on the eggnog anyways.

he let out a content sigh and ran his long fingers through your hair. you leaned into his touch and moved your face out of his neck so you could get a good look at him. “i know honey, it’s very pretty. absolutely dazzling.” you giggled at his ridiculous choice of words.

“but it might be time to take it down” he continued. you whined and pouted your lips. you loved that stupid tree. jj just chuckled and lifted his eyebrows up at you, “what you want? to leave it up forever?”

you sheepishly smiled and rolled your eyes at him. “maybe not forever, but cmon jay! it’s our first christmas tree that we put up just the two of us.” you let your eyes travel around the jj’s room that you’d been staying at for a couple of days. he still lived in the chateau, but with the amount of time you spent there anyways, it was practically your room as well. your gaze finally settled on the two feet tall christmas tree you had found in the dollar section of the grocery store.

“before that it’s always been with the rest of the pouges, which i love. but this one is ours. it’s small and it might not be the biggest christmas tree but we put it up together.”

you grabbed the sides of his face and with the most serious face you could muster while looking at jj’s amused face, you said, “that’s like our baby jj. you really wanna take down our kid?”

jj tried to match your serious face, but to no avail. he quickly burst out laughing and you followed suit. a couple minutes later, when there weren’t tears of laughter running down each of your cheeks, jj placed a quick kiss on your forehead . you giggled under your breath and shook your head.

“fine fine jay we can take it down, we’ll have another one next year right?”

you made a move to stand up to pick up the small tree but jj’s hands kept you in place on his lap. “okay okay, how about this? since you threatened our tree child.” he grinned even more at the little snort you made. “we take down the tree but leave the christmas lights up. how about that?” he twirled a strand of your hair between his fingers.

you bit your lip to fight back a grin. you nodded your head excitedly and he matched your movement.

“we can leave the christmas lights up till january.”

we could let our friends crash in the living room this is our place, we make the call

“oh my god john b!” you gasped, holding a hand over your chest. “what the fuck are you doing here?”

the brown haired boy lifted up his head and gave you that signature smile that he was absolutely famous for. “sorry sorry, jj said i could crash here last night. i thought he would tell you?” he questioned.

you ran a hand through your hair and shuffled to the kitchen of you and jj’s new shared apartment to get yourself some coffee. you shrugged your shoulders at him, “i guess i just fell asleep before he could let me know. i didn’t know you were coming over last night.”

john b climbed off the couch and followed your steps into the kitchen. “kind of a last minute thing. sarah’s on her way to come pick me up so don’t worry.”

you set down your mug and pinched one of his cheeks with your fingers. “routledge, i have no problem with you staying here. y’all are welcome here anytime. mi casa es tu casa.” you smiled and started making him some coffee as well, he smiled in your direction as thanks.

before you could begin to fill up the mug, which coincidentally john b had given you and jj as a house warming gift, a honk of a car came from right outside. john b gave you an apologetic smile, “that must be my girl, i’ll see you later yeah? tell jj i said good morning and maybe set out some aspirin for the poor guy.”

you chuckled and lifted your mug to your lips to take a sip of the caffeinated goodness. lifting your fingers to your forehead, you saluted him off as he walked out the door with a silly grin. as if it were his own house, which is practically was considering how much time he and the rest of the pouges spent there.

just as he was exiting, jj walked out of your room. he was mumbling under his breath and massaging the temples of his forehead. a tell tale sign of a jj maybank hang over. you watched his eyes crack open to watch the door shut behind his friend. brows furrowed, he switched his attention to you, eyes automatically softening.

“hey sleeping beauty, good morning.”

he only mumbled back a soft ‘jesus fuck good morning’ in response and crossed the distance from the hall to where you stood. he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind and settled his chin on the top of your head.

“you feeling okay? john b told me you two had a good night.” you chuckled and moved to get an aspirin from the cabinet, jj continued clinging to you like the koala bear he is as you walked.

he nodded and accepted the aspirin you’d offered him, swallowing it down with your coffee. you fake gagged at the combination but jj just laughed softly at you.

“im never drinking again,” he said. all you could do was roll you eyes at the very much false statement. he couldn’t see you but jj anticipated your gesture and laughed. “okay maybe not never, but not anytime soon.” you only hummed back in response and kept drinking your coffee.

“sorry i didn’t tell you john b was staying over” he mumbled into your hair. his fingers were playing with the bottoms of your tshirt, which was actually his, as he spoke.

you settled the mug down and turned around so that his arms were still secure around your waist but you were facing each other. he had you pressed against the countertop and the heat was practically radiating off of him, his eyes still clouded with sleep, the outline of the sheets on his left cheek.

“jj, sweetheart, this is your home too. and john b is my family as much as he is yours. you don’t need my permission or anything to have anyone over.” you left a chaste kiss on his lips but jj followed your lips and gave you one more, like he couldn’t get enough of you.

“so what i’m hearing is parties every night?” he grinned like a twelve year old who was just offered his first sip of alcohol, which at heart he maybe was still twelve years old.

you tapped his nose, “maybe not every night but our friends are always welcome to crash here.”

he tilted his head to the side, “you sure?”

you nodded in affirmation and leaned a little to pick up your mug and offer it to him. gratefully, he lifted it to his lips.

“yeah babe, this is our house we make the calls.”

i take this magnetic force of a man to be my lover

“hey remember when you got jealous of that random chick at a party?”

you let out a groan and buried your face into jj’s bare chest. “please let me live it down jj, that was forever ago,” you whined.

“absolutely not. that was the one time that you got territorial over me and not the other way around.”

you shifted, placing your elbows on his chest, and your chin on the palms of your hand. from this position you had a prefect view of his face and the silly grin that he always seemed to be wearing.

you rolled your eyes when he could see you. “trust me, i’ve been jealous after that too. i just don’t go around punching every girl who speaks to you like someone i know.”

jj gasped dramatically, “you said you found that attractive.”

you traced a small heart onto his chest with your finger. “i did i did, i’m only kidding maybank. you almost breaking your hand to prove i’m yours is very attractive honey.”

he pinched your cheek, “shut up.” you laughed and nudged his hand away with your cheek.

he grabbed your hand and played with your fingers, tracing over each other. until he stopped on your left ring finger. “well now i won’t be punching any more guys because you’ll have this lovley ring telling the whole world you’re mine.”

he twisted the engagement ring he’d give you a couple days before. it wasn’t giant, but it shined so bright. the first day you wore if you’d spent an hour making it catch the sunlight so you could see it sparkle. it was simple and so jj, so you loved it.

you left a quick kiss on his lips and then rested your head back onto his chest, still letting him hold your ringed finger. “you’re right, i’ll just hold up my hand and say ‘jj maybank’ with no other explanation.”

“that works for me.”

the two of you enjoyed the comfortable silence for a moment. you continued tracing patterns onto his skin, tracing your name slowly so that he could understand the lettering.

“i should have that tattooed,” he whispered. you only chuckled.

“i think it would look cute. maybe my name with a little heart around it.”

“good way to show that youre mind as well, don’t you think?” you tilted your head up at him. he was looking down at you and he smirked.

“it’s the perfect way, mrs. maybank.”

you giggled at the name and pushed yourself up so that your face was hovering over his. “i like the sound of that.”

he hummed as you got closer to his lips. “i do too. glad we’re going to make it official soon.” he lifted his head to try and give you a kiss but you teasingly backed away. he pouted so you leaned down to kiss the corner of his mouth, then the other.

“i cannot wait,” you paused to place another kiss on the side of his mouth. “to let everyone know, that” another kiss.

“darling you’re my lover.”

taglist;

@xsamsharons

check here for how to join my obx taglist !

#jj maybank #obx jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x you #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x pogue!reader #obx jj #obx #obx imagine #outerbanks #outer banks #sarah cameron #john b routledge #pope heyward #kiara carrera #rudy pankow #taylor swift #taylor swift fic

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ezlebe · 2 years

Note

prompt: greg goes through his dilf montage era and tom finds out

Tom has never slept with a sex worker before, and despite the night and the exchange of money, he’s starting to wonder if he’s really has yet. He glances across his shoulder, then down at the counter, and separates the proofs a bit further, glancing at the letterhead – did he just get corporate spied? He doesn’t think so, they didn’t even touch on work after they met at the bar, and while he’s not out, he’s not particularly in either, yet the badly-fake-named Hershel has a counter full of EMCO documents. He wonders if Gregory Hirsch was the last sad sack who – wait. Hirsch… Hershel, what the fuck?

“Are you some kind of spy?” Tom demands, waving the papers when Hershel turns the corner into the hall – he should’ve known something was up, since ‘Hershel’ was nothing like he expected out of this sort of thing. “Why the hell do you have these?”

“They’re like, they’re mine?” Hershel says, hasty against the brief intimidation, putting his hands up with a sharp lean backward. “Why?”

Tom glances down at the name, again, connecting dots and coming up bewildered by them. “Do you not get fucking paid, man?”

“Not like a lot, really,” Hershel says, or Gregory, or whoever this man is who moonlights as a sex worker that brings johns back to his actual home. “I guess there’s some kind of agreement with – uh, with Western? I-I’m like an intern.”

Tom peeks down his nose, reading further through the now-obvious mock up of a contract proposal; he could… hell, why isn’t EMCO using this sort of talent? He glances at the Gregory Hirsch in the email signature. “You did this, to confirm, Julia Roberts?”

“Like, yeah?” Gregory says, leaning toward, as if he doesn’t know what’s on the paper.

“Huh….” Tom hums a low, meandering note. “And you’re in school - undergrad?”

“Yeah,” Gregory repeats, visibly swallowing, then looks away from the papers with a longing glance toward the empty coffee machine.

Tough luck. Tom is on a tear.

“You shouldn’t bring people back here, first thing,” Tom says, clearing his throat, as he throws the papers down to the counter. “I now know your name, second thing, Gregory; third thing, I could come back and murder you; fourth – ”

“I’m kind of – uh, like new at it, I’m still figuring it out,” Gregory interrupts, stepping forward, then back, reaching up and scratching at the stubble peeking over his lip. “You’re like th-the third guy? Or sort of second? The first one was more of an accident.”

“An accident,” Tom repeats, lowly, angling with a raised brow across the counter while splaying a hand across the papers. “How does that – what?”

“Yeah, like,” Gregory says, shrugging, raising a brow high up his forehead while he tilts his head, offering this little smile like he’s made some deal. “I didn’t know until he like paid me the morning after?”

“Jesus Christ,” Tom says, rolling his eyes hard, then rocking back, scrubbing a hand up into his hair while he gestures with the other out across the apartment. “That explains your… entire approach.”

“Is it bad?” Gregory says, leaning forward with an eager pair of blinks, like he’s actually asking for a critique. His business acumen is clearly some astonishing natural level, while his street smarts are stuck languishing in a gutter.

“Chatting someone up for three hours and then saying we can fuck for a couple hundred? Yeah, no,” Tom says, dragging his teeth across his lip with a short jerk of his head to the side. “It’s not great.”

Gregory cants back on his heels with a twist at his mouth. “Is that not normal? I think I've seen it like that in movies.”

“I don’t know,” Tom snaps, hearing his voice pitch and warmth immediately, consequently flood across the tops of his ears. “But it doesn’t seem like it, Gregory? Seems like it could blow up in your face.”

“Just Greg,” Greg says, idly, while his eyes drop between them to narrow at the floor. “I guess you’re right, yeah.”

“Just Greg,” Tom mocks, then exhales a harsh breath in some attempt at a dismissive laugh. “So now I’m wondering, do I look like I have a lot of money?”

“Uh,” Greg intones, lifting his eyes to look at Tom, and he’s visibly thinking on it, but it doesn’t seem to be in a particularly vacillating way. “Sort of. I mean you always dress like pretty nice?”

“Sort of,” Tom repeats, glancing down over at his trousers, then the blazer on the back of the sofa. “Sort of? Why… Okay, explain the approach?”

Greg wets his lips, glancing in the same direction while his fingers briefly fold together. “Like, what do you mean?”

“How do you choose a mark at the bar?”

“I don’t? That makes it sound really bad?” Greg says, voice lifting, then shaking his head. “It’s just normal, really, like… if I, uh – I talk to a guy who seems like he wants to – to go to bed with me, I politely request that he pay me.”

Tom stares for a beat, then decides he isn’t going to clarify his question that he meant himself, specifically, instead moving on to a more unbelievable element. “And that worked on two people,” he says, deciding to actively repress that he is, in fact, one of them.

“Yeah?” Greg says, scratching against the side of his nose, then folding his hands back together. “It’s not like – I-I don’t have a mark system.”

Tom raises his brows while staring for a beat.

Greg rolls his lips together, looking close to a pout. “Did you not have a good time?”

Tom rolls his eyes at the absolutely transparent attempt to both change the subject and garner sympathy. “Do you see this being your future, Greg? Because yes, fine, the sex was great, which I think you know, but you don’t seem all that together on the actual work part of it.”

“I don’t, like… really know, man,” Greg says, compounding the problem with a meek mutter. “But I’ve made like almost two grand?”

“Alright, but you can make that in an hour at my job.” Tom points at the papers stacked in a mess next to them. “Those’re good. You’re at EMCO? Not to be worse at anonymity than you, but I’m contracted there for a year and these weasel words are woven better than any by the jokers I’m currently stuck trying to re-structure in marketing.”

Greg stares for a few beats, eyes darting down and the back up, shaking his head. “I – I don’t… Are you just saying that? I’m not like even into it.”

“No,” Tom says, exhaling a weak, reluctant laugh. He picks up the papers to wave more demonstratively under Greg’s disbelieving expression. “Honestly, Greg, the fact you’re not that quote unquote into it, and also a student, makes them look very bad.”

“Really?” Greg says, quietly, a touch of visible color in his face that is absolutely not interesting at all. “You think they’re good?”

“Yes,” Tom says, setting the papers back down and tapping the corner to align them. “I can’t imagine what these would be like if you tried.”

Greg visibly sucks at the inside of his lip. “That much in an hour?”

“Oh, yeah,” Tom says, rolling his eyes a little, as he tilts his head to look better up at Greg’s thoughtful expression. “I’m lined up for a job at Hong Kong next year that’ll give me a helicopter.”

“I-I was…” Greg wets his lips, then offers a weak forward roll of his shoulders. “In the beginning, I kind of was thinking more… like, I’d get this, then the postgraduate, then... work for my grandpa’s ranch?”

“Ranch?” Tom repeats, thrown for a further loop. “With horses and cowpokes?”

“It’s like a – an uh, organic product corporation,” Greg says, scratching at the back of his head with a weak shake. “But he doesn’t call it that.”

“If you’ve got a position lined up, even better,” Tom says, briefly considering, then dismissing, his own motivation here, as if he really thinks that convincing Greg to go one way or the other on this could make him any less a person who looked at Tom and broke through into his meaty center of loneliness to snatch for a pay day. “I don’t have any fucking clue how an ag corp is structured, but it’s certainly a big business.”

Greg grimaces hard, plainly disbelieving the sentiment.

“But by all means, if you really enjoy this,” Tom says, spreading his arms while offering an equally wide, toothy grin, “Continue to pretend you’re into men and give them the ol’ shocker with a price tag.”

“I wasn’t pretending – “ Greg says, voice lifting, daring to actually be offended. “Did it seem like I was pretending?”

“Oh, no, it made me feel like a real catch, thinking I was making a connection with someone only to find out they wanted money,” Tom says, widening his eyes briefly, then slapping his hand down at the papers on the island. “It all makes sense now I know you’re a business major. The cards laid right out.”

Greg looks hurt now, which… he deserves, but he also needs to stop pouting about it. It’s inspiring no less than a gross amount of unwarranted sympathy.

“It does help a bit to know you’re just a generally strange human being,” Tom amends, grudgingly, crossing his arms over his chest. He takes a breath, then another, then flicks out the lower hand. “Do some research if you keep doing this – it’s not a good idea to expose people like me to your literal home. Do you even have your license yet?”

Greg looks briefly concerned. “Do I need one?”

“No! Because this shit is illegal, remember?” Tom says, shifting his hands settle at his hips. “We just committed a felony together.”

Greg stares at Tom for a beat, then curves his brows with confusion. “Are you American?”

“It’s still illegal here,” Tom says, a bit forcefully, though now he’s not all that sure of it. He’s never thought to check – he should have, last night, the moment lanky mister here admitted he was angling for a payday.

Greg further narrows his eyes. “It’s not called a felony, though.”

“Whatever.” Tom exhales a harsh scoff though his nose. “You need to figure out how to do this right, is what I’m saying. Not everyone is as pleasant as I am – to start with, at least, change your locks and start going to hotels.”

“I mean, how do –?” Greg shakes his head, hunching up into himself. “Like, do you have anything else to suggest?”

“Do I look like a pimp?” Tom snaps, rearing back in offense and flattening his feet on to floor. “You’re the first time I’ve ever even paid for sex, buddy. It’s not my thing.”

Greg blinks, rapidly, mouth pinching to a tight moue. “Then why did you?”

“Because I… thought I had a connection, like I said, and then I figured fuck it,” Tom shrugs, forcefully apathetic, ignoring a roiling regret low in his gut every time he’s being forced to admit this mistake. Oh, it’ll be anonymous; he’ll never go back to that bar; he’ll just have a good time; he’s all fucking alone in this stupid country, anyway – look at where it’s got him? “Might as well, anyway, even if it wasn’t real, it felt… good for a minute to think it was – thanks for the lip service, Hershel. That’s what I really paid for.”

Greg looks bizarrely taken aback, as if surprised that some ruse he’s apparently worked before actually works at all. He takes a hasty step back, then another, one of his hands going up in a hasty wave. “Can you… like, wait here?”

“Why not,” Tom mutters, sarcastically, looking down at the floor with a deep sigh. “This is so fucking unsafe…” He peers down the short hall for a beat; he thinks he could take Greg, if he had to, but he is a big, bizarro of a pretty creature. “For everyone, actually.”

Greg reemerges with a wad of bills in hand and a visible bite folding the inside of his cheek. “You can take it back. I – I don’t want you to think that like there wasn’t a-a connection?” He says, shoving the money harder into Tom’s chest, and worked up enough to forget his size, apparently, as the force of it rocks Tom against the cabinet. “I really did – do like talking to you. I talked to you way more than anyone else I’ve met like, at any bar for any reason? I’m… you know, still talking to you now, even.”

Tom takes the bills, then counts out half, then slips it all back in under his thumb while holding out the bills to give back. He’s been Pretty Woman’d by an amateur; what is wrong with him?

Greg folds his arms, refusing to take it, though his eyes markedly dart to and away from the money, like it pains him.

“Greg,” Tom says, firming his voice but keeping it a bit gentle. “Just take it.”

“Can I have your number?” Greg asks, clearing his throat, then reaching out for a flip phone that’s been sitting next to the coffee maker. “Instead?”

Tom doesn’t know what to expect when he gets a text only a few days later, a few awkward lines that sum up an invitation to meet in the cafeteria. He anticipates overwhelming awkwardness, but Greg seems to be made of it while being absolutely immune to it all at once, because he really does just seem to want some kind of a buddy.

“And this is just like, a lunch. It’s not like a – an exchange of anything.”

“I didn’t think it was,” Tom says, slow, glancing at the spread of luxurious cart poutine that Greg is dropping out onto the table between them. “But thanks for clearing it up.”

“I did like a lot of reading on Reddit and you do have to make that sort of clear?”

“Oh,” Tom feels a swoop in his gut. “You still tricking old men into paying you?”

“Oh, I mean – No, I stopped,” Greg says, shoulders curling into his visibly flushed ears. “You kind of had a point about like my potential earning? Like. Like, the last couple days, I was thinking about it a lot. I can’t really do it long term? And I can’t, you know, ever move on, like… it’s not a transferable position to another city?”

Tom drops his head in a nod, though he’s pretty sure it is one of the few jobs that can be done almost anywhere, but.“…Alright.”

“And I didn’t even think, like, about the other thing,” Greg says, in a sudden rush, leaning over his poutine while his eyes go wide, then dart over shoulder, as if some would be killer is just outside his line of sight. “Did you know that sex workers are called the less dead – and like gay ones ar-are like even less less dead. And there’s been a bunch of guys going missing in Toronto.”

“I had heard things,” Tom admits, pinching his lips tight together for a brief pair of moments. “Did you change your locks?”

“Like, yeah,” Greg says, rolling his eyes hard, as his fingers scratches up against the outside of his lip. “I mean the other two guys weren’t… that weird, but then I thought about the ones who I didn’t get paid by?”

Tom slowly raises an eyebrow. “How many men have you slept with?”

“There? Like… eleven – or, ten, I guess, not counting you, but it’s more than none, Tom. And I’m on the ground floor.”

Tom feels a smirk pull at his mouth and quickly rolls his lips to hide it. “Have I accidentally given you a phobia?”

“It’s definitely, like – ” Greg exhales hard through his nose. “Uh, like an anxiety, maybe.”

“Sorry, buddy,” Tom says, reaching out and stealing a fry, then briefly wagging it at Greg’s pinched frown. “But not that sorry, really. Glad you’re safe.”

Greg jabs a fork into his fries with a glance upward. “So I, uh… I got like an assignment transfer to Caren Conners?”

Tom grunts an affirmative.

“…Was that you?”

“Maybe,” Tom says, looking down at the absolute shit of a bid in front of him; he should make Greg do this, as a teaching moment or some equally bullshit excuse to slack off. “She’s soft. You’ll have time for school. I told her I read some of your exceptional work.”

Tom raises a brow at Greg’s abruptly stunned look up from his plate. The food isn’t that good, especially not for lunch, though Tom sort of has been dragging them around looking for that unicorn. “You having a fit?”

“Uh, just – uh,” Greg looks down, shoving a piece of bread from his decimated philly into his mouth. “Like… alright, maybe one of th-the guys I’ve been with walked in.”

Tom frowns, a little, and looks over his shoulder.

Greg makes a pitchy noise. “No, don’t look – Tom!”

“Oh, is that number two or number one?” Tom asks, watching the man move across the floor behind his shoulder, chatting to the server and utterly oblivious to Greg. Somehow.

Greg shakes his head hard, covering his whole face with his hand. “Not like either, he – uh, he’s just one of the other guys.”

“Huh,” Tom intones, ignoring a little stab of bitterness, as he watches the guy settle into a seat next to his decidedly teenaged presumed-son. He is almost certainly older than Tom, if fit for it, and visibly greying further than the temples. It’s actually sort of difficult not to draw the obvious conclusion. “Do you maybe have a type, Gregory - a hard-on for the older man?”

“Like, shut up,” Greg mutters, peeking up from his plate with a wash of pink across his cheeks. “You’re like not that old.”

Tom sneaks another peek and raises his brows, as a woman joins them, waving off the man when he mocks getting to you pull out the chair for her. “Oh, starling, is someone a nasty little homewrecker?”

“Maybe it’s an open relationship?” Greg says, his low tone far more hopeful than with any sort of belief behind it.

“Sure,” Tom says, narrowing an eye, as he looks back across their table.

Greg turns a hand in an open gesture against the lacquered top. “It’s a thing?”

“I’ve heard of it,” Tom said, reaching out for his coconut water with a brief curl of his nose, looking away and then back to Greg, trying not to feel too much like he’s about to cross a line. “I just… don’t get it on a fundamental level.”

“Yeah, relationships are, like…” Greg says, mouth flattening, his eyes still fixed over Tom’s shoulder, but now with a wary, markedly fixed glint. “Already hard enough to figure out. It’s probably, like… being straight or bi or pan or whatever? Like, hey, you get it or you don’t.”

“Yeah,” Tom says, then realizes he is fully staring across the narrow bridge of Greg’s nose and forces his eyes to drop to his dwindling plate of porchetta nachos. “Something like that. Hey, who was better?”

“Tom… Did you say starling? What’s wrong with starlings?” Greg says, abruptly, his hand crawling across the table to steal off Tom’s plate. It’s honestly unclear if he’s aware or ironic.

Tom gestures at the retreating arm and the sends a flat look upward. “They’re nasty, gregarious little birds… that’ll eat anything and destroy everything.”

“Is this about Marc, too, because that was a –” Greg says, covering his mouth, as he chews, with an avoidant look and a glance toward the window at their side. “A misunderstanding.”

“You got his internship put under review and took his project,” Tom says, raising his brows, feeling a smirk curl somewhat proudly against the corner of his mouth. “I almost want to get you a certificate for sliminess.”

Greg outright scowls with a low grumble, but it seems theatric. “He wasn’t – like. He was like bad at it, Tom. You said so.”

“Uh-huh,” Tom says, smacking his lips, slow, then rolling his eyes to finish with a dry look. “You’re right, maybe he wasn’t cut out for the rat race. Does he love money so much that he’d stumble into sex work for a week?”

“I didn’t ask,” Greg says, lifting his chin, a frown flat across his mouth, but there’s a sparkle at the edge of his eyes that means he’s enjoying this little tête á tête. “I still think it – like, it was a compliment? That guy thought I was a professional.”

Tom intends for a scoff under his breath, but a laugh breaks it up. “Do you not even remember his name?”

Greg visibly comes up short, tongue pressing at the inside of his lip, then affects some sort of awful, distracting pout, all big eyes and quivering lips. “Are you, like… slut shaming me, Tom?”

“I wasn’t, no,” Tom says, honestly, feeling another laugh build at the joking tone audible in Greg’s voice. “But now I’m coming around to it. Did you just call yourself slutty?”

“I just – ” Greg drops the façade and wets his lips at the same time he drops his lashes, surely pointedly, “It’s, like… a language I can actually speak.”

“You can speak two whole actual languages, Greg,” Tom says, determinedly not thinking about pressure points and Greg’s fingers across his bare back; it’s still sore… or it should be, anyway, but he’s having unusual trouble holding a grudge against Greg. “And, as far as I know, anyway, your French is magnifique.”

Greg shakes his head, but he looks flattered, lips pinching against a wider, more candid smile.“It’s, um – sort of my first language.”

Tom raises his brows.

“Yeah, my – uh, my grandma took care of me a lot when I was a baby to like a little older,” Greg says, then shrugs, reaching out to take the last of Tom’s chips. “Like, until she died, anyway – my mom sort of had to, then.”

Tom grimaces, slightly, but Greg doesn’t seem to care much bringing it up, just matter of fact. It still has him want to make some promise to this man that he’s only known a month under the weirdest possible circumstance. “Hey, I’m just glad you learned English somewhere.”

“What like could I do, so we can – ” Greg gestures, absolutely inexplicably, in a spinning pair of hands across the desk. “Like go to dinner, one day, instead of lunch?”

Tom blinks and tilts his head, glancing away from his monitor and up at Greg with a raise of an eyebrow. “As in a date?”

Greg wets his lips and offers a weak, one-shoulder shrug.

“You don’t have to do anything, Greg, except…” Tom points with the pen that he’s been chewing on between his teeth. He can feel himself already regretting this, not unlike that night at the bar, but he’ll be in China in eight months, no matter what does happen; a convenient, pre-existing timer if this goes to shit. “I would like you to really tell me why you approached me at the bar.”

Greg exhales hard through his nose and rolls his eyes up, then out toward the window,

“No?” Tom questions, trying not to be too put out.

“That wasn’t like... the first time I saw you there,” Greg mutters, in a rush of breath like a confession, sweeping a few fingers through his hair. “And like you, usually, just – uh, just watched hockey with the guy who I know is Mark, now, but then like you weren’t that night? And so I – uh, I decided to try, you know?”

“You were already watching me?” Tom asks, catching the pen as it falls from his open mouth.

“I noticed you were there?” Greg says, evasively, glancing down, then back up, tightening an arm across his middle and tucking his opposite hand under it. “A couple times. And normally, I don’t – ” He shrugs, “I don’t actually do the approach, ever? But it kind of made it easier, if I like was pretending to be someone else and I had a different name? I was Hershel, you know, um... erudite escort or whatever. I wasn’t… Greg.”

“Tom kind of likes Greg, though,” Tom says, setting his pen down onto the desk. He toys with the idea of telling Greg straight out that he has seen little difference between what was apparently some persona more than a name and Greg, as he is, but that might come off less than helpful. “And he will go on a date with him, but they have to play by bases. He’s not getting any until the third one. So if this is some ploy to get at Tom’s magnificent cock again, he’ll have to wait.”

“That’s like cool,” Greg says, nodding twice, twice and twisting his hands above the desk with a tilt of his head. “I mean. Sure. Does that – uh, that night – ”

“No,” Tom interrupts, shaking his head once and picking his pen back up just to point with it across the desk. “That wasn’t, apparently, with Greg. But his enthusiasm has been noted.”

Greg presses his mouth flat while lifting a shoulder to acknowledge the point, only to abruptly twist his mouth into a moue. “Could you… uh, like not make a thing about talking like that for the rest of the day?”

Tom rolls his head back and forth, then shakes it with a glance sideways and a sorry smirk. “Tom wasn’t even thinking about that until Greg made it an option.”

Greg sighs so hard down to his little notebook that it sounds like it hurts, but there’s a marked pull at his lip that looks like he’s hiding a smile.

#tomgreg #i had to ask what this meant #cw implied sex work #short term #late fill because im not sure about it but it's been sitting in my drafts for months #SO

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thirsty4theextraordinary · 4 years

Text

Come on love, let’s get this freak-show on the road

I’ve been replaying Fallout 4 for like the 100th time recently and again I have fallen in love with Hancock all over again. So this is a little one-shot I wrote up last night that goes through how Hancock is feeling about the SS.

Hopefully you guys like it.

Pairing: John Hancock X Female Sole Survivor

Tags: Fluff, nothing else just some sweetness.

“To think I ever doubted you.”

That was how he had started this, how he had got to where they were now. Of course, she seemed unfazed like nothing had changed. It had been days since their conversation on the side of the road. They had made camp at a local settlement of hers, or rather the Minutemen’s. She chatted idly to the settlers as they sat beside the campfire, unaware of his eyes on her. She had achieved such an amazing amount since coming off of ice.

When they had first met, she had come strolling into Goodneighbour with Nick Valentine at her side. She was beautiful, and fresher-looking than any woman he had seen before. Like a poster of one of those pre-war movie stars. Of course, he was attracted, you would have to be blind not to be but he kept it to himself. And that vault suit hugged her curves aa though it were painted on.

Once they started travelling together that’s when things had changed. Into something that he had never experienced before. She was kind, intelligent, cunning and not afraid to hurt those who needed hurting. He had had pre-existing ideas of what the Vault-dweller would be like in a fight and it was nothing like this. She had the reflexes of a trained killer, and as much as he had thought he would be the one protecting her, it was sometimes the other way around. He couldn’t count the number of times she had stimpak’d him mid-battle, just to turn and shoot his assailant in the face, as though it was nothing at all.

The more they travelled together the more he fell for her. It wasn’t like him, John had always been a lone wolf, content with the occasional one nightstand. He had no problems finding lovers, even turning Ghoul hadn’t dampened his chances. The sexy King of the Zombies had no issues with the ladies. So why was he so hung up on the woman in a bright blue vault suit?

It was one night, when they had stopped to make camp and he looked over at her sleeping form, that he fully understood, that what he felt wasn’t just simply lust, like usual. At first, it disturbed him, he wasn’t used to feeling like this, this intense feeling was scary. The womaniser in him denied these feeling of course and he told himself that the last thing she need was the love of a Ghoul. While he had never had trouble finding lovers, he knew that not all soft-skins were so inclined to his kind. He wasn’t sure he could take the rejection from her. He huffed to himself, she had turned him into a teenager again, nervous about asking out his first girl. John Hancock was a confident flirt, never had he questioned himself before, but then never had he felt like this. She really was something else. And yet he had never expected her to say what she did.

He hadn’t expected the conversation to lead that way, he hadn’t even led it that way himself. He just simply wanted to let her know what a great friend she was, how impressed he was with her moral compass, deep down he wanted to be a little more like her. He felt it was only right that he shared, after all, she had been upfront since day one about her past, and what she was trying to do out here in the Commonwealth. But up until this point, he hadn’t really told her much about himself, only how he had become mayor and why he had wanted to leave. He had just wanted to share, to open up a bit. He hadn’t expected her to turn it on him like that. He had been telling her about what had happened at Diamond City.

“I felt like I was the only one who saw how screwed up things truly were, who couldn’t just pretend things were fine. Still feel that way… or I did. Until I met you” He mentally scolded himself for that last part would she notice, question him. But she just kept listening politely, she hadn’t taken it for any more than just a declaration of admiration. No feelings attached. So with a smile, he continued.

“I know I run my mouth, but having someone who sees the world for what it is and is willing to do something about it. It’s meant a lot to me. I feel damn lucky to have you as a friend.”

“And that’s what we are? Friends?” the words had fallen from her mouth like they meant nothing, like she hadn’t just propositioned him. He couldn’t help the flutter that he felt in his stomach or that grin that spread across his face, he felt suddenly exposed, was she playing with him. But like aways, John use crude flirting and overconfidence to hide his nervousness.

“Well, now that you mention it, I have been having slightly more impure thoughts than usual. Maybe we’ll get to…. act on those. Heh,” He had said to her. It wasn’t that he regretted saying it, after all, it was the truth. Watching her ass bounce in the vault suit, as she ran and few yards ahead of him as they travelled had undoubtedly been the inspiration for a few impure dreams. But did he want her to think that was all he had to offer? A few nights of passion on the road, just friends until they got into the bedroom. He wasn’t really sure what it was she wanted, maybe that was all she expected, after all, he did have a reputation. He told himself that with any other girl, especially one that looked like her, he would be happy. But as the days went past and he saw her save people who needed saving and take out those that threaten them, he knew he would never just been content with a sex only kinda deal. But it’s not like that had happened either since their talk nothing had happened. But it had been a tough few days, maybe she was simply worn out, he couldn’t blame. Or maybe it was all just meaningless flirting.

“I’m off to bed, thanks for the drink Ben” she suddenly announced standing from her seat beside him, the settler nodded his head to her. She turned to John and bent down.

“Goodnight, Hancock,” she said sweetly before she placed a tender kiss to his cheek. He couldn’t help but turn his head and capture her lips. Just because she made him feel something new, didn’t mean he had forgotten all his moves. She squeaked with surprise at first but kissed him back nonetheless. He pulled away, shooting her his infamous grin.

“You can call me John you know,” he told her and she smiled at him blushing pink.

“Goodnight, John” she replied trying his name out and he smiled like a fool. No one called him that much anymore, but it sounded so sweet coming from her.

“Goodnight, Sunshine” he replied. His whole life he had been running but at that moment he knew, he could never run away from her.

She stood fully and without another word headed off towards the small wooden shack that Ben had offered them for the night. With his mind whirling he took off after her. He closed the door behind him and she looked up from where she was sat on one of the mattresses on the floor. She was going threw her pack, checking out ammo supplies and the like.

“Hey, when you got time, I got something I still need you to hear,” he said as he perched himself in the rickety chair in the corner and pull the slightly smashed packet of cigarettes from his pocket.

“Is everything alright?” she asked suddenly looking a little concerned. God, why did she have to look at him with those big beautiful eyes of hers? He took a breath.

“Oh yeah. Better than that. This is just… tricky” he began. Pushing the cigarette between his lips and lighting it. He offered her one silently and she took both the pack and lighter from him without a word, lighting the cigarette and taking a drag.

He found himself opening up to her again, telling her things only he really knew. Things he hadn’t really told anyone. How he felt inside, not about her but about himself. He needed to know she understood, that she saw him for who he really was. All his self-loathing out in the open, the real John Hancock on full display. How he was just running away, with no real destination in mind. She hadn’t just listened to him spill his guts she had consoled him.

“You may have run, but you always ran for a reason,” she told him with a nod of her head. Hearing her say something like that from her, was like a warm shower, washing away his insecurities, his worries.

“Been trying to convince myself of that for a long time, but hearing that coming from someone like you…. I don’t know if you understand what that means to me,” he said with a smile which she returned. Again he took a breath.

“So, lemme get to the point. Throwing in with you has been the best decision I’ve ever made. It’s like I found a part of myself I never realised was missing…. Which happened sometimes when you’re a Ghoul” there he was joking again, protecting himself.

“If I hadn’t taken up with you, I’d probably be in a gutter somewhere, getting gnawed on by Radroaches. You have been one hell of a friend” He had used that word strategically, he hadn’t forgotten the stolen kiss they had just had but he needed to test the waters.

“Have you ever thought about us as maybe more than just friends?” she said her face serious. Was she testing him too?

“Heh. It that obvious? But come on. You don’t want to wake up to this mug every morning. Never wish that on anyone I cared for.” it was honest, there were no sexual undertones, no joking. He was checking, he knew he could charm the pants off most girls in the Commonwealth but this was more than that, he wanted to check he hadn’t made a mistake.

“Who I fall for is my decision. And I’ve fallen for you” she admitted with a smile and he swallowed hard.

“Wouldn’t expect that kind of lapse in judgement from you. But I guess that works out for me then, doesn’t it?” he joked, mentally he scolded himself he should have told her how he felt. What she meant to him. But she giggled at his joke and he couldn’t help but smile.

“Heh. Moments like this, I know all that karma stuff is bull. Because no one like me should be this lucky.“ he said looking down at the lit cigarette in his hand, the long line of ash waiting to be flicked off.

Her hand entered his peripheral vision and he looked towards her. She had thrown her cigarette away and she was holding her hand out towards him. He threw his cigarette out the hole in the shack wall and took her hand. She pulled him to sit in front of her. Her beautiful eyes staring into his soul.

“Look John, I know you joke to protect yourself. But I’m going to be honest now” she said and he blinked his heart beating out of his chest, she was going to tell him that he meant nothing to her.

“When I said I fallen for you” she began, he knew what was coming”

“I really meant it” she breathed holding his hand a little tighter. He let out a breath he hadn’t know he was holding. She meant it?

“I love you, more than I’ve ever loved anyone before,” she said and he smiled so brightly it hurt his cheeks.

“I love you too, Sunshine,” he said and she smiled.

“But I want to check what that means to you. What I mean is, I don’t one-night stands or friends with benefits. I’m either in all the way or not at all. So what do you say?” she said her voice far less confident than he was used to hearing from her. Had she been having all the same thoughts as him? God, he was a fool.

“You don’t know how happy you make me, saying stuff like that. With you, I’ve found the person I was meant to be with. My missing piece. I don’t want to ever be without you. So you wanna make this thing official?” he asked and she smiled so brightly he could feel the warmth of it.

Without a word, she leant forward and captured his lips in a kiss he wouldn’t ever forget. It was passion-filled but loving, with a swift movement he pushed her back so she was lying, her back on the mattress and he hovered above her. He looked down at her grinning like a teenager, who had just seen his first boob. She giggled before she leant up and captured his lips in another loving kiss.

#john hancock x sole survivor #john hancock x reader #John hancock x female sole survivor #John hancok #john hancock fallout 4 #fallout 4 #fluff #fallout 4 fanfic #mayor hancock #john hancock

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ssserpensortiaaa · 4 years

Text

Explain Yourself

Summary: Remus Lupin had a summer fling, and now Sirius has questions that need to be answered

Warnings: nsfw, swearing, top/bottom discussion, eventual smut, 18+

Pairing: wolfstar

Sirius Black was in deep.

Yes, he’d just lost a game of ‘never have I ever’ quite spectacularly. But it wasn’t that he was stressed about.

It was the way Remus had come in close behind him.

Sure, he wasn’t surprised when Remus drank for ‘never have I ever kissed a guy’. He knew he’d been on more than a few dates to Hogsmeade. That was fine. He knew that.

But never have I ever had a blowjob? The moment had been eclipsed by James’s shriek as Pete proudly threw back several gulps of his butterbeer, but Sirius hadn’t missed the way Remus smiled and took a quiet sip of his own.

Shit. Who?

The next question had been a shot in the dark, but Sirius kept his eyes fixed on Remus as he said it.

‘Never have I ever given a blowjob.’

James protested loudly that you couldn’t say things you had done, but Sirius barely heard as he watched Remus lift his glass slowly to his lips.

Sirius had been so distracted at the thought of Remus on his knees that James had thumped him hard and forced him to take several swigs of his own drink.

‘Right, well if we’re saying things we have done’ James had come out with, grinning, ‘Never have I ever made someone come multiple times in one night.’

Pete sat still. Lily rolled her eyes and groaned something about James being a cocky bastard.

James and Sirius clinked their glasses and threw back a quick gulp, but Remus, Remus actually held Sirius’s gaze for that one as he slowly tipped his head back and drank.

He was almost 100% sure he’d done a horrible job of hiding his reaction. How obvious had he made it that the thought of Remus John Lupin having an orgasm was something that made his eyes slip out of focus?

Either way, Remus just seemed to be amused, and shook his head with a smirk as James demanded answers.

Now, Sirius was sprawled on the sofa torn between letting himself imagine the way Remus would look if he was the one making him come, and trying desperately to figure out who had actually had the pleasure of doing so.

Why had he never mentioned something like that before? Was it during the summer? Did they go to Hogwarts? Who the fuck had touched his Remus?

“Sirius” Lily snapped him out of it, reaching over from her position on the floor and tilting a half empty bottle so the liquid just barely made it into his glass. “Stop frowning like that.”

Sirius protested “I’m not--”

“Okay, okay” James, who was as far gone as anyone, threw his arms out, sloshing fire whiskey over Lily and earning himself a sharp slap on the thigh.

“Who would win in a fight…”

He made a dramatic sweep of the room.

“Sirius or Remus.”

Sirius propped himself up on the arm of the sofa and cocked an eyebrow.

“Well, that’s obvious.”

Glass clicked against the table opposite as Remus plopped his drink down, training his eyes on Sirius.

“Yeah. Me.”

Sirius laughed before he could stop himself. “You don’t really believe that.”

He could definitely throw Remus around, if he wanted. It was an idea he’d given a lot of thought.

Remus cocked his head, swiping his tongue across the corner of his mouth. “I could take you.”

Sirius’ mind flashed to some very pretty images before he dragged it from the gutter. He had to get a grip.

Slowly, he set his own drink down. “Go on then.” He grinned, holding out an arm. “Prove... it.”

The words had barely left his lips before James and Pete were slurring ‘fight fight fight’ and Remus was diving forward onto the sofa and pinning him into the cushions. His warm, beer-flushed body suddenly pressing all over him.

Sirius’s breath caught when Remus’s face appeared just inches above him. He’d somehow got his wrists pinned up above his head and his amber eyes were dancing, taunting as he looked down.

“Sorry, what was that, Black?” Remus grinned.

God, he’d love to kiss that cocky grin right off his face. Did Remus really think he could have some kind of summer fling and come back acting like this?

“Oh, Re.” Sirius shook his head patronisingly.

The rowdy chanting around them was loud enough that his next words were for Remus’s ears only.

“We all know you’re not a top.”

Sirius couldn’t help himself.

He broke free of Remus’s grip in a second, twisting his wrists and pushing up and forward. He hooked his hands under Remus’s knees, flipping him backwards, then squeezing his legs back together and straddling him, pinning him down hard onto the sofa with absolute ease.

Remus’s pink cheeks came into focus first and Sirius realized he had a heavy hand on his clavicle, fingers creeping just a little close to his neck.

“Shit, sorry.” He pulled back quickly but when he studied Remus’s face all he saw were blown pupils and parted lips.

“One to Sirius!” James shouted.

Sirius pulled back, reaching for his fire whiskey and taking a gulp.

Remus sat up next to him, hair ruffled and grinning.

He leaned in so their shoulders bumped together and Sirius could smell the sweet liquor on his breath. “I never said I was a top.”

Sirius could only imagine what his face must have looked like because Remus let out a breathy laugh.

“God, don’t look at me like that, I don’t want to have to explain myself to the others.”

Sirius blinked, letting out a long breath and feeling warm and tipsy in his chest.

“How about you just explain yourself to me then? Later.”

Remus looked at him for a long moment.

“Yeah. Later.”

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kashimos-hajime · 4 years

Text

fragrance | a.h.

summary: Plato said, “The god of love lives in a state of need. It is a need. It is an urge. It is a homeostatic imbalance. Like hunger and thirst, it's almost impossible to stamp out.”

WARNINGS: LMAO SMUT (18+), oral (m!receiving), swearing, drinking, nervous and awkward y/n and hotch heehee pairing: college!aaron hotchner x fem!reader word count: 4.8k

a/n: lmao so i watched a tiktok of THAT SCENE in love and human remains so i am legally obligated to write what inspired me. ok but @venusbarnes,,, it happened,,,

part of the bitter end universe but not required beforehand to read this. takes place in their second year of college

In retrospect, you know you’re freaking out over nothing.

You just showered, changed outfits twice, tried to fix your hair, inspected your makeup constantly since you’ve finished, and tried to figure out a way to call it off to pass the time.

Why are you even worried? Ever since you’ve gotten off the plane, which, in itself, is a step you cannot backtrack since you are merely a college student with limited funds, your knees have been weak and you feel like you don’t really have a stomach.

Why? It’ll be fine.

You’ve been over Aaron for two-and-some-months years, now. The distance did you good, did you both good. Namely, you’re quite damn sure you don’t feel anything for him anymore besides the occasional flicker of irritation, the excited burst in your stomach, the absolute terror of seeing him again.

How has he changed? It feels like it’s been so long.

You glance at the clock.

9:55

You said 10AM. You have five minutes at the most to get yourself together and just run down the staircase, shove yourself into his presence before your nerves can tell you to turn back. Taking a deep breath, you look at your reflection in the mirror one last time before heading to the desk and grabbing your wrist watch. It’s worn down leather is soft to your touch and you feel an overwhelming sense of calm overtake you.

This will be fine.

As you fasten it to your wrist, you glance at the face. Time seems to tick by slower as you pull on your ankle boots, swipe a finger over your lip, and grab your room key. As you descend the cold stairwell, memories grasp at your consciousness, tease you, but you push them away and instead focus on putting on foot in front of the other, focus on gathering the courage to stand in front of him again.

Before you know it, you’re opening the door and walking over to the pacing figure you only know to be your best friend. His hair is still long, but he’s wearing a leather jacket, so that’s new, and he’s frowning to himself.

And it makes you smile, because that’s him. Aaron Hotchner, master frowner, broody boy. His hair is still long, his eyes still so dark. He hasn’t changed.

God, what will you say to make him laugh?

“What’s the deal with the jacket, George?” you say without thinking.

“George? And here I thought I was John,” he replies just as quickly, matching your tone and your entire heart lurches into your throat as your smile grows stiffly.

Crap.

And that’s when you realize that, quite frankly, that convincing yourself that you’re over Aaron Hotchner is going to be a lot harder than it looked at first.

You’re fighting the urge to let the whole facade drop, but you can’t because this is Aaron, your best friend you haven’t seen in forever and although you’re so fucking happy to see him, you know everything is easier said than done.

He’s just your best friend, and you’re… you’re… feeling great. Your stomach is a bundle of nerves but that’s because you’re excited to spend time with him. Right?

“So, where to?” you ask, feeling quite exposed as he looks at you strangely. “I’m starving,” you say, an overwhelming need to explain causing word vomit to spill out of your mouth, “so, I was thinking we could get some breakfast, first. I’m in the mood for anything really.”

“Oh,” he says. “I have a place in mind.”

“O-okay. Lead the way, then. It’s kinda chilly out, isn’t it?”

“Uh, yeah. Do you needa grab another coat?” he asks as you step closer and they begin to walk to the door. He opens it for you and as you slip past him, your entire system shuts down. Your mind heads straight for the gutter, vivid images, voices, feelings from your dream flashing through your head.

Cheap beer, smoke, sweat, and a cologne you can’t forget.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

“N-no. I’m okay. Are you, uhm, are you going to be okay in just that jacket? It looks great, by the way.” Are your hands shaking or is that just the swelling throat and the hard lump in your gut’s fault?

Shit. Holy shit. Shit. Shit. SHIT.

“Thanks, and, uh, no. I’m okay. Are you okay?”

You nod and smile shakily. “Great. It’s just… I’m really glad to see you.”

He stops for a moment, stares as if he knows or maybe you just feel naked in your own skin, and then matches your timid smile. “I’m really happy to see you too.”

Right. What did you say again about nerves?

[TWENTY HOURS EARLIER]

“You guys better behave,” Aaron sighs. “I’m not gonna be responsible if I have to deck Carter.”

“Woah there, Hotch,” his roommate comments, sliding off his bed and slinging an around his shoulders. “You have a girlfriend.”

“We’re on a break, actually.”

“I thought you don’t believe in breaks.”

“Well, we’re just talking things out with the long distance thing. It’s not like when she was in high school. She just needs to adjust to her first year, and we’re still talking. So, it’s more like… an intermission before we resume after mid-terms.”

“So, you’re single.”

“Technically, but I’m also not looking,” he retorts, just in case his roommate tries to set something up behind his back, but the guy merely shrugs.

“Whatever you say, Hotch-o.”

He scowls, getting up and running a hand through his hair before grabbing his jacket off the hook. “I’m just trying to say that Y/N’s been there for me since before you guys and before Haley.”

“I get it,” his roommate, named Earl, says as he flips the collar of his varsity jacket and grabs the room key. “She’s like a sister to you, right?” Aaron doesn’t say anything to that and Earl doesn’t prod him any further as he grabs his backpack and slings it onto his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Hotch. I’ll spread the word to the guys. They won’t try anything.”

“Yeah, thanks, Earl.”

“I’m heading to class, but it’s the bar tonight, right? You’ll pick her up from the airport?”

“Yeah.” The door opens and closes with a click and Aaron lets out a sigh, turning away from the mirror so he can stop pretending he’s trying to fix whatever Earl thought was wrong with his appearance. He just wanted to stay busy so his friend could leave him alone to his messy thoughts.

He had received your last letter on Monday, confirming your flight for the Thanksgiving weekend. You’d be here with him and his friends for three days.

It wasn’t his idea, nor yours. Sort of like… a mutual epistolary understanding that enough is enough and one of them should just… go.

You had volunteered for that. You had always wanted to see Harvard’s gorgeous campus, according to your last letter.

Aaron runs a hand through his hair and sighs. He has one day off to catch up on the work assigned, get ahead of the reading, and just relax before his friends drag him off to hang out until the sun rises for an entire weekend. He’s sure you’ll love it. You’ve always loved staying out at night where it’s light, watching the sunrise and going to sleep to it.

Despite everything, you enjoy the solitude the night, the contemplative silence of it. Just like him.

He can’t wait to see you again.

Sitting in the RA office and watching time tick by, he can’t help but feel like something is chaining him down. A heavy weight sits between his shoulders and he stares at the clock for what feels like a short eternity, unable to focus.

The day is slow in its passing, and a growing, unwanted hollowness begins to fill his soul as he half-heartedly finishes his criminal causation theory assignment, reviews for the quiz on Tuesday, and reads the next chapter on the foundations of the criminal justice system. He doesn’t really pay attention to any of it, though, and he feels like his head is stuffed with cotton as he gets up for the first time in hours and stretches, glancing at the time.

Your plane is supposed to land at 6:30.

It’s 6:00 now, and he was supposed to eat dinner before going to pick you up.

Shit. He’ll just have to eat at the bar.

Gathering his books and papers into his bag, he slings it onto his shoulder, trying to ignore the cold sweat clamming his hands up just as the phone in the RA office rings. It’s so jarring her starts, turning to the device and his heart pounds in his throat as he goes to grab it. Duty to the job means he has to, even if he might be late. You’ll understand, right?

“Hello, Resident Assistant speaking,” he says with a sigh.

“Hey.”

“Y/N?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Student Services was kind enough to reroute me.” A car beeps behind you and he frowns, holding the phone closer to his ear as he adjusts the strap on his shoulder to sit more firmly. “I’m calling from an airport payphone, but bad news. My flight got delayed, so I can’t come to the bar tonight. I’ll be arriving, like, dead in the morning. Two or three AM.”

“Damn. The boys will miss meeting you,” he says, unable to help the unhappy but forced smile. It comes across as a grimace but he hopes you appreciate the effort. It’s what you’d say if you were here.

“The boys?” you echo, amused. “Well then, tell the boys that they’ll have to wait until morning.” More seriously: “I’m really sorry, Aaron. I was so excited to see you tonight.”

“Yeah, me too. It’s—it’s okay. Don’t worry about it, Sunflower.”

“Sunflower?” you repeat and Aaron feels his throat shrink to the diameter of a needle. “You don’t call me that unless you’re genuinely sorry about something bad. Like, death-bad.” Then, a bright laugh that shouldn’t bat away the dreary disposition overcoming him, but it does. “Aaron, it’s not that important—just one night. Look, let’s meet up at 10AM in the hotel lobby tomorrow morning and make up for it, okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Great. See you in a bit, Hopscotch.”

“Bye.”

He heads to his room, your voice echoing in his head. Freshening up with a splash of cold water and a rake of a comb through his hair, he explains the situation to Earl as they head down to the bar near campus where some of the other guys are already drinking.

“That’s too bad. Would’ve been nice to meet her.”

“Tomorrow, Earl. She isn’t cancelling.”

“I know, but y’know, it would’ve been fun to beat her in darts.”

“You’re awful at darts.”

“Bigger opponent pool. C’mon, cheer up, Hotch. It’s just a delayed flight, you said so yourself.” More grumpy silence. “Hey, I know what’ll cheer you up. First shots are on me.”

His cheeks flushed with heat, he grabs at the shot blindly and throws it back, laughing as his friends get on the dance floor. The bar seems to haze before him. The darkness is pierced by blue lights and red as the shadowed patrons swing to and fro on the floor. Everything is gauzy, edges blurred as the lights flicker and filter through the crowd. Aaron slouches against the booth, smirking at the way Earl’s trying to lay the moves on a girl who merely walks away and he flashes a sympathetic thumbs up before his friend simply rejoins the rest of the guys on the floor.

Everyone had chipped in to buy him round after round in order to get him to loosen up, and it’s hard to admit, but it’s worked. Everything is ethereal, and he feels like he’s floating through life.

He wants to dance, but he doesn’t think he can stand on his own two feet, to be honest. His entire world is tipped and the silly smile on his face isn’t going to disappear any time soon as a figure makes her way through the crowd, making her way towards him. It catches his eye, the way she moves around people, keeps her head held up.

He can’t quite see her face but even then, he knows that he knows her.

“What are you doing here?” he asks before he can stop himself, like he isn’t in control of his mouth. He gapes as the woman sits down beside him. Her skin smells like sweet fruit and the sting of tequila as she slings an arm around his neck, and his entire stomach flips as she leans over, her arm bent and her fingers playing with the hair by his ear. “You’re not… you’re not supposed to be here.”

“Why not?” she asks, twirling hair around her finger as she gently trails her other hand down his chest. “You don’t want me here?”

“No, no, I’ve missed you, I just—” Her palm runs lower, over his stomach and further. His head whips towards her and he catches the sweet, dulcet notes of warm vanilla spice shampoo. It calms him, sweet in his sinuses and he watches her indistinguishable face. Despite not seeing quite clearly, he knows she’s beautiful with an unintentionally seductive smile, a tentative charm to her movements.

The hand stops and a heat burns through his chest, following the trail she’d carved into him and he feels blood drain from his head so viciously it leaves him lightheaded.

“Just what?” she asks quietly, yet still so loudly over the pub’s pounding music and he groans softly, head tilting back.

“Shit. I just didn’t expect you here. I should introduce you to my friends—” He wants to get up but finds his entire body moving through molasses. He can barely lift a finger and, through the blurred streams of the conscious and the subconscious, he knows he doesn’t really want to.

He doesn’t want to share.

“Oh, then let’s go.” Her hand lifts but, like a flash of lightning, his fingers wrap around her wrist and keep her firmly against him. “Aaron.” Chastising this time, like he’s a housecat, and she, the exasperated owner. Fingers thread through his hair as he grins at the woman.

“I’m not keen on sharing you right now,” he admits, eyes falling to lips that press into a wondrous smile. “I don’t feel keen on sharing you ever.”

“Is that a fact?” she asks, and he nods, his nose brushing against hers as she leans down to kiss him. Her mouth is warm ecstasy, like cider on a cold winter day that burns through his blood, and his heart is beating everywhere at once—in his throat, in his fingers, between his legs. Fingers card through his hair as his hand finds the curve of a hip and he pulls.

Immediately, as if sensing his intentions before he even thinks it, the woman swings a leg over his hip and straddles him, the dress riding up luxurious thighs and he chuckles to himself as her hands find his neck, thumbs brushing over the sharp cut of his jaw. Her mouth opens against his, breathing into the next ferocious kiss again as his hands trace the shape of her, the swell of her legs, the cool heat of her skin against his burning hands.

“What do you want from me, Aaron?” she whispers, leaning in close enough that he can feel her lips against the shell of his ear, and then down his neck. He gasps, breath catching in his throat as her hands gently squeeze his throat as if reminding him of her previous question but he can’t quite speak. She kisses down past his collarbones, pulls down the neck of his shirt teasingly and peppers kisses to the skin that she can reach. Her fingers are pressing into his pulsepoint, the other hand travelling down his waist again and he knows she can feel it, the hard bulge pressing up between her legs.

She trails back up again, her kisses teasing the corner of his mouth and he turns, trying to catch the elusive minx only to delight in her light laughter when she pulls back.

“Tease,” he mumbles, eyes shut tight and only then do her lips find his again just as fingers pull at his belt buckle and he sucks in a breath as she glances down with him, curiously running her knuckles gently along the curve of it. His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows down his gasp and he hears her chuckle. As if he’s a mere bystander to his own actions, Aaron watches his hands trail up the sides of her and slowly find purchase on her shoulders.

With the gentlest of pressure, he pushes down, and it’s like she melts between his hands, legs sliding, entire body sinking as his legs open wider to welcome her. Her breath is warm as she unzips his jeans, fingers prying his boxers down until they brush against it, pulsing and hard against his abdomen.

“Jesus,” she whispers but he hears it so clearly, her breath teasing the tip as fingers wrap around his dick. A strong, warm tongue follows, from the bottom to the tip, tracing the vein and every single ounce of oxygen leaves his body when she goes down on him, endlessly warm and wet. Hands wrap around what isn’t in her mouth and his fingers find her scalp, grabbing fistfuls of hair as his head hits the wall behind him.

Swallowing tightly, a lopsided smirk crosses his face and he lets out a soft sigh when she tilts her head, takes him in until she’s gagging on it. His hips twitch but a hand against his pelvis stalls him, a firm pressure that makes him open his eyes and look down to see her already staring back at him. Eyes dark, lips shining in what light there is, he nearly loses it right there as she swallows him down, making his entire body clench. His jaw tight, he lets out a hissed moan and the hand not on her head grabs his thigh, trying to stave off the desire to fuck her mouth.

The bass beat of the pub beats in his head as the hand on his hip finds the hand on his thigh, traces the tense veins along the back as her head slowly draws up, teeth grazing, tongue flat against his cock.

And then, down again, heavy breaths against his navel through the nose, and he’s in fucking bliss as the woman just goes on and on, deeper and deeper and when she gags, it almost makes him lose his already ill-tempered control because her fingers dig into the back of his hand, the other one squeezes the base of his cock, and stars explode behind his eyes as he chuckles breathlessly, blindly to the ceiling.

A ringing splinters through his skull as he groans, the need to thrust growing too powerful but she squeezes his hand, telling him to stay still without ever lifting her mouth off his cock. He can hear it, the sounds of her wet mouth rising and falling, sucking and licking and fuck, if he’s not going to come down her throat—

Her tongue drags along the underside of his cock as she pulls away, hollowing out her cheeks and dragging her fingers up his painfully hard erection, through the wet slick her mouth left behind and she pulls herself up, back bending underneath his hand, chest pressed flush against his and he can taste her again; the sweetness of vanilla, the sweat the pub brings all its occupants, the desire that fizzles so wantonly against his tongue.

“Am I still teasing?” she asks, lips brushing against his chin before he’s lifting his head again. Her hands run over his chest, find the planes of his shoulders, the cord of his neck, and he chuckles, squeezing his waist as she climbs into his lap again, sits squarely so that his erection rubs against her stomach. He bites back a groan and her smirk tells him all he needs to know.

“Seeing as you didn’t let me finish…” he trails off, just as humorous and she laughs, mouth ghosting his, and he almost reaches for it before she’s drawing back, always just out of reach. Never his. Never. “C’mere.”

“You’re no fun,” she mutters, but her smile betrays her faux displeasure and as his hands down and under her dress, skirting along the waistband of lacey panties, he chuckles huskily. “I love you, you know that?”

“I know. And do you know how much I want you? How much… how much I need you?” His fingers hook on the waistband and begin to tug just as she cups his face and leans down. His eyes flutter shut and everything seems to melt away as her breath tickles his nose and he grins, pulling down, down, down…

“You could show me, if you’d like…”

Her laughter is the only thing he can hear. Well, that and…

And that ringing—

Holy shit, what is that ringing?

Opening his eyes, there is nothing. Reaching blindly in the darkness, his hand collides with his alarm clock and he slaps the button, turning it off as he groans, turning the digital numbers towards him.

5:45AM

When did he get back? God, his head is pounding, and… he has to get up. Shit. His thoughts are a disorganized mess as he gets up, throwing off the blankets and it’s only then he’s painfully aware that he got… more than excited about his dream.

His dream that’s fading from his memory the longer he’s awake that he can barely remember any of it. Iit was at the bar last night? When did he even get back to the dorm?

Swinging his legs off the bed, he flicks the light on the nightstand, spotting a glass of water with a dissolving alka selzter tablet and a note. Grabbing it, he squints against the light as he reads the messy, uneven scrawl.

Stayed by your side all night because you sulked and got hammered. Like blackout drunk. Even outdrank me, buddy, which is fuckin impressive.

Wake me up for breakfast. I’m drunk.

Goodnight. And you’re welcome.

-E

Shaking his head, he downs the water despite how much his head throbs at the movement before he gets up and awkwardly palms the front of his boxers, trying to ignore how much it physically hurts that he’s not doing anything about it.

He needs to shower and take care of this.

Grabbing new clothes, Aaron glances at his snoring roommate and curses his routine of waking up so damn early. He collects his toiletries, and as he heads for the shower, he tries to think back on his dream, but it’s dissipating quicker by the second.

It was definitely at the bar, he thinks. Something about… he doesn’t know but something smelled and tasted sweet. What was I even doing at the bar?

Well, by the erection against his thigh, it’s safe to assume what he was dreaming about.

The question is more about the who.

Your eyes fly open and you lurch up on your bed.

Your whole body is burning as the remaining wisps of your dream begin to fade and you glance around yourself, disoriented. You could’ve sworn you weren’t in your bedroom for a second, but as you glance around, you know you are. You’re no longer in that dark place with blue lights that swung, figures blurry. That someone who was crouched in front of you, you think, is gone and his hands which had pulled your legs apart with gentle hesitation hadn’t left scorch marks, but they might as well have.

The sensation still lingers.

God, it feels like you haven’t slept a wink and as you slowly wake, your body rebooting, you become more filled with dread. Sighing heavily, you rub at your eyes and touch your cheeks, trying to remember what you did before sleeping.

I showered, went straight to bed. Didn’t go out… then… What’s happening? What was I even dreaming about?

It’s only then you become acutely aware of between your legs. The soaked, uncomfortable sensation, the strange tightness of your thighs.

Holy fuck. And about who?

Running a hand over the cold sheets, you shiver and get up, grabbing the unopened complimentary mini bottle of water you’d gotten from the plane from your bag.

As soon as you take one sip, you’re chugging it down, trying to alleviate the sweat gathering at the nape of your neck, slipping down your back. You feel oily and strangely empty, your heart racing as you toss the empty plastic into the trash can and head back towards the bed, reaching blindly for the light switch. Turning it on, you glance at the clock. 5:47 in the morning.

Charming.

In less than five hours, you’ll have to be heading down to the lobby and facing your best friend.

Why does that thought suddenly fill you with a terrible concoction of nerves, nausea, and cold shivers?

Trying to grasp the last remnants of your dream, you head for the bathroom to splash some water on your face and change your underwear, too bone-dead tired to even think about showering. Then, you head back to bed to try to get some sleep, but the heat seems to be more than skin-deep because despite the amount of splashing and patting of freezing water against an exhausted face, a terrible, sinking feeling twists your gut, making your knees weak.

What on Earth were you even dreaming about? You can’t even remember now except you feel utterly exhausted in the wake of it and the only hint of the content is the slick between your thighs.

Your sleep-addled brain eventually convinces any part of you still awake to just try to sleep, and as you slip into the covers, the faint but entirely unique scent of cologne, beer and smoke clings to your senses.

[THE PRESENT]

Really, it should be okay.

The hotel isn’t too sketchy, the lobby smells vaguely of lavender and cinnamon from one of those bath shop candles, and he shouldn’t be worried.

Why is he worried? His guts have been in knots since he’s woken up, his head feels like it's been dunked in water for hours and everything is swimming as he sits in the lobby, his palms sweating. Maybe it’s the hangover, but it feels heavier than that. Yes, his head is hammering, but there’s a strange upset in his gut, too.

Must’ve been something about that dream he can’t quite place. Just thinking about it makes his head beat even harder.

But, you had said ten o’clock.

Ten o’clock.

He looks at his wrist watch.

9:57

Time seems to be passing so slowly that he’s not sure the seconds even tick by as his knee begins to jiggle, his hands run flat against his jeans. When he can’t take the nervous ticking inside his chest, he gets up to pace, eyes darting to the staircase where you’d be coming down from.

Is he nervous about seeing you or excited? Is it both? Neither? Something else?

Aaron thinks he’s going to throw up. What if it’s awkward? After all, years between the last visit and now—in the summer, somehow they always just miss each other or there’s money problems or some other plan—things are bound to change.

It’s nerves. It has to be.

The door opens and he turns around to see you there, walking over to him with a dark jacket over a green shirt. It clashes wonderfully and you’re smiling like the sun lives in your heart and you’re smiling at him.

“What’s the deal with the jacket, George?” you tease, gesturing to his leather jacket.

“George?” he repeats easily, too easily. An overwhelming flood in his chest and you arch an eyebrow, grinning still, and it’s like no time has passed at all. “And here I thought I was John.” Your smile only grows and he feels like he can’t breathe and that’s when he knows he’s fucked.

As you adjust your own jacket, compliment him on his, and ask where he wants to go for breakfast, Aaron can’t help the terrible ache in his chest.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Shit.

He opens the door and you walk by, the smell of shampoo invading his entire space and he reels back, blinking. His breath hitches, his entire body stiffens.

Warm vanilla spice.

Oh, shit.

a/n: so, uh, sex dreams for the win? to be decided ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) dont forget to reblog if u liked loves ❤️

TAGS: @withyoutilltheendofthismess @thebriarpatch @joemazzello-imagines @thisiscalm-andits-doctor @sera-wonderland @pity-mee @duvetsandpillows @roses-and-grasses @stainedpomegranatelips @angelsbabey @sansonnette @xxlovingfandomsxx @rachelxwayne @kingandrear @simsvetements @emery--nicole--morrison @genevievedarcygranger @mooneylupinblack @sercyan @forgottenword

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marireadshellblazer · 4 years

Text

Hellblazer Issue #9

Beinveneu, Power Bottoms!

The issue starts off once again hammering home the kind of world John lives in. Glimpses like this of what everyday life is like in John's world are so important for world building. We aren't simply being told the place is bad, we are seeing example after example of problems that are inescapable in his environment. Homelessness, prostitution, domestic violence, murder, etc in all it’s gory and disturbing glory. John walks by all this, not getting involved, meaning that this is at least somewhat normal for him. Yet, it still disturbs him; he isn't really numb to all the chaos and darkness around him. He isn't some hardened "badass" who fears nothing. He understands perfectly well that this isn't ok, but good or bad this is still normal in his world. And I think that he feels powerless to do anything about it.

It could also be that seeing these things all around him has to do with his depressive state. That is, the bad parts of society are so obvious to him because that is what he is choosing to focus on. He sees himself as down in the gutter with this dark side of society. I’m not saying this is all in his head or anything, but I think that his feeling that the world is coming down around him inside is reflective of how he is looking at the outside world. In issues like this one John is largely in his own head. Therefore, the world around him naturally reflects his perspective as opposed to what it is/might be like in reality. When you’re sad the world can feel like it’s rushing on around you, happy and oblivious to sorrow, which gives a heightened sense of loneliness. When you’re worried or anxious, time may seem to be either too fast or too slow, and over sensitivity may make the people around you seem rude, or again oblivious, to the problem even if it’s so obvious to you personally. In John’s case, his guilt and feelings of uselessness and failure cause him to hyper focus on the things that degrade the world around him; the literal destruction in the world around him. This destruction and darkness just keeps pulling him in further, victimizing him the way he victimized the people in his life. The humanoid figures chasing him and the oil trying to claw at him are manifestations of how his mind is further falling into depression and self-loathing. His attention keeps going back to the wreaking ball taking out chunks of a brick building nearby, which reflects how the stress and anguish he feels is taking out chunks of him inside. The pain is eroding his hard outer shell that allows for him to keep it together in the face of danger and madness.

In my opinion, issues where John is our narrator, waxing poetic, are some of the best ones. I just love it. But for the life of me, I’m not able to really explain exactly why.

Happy birthday, indeed.

One thing that, according to what I have read, makes Hellblazer stand out as a comic is that it doesn't really engage in "comic book time"; that is, unlike most comics or shows like Pokémon, the main character isn't 10 years old the entire series. John actually ages in real time. In this chapter, he turns 35, and a few issues later, 5 years after this issue came out, John turned 40. By the end of the series he is getting up close to 60. So, fun little trivia piece there.

All the stress, guilt, and just the everyday gloom have caught up to John on what I imagine is not a happy holiday for him. Poor John.

Beautiful, John. Just lovely.

Be careful what you wish for, hun.

As far as I can tell, I think the D.T. the man is referring to is delirium tremens, which is a symptom of alcohol withdrawal. I agree, not something you want.

I love that in John’s periods of overwhelming self-pity and self-loathing he becomes quite the poet. Honestly, this issue as a whole is really well written.

Also, he manages to light himself on fire. Oh John…

I’m pretty sure this is a reference to a novel by Richard Fariña.

The scene where John pulls himself back together is just awesome. It’s like that hard outer shell is shaking him like “get it together!!” I just love it.

Something that stood out to me is that the wreaking ball comes in and destroys the couch he had been sitting on after his conversation with himself. He leaves the spot where he was ready to just give in and it’s taken out by the wreaking ball that had been serving as a metaphor for his self-hate the whole issue. He destroys the idea of giving up and just letting things go. Things like this are a great reminder of why I love comics. Imagery like this, even though it can be done through written word, hits different when the imagery is presented through art.

Oh man…Zed. Back in the fold. John really does represent freedom for her. I just feel so bad for her. Her situation is terrible, and she knows that running away will only make things worse and, in the end, unless she’s dead there’s no escape. Cults are scary. I’m glad that they have this understanding despite her insistence on staying. There is a kind of love and trust there. Which John then promptly betrays. I do like their relationship and I wish she could have been around a bit longer.

Their scene together is really a beautiful moment. There’s sadness, there’s passion, and it ends with John realizing that he’s once again gone through with yet another betrayal.

Swamp Thing showing up totally changes the tone. Just wham! And now for something completely different!

Dick move taking over his ciggs. Like dude, those are expensive.

I love this issue. All around good time.

I’m feeling this on a spiritual level rn

#Issue 9 #reading #thoughts #Hellblazer

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thesightstoshowyou · 4 years

Text

Hurt Me

John Ryder (The Hitcher 2007) x F Reader (NSFW)

Summary: Your car breaks down along a deserted stretch of road. The man that stops to pick you up might be the best or worst thing to ever happen to you.

There is a disturbing lack of content for this man and I intend to remedy that.

Warnings: Dubcon, masochistic reader, mention of family death, knife play, blood play, fear play, fingering, slapping, violence, blood, creampie

Smoke billows from under the hood of your 1999 Piece of Garbage Accord. You curse under your breath, hitting the steering wheel with your palms as though that will stop the inevitable death of the engine. With a final, guttering sigh, the car rolls to a stop along the endless stretch of New Mexican highway.

Stupid fucking car.

You’d done as the signs had instructed. You hadn’t run the air conditioning all day, instead leaving the windows down so miserably hot, desert air could blow your hair into a rat’s nest. Still, your shitty car had decided to die anyway.

After banging your head against the steering wheel for a solid minute, you pop the hood and slip out of the car. You stare at the innards of your smoking vehicle, wondering why the hell you’re even bothering. You know nothing about cars. You don’t even know what’s wrong let alone how to fix it.

The sun had set about two hours ago, and the heat had gone with it. The thick layer of sweat that had accumulated over your entire body like a slimy shell is now chilling you to the bone, your thin jacket doing little to keep you warm. A breeze picks up too, making you shiver and hunch down further in your coat.

Scrubbing a hand down your face, you walk to the yellow line along the side of the highway, looking despairingly back and forth. You are alone, the rushing of wind and chirping of crickets the only sound. You’d maybe only seen about three cars all day and even if someone drove by, the likelihood they would stop to pick you up is minimal. No one picks up hitchhikers anymore.

Your cell phone had croaked last week and you had yet to acquire enough funds to replace it. So, your options are to walk until you find a gas station or wait in your car for…for what? A miracle?

Decision made for you, you retrieve your keys and wallet and head east. You can’t remember what the last sign had said about the next service station, but you have a sneaking suspicion it is much farther than you’re comfortable walking. You wore the wrong shoes for this.

Hours passed and you’re still plodding along down the road. Your hips and knees ache and your shoes have rubbed your ankles raw. You’re just beginning to hope a pack of coyotes will come and kill you when you hear it; the rumbling of an engine careening down the road toward you.

You twist around and see a set of headlights approaching quickly. You wave your arms and try to look as distressed as you can. Please, please, please stop….

The car slows. You can feel the noisy roar of the engine vibrating in your own chest. A black Trans Am rolls to a stop ahead of you.

“Jesus, thank you, thank you,” you repeat, running to the open window. Bending to peek inside you find a lone middle-aged man, caramel colored hair trimmed short, copious stubble peppering a strong jaw. He flashes you a disarming smile, white teeth almost abnormally straight.

“You okay? Was that your car I saw back there?” he asks, voice deep and smooth like bourbon. Your eyes flick to the wedding ring on his finger. If he’s married that might cut down on the chance of him being a murderer.

“Yeah, the old bitch died on me.” The man chuckles and you can’t help the smile that pulls at your lips.

“Hop in, I’ll take you to the next gas station.” He seems nice enough, but that’s how they get you, isn’t it? But what choice did you have? Keep walking until your feet bleed or until you freeze to death? What are the odds he’ll hurt you, anyway?

“Thank you so much, I really appreciate it.” You slip into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut. The engine roars and you’re off, speeding down the road at a speed you’re not entirely comfortable with. You’re loath to say anything, though, lest you lose your ride. You buckle your seatbelt instead.

“I’m John,” he says, quickly throwing another charming smile your way before turning his eyes back to the road. You tell him your name and fight the blush creeping across your cheeks. He’s handsome, no denying that, but something feels a bit off. It’s his eyes. They’d looked…empty. The smile hadn’t reached them.

It’s warm in the cab, much warmer than outside. You slip out of your jacket, John unabashedly watching as you do. Married, you’re married, dude….

“Where you headed?” he asks, fiddling with the stereo. Some sappy love song croons through the speakers. John switches it off, instead letting the hum of the engine fill the car.

“Amarillo. My, uh…my aunt passed. Her funeral’s tomorrow.”

“Oh, sorry to hear.”

“Thanks. How about you?” You’re anxious to change the subject before you recall too much of the conversation with your mother you’d had earlier in the week. John hums in thought at your question.

“Wherever I end up.” You find that answer odd. What about the wedding ring? Doesn’t he have a wife?

“No one…no one to get home to?” you inquire, unease beginning to settle in your belly. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches you glancing at his ring. His lips twitch up in a smirk.

“No.”

“Oh,” is all you can come up with. You swallow, regretting your decision to get in this car. So, he doesn’t have a wife? Or something happened to her? You don’t understand, but you’re afraid to ask, afraid to know the answer.

Glancing at the passenger side door, you find there is no door handle. Your heart stutters. There’s no visible lock either. John must notice because he chuckles again, low and dark.

You shriek when he slams on the breaks, your seatbelt catching you hard in the chest but saving you from smashing into the dash. John cranks the wheel, whipping the car onto a dirt side road. Your nails dig into the seat as the car thunders down the uneven path before skidding to a stop.

There’s nothing around you but an endless stretch of moonlight desert, no one around for miles and miles. No one to save you. You’re alone, completely alone with this man. Get out, run.

You scrabble at your seatbelt but as soon as it slips off your shoulder there’s a click to your left. You freeze when cool steel meets your throat. A knife. You release a tremulous exhale through your nose and settle back into your seat, your heart slamming against your ribs so loud you think he can probably hear it.

“Good girl,” John purrs, killing the engine and unbuckling his own seat belt. The sudden silence is unnerving, no noise around you but for your shallow breaths. He reaches under his seat and pulls the lever, sliding the seat back as far as it can go. “C’mere,” he says, spreading his legs and patting his thigh.

You stare at him fearfully, eyes wide. You can’t believe this is happening, can’t believe your shit luck. Out of all the people in this entire state to pick you up, it had to be this psycho.

You hiss when he presses the knife into your skin just hard enough to prick and draw blood. It’s a warning. As scarlet trickles down past the collar of your shirt, you suppress the shiver the stinging pain brings, clench your thighs to stop the pleasure that zings up between them. Not now. That is the last thing you need.

Sweat beading along your brow, you clamber over the center console to straddle his legs and settle into his lap. That smile is back, friendly, pleasant but for his eyes. His eyes are dead, empty as he drags them down your figure. You quickly look away, not wanting him to see the flush in your cheeks.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch John’s eyes narrow curiously. Knife still pressed against your flesh, he grips your chin with his free hand, turning your head until you’re looking at him again. You tremble in his grip, two parts terrified of him, one part fearful he’s going to discover your little secret.

He knows something is up. You can see it in the way his eyes study your rosy cheeks and heaving chest. Leisurely, he drags the knife lightly down your sternum, between your breasts, past your waist before lifting the hem of your shirt with the blade. You squeak when he exposes your bra before stuffing the edge of your shirt in your mouth.

“Hold that,” he orders before turning his attention to your abdomen. In a flash he cuts you, blade slicing horizontally through your flesh, deep crimson spilling down your stomach and soaking into your jeans. As hot, sharp pain morphs into sticky pleasure, your muffled scream tapers off into a warbly moan. You flush a dark red, hating yourself for allowing that noise to escape you.

“Interesting,” he murmurs before ripping your shirt from your mouth, sawing through the fabric and tearing it away from your body. You screech and thrash, falling still when the knife returns to your neck. The metallic scent of your blood fills the cab, sharp and pungent in your nose.

Once again, blade meets flesh and John carves a sloppy line under your collar bone. You grunt and try your best to stifle the mewl that slips off your tongue, but he hears it anyway. John lets out a breathy laugh, smearing the blood leaking from the newest slash up your neck with the palm of his hand.

“Never seen that before,” he comments, more to himself than you. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, your bottom lip quivering under his bloody thumb when he caresses the skin. He continues, speaking directly to you now, “You like it.”

You shake your head, another scream ripping from your throat when he traces a rib with the blade, splitting your flesh open until you’re leaking crimson. You can’t mask the shaky moan, the “Please,” that sneaks from your mouth and you hang your head in shame. Between your thighs, you’re burning, soaking your underwear, quivering and needy. Desperate for friction, you grind down into his lap, pulling a startled grunt from him.

“Fuck,” John mutters, fisting a hand in your hair and yanking your head back, latching onto your neck and dragging his tongue through the blood smeared across your skin. He bites you under the jaw, hard, probably hard enough to break the skin. You whine and arch into his mouth, hand flying to the window to brace yourself.

“How far have you taken this?” he asks, tilting your head back down until you’re looking into his dead eyes. There’s a spark there now, curiosity and a little heat. You release a haggard breath and shake your head to calm your racing thoughts.

“U-um, I…have—haven’t, really,” you stammer. Why are you telling him this? John’s eyes narrow. He’s connecting the dots.

“No one knows,” he says, mouth splitting into a grin, “Do they?” It isn’t a question. He can read you like a fucking book. He groans under his breath when you look away, blinking away the tears pooling along your bottom lid.

“It’ll be our secret,” he murmurs, tapping the flat of the knife against your lips. He releases your hair, fingers going to the button of your shorts and snapping them open. You tense and whimper when he pushes his hand inside to drag his fingers along your drenched slit.

“Fucking Christ,” he exclaims, pulling his hand from your panties and forcing you to look at your slick coating his fingers. He meets your heavy-lidded gaze and sucks the wet digits into his mouth. You inhale sharply, biting the inside of your cheek.

His hand returns to your underwear and he pushes two fingers past your folds, curling them delightfully. You keen, hips bucking into his hand when he massages that tender spot within you. His other hand goes to your hip, urging the roll of your hips.

“Fuck yourself, good, like that,” he instructs, hand leaving your hip to slip the knife under your ear. You can help the pleased little noises that escape you as you grind down onto his fingers. Delicious heat curls in your gut and, deliriously, you wonder how many shades of fucked up you are to be enjoying this.

“You want me to hurt you?” John asks, pulling your face down until your lips are inches from his own. You pant, only hesitating a moment before you nod. “Ask me,” he says through gritted teeth, huffing quietly when your wet cunt squelches around his fingers.

“P-Please…please h-hurt me, John,” you whisper. Christ, what if he kills you? Had you just signed your own death certificate?

“Polite,” John comments. Lightning fast, he twists and sinks the blade into the hand you have splayed out on the center console. You scream, tensing, riding out the putrid agony as it immobilizes your arm and groaning noisily as the pain is slowly replaced with feverish pleasure. You clench around the fingers inside you, feeling the heat curling into tight pressure.

“Jesus, you’re gonna cum, aren’t you?” He sounds shocked and almost…excited. You don’t hear what he says next as that pressure within you implodes, shock waves wracking your core. You sob, bowing forward as your hips twitch through mind-numbing climax.

John gives you no time to come down from your high. He rips the knife from you hand, pulling another shriek of pain from your throat. You cradle your mangled palm to your chest as he throws the car door open.

He shoves you hard and you tumble out the door with a muffled cry, sprawling on your ass in the dirt. John quickly follows, digging a hand in your hair and hauling you to your feet with the other hand under your armpit. Half shoving, half dragging, he forces you to the front of the car and shoves you down over the hood. The metal is still warm under your uninjured palm as you brace for the inevitable. Your heart races in your chest and you know you would beg for it if he wanted you to.

John rips your shorts off your hips. You hear the hasty slide of his zipper and the rustle of clothing and then you feel him at your entrance, hot and hard. One forceful thrust and he buries his cock completely within you.

You shout, the sweet ache of such a sudden intrusion making your stomach muscles clench. John wastes no time in hammering you into the hood of his car, heedless of any pain you might be feeling. He’s trying to hurt you, after all.

“Fuck, that’s tight,” John groans, using the hand in your hair to wrench your neck back painfully, too far. Your grunts of pain turn high and girlish, every brutal snap of his hips making the line between pleasure and pain blur until you can’t tell which is which anymore.

Drool and tears spill from you face onto the golden wings of the Firebird beneath your palms. You feel John’s fingers sneaking up your waist. He digs his nails into the gash on your ribs and your scream echoes across the quiet desert. Your vision narrows to pinpoints and your head lolls, falling against the hood with a quiet thud.

“No, not yet,” John growls, pulling out of you and flipping you onto your back. He slaps you across the cheek and your eyes snap open. You blink wildly, trying to orient yourself, but he’s already throwing your legs over his shoulder and lining up again.

“Look at me,” he orders, gripping your jaw and forcing your gaze to his. You see stars when he fucks into you, pitiful whimpers spilling from your parted lips.

“Yeah, yes, please, John, please, god, god, oh god—

You’re speaking, you think, but you’re not sure what you’re saying. Maybe you cum again, but the pain is finally starting to win out, your torso and hand throbbing in time with your fluttering heart. You’re dizzy, the Earth lurching horribly when you turn your head. You’ve lost too much blood you think, or maybe you’re still reeling from the orgasm.

Finally, John’s hips meet yours with one final, harsh thrust. Distantly, you hear him moan your name, feel the warmth in your cunt as he paints it white. Your eyelids droop and you reach out to clumsily pat his forearm.

John drops your legs. Without him to hold you up, you slip off the hood, landing in the dirt a second time with a grunt. You shiver, the ground cold against your bare skin. Cold, and so, so tired….

You awake to bright, piercing light behind your eyelids. You blink, scrunching your eyes. There’s an IV pole above you, bags dripping into a pump. You follow the line down to your arm. Scratchy hospital sheets grate against your legs, the stiff gown sagging down your shoulder. You ache in so many places, the deepest of which is between your legs.

“Officer, she’s awake!” Blearily, you look up as two cops enter the room. They look uncomfortable, glancing to one another, silently deciding who will speak first.

Memory hits you like a punch in the gut. John. He hadn’t killed you after all. What happened after you passed out?

The officers kindly explain you were assaulted and dumped, bloody and half-dead behind a motel along the highway. They ask if you remember anything. You tell them the wrong make and model of vehicle. You say you were unconscious the rest of the time. You don’t remember.

“Nothing at all?” You shake your head. They ask a few more questions, none of which you answer with anything useful. Once you’re alone again, you lift up the gown to inspect the stiches on your abdomen, gently tracing the wound along your ribs. You flinch when it stings and a small smile creeps across your face.

#john ryder #john ryder x reader #the hitcher #the hitcher 2007 #n sfw #dubcon #masochistic reader #reader insert #slasher fandom #slasher x reader #blood #violence #my writing #family member death

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jjpope · 4 years

Note

Can u imagine jjpope after school and being domestic in college??? AGHHHHHHHHH plss u got any headcannons??

love you KNOW I do!!!!!! Have this super unorganised mess of thoughts !!!

jj works hard and gets a job in the area of pope’s college and they move into a tiny, super shitty apartment together. it’s located above a very old laundromat and sometimes the weird noise that comes from the pipes sounds a little bit like the ocean. jj has to fix the sink every 2 weeks but they really love the place.

because jj has that sort of complex where he always feels like a burden to others, he insists on sleeping on the couch or on the floor next to the bed, but he eventually moves up into the bed after a number of luke and john b related nightmares and coincidentally figuring out that he sleeps a ton better with pope in reach. pope likes to sleep in, so jj is the one who wakes up early to make them breakfast, because pope has been teaching him and he likes to practice and show off what he makes. always expectantly waits for pope to take the first bite. pope loves when jj wakes up late because he’ll be all soft and drowsy and touchy.

jj keeps the gun. he buys a little safe and stashes the gun and some cash and other things inside, and pope lets him because he knows it makes him feel safe. pope falls asleep studying in the weirdest places. They have a super tiny balcony/fire escape that pope fills with all the plants kie makes them buy every time she visits, and he and jj sit out there almost every evening and smoke and make out because pope likes the air and jj likes the quiet.

pope hangs up notes from his classes all over the apartment, like he’s putting his brain everywhere so they can live in tandem. jj collects weird stuff, like a crow. he’ll be wearing a new ring, pope will run his fingers over it when they’re soft in bed, and jj will tell him he found it in a gutter. He picks up a lot of stuff off the street as well, furniture and stuff for the apartment.

pope texts jj pictures of dogs he sees on his way to campus every morning. pope is very happy to find out that in the privacy of their own home jj becomes more comfortable with touching, and holding, especially when he’s high.

they want a pet but they aren’t in a place where they cat get a big dog or anything so pope gets them a fish, who he names fish b or something. In honour of John b. pope stares at fish b a lot when he’s high. jj feeds a stray cat that lives outside their apartment block and gets involved in the local shelter.

pope watches weird crime shows on his laptop late at night and tells jj about them in the morning over breakfast because he always falls asleep early, head on pope’s chest. they often hold hands over the table when they eat, or when pope is studying and jj is trying to keep himself busy, drawing all over the table with the other hand.

at some point jj starts picking pope up from campus and walking home with him hand-in hand. pope will tell him about his classes that day and jj will ask about a recipe he wants to try, and they’ll stand out because pope is decked out in a backpack and a pair of flip-flops and jj has yet to buy a third t-shirt, and is that pope’s shirt anyways? but they feel safe, for the most part, and content as themselves.

#lmfaooo this is so long sorry #anon #jjpope #mayward #obx

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theonetheycallhannah · 4 years

Text

The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Chapter Eight: Heat/Ice

Pairing: Captain “Sy” Syverson x OFC (Shane Benton)

Summary: Playing hooky leads to more delicious food (Sy cooks! Swoon!), some deep conversation, and new revelations about Shane’s past.

What? You’re behind? Don’t worry! CLICK ME to catch up before reading this chapter!

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Language, mature themes, more food sluttiness, shameless nerd speak, unfettered and shameless sappiness.

Author’s Note: So, guys, I’m sorry. I really wanted to get this chapter to you Sunday. Life has just been a bit disheartening of late. Between being upset over some personal turmoil some friends are going through (two of my oldest friends are getting a divorce!) and coming home from work utterly exhausted on all possible levels, it’s been hard to write about lovey dovey things. As I said in my recent reblog of my masterlist, though, I’m working on some prologues, one for each character. I don’t plan on them being terribly long, but I want you guys to have some more back story.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism.

Tags:

@onlyhenrys

@cavillryarchive

@summersong69

@titty-teetee

@bloodyinspiredfuck

@agniavateira

@oddsnendsfanfics

@omgkatinka

@thisismysecretthirstblog

@misslaland

@speakerforthedead0

@tumblnewby

@suavechops

Hope I’m not forgetting anyone! If you want to be notified when I post a new chapter or work, I’ll be happy to add you to my tag list! Stricken blogs are getting personal messages from me when a new chapter is uploaded because Tumblr’s faulty tagging system will not stand in the way of me delivering what the people want!(?) lol! (Although…their lackadaisical notification system might…sorry for that. I have no control. lol!)

It was hard to feel guilty for calling out of work for the afternoon under false pretenses when she was curled up on the sectional in Sy’s “nerd lair” with his head in her lap as they watched John Wick on the massive TV he had down there.

“You mean to tell me we watched the entire Bourne franchise upstairs on that…that iPod Touch, by comparison, when we could have watched down here on this majestic monolith!? In what is essentially a theater!?” She’d asked immediately, derailing the grand tour of the museum of things she would soon find amazing.

“Hey, I haven’t been coming down here a whole lot since I hurt my knee. Stairs haven't exactly been easy or, ya know, possible. I had my gaming computer down here for weeks, too, couldn't do a damn thing about it, because I didn't trust a'one of my buddies or my neighbors to haul her up the stairs for me. Leia's a custom machine worth thousands a' dollars. If she's getting' broke, it's all gonna be on me."

"You named your gaming computer? Leia?" So many emotions were flooding her. Adoration, sympathy, lust, and just a sheer need to squeeze the bejeezus out of him.

"Yeah, it's a common thing. And…not to be that guy, but…you do know who Leia is, right?

"If by Leia, you mean Leia Organa, Princess of Alderaan, true daughter of Darth Vader, adopted by Bail Organa at birth, sister of Luke Skywalker, hero of the Rebellion against the Empire?"

"Hey, I thought you wanted to take things slow, sunshine." he pulled her close, flush with his body. "Then you go talkin' all sexy to me like that." he lingered at her cheek with light kisses.

"Well, you did the same with your baseball talk the other night." she moaned into the contact with relish.

"I can't help it if certain sports terms have made their way into everyday speech. Your…exposition there, about my boyhood crush was intentional."

"You had a crush on Leia?" he nodded, shyly. "I had a crush on Han! Heck with Cap and Widow, THERE'S our couple's costume for next Halloween!" she said, excitedly!

"Oh, I didn't know you were talking about costumes for public use." he said, a naughty smirk in his eye.

"Stop it, you. Finish your tour. I want that soup on the stove." she said, patting her tummy.

He showed her the various memorabilia he'd procured over the years. Posters from a few of her favorites, and a few others that she recognized but wasn't as excited about. Die Cast models of several famous film vessels and vehicles, and a "life size" LEGO R2-D2 which would have had her salivating even if she hadn't been hungry. Apparently it took him almost a month to assemble the droid, but he did it all by himself.

"Aww…I wish I could have helped." she lamented.

"Maybe I'll pick up the Death Star and we can do that one together."

She nodded excitedly, eyes wide, rubbing her hands together in front of her chin with greed.

"Okay, little mouse." he chuckled. "Let's fill that belly and start this movie."

They filled massive bowls with generous portions and took the crackers down stairs so they could start the marathon. If they wanted to get through all three films tonight, they'd best get started.

They were both fairly quick eaters out of habit given her often truncated lunch breaks and his typical ten minutes in the mess hall. Even savoring the delicious creamy, cheesy concoction, as she tried to do, it was hard to slow down on. It did give her something to focus on during the first, emotionally devastating part of the film though. Once she finished, she expressed a final groan of delight and thanked Sy, kissing him on his cheek as she held the other. She felt the smile bloom across his face as she prolonged the contact.

They were about halfway through the movie, a big fight scene in a night club, when something dark and grim hit Shane in the chest. Watching Keanu Reeves pretend to beat up and kill all of these actors and stunt men, it occurred to her that the man with his head resting gently on her lap, long body taking up the rest of that side of the sectional, had fought and killed. The man letting her play her fingers through his hair and beard had shot and blown up people. He was told to do it. Ordered to do it. But even though he was doing it lawfully and by military order, as far as she knew, it was still his job…at least some of the time. She knew that was an oversimplification of the function of the armed forces, but…sometimes, it was an apt description.

She had never thought of Sy like that before. Someone other than the strong but gentle teddy bear that had come to be such a comforting presence in her life. She needed that, after all she'd been through…she tried not to think about the hurt of her last relationship. She hadn't discussed it with Sy. It was history. Ancient history. But she was, after all, a believer in the fact that those who knew nothing of the past were doomed to repeat it. She'd tell him…one day. Everything that Elliott had done to her…had put her through. But not tonight. Suddenly, she thought being on the arm of a soldier, someone who'd lived the kind of life that Captain Logan Syverson had lived, might make her feel more safe than she had in ages.

"You're awful quiet, sunshine." he said, cracking a beer open and handing it to her before doing the same for himself and sitting down with his thick arm around her.

"Just…trying to be respectful of the movie experience. You know." she smirked at him as the menu music to the second movie played.

"It ain't that. I know this is still new, what we're doin', but I've watched enough movies with ya over the last few weeks to know that you don't keep quiet for a full length feature." Shane worried the tab on her cold Miller Lite. She wasn't sure how to bring this forward. "Spill it, sweetheart. What's eatin' ya?"

"What…what do you think about when you're watching movies like this, Sy?"

"Guess, same as anybody. How awesome the fighting and driving is. Wondering when Keanu got to be a badass. And if there's really an underground society of assassins. Why, hon?"

"I, umm, I only wondered if it…it doesn't make you miss…your job?"

The smile he gave her was both bemused and amused. "Come 'ere." he prompted her to lean her head into him, and sat his beer down on the buffet behind the couch so he could better hold her. "Do we need to go over the function of a captain of the Army of These United States? Because as flattered as I am that you think so highly of me, I'm no John Wick, nor do I know anyone like John Wick. Or five guys that would make one John Wick. Ten guys. Maybe twenty."

"The fighting doesn't bring anything back?" she smoothed the creases in his shorts as she tried not to act like she was over thinking his past.

"That fightin’s…it's like dancing. It's choreographed, precise, and the outcome is predetermined. Real fights are the exact opposite. They're chaos, unpredictable, and the right guys don't always win. Trust me, I've seen a lot of them go south in a big way." they both let a moment of silence pass before Sy broke it. "What’re ya really askin’, Shane?"

She wanted to ask so many things. The questions seemed to clog the ventricles of her brain like leaves in a rain gutter. Bottlenecked traffic.

"I just…couldn't help but think…about things you must have had to do when…when you were active, and I just…if you need to talk about anything, I'm here." She imagined that taking someone's life, no matter how personal or impersonal the act itself seemed on the surface, would create some level of emotional scarring.

“Oh, sweetheart." he kissed the top of her head, making her feel as warm and cozy as the soup had…perhaps more so. "You are important to me for so many reasons. You've shown me how to smile again. Laugh. Real, genuine happiness. No sarcastic shit like I had to use on my men in my squad. But although I'd feel comfortable talkin' to ya 'bout near anything, there's a counselor on the base who's specifically trained to help guys like me. Who've seen what I've seen and been through…similar situations. He makes sure I don't feel like less of a man for what happened to me. You make me feel…like more than a man…something stronger than I thought possible."

She was straining hard to corral the tears within her waterline, but they broke free when he squeezed her tightly to him with both of his massive arms.

"So…that HEP I gave you is working?" she laughed, knowing full well that his home exercise program had no bearing on the strength he meant.

"Come on, Shane." he raised an eyebrow at her, challenging her to see herself the way he saw her. "Them handouts you give me don't mean a hill o' beans in this conversation and you know it. The way you hold yourself, speak to others. There is so much quiet strength in your kindness that comes right out of your beautiful little heart. Some days I'll see you working with kids, if I get in early, and I know they annoy you and freak you out, but you never let that show." He looked into her eyes, misty from emotion, and he wiped away the tears from her cheeks. "I'll never be able to explain it right, the way you inspire me to be a better and stronger man. And my heart just breaks to hear you put yourself down. And don't say you're just kidding, because I know you think you are, but behind every one of those jokes is a truth, at least as you see it." He'd seen her make to argue and knew her tactic before she had attempted it. "Give yourself some credit, Shane."

"I'm too busy blaming myself for the bad stuff to give myself credit for anything good." she sniffed. "You're the first guy I've…I've been involved with that's acted like I was worth anything more than a meal ticket. Someone who was only suitable for enough sex to make it an official relationship just so they could have a place to live, and do whatever quasi-job was a thing. First serious boyfriend was a freelance writer, but he never seemed to be writing. Then there was the guy with the internet start-up…but he could never tell me in a satisfactory way what the company actually did…so that was brief."

He seemed to know she was bracing for something big. Something difficult. He gave her silence and stroked her shoulder in encouragement to continue. She took one of her deepest ever breaths.

"Then came Elliott. Elliott Thomas. My last boyfriend. The worst of them all. Most useless and greatest offender. I ignored all of the signs, of course. He had a YouTube channel and an Instagram that he was trying to gain followers on and become a so-called "influencer." she rolled her eyes. "He had no life skills. He had a bit of an eye for photography and he could find humor in uncommon places, which he thought made him insta-famous and vlog-worthy."

"I hate him already." Sy growled.

"Well, maybe I shouldn't tell you the rest, then." he asked her to go on. "He always seemed to find these ways to cheat on me and lie to me that I couldn't quite prove, but I was just certain of. But I just…I didn't want to believe it. I wanted THAT one to work. Well. I came home one night after work, and he had another girl in our bedroom. I told him he had until the next day when I got home to leave. Things got a little physical, but I can hold my own." she said, proudly, "and I bolted with my purse. I stayed with Heather, our evening secretary, and we hashed it out, and got a little blitzed on moscato, and cried together."

"Wow."

"He was gone the next day. All I heard from my landlord was, 'you shouldn't be hearing from him anytime soon.' so I guess he had his cop buddies send him a message. He blocked me on all social media and I haven't heard a peep from him since. That was five years ago."

"What a scum bag." he stated, obviously.

"Yeah, I haven't been able to really think about a relationship since then…until…" she let the word hang there, knowing they both knew what the end of the sentence was. "Until I met you." Drifting unsaid in the ether of the unspoken.

"It's been a long time for me too. I mean…I haven't quite been a monk, but I haven't…I haven't cared for a girl since…actually, I've never felt this way about anyone."

"I didn't mean to unpack all of that tonight when we're only a third of the way through our marathon. I really wasn't even going to bring it up at all. It's just…been on my mind. Ya know. I once heard a very poignant parable about keeping your mouth shut if you're warm and happy. I was attempting to do that." she chuckled.

"Yeah, but we need to be able to open up to people in this life. Keeping a bottle stopped under pressure ain't no good for the bottle. Or what's inside."

"Such wisdom. You know just what to say to me." she grinned into him.

"Just seen what keeping yourself closed off can do to a person. And the people they love."

Love…there was that word in the air. Not officially said, but felt in all ways. They held each other close as the opening to the second movie played.

Up Next: Chapter Nine-Group Therapy

#netflix sand castle #sand castle #captain syverson #captain syverson fanfic #captain syverson x ofc #sigh for sy

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kiara-carrera · 3 years

Note

I *need* a JJ and Leah "in the water" kiss for the kiss prompts.

places where people kiss: in the water + mayson

stop omg i love this, love this for my lil water babies. jj is a whiny little attention whore, but we love him anyways. anyways, uh, lot of build up, not a lot of kissing.

Alone time was hard to come by when you were dating someone within your circle of friends. Leah and JJ knew that well enough.

It was normally wasn't that bad. The two had been best friends first and foremost and the group dynamic honestly hadn't changed that much, which worked well in all of their favors. The others had been worried that their newfound love of macking on each other was going to flip everything on its head, but that wasn't the case.

Except sometimes, they just wanted a moment to just themselves, where they didn't have to worry about the others telling them to get a room or to quit acting so "lovey dovey" (which, honestly, Leah liked to argue that they didn't? At least, not in public?). Having a tight knit group of friends was great until literally every time you got to see your significant other, it was within the confines of a group activity.

So when JJ had suggested a boat day out on the marsh, just the two of them, while the others had work? It had been like music to Leah's ears.

JJ had somehow convinced John B to lend them the HMS for the day, which he'd only agreed to once JJ promised to chip in gas money and to not mack on Leah all over his beloved boat — and if JJ had his fingers crossed behind his back for that second clause, well, John B didn't need to know.

They'd gotten an early start on the day, heading out alone to a vacant spot on the water, cooler packed with beers and snacks, and wide grins on their faces as they finally got to have a complete, fully uninterrupted time with each other. The water calm and cool, lapping against the boat gently, and the sun warming everything around them. The marsh was the picture of serenity.

Y'know, if it wasn't for JJ's incessant bitching.

"Baby," he whined, drawing out the word obnoxiously, flopping down onto his back next to her.

The second he'd parked the boat, she'd made a big show of stripping down to her bikini and JJ's mind, literally existing in the gutter sometimes when it came to his girlfriend, had been very interested to see where all of this was going to go.

Only for Leah to lay herself out on the front of the boat, announcing that she wanted to get some sun before doing anything else.

Leah's head raised only an inch from where she had rested it in her arms. She was on her stomach, stretching like a cat in the sun every so often. As much as she adored the water, she didn't want to look like a ghost in the middle of July.

Adjusting the hat on her head (which was actually the one JJ had been wearing before she snatched it off his head), she gave him the same exhausted look she had seven minutes ago. "What now, you big baby?"

He narrowed his eyes playfully at her, rolling onto his side so he could look at her. "Is this all you're planning on doing today?"

It wasn't, but with the way he was pestering her, it might as well be her new plan. "I told you I just wanted like ... half an hour to tan and then we could go swimming. You can literally start without me if you're than antsy to get into the water."

What JJ wanted was for her to get off her ass so they could get in the water together and spend time together. Look, when it came to being around other people, JJ was affectionate, sure, but the way he was with all of his friends. He was never really all over her and never tried to be the only thing she focused on.

But one thing Leah had learned about how he acted when they were alone? He was kind of an attention whore.

Most days it was cute. Today it just made her want to shove him into the marsh.

"You said that ten minutes ago."

She snorted, raising a brow at him as she peeked out over her arm. "What do you have against me laying out in the sun and relaxing, Maybank?"

"As much as I'm enjoying this view," JJ said, shameless in the way his gaze trailed across her body, "I thought we came out here to have fun."

"I am having fun."

"No, you're being boring."

Another eye roll. "Big baby," she repeated. And then seriously, she added, "J, it's my first day off in a week, I'm tired. I'll play with you later."

"That's what she said."

Leah groaned, burying her head back in her arms. "You're insufferable, you know that?"

"Yesterday you said I was cute," he quipped, a grin on his lips.

She rolled her eyes. "That was yesterday, feelings change."

He scoffed, rolling onto his back in faux offense. Leah giggled against her arm before closing her eyes, thinking she'd bought herself a few more minutes of peace and quiet.

Until JJ decided to change his methods of persuasion.

She could hear him roll back over onto his side to face her, but he kept quiet as he scooted closer to her. She turned her head just enough to peek with one eye, catching a soft yet determined look on JJ's face. A hand was light against her back, tracing up her spine while a soft kiss was pressed to her shoulder.

She hummed happily at the affection and JJ was quick to notice the half hidden grin breaking across her lips.

"Feelings change my ass," he said, poking her cheek.

Leah snorted, before pushing herself up with one hand so she could lay on her side facing him. "You're not going to stop until you get me in that water, are you?"

"C'mon, I don't want to look like an idiot swimming by myself."

Leah raised an eyebrow. "You think that's what's gonna put you over into looking like an idiot?"

His jaw dropped, giving her a small shove to her shoulder. "Mean."

Shaking her head at him, she laughed, figuring she'd tortured him enough. Pushing up into a sitting position, she quickly got to her feet. JJ looked at her questioningly as she stood above him.

She tried not to grin as his eyes once again trailed across her form with a dopey smile on his lips. Although, to be fair, she'd worn this specific swimsuit for a reason. Before they'd gotten together, JJ had once mentioned offhandedly that she looked pretty in it.

If Leah had started putting it in her bikini rotation a little more than her others ... well, that was between her and her dresser drawer.

She pulled the hat off, tossing it behind her. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she looked down at him in question. "Are we doing this or not?"

JJ barely had a second to get up before she faced away from him, taking a perfect dive off the boat and slicing into the water. He stood on the edge for a moment, seeing her slip through the water with ease.

Watching her swim had always been something he'd caught himself doing, even back when they were strictly just friends. The Pogues liked to joke that she could drink like a fish and swim like one, too, but JJ had always felt like he was watching a damn princess movie about mermaids with how easy she made it look.

When she started to resurface, he didn't waste another second before jumping in after her, letting out an excited whoop as he did so.

He broke through the marsh's surface only seconds later, shaking excess water from his hair and wiping a hand across his eyes. Only a few feet from him, Leah was bobbing in the water with a smile and he was swimming towards her before he could even realize he was moving.

JJ tugged her into him, hands catching her under the backs of her thighs. He pulled her in until her legs were wrapping around his waist and he was comfortably holding her in the water. She rolled her eyes at him, but draped her arms loosely around his neck, giving him an amused grin.

"Hi," she whispered.

"Hey." Mischief was painted across his features as he stared at her and she had no time to question him before he was leaning in.

She fell into the kiss without question, melting into the moment like ice cream on a hot summers day. It was soft and sweet and tasted like warm beer and saltwater. If you asked her to, she'd stay there forever in his arms.

Eventually she pulled away, hands slipping to JJ's chest when he tried to follow after her lips like it was a game. He groaned in defeat, giving her a look that expected an answer of why their fun was being interrupted.

"Thought you told John B we weren't going to mack on the boat."

JJ grinned, that same mischievous glint dancing through his blue eyes. "We're not on the boat."

That was all it took for Leah to cup his face between her hands, leaning into steal another kiss.

#asks #kiss list prompts #mayson #claryxjackson

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