#skip the second scene if John bothers you

[lustnhim]

' rubberneckin ' — john carpenter x fem! reader

note: requested / warnings: p in v sex, fingering, age-gap, elvis calls reader ‘little one’, breeding kink, very unprofessional doctor carpenter, based on the scene in ‘change of habit’ where that girl is trying to seduce him, prob typos n' grammar issues. / summary: doctor carpenter lets you have your way.

John hesitated before opening the examination room, he already knew who was in there. A pretty young thing that had come every other week complainin’ about every little thing that bothered her. He knew what it was, he had a few patients that were oddly insistent on seeing him- but with you, it was entirely something else. You were infatuated with him, and John found it  the cutest darn thing. Clearing his throat he opened the door. “Well hello again, little un’...”  He draws watching as you immediately correct your posture once he walks in, very visibly perking up. “Hi Doctor!” You coo as he puts on his stethoscope. “What seems to be the issue this week, honey?” he asks, standing in front of you, a coy smirk on his face. “Well, I was walkin’ home from the store n’ I started to feel real dizzy…” You explained, staring into his face. Those pretty blue eyes. Lord, he was gorgeous. “Dizzy huh? Well that’s no good.” He said, putting the stethoscope in his ears before walking closer. “Go on an’ open your blouse a bit, honey.” He says calmly, even if what he says is standard- it always makes your heart skip a bit. Your body shivers when the cool metal presses against your warm skin, his hand resting beside your leg. You can't help but let out a small gasp, the sensation sending a shiver through your body. "Your heartbeat seems a little fast," John remarks, listening for a few more seconds before pulling away and letting the stethoscope hang around his neck. “You drinkin’ enough water? It’s been awfully hot this past week, maybe you’re dehydrated.” He explains, his eyes raking over you. Lord, you don’t do a good job hiding the fact you're infatuated with him, your face is about as red as a tomato. “Well what do I do about that?” You ask, tilting your head to the side, acting dumb. “You drink some water. Plain an’ simple.” He says before taking his hand and placing it on the side of your cheek. “Feelin’ a bit warm too.” He says, moving it up to your forehead before clearing his throat and moving his hand down to rest on your thigh. “Hm, you might actually be sick…” he starts and suddenly you tense. “Oh! Ah, with what doc?” You ask, concern laced in your voice. “I’m afraid I don’t know yet…but I’m thinkin’ it’s something awfully serious.” John sees the concern in your eyes, and he can't help but chuckle. "Don't worry,I'll take good care of you." He says, his hand sliding off your thigh. You let out a low whimper not wanting him to move. "I think you need a thorough examination. " He says, his voice low. You look up at him, concern turning to confusion– a thorough examination? Was…was he serious? “W-what do you mean by that…?” You ask and he chuckles, taking off his jacket and hanging it on the rack. “Well honey, if my suspicions are correct then you need some takin’ care of..” He walks over to the examination table, placing a hand on your chest and moving you to lay down. “Hearts racing again.” He quips, smirking at you. “John…” You whimper and he shushes you. “Now, now- you need ta’ relax. You’re not feelin’ well right?” You nod and John wastes no time, his hands moving to unbutton the rest of your blouse and pulling off your bra. "Just lie back and let me take care of you," he coos, his hands caressing your soft skin. His fingers dance over your nipples making them harden. You moan softly, arching your back to press your chest into his touch. "Look at you, I think this is workin’" he purrs, pinching and rolling your nipples between his fingers.

John's hands continue their exploration, trailing down your body before resting on your hips. You try to lean up from the table but he pushes you right back down. "Ah, ah…Lay down little un’...we ain’t done yet.. We gotta see what's goin' on down here." He murmurs, his fingers toying with the waistband of your skirt- you always wore one when you went to see him. You shiver in anticipation as he pulls it off, revealing your lace panties. "Awe…these just fa’ me?” He teases and you whimper in embarrassment. “M-maybe…” You hear him laugh as he hooks his fingers under the elastic band and pulls your panties down, exposing your most cunt. "Lord have mercy, you're already so wet for me." He whispers, running a finger along your slit. You gasp and squirm beneath his touch, “John…please.” You groan, as he presses his thumb against your clit. John continues to tease you, circling your clit with his thumb and sliding two fingers into your dripping wet cunt. You moan and writhe beneath him, your body aching for more. "You like that, little one?" He asks, his voice husky with desire. "I can tell you do...your body's beggin' for it." He pumps his fingers in and out of you, his thumb continuing to work your sensitive nub. The combination of his skilled touch and dirty talk has you on the edge in no time. Just as you're about to come, he pulls his hand away, leaving you desperate. “You know, you ain’t very secretive honey..” he coos, and you can hear his belt rattling. “Comin’ in here every week in the smallest little skirts, sayin’ how bad you’ve been feelin’...” You dare not lean up, you stay lying down as his hands grip your thighs and spread your legs farther, his body sliding between them. “I know what you need honey…an’ I’m gonna give it to ya.” He climbs onto the table, straddling your hips as he towers over you and you can feel his hard cock pressing against your thigh. Finally you get to see his face, his hair is a mess- like he’d been running his hands through it,  His pretty blue eyes are dark and needy, his lips pouting and his breathing heavy. He practically smashes his face into yours, his lips capturing yours and it doesn't take long before his tongue is halfway down your throat, the two of you kissing like it's your last day on earth. 

Once he pulls away from your mouth a string of salvia still connects your tongues. “Fuck. I’m gonna make ya’ feel so good, little un’.” he says as he adjusts himself, aligning his cock with your entrance. You feel the tip of his hard cock nudging against your soaked entrance, and you can't help but moan in anticipation. “Fuck…c’mon- I need it…" you plead, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him closer. He chuckles, his hot breath tickling your neck as he plants a trail of kisses along your jawline. "You need this, huh? You need me to fill you up and make you feel good," he whispers, his voice a low growl. Without warning, he thrusts his hips forward, burying his cock deep inside your tight, wet heat. The sensation is overwhelming, and you can't help but cry out in pleasure. "Oh, fuck, you're so tight.” John groans, almost like he’s surprised by the fact– his hips start to move in a steady rhythm, driving his cock in and out of your eager body. You cling to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he pounds into you, the examination table creaking under the force of his thrusts. "That's it, little one," he says, his breath hot against your ear. "Take it all. Feel every inch of my cock filling you up." His words send a shiver down your spine and you can’t help but clamp around him. “Fuck! I-I’m gonna fill you up honey…gonna fuckin’ cum deep inside of you.” He groans. Your body is entirely at his mercy, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist as you urge him on. With each thrust, his pelvis grinds against your sensitive clit, adding to the intense sensations that consume you. Your hands roam over his strong, muscular back, and you can feel the beads of sweat forming as he continues to pound into you.Just when you think it can't possibly get any better, John's hand snakes between your bodies, finding your clit and rubbing it in fast, circular motions. The added stimulation is almost too much to bear, and you can feel your orgasm rapidly approaching."Oh god, I'm getting close," you whimper, your body trembling. "Please don't stop, John. I need it so badly."He groans in response, his hips moving even faster, his cock hitting your sweet spot with every thrust. "Fuck, you needed this so bad didn’t you? Needed to be bread so bad, huh?" he growls, his fingers continuing to work your clit.All you can do is moan in response, your mind completely lost in the throes of passion as he brings you closer and closer to the edge. Your body is on fire, your nerves so sensitive that even the slightest movement sends waves of pleasure coursing through you. "Damn, you're so tight," John praises again, his hips jerking erratically as he grows closer to his own release. "I'm gonna fill you up, little one. You're gonna feel every last drop of my cum inside you." All you can do is nod frantically and moan, it’s like you're drunk off his cock.  John groans, his hips slamming into you one final time as he finds his own release. You can feel his hot, sticky cum spurting deep inside you, filling you up just like he promised. He collapses on top of you, panting heavily as he tries to catch his breath. Once you've both come down from your high, John slowly pulls out of you, his softening cock slipping free from your well-used cunt. You watch as he sits up, gathering his clothes and putting them back on with a satisfied smirk on his face."See, little one? I told ya I'd take good care of you," he says, buttoning up his shirt. You smile up at him, feeling content and sated. "Thank you, Doctor Carpenter. I feel much better now." He chuckles, helping you sit up and handing you your shirt. 

"Glad to hear that, honey. Now, make sure you come see me often, I’d like to keep my eye on you…"

i hope you guys liked this!!! i should write for his characters more often it’s so so much fun :3 also the halloween fic will probably be the next fic to come out since i really want it to be perfect! love y’all <3

taglist: @hooked-on-elvis @atleastpleasetelephone @lola-1013 @indiatuck @eptodaytommorowforever @suspiciousmindsxo @tupelomiss @myradiaz @i-r-i-n-a-a @elvispresley1956 @sisssygirl @your-nanas-house @callieselvisobsessed @eapep @auntbee22 @elvisiana @ladelinee @jhoneybees @elviswhore69 @sissylittlefeather @dontfeedthebigbadwolf @louisejoy86 @cherrycolaride @sloppyzengarden @faeolwen @slayingjd @iloveelvisss @theelvisprincess @fairybloodsucker

[grippincash]

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬.

john marston x f!reader

cw: john marston x reader, afab reader, smut 18+ mdni!, porn with little to no plot, slight dubcon, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), drunk sex, missionary/mating press… creampie, slight dark content

a/n: rdr2 brainrot… practicing smut… lots of thoughts… head NOT empty..

word count: 2k.

You can’t remember what led you to this mess.

Countless beer bottles laid beside a creaky old bed both you and John were sitting on, the owner of this cabin likely long gone by the state of the place. You don’t remember how you got here, or why you were here, or why you stayed. If you thought John only had the time to down endless amounts of liquor back at camp, you were dead wrong. You were almost disgusted by it, the scene upon walking inside the broken down hut making you scoff at the man leaning against the bed frame, bottle in hand. So, why did you stay?

More importantly, why did you pick up a beer bottle and crack one open for him? Why did you pick up another and chug it beside him? Why did the bitter taste of the beer gradually get so good the more you drank, and why didn’t you stop yourself?

You smiled drunkenly, the reason why you came to pick up the outlaw having completely slipped your mind. You cared less and less the more you drank, with his accepting gaze only encouraging you. If you thought about it for more than a second, maybe it was his conniving nature and ability to beautifully persuade you into drinking so much. Maybe he wanted something out of you, but none of these thoughts lasted. Not without being overridden by your own desires.

Eyeing the man beside you, a thought ran through your mind, and you couldn’t swipe it away. Your eyes ignored your mind’s pleas to think logically, when you could only stare at John in awe as he droned on about something you were sure neither of you could understand. You laughed when he laughed, your eyes flickering down to his unbuttoned v-neck almost instinctively. You wanted to run your fingers through his chest hair.

You couldn’t remember what you were going to bring John in for, when the throbbing of your core intensified as he’d rim the bore of his booze to catch any and every stray droplet rolling down the cold glass. His expertise in using his lips and tongue was something you've never seen before; not from him, unless it was to throw snappy remarks to whoever bothered going back and forth with him at camp.

You weren't sure if you were testing him or testing yourself, self-doubt leaving you hesitant as you flickered your gaze to his lips, and then to his calloused hands. Your heart dropped for a split second when John caught you staring in between your extensive silence, and in that moment you could’ve sworn he was testing you, too. So when your hand upon drunken impulsivity brought his to the warmth between your legs, both of you knew what the other wanted in an instant.

"Like.. This?"

His tongue dragged up against your clit with torturous sluggishness as his eyes remained locked onto your face throughout, your heart skipping at the shameless act.

Without waiting for an answer, John wordlessly inserted a finger before placing a kiss on the same bud, his eyes shutting out of what you could only think to be his own pleasure.

Breathing out at the unannounced contact, you couldn't help but nod in a rush, despite your mind spinning from both the alcohol in your system and the high you got from John finally on you.

"Like that.. L-Like that, John.."

His eyes fluttered open slightly, intrigue lacing on what little you could see of his face. Slipping his finger out before pumping it back in, he smirked against your inner thigh, his eyes squinting at your lustful expression.

"Mm, like this? Do I continue doin' this?"

He was clearly toying with you, but you didn't have half the mind to care nor fight against it, your lack of senses only wanting more. Even while tipsy and desperate, he couldn't resist pushing you to the edge as best he could. You nodded rapidly, your teeth digging into your finger as tears brimmed from the levels of pleasure he was slowly introducing to you, little by little.

"Yes.. Yes..!" You huffed, rutting your hips up slightly. He hummed with enjoyment.

"Aren't you just a sight for sore eyes."

John mused at your desperation, his lips moving against the sensitive skin of your pussy. You helplessly whined, a second finger inserting inside you before you could react. The rolling of your hips came to an abrupt stop when he curled the two pointers inside of you, rewarding him with a gasp and a moan from your lips. His lips locked onto your clit immediately, stimulating you in ways you didn’t think possible.

"You don't mind me speeding up, now, do you darling?" He teased as he sat up, his eyes for once flickering down to watch his digits move in and out of your cunt. His teeth dug into his bottom lip, his pants tightening at the crude sight. His other hand had his thumb pull back your flap to get a better look of the pink flesh beneath your bush, and with your heart pounding in your ears and your surroundings spinning, you moaned at his fingers expectedly increasing pace.

"N- mmh," you answered—if you could even call that an answer—and his smirk only widened. Jesus, it was just too good. Your contorted face only egged him on as he spit on the exiting fingers, the lewd sound of wetness working together inside your pussy making you flush with embarrassment.

Placing kisses all around your groin, he flickered his gaze back up to you, a dark look in his coffee-colored eyes.

“It's too much, isn't it? Y'want me to stop?"

He knew what you were going to say within that second, when your eyes widened and your head shook the other way. You were so drunk, but that question alone might’ve sobered you up quicker than any cold plunge would, when your blurry eyes glossed over the expectant, smug grin on John's face.

"No! It feels good, John, it does.. It feels.."

Panicking as his fingers fully slid out of you to leave you clenching around nothing, you looked up desperately as he towered over you. Were you the only one drunk?

"How good?"

You didn't waste any time answering, starting with a slurred "Really, really..-"

..Until you felt the sudden feeling of his fingers rim your lips, before they surely inserted themselves into your mouth. You hummed a moan as he let you suck on both your pussy juices and his saliva from his soaked digits.

Happily doing so, John snickered above you disparagingly. He absorbed the sight of you, took a mental picture of it with clear vision. You were so sexy drunk.

"My sweet, obedient angel.." He hummed mockingly, his other hand fidgeting with his belt.

Eyeing him with what little view you had of him, your stomach jumped excitedly at the distant sound of him sucking his teeth in and his belt hitting the wooden floor.

With your tongue swirling around to mop up all you could from the fingers still in your mouth, he then pulled them out, emitting a small "pop!"

Leaning down to replace them, his wet lips met with your drooling ones, your mouth hungrily accepting his into a deep kiss. The lingering taste of beer and your own fluids clouded your mind, enough to further you into your drunken state as John rubbed your clit with preparation.

Feeling his erection hit your entrance and slide up against it with teasing languor, you whined, the sound escaping the kiss for a brief moment.

As he rocked his hips back and forth for a moment, you writhed beneath him as his tip pressed against your clit with each motion, the movement alone driving you insane.

"You want it, baby?" He grunted, his voice peaking at the pet name as the adrenaline of being so close to fucking you letting his big and bad demeanor falter. Whether or not he was drunk, or at the very least less drunk than you, he couldn’t conceal his excitement to fuck you. It’s all he wanted. Today, last week, the last few months. He needed to fuck you, so inwardly, he thanked Dutch for sending you out here to find him. It all worked out.

You watched him through half-lidded eyes as tears threatened to fall for the pleasure he was withholding from you.

"Yes, John. Please.."

"How bad, darling? How bad y’want my cock inside you?"

You whined with arousal, your head cocking to the side with slight resistance to letting the man hear what he wants. For someone drunk, he was plenty self-aware, wasn’t he?

..You figured it was already too late to play coy, with John having seen and ruled you from below and how you squirmed for more of his touch from his tongue and fingers alone. Was he just that good?

"Really b-bad, fuck—I need it inside me so fucking bad, John!" You cried, leaving him with a satisfied feeling in his chest. John in departure left a trail of kisses on your neck and collarbones, before straightening his back.

Firmly placing his hands on both sides of your hip, he licked his lips in preparation as he looked down at his tip gently kissing your entrance. His tongue dragged along his bottom lip as he inserted himself with careful precision, your eyes fluttering shut slowly when he finally separated your walls and worked himself inside you with his length. Testing the slick of your pussy as he slowly pulled out, he couldn't help but release a whimper as you tightened around him.

"F-fuck, you're so—"

Sliding his hands to the back of your plush thighs and pushing them into your chest, he collapsed back down onto you, his hips almost immediately ramming back into your warmth. Yelping with pure bliss consuming you, you watched as John squeezed himself in between your legs, his cock burying so deep inside you that your vision doubled.

“Like this? Like this, (Y/n)? This what y’wanted? Feels good, doesn’t it?”

John was good at running his mouth. Maybe it was all he was good for, outside of fucking you like his life depended on it. But with words dripping with need for validation alongside jumbled obscenities rolling off his tongue like normal, your head spun from the repeated yeses that echoed in your mind.

“Mm, y-yes, John! Yes! Fuck!”

You gasped when your lower back rose from the warmth underneath you, before letting a drawled out moan escape your lips when John drove himself inside you again, his head hitting your cervix once, and then twice. Three times.

Feeling drool run down your chin as the smell of sweat and sex consumed your senses, you focused on the slapping of skin reverberating throughout the room, the dirty sound tightening the knot in your stomach. You were sure your high that was building up was close to crashing down.

So good.. It felt so good. The way John’s fingers dug deep into the flesh of your thighs as his movement became sporadic and desperate.. you could tell he was close, too.

Locking your eyes onto his concentrated ones, you clasped his hands with your own, pushing your knees deeper into your chest.

“Cum.. inside. Fill me up, Marston—“

Whether it was the alcohol or the fire in your loins talking, you couldn’t bring yourself to retract your statement as stars formed in your hazy vision. You could worry later; right now, the pleasure was so intense, you let whatever came to mind ride off your tongue without regret. Your moans echoed in the confines of the small cabin, and with John being more than happy to fulfill your request, a string of words he fantasized about leaving your lips for as long as he could remember, a whine droned through his lips as his cock hit a final thrust inside you. Your climax hit you like a truck when you squealed at the sensation of his cum filling you, John rocking back and forth slowly to ride out his orgasm.

Breathing in and out, you watched as John grunted while pulling out, seed somehow still spilling out and hitting the underside of your thighs, painting you.

You couldn’t move as you watched his hand stroke the final beads of cum out in between your framing legs, and with a satisfied sigh, John crashed down beside you. Staring at you as he slowly calmed down, he brushed a strand of hair away from your wet forehead.

“Did.. Did you like that?”

Still in between attempts to catch your breath, you stared at John, your vision hazy as it was since this started. You nodded slowly, your eyes fluttering shut from the sudden need to pass out from exhaustion.

“…Yeah.”

[crazy-shits-post]

Why? (TW)

Alexander laid in the snow, fully preparing for a frozen and painful death.

His heart couldn't take it anymore.

-

"Alexander, sweet angel, stay with me, you cannot bear the cold."

"I'll be quite well, dear one. I promise you."

John's big hands reached for the other's cold ones, holding it before he quickly pulled away. The blonde was slightly surprised and even a bit afraid of how much he could feel the bones in his hands. Alexander was skinny, but it was more, much more.

Alex, terrified that John might catch on. Quickly kissed his cheek and left, not bothering to even pull down his sleeves.

His stomach growled, his cut ached. He wanted it to be over.

-

John always danced with death and romanized it. At first, Alexander scolded him for it, but over time, he too grew to love her.

All the times she hugged him and tried to pull him from this terrible life. His fevers, the hurricane, the river. The arms weren't strong enough for him. Nothing ever stopped Alexander Hamilton.

But maybe she might be tighter this time.

-

One time, he was at medical waiting for John, who acted a fool during battle. As he was waiting, he witnessed a man on a cot having a seizure. It was the hottest day of August, and many men had dropped like flies from heat stroke.

The man looked so sick. Alexander, as much as he was frightened by the scene, covered his mouth and looked on. The doctor rushed over to help. The man was pale, making strange sounds like those of an injured animal. His face was twisted with pain and confusing, all the while shaking so horribly the cot moved under him.

Then, the shaking stopped. The man's mouth hung open, and he fell into her hug. The doctor, like he did with all patents, covered him up with a white cloth and bowed his head for a few short seconds before rushing off to attend to another screaming man.

Alexander felt so overwhelmed with emotion. He felt pity but also relief. That man wasn't in pain anymore. He looked peaceful. He actually burned with envy and sadness. He wanted that peace, yet he knew how selfish he was being. He felt so bad, in fact, he covered his face and began to cry.

John had returned from getting his now broken arm taken care of. Already pissed off from the fact that he wouldn't be able to fight for a while and the pain, he quickly walked over to Hamilton, who always waits for him.

He found him weeping into his hands next to the covered body. His mood instantly washed off as he hugged him with his good arm. He rubbed his back and told him it was alright and how that man was safe. Alexander wiped his tears and walked with him back to their tent, hiccuping and sniffing while John tried to console him.

Jealously is a blessing in disguise.

-

He lost control. Alexander tried to keep it together, but he just couldn't. He wept and hugged his knees. What was a man to do when he felt less than the ground below him?

His stomach growled. It needed food. He skipped lunch and dinner to write, but now his body craved a little something. Since he couldn't control death, he could control food. He punched his stomach each time it growled, always smiling.

-

One night, he told Lafayette about how he was feeling. Expecting kindest of all his friends to hug him and express empathy, it came to a smack in the face when the Frenchman slapped him and told him off for being so selfish.

Think about John, he said. Think about "Papa" Washington. Think about me. Think about your friends. Think about your country.

Hamilton stormed off, tears threatening to fall. He felt even more ashamed. He didn't feel like he belonged anywhere. He hid behind a tree and wept into his bruised and skinny knees all through the snowy night.

-

His body wasn't a fan of winter. He became ill after his night of crying. With a damp rag on his forehead, the bed trapped him under its blanket as he shook with fever for three days before it finally broke.

While sick, Lafayette came to visit and apologize, but Alexander yelled at him to piss off. John, none the wiser of before, apologized on behalf of his lover and blamed the fever for his out of character fit.

Once he was gone, Alexander began to cry. John, still under the belief it was all the fever's doing, held him and consoled him until the weeping stopped.

-

The entire army was gossiping about an unidentified redcoat who committed suicide by jumping off a bridge.

Alexander felt even more jealous.

-

Oh dear, Washington had seen his cuts. He acted like he didn't, but the redhead knew he did by the split second facial expression when his sleeve was rolled down. He must've told John because the second he was back in the tent the Southerner demanded to see his arm. He tried to fight it, but the other was bigger and stronger than him.

Once it was out in the open, he didn't dare look at John. He expected another scolding, maybe even another slap. Instead, he had arms around him and a head on his shoulder. They didn't say anything else, just a very, very tight hug.

He wished it was her instead.

-

The times that Alexander was allowed on the battlefield were rare, mainly due to the fact that Washington didn't want his "son" and his best writer dead.

But on the day he did, he took John's example and acted a fool, taking every cut and bullet with a shining smile. It was funny. The very action that the blonde always does made the other always gently scold him, but now he was doing the same thing and enjoying every minute of it.

By the time the battle was over, Alexander couldn't even move his head. Two people had to carry him by his arms to the doctor, who spent over an hour fixing him.

When finished and able to walk again, John was the one waiting for him, unbelievably unharmed. He was helped back to the tent and received a gentle scolding.

Please, Alexander. he said with a concerned tone. I know what you're attempting, and I beg of you to stop.

Alright, the other empty promised.

No more battles for you. Washington later said. I'm already worrying for you, I don't wish to lose you.

Oh dear.

-

One night, Alexander had the darkest thought to date.

John was fast asleep, absolutely exhausted from depression and battle. Hamilton stood over him, a knife behind his back.

He could kill him right now. John can't fight him if he's sleeping so wonderfully.

He's already suicidal. They both are. If he kills him, his misery would be over. No more weeping fits, no more pain. With him gone, Alexander could kill himself without worrying.

He actually seriously considered it for five minutes before coming back to his senses and quietly throwing away the knife after he cut his fingers for such thoughts.

He didn't trust himself with John anymore. He didn't trust himself with anything anymore. Such a monster. Wanting to kill his beloved for his selfish benefit. John could be very happy at times, and his bright smile could melt even the coldest of hearts, and Alexander was going to take it anyway.

He knew it had to be now, no more pushing it off for tomorrow. Either he was going to kill himself or someone else, and he already knew which it had to be. It will be easy. Just lay in the snow until tomorrow morning and will be over.

He had to leave immediately before he changed his mind. He made a right face and began to leave, alas John awoke.

"Alexander, sweet angel, stay with me, you cannot bear the cold."

-

By the next morning, Alexander Hamilton was near frozen to death. Someone found him just as the winter nearly took his last breath and was immediately brought into the nurse.

After ages of hot baths, shocks, gasps, and now a fever, he was brought back to his tent. He didn't know where he was until he felt his body being pulled into a hug and somebody's, John's, voice begging him to wake up.

-

Hours and hours later, Alexander whimpered. That whimper was music to John's ears.

"Dear boy!" The Southerner gasped while stroking his still frozen hair. "Alexander, I nearly lost you!" Then the scolding. "What were you thinking?! What has brought you to do something so dangerous!"

Still cold, the usual cheerful voice was nothing but shaky and pathetic, stammering and yelping about all the depression and worthlessness it felt.

"I can't control it, Jackie! I'm worthless!"

John, having had loaded guns in his voice and had faced death many times with a smirk, suddenly felt very frightened, "You are everything to me. Those redcoats are the worthless ones, never you!"

"I am, I am! Oh Jackie, why is death frightened of me?! I give it so many chances!"

"Alexander, no! Live forever, I beg of you! I cannot bear to lose another loved one! I will not bury you as well!"

Oh, how they longed to hold each other. "Johnny, I don't know if I can live another day!"

John, almost frantic and on the verge of tears, walked closer to him. As a natural instinct, Alexander went to stand and immediately fell. He whimpered and succumbed to his fever, feeling too weak and fragile to even look at Laurens as he rushed to pick him up and cradle him.

"Please, sweet angel, I love you with all my heart. I love you, I love you, I love you..." His voice cracked at the last you when tears finally started to flow.

Alex wept into his shoulder, feeling so worthless that death wouldn't even take him. He held him tight. Alexander Hamilton, the monster, that's who he was.

"Forgive me..." His voice was so soft that John had to listen closely to understand him.

"All is forgiven." The taller kissed his forehead. "Stay alive, darling."

Alex snuggled into Laurens' embrace, cold yet warm. He was a monster, but at least he was a controlled one. He deserved death, but the one person he nearly killed didn't want him gone.

This wasn't fair.

[frost-queen]

how did you like the season 3 of bridgertons?

I liked the first half, the second half felt like a disappointment or so out of line. After episode 5 or 6 Polin seemed to become side charachters 😒 while it was their season! The side-stories took complete control in the second half. I found their scenes sometimes awkward in part 2. I felt second hand embarrassement. The Benny scene's urgh I skipped them he was barely around and spend more time having threesomes than being around the family. It felt plain and just driven with pleasure. I have no problem with Michaela (michael) the thing that bothered me was that Fran said she loved John. Their kiss felt like she did not love him and her lovey dovey eyes to Michaela from the first second felt like she just threw her love confession for John out of the window like John who? It felt too rushed. I mean if it built up like in the book (which I have not read) I could understand it more. Now it just felt like what she built up with John by telling how she loved him and wanted to marry him, that it meant nothing! Also why let us have sympathy for Cressida to just let her be the villain once more 🤷‍♀️

I did enjoy Lady D as always 🥰 Phillipa that darn sweetie with the bugs was an absolute delight. I really enjoyed the featherintongs more this season than the Bridgertons. The Bridgerton's where all over the place 🫣

I wonder whoes next story will be and how? I do hope Sofie remains as I just love myself a Cinderella story.

What did you think?

Also i'm not saying this to start a war or something. It is just how I felt about the season. I didn't enjoy it as much as the second one which is up till now still my fav season 🥰

[jakowskis]

Day 8 - Are there any scenes (or even full episodes) that you can’t stand? If yes, and you could go back in time and rewrite them, how would you fix them?

LITERALLY HAD TO PUT THIS UNDER THE CUT TOO BC ITS SO LONG FJSDHFKJSDFHKDSJFHKDSJDSHFSDKJFHK I HATE THIS FUCKING SHOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

im not gonna rlly propose fix-its, i just like to bitch. haha. anyway, in no particular order…

the owen & jack jail scene in dmw. it’s sooo frustratingly underwhelming. they had the perfect chance to explore some really interesting stuff with jack + his relationship with his immortality, and to explore the parallels drawn between the two of them, and jack suddenly having someone who might also "live" forever to keep him company… and then they Didn’t. it’s suuuch a let down. and the first half of that scene being ‘light-hearted’ and gross is so irritating and disrespectful to owen. absolutely the wrong tone. that ep pisses me tf off.

i have a lot of issues with owen & jack’s relationship in general. in aditd, when owen tries to drown himself + finds he can’t, and jack’s reaction is to 1) throw a soulless flirty line at him, and 2) ask him “how long he’s gonna do this for”... that scene bugs the fuck out of me. like what the fuck. what a monstrous way to react to someone who’s suicidal. and i’d like it if the show ever bothered to explore why jack seems to view owen’s suicidality with such disdain (because it’s a consistent thing; he’s also callous in combat), like that could also provide insight into his character - but they don’t! ugh! so it just makes him look like a fucking dick and makes me resent him. especially when he’s a lot more sympathetic to john in out of time. like why is he so nasty to owen in particular. fuck knows, they don’t bother touching on it. missed opportunities!!!

and, returning to the way dmw treats owen, i hateeee how he’s treated once he’s dead, by the characters AND the writers. everyone on the team is cruel towards him during his undead arc. they warm up again to him later, but the show itself decides he’s no longer relevant after that + seems to act like all his angst went away and he’s fine again. torchwood SUCKS at emotional continuity. the only time it comes up is that they REPEATEDLY have the antagonist of the episode make a point to remind owen + the viewers how pathetic and useless he is now that he’s dead (the nostravite + the ghostmaker both do it). and it’s just.. corny, and disrespectful, like come on.

actually dead man walking as a whole... i just hate that episode. i talked about it more here, it’s just….. ridiculous, and bad, and embarrassing 😭 i had to skip the fucking fight scene at the end i didn’t have the strength i get secondhand embarrassment too easily HFDJKSHFKDJS. the concept isn’t terrible it’s the fucking execution its sooo… idek how i’d fix that mess. i don’t like it. blegh. and like i said, tw does emotional continuity so poorly, like i don’t really have a question i can fully bitch about this on (well? maybe. we’ll see) but the way they go through significant traumas every ep and the emotional weight of those events is never touched on in the following eps... like the shit in dmw would’ve been a lot for owen to deal with but by aditd he’s got other problems. it’s just… ugh.

and if dmw is the second worst use of bad cgi, we must talk about the first… abaddon. i love end of days so fucking much, the interpersonal shit going on between the team is FASCINATING and so good, the mutiny scene is so good, them all being haunted by their past (aka the events of the past 12 episodes) is so good, for torchwood it’s a GOOD episode - and then there’s this fucking ridiculously embarassing terrible monster from the depths of hell stomping everywhere and roaring and i literally cannot describe how hard i was laughing when i first watched that ep. genuinely hysterical. especially after getting gut-punched like thirty times throughout the rest. and whatever jack did to defeat it... so fucking bad. SO fucking bad. idk what the fuck that was but it was a MESS. and the worst possible way to wrap up the “something’s coming out of the darkness O.O” bullshit (which, they didn’t, that continued into owen’s arc, like cmon…) it was just a shit show. see it’s hard for me to hypothesize about how they coulda fixed that bc it’s so bad but it’s kind of iconic. im kind of glad it’s there bc it’s just… torchwood wouldn’t be torchwood if it wasn’t fucking awful. but also. shudders.

ok ok i swear ill stop complaining abt owen-specific shit but ofc thts what i take most issue with, and a lot of my complaints abt the others are less about specific scenes and more generalized things, so ill talk about them when i talk about their characters… ill talk about this more in owen’s section, but i have… problems with the end of days ending, with the hugs. i like that scene a lot, the connotations are fascinating, but the way owen and jack are framed in it is…. eugh…. and most people miss the fact that it’s ‘eugh’? a lot of people see it as a sweet scene and that’s… oof… again i’ll get into it more later but i wish it was framed differently. torchwood could never make up it’s mind on how it saw the characters, lmao.

adjacent subject… the way jack’s return is framed. i HATE the way they just bounce back to normal once jack comes back. like, him leaving would’ve been fucking traumatizing. and the show doesn’t properly give closure to any of them. (it does a tiny bit to gwen + ianto, but like… owen’s abandonment issues are a consistent theme in the show, esp s1. his ‘did he fix you?’ line is unnecessarily sooo heartbreaking. what do you mean ur not gonna give a single moment to those two. Okay.) tbh a lot of these complaints are about the fact that i desperately wish torchwood was a show that cared about the emotions + mental health of their characters when it simply Is Not. tw is, regrettably, not the character-focused show it should be. and i hate it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

a few last owen specific things…. i hate the owen growling at the weevil scene in combat. like what was the deal with that. they don’t rlly explain it in the commentary either it’s just. ?? but again it’s one of those things thts like. i can’t imagine a world where this show was actually good + didn’t have random weird cringe shit sprinkled in HFKSDJF it’s part of the charm. sigh

also owen & mark shouldve fucked. combat should’ve been gayer.

captain jack harkness should’ve been LESS gay. the excessive tongue kissing was fucking gross FSHDFJKDS like. i know that scene’s important to a lot of people + i respect it as an important moment in queer television + the way it’s framed as this big romantic moment, but the actual kissing is just. gross. why did they have to kiss like that. there are better ways to kiss. sincerely, someone who’s very picky about kisses + still covers my eyes like a kid at like 60% of onscreen kisses. 

tkks stopwatch scene. ianto why are you flirting w the man who killed ur girlfriend four episodes ago. fucking evil. like ok lmao 👍thats not bad writing whatsoever to never explore that in-show and only do it in an audio 10 yrs later. sure.

all of them randomly having empathy for the alien whale in meat has always driven me crazy. i thought we were gonna find out that the whale had like, empathy-enhancing powers or telepathy or smth bc i couldn’t understand why any of those assholes cared sm. like, in tkks we find out the glove is fueled by empathy + that’s why none of them can use it. like, these are people who aren’t naturally empathetic. nothing wrong with that, i’m like that lol. so i was really thrown off when they randomly all deeply cared about an alien creature. especially owen. like, i get randomly being moved by something, happens to the best of us, but the way it affected all of them + so profoundly felt ooc to me and has always bugged me a little. s2 tried so badly to humanize a group that s1 painted as absolute assholes, and i personally LOVE that they’re assholes. i am not the biggest fan of s2, lol.

a lot of tosh scenes bug me, bc the show generally has very little respect for her + her capabilities, but ill get into that more when i talk about her as a character. specifically some of the tosh & owen scenes fucking INFURIATE me. he’s so nasty to her. the end of adam (‘i dont do apologies’ and the smug little smile), and laughing at her when he agrees to the date in reset, and ‘in your dreams, tosh’ in countrycide all stand out. ive complained about it before + ill do it again; idk wtf they were trying to tell the viewers with tosh/owen. i like the concept of the ship, because it has potential - i absolutely HATE it within the context of the show. every ‘towen moment’ just works to humiliate tosh. it’s awful.

killing beth. im sure other people have done essays on the way torchwood treats its poc, esp its woc (although, knowing this fandom, maybe not lmao), and the lisa sitch was enough of a mess… the beth sitch could’ve been done differently. her essentially committing suicide by cop was fucking awful. ugh.

also the twist that suzie was evil + ten steps ahead could’ve been done much better. that should’ve been better written. 

as i said, i dont even like tosh/owen, but the fact that you never see them dance in something borrowed was just plain mean tbh. u can see like a millisecond of a frame if you pause in the right place, but still, why not include a fraction of a nice moment between them. cmon. something like that might’ve actually made me like them more

i hate the blowfish confrontation in kkbb it’s corny. cmon

i bitched about adam a lot the other day (again, here)… idek how i’d get that episode up to my standards. im petty about s2 as a whole and ive been meaning to try to put thought into what would fix it for me for months and i haven’t gotten around to it cuz its such a daunting thought. grr. i think i’d just completely redo the way adam influences them all. i literally don’t like what any of their altered selves offer. there’s no insight into them i find worthwhile. ig the shit abt jack’s past is worth keeping but i’d redo it completely bc i hate the gray arc. i’d have to find some way to keep the conference scene though, or get that new character info + vibe elsewhere. bah

[clevermird]

Review: The Chrysalids by John Wyndham

Number 13 in my quest to read the “great classics” of Western Literary Canon, The Chrysalids is the second science fiction entry on the list (the first being Brave New World, which was just before I started doing these reviews)

Like Brave New World, The Chrysalids takes place in a distant future. Many years ago, the technologically advanced Old People were wiped out in what is now referred to as The Tribulation. Since then, mutation has run rampant in the small pockets of humanity that remain and crops, livestock, and humans must all be certified by government inspection as being correctly formed before they can be allowed to exist. Young David Strorm has never really questioned this reality until one day he meets a girl who is perfectly ordinary, except for her six toes. The events this sets in motion lead David to question the beliefs he’s always taken for granted and to realize that he might not be quite in the True Image either. . .

This book was an interesting one.  Reading it gave me a very “young adult dystopian novel” vibe, which I suppose proves that there’s nothing new under the sun, as this book was aimed at adults and published in the 1950s. The prose was easy and enjoyable to read and the structure of the beginning of the novel, a series of scenes throughout David’s childhood that slowly expand both the characters and the worldbuilding, are masterfully done. Several of them also had genuinely devastating emotional climaxes. The first half of the book overall is extremely solid.

However, Wyndham fumbles in the second half. Without spoiling too much, once the narrative abandons the episodic structure to focus on a longer event, the pacing struggles, the character development slows, and most of the things I liked about earlier sections are lost. Perhaps some of this is inevitable in trying to complete the narrative set up in the first half, but what isn’t inevitable is the borderline deus ex machina ending, nor the ignoring or direct undermining of most of the questions about tolerance and what it means to be human. In the end, it felt like the author couldn’t figure out how to end the story, so he just threw in a simple resolution so he could stop writing without bothering to integrate it with the themes or characters.

As a more positive side note, something that stood out was the handling of the religious bigotry and oppression themes. I find these hard to do well in SF, typically being very one-note and unsubtle. They were equally unsubtle here, but something about it worked for me. I think it was the lack of one-note-ness, the way different characters were shown to have different attitudes towards things, different levels of intensity, and even different reasons for their beliefs, rather than being a solid wall of hatred of mutants. It made them read as humans, rather than plot devices so our main characters could suffer more.

Overall, a simple post-apocalyptic dystopia initially carried on strong writing and characters that falls apart in the third act. Worth a read if the premise interests you, but not a strong recommendation from me.

Warnings: As alluded to above, themes of prejudice and hatred of The Other permeate the book. Often this has religious overtones, but evolutionary/eugenics-based arguments come into it as well. Readers who are sensitive to these themes will want to skip this one. There is one pretty intense scene of brutal child abuse and, while not graphically described, suicide, torture, and an implied sexual assault are plot points as well. Rating: 3.25/5

[theshopislocal]

corinth rains

New and improved Heaven may well be the Happiest Place (not) on Earth. But Dean, it turns out, is still Dean.

(also on AO3)

chapter eleven

Shaded and cool, the little forest in the field is a half-lit oasis on the shining plain. 

Though there’s only a smattering of trees, they’re densely packed around the old barn, the canopy stippling strange shadows onto the muddied ground. Dean’s eyes trace them as he trudges the pitted path, stepping over errant roots and brittle fallen branches. 

Dean had pulled up maybe ten minutes ago. He’d idled a few moments, as always, letting Baby’s rumbling purr soothe the tension across his back. When he was certain his legs would hold him, he’d cut the ignition and hoisted himself up, striding towards the barn with all the gusto of a man walking the plank. 

As he’d approached, he’d noticed an odd stillness in the structure - a hollow sort of silence, stilted and uncharged. A quick peek inside had confirmed what he’d already surmised: empty. 

Dean had stood there, arms stiff and hands fisted, irritation warring with a swell of dread. Then he’d shaken himself, straightened his spine, and set off down the narrow dirt path amongst the trees. 

Something small and shiny whizzes past Dean’s ear, and he leans to the side in a flinch. 

While the little forest has ample flora - sprawling ferns and squat bushes, green hellebores and dangling bluebells - it’s oddly without much fauna. Dean’s grown rather accustomed to the substratum of birdsong and jumping fish at his inlet; here though, there’s only the occasional rustling of what might be a small rodent, and the buzz of - apparently - bumblebees. 

The little bee circles around Dean, slightly too close for comfort, and he waves a hand to shoo it away. He watches its flight, lazy and seemingly directionless, until it comes upon the back of the old barn. There’s a shining wind chime hung from a flickering sconce lamp, its long Corinthian bells silent in the still air. The bee hovers over it for a moment, then dances off toward a figure at the other side. 

Cas stands at the foot of a spindly oak tree, head craned back to stare up at the canopy. 

Dean stares at his back, watching his shoulder blades shift under his trench coat. He wonders if Cas can feel the weight of his new wings, feel them tugging at his spine even while they’re hidden. 

Dean’s pretty sure Cas knows he’s there. Back when they’d first met, Cas could teleport directly to Dean from a thousand miles away - could find Dean in the dark and cold, endless expanse of Hell. Even powerless and human in an alternate universe, Cas had known Dean nearly the instant he saw him. 

Cas has always known him. Always found him. 

“Would you have ever told me,” Dean murmurs, voice just loud enough to carry. Oddly enough, it’s precisely what he meant to say, what he came here to ask - but the words taste like ash in his mouth. 

Cas’ head tips forward and to the side. His shoulders rise in a deep breath. “I did tell you.”

Dean huffs a laugh at that, face splitting in a wretched smile. It’s a cop-out, and they both know it. Dean’s said enough last words to know they’re inherently selfish - a balm for the dying, not the survivors. 

Cas’ shoulders sag on a sigh, and he glances back up at the tree. There’s a large beehive hanging from a crooked branch overhead. 

“No,” Cas murmurs. 

Dean’s stomach clenches, eyes tracing over Cas’ low-lit form. In the liminal space between the shadows of the trees, his body looks strange - more like a bending of light than a corporeal figure. It occurs to Dean that Cas has no need of a vessel in Heaven, that he has likely restructured his true form for the sole purpose of looking as Dean remembers him. 

Dean bites the inside of his cheek, fingernails digging into his palms. “Why,” he whispers. 

Cas is silent for a moment, still like a statue. The breeze picks up, tinkling the wind chimes at Dean’s side. 

“It wasn’t your burden to bear,” Cas says finally. He takes a diagonal step around the tree, careful to keep his back to Dean. 

Dean resists an almost overwhelming urge to step forward. “Burden?” he calls out, just as the wind dies down. 

Cas halts and glances back up at the tree. Dean follows his eyes to the beehive. It hangs near the end, its weight pulling the narrow branch downward. There’s a knot at the place where the branch meets the trunk, with a wide crack running through it. 

“Yes,” Cas says as he steps further away. “Burden.”

Dean watches him disappear into the thicket, the gnarled trees painting him in shadow, swallowing him up. Dean turns away from the quiet chimes, the buzzing hive, the creaking branch, and backtracks his route along the tortuous path. 

His boots trample hellebores and bluebells alike. 

~*~

When he arrives at the inlet, John is sitting on the bench at the end of the pier. 

Dean halts his stride, one foot dangling uselessly in the air. He doesn’t remember the drive from the hayfield, doesn’t know why he’s here, rather than alone in his dark little bunker, rather than floating in the endless abyss of the Empty. He doesn’t know why the sun beats down on his back, why the eden that surrounds him feels like a wasteland. 

He doesn’t know, he doesn’t know. 

John peeks over his shoulder and gives Dean a tiny crooked smile. He juts his chin toward a lonesome rod - Dean’s own - propped against the empty side of the bench. 

Dean breathes out a sigh and approaches, grabbing the rod as he sidles onto the seat. He hunches forward and clutches at the grip, thumb fiddling with the reel. His stinging eyes trace the line up the pole and back down, the weight of John’s stare pressing on his shoulders. 

Silence descends on him, in him, and he feels like he had just after Mary had burned - like he’s standing on a snowy slope in the imminence of an avalanche, like the softest spoken word will bury him in debris. 

John makes a little sound in the back of his throat and leans away, rustling in the bag at his side. He comes back upright, shoulder bumping against Dean’s, and holds out a bottle of El Sol. 

Dean eyes the bottle and the wrinkled hand offering it, then he follows the line of the leather-clad arm to John’s face. He’s looking away, squinted eyes watching the play of ripples in the water. His brow is a straight smooth line, his mouth soft. He looks calm and at ease, spine curved and shoulders loose. 

Dean gets the strangest feeling that, for the first time, John expects nothing of him.

Dean stares at him for a moment longer, considering, then takes the beer from John’s outstretched hand. He flicks off the cap with his thumbnail and takes a long pull. It’s sour and hoppy, bitter as always. 

Dean casts his line. 

He knows he won’t make a catch, and that the sun won’t set. He knows he won’t speak a word, and neither will John. He knows the dregs of his beer will be warm and flat. And he knows the fish in the inlet don’t know that they’re wet. 

~*~

“‘The other angel.’”

Cas turns sharply, and his book drops onto the table with a dull thud. Dean’s caught him by surprise, he realizes; though he supposes that makes sense - he’s caught himself by surprise as well. Not a moment ago he’d been stood in his modest kitchen, rifling through the cabinets in search of something he can’t remember, when a thought occurred. 

A thought that, apparently, brought him here. 

Cas frowns and shakes his head, eyebrows dropping low. “What?” he grumbles. 

Dean clenches his jaw and takes an unsteady step forward. “‘The other angel,’” he repeats. “‘The one in the dirty trench coat who’s—’” Dean’s jaw clamps shut, teeth digging into his tongue, but he presses onwards, “... ‘who’s in love with you.’ That’s—” he runs his tongue over his lips, though his mouth has gone dry, “—that’s how Balthazar described you to me.”

Cas’ frown persists for an instant, before it smoothes into weary resignation. He turns back toward the table, bagged eyes dropping. 

“Well,” he murmurs. “Subtlety was never Balthazar’s strong s—”

Dean shakes his head. “He knew.”

Cas stills, the hand reaching toward his book freezing in the air. 

Dean isn’t sure where the realization had come from, but it had hit him like a damned freight train. And on its heels had come the urgent, almost desperate need to hear Cas deny it. 

Not that Cas had ever been much of a liar. 

An image floats to the surface of Dean’s mind: a pretty brunette with ice blue eyes, offering Cas an army and a shining pointed blade. We gave you our trust, she’d said. Don’t lose it over one man.

“Hannah knew, too,” Dean grits out, taking another step forward. “Didn’t she.”

Tell me I’m wrong, Dean thinks. Aren’t I always?

Cas sighs and hunches forward, pressing his hands flat against the tabletop. “Dean...”

“Naomi,” Dean interjects. I admire your loyalty, she’d said to Dean, lying through her teeth. I only wish Castiel felt the same way.

Dean takes another step, blossoming rage steadying his motion. “Uriel,” he spits. You see, he has this weakness; he likes you. “Hester.” When Castiel first laid a hand on you in Hell, he was lost! “Ishim.” So now, I’m gonna help you. I’m gonna cure you of your human weakness. 

That last one carves a fault through Dean’s mind. Ishim had nearly killed Cas, had him supine and bloodied on the cold floor. Dean’s hand had hovered over a banishing sigil, a plea in Cas’ eyes begging him to use it, to smear his grace across the cosmos if only to save Dean’s life. 

Cas’ head tips forward, posture sagging over the table, as he whispers, “Dean—”

“Everyone knew,” Dean says, and his voice has dropped to a scratchy, untouched octave. “Didn’t they.”

Tell me I’m wrong.

Castiel sighs, head tipping back like he’s looking to the heavens. Dean wants to laugh at the irony, but there’s something sharp caught in his throat. 

“Many of the Host,” Cas intones, “my... my brethren.” He peers down at his hands, mouth a straight, firm line. “They knew.”

Dean’s eyes squeeze shut, and his head falls forward. His spine feels loose, wobbly like a Jenga tower. 

“They didn’t—” Cas shakes his head, and a muscle in his jaw twitches. “They didn’t understand,” he murmurs. “But...” he pulls his lips through his teeth, giving a slow, weary nod. “They knew.”

You’re just sad, Ishim says to Cas in the cathedral in Dean’s head. Pathetically weak. 

Human weakness. 

Human weakness. 

Dean sucks in a sharp breath, his hand settling over his roiling stomach. “It’s the reason they hated you, isn’t it,” he whispers, and his voice cracks. “I’m...” he swallows around the lump in his throat and nods sharply. “I’m the reason.”

Tell me I’m wrong.

Cas turns toward Dean, his eyebrows arching toward the center of his forehead. His eyes have gone shiny and pink-rimmed. 

“They didn’t hate me, Dean,” he murmurs, and his tone is chiding and pleading at once. “They—”

He cuts himself off, and his eyes flick side to side. Dean can tell he’s searching for a better word - something softer than the barbed, stinging one he’d just barely swallowed down. 

Dean had heard it anyway. 

“Pity,” Dean grunts, and he doesn’t bother hoping he’s wrong. He knows better now. “They pitied you.”

Cas holds Dean’s gaze for all of five seconds, before his eyes cut away. 

Dean’s lungs contract, expelling all his breath, and he takes a step backwards, nearly overbalancing in his haste to get out, get gone, get away. Cas’ brow furrows, and he takes an abortive step forward, reaching out a hand. 

His right hand. 

“Dean—” he says sharply, but Dean isn’t listening any more. 

He’d borne Cas’ handprint on his arm like a war wound - had worn it on his sleeve like some people wore their hearts. Through all the years they’d known one another, all the foiled apocalypses and paradises lost, it had never occurred to Dean that he might’ve left a mark on Cas, too - that the very touch that gave Dean a reddened handprint, might have given Cas a red right hand. 

Dean spins on his heel in a swift volte face, and marches towards the door, tottery but unfaltering. He crosses the threshold and steps into the garish sunlight. 

He thinks Cas might be calling his name, but it’s muted and distant, garbled like he’s underwater.

chapter ten | chapter twelve

table of contents

[cjsinkythoughts]

Rocks, Shoulders, and Ears

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 3501

Warnings: !FATWS SPOILERS!, Cursing, Major Angst in this one, guys, Loads of Feels (sorry not sorry), John Walker being a douche (I really don’t like the guy)

A/N: I’m SO SORRY! I promise I was planning on it being shorter, but I went a little overkill with the angst! There’s just so many feelings and not enough space in my heart and soul, so I had to pour them out here! You get to see more of Reader and Sam’s relationship in this one and there’s major Bucky Feels towards the end (in my defense, this is based on the Couples Therapy half of the episode).

I’m really hoping we get to see Bucky go to Louisiana next episode! I’m holding out for it! I have a few ideas that include Sarah, but I need the episode! Ugh! Now we have to wait a whole ‘nother week! I really shouldn’t write three chapters on one episode in one day. I just couldn’t help myself!

Anyways! Please enjoy this part and thank you so much for all your support! Seriously, it’s meant so much to me, especially after the week I’ve had! If you haven’t checked out the previous parts, my FATWS Series Masterlist is HERE, so please go read those first. Like always, this isn’t beta’d so please excuse any mistakes! Enjoy, babes!

!SPOILERS UNDER CUT!

The last thing you remembered was falling asleep in Bucky’s arms after walking a few miles. And a hospital in DC wasn’t exactly what you preferred waking up to, but it’s what happened. Turned out, not only was your shoulder dislocated and your thigh was strained, but you had a mild concussion. Your arm was in a sling and your palm, which you had completely forgotten about after you wrapped it while on Bucky’s back, was wrapped properly. Luckily, your thigh wasn’t too bad, but they wanted to put you on crutches, which you refused immediately.

You had to get out of that building. You had no idea where the guys went, which was weird because you were sure they’d never leave you alone. Especially in a hospital.

You quickly snuck your way through the halls after grabbing your bag which - thank God - was left on the seat besides your bed and changing into an extra pair of clothes. 

You tried calling Bucky’s phone, the one he had specifically for you, which he always always answered. He even made an excuse to go to the bathroom once when you accidentally called in the middle of a therapy session. Nothing. You called the number four times before trying Sam’s phone.

It clicked on the first try.

“Hey. Listen, sorry for leaving-”

“Where the hell are you?”

You heard him sigh. “I was just about to explain, so hang on a second there. You weren’t waking up, probably because that concussion you forgot to mention to us-”

“In my defense, I didn’t know.”

“Sure you didn’t.” You rolled your eyes, throwing your free hand up, exasperated. “Anyways, Bucky wanted me to meet someone, we’ll talk about that when you inevitably get here, put we had a bit of trouble and Bucky was arrested-”

“What?!”

“Chill your pants, Y/L/N. Just listen. We’re in Baltimore. I’ll text you the address. Get here soon and I’ll explain the whole thing. We’ve been here for a couple hours, but there’s people on their way and we’re getting everything situated right now.”

“Okay. Fine. But you’re in trouble.”

“Don’t I know it, babe. Now hurry your cute little ass here. We’ve got stuff to talk about.”

*****************

The ride from DC to Baltimore is usually an hour or so, but you’ve got resources, especially in the nation’s capital, and riding the bike you got, being able to go way over the speed limit? You got there in half the time. Being an Avenger really does have its perks.

The moment you got there, you hopped off the bike, not even bothering to turn it off, and stormed into the precinct. You headed straight over to the desk, but a pair of hands caught you by your uninjured arm before you could make a scene.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Sam spoke softly, squeezing your bicep gently. “He’s okay, alright?”

“Why is he-”

“He missed his court-mandated therapy session.” Sam informed you, pulling you over to where he had been sitting previously. “There was a warrant out for his arrest. They had to bring him in, but it’s fine. His therapist’s been contacted. She should be here any minute to get him out.”

Your head fell back at his words. His therapy. How could you forget? You let Bucky complain to you about it and played along sometimes, but you really did think it was good for him and you tried supporting him. Yet you made him miss it and now he’s in trouble.

“Hey. Y/N. Look at me.” You found Sam’s worried eyes, his hand coming up to hold the side of your neck. “He’s okay. He’ll be out in just a bit. It’s fine.”

“It’s my fault, Sam.”

“No. It’s not. He’s a grown ass man who made the decision to skip.”

You shook your head, holding his wrist for something to anchor you down. “No, Sammy. I brought him along. I should’ve been more responsible-”

“I know we’ve joked around about you being in charge and stuff, but…you know it’s not all on your shoulders, right?” Sam tilted his head slightly, eyebrow pinched in confusion making his eyes narrow. 

You turned your head, not wanting to look at him. You didn’t need another set of deep eyes to fall into. “Sammy…I promised him I’d look after you.”

“I know. And that’s fine. But looking after us - looking after him - doesn’t mean you have to be there to hold his hand and take the fall for him. He’s not a child. Hell, he’s a hundred years old. Tell me you understand that.”

Licking your lips, you closed your eyes and shook your head again. “I-I can’t-”

“Is that why you’re obsessed with finding Wanda?”

You frowned at his question, eyes snapping to his. “I’m worried about her, Sam.”

“I am too, but she can handle herself. And if she doesn’t want to be found, you have to let her be. I know the Avengers were your only family. I know how much Steve meant to you-”

“No.” You pulled away rather harshly, digging your nails into your palms, trying not to cry, ignoring the wound you were irritating. “No, you don’t. How could you understand my feelings for Steve when I don’t understand them myself?”

Sam always had this ability to make anyone feel important, just by looking them in the eye. It was something you always admired about him; the way his smile could light up a room, those warm eyes making everyone’s fears go away. They reminded you of hot chocolate. Something that could soothe your worries, comfort you, warm your very soul from the ice tragedy and heartache tend to big on.

You promised yourself you wouldn’t cry in front of people, but with the way he was looking at you, it was hard to keep the tears from slipping.

“You loved him, Y/N. Why is it so hard for you to see that?”

“I didn’t - I wasn’t in love with him, Sam.” You argued, wiping your cheeks aggressively and turning, crossing your arms defensively.

“What do you call it then?”

It was a rhetorical question, Sam copying your movements and sitting straight to watch for Bucky coming out. A rhetorical question that you didn’t know the answer to. Because you weren’t in love with Steve. No. Maybe you had been, but somewhere along the way he passed your heart to Bucky. So why did it hurt so bad?

You refused to dwell on it anymore, clearing your throat and dabbing at your eyes one more time before changing the topic. “Why are we in Baltimore?”

“Bucky wanted me to meet someone. Isaiah. You know him?” Sam turned back to you, his warm eyes shifting into something else. Suspicion? A bit of anger? Annoyance? You couldn’t tell.

“Isaiah? I don’t think I know any Isaiahs. And definitely not here. Why? Who is he?”

Sam shook his head, eyes darting around the lobby. “We’ll talk about it later.”

You nodded, although now your curiosity had peaked and you wondered who this guy was that made Sam so agitated. While you waited, you felt your eyes drooping and you let your head fall onto Sam’s shoulder, who chuckled.

“You’re still tired? You know you slept for, like, twelve hours, right?”

“I haven’t been sleeping much.”

Sam turned his head to kiss yours. “Y/N, I know you want to care for everyone, but you’ve gotta take care of yourself too.”

“I know.”

“Okay.” And with that, the subject dropped, Sam pulling out his phone while you rested your eyes.

It was another ten minutes or so before Sam’s name was called and the both of you stood up to greet the speaker. A woman, Dr. Raynor. Bucky’s infamous therapist.

And speaking of infamous. The moment you heard his voice, you squeezed your eyes shut, hoping it was just your brain malfunctioning. And then he was walking towards you, calling Bucky ‘Bucky’ like they were old pals and he was saving him from something terrible.

Your face scrunched up as Walker talked about stopping Bucky’s regular therapy sessions. “He’s too valuable of an asset to have him tied up-”

“Don’t call him an asset.” You snapped. “He’s a human being with needs, and therapy-”

“He’s a super soldier with skills that we need.” Walker cut in, making you scowl as he turned back to Raynor.

You scoffed in disbelief at his words, turning on your heel and walking away before he did, heading straight for Bucky, who lifted his right arm, wrapping it around your shoulders once you were close enough.

“Are you okay?” You whispered, closing your eyes and trying to relax in his hold, breathing him in.

“Are you? Should you be walking? What did-”

You shook your head. “I’m fine.”

“Really?”

“Promise.” You sighed out with a nod, squeezing him once more before pulling back as Raynor stepped forwards, ordering Bucky and Sam to do a session with her. You almost laughed when Sam tried refusing, a little chuckle actually leaving your lips when Bucky slumped, dragging his feet like a kid going to the principal’s office.

You followed, Bucky holding the door open for you. “Thanks, Buck.”

“Of course, doll.” He gave a small smile, before walking in after you, Sam letting out a, “hey!” when Bucky shut the door on him, making you roll your eyes. You let the corners of your mouth tick up slightly in amusement. Yes, they annoyed the hell out of you, but you had to admit it was pretty funny sometimes.

“I believe I asked for James and Sam, Ms. Y/L/N.”

“It’s Agent, actually, and I think I’m gonna sit in.”

Raynor narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think-”

“That wasn’t a request.” You threw her words to Sam back at her, making Sam smirk. You shot him a wink as she relented with a sigh. 

“Fine. Just as a spectator. Don't interrupt.”

You raise your hands in surrender, slipping around the table to stand in the corner as your fellas sank down into the seats across the table from her.

A small puff of laughter came from you at the lack of response when she asked one of them to start. She shot you a warning look over her shoulder, but you shrugged. You couldn’t help it; it was like all those times back in grade school when a teacher asked for a volunteer to read in a classroom full of rowdy kids and crickets followed.

Once she mentioned the next exercise was used for couples, you had to laugh, making both men shoot you begging pouts.

“Y/N.” Raynor glared at you, so you controlled yourself, gesturing for her to continue.

Her miracle question did work so well, neither of them cooperating well.

She didn’t even bother with you when you started cackling after she mentioned the “soul-gazing exercise” and Bucky thanked her, Sam commenting that he would like this one. You gave a teasing wolf-whistle when they got close, one of Bucky’s thighs between Sam’s and vice versa.

“Doll.” Bucky whined at you.

“Listen here, smartass-”

Raynor cleared her throat, cutting Sam off from finishing his statement towards you. You leaned back against the wall, crossing your arms with a smirk. After all the bickering and side taking they’ve put her through, letting you enjoy this was the least they could do, and they knew it.

Of course, this exercise didn’t work out either. A staring contest. Children. She was best friends with literal children.

But then something happened. Something you never thought would happen. Raynor asked Bucky why Sam aggravated him, and Bucky looked over to you, his eye growing sad in a way they only did when Steve was involved.

“Steve believed in you.” Bucky told him earnestly. “He trusted you. He gave you that shield for a reason. That shield? That is…that is everything he stood for. That is his legacy. He gave you that shield, and you threw it away like it was nothing.  So maybe he was wrong about you. And if he was wrong about you, he was wrong about me.”

You heard his voice crack a little at the end as he slumped down in his seat, you jaw dropping slightly. You listened to the rest of the conversation, catching the way Sam grew irritated again, something that you didn’t previously think was possible, but was happening more and more now.

Why wasn’t Sam talking to you? Why was he holding all this in suddenly? And why…Bucky…he didn’t tell you that. Why didn’t he say anything? How could he ever feel…

But you knew how he could feel like that. Yes, Steve believed in him so much that he tore the Avengers apart for him…but he was the only one willing to do that for him. Yeah, you and Sam and Wanda and Clint, you all joined their side but, being honest, it wasn’t because you believed in Bucky. It was because you believed in Steve. Of course, it was different now. You believed in Bucky with your entire being, and you believed in Sam with your heart and soul, but…did either of them know that? Did they believe you when you told them? Or did you not tell them enough? This whole time you thought you were doing right by Steve - trying you damn hardest to watch out for them. But it obviously wasn’t enough. And that was on you, no matter what Sam said.

You read people. That’s what you’ve always done, that’s what you’d always do. It was the reason you earned your spot on the team. You read people and situations and could figure your way into their heads in a second. Years and years of undercover work taught you how to do that and how to protect yourself while doing so.

So why? How? How did you miss something this big? How did you miss the way Sam was holding onto something? Why did you ignore the vexation in his tone for the last couple weeks? How did you miss that Bucky was hurting that deeply? Why didn’t you do anything more for him?

You left the room before either of the boys, but you heard Sam standing up as you walked out the door.

You should’ve known you weren’t the only one holding things in. Of course they were. The difference is, you were supposed to be their rock, the thing they could hold onto to ground themselves, the shoulder for them to cry on, and the ear lent to them whenever they needed someone to listen. That was your job. It wasn’t their job. Not for you. Your rock - your shoulder, your ear - he left you. And you thought, after all he did for you, if you just returned the favor for his best friends, you’d…you dunno. You’d be closer to him, maybe.

But you couldn’t. Because you weren’t Steve Rogers. And you knew that from the start, but you had to try. You tried. And it wasn’t working. He made it seem so easy when he did it for you. Clearly you didn’t give him enough credit for dealing with all your shit on top of his own.

“Doll.” You didn’t stop walking, needing to get outside for some fresh air. “Doll, hold on. Wait a minute.”

He grabbed your arm as you made it outside, spinning you to face him. “You didn’t tell me.” You spoke quietly, your voice fragile as you stared at him, confusion and hurt in your eyes. Were you really that bad at doing your job? Did you really already fail him? He asked you to do one thing…

“I didn’t…I didn’t want you to deal with my problems.” You opened your mouth, but he shook his head, holding your face between his hands. “I’m not stupid, Y/N. I know something’s going on with you. You’re good at hiding your nightmares at night, but I’m better. You’re jumpier than usual. Quieter. Every time Wanda’s brought up, you turn away. And the other day? On the truck? You froze. I was watching, doll. It was just a second, but you froze. You never freeze.”

“It’s not your job to worry about me, Buck-”

He frowned, tilting his head. “Not my job? Aren’t we friends? Isn’t that what friends do? Or am I just a job to you? I know you promised him to look after me. Is that all I am to you? A responsibility?”

You shook your head vigorously, holding onto his wrists. “No. No, Bucky, I just-”

“Do you think he was wrong about me?”

Salty diamonds ran down your cheeks as you clenched your eyes shut and shook your head. “No.”

“Did you ever believe in me? Did you ever care or was it all just because Steve? Is Steve the only reason you tolerate me?”

“Don’t say that. God, please don’t say that.” You begged quietly, meeting his gaze again. Every beautiful detail was laced with devastation, eyes imploring her to make him feel better. “Of course I believe in you. I have since Wakanda, you know that. Yes, okay, maybe Steve is why I helped you at first, but-but…I care about you, James. So much so that it hurts sometimes. He wasn’t wrong about you. Or Sammy. You both mean so much to me. Okay?”

You watched his Adam’s Apple bob as he swallowed thickly, nodding slightly. You both simultaneously moved to get closer, him pulling you while you stepped into his chest, arms around his waist. His arms were tight around your shoulder, holding you just as firm as the kiss he planted on your forehead.

Sam came out, planting himself besides you as you pulled away, Bucky wiping your eyes. “I feel better.” He huffed out sarcastically, making you smack him in the arm. “Ow! Yeesh. Women these days.”

The sudden siren of one of the parked police cars made the three of you look over, spotting Walker and Hoskins. You groaned. “Did he see that?”

“Hey,” Bucky caught your jaw between his fingers, shaking his head. “Who cares? It’s between us and us only. Right?” You nodded, making him kiss your forehead again, a whisper of “attagirl” against your skin. You hadn’t heard that from him in a while.

“Gentlemen!” Walker waved them over, nodding at you. “And lady.” The three of you reluctantly walked over, Bucky going to lean on the police car Walker and Hoskins were near and you hopped up to sit on the hood of the police car across from them, Sam besides you.

You got information from Walker, who was once again trying to get you to work with him, but Sam summed it up nicely, explaining that the three of you didn’t have to follow the rules he did. You started to leave, Bucky tucking you under his arms once you slid off the car, when Walker stopped you once more.

“A word of advice, then. Stay the hell out of my way.”

You grumbled under your breath as the faker and his lapdog walked off. “I’m gonna kill him.” You vowed as the three of you started in the other direction. “I swear to God, I’m gonna rip that shield off his back and use it to beat him in that stupid face of his-”

“Down, girl.” Sam jested, flicking your ear. “We need a game plan. What’re we thinking?”

Your eyes narrowed as Bucky piped up, talking about the Isaiah character - who you still didn’t know - before HYDRA entered the equation.

“Absolutely not.” You shook your head, tugging his arm to make him stop once he mentioned Siberia. “Do you remember Siberia? Because if you’re actually suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, we remember Siberia very differently.”

“He’s our best bet-”

“So you’re just going to go sit in a room with this guy?”

Bucky scrunched up his nose. “Ye-yes…”

A beat of silence passed before Sam gave his stamp of approval, but you still disagreed. “There’s no way this’ll end well and I refuse to let you-”

You found your face between Bucky’s hands again. You really wished he’d stop doing that and just ask for your attention. You didn’t mean that, of course. You’d be held by him every second of every day if you could. “Don’t you trust me, doll?”

You licked your lips, looking around the darkened street. This was not a good idea. A bad plan - a terrible plan, really - but, unfortunately, it was the only one you had. “Dammit. I’ve got a really bad feeling about this.” You finally sighed, running a hand through your hair after Bucky let go of you, his eyebrow quirking.

“Is that a yes?”

Sam nodded. “We’re gonna go see Zemo.”

You tugged Bucky��s hand when he nodded back and went to walk after Sam, who started walking around the corner, making him stop. “And yes. I do trust you. With everything I have, Buckaroo.”

[s-brant]

Pirates and Princesses (8/8)

(gif: @beccs) (PART SEVEN) (SERIES MASTERLIST)

Summary: JJ must confront his childhood trauma when returning home for the first time since his dad went to jail and prevent it from sabotaging his new relationship. Meanwhile, something sinister happens at the Chateau that brings Y/N face to face with her grief over John B’s death.

Word Count: 13.4k

Warnings: Angst, implied sexual content, strong language, parent/child abuse, mental illness, post-traumatic stress disorder, grief, and fluff.

A/N: Welcome to the final chapter of Tokens! This one has a little bit of everything in it, but it also has detailed scenes about JJ and his dad, so proceed with caution if you’re easily triggered by that topic. The love you guys show this fic warms my heart so much, so thanks to anyone who stuck with this story until this chapter. Hope you enjoy it!

Now that she has been sentenced to both punishments, one as a consequence of the fight with Kacey and the other as a consequence of the stunt she pulled with JJ to break out of ISS, Y/N can confidently say that out of school suspension is superior to in-school suspension by a long shot. Instead of sitting in a humid room with Alec for the duration of multiple school days, she's allowed to stay home, go out surfing, and do whatever she wants in lieu of doing classwork.

She promised herself not to make it a habit, promising the invisible presence of John B that she likes to pretend follows her around that she will never get herself into trouble again, but she sees no problem in enjoying her suspension while it lasts.

For the first few days of her suspension, JJ skipped school to spend it with her. Their memories of the conversation they had at three in the morning on Sunday were fuzzy, but not missing entirely. She noticed a difference in his behavior for the first few hours after they woke up under the tree together for the second time in one week. It wasn't a difference in their relationship or how he treated her, it was a difference in him.

He was quieter than usual as they cleaned up cans of beer and tossed them into the recycling, sending pictures to Kie while she was in class after she made them promise not to throw them in the trash. Rather than cracking jokes or making casual conversation with her, JJ made his way around the yard with the recycling bin in his hands and his head in the clouds. It disappeared as the day progressed, but for a little while, he wasn't completely there.

Today, he went into school instead of ditching to spend extra time with her in between shifts at work and time spent with their friends. Since they can't exceed three consecutive absences without a doctor’s note and he doesn't own a printer or laptop to forage the header from a doctor's office, he had no choice but to part from her this morning.

He bites his lip to contain his smug facial expression at the recollection of her wake up call for him. The hand holding his locker door open for him to lean on in the midst of his not-so-wholesome thoughts of her squeezes the metal hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

The curtains weren't shut all the way when they fell asleep before midnight last night, allowing a shaft of sunlight to shine in and land on his face. But that wasn't what woke him up from the dream he was having. In fact, the reality he opened his eyes to was a hell of a lot better than any dream he remembered.

Most of his memory of those moments spent suspended between consciousness and unconsciousness consisted of feeling her pressing a kiss to his shoulder, then her hands rubbing up and down his waist to slip lower and lower until they settled on the waistband of his underwear. It was then that he woke to find her looking up at him for permission from where she peppered kisses along his chest.

Their eyes met right as she kissed the edge of his nipple with this pleading, needy look that he took pride in causing without actively attempting to. She woke up on the brink of coming undone from a pleasant—to put it tamely—dream about him. With a glimpse at the time displayed on the alarm clock, it didn't take much for her to roll over to wake him up.

It ended with her beneath the sheet, finishing what she started Friday afternoon until he was clutching the pillow beneath his head in the midst of his orgasm. It happened so fast, a fault of how hot he found it to wake up to her wanting him so badly, but it felt slower than it truly was in the early morning haze of exhaustion they felt.

The memory as he relives it is as heady as it felt the first time around. He sees it in fractions; her eyes looking up at his, warm palms finding the familiar planes of his muscular body with the exploratory touch of someone who's never traveled it before, and the intense sensations he felt at the end...It's easy for him to stand here and lose himself in it. Despite the class he has to go to, he bargains with himself for one more second spent in the paradise of his memories before he has to come back to reality.

Reality, as his shitty luck would have it, comes in the form of a familiar feminine voice chirping from behind his back as he replays his morning bliss.

"It's good to see you're alive and well, Maybank."

He decides, based on who he knows he'll see when he turns around, that he might invest in a sharpie to write "Bang head here" on the inside of his locker door for instances like these where he'd rather suffer brain damage than speak to someone he can't stomach the presence of.

When he turns to see Kacey with one arm still stretched to hold his locker open, he doesn't bother concealing the genuine reaction from his face for the sake of her feelings. Any care he had for her and her feelings was thrown to the wind as soon as she decided she could steal from and put her hands on his girl last week. However, after a second of thought, a condescending smirk finds its way to his face.

He says, jerking his chin to vaguely gesture at her bruised up face, "Purple really suits your complexion. It makes your eyes pop, don't you think?"

Though the swelling of her black eye has deflated in the days since the fight that’ll soon tally up to a week, the verbal jab hits right where it intended to if the light leaving her eyes tells him anything. She bounces back after a second, though, ever the relentless pest they've come to see her as.

She offers a sickeningly sweet, yet fake smile to mirror the one gracing his striking features and spins so her back meets the locker beside his, allowing herself to invade his space further.

A collection of Y/N's stickers decorates the inside of his locker door that he briefly entertained the idea of designating as a place to bang his head against. They range from girly, glittery ones to those he willingly picked when she gave him the choice. Whenever they're at his locker together, she sticks one on the inside, and the evidence of the habit catches Kacey's wandering eyes.

Her fingertips brush against the surface of the sticker-covered metal while she ignores his protest of, "Can you not touch my stuff?" to inspect them. Since one of the Pogues in particular is famous for her endless supply of stickers, her expression sours at the thought of the girl responsible for them.

She spares him a quick glance out of the corner of her eye as she continues to analyze the sticker collection against his instructions not to, asking, "Why weren't you at the bonfire?" A failed attempt at a seductive look in his direction makes him fight not to roll his eyes. "After how last year's ended, I thought you wouldn't miss it for the world."

JJ doesn't bother to take a second to think things through before he reaches to slam the door closed with her hand still outstretched inside of it. Watching her pull it away just in time to avoid jamming it in the locker probably pleases him more than it should, but he can't help it. His hand catches on the edge of the door, halting it in place right before it closes where her hand previously rested.

She doesn't look too happy with him when he opens the door with no harm done except for the drop of her stomach when he initially pretended to swing it shut on her bruised knuckles. She didn't get many shots in on Y/N when they fought, but apparently it was enough.

He doesn't bother with the fake niceties she's giving him after the disrespect she showed him, his friends, and, most importantly, his girlfriend. The fact that she thinks she has any right to breathe in his direction, let alone flirt with him, after she stole JB's bandana is criminal. 'Cause not only did she mess with Y/N, she messed with John B on multiple levels, and his loyalty to his best friend hasn't disappeared with death. Kie and Y/N told him everything she said about their departed friend in the locker room last Thursday.

But he's smart enough to know what'll hurt her more, so he doesn't go for the general scolding he imagined giving her in his head. Since he was told everything about the encounter in the locker room, he knows she's still holding their history together near and dear to her heart.

"We stayed home," he says, casual and cool as always, with added emphasis on the first word, "You know how it is, my girl doesn't like parties. Especially not ones with kooks."

Hook, line, and sinker.

She scoffs, "Your girl?"

Looking at her now, he wonders if she was always this stupid, or if this is a new development she's had in the year since he last spent more than a minute or two at a time with her. It’s easier to trick her than it was with Kie and Y/N a few days ago, and those poor girls flew into that trap like moths to a flame.

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

The ire is visible in the way her face tenses up in places, her lips pressing together a little more firmly and her forehead creasing between the brows.

"Doesn't your, um, history bother her?" she asks, and he's gotta give her credit for being a sneaky little shit when given the chance. The girl takes every possible opening she can to strike for a potential weakness. "No offense, but you kinda get around."

He shrugs this time, deciding to drop his casual act and aim straight for the jugular.

"She likes having someone who knows how to fuck her right, actually, but I really appreciate the concern."

Much like Kie's reaction to their matching tattoos in the hot tub the other night, her jaw is unhinged to meet the unswept hallway floor they stand on. It makes him wish Y/N weren't suspended in order for her to see the gobsmacked reaction Kacey has to the harsh dismissal. Though he wouldn't want to incite an extra round of the Kacey vs Y/N WWE showdown by having her watch another girl flirt with him and essentially call him a slut upon rejection, he knows she'd get a kick out of it.

This one's for you, baby, he thinks with a quiet laugh to himself and turns his focus to the sticker collection she so lovingly crafted.

There are plenty of summer themed ones left over from the same pack he gifted her for her birthday with the surfboard sticker she used to tease him, as well as a newer genre of Valentine's Day stickers she started using the closer they grew since first getting together. They're mostly different colored candy hearts with corny phrases ranging from "U SXY THING" to the classic "BE MINE" and one printed with "ANGEL" on it—his favorite by far.

However, others are random ones from her endless stash built up over the years from birthdays and holidays deemed worthy enough by her dad to stop by Dollar Tree for a new pack, so the one he sets his attention on is likely meant for teachers or coaches to give to their students. The opportunity appears too good to be true to him when it clicks, but it isn't.

He peels the sticker off of the locker door, careful not to disturb the ones around it, and leans in closer to her to place it on the front of her tank top.

"Leave us alone or I won't stop her next time," JJ says lowly, past the point of civility, then backs away to slam his locker shut for real this time as his voice raises back to a normal volume, "And keep John B's name out of your mouth, got it?"

All she can do is look down at the sticker placed on her shirt with squinted eyes to try and read it while he walks off in the direction of his next class. It tears away from the fabric with a soft noise, and when she finally reads it, she rolls her eyes.

“Good Try!”

​​Walking out of school to see the Twinkie parked in the usual spot Y/N takes when she isn't suspended is a delightful treat he didn't know to expect after a rough day in class and his run in with Kacey. His head was hung low on his way to Kie's car to hitch a ride to his house before going home to the Chateau, since he had some things to pick up with his dad out of the picture for the near future, but then he heard her greet them.

JJ's body melts into hers upon contact, and he nearly pushes her up against the closed passenger side door of the van with how hard he hugs her. Though he doesn't want to acknowledge it, his dad has been living in his thoughts more than usual today. Ever since he texted him goodbye, he's been withdrawn inside of his head more and more, and after today's inconveniences, the rising anxiety of his plan to visit home has him two seconds from losing his mind.

Her eyes widen at his zeal, meeting Kie's concerned gaze from over the shoulder she rests her chin on. She stands with her keys swinging around her finger as she watches the couple embrace one another. In an answer to the silent question Y/N asks her in their stare, her lips mouth the words, "His dad," to her.

Deep down, Y/N had a feeling.

It began with his impromptu request to run away with her a few days ago and extended into his uncharacteristically reserved attitude the next morning that receded somewhat, but has yet to fully disappear. There is a part of her that's upset that he hasn't come to her to talk about it, to communicate the way they swore they would, yet she also knows it isn't that simple.

She has to remind herself that she knew what she was getting herself into with him. That's not to say that dating her must be a walk in the park for him, it isn't.

She knows based on the amount of times he had to hold her as she cried, or the time he curtailed her panic attack in this very parking lot, that she hasn't made it easy for him in the aftermath of John B's death. But it's because she knows how it feels that she has such patience with his communication issues.

It's not a conscious choice most times, it's an involuntary blockage preventing the words from being spoken no matter how desperately they long to be. They may have made a promise, but she won't chastise him for succumbing to the same pitfalls as her. It’d be hypocritical.

"Bad day?" she asks.

Her voice is tender with him, prodding gently for a clue as to why he pounced on her on sight. He sinks further into her arms at the sound and lets the sanctity of her touch sway him into submission. Everything about her sets him at ease, if only for a second. Her hand lifts the beat-up red hat from his head to allow the other to brush through his hair.

There's a hum of agreement that she feels vibrating through the center of his chest into hers, and her arms pull tighter around his shoulders in response. This time, when she looks up to see Kie there, she's waving a quick goodbye and setting off toward her car, clearly giving JJ the space he needs.

"We can go to the beach," she says softly, "I have a towel in the back of the van, we can just lay there and talk about it if you want."

The idea of her kind offer to him should add to the comfort he finds in her embrace. It should make him nod and whisper his gratitude to her for being the one person that knows him better than anyone, but it brings him back to the gloomy headspace he was in before seeing her.

It started as a minor distraction when he first arrived at school after carpooling with Kie. It followed him in the quieter moments, only making appearances when he wasn't distracted with more pressing matters. It began as that and built the closer the day came to ending. The sooner his inevitable visit back to his childhood home came, the more he lost himself in his fear, reverting back to a state of helplessness he now occupies with no small amount of shame.

His bottom lip trembles with the urge to cry.

"Can we stop somewhere on the way home first?"

The last place she expected him to drive the Twinkie is here.

As they made their way down each street, taking each turn necessary to bring them closer to the house he seldom let her go to over the course of their lifelong friendship, she felt her heart begin to race. And now, as the van rolls to a stop in the yard in front of his house, she has swallow back the lump in her throat at the sight of it.

She has only been here a few times.

The first time, she was seven years old.

It was a sweltering summer morning in the Outer Banks for her and John B as they set off to retrieve their friend after he missed their plans to meet up at the Chateau for a day of having fun, riding bikes, and playing on the boat. Pirates and Princesses was her favorite game to play with them because JJ would switch roles with her halfway through when she grew tired of being the damsel John B had to rescue from the most cruel and vicious Captain Jesse James Maybank.

The HMS Pogue would rock beneath his feet as he marched across the deck of the boat and took her place as the kidnapped Princess Routledge. He handed off his "sword" to her, a stick he found in the yard, and stood at the edge of the boat with his hands behind his back as though he were a tied up damsel in distress for her to hold captive. The sun setting behind them laid a picturesque backdrop that made the scene all the more vivid to their imaginative young minds.

The boat floated in the afternoon current as John B approached the pair with his best pretend face of worry for the fair Princess Maybank, who had the sharp sword of the pirate queen pressing into his throat with the threat of death should he have tried to escape.

Sometimes, she'd let John B advance on them and tie make believe rope around her wrists and ankles while he and Princess Maybank claimed their victory. Other times, they'd get backed up until the heels of her sneakers hung off the edge of the slippery deck. One move from her brother would have her yell something along the lines of not taking either of them alive, then she'd let her and JJ fall back into the marsh together with gleeful laughs infiltrating the humid air upon their return to the surface.

On the day he didn't show up, none of that happened. She and John B rode their bikes together along sidewalks until they pulled into a driveway marked with the address number he remembered from the other time he sought him out to play before.

Y/N didn't understand what they were hearing when they pushed their kickstands down and called out for their friend, but John B's little face blanched at the sound flooding out of the opened windows of the dilapidated yellow house. It was a combination of banging against the walls, glass shattering, and childlike shouts of frustration and pain. Her big brother placed himself in front of her protectively when the front door opened and smacked against the side of the house, but it wasn't his dad storming out of the house, it was JJ.

His eyes widened at the sight of the siblings standing there, and his heart dropped to his stomach at the realization that they heard it. Maybe not all of it, but based on how the girl peeking out around John B's shoulder looked at him, they heard some.

The van is parked in the exact same place their bikes once were, the exact place she and John B stood years ago when they were first confronted with the harsh reality about their best friend's home life, and he looks like he has fully backpedaled into the state of mind his childhood self inhabited. Even when he turns the key in the ignition and lets the rumbling engine sputter down in silence, he sits in the driver's seat with his lip drawn between his teeth in thought.

Yet as soon as she summons the courage to say something, he takes a deep breath and opens the door without a warning or the typical instruction for her to stay in the car. He doesn't tell her to follow him in, nor does he order her to stay out as he used to when his dad still lived inside. He gives her the choice to make on her own, and, when faced with the opportunity to support him or stay outside like the confused little girl she once was, she chooses the first option.

Her swift steps kick dirt up from the earth onto her ankles as she follows him out of the van to the front steps of the house. She tries not to make her concern for him as evident as it'd be without her intervention on her way up the porch, but it's impossible to erase every sign of it from her face.

It isn't a particularly special or scary house. It's a normal home that'd likely look more inviting if JJ were still living here to mow the lawn and tend to the household upkeep his father saddled him with since he was old enough to be put to work. But she knows better than to trust the street appeal. As he takes her hand to lead them through the threshold of the haunted structure, she is overcome with a sense of creeping trepidation that she can't shake.

"You're sure he isn't here?" she asks.

The entryway is crowded with stacks of mail his father wasn’t bothered to open, as well as empty cardboard boxes that once held cans of beer that are scattered, empty, in various places around the house. Her question is answered by the state of the rooms they breeze past in the direction of his bedroom, but she needed something to say to fill the silence. With them, they usually don’t feel uncomfortable not speaking to each other, but this feels different.

The way he stares out in front of him with his hand squeezing hers hard enough to cut off circulation unnerves her more than the tainted energy of the house itself. He isn't himself. He's a shell of the JJ they know and love, the JJ who is most comfortable tucked away in the safe walls of the Chateau with their friends, not here. If anything, how he is while he's here is the antithesis of his behavior while living with her.

Ever since John B died, he's practically moved in with her. When they're hidden away in her house without the reminders of his home life in sight, he's usually the caretaker of the relationship. It comes naturally to their dynamic, both with him being slightly older and his promise to take care of her, but everything is flipped here. It's an alternate reality for him, or, perhaps, actual reality smacking him in the face after a carefully constructed two months in utopia with her.

They come to a stop in front of his closed bedroom door.

"He's gone," he says, not even sparing a glance at her for reasons she can't decipher, "He texted me a few days ago to say goodbye."

With that, he turns the doorknob and lets the door swing open to reveal the bedroom she only saw one other time.

The second time, she was thirteen years old.

It was a Friday.

Since his dad was supposed to be at work, they stopped at his house on their way home from school exactly like they did today so he could share with their friends what he got from his cousin the night before. Being the good girl she was, she didn't even know what he was showing her when he dug it out of the backpack in the bottom of his closet.

Her brows furrowed at the ziploc bag, more specifically the contents inside of it. She was knelt down on the floor in front of the opened closet door with her shoulder pressed up against his to inspect it. The dried green cluster of a plant didn't look like anything she'd seen before, and she couldn't help but ask him what the hell it was rather than react the way he knew the others would.

"What is it? It looks like dried up moss."

JJ laughed and pulled another bag with rolling papers and a grinder stowed inside.

"It's weed. My cousin Ricky gave me a discount since—"

He halted mid-sentence abruptly enough to startle her, his head turning in the direction of where he heard a trunk pulling up to the front of the house. Her stare was still set on where he was holding the plastic bags in his hands, and she noticed, after he stopped speaking in reaction to his dad coming home, that his hands began trembling. It was so minimal, she almost didn't catch it until she saw the bag wavering under the light coming in from his window.

Before she could open her mouth to say anything more, she felt his hands on her shoulders shoving her into the closet. He followed in closely behind her and crawled in until they were both crammed into the confined space together. With the closet doors shut in front of them, he clamped a hand over her mouth, whispering in her ear for her to be quiet.

She stands with her arms crossed over herself in the center of his room, and though nothing has yet to be said or done to convince her anything is wrong, that's the exact reason why she feels so unnerved by the entire experience of coming here.

He's silent.

The closet doors are wide open as he stuffs the rest of the clothes he had yet to bring to the Chateau into the biggest bag he could find. He rips through his belongings in a fit of melancholy driven anger. His thoughts are swirling with similar memories to the ones she conjures from being here again, but his are tinged with a darkness hers don't have, even with hearing him crying in pain as a child and hiding in the closet with his hand smothering her mouth to evade his dad.

JJ visibly grimaces at the memories he's forced to relive in flashes with every glimpse he gets of the room he spent so much time hiding in. It used to be more tolerable to be here, or at least easier to suffer through. At least he was used to it before, but he got so accustomed to life somewhere else that the second he was confronted with coming back, he started to fall apart.

Whatever he can't live without, he finds space for it in the bag and prepares to leave the rest behind. But every object he touches and step he takes around the room brings him back to the person who he spent his adolescence simultaneously fleeing and wanting more from. More notably, it brings him back to the train of thought that has been nagging him ever since he texted him over the weekend.

The third and final time she came here was over the summer.

It happened right before Hurricane Agatha waged war on the island, when none of the Pogues heard from JJ for two days after he said he had to go home to help his dad with something. She didn't want to track him down to his house after they went over twenty-four hours without a single message. She didn't want to have to go back to the house that gave her chills to think about, let alone go to again after they hid in his closet when they were younger, but he gave her no other choice.

What was she supposed to do except go check on him where he last said he'd be? After all, if she lived in the hazardous environment he did, he'd do the exact same for her. If their friends were involved in her thoughts at the time, they would've gone out on a limb to say he would've gone beyond what she did to protect her if the situation were flipped. If he knew someone was hurting her, he would've come in swinging first and asked questions later, but, in her defense, he strictly told her to never come back to his house. By walking over in the first place, she was breaking one of the fundamental rules of their friendship.

Nevertheless, she found herself crouching around the side of his house to find his bedroom window and check if he was in there. Kie and Pope weren't aware of what was happening with his dad yet, but she and John B accidentally found out years ago, so she wasn't wondering why he wasn't answering them, she was wondering if he was alive.

Part of her truly thought underneath it all that Luke might've killed him. He might've been too drunk or high and went too far when beating him, too far to the point where he didn't want to risk going to jail to take him to the hospital for help. She couldn't live with herself if she didn't check, and if he got pissed at her for showing up against his wishes and didn't want to speak to her ever again, she could live with that.

She knocked on his window in a cadenced beat loud enough for it to heard through the room but not any further. After the first series of knocks, no one came to the window. It ripped her heart to pieces to wonder if she'd see him again as she continued to knock and allowed the sound to increase in volume in hopes that maybe he was asleep, but it didn't bring anyone to the window.

It wasn't until she turned back around to go to the front of the house again that she bumped right into the solid wall of his chest and was pushed back up against the house. The question of what she was doing there was on the tip of his tongue, but she said something that stopped him from asking it.

Her arms were thrown around his shoulders in a desperate bear hug.

"Oh God, JJ, you scared me half to death!" she cried into the front of his shirt, "I thought he killed you!"

He can't help but think of it as he packs his belongings away for a final time to bid his hellish childhood home goodbye: What kind of life are they going to have together if they can't get off this island? Running away may have been an idealistic drunken fantasy for him to entertain after his conversation with Pope got him to admit his true feelings for her, but they both know his consistency can't be trusted.

One moment, he's planning to tell her. The next, a day like today comes along, sweeps his legs out from beneath his body, and he's questioning whether it's worth it to force her to put up with his fickle commitment to her. It isn't fair to her, is it?

Right now is just about when he'd normally start to hyperventilate with an oncoming wave of panic, and he does, but he can't let it fully sweep into him with her here. He fights the urge to smack his head with the heel of his palm, as if that'd forcibly remove the poisonous thoughts infiltrating his mind and ruining the careful work they've done together to remedy their issues with communicating their feelings.

Just like you ruin everything, a thought whispers in the corner of his mind. What made you think this would be any different?

His actions around the room have turned somewhat aimless and distracted, which she notices as soon as he starts to disintegrate into a mess of heavy breaths and self-sabotaging thoughts. She picks up on the shift in his energy as soon as the anxiety starts to wash over him, and she'll be damned if she continues to stand here quietly to let it happen.

It's one thing if he's being silent because being here upsets him, or if he simply doesn't know what to say, but she refuses to let him tailspin into a mental breakdown without doing something to stop it. Whether he knows it or not, after what they went through with him trying to push her away last week, she knows what's occurring within his mind right now.

He flinches at the feeling of her hand grabbing his shoulder to turn him to face her at first, and when she reaches again with her other hand to try to hold his hand as he cries, he shrugs off her touch.

"JJ..." she lets the solemn sound of her own voice murmuring his name trail off, "it's just me."

His head shakes at her consoling words. Everything else inside of his mind is so earth-shatteringly loud, he can't drown it out with logic or reason to bring himself away from the memories of his dad. Those intrusive thoughts keep attacking him with doubled, then tripled force the harder he tries to resist them, and he's so exhausted from it. All of it—the memories, his dad going to jail, and his inability to accept her love to its fullest extent without convincing himself she'll abandon him—is exhausting.

This time, when she rests her hand on his shoulder, he swats it away as the frustration of today crushing him with the force of an avalanche. Not to hurt or scare her, but to get her hands off of him before he bursts out of his skin with the sickness it stirs in his stomach. So detached from himself, he anticipates pain from every touch she gives him, and he knows it hurts her.

JJ hardly recognizes his own voice as he backs away from her a step and says, "Don't."

He can tell it hurts her based on how she looks at him immediately after, but he can't handle being touched right now. How did this happen so quickly? It was overwhelming when they first parked outside, but as soon as he stepped foot inside, it was as if a switch was flipped inside of him and all of the buried feelings he kept hidden over the past two weeks exploded into this.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"You need to leave. I just-I can't breathe and"—He still refuses to look up from the ground or see her face as he paces around the room with no real intent in mind—"You can't see me like this."

That is what breaks her out of her soft spoken, timid attitude to handle the situation the way it needs to be handled. Their natural dynamic worked best for him to take charge when she had her panic attack because JJ acts first and thinks later. He saw that she was in distress and jumped in to help her before things got worse rather than allowing her to keep him at an arms length where he couldn't do anything about it.

Taking a page from his rule book, she takes action.

The room surrounding them is in a state of disarray from him searching through it for the items of clothing and objects now stashed in his duffel bag. There are multiple obstacles in her way as she steps between them like navigating a minefield to reach him after he backed away in instinctual fear, but they don't stop her from reaching him. Nothing could.

Y/N walks right up to him and reaches to grasp his face between her hands, forcing him to stop pacing around and actually look at her for the first time since they arrived her so he hears what she says. To say the least, the way he looks right now is enough to make her cry. There are tears welled up to the brims of his blue eyes, his lips are downturned with his sobs, and he's staring at her like she's about to strike him.

She says it as slowly and clearly as she needs to get it through his head, "He's not here," and before he manages to squeeze out another word of doubt between his rapid inhalations, she cuts in, "Take deep breaths."

He isn't listening to her.

The movement of his chest that hits hers from how close they stand to each other has yet to settle into the familiar pace she remembers from nights of falling asleep with the rhythm of his breaths beneath her head.

Her eyes search his face frantically, from left to right and top to bottom, for any sign of the person she's known for years, but she doesn't see him. Instead, she sees the same panicked child her and John B saw the first time they visited this house. It's uncanny how similar the expression in his face is. It feels to her as if she's been hurled back in time to the moment itself, and when she tries to think about what would've worked with him back then, she doesn't know what else to do except help him escape.

So, with the helplessness of having to watch him turn into a sobbing, incoherent mess, she decides to step into the darkness with him and do what seven year old Y/N would've done. Just like their games of make believe, of pirates and princesses, she assumes the role John B would have and rescues him from what holds him captive. It’s his own mind in this case, but, in the physical sense, it's the house.

She drops her hands from his face and takes his hand in hers to drag him out of the room. The packed bag sits on the floor in their wake as she pulls him back through the bedroom door and into the living room, not caring about what they came here to do.

It doesn't matter anymore.

The various rooms of his dad's house pass by them in a blur as she leads him down the hallway to the front door with one sole objective in mind: get him out of here. If he wants his stuff to bring back to the Chateau, she'll go back inside and get whatever he needs her to, but she isn't letting him inside of this house again. Not under her watch.

Thankfully, since he is undeniably stronger than her and she wouldn't have stood a chance, he doesn't fight it. He stumbles after her guiding hand the same way he always has, just like how he followed her back to the Chateau after she and John B saw him that day when they were kids. She led the way as he sat on the handlebars of her brother's bike, and he watched her hair flutter in the wind with the momentum of their bicycle spokes until the tears dried up.

He watches her drag him out of the home until they've reached the safety of the yard at the bottom of the porch steps, and as soon as the soles of her shoes meet the dirt, she feels his hand slipping out of hers.

"JJ?"

She turns around to see him clutching his chest, rubbing his hand along the front of his shirt over his heart as though it'll loosen up the tightened muscles preventing him from catching his breath. His body weight is leaned onto the railing of the porch steps for support. He's partially slumped on it, looking at her desperately, like she somehow knows the answer to every question screamed inside of his head, and she has never felt as useless.

"You're gonna leave," JJ says through the gasps and cries that leave his cheeks stained with tears.

When she reaches out again to help him remain upright without leaning over the railing, he doesn't shove her hands away as he did inside of his bedroom. It's a small battle won, but she takes it as a win nonetheless.

"What are you saying? I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere—"

"You're gonna leave! Everybody does! My mom, John B, my dad, and you"—his head falls to look at the ground instead of her, and she watches him work through it in his head—"I mean, look at me. You don't want this."

"Don't tell me what I want," she says.

Her voice remains as steady and calm as she can force it to be amidst the turbulent situation, but the way he said it...It takes her right back to sitting in the back of the Twinkie with him at the Cherry Bowl, except it's ten times worse. That felt like a break up, but based on what he's saying, this is one. She hasn't prepared herself for the heartache she feels in response to it.

"You don't want me, you just think you do 'cause I was there after John B died, but you don't. You're gonna go off, find some perfect guy that isn't as fucked up as me, and have a great life somewhere else, but it ain't here," JJ says, his breathing evening out with the distraction of the argument to keep him tethered tor reality, "And it won't be with me."

He can see it every time he's looked at her and debated saying those three titular words that have been floating around in his head since he first met her.

How could she want someone who can't walk into his childhood bedroom without breaking down, or someone who still has years-old scars from cigarette burns on his skin when she touches him? Her bright future contrasted with his pre-designated fate on the Cut, her personality better matched with someone more similar to her, her life continuing on whether he's there or not—it's his worst nightmare, but he's prepared to see it through.

What he doesn't expect is for her to hold her ground.

"You honestly think I'm buying into that bullshit?" she asks.

"What?"

She doesn't put it softly, she states facts with as much harshness as his cruel fantasy had, "You're trying to push me away and I won't let you."

Her typically sweet, soft features have hardened into a bitter expression he's sure he mirrors. The arms holding his waist to keep him upright move to climb up his chest and cup his face between her hands with all of the gentleness her face and voice don't have right now.

She sees right through him.

When he tries to look away again, to avert his eyes to make what he's trying to do easier on himself by not having to look at her when he does it, her grasp on his face holds firm. Her hands guide his chin back up so they're face to face, and he realizes what a mistake everyone makes in assuming her this dainty, broken girl whose only source of strength came from the brother she lost. She's a forest fire.

"You're not hearing what I'm saying—"

Y/N interjects, "I am hearing what you're saying, I'm just saying it's bullshit."

She refuses to let him off the hook, and though it frustrates him on the surface, deep down, it makes him fall in love with her all over again. Her insistence against his speech about her leaving him proves him wrong more than anything else could, 'cause he gave her the perfect chance to dip and she shot it down instantly.

The house looms behind them as a menacing presence that threatens to take control of him again, but she doesn't let it. She keeps his eyes on her no matter how many times he tries to look away and doesn't let anything get in the way of what she says next.

"You think that if you push me away and get me to leave you right now, it'll hurt less than it would if I did it later, and I don't accept that. I won't take the bait and let you torture yourself anymore, okay? I can't speak for anyone else, but I know I'll never leave you. Not willingly, anyway."

She looks into his eyes, and this time its softer, more loving, and he's never felt as understood as he does when she continues to speak.

"I'm in love with you. Whether it scares you or not, it's the truth, and I'll never stop saying it. If you think that your issues with your dad are gonna change that for me, you've officially lost your mind." Their noses brush as she leans in to ghost a kiss over his mouth and pulls away a second later to whisper, her forehead pressed to his, "I love you, JJ. Stop being so stubborn and just let me."

His next breath in trembles as he lets her words sink in, and he's stuck at a crossroads inside of himself without a clue of what to do.

The breeze blows her hair away from her face, the afternoon sunshine painting her golden, and when he sees her hair flutter in the air like it did so many years ago, he can't help but feel as calm as he did during their bike ride home. The further away he got from his dad and the house where it all happened, the calmer he grew, and it hits him at this moment that he's so taken aback by her confession to him, he forgot why he was so upset.

It's sobering. The intoxication of his panic hurtled him back in time to the frightened, childlike state of mind his dad's violent abuse often sent him to, but it was hearing her say those words he's feared for weeks that brought him back. Like the jolt of a defibrillator, he's roused back to life with more clarity than before.

She loves him, but, perhaps more importantly, she said she'd never leave him, and that is what he needed to hear more than anything. That is the statement worth more to him than the four letter word he has agonized over endlessly. No one else every attached the promise of "I love you" with the stipulation of it lasting forever. They said the empty words and contradicted it with their actions, but she hasn't done that. Her actions spoke the words long before her mouth did.

He sighs.

It's a deep, yearning sigh that sends him melting into her with the acceptance of what he's denied for too long. He savors the hands cradling his head, as well as the body pressed up against his that he has memorized down to every beauty mark and imperfection, and makes the right choice.

It isn't like it was the night at the Cherry Bowl, or the night he spoke to Pope about it. It still takes more bravery than he possesses to form the words, but there isn't a physical incapability stopping him anymore. It's just him against the trauma beckoning him into its trap again, and he won't let it lure him back into that house.

"Alright," JJ says to her through a sniffle in acceptance to her command, as if he were agreeing on afternoon surfing plans rather than something as monumental as allowing someone to love him, then continues onto with a timid tone, "I love you too."

Before he can watch for her reaction, she's surging forward through the few inches of space left between them to connect their lips in a kiss.

It's vastly different to the kiss they shared in the hallway at school last Friday. In contrast to that one, the reigning emotion within him that drives the kiss after the hesitant beginning doesn't lead them into increased intensity, it gets gentler. It doesn't explode into chaos and passion, it's a tired kiss that he never wants to retreat from. It's the physical manifestation of his feelings for her underneath the guarded exterior he uses to protect himself: gentle and yielding, yet undeniably powerful.

He feels her smiling through her tears against his mouth. In the face of everything that happened this afternoon, he doesn't feel like he should be smiling back at her, but he does. He smiles while kissing her with tears streaming down his face, still reeling from his traumatic response to coming home for the final time, and wonders how a person can feel such contradicting emotions all at once.

Y/N is the one who starts to pull away first, though it's only to check in on him. If she had it her way, she could stay here with him until the sun sets, but he did just come back from the brink of a full-blown panic attack, so she can't in good conscience ignore his well-being for the momentary bliss of their love confessions.

Her thumb brushes over his bottom lip, her smile drooping with worry as she asks, "Wanna spend the rest of the day on the boat? You always say being on the water makes you feel better. Maybe it'll make it easier to talk about it."

His Adam's apple bobs with how he swallows the lump in his throat.

"Can we maybe take baby steps for now? I don't think I can handle telling you all that shit yet."

It was already enough to allow her to follow him into the house, watch him break down into a fit of panic no one else has seen him in, and tell her he loved her, but it'd cross the line into uncharted territory to talk about everything between him and his dad so openly. Between the minor annoyance of dealing with Kacey to this hellish visit home, he thinks he's reached his quota on feeling uncomfortable today.

She nods in agreement.

"Baby steps."

Drawn back to each other by a force stronger than gravity, they collide again, but it isn't a kiss this time. It's a hug charged with all of the previously unspoken emotions they've buried inside of themselves for years, the same hug she gave him the last time she came to this house with the fear of his potential death lingering in her thoughts.

She throws herself at him with the same desperation she did that day and relishes the feeling of his muscular arms returning the embrace until their bodies are tangled together. She'd usually never refer to something as inherently affectionate as an embrace as violent, but it's the closest she can come to capturing how it feels as their bodies meet. It makes her lose her footing on the bottom step they stand on together, teetering on the edge she'd surely slip off of with the force if not for him keeping her steady.

He's about to say something, a thank you to her for calling him out on his bullshit and not letting him go that easily, when the grating sound of her ringtone blares from the back pocket of her denim shorts.

The contact popping up on the screen along with a series of frantic messages when she pulls away from him to answer shows Pope's name.

Pope You and JJ need to get back to the Chateau ASAP!!

The van doors slam shut behind Y/N and JJ as soon as it rolls to a stop in front of the Chateau.

Under the assumption that something dire happened, as in injury or death or catastrophic damage to the house itself, they bolted off of that porch faster than they knew they could move. She only turned back when she remembered the packed back of JJ's things they abandoned on his bedroom floor and, not wanting him to reenter the house, she brought it back to the Twinkie in record time.

They're preparing to trample up the porch into the house like a stampede of animals when they hear Kie calling them over to the backyard and change direction.

"No one's hurt!" she shouts, knowing that was likely where their minds went after everything they went through during the summer, "You have to see this though, I don't know who did it!"

Sticks and fallen leaves crunch beneath her feet on her way around the side of the house. Her mind races with the possibility of what could've happened that didn't hurt their friends but necessitated a series of texts and calls as frantic as the ones she received at JJ's house. She drove over here in defiance of the speed limit, something she rarely does, and prayed nothing terrible was happening.

It gave her flashbacks to when she found out John B and Sarah died in the storm. The pedal beneath her foot brought the van to an uncomfortably swift speed, then she remembered the sound of Shoupe's voice when he gave them the news. JJ warned her to slow down, then she remembered how it took multiple people to help her restrain him from attacking the new sheriff for letting his men drive their friends into their deaths.

At first, she doesn't realize what's wrong.

Kiara and Pope are standing and waiting for them across the grass near the large tree that sits as a centerpiece to their yard. Based on the body language screaming their frustration and the tears in their eyes, she can tell something bad did happen, but it's not clear what it is until she looks past them to the tree. More specifically, until she looks at what's on the tree.

"Oh my god," she whispers to herself.

Her hand is already up to cover her mouth and conceal the instantaneous frown besmirching her previously relaxed face. They both are stopped in their tracks halfway to where their friends are standing, and she can’t hear JJ's reaction over the rising volume of her hysterical thoughts.

Spray painted in red on top of their memorial for John B are the words "COP KILLER" in bold letters that conceal what they burned into the tree trunk for his gravestone. It sticks out from the beauty of the greens, browns, blues, and swathes of other earthy tones composing the scenery around the Chateau like a thorn amongst flowers, so much so that she wonders how she didn't instantly see it when they rounded the corner to come back here.

Yet that isn't the only thing amiss in the peaceful sanctuary they call home, there are random things strewn around the ground around the tree. An old t-shirt spray painted with the word "murderer" on the front, four ripped up envelopes, and a gorgeous mahogany jewelry box...broken on the grass.

The freshly turned dirt they had the contents of the box buried beneath is scattered around the trashed area as well. It clicks with her a few seconds late that whoever came here to do this must have seen the pinwheel she put in the ground to mark the "grave" and dug it up to add insult to injury.

She moves forward without consciously realizing it and stumbles until she reaches the first object of the debris field. Before this, she was doing a masterful job of holding in her cries, but as soon as she crouches down to pick up the pieces of the jewelry box, the lid snapped clean off the hinges to separate it from the bottom section, it comes rushing out of her against her will. The first unrestrained keen is the first thing to snap JJ out of his shell shocked trance.

He walks after her as fast as his legs will take him without breaking into a run, but she isn't letting him get close before she puts the box back down and shuffles forward to collect the torn letter remains. She doesn't want them to get blown away by the wind anymore than they already might have been, so she scrambles to gather the pieces until they're cupped in her hands to protect them.

"Why?" she asks and looks up at Kie and Pope with tears dripping down her face, "Why would anyone do this? Who would do this?"

Pope says, "My guess is as good as yours. We didn't see anyone leaving when we got here, so it must've happened before school ended. This is all we saw before we called you guys."

For a second or two, JJ is grasping at straws for why this happened and who did it like the rest of them are, but then something Pope said makes it click into place. It sets off a domino effect in his mind as he brings back the memory of a certain offspring of satan being absent from gym this afternoon despite being at school earlier, since his encounter with her before Physics made him, unfortunately, aware of her existence again.

His face is set in anger, jaw clenching with the tension of him grinding his teeth together, and he takes his hat off to fidget with it between his hands for a second. Their friends are too focused on her crying to see him contemplating it, but as soon as he speaks, they look up to see him setting his hat back onto his head in preparation to leave and track Kacey down.

Y/N's head snaps up from the torn letters in her hands to the sight of him storming off across the yard with his only goodbye being the words, "I'm gonna kill that bitch."

Her and Pope stare after him in shock, unable to put the pieces together about who that "bitch" is, but Kie doesn't miss a single beat. While Y/N is crumpled over on the ground in tears, she's rushing after JJ before he can approach the bike parked in front of the house. He doesn't even make it five steps before he feels her hands latching onto his wrist to stop him.

She asks, "Who the hell are you talking about? And why would they do this?"

His eyes narrow at her. His unreleased frustration for the situation in general and having to watch Y/N cry after an emotional afternoon together comes rushing out when he snaps at her.

"Kacey. She talked shit at school and I put her in her place. Now, if you don't mind, I'm gonna pay her a little visit."

He yanks his arm sharply towards himself to free it from her grip, but she's a step ahead of him. Quicker than he can think to stop her, Kie swipes the keys hanging out of his back pocket away and throws them to Pope, who, bless his heart, can't catch to save his life. The key ring jingles with its contact at the dead center of his chest, and she mouths an apology to him before turning back to face JJ.

"What the fuck, Kie?"

He makes to stomp past her and retrieve the keys from Pope only to be stopped by her hands reaching out to grab his shoulders.

"Listen to me, you can't go anywhere. Look at her," she whispers lowly enough to keep Y/N from hearing, pointing behind her to where she sits on the ground with Pope knelt beside her, "I wouldn't put it past Kacey to pull a stunt like this. I'm just as mad as you, but revenge can wait and you know it. She needs you."

The fury visible in his expression is subdued by looking past Kie's shoulder to see Y/N crying softly to Pope about the vandalized memorial.

The last time he saw her so distraught over something, it was the day they made the memorial and buried the box in the first place. She sits on her knees with her mom's broken jewelry box between them, shuddering with the sobs she has no control over, and pours the torn paper into the empty bottom half of the box. Exhausted to the core, she looks more like a sullen, kicked puppy than she does herself.

It makes his anger-fueled instincts that urge him to hunt Kacey down and do something, anything he can to make her feel the pain they do right now bubble down into sorrow. It's visible in his eyes when he looks at her.

Kie knows she's gotten under his skin when he sighs, sparing a parting glance to the bike in the driveway, and nods once at her before setting off back to where they're sitting in the grass.

Meanwhile, Y/N is stuck staring down at the disarray of her backyard with nothing but pain aching through her to the bone.

Her brother did wrong things sometimes as a consequence of being human, but never this, never something worthy of having his name dragged through the mud and being branded a murderer after his death. He stole scuba gear from Ward and broke dozens of laws in their hunt for the gold, but he never crossed that line into moral bankruptcy. Rafe did, and it kills JJ to see someone like Kacey do this to his best friend while hanging off of Rafe and his friends like a leech.

The fabric of his worn t-shirt is tarnished by the dried paint clinging to the front of it to the spell the lie written there, and her vision blurs with tears for what feels like the millionth time in the span of an hour. First, it was JJ. Now, it's John B, and she can't help but wonder if the heartache will ever end. It began to feel better over the course of the week, her grief for him slowly beginning to slip from her mind until now. Until the storm clouds converged again to batter her with another wave of it.

Through the deafening volume of her mind racing with thoughts and feelings to process what's happened, she hears Pope shuffling around to stand on his feet. Then, another person sits down in his place and scoots closer until their bodies are touching, and she knows it's him. She doesn't have to wait to hear his voice or look to see his face, she can tell based on the feeling of his touch and the smell of him she's so intimately familiar with, yet couldn't describe it aloud if she tried.

He doesn't smother her. He sits close enough to touch her and doesn't push it any further.

The background of the pale, cloudless sky frames him in the foreground like the subject of a painting—a living, breathing painting that she could study endlessly. The other trees planted in the yard's leaves flutter distantly behind him and try to draw her gaze away, but she keeps her eyes on him.

Maybe that's how it is, she thinks.

Maybe it'll get better and worse in a dance that'll only stop when they're no longer here to agonize over it. Maybe this is what moving on from John B will always be like. It'll feel like they've made strides in the right direction, then something will come along to shatter it to sharp pieces that'll reopen their stitched up wounds. If that's the case, at least the four of them have each other to lean on when it gets worse again.

JJ sits with her and lets her crawl onto his lap, resting her head on his shoulder, until the sun sinks below the horizon.

The gentle bobbing of the HMS Pogue at the surface of the water steadies her amidst her eddying thoughts. It keeps her present to the moment the way the ropes tying the boat to the dock keeps it from floating adrift into the marsh. It's a motion engrained in her from the start of her life until now from countless days spent on the water. Whether it be for fishing, swimming, or playing make believe with her boys all those years ago, it's as much a part of her as her personality or body itself.

JJ was right about one thing: being out on the water makes it easier to think.

He hasn't followed her out since she woke up before sunrise and snuck out of bed to come here. Despite her efforts not to wake him, he woke up when she disentangled her body from his, silently cursing the fact that they always cuddle so closely, and he tried to pull her back to him with a whine of displeasure in his groggy, half-asleep state. Sleep finally found them after hours of staying up together to talk about what Kacey did, unable to relax from the chaos of yesterday, so he wasn't prepared to wake up that soon.

"Go back to sleep, angel," she whispered as she hovered over him, brushing a chaste kiss to his lips that he was too tired to return.

That was the last time she saw him since this morning, and now that the sun has risen to its peak in the sky without her moving an inch from her perch atop the bow of the boat, she's begun to wonder if he's awake yet. It isn't uncommon for them to sleep in for half of the day when there isn't school or work, so it isn't surprising to her that he's just now waking up when she hears the back door to the Chateau opening and closing.

Unbeknownst to her, JJ has been awake the entire morning since she left bed.

They were so attached to each other yesterday night, he didn't have the time to put it together without her seeing and ruining the surprise, but once he heard the door to the porch close to signify her leaving, he kicked the blankets off of himself and got to work. He wasn't originally planning on starting so early, since they stayed up late into the night together, but once he woke up to the feeling of her sneaking out of his arms, he was too awake to fall back asleep.

The sound of his footsteps on the dock warns her of his approach, but she doesn't raise her head from where she rests it in her palms to stare out at the water.

"I was wondering when you'd finally wake up," she says.

There's another few steps, then the boat jostles with his weight stepping onto it.

He doesn't say anything to her in response. The only clue she gets as to what he's doing are the footsteps on the deck that lead closer to her until she feels him sitting down on the bow next to where she is. And she's about to open her mouth to ask if he's okay when he sets something down in front of her.

It's a shoe box.

Y/N turns to see him, eyes flickering over his tired face, and looks back at the box with furrowed brows.

"What is this?"

His hair is messy, exactly how it was when she left him in bed this morning, and if she weren't more focused on the mysterious box he plopped down in front of her, she'd be combing through it with her fingers. He's gotten used to those casual displays of affection from her; how she runs her hands through his hair on mornings before school when he forgets to brush it, or when she fixes a button on his flannel that he missed.

JJ's lips are tipped in a smile, and she can't help but blush with how he looks at her. She never used to see it, but he has always looked at her like this. Like he's hopelessly, utterly in love with her. Even before they lost John B, back when he'd expend all of his romantic and sexual attention on girls he hardly knew, he still looked at her this way.

He gestures at it and says, "Open it."

The lid of the box is coated in a freshly dried layer of blue paint to match the shade of the sky overhead. She knows instantly that he must have dug through the arts and crafts box she specifically labeled with a warning for him and John B to stay out. It's painted with aimlessly sloppy brushstrokes and stickers placed at every corner of the cardboard box, all of which she recognizes from the stash she kept under her bed alongside the India ink he borrowed last Friday.

As she gives him a skeptical look and reaches to lift the lid off of the shoe box, she makes a mental note to rewrite the label on the arts and crafts box without the warning for him to keep out. Since John B isn't here to steal anything from it and JJ never follows that rule anyway, it's redundant at this point.

Any skepticism is washed away from her face as soon as she flips the lid open to reveal what's inside. It leaves her speechless as she looks down at it all.

"JJ..." she murmurs in awe.

Sitting at the bottom of it is a folded up t-shirt she saw JJ wear multiple times, but never again since John B died. He refused to glance at the shirt his best friend gave him the year before they never saw him again, let alone dig it out of the corner of her closet where he keeps his things...until now.

But that's a scratch on the surface of all of the things about his gift that stuns her to silence. The next thing to catch her immediate attention is a picture she hasn't seen in years.

It's one that Big John took of the three of them together right where she and JJ are sitting. She was much younger in it, flashing a toothy grin with her arms thrown over both boys' shoulders. To her left, John B was leaning his head on her shoulder. To her right, JJ was wearing an eyepatch they crafted out of an old black shirt he stole from his dad. It was cut with the kitchen scissors and tied around the back of his head in a knot.

She brushes her thumb over John B's face, then sets the crinkled photograph back down atop the folded shirt and moves her attention to the last surprise.

Letters.

Torn up pieces of paper painstakingly taped back together sit one on top of the other, some missing pieces here or there, and it makes her mouth part in shock. Her hands shuffle the letters apart to see each one and recognize the handwriting: Kie's bubbly, swirling letters, Pope's neat cursive, hers, and JJ's chicken scratch writing that she's able to decipher from years of proofreading his essays.

She pictures him at her desk all morning while she was sitting out here, ripping tape off of the roll and arranging the puzzle pieces of the ripped letters until he was sure he got it right. It made him want to rip the hair from his scalp, but he sat there and pushed through the frustration to make it as perfect as he could for her. The missing pieces were primarily from Kie's letter, which fluttered away on a balmy breeze when Kacey tore it up and threw it to the ground, but the one he wanted her to have the most wasn't missing more than a single piece.

Y/N looks up from the letters held like a precious treasure in her hands to see him watching her with that same classic JJ smile on his face, but he doesn't let her get a word in yet.

"Go on," he says, leaning closer to pull his letter to John B out and place it on top of the pile for her to read, "I want you to read it."

"You didn't let me read it when I asked before though, are you sure you—"

He interrupts her before she can worry herself over it, "Dude, just read it. I promise I'm fine with it. I want you to."

The letters crinkle under her touch as she looks back down and smooths them out on the deck enough to read through the clear tape. With one last confirming glance to him for permission, she takes a deep breath and reads the first line.

Dear John B,

You really know how to keep a guy on his toes, don't you? You really outdid yourself on this one. I was so sure we were gonna make it, but I guess you had to go all Romeo and Juliet on us, huh? As long as you and Sarah are happy macking on each other in heaven, it's okay.

In all seriousness, I fucking miss you, bro. I miss you more than I realized a person could miss another person. Whenever I need to talk to you again, I don't know what to do. I guess that's why it's good that Y/N made me write this.

Also, I'm really sorry for—

"What does it say there? There's a whole chunk missing," she murmurs.

He scoots close enough to her that she can feel his body warmth radiating onto her through the shoulder of his flannel. Sunlight reflects on the silver rings decorating his fingers as he holds one side of the paper to tilt it enough for him to squint at.

"Macking, I think. It's supposed to say "I'm sorry for macking on your sister."

—macking on your sister. You can totally kick my ass for it, but before you come back from the grave to murder me, let me defend myself, okay? She isn't just another girl for me, John B.

I think you knew it before I did.

Last summer, you asked me straight up if we were hooking up behind your back after I kissed her in front of you on the porch. I laughed in your face, but you were right.

You saw everything before me, man. You knew I loved her since we were kids and waited for us to come to you about it, so that's gotta mean something, right? I hope it means you wouldn't be mad at me for this.

I swear I won't fuck it up with her, but you already know that. That's why you asked me to take care of her,. I didn't know why at the time but I do now. I won't let you down.

I'm keeping my promise.

- JJ

P.S. Don't miss me too much. We'll be shotgunning beers together up there before you know it.

There are tears blooming in her eyes when she lifts her gaze from the tattered paper to look at him again, but they aren't sad. For once, the tears slipping down her cheeks are happy tears, not born from grief, sadness, and pain, but bittersweet happiness.

They're caught staring at each other for a second before he asks her shyly, "It isn't too sappy or anything, is it? 'Cause I thought it—"

"C'mere," is the only thing she can get out before she's tugging him forward by the front of his shirt to kiss him.

JJ stumbles a little with the unexpected force of her pulling him to her, but he takes it in stride. He steadies himself and lets his hands shoot out to grapple for purchase on her waist, keeping her pressed up against him tightly as he kisses her back.

And it doesn't get much better than this, does it? This is it for him. He meant what he wrote to John B, he won't fuck it up with her, especially not because of his trauma with his dad getting inside his head and sabotaging his relationship with her. This is what makes everything worth it.

It brings happy tears to his eyes too.

She can taste the salt of them where their lips meet in the middle. It makes her smile, wrapping her arms around his neck and clenching the letters he mended for her in her fist to keep them from blowing away in the wind, and they both start to laugh into each other's mouths at the poignant feeling they both share but can't quite place.

They pull away from each other to catch their breath after another moment of it, and she can't help but stare. How could she not when she feels like this? It’s less like he’s her boyfriend and more like a piece of her soul has attached itself to his with no hope of letting go in the near future.

"You're the best thing that ever happened to me," she whispers to him.

Plain and simple. No room for disagreement or a bashful rejection of the compliment. She's pulled back from him enough to hold his gaze and make sure he sees her seriousness, and there isn't anything he can do to refute her statement.

He brushes his nose against hers affectionately, dipping down to kiss her again, but when he leans back to see her face, he can't help himself.

"Ditto."

The rest of the day after their moment on the boat, locked away in their own little world where none of the monsters chasing them could sneak through and ruin it, melts away peacefully. After another half hour spent looking through the box together, of her thanking him over and over again, he hops off of the HMS Pogue onto the dock and extends his hand to her in the most gentlemanly manner possible.

His lips are curved into a smirk as he kneels down on one knee as though she's a revered royal and bows his head in subservience, "Princess Routledge."

Her hand fits in his warm, calloused palm as a perfect match, and she steps off of the boat onto the dock beside him with an expression to match his.

"Captain Maybank," she says in her most regal royalty voice.

Her stellar performance breaks into a laugh they share as he stands and throws his arm around over her shoulder to walk back to the yard. The cardboard box is tucked beneath one of her arms while the other slips around his side to hold him back, and her heart feels full with both the presence of JJ and John B alongside her.

They bury it together.

Tag List: @gabiatthedisco, @fangirlvoice, @black-syren, @apparrio, @particularcth, @planetdemon, @idk-ijustworkhere, and @krisphann

Also, now that it’s over, let me know what your favorite part was in the comments or tags if you’d like to :) I’m curious.

[sehunniepotwrites]

when the ball drops, our hearts stop | mk.l

gif created by @nctsworld​ 

SYNOPSIS ☆ In which being dragged and ditched at a New Year’s Eve gala with your so-called enemy doesn’t end as badly as you thought it would. 

GENRE ☆ enemies-to-lovers!au, fluff, suggestive PAIRING ☆ mark lee x (f) reader WORD COUNT ☆ 2666 WARNINGS ☆ suggestive content ahead!! dirty dancing, neck kisses, alcohol consumption, mentions of cheating, cursing

PLAYLIST ☆ new year’s day - taylor swift

“What are you doing on New Year’s Eve?” had to be the number one question that was sent your way and unlike last year, you didn’t have an answer. Finding your lack of plans to celebrate the upcoming year with a bang, your best friend Wendy decided to drag you to the great outdoors. 

And by the great outdoors, she meant the biggest New Year’s Gala in the city. So there you were, in the grandest hotel in the heart of the city, downed in a glittery silver power suit that hugged your body in just the right way. A matching belt wrapped around to cinch your waist and the low cut of your blazer and lack of undershirt only accentuated the curves you usually preferred hiding. Hair curled up and face painted with the most flattering colors for your skin tone, you were rocking and ready to go.

The gala was packed with people your age and older with a mix of top forty music blaring from the loudspeakers. Everyone was dressed to the nines, wearing suits and dresses that went with the gold and silver theme. Bodies were pressed against each other on the dance floor and you were sure Wendy and her boyfriend Johnny were in that crowd as well. They were always the type to be caught up in all the fun— you, not so much, not since your breakup with your ex that occurred five months ago anyway.

You wanted to stray away from the party scene since it was your ex’s scene as well but fuck it, it was New Year’s Eve and you deserved to have fun. Your definition of fun included an obscene amount of alcohol, courtesy of Son Wendy and the credit card she slipped into the palm of your hand before making her way to the dance floor.

Of course, you promised that you would chat and get to know some people, maybe find someone to share a New Year’s kiss with but it was all a lie. You just wanted your free drinks and the loneliness haunting your mind to fade away.

Three Long Island Iced Teas and a bit way past tipsy into your night, a person pushed their way next to you at the bar, their body pressing against your side as they ordered a drink. You couldn’t see them, your hair creating a curtain and blocking them from view but you felt their eyes on you. It wasn’t until you leaned forward and took another sip of your drink that the person talked to you, immediately recognizing your face.

They called your name a bit cockily and you flinched at the sound, sober enough to pinpoint the exact person next to you but drunk enough to engage in a conversation with him. Swiveling your barstool to face him, you shot him a curt smile, lifting your drink up from the bar in greeting. “Mark,” you nodded as you drank him in. 

“Yo.”

As much as you hated to admit it, Mark Lee was handsome. His hair had been dyed a shade of blond and was styled in a way that made your heart unwillingly skip a beat. His grey velvet suit clung onto his body oh-so-well and the black tie that contrasted against the bright white of his shirt looked almost too tempting, the drunken state of your mind was urging you to pull it so he could step closer to you.

What did people say? Drunken thoughts, sober words? Yeah, fuck that.

“Johnny invited you?” you questioned as you sucked on the straw of your drink. You watched as his eyes flickered from your eyes to your lips for a fraction of a second, his lips curving into the smirk you wanted to punch off his face. Or kiss. 

“Yeah, should’ve figured I would see you when John invited me. You and Wendy are like a packaged deal, you know?” he replied as the bartender dropped off his drink. This time, your gaze was glued to his mouth as he took a swig of his drink, eyes slightly widening as his tongue peeked out before he downed the liquid courage. 

Coughing out of embarrassment, you looked away before Mark could catch you eyeing his seemingly delectable mouth. 

“You look like the mirrorball that’s about to drop,” he commented on your fit of the night. Glancing down at your suit, you frowned. It didn’t look that bad, did it?

When you shifted in your seat yet again, it sent your head spinning for a second, leaving you to grasp against Mark’s toned arm for balance. “I feel like one too,” you threw back. “Is the room spinning?”

“Shit, dude, how much did you drink?” His voice dropped lower in slight concern.

You hold up three fingers before blinking. No, it was four. You raised another finger. 

“All of them iced teas?” 

“Yup!”

He cursed “Where’s your asshole of a boyfriend? Don’t see him around anywhere— doesn’t he know it’s not safe to leave their girl alone at the bar?” Mark pushed, suddenly worried about your safety. He asked if anyone had hit on you yet and let out a sigh of relief when you reiterated that no one had bothered you. Despite the insult thrown your ex’s way, you remembered how considerate the guy was. The only real reason you hated Mark was due to the rivalry he held with your ex-boyfriend.

“I dunno,” you shrugged, shoulders raising and the material of your blazer shifting. Mark coughed, eyes quickly darting away so they wouldn’t land on the deep cut into your cleavage. “Probably sucking face with the bitch he left me for.”

Another long swig of your iced tea and suddenly, the drink was gone with only ice in the glass. You pointed a finger at his face, “Don’t cheat, folks. It’ll wreck a person.”

“Fuck,” Mark muttered under his breath, now fuming with anger that someone would cheat on a girl like you. It only grew when he realized your best friends had left you at the bar alone. He was going to rip their heads off later— how irresponsible of them. 

“Maybe that’s enough drinking for you today,” he told you, wanting to cut you off so you could sober up. He waved a hand in the air to call the bartender over to request two glasses of water, which was immediately prepared for you.

“Drink up,” Mark commanded, holding the straw to your lips. 

You thanked him with a lazy smile before drinking away, sighing at the refreshing feeling of the cold water running down your throat. He held the drink for you in his hands as you continued to work on the glass, only setting it down after you finished it. 

“Thanks,” you whispered, touching your forehead to his shoulder. He felt comfortable and you didn’t want to move as you breathed in the addicting scent of his cologne. You always preferred Mark’s fresh cologne over your ex’s overwhelmingly woody scent. It was consoling and safe and nice and—

“Hey, why don’t we move you to a booth? You’ll be more comfortable there,” Mark softly suggested.

“But what if I want to dance for once?” you whined.

“Let’s get you to sober up a bit more and then I can take you dancing, how ‘bout that?” His breath hit your ear and you laughed at the cold sensation before nodding. A flush that had nothing to do with the alcohol you consumed took over your face as the man you said you hated wrapped a supporting arm around your waist.

An hour later, your drunken state was fading as was the loneliness you were dreading. Mark Lee made an excellent company; he wasn’t at all what your ex painted him out to be. He was kind, caring, and endearingly sweet with the prettiest pair of eyes to match. The way his body wiggled to match his overflowing giggles brought the brightest smile to your lips, something you hadn’t experienced in quite some time. 

The time spent with him in the small booth rekindled the crush you harbored for him before you met your sad excuse of an ex, heart fluttering against your chest.

“Hey,” he leaned over the table, his face so close to yours. “You wanna move closer to the screen so we can see the ball drop clearly? It’s forty to midnight. We can dance, too.”

Your eyes curled up in excitement as you agreed, easily slipping your hand in his like you had done it a million times before. The feeling of his larger hand wrapped around yours sent you into a high that you couldn’t really describe. All you knew was that you didn’t want him to let go and thank god he didn’t.

Mark only held you tighter as you arrived on the dance floor with a clear view of the screen. The bass thumped as he tentatively quirked a brow, silently asking you to dance. You replied by draping your arms over the slopes of his shoulder, your fingertips playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. Tugging you closer at the waist, Mark shot you another look to see if you were okay. The tightening grip around his neck was enough of an answer for him. 

You shivered as his hands ran up and down the sides of your body, his touch almost burning through your glittered suit. When Mark least expected it, you turned around in his hold, pressing your backside against his front. A groan slipped out of his lips before his head dropped against your shoulder, his moist lips ghosting against the exposed skin of your neck. You reached back to hold his head in place as your body grinded into his.

The hand holding your waist tightened at your ministrations, squeezing you in a way that drove you crazy and the pair of lips that left a cautious kiss drove you crazier. The moan you let out and the way your free hand depressed against the one placed on your side was all the confirmation Mark needed to continue the trail of kisses he planned on leaving over the expanse of your neck. You enjoyed the feeling of his lips on your skin so much, your head rolled back and your eyes fluttered to a pleasured close as he nipped at your skin. 

The next half hour was spent with you encaged in Mark’s hold and you weren’t ashamed to say that you enjoyed every minute of it. When catching eyes with Wendy and Johnny across the dance floor, you laughed as your best friend wiggled her brows at you and shot a thumbs up your way. It was then, you realized, that it was their plan to get you two together all along.

Your friends had always mentioned you would get along great, the only thing stopping you was the blasted and unnecessary rivalry that blossomed between Mark and your ex. Now that the terrible excuse of a person was out of your life, there was room for a new man and you found yourself not hating the idea of Mark being the next keeper of your heart.

Five minutes to midnight, you turned around in his hold and smiled up at him. He returned the look with a soft grin of his own. 

“You’re not as bad as I thought you were, Mark Lee.”

“Took you long enough to notice,” he chuckled lowly, the sound sending a warm feeling to the pit of your stomach. “I never thought of you as bad, you know?”

“Is that so?” you countered, your hand freely running through his blond tresses. 

“Yeah, I always thought you were great.”

“Just great?” you teased, leaning a bit forward.

He groaned, “Ugh, dude, you know what I mean.”

“I don’t think I do, dude,” you pushed further, leaving him to touch his head against your shoulder again. You were starting to think that he loved to do it. 

“I always thought you were pretty special,” he whispered into your skin. 

Placing a kiss on the top of his head, you answered back, “I never wanted to admit it but I thought you were pretty special, too.”

“Glad to finally see that the feeling’s mutual,” he laughed before he returned the favor with a kiss to your jaw.

When the countdown from twenty began, Mark shifted both your bodies to face the screen as the people around you started to shout the numbers at the top of their lungs. Wendy and Johnny fought their way through the crowd to get to you and you briefly squeezed your best friend’s hand in greeting. Ready to leave the current year behind and welcome in the new one, you pressed your side into Mark’s before joining in on the countdown. 

You were shining, Mark noticed, like the mirrorball that was projected on the screen. It wasn’t like he mentioned earlier— it had nothing to do with the silver of the suit. It was just you and the way you shined so brightly as your voice blended with the others in the room. You were lost in the feeling and he loved the way you looked under the dim lights. 

He hoped he could see you in more nights to come, for more opportunities to hold you the way he did on the dance floor.

Mark Lee, who was in love with you longer than he could even remember, wanted your midnights and more. He wanted to hold on to the memories of keeping you close and to create new ones if you would let him. 

Hold onto the memories and they’ll hold onto you or so they said.

His eyes were stuck on you like glue as the crowd reached number ten.

Nine!

Mark’s hand wriggled around the ends of your blazer.

Eight!

His fingertips were hot against your bare skin.

Seven!

Mark tugged you closer to him, making you lose your grip on Wendy’s hand.

Six!

He found your hand reaching for his, fingers tangling together like the red string of fate.

Five!

His heart was beating a mile a minute at the feeling of your thumb rubbing against his skin.

Four!

You jerk your head towards him with glistening eyes and the widest smile. His eyes darted down to your colored lips before shifting back to meet your gaze.

“You wanna kiss me so bad,” you teased as your eyes followed his actions and ended up watching his tongue peek out to moisten his now dry lips.

Three!

“And what if I do?”

Two!

“Well, I’m not going to stop you,” came your flirty reply.

One! 

And when the ball dropped from the sky, your hearts stopped for a brief moment.

Cheers for the new year came from all around but Mark Lee didn’t care— all he cared about was your lips fiercely crashing against his. He spun your body round so it slotted so perfectly against his, much like two pieces of a puzzle coming together as a whole. 

The sensation of finally kissing your lips after secretly longing for you was more than satisfactory; it was addictive, more addictive than the drinks he consumed or any other tempting substance that existed in the world. Mark Lee was enthusiastically devoted to kissing you and the idea of ceasing never crossed his mind.

The only reason he did was for you to catch a breath. His eagerness never faltered, his lips running down to your jaw and the sides of your neck. He pecked your temple and forehead as you giggled at his over-the-top display of affection and it was music to his ears.

Pulling you flush into his chest, he whispered a late greeting into your ear, “Happy New Year.”

With your hands resting against his pecs, you glanced up at him with a charming smile, making his heart drop for the second time in the new year. 

“A happy new year indeed.”

author’s note ☆ surprise! happy new year, everyone! (and happy 500+ followers to me!) i coughed this out in like five hours so it’s unedited and not my best work, but i wanted to release something in time for the new year! wishing you the best 2021!! 

this was originally a request and i finally filled it!! ✨

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hey steph!! This might be a specific ask but could u like recommend me some fic thats like slow burn, unresolved sexual tension, and some bottomlock. And please please please let it be long so that it hits the sweet spot of satisfying your fic needs but also not stupidly long. Also I love your blog

Hi Lovely!!

AHHHH I’m glad you enjoy!! I try my best, LOL. 

AHH I’ve SO MANY slow burn fics, it’s ridiculous, and I do have separate lists for bottomlock, so I can direct you to those.... BUT I DON’T HAVE A LIST FOR MY U.S.T. FICS YES. So can I do that??? Please??? ANY EXCUSE TO START A NEW LIST :| Hee hee. Forgive me??? 

AND as per usual, all my fics are in word-count order, so you can start at the bottom and work your way up, hee hee. CHEERS!

As usual, add your own, friends!!

First, here’s the lists you asked for:

Love Confessions / Slow Burn / Dev. Rel. (Fluff Version)

Falling In Love / Slow Burn / Dev. Rel. || [MOBILE POST] (April 2019)

Platonics & Domestics Pt 2 / Hugs, Cuddles & Kisses Pt. 3 / Tooth-Rotting Fluff Pt. 5 / Love Confessions, Slow Burn & Dev. Rel. Pt. 2 / Established Relationship Pt. 3

Slow Burn / Dev. Rel. / Falling in Love Pt. 3 (Nov. 2019) 

Slow Burn / Dev Rel. Pt. 4 (Apr 2020)

Bottomlock (April 2019)

Bottomlock Pt 2

And now, check out my UST/URT list :)

UNRESOLVED SEXUAL / ROMANTIC TENSION

The Other Shoe by thewaitwasworthitlove - (NR, 1,053 w., 1 Ch. || Pining Sherlock, Angst, URT, Post-TSo3) - Sherlock realizes how deep in love he has fallen for John. Only Sherlock Holmes would manage to be more shattered than crystal dropped on concrete.

Clarity by socomessnow (thoughtfulwishing) (NR, 1,283 w., 1 Ch. || Post-HLV, POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Tarmac Scene, Stream of Consciousness, URT, First Person Present Tense, Implied/Referenced Drug Use) - During-and-post-HLV piece tracking Sherlock’s thought process from his phone call with Mycroft to his return to the airfield. Part 1 of Rifts

Untouchable by greengrapegaze (T, 1,368 w., 1 Ch. || Pre-S3, UST/URT, Oblivious John, Lonely Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Emotional Sherlock, POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock) – “He never would. Petty, childish, immature-bitter. Jealous. She had all that he wanted. All he could never have.” Part 1 of Steps to a Bittersweet Symphony

Love Hurts by Grac3 (T, 2,215 w., 1 Ch. || Magical Realism, Pining Sherlock, One-Sided Pining / URT, Sherlock / John Whump, Angst, Ambiguous Ending) – In a world where someone's physical injuries manifest themselves on the person who is in love with them, John didn't think that there would ever be anyone who was willing to risk falling in love with him - until he got shot on a case, and it didn't hurt. Unrequited Johnlock.

The Dance Lesson by bittergreens (G, 4,596 w., 1 Ch. || TSo3 Missing Scene, Dancing, Pining Sherlock, URT/UST, Romance, Angst, POV John) – Sherlock teaches John to dip. Part 1 of Goodnight, Vienna

There's Something Living in These Lines by teahigh (orphan_account) (M, 4,676 w., 1 Ch. || Mutual Pining, Love Letters, Angst, Mutual Pining, UST / URT, Dirty Talk) – Two men, complete opposites in almost every way, who speak only in letters and pages torn from books.

You Can't Always Get What You Want by hubblegleeflower (E, 4,804 w., 1 Ch. || Pining, Sexual Tension, UST / RST, First Time) – John wants. He always has, but now that he's living with Sherlock again, it's all he can do to hold it back. And Sherlock isn't helping...

Wasted Hours by songlin (E, 4,973 w., 1 Ch. || Omegaverse || O!John/A!Sherlock, Pining, UST, Angst & Porn) – John is respectful. John keeps his distance. He doesn’t look at Sherlock when Sherlock decides trousers are for dull people. He doesn’t breathe in and savor it when Sherlock flings himself onto the couch first thing in the morning, wafting alpha scent, dressing gown settling around him in a cloud of blue silk. He doesn’t linger when he’s piecing Sherlock back together after a fight, even though he’s half-dressed and beautiful and right there. He can ignore it. He can control it.

Captain John Watson, Genetics, and Other Crazy Things by cyerus (M, 5,581 w., 1 Ch. || Torchwood Crossover ||  Humour / Crack, Jealous Sherlock, Sexual Magnet John, Captain John, UST / RST, Three Continents Watson) – The explanation for John "Three Continents" Watson? Jack Harkness is his father. Sherlock doesn't know whether he's going to die from jealousy or sexual frustration first.

No Light, No Light (in your bright blue eyes) by orphan_account (G, 5,915 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Pining, Songfic, Mutual Unrequited Love, Unresolved Tension, UST/URT) – Relates to both Sherlock's and John's feelings for each other and highlights select moments of hurt and inner turmoil starting from right before the fall all the way to HLV.

Drawstring by May_Shepard (E, 7,412 w., 1 Ch. || Post S3/TAB, Friends to Lovers, UST/RST, Fluff and Smut, Post-TAB, John POV, Sherlock’s Pyjamas, Rimming, Wanking) – John is bothered by Sherlock’s slowly-falling jim-jams… as in hot and bothered and he is trying to deal with a sexy dishevelled Sherlock while also keeping his pining in check.

High and Tight, Soft and Loose by cwb (E, 7,429 w., 1 Ch. || Jealous John, Miscommunications / Misunderstandings, First Kiss / Time, BAMF John, Insecure Sherlock, Clueless Sherlock, POV John, Embarrassed John, Adorable Sherlock, Junk Size, UST / RST) – John pressed the knuckle of his index finger against his mouth and sighed. “So, you're coiled like a spring and ready to be ... sprung?” “If you want to be pedestrian about it, yes.” “Like I said, you should do something about that.” “And like I said, pedestrian. What would you have me do? Take up jogging? Yoga? Oh! Unless you mean –” “I don't mean anything. Let’s drop it.”

Alone On the Water by Mad_Lori (G, 7,725 w., 1 Ch. || MCD, UST/URT, Angst, Euthanasia, Love Confessions) – Sherlock Holmes never expected to live a long life, but he never imagined that it would end like this.

All the Times Something ALMOST Happened by allonsys_girl (T, 9,049 w., 6 Ch. || POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Canon Compliant, Angst, Friendship/Love, UST) – John and Sherlock dancing around what they dance around in canon.

Someone I Love by hudders-and-hiddles (M, 10,002 w., 2 Ch. || Canon Compliant, HLV-Filler Fic, Pre-Slash, Jealous John, PIning Sherlock, Angst & Fluff, UST/URT, Dog Tags) – John gets married and Sherlock finds comfort in wearing John's identity tags around his wrist.

Ravish Me by amalnahurriyeh (E, 10,025 w., 1 Ch. || UST / RST, Makeup / Lipstick, Sympathetic Sally, Experiments, Pining John, First Kiss, Face Fucking / BJ’s, Cuddling) – Sherlock is experimenting with patterns of wear on lipstick in daily encounters. John is going to go insane.

Their Great Reward by BeautifulFiction (T, 10,095 w., 1 Ch. || UST, First Kiss, Fluff) – Boxing day, in John's opinions, is the worst day of the year. Christmas is over, the tree is wilting and stripped of gifts, and there's a week of dead-time until the clean slate of the new year. However the combination of a blizzard, a power-cut and Sherlock might just make it a day to remember.

The Five Stages of Mourning, Plus One by SunnyRea (T, 10,557 w., 1 Ch. || MCD, Pining / Grieving Sherlock, URT, Heavy Angst, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Drug Use, Graphic Death, Depression, Unhappy Ending) – Sherlock did not want this, did not want another stalemate with John in the middle, a gun in Jim's hand. This cannot have happened without a sign. There has to be something he missed anything which said today is the day I kill for real.

Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder by cypress_tree (E, 10,669 w., 1 Ch. || UST/RST, For an Experiment) – John helps Sherlock with an experiment: for an entire month, they are not allowed to touch each other and must remain at least one metre apart at all times.

I'm content as we are (but) by inqui (The_Circus) (E, 13,086 w., 1 Ch. || Jealous John, UST/RST, Pining, Victor Trevor, Minor Whump, First Kiss / Time, Misunderstandings) – In which John Watson sees something unusual, becomes jealous, and makes too much of a small thing as an old friend of Sherlock's shows up in the middle of a case.

Say For Me, Love by MirabileLectu (T, 13,147 w., 1 Ch. || UST, First Kiss, Drama, Pining John, Victor Trevor) – If you had asked John this morning what the result of his quiet afternoon at home would be, discovering a truth about Sherlock's past startling enough to shift the foundations of their friendship would not have been his first guess. So naturally, that was what was bound to happen.

Barricade by stitchy (M, 14,127 w., 1 Ch. || HLV Fix It, Friends to Lovers, Angst, Happy Ending, UST, Mary’s Not Nice, First Time, Pining Sherlock, Time Skip Filler, Drunkenness) – Sherlock has been struggling to keep his feelings at bay for everyone's sake. Part 1 of Barricade

Second Chance by SilentAuror (E, 15,816 w., 1 Ch. || Post-HLV, Post-Divorce, Friends to Lovers, UST, Romance) – Now that John's divorce has gone through and the dust is settling, Sherlock thinks that he would very much like to see if there is any possibility of moving their friendship in another direction. The only thing is, he has no idea how to go about doing that...

Anytime by SilentAuror (E, 17,995 w., 1 Ch. || UST, Porn With Feels, POV Sherlock, Romance, UST/URT, Happy Ending, Drunken Endeavours) – Sherlock blinks and attempts to focus. There is a little too much vodka in his veins at the moment and it’s having an unfortunate effect on his brain and retinas both. There are two Johns sitting across from him, and both of them are frowning at him. “You’re drunk,” the Johns tell him. Sherlock blinks some more. “Says the man with Mrs Hudson’s doily on his head.”

John Watson doesn't have a Boyfriend by naughtyspirit (E, 18,932 w., 7 Ch. || UST / URT, Fluff & Smut, Voyeurism, Masturbation) – John's date has gone very well. Sherlock requires tea. John wishes he hadn't resolved that their relationship was strictly hands off and isn't about to address it. Unless he has to. Smut, fluff and shower time for a naked John Watson.

For you, there's only me by shock_blanket (E, 19,557 w., 7 Ch. || Jealous Idiots, Virgin Sherlock, UST/RST, Pining, Miscommunication, First Kiss / Time, Insecure Sherlock, Masturbation) – Sherlock realizes he has fallen in love with John, but believes he is unlovable. Cue lots of pining and jealousy on Sherlock's part, followed by our favorite cuddly marksman making it all better. Because for Sherlock, there's only John.

Love Is by SilentAuror (E, 21,508 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, UST / URT, Post HLV, Romance) – At Mrs Hudson’s urging, Sherlock finally decides to tell John how he feels about him. Part 1 of Love Is

Brief Conversations with the Woman by May_Shepard (E, 21,906 w., 20 Ch. || Pining, Love Fairy Irene, Filler Fic, UST/URT, Drug Use, Clueless Sherlock, Relationship Advice, Angst w/ Happy Ending) – Sherlock has a puzzle to solve, and his name is John Watson.

Sonatina in G Minor by SilentAuror (E, 22,574 w., 1 Ch. || Case Fic, POV Sherlock, Angst, UST, Sherlock’s Violin, Post-S3, Romance) – John has come back to Baker Street, but Sherlock doesn't understand the strange tension between them, even after he begins teaching John to play the violin at John's request.

Knotted by naughtyspirit (E, 23,166 w., 4 Ch. || UST/URT, Cuddling, Sharing Body Heat, Confessions, Kissing, Masturbation, Frustration, BAMF!John) – John has to cancel a date because of Sherlock's case, which leads them to be tied up in a basement from which they have to escape. They get wet, get tied up close and John has to step up and save them. Because he's pretty. And hot. And just a little bit of a BAMF.

Hellfire by testosterone_tea (E, 28,596 w., 9 Ch. || Fantasy / Magic / Mages / Elementals AU || Mage Sherlock, Elemental John, Developing Relationship, Torture, Powerful / BAMF John, POV Alternating, Dark / Blood Magic, UST, First Kiss) – Sherlock is a Mage that gets involved with a case involving Dark Summoning rituals, leading him to John Watson, a man with Berserker blood. The only thing is, Berserkers have been extinct for centuries. And of course, nothing involving Mycroft and his interfering ways is ever simple. This time, even Sherlock may have bitten off more than he can chew.

That Partitioning of the Things of Youth by wearitcounts (E, 35,353 w., 7 Ch. || Humour and Angst, Post-TRF, Fake Relationship, UST / RST, Friends to Lovers, Jealous John) – Victor Trevor is in town, and nobody's happy.

The Case of the Vanishing Pants by SwissMiss (E, 44,025 w., 6 Ch. || Five and Ones, Post-TRF, Case Fic, UST, Homophobia, Friends to Lovers, Pining John, Showering Together, Couple for a Case, Sherlock’s Bum, Fantasies, Jealous Sherlock) – Five times John and Sherlock lost their pants in the course of a case.

Wars We Fought, Things We're Not by blueink3 (M, 55,204 w., 10 Ch. || Post S3 / Post TAB, Parentlock, Fluff & Angst, Kidnapping, Whump, Post-TAB, UST/URT, 3G, Mild Peril, Slow Burn, Couple for a Case, Protective Mycroft, Infant Death Pre-Story, Friends to Lovers) –  Five months after John's world has fallen apart, Mycroft sends the consulting detective and his doctor on a case that neither is prepared for.

A Hundred Crimson Sols by elldotsee (E, 55,536 w., 16 Ch. || Astronauts AU || Mars Exploration / Space Travel, Slow Burn, Shy Sherlock, Scientist Sherlock / Biomed Engineer John, Alternating POV, Mutual Pining, UST, Angst with Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injuries, Suicidal Ideation, Zero-G Sex) – Will Holmes is a chemical researcher recognized widely for his contributions to the new Mars exploration program. Thanks to his ground-breaking developments, the IMMC (International Mars Mission Corporation) is one step closer to Martian colonization. Will and his team of scientists are headed out on the first of three manned missions before the first group of settlers arrive. Three days before launch, one of the crew has to be replaced. Will panics because...new people. The replacement is of course one John Watson, biomedical engineer and space hottie who was pretty sure he had retired from actual space exploration and was now content to work in the nice, quiet research lab. Can the crew survive this TOTALLY ROUTINE trip? Will they be able to endure each other for the looooooong trip in close quarters? Gonna be a wild ride... prepare for blast off. Part 1 of SpaceBois go to Space

The Baker Street Nativity by SwissMiss (E, 99,662 w., 23 Ch. || Nativity! AU || Teacher Sherlock / TA John, Pining, Sherlock POV, UST, Angst, Christmas, Music/Song Fic, Anal / BJ’s, First Kiss / Time) – Fusion between Sherlock (BBC) and Nativity! (2009 movie starring Martin Freeman). Sherlock is a primary school teacher and John is assigned to be his classroom assistant. Together, they are charged with putting on the school's Nativity play. What could possibly go wrong? Part 1 of The Baker Street Nativity Verse

A Further Sea by i_ship_an_armada & ShinySherlock (E, 125,492 w., 23 Ch. || Historical Pirates AU || Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Doctor John / Pirate Captain Sherlock, Sailing, UST / RST, Masturbation, Action / Adventure, Mild Angst & Peril, Romance, Shaving, Molly/Janine, Bottomlock, Hand / Blow Jobs, Past Drug Use, Slow Burn, Mild Violence, Facial Shaving, Happy Ending) – Here be a tale of adventure for both body and soul, but beware if ye be not of stout heart, for this be piratelock, ya savvy? Luckless ship's surgeon John Watson takes a chance, and finds himself eye to eye with The Ghost, the scourge of the seven seas and a definite thorn in the side of the blaggard, James Moriarty. But when John finds there's more to this most cunning pirate than be meetin' the eye, he has to choose... is it a pirate's life for him?

The Adventure of the Silver Scars by tangledblue (NR [M], 142,458 w., 41 Ch. || S3 Fix-It, Post-HLV/ Post-TAB / Canon Compliant, Case Fic, No Baby, Angst, Humour, UST, Slow Burn, Angry John, Reconciliation, Not Nice Mary / Leaving Mary, Dependent Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Caretaker John, Fist Fights, It’s An Experiment, Virgin Sherlock, Dancing, Drugging, John Whump, Pet Names, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Scars) – It’s been thirteen months since Mary shot Sherlock and John finds he’s still pissed off about it. Sherlock had thought everything was settled: John and Mary, domestic bliss. But when John turns up at Baker Street with suitcases, the world’s only consulting detective might not be prepared for the consequences. A new case. Some old scores to settle. Certain danger. Concertos, waltzes, and whisky.

Midnight Blue Serenity by BeautifulFiction (E, 151,907 w., 19 Ch. || Friends to Lovers, Gay Bar / For a Case, Drugs, Pining, Case Fic, UST) – When Sherlock infiltrates a club in order to track down a serial killer, his altered appearance is enough to make John question his assumption that Sherlock is beyond his reach. However, is he the only one who appreciates his flatmate's charms, or is Sherlock at risk of becoming the next victim?

[youwerenevermeanttofeelalone]

Still Like the Letters in Your Name and How They Feel, Babe | Five Hargreeves

✦ pairing — Five Hargreeves x female!Plus Size Reader

✦ word count — 3.4k

✦ modern AU

✦ loosely based on the song Still Feel Like Your Man by John Mayer.

✦ summary — you get snowed in with your ex-boyfriend.

✦ warnings — angst, mentions of alcohol, language, fluff, dry humping.

✦ author’s note — the lovely @ohdangitsjay wanted me to write dry humping with Five for kinktober but the slot was taken already so I decided to add some of it here.

════════════════════════

Parties weren’t Five’s thing, much less work parties. He would have skipped the event if he hadn’t gotten a promotion less than four months ago.

He always sat on his own, not interested in his coworkers’ lives. He knew more than he needed already, not only because of their loose tongues but because they were open books.

He would’ve rather been at his place, alone like he had been spending his time for the past months.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to get close to you.”

Five lifted his head out of courtesy, he had recognized his coworker’s voice immediately. She was pretty, he could admit that, but he had read her intentions months ago and he wasn’t interested. “Mmhmm. I know.”

“I’d like to get to know you.”

“I’m good, thanks.”

He felt buzzing in his pants and he didn’t know whether to thank whoever was calling or kill them for bothering him now. Lifting a hand so the woman in front of him wouldn’t speak furthermore, he withdrew his cellphone from his pocket.

Vanya’s photo almost blinded him. He cursed — he hadn’t lowered the screen brightness like a fucking idiot.

Excusing himself, he pushed his way out of the venue. Letting the phone ring in his grasp, allowing himself to take in a deep breath of fresh air, he stood under the cold night.

Vanya insisted which confused him, she always knew when to stop bothering him. And that night, even his coworker insisted. He shook his head as he saw her walk out of the venue, wrapped in her coat.

Taking the call just to avoid her, he grunted, “What?” He pinched the bridge of his nose as Vanya explained that she needed him to pick you up from a bar. Thinking the worst, he exhaled, “I’ll be there in ten.”

“Leaving so soon?”

“Not soon enough, it seems.” He dropped his phone in his coat this time. His coworker’s expression of hurt didn’t faze him, but he still explained himself, “Look, you’re not the problem, it’s just that I know your intentions and I’m taken.”

Five had never wished a lie he had told was true until now. He wasn’t taken anymore, but he was still yours, at least he felt like that. He’d never find another you, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to start looking either.

Tugging his car open, he withdrew his cellphone from his coat and slid into the driver seat. Five introduced the key into the clutch, yet he didn’t ignite the engine.

He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, considering the option of turning his phone off and coming up with an excuse days later. But he didn’t have it in him, not this time when he had a chance to see you — so many days after the morning you left.

The quicker he got it over with, the quicker he would be able to drown himself in alcohol to pretend it hadn’t happened.

His sister was already waiting for him near the entrance of the bar. Vanya turned her head to the side. Five followed the movement with his eyes and ultimately you came into vision. Only you would wear a dress in this weather, always claiming you never got cold.

He knew it wasn’t true, but you were stubborn. His siblings often said he wouldn’t have been so smitten if you weren’t as stubborn and they were right, he liked the challenge. And although he would never admit this out loud, he liked giving in to your stubbornness. He missed it.

You hadn’t realized he was there, head on your friend’s shoulder as they all talked. He could tell how drunk you were just by the lazy position of your hand on your lap.

“Why can’t you take her home?”

“No, God, no! You misunderstood what I said, Five. I need you to take her with you.”

Five gave his sister an incredulous look, hoping she was joking. When he realized Vanya was serious, he shook his head. “You know she hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you. Besides, she’s drunk out of her mind, she might hug you instead of breaking your nose.”

He glared at her. Although his nose was more than fine, that punch hurt.

“Please? For me? I haven’t spent enough time with Sissy in weeks.”

“Too much information, Vanya!” he chastised, shaking his head as he walked past his sister.

It bordered on cruel, having you so close and knowing you would’ve been against it if you knew he was there.

Vanya placed a hand on his shoulder, not reassuring whatsoever as he defeatedly sighed. Only the two of you could convince him to do anything, and his sister still used it to her advantage.

He stood before you and your friends. Chatter died, you didn’t react. His eyes crossed your closest friend’s after Vanya, and as she nodded downward he understood that everybody thought you would be safer with him.

“Come on, (Name),” he said softly, hoping you wouldn’t make a scene.

You turned your head to the side, facing him. His breath faltered. Frowning, you just stared, mind too hazy to come up with a question to blurt even though a few crossed it.

How was work? Did Grace like the jacket you got for her? Are we going home soon?

He nudged his head to the side, signaling toward the exit. “Come on, you’ve got things to do tomorrow.”

Your friends tensed at his comment, but he didn’t think much of the gesture.

Sissy handed him your coat, watching him carefully. Five held the coat for you to slide your arms in, and out of habit helped you to fold it close and button it up.

You interlocked your arm with his, head lulling toward his shoulder. Vanya shoved your purse into his chest, prompting him to hold it in his hand as he gave her a final nod in goodbye.

════════════════════════

You woke up in an all too familiar room. Absolutely nothing had changed, the walls were the same blue walls you had stared at for hours as you waited for someone who cared more about their job than their girlfriend to get back from work.

By the looks of it, Five had been so busy that he didn't even have time to get rid of things you had gifted him. They were in the place they had been the last time you visited him — books stacked up, music records leaned against the other... the painting you had helped him choose still hung over his desk.

“Ah, you’re awake." His voice made you jump. "Coffee? An aspirin?”

You shuffled, pushing the duvet off your body in order to leave the bed. “Why am I here?”

The cold floor made you shiver. You searched for your shoes, looking down as you inwardly cursed yourself for wearing a dress when Vanya told you not to.

“You don’t remember going out last night? Vanya called me.” He tilted his head as he asked, frowning.

“Yes,” you deadpanned, slipping your shoes on before lifting your head to look at him. “But why didn’t you take me home?”

He winced. “Well, Vanya needed the apartment to herself.”

Dragging your eyes off him, not able to look at his face for too long, you whined, ”Unbelievable! She ditched me to get some pussy!”

Realizing your purse had been on the bed all this time, you popped it open and withdrew your phone. You looked at the time and your eyes widened. “Fuck, fuck. I’ll be late!”

“You’re not going anywhere.”

Your gaze snapped in his direction. He looked so serious that it made your blood boil. “Excuse me? Who do you think you are to tell me what to do?”

He groaned. “We’re snowed in, idiot.”

“No, no, no... this can’t be happening. Not to me. Not today.” You stood by the window and peered out. He hadn’t lied, the streets were covered in white as snow, which was still falling, piled up. You would’ve found the scenery gorgeous if you weren’t so stressed. “FUCK!”

Only you had such bad luck... getting snowed in with your ex-boyfriend today from all days.

“I’m sure your mom will understand,” he tried to assure you.

In any other instance you would’ve found it sweet that he remembered you visited your mom every Saturday, or that he was trying to comfort you.

You corrected him, “I have a date today.”

“Oh.”

Unlocking your cellphone, you scrolled down your contact list. Your finger hovered over the call button. What would you say? ‘Hey, I’m sorry I can’t meet up with you today, I’m stuck in my ex-boyfriend’s apartment’?

Seeing your exasperation as you went through your phone, he painfully said, “Don’t be dramatic, your date must understand you can’t control the weather.”

“We had been putting this off for a while,” you confided him like you used to when he was your best friend, back when he hadn’t broken your heart yet and he still had time for you. “He’s so nice and sweet... “ you trailed off before sighing, “I was hoping not to ruin it.”

“Why didn’t Vanya call him if he’s so sweet?” he asked, voice laced with venom. He was challenging you to lie to him.

Honestly, you answered, “I’m guessing she doesn’t trust him.”

A shiver ran through you, prompting you to rub your arms.

Five walked toward his closet and opened the doors. “You left some clothes here, I’m sure you can find something in case you want to take a shower or get changed... ah! Your red sweatshirt is in the laundry room.”

Unable to keep it in, you shrieked, “You lent my clothes to other people?!”

“Don’t be stupid,” he said, no malice in his tone, “I wore it myself.” Turning around, finding it hard to read your expression, he blurted, “Once.”

You did find something to wear, and for the second time that day, you felt as though nothing had changed. Nothing made more sense than having a space for your own clothes in his closet.

You entrenched yourself in the bathroom as soon as possible. Being around him was worse than you ever anticipated, you wanted to be angry and hostile yet you were too emotionally exhausted for that.

Failed interpersonal relationships were your norm. The day you met Vanya you felt as though you were having a friend for the first time; then Five came around and became your best friend, your confidant. Having him around used to be easy, even when you developed feelings for him.

The day you left him was one of the hardest days of your life. You didn’t cry, only numbness enveloped you in a tight grip — a grip you had gotten free from a little too late.

Your friends tried introducing you to people multiple times, but it never worked. It wasn’t because of Five, not entirely, you simply weren’t good with new people. And you missed Five, but that was different.

Missing him had become an afterthought, work kept you busy in the same stupid way it kept him. Guilt never took over you, why would it when you hadn’t neglected anyone because of your job? In fact, you were sure you would get over him soon when work became your priority.

Until a few minutes ago, the illusion had been good. What a sweet lie you told yourself for weeks and weeks.

You regretted entering the shower the second you turned around to grab some shampoo. Tears prickled your eyes the moment they fell on a familiar bottle. It didn’t have any marks of use, not a single gram dripped down the bottle, dry product was nowhere to be seen around the cap.

You confirmed that the bottle was brand new when you tested its weight in your grasp. A sob escaped you. Why would he keep your favorite shampoo in his shower?

You couldn’t bring yourself to use it, so instead, you grabbed Five’s shampoo and squeezed some onto your palm.

After a tear-ridden shower, you quickly got dressed and stood behind the door for a prolonged moment.

A heavy silence greeted you as you stepped into the living room. You had expected the sound of fingers against a keyboard or page flipping, but instead, you found Five slouched over his stomach with a piece of red fabric on his lap.

Feeling your presence, he murmured, “Here.” Five offered you the sweatshirt which you took hesitantly.

“I don’t use that shampoo anymore,” you blurted before you could process the words your entire being was desperate for him to hear.

He hummed, avoiding your face at every cost as he stared past you. He really needed to decorate the living room, at least a little bit. “You found a better one?”

“No,” you mumbled. Sliding the sweatshirt on, you waited for him to say something. Five didn’t, he stayed in the same position until you sat down beside him.

As he twisted his body to face you and his eyes landed on your face, you were able to see he had been crying too.

“What did your date say?” he asked, ever the masochist one.

You shrugged. “I haven’t texted him.”

“You should at least call your mom. Tell her you’re safe.”

Nodding slowly, you then turned your face to the other side. He didn’t mean anything more than exactly what he said and yet your heart thumped in your chest at a rhythm you had forgotten it was able to beat.

“She misses you. The whole family does.”

“Tell them I miss them too. Please.”

You sniffed, bolting off the couch. Walking into his bedroom, you tried to ignore the strong smell of his cologne as you blindly palmed the bed in search of your phone.

“Are you okay?”

Tears didn’t allow you to see him properly, but you could tell he was leaning on the doorway.

“I don’t want to talk about anything,” you warned him, scared a fight would ensue if you spoke your mind. “My head hurts.”

You heard him move around the room, opening and closing a drawer. Then you felt him close, so close his breath fanned on the side of your face as he spoke, “It’s paracetamol, it’ll be gentler with your stomach.”

Blinking the tears away, you faced him — this time fully. Opening your palm, you waited for him to drop the pill onto it. Five looked down, softly placing the white circle on your palm.

Closing your fist around the pill, you threw your arms all over his neck. Taken by surprise, he felt his hands tremble as he placed them on your lower back.

Nothing extraordinary happened, and you loved it. He was just as warm as you remembered, and you were as comfortable in his arms this time as you had been before.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, careful not to move you too harshly as he pulled you onto his chest, “so, so, so sorry. You can’t even imagine how stupid I feel.”

“Shhh, it’s fine.”

“We both know it isn’t.”

“Don’t wanna talk,” you reminded him.

So he hugged you tighter. And once again, it felt like nothing had changed — because nothing had, because the idea of moving on was nice on paper and nothing more.

“I’m pretty sure the pill melted in my hand...”

He snorted, begrudgingly parting from you. “I’ll get you some water and another one.”

You stared at your reflection in the mirror as you washed your hands and immediately splashed water onto your face. It was cold, but that was exactly what you were looking for in attempts to make your face less puffy after all that crying.

Five watched you in silence, ready to give you the pill and the glass.

Drying your hands, you thanked him and then proceeded to take the glass from his hand.

“Don’t go out with him,” Five pleaded, unable to keep it in for longer. “I don’t deserve it, but please give me a second chance.”

You glared at him as you snatched the pill from his open palm. Instead of giving him an answer, you swallowed the pill.

He took this as a sign that you needed more convincing. “I promise I’ll spend every second of my free time with you.”

You lowered the glass before you could take another sip of water, scoffing as you walked toward the window once again. “Oh, come on, Five, I never asked for that. I just wanted you to put some effort.”

“I’ll do that, then. Anything.”

“Can you really do that?”

“Yes.”

You nodded, placing the glass down onto the bedside table. You were always so eager to believe in him... you could only hope this time your heart didn’t end up in tiny pieces. “It’s obvious that I don’t need much convincing.”

“That’s fine by me.” Five shrugged, looking down at his hands.

You grabbed his hands, making him look at you. He intertwined your fingers with his, biting his bottom lip as you lifted your eyebrows.

He huffed a laugh upon realizing you were waiting for him to kiss you and for a millisecond considered teasing you, but you knew him so well that you had seen through his nervous demeanor.

Leaning in, he stared into your eyes in search for permission. You tilted your head, brushing your nose with his, fanning your breath on his lips. Five’s mouth met yours in the middle, slowly at the beginning.

You let go of his hands, snaking your arms around his neck to bring him closer. His hands found home on your waist, just as he picked up his pace.

As a moan slid past your lips, he slipped his tongue in your mouth. Five moved one of his hands to the back of your neck, deepening the kiss.

Breathless, you were forced to barely push him away. You stared at his red lips as you gasped for air, ragged breath mingling with his own.

And then his lips were on yours again. The hand on the back of your head fell to your spine as he walked you backward. Five laid you on the bed, careful not to hurt you yet never taking his lips off yours.

Pressing kisses on the side of your neck, he roughly grabbed your hips, making you moan as his hard-on was pressed against your crotch.

Your hips worked against his in sync, so naturally that you still had half a mind to wonder how the fuck you had lasted this long without him all over you.

Five’s groans grew deliciously deep as his hands trailed down to massage your thighs. His mouth sucked on your neck as he pulled you flush against him.

You inwardly thanked whichever God existed for the cold weather. Not only did Five look amazing in sweatpants, but the soft material allowed you to feel the outline of his hard cock even through your leggings as he humped you.

“Would really love to fuck you,” you panted, “but there’s no way I’m taking my clothes off right now. I’m freezing!“

He laughed against your skin. One of his hands left your thigh and he tugged on the covers, draping them over both of you, covering yourselves from head to toes.

Five continued to kiss your neck, still moving his hips against yours albeit more slowly.

“I missed you,” he spoke before you could mutter a teasing comment about how desperate he was for you.

You played with the small hairs on the back of his head, humming as you rocked up against him. “I missed you too. But don’t let it get to your head.”

“Too late,” he said cheekily, letting his weight fall on top of you as he leaned into your touch.

You relaxed against the mattress as his warmth combined with the shielding covers seeped through you. Five slipped an arm under your head, fingers brushing your neck as his other hand came up to softly grip your face.

You hummed in acknowledgment, knowing he wanted to say something.

“We didn’t call your mom.”

You breathed out a small laugh. “I wasn’t supposed to see her today, don’t worry.”

He tensed over you, frowning as he processed what you had just said. Deciding to ignore the fact that you were probably planning to hook up with your date, Five slowly lowered his head so it would rest on your chest.

It didn’t matter what you had planned to do when you were there under him. He was still your man, he had felt as such ever since the day you met — and he wouldn’t fuck it up a second time.

[deluweil]

This is my 4x12 review - skip if you haven’t watched yet.💖

In my opinion the whole Treasure Hunt thing, had a S2 bank mystery vibe about it. Like the silly calm before the storm, again in parallel to right before when Buck was hurt.

I knew the Author jerk is alive the second I saw the actor who played it, the was not one show where he guest starred and wasn’t a jerk 😂😂

So since I did my own version of live writing, I apologize if this is a bit disorganized.

We got so much buddie bread crumbs, that eventually felt like a meal at the end of the episode so let’s start with: Both boys in sunglasses - oh WOW! 🔥🔥  

Bobby sending Eddie with Chimney and Buck looking thoroughly unhappy to be separated from Eddie. They nod at each other and while Buck frowns at Chimney, Eddie crosses himself before going to get geared up.

It was a small gesture but very significant because Eddie has already crashed in a chopper (in 3x15 and watched Hen and Strand crash in the crossover) he knows what could go wrong.

Chimney’s “cheer up you can go next time” doesn’t really reassure Buck. I think a “we’ll be fine” or “I’ll keep him safe” would have calmed Buck’s nerves a lot more.

Can we discuss for a second how HOT!! Eddie looked doing the aerial rescue? I mean WOW, I watched it several times. 🥵🥵🥵

The 118 sitting together trying to figure out the riddle was funny, everyone thinking how it’s a bad idea to even consider this to be a real thing, except for Buck, of course. 😂

And while the others are already considering how freaking horrible the rest of their shift  is going to be like, because it’s all over the news thanks to Taylor Kelly’s story.

Eddie called Taylor - Buck’s “girlfriend”, but we don’t see his face, we do get to see it, when Buck stresses (for what feels like the millionth time from the sigh and tone of his voice) that she is his friend not his girlfriend.

Eddie’s “Yeah, sure, right.” face is priceless!!😂😂  

Buck and Taylor plotting together again, is always hilarious, those two are disaster magnets, it makes for good fun. What bothered me was that Buck offered Taylor to pair up, but re-watching, everybody’s reaction didn’t exactly originally encouraged a teaming up vibe.

However the problem with human nature is - everyone love to obsess over riddles. 😉😉

Eddie jumping through the window into the fire truck? epic!

Eddie did suggest to team up to Buck and I love that even after Buck told him he’s working with Taylor, the look on Eddie’s face melted Buck almost immediately and had him suggesting Eddie joins the two of them. 🥰🥰

The scene in Buck’s apartment, with the three of them Eddie is right between Taylor and Buck in the shot and kind of “talking to himself” was so funny. - Gave me a BBC Sherlock scene between Irene Adler, Sherlock and John.

The way Martin Freeman stole the scene just by dropping small comments. I gotta give it to Eddie, out of all of everything in that scene, Ryan performance is what I’m going to remember. - Acting choices were made all throughout this episode by both Oliver and Ryan.

Also can we talk about the fact that Eddie is now stating little bits of knowledge like Buck now - “I can know weird stuff too” from 4x03 is so haunting me, these boys have totally rubbed off each other. (get your minds out of the gutters... for now anyway 😉)

I love how Eddie and Buck sit down and scratch, just thinking about the fire ants 😂😂

Buck being lowered into the septic tank - notice, Eddie is the one handling the rope, again, his expression worried while Buck is still down there, especially after having to drop him into the water.

I have noticed that Bobby sent Eddie up in the chopper, but is reluctant to send him under ground still 😉🙃

Buck’s “come on” when Eddie and Bobby made a face and walked away from the stench was so funny. Also super adorable on Buck’s part. 

I love how Taylor keeps shutting Buck down, it’s amusing to watch now that I know how the episode ends.

Athena being done with idiots the entire episode was hilarious! Angela is a queen!

I loved that 9-1-1 dispatchers were running a bet of places where the treasure may be. (Josh’s “Who thought that was a good idea?” and someone shouting “not it!” had me in stitches 😂😂)

Let’s take a break from buddie for a second:

Hen and Chimney joining the race and Bobby trying to hide his research from Athena was so funny, I mean, she is a police sergeant, there was no way she wouldn’t figure him out.

Bobby planning a future together, a life after the job, and Athena shutting him down. I do think this is what will come between them eventually. Athena making a unilateral decision, without considering even talking about a future with Bobby that doesn’t revolve around them working until they’re either forced out or buried six feet under ground. 

I find it interesting because it’s usually the other way around, my mom has been working on my dad to retire for years now so they can travel before both of them are too old to do it. So I kinda get where Bobby’s coming from.

In parallel though, Athena making the unilateral decision like Eddie did when he re-enlisted in 3x15. I do hope Bobby and Athena manage to work things out, I love them together. 

Back to the hunt:

Of course Athena worked out where the treasure is, Karen built an algorithm, and Taylor apparently helping Buck and Eddie figure it out bringing all three teams together.

Athena looking to Buck and Eddie asking them if they seriously brought their gear with them and Eddie pointing at Hen and Chimney to divert the attention from them about their med-kits. - like children trying to justify themselves to their parents. 😂😂😂

Wasting time negotiating about the money was hilarious, especially with Taylor in the chopper hovering over them lmao.

And then there was probie - Jesus! I laughed so much.  😂🤦‍♂️

Also Buck’s “I’m not doing anymore math”, as a reference to “she taught me math”, Buck’s not doing that shit. He calculated enough for one day and he is done!  😂

I do like that Oli and Ryan’s marks are closer together again ❣❣❣  

Eddie: “We didn’t kill him”  Buck: “We just wanted to” Bobby’s “Shut up” face killed me.

Probie selling them out “I don’t know these ppl.” You don’t say shit like this as a probie 😂😂😂

Also Rick saying “I didn’t actually think it was” and I'm just enjoying the moment, was awesome. I like it when he shows up in episodes, he and Athena make a good and amusing team. 

Back to buddie bread crumbs:

Everyone in Bathena’s house, including Taylor, who took the place next to buck, leaving Eddie to sit directly in front of Taylor and next to Chimney. - The “At this point I don’t trust anyone.” cuts to Eddie’s face, that looked as if he’s saying “Seriously dude? hurtful” - The fact that Buck stopped and met Eddie’s reproachful gaze even though they are not directly in front of each other says so much! 

Also the “Stop for a second and think about what you said.” looks from Chimney and the others are very meaningful. (#everybody knows 😉)  Buck sticking his foot in his mouth and him backtracking are shot directly from Eddie’s perspective. - hmm, I wonder why…? 🧐🧐

And to complete the meal:

Taylor placing Buck directly in the Friend-Zone category, was genius. And while Buck and Taylor have a fun energy together it never really felt romantically oriented. Also I have a certain feeling that seeing Buck and Eddie interact, at Buck’s place and at Bathena’s house and not for the first time either, she knows it will not work between her and Buck.

Buck, trying to feel something more for her, even if in a gentler and way sweeter way than the cursed ship I will not name, it feels forced on his end too - and Taylor lets him off the hook in a gentle way too, I like her for that even more. 

I really hope we keep seeing Taylor in a friend capacity for Buck, I think it’s good for him to have support and someone to talk to outside the 118. And I will absolutely worship Taylor if she will be the buddie catalyst, I mean Megan does ship buddie too, it will only be appropriate 😉💖

The episode in itself was pretty nice, I would have probably enjoyed it more if I watched it before LS who absolutely kicked me in the feels today. But I do know that just like 9-1-1 2x15 I’ll go back and watch it like a million times because it is a fun episode to pass the time, and the buddie crumbs were delicious. 

The promo kicked me in the feels too, I will not discuss it here right now, but I do hope that that last part won’t be a cliff hanger and we’ll have to wait an entire week for the rest, two weeks of frayed nerves are a LOT to suffer through 🙈

Sending big hugs out there to whomever needs it 🤗🤗🤗

[heyhey-heyward]

NO I DON’T | part five

series masterlist

summary: In which Rafe ruins a perfectly good night.

word count: 2.4k

let me know what you think! this is the final part, but I could be persuaded to do like an epilogue type continuation 

It was decided that everyone would get ready and meet at your house, with the exception of Pope, who had to go earlier and help his dad set up. Kiara was grinning from ear to ear as she watched you put the final touches one your look for the evening. A knock on your bedroom door startled both you and Kiara, and she rushed to answer it.

“Hey, is JJ with you?” You heard Kiara asked, poking her head out the door. You shook your head at her, still not understanding just why she was insistent on keeping your dress a secret for some big reveal.

“No, he’s on his way, though.” The familiar voice of John B filtered into your room. His answer must have been good enough for Kiara, because she stepped aside to let him in. “Wow, you guys look amazing. JJ is going to lose his mind when he sees you.”

“Shut up, JB.” You groaned, dropping to sit on the edge of your bed. Things had been awkward with JJ since your conversation at the ice cream shop, and you were doing your best to try and not think about it. Though, the confused look on John B’s face told you that you weren’t getting away with it so easily.

“Did something happen? Because he’s been really pouty since you took him shopping.” The brunette boy asked, and your gaze dropped to the ground in embarrassament.

“I may have… kissed him. On accident.” You hurried to clarify as you watched both John B’s and Kiara’s faces light up. John B was the first to react, a loud laugh that covered up the sound of your groan as you buried your face in your hands.

“What do you mean, by accident?” Kiara asked after swatting John B’s shoulder to get him to quiet down.

“I don’t know! He was sneaking out of my room the other night and when I was saying bye I just… kissed him!” You explained, throwing your arms up in despair. John B was still laughing, and you could tell Kiara was trying to hide her smile, but you weren’t amused. “And then after we went shopping he asked me about it and I told him it meant nothing and that we’re just friends.”

“Are you kidding me?” John B exclaimed at your confession. He was still smiling, but most of his joy had melted away into an almost exhausted look, as if he was tired of dealing with you and JJ. “ You guys are both, like, in love with each other and neither of you can actually tell each other that. JJ probably died the moment you kissed him.”

“That’s not true—” You started to deny, but were cut off when your dad called out that JJ had arrived.

“Wait here, I’m going to make sure he did his tie the right way.” Kiara jumped up from her spot and raced out the door before you could even stand. You could feel John B’s gaze on you, and the bed dip as he sat beside you.

“What if I don’t know how to act around him now and ruin our friendship?” You mumbled, finally letting the fears you had about JJ out. John B huffed, and though you were studying your hands intently, you could feel him press a kiss to the side of your head.

“You’ll be fine. You always are.” He assured you. The soft side of your best friend was showing, and you were grateful that you had him in your life. You didn’t get the chance to respond, because you could hear Kiara calling your name. John B stood, offering his hand to you and helped pull you to your feet. “C’mon, let’s go to this stupid party.”

“Such a way with words.” You rolled your eyes, smiling nonetheless as you let him lead you to the top of the stairs. You linked your arm through his, and when you finally saw everyone that was waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs, it felt as if you were in a movie.

Your parents were there, your dad taking photos as your mom watched on with pride. Kiara was grinning, caught up in the excitement of everything. But your focus wasn’t on them. You were too busy admiring JJ, who was smiling widely at you. You had already seen him in the suit, but coupled with the fact that he had styled his hair, he looked twice as good. Your heart skipped a beat as you realized he had a bouquet of flowers for you, and as soon as you reached the bottom steps you headed straight towards JJ.

“Hi.” You breathed, too caught up in how good he looked and the way he was smiling at you to realize John B had moved away from your side. Your mind was racing but all you could think about was the blonde before you.

“Hey. These are for you.” JJ thrusted the flowers towards you, and you laughed lightly as you took them. You barely had the chance to thank him before he continued talking. “You look really, really good.”

“You clean up nice yourself.” He was flustered, but so were you, and you weren’t sure what else to say. Luckily you were spared having to come up with small talk in your frazzled state as your mom started ushering everyone to set up for photos.

“Oh, you guys all look so nice.” Your mom cooed, and you groaned, embarrassed by her antics. Still, you smiled and posed for however many photos she wanted. Eventually you were freed, and the four of you couldn’t get into John B’s van fast enough.

No matter how much you didn’t want to go to Midsummers, you had to admit that you were having fun. You had found Pope pretty quickly after arriving, and for a while you were distracted from not knowing where you stood with JJ. Kiara grabbed your hand and pulled you onto the dancefloor, where you spent what felt like forever simply having a good time.

“JJ’s been practically drooling over you all night. Did you see his face when he finally saw your dress? I’m glad I made him wait to see it.” Kiara teased, earning an eye roll. You couldn’t argue, you had felt JJ’s eyes on you practically the whole night, but you were too stubborn to tell that to Kiara. Instead of responding, the upbeat song you had been dancing to changed to one that was much slower and you let out a sigh. Just as you and Kiara turned to leave the dance floor, JJ and John B appeared.

“M’ladies.” JJ pretended to tip an imaginary hat and you curtsied in response. He grinned at you, offering you his hand. “May I have this dance?”

“Only if you stop talking like that.” You giggled, not even noticing your other two friends slip into the crowd as your hands locked around the back of JJ’s neck and his landed on your waist. You started swaying to the music, quickly finding yourself lost in his baby blue eyes. You caught yourself staring and cleared your throat, looking away to try and save yourself some embarrassment. “So, how are you liking being a Kook for the night?”

“I’ve only gotten four dirty looks and been mistaken for a waiter twice, so that’s good.” He joked and you shook your head at him with a grin. It was obvious this wasn’t his scene, considering that this was probably the first time you had seen him so dressed up, but he clearly wasn’t hating it.

“I’m really glad you’re here, even though we were supposed to watch C.H.U.D. tonight.” You teased, watching as his smile widened.

“It’s a good movie!” He argued and you laughed loudly, drawing a few stares from the older couples around you. JJ’s hands squeezed your sides and he pulled you closer to him, the look in his eyes softening to a more sincere one. “But seriously, I’m glad I came too. Anything to spend time with you.”

Your heart soared at his words and you had to remind yourself not to completely melt under his touch and gaze. You shared a smile with him, and suddenly your eyes were fluttering shut as you both leaned towards each other slowly. You could feel his breath fanning across your face and his nose brush against your cheek, and then—

“Why are there so many Pogues on our side of the island?”

Rafe. The sound of his voice caused you and JJ to jump apart. The Cameron boy was smiling smugly at you and JJ, with his typical goons Topper and Kelce flanking him. JJ stepped in front of you, as if to be a shield from whatever Rafe was going to do.

“Just leave, Rafe. Don’t cause a scene.” You tried to reason, but the older boy just turned his maniacal grin on you. The crowd around you kept dancing, but John B and Kiara had returned and were watching the interaction from a few feet away.

“Why are you even hanging around these guys? You could do so much better. You’re a Kook now. You have a future, he doesn’t.” Rafe’s voice was sickly sweet, not bothering to look to JJ as he gestured towards him at the end of his tirade. The insulted blonde took a step forward as if he was going to fight Rafe, but your hand shot out to catch his arm. He stopped, but you could feel how tense he was under your touch.

“Come on, let’s just go.” John B cut in, sliding between JJ and Rafe to diffuse the situation. JJ’s jaw was set tight, but after a gentle nudge from his brunette best friend they headed towards the exit. You started to follow them, but your mom caught you on your way out, telling you that you had to stay.

While the first half of the party was fun, the second half seemed to drag on forever. Rafe kept sending you smug looks, clearly happy that he managed to ruin your night. As soon as you got home, you changed out of your dress and barely had time to bid your parents goodnight before you were hopping into your car and pulling out of the driveway.

Everyone was already at The Chateau when you parked your car. JJ and Pope took up residence in the two hammocks, and John B and Kiara sat in chairs nearby. When they saw you approaching, everyone but the blonde got up to give you a minute alone with JJ.

“Good luck.” John B muttered as he pressed a kiss to the side of your when passing you. You smiled at him, and once the three of them were all the way inside you finally approached the brooding boy.

“I was wrong, JJ.” You sighed, climbing into the hammock with him. He didn’t say anything, though he opened his arms for you to lay on side with your head on his chest. “The kiss was an accident, but it wasn’t nothing. Not to me, at least. I panicked, and told myself that you didn’t feel the same so when you confronted me about it, I lied.”

“You were wrong, then.” JJ mumbled. One of his hands moved up to brush up and down your back soothingly. You let out a sigh of content under his touch and waited for him to find the words you knew he was searching for. “I just… do you like me? More than friends?”

“Yeah, I do.”

You didn’t hesitate to tell him so. It felt good to finally tell him, and after everything that had happened tonight, you were hopeful that there was a chance he felt the same. You gathered all your courage and tilted your head up to look up at him, only to find him already watching you.

“Why?” The question was simple and innocent, but you knew he was still thinking about what Rafe had said. No matter how wrong the older boy was, JJ had been hearing things like that his whole life. It got to him from time to time, and it broke your heart to see the vulnerable look in his eyes.

“Because you’re the funniest guy I know. You’re so easy to be around, and I feel like I can do anything when I’m with you.” You confessed, pouring your heart out to him. It was all true, you meant every word and you wondered why it had taken you so long to realize how you felt. “You’re my person, J.”

Before you really knew it, his hand was cupping your jaw and he had leaned forward enough to press his lips against yours. It was soft and slow as a result of the awkward position you were in. When you shifted up towards him, the kiss deepened and his hand fell to your waist.

You pulled apart to breathe, though you didn’t get far. Your face hovered over his as you searched his eyes for answers to questions you hadn’t asked. He smiled, and you couldn’t help but notice that he looked much more relaxed than he had moments earlier.

“For the record, I like you too.” He joked, and you laughed quietly before pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips. “Why else do you think I would put up with going to Midsummers?” You shook your head with a smile, brushing your fingers across his cheekbone.

“Well, I’m glad you did, even if Rafe is a massive jerk.” You hummed, leaning back in to press your lip against JJ’s again. This kiss was sweet and slow, neither of you in a hurry and just drinking each other in. Your whole body felt on fire and you distantly wondered why you had taken so long to tell him how you felt—or why it had taken you so long to realize you even had feelings for him.

“JJ, can you not do that in my hammock?” John B called from the porch, and you heard Pope and Kiara snickering beside him as you and JJ broke apart from each other. You didn’t bother looking at them, too entranced by the blonde that was looking at you as if you put the stars in the sky. You smiled at him, brushing a strand of his hair off of his forehead. JJ copied your smile, though he quickly glanced at the spectators on the porch.

“I’m just appreciating her.”

fin.

—

taglist:

@pixelated-pogues @obx-direction-sos @emptycanvasposts @rudethchalamet @drizzlethatfalls @obxlife @fangirlvoice @jayjaymaebank @k-k0129 @starryblueeyesandstarryblueskies @perfektionsmakel @teamnick @sspidermanss @jjs-housekeeping @cece-lives-here @aliciamarie515 @jjsmaybcnk @rudyypankow @99sxuxii @poguesnobx @downbytheouterbanks @http-cherries @coltonparayyko @oopsiedoopsie23 @annedub @obxmxybxnk @frankiebcanon @angvelics @danicarosaline @usedtobeaj @hmspxgue @otrbnks​ @justcallmesams @langdonlovey @thebendslikebendover 

tags with a strikethrough didn’t work

[gumnut-logic]

Barbecue

This story is @godsliltippy​ ‘s fault. It was spawned in an Animal Crossing game, apparently, and she mentioned the concept to me and immediately sparked an idea. I feel what resulted isn’t quite what she had in mind, but I’m not in control here, sorry :D In fact, the whole thing turned into a weird ramble about Tracys really rather than a cohesive story.

I posted the beginning of this a while back when my muse took a hit and refused to write anymore. As it was never planned to be anything but one chapter, I have posted it as a whole now that it is finished. So you might find that you’ve already read the first bit. Sorry. Skip to the origami scene, dinner being served and you’ll find the new stuff.

Thank you to @scribbles97​ for the read through and support :D

I hope you enjoy this mostly Tracy fluff :D

-o-o-o-

It wasn’t often that the Tracys got together as a family. Sure, they lived on an island together, saw each other every day and even worked together. But there was a big difference between sharing a room versus sharing an event.

This time around, it wasn’t a special day or anything in particular, but Gordon had decided that the family needed some down time, had sweet talked Grandma who had the power to make it happen and International Rescue had been shut down for an evening.

John was dragged down from orbit a few days earlier so he could actually walk without his gravity assistance. When he complained, Grandma tore him a new one.

He didn’t comment after that, though Gordon swore he heard Eos laughing at him at one point.

Gordon thought it would be somewhat scary to have an AI laughing at you, but John just rolled his eyes and glared laser beams at his fish brother when he realised he was watching.

Johnny was such a soft target, but his revenge was lethal.

Gordon decided on a hasty retreat.

It was a simple barbecue on the beach down by one of the huts. A chance to laze on the sand, chat and just be family.

Now that Dad was home, their family was almost whole.

There would be no daring, to-the-ends-of-the-solar-system rescue for their mother. It just wasn’t something they could fix, so technically they would never be entirely whole again, but things were what they were and Gordon preferred to think positive.

The alternative sucked.

So, barbecue on the beach. Barbecue usually meant Virgil was cooking, but Two had been called out on a rescue just after lunch and that was following the one before lunch and the one after breakfast.

Scott had gone with Virg earlier and Gordon even earlier, but the second eldest waved him away on the third. It was a simple one. He would be back in time to turn the burgers.

He wasn’t.

It was left to John to fend off both Scott and Grandma, as neither were allowed near the barbecue. And while John was a bit more of a connoisseur than Virgil with his burgers perfected rather than barbecued, he still managed a great steak.

Whereas Scott would burn it.

Alan wasn’t allowed near the food otherwise no one else would get any.

Gordon did the salads. He was one to do things to carrots that no one else would think of. Even Virgil admired his radish roses and the salad dressings he created. Kayo sometimes helped him and today was one of those days.

Scott was usually tasked with furniture set up, but today he was hovering in the comms room keeping an eye on Virgil.

After all, three rescues in one day was a hefty workload.

And Dad? Well, Scott got his worry wart genes from somewhere.

“Is he on his way back?” Gordon strode into the comms room to find his father seated at his desk and Scott hovering like a lost soul, both staring at the holoprojector and a hologram of what was obviously Two’s external camera. Virgil was wearing his exo-suit and hauling several large containers onto his ‘bird.

He looked tired.

Gordon frowned. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine, Gordon. Packing up now.” It was still weird when Dad answered a question like that and not Scott.

Especially when there was a furrow on his eldest brother’s forehead.

Dad noticed Gordon’s gaze and looked over at Scott. “He’s fine, son. You worry too much.” Their father swiped at a secondary hologram on the desk, pushed his chair back and stood up. His cane rattled against the chair as he grabbed it to make his way over to Scott.

Who was still frowning. “Sorry, Dad. Just three in a row. He’s supposed to be home.”

“It’s the nature of the business.”

Scott looked at his father as if to say ‘Really?���

Dad cleared his throat. “Hmm, you have a point.” He straightened. “But we have to trust Virgil when he says he is okay.”

Scott’s grunt was non-committal.

Dad dropped a hand onto Scott’s shoulder. “He’s coming home and he’s staying home.”

Scott continued to stare at the hologram of his brother in the centre of the room. It was obvious Scott obviously wanted to skip all that and just have Virgil safe on the Island.

Scott wasn’t very good at waiting.

“Hey, Scotty, can you help Alan with the table?” At least it would have his brother doing something for a few minutes. By then Virgil would be in the air and on his way home.

“Sure.” But it was distracted and those eyes still hadn’t left the hologram.

As if on cue there was the sound of breaking glass and a number of rather offensive words from the kitchen.

As Scott moved almost as fast as his ‘bird, Gordon bit his lip and secretly applauded Kayo’s back up plan.

It worked. By the time Scott felt secure enough to let Kayo loose in the kitchen by herself again – Gordon swore she play acted the scene, any other time a brother would be dead for questioning her capabilities – Thunderbird Two could be heard on approach and all that was left to do was for Scott to run down to the hangars to check on his brother in person.

It was worth the milk jug and the clean-up.

As expected, Virgil was fine. A little tired, yes, but functional and looking forward to the evening on the beach.

He cleaned himself up, donned his flannel civvies and wandered down to the beach.

There was much discussion between John and the tired engineer about burgers until Gordon rounded up Virgil and set him doing fancy things with paper napkins.

If they ended up with fifty swans, twenty parakeets and forty-odd doves, he didn’t care. It was obvious Virgil was beat, running on a post rescue high and just needed something to do. The fact he was somewhat of an origami addict just worked in Gordon’s favour.

It also helped that Grandma sat with Virgil to keep him company.

Dinner was cooked and served. There was a bounty of food. If Gordon knew one thing it was that the key to a good get together was food and lots of it.

John’s steaks and burgers were divine as always, though lacking the char Virgil usually gave them. Gordon had a second helping, regardless.

Scott was still keeping an eye on Virgil, but their engineer brother seemed fine, stuffing food in his face at his usual muscle building rate.

Gordon kept an eye on Scott, noting that the eldest couldn’t seem to drop his concern.

Gordon toyed with the idea of asking Grandma to stall IR for the next day as well. The eldest two could do with a day off, obviously.

He’d talk to her later.

Dessert was an ice cream concoction with just enough alcohol and fruit in it to tickle the senses, topped with a crisp meringue. Basically, it was enough sugar to fuel a Thunderbird.

Which it did. All five brothers definitely appeared brighter after the meal and it was Scott of all people who suggested they go for a swim.

Gordon could never say no to that.

Private islands had their uses and the beach hut had change rooms and supplies for exactly this reason. Hiking all the way up the hill to the villa was not needed. Even Grandma had her own stash of swimwear down here and it was with some vivacity that the family descended on the hut and shed their clothing.

Except for Gordon who had come fully prepared because he was Gordon and there was a beach involved. So, it was with some amusement that he volunteered to tidy up the table while everyone changed clothes.

Scott stared at him for a full ten seconds obviously wondering if he needed to fetch a medical scanner.

Gordon just poked out his tongue and started collecting plates.

Their father had spent a great deal of time in the water since he had returned. Gordon actually enjoyed that fact. It gave him the opportunity to spend time with a man who had not only been missing for eight years, but prior to that had been mostly too busy to take a swim with his son.

There had been talks. Lots of talks. Even a few fragile moments.

The water gave his dad physical support that was sorely needed. John was known to take to the pool or the ocean for the same reason. Alan not so much. The baby of the family was not a water one. He enjoyed it, but his preferred environment involved rocket fuel and orbital stats.

Ultimately all the Tracys liked a fun dip in their private lagoon. Though, if he was honest, Gordon wondered if his brothers would be so eager to stick their toes in the water if they knew of the visitors the caldera sometimes received. He smirked to himself as Alan emerged from the hut, ran yelling down the slope, and barrelled into the water.

Gordon grinned. They weren’t dumb, but the aquanaut had installed certain sensors in the lagoon for a reason. It was his job to protect his family in the ocean, after all.

Scott wandered down the slope at an easier pace. He was wearing blue board shorts and displaying far more tanned skin than most of them.

John didn’t even bother and left his t-shirt on. Obviously taking no chances even though the sun was almost setting. His arms and legs still glowed and Gordon was hard put not to poke fun.

His astronaut brother must have picked up the vibes because he glared as he stalked past.

Grandma stepped down lightly beside their father, both wearing shirts. Dad had unspoken issues about the condition of his body and Grandma claimed that she couldn’t compete with the GQ covers surrounding her.

As far as he was concerned, Gordon was just happy they were there and having fun.

Because they were.

Grandma helped their dad onto the beach and then took a running jump into the water, her strong stroke chasing the eldest out into the lagoon.

It was Kayo who stopped at the edge with their father. Beaches were notorious for transmitting sound and, as he gathered dishes, Gordon could hear her soft voice even at this distance.

She was speaking Malay ever so quietly.

His father replied in the same.

Surprised Gordon couldn’t help glancing in their direction. She was looking up at his father with an expression of such gentleness, her hand on his arm. Gordon’s heart swelled and he looked away. He knew his sister had always been close with their father, but she was usually far from demonstrative. Tin’s early life had done so much to shape who she was today.

Gordon had a hate for her uncle that reached far beyond his own personal injury.

He finished stacking the picnic crockery and cutlery to the tune of the playful sounds in the bay. A quick wash of his hands in rainwater and he turned to face the lagoon.

His father was floating beside Tin and they were obviously having a private conversation. Scott, Alan, John and Grandma were apparently having a race. Gordon stared at that activity for a full moment, noting stroke strength and style. As always, Grandma was the most efficient, but the two older brothers outpaced her simply on strength and youth. Alan’s heart didn’t seem to be in it at all, but then Allie was secretly a softie when it came to Grandma and was probably losing on purpose.

He shared that with Virgil but for entirely different reasons. Virgil looked after Grandma. Grandma looked after Allie and was really the only maternal parent his little brother knew.

Not that he would ever admit any of it. Virgil was obvious. Alan was still far too teenager to admit to anything.

Gordon frowned. Speaking of Virgil, where the hell was the big softie?

Gordon’s eyes tracked over the water. What the hell? There was no sign of him.

He had come down, hadn’t he?

Gordon spun on the spot, hackles rising, eyes scanning the beach, the trail and the hut.

He thumbed his collar. “Eos, do you have a location on Virgil?”

“Hello, Gordon. Virgil is in Beach Hut Number Seven. His comms have been removed from his body and hence security-disabled. I really wish you and your brothers wouldn’t do that. It is disconcerting.”

Gordon didn’t acknowledge the AI, instead darting up the path to the hut.

As with everything on Tracy Island, the rustic little structure was more than it seemed. Security sensors recognised him as he touched the door and allowed him entrance. He swung it open and entered what equated to a mixture of storage facility and functional outpost. From here, any member of the family could get to the hangars fast via a hidden monorail system underground. It was one of several collection points dotted around the Island for sudden callouts.

But it also doubled as short-term shelter and basically a place to stash stuff. From swimwear to water sports equipment to art materials, the not so little huts held all sorts of things.

But the one thing Gordon was looking for was a heavy lifting brother.

He poked through the change cubicles. “Virgil?” It was quiet except for the sounds of the breeze and the ocean in the distance echoing through the still open door.

And the soft sound of snoring.

Really?

He found the last cubicle locked and had to jimmy the door to get it open.

Each change cubicle contained a bench and that is where his found his big brother.

Virgil had somehow managed to curl up on the far too small ledge and was fast asleep.

Gordon let out a sigh of relief suddenly realising exactly how worried he had actually been at his brother’s sudden absence.

The sigh fast turned into a fond smile as the worry slipped away. Not only was Virgil asleep in an odd spot, but he appeared to have fallen into slumber while undressing. His boots lay discarded to one side and his flannel shirt hung from a hook along with his grey t-shirt. But his jeans were still half on, down around his knees. It was almost as if he had sat down to remove them and tipped sideways on the bench, curling up against the wall half naked.

Gordon’s smile turned into a frown.

It would have been prime humour material involving photographs and eternal ribbing if it wasn’t for one factor.

Bruises.

His brother had a number of them down one side. What the hell?

Gordon stepped closer. None looked serious by themselves, but there were enough to suggest Virgil had taken a fall of some kind earlier in the day. An unreported fall. Gordon bit his lip. Unless…

A clatter of wet feet and Scott was suddenly there beside him, dripping on the floor. “What happened?”

Gordon shrugged. “Looks like he fell asleep while getting undressed.” He eyed his brother. “Did he report a fall?”

Scott took a step closer, staring at the bruises on Virgil’s torso. “Yes, but none of this.” A frustrated breath. “Hell, Virg.”

As if responding to his name, Virgil snorted in his sleep and tried to roll over.

And promptly fell off the bench.

Both Scott and Gordon lunged in to catch him, awkwardly scooping up limbs and important body parts, desperate to stop him from hitting the concrete. The man did not need any more contusions.

All three ended up on the floor. And while Virgil hadn’t acquired any more bruising, Gordon’s knees certainly had and there was a definite elbow to his collar bone that was likely to sprout something a little purple at least.

“Virg, wake up.” Scott’s voice was definitely in commander mode, but still soft with that brotherly worry that seemed to be ingrained in his personality.

Another snort and dopey brown eyes opened. There was little behind them for a full moment as they stared up at Scott who was still holding his brother against his chest.

Virgil blinked as water dripped on him. “Wha-?”

“You fell asleep, bro. In your underwear.”

“Wha’ the hell? Ugh, you’re all wet.” Virgil struggled to sit up. Both Scott and Gordon sat back and let their brother right himself.

Sitting up, Virgil let his back fall against the bench and sighed. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Shit, sorry.”

Gordon could hear the creak of his eldest brother’s frown beside him. “And so you should be. What is this?” Scott pointed at the bruises decorating Virgil’s right side.

The engineer blinked and looked down at himself. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh. Why weren’t they reported?”

An arched eyebrow as Virgil looked back up at his brother. “They’re just bruises. It was a busy day.” Those brown eyes latched onto Scott. “I’m okay.”

“You fell asleep while changing your clothes.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’m a little tired.” But then his eyes turned to Gordon. “I just didn’t want to miss out on the party.”

Gordon’s heart twitched at the honesty in those eyes. “You idiot. We could have done it tomorrow.”

Virgil looked down at his feet. “Probably would have been called out again.”

Gordon huffed. “No, Virgil, because tomorrow is a day off.”

It was Gordon’s turn to be frowned at by Scott, but the aquanaut was having none of it. He held up a hand. “No, Scott, was thinking it would be a good idea earlier and now it is certain. I’m speaking to Grandma.” He pursed his lips. “Or I can skip that step and just convince you here and now while dopey here has his purple decorations on display.”

“Hey!” Virgil got his frown on, but Gordon ignored him, keeping his own determination targeted on Scott.

Defiant blue flared for all of a second before looking down. Scott hated taking International Rescue offline. Gordon understood why and agreed, but there were limits.

Gordon reached out and gripped his big brother’s arm gently. “You need the time off, bro. You’re exhausted as much as dopey here.”

Blue eyes caught his for a moment and Gordon could see the decision being made behind them.

Quiet. “Okay.”

Gordon smiled just a little and squeezed that arm.

“What are you guys doing?” Alan, followed by John poked their heads in the door. “Kayo beat John by a – whoa, Virg, what the hell happened to you?”

Virgil didn’t quite roll his eyes, but he did push himself to his feet. “Work, okay?”

Several sets of eyes landed on Scott expecting a follow up on that statement.

The commander sighed and stood up. “John, can you please notify the GDF that International Rescue will be unavailable for another day at least.”

The space monitor nodded as sharply as usual, despite the fact his hair had obviously been hurriedly scrubbed with a towel and was sticking up in all directions. “FAB.” He slipped out of the room.

Alan was still staring at Virgil.

Another sigh. “Guys, can I finish getting dressed?”

Scott pointed at his brother. “You are going back to the villa to get some shuteye.”

“No, I’d like to go for a swim first and cool down.”

For a moment there, Gordon’s two eldest brothers glared at each other, neither willing to give in.

Virgil’s frown looked to crawl off his face and throttle Scott. “It’s only bruises. A swim, a shower and bed, I promise.”

Scott sighed. “Fine.” His lips twitched a little smugly. “Good luck explaining that lot to Dad and Grandma.” He turned and stalked out of the cubicle, herding Alan with him.

Virgil sagged and sat down with a groan.

He looked so dejected, Gordon felt sorry for him. “Hey, bro. Wear a t-shirt and they will never know.”

His brother grunted and started pulling off his jeans. A sigh. “Thanks, Gords.”

“Not a problem. Gotta look after my wingman after all.” He furnished that statement with a grin.

Virgil arched an eyebrow up at him, but Gordon could see the smile building behind his eyes.

“Go. Get. Let me get dressed.”

“Don’t fall asleep.”

“Get out.”

Gordon cackled and waltzed out of the cubicle.

He didn’t go far. He stopped just outside the beach hut and waited for his brother to finish up. The sun was fast approaching the horizon and everything was a wonderful gold colour.

Down on the beach, Scott was speaking with their father, no doubt reporting the situation. Gordon held back a sigh. Virg was likely in for it despite the t-shirt.

There was more than one way to give a guy a break, for goodness sake.

Dad looked up the hill at Gordon and caught his eyes.

Gordon gave him a mock salute.

If he had to run interference for Virgil, so be it. After all, he meant it when he said he had to look after his ‘wingman’.

Gordon rolled his shoulders and grinned at Scott as his brother looked up frowning.

His wingman needed a break.

So, Gordon would give him one.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

[ly-n-pip-are-writing]

Welcome to the best AU I've ever thought of: the Eyeshine!AU

the thing with this AU is both simple and really not. Remember early Supernatural? everything in cool blue tones, very eerie.

little dean coming up to his mother and quietly asking her when he gets to meet his little brother, Mary losing colour because what. she's not pregnant, they've never talked about having a second child. what is happening.

skipping forward like two months and yes. she's pregnant. but that doesn't mean anything, right? and anyway, she's pretty sure the baby is going to be a little girl. everything is fine!

it's not.

seven months later samuel winchester is born and mary is freaking the fuck out. her children are.. wrong. dean always knows what sam wants and needs and sam always, always looks at his brother, even through walls (he shouldn't even be able to see anything that's not close to his face yet, fuck, what's going on?)

then mary dies. and yes, it's a tragedy, but it was just a house fire, right? no it really wasn't. John finds out everything. ghosts, vampires, demons.

and then he finds out about his kids. and john, the paranoid disgusting little scumbag he is, blames them. because why else would mary be targeted?

so they grow up isolated. they grow up hidden. but they are not less because of it. they realize they're different and they work with it.

them taking on their show persona but there's always something off about them. they might be monster hunters, but they're not quite human.

sam not getting killed that very first time because dean could tell him. heaven and hell slowly realizing that something is wrong with the vessels.

they ebb and flow in a way that's unnatural, not a word spoken in a fight, ideas and realizations sparking between them without a sound, effortlessly weaving and dodging around each other in a way that scares even the monsters sometimes

don't get me wrong, supernatural can be really dark. but give me a supernatural that's a little less about two brothers fighting monsters and more about the dark, dark supernatural.

give me occult

give me magic that is so dark that no other would even attempt it

give me not co-dependency, give me not two brothers

give me two beings split into two that crawled out of a dark, dark place.

give me angels with fire and so many wings and eyes and utterly frightening, the biblical angels that strike fear into every human that looked upon their true form

give me demons with horns and twisted bodies that show how far they've gone from what they used to be

the vampire teeth are kinda cute but give me vampires that have teeth, too pale skin and sunken eyes, fingernails a little too long, almost clawlike

werewolves where, even though it's not on a full moon, they're a bit bulkier, a bit hungrier, who can eat nearly raw meat and get territorial and aggressive when they never used to before

like that scene where the shifter that looks like dean is changing and its body is just cracking and turning unnaturally and upsettingly

faries that are more like the stories of old, the ones that made even adults be wary of going into the woods, giggles and songs and paths that lead deeper and deeper between the trees

back to sam and dean, I desperately want a sam who's blood sings with ancient magicks, who chants spells like it's the language he grew up with

a dean who's not as magical as his brother, but magic in his own right. weapons fall into his hands, a face full of too-many teeth and steps sure

dean being magical enough to be used in the spells

sometimes in spells you need an anchor, so sam using his brother as a conduit, magic flowing with a strength unheard of

they make themselves into weapons, make ruby's knife and the colt look like children's toys

dark, old magicks that require blood and guts and sacrifice, the bothers hands soaked in blood so often that they cannot get it out from beneath their fingernails

give me a castiel that's wrong, his movements not-right, his eyes blank but all-seeing, so full of grace the air around him flickers

a castiel that looks into deans soul and sees himself, and sees the same in sam

a deeply unnatural castiel that is possessive of the brothers because of course he is, they're his

team free will but make it creepy, make it eerie, make it dark and bloody and dangerous

that is all

obligatory @little-red-shoes because, again, they're my enabler but in this case, they really helped me out. thank you for fleshing this out with me <3

now, another thanks goes to @lonewolf91828 and @b-a-b-why, because they're always there for me and listen to me rant about shows they haven't even watched, as well as always giving me advice, love you guys <3