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featherandferns · 1 day ago

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paint by number (fic)

jj maybank x fem!reader | sequel to colour in the lines! | the answer to this ask ;)

content warning: sexual content (f receiving, m receiving, p in v - MDNI); drinking

word count: 13k.

blurb: now in autumn, you and JJ seem happy as pie in your new relationship. There's only one problem: your best friend Esme can't stand JJ, and he's determined to find out why.

JJ hated school. He saw it as a waste of time; hours spent sitting behind various desks, staring at a whiteboard, staring at a chalkboard, staring at a piece of paper. Nothing interested him. Not the Roman Empire or the prose that Shakespeare wrote or the chemical equations that explained things like oxygen and water. JJ didn’t care how or why things were the way they were. He never questioned it and so never felt the pull for answers which were given to him in class. The only good thing about school? It got him away from his dad.

Luke had been on a bender over the weekend and had come back drunk and enraged. As always, JJ was the one that was unwillingly in his line of sight. He became Luke’s outlet as always. Walked away with a split lip and a handful of bruises scattered across his body. When Monday came around, JJ only contemplated skipping for a few minutes. That was until he heard his dad stirring across the hall. With that, JJ was grabbing his backpack and clambering out his bedroom window.

In books and movies and adverts, teachers are these benevolent beings. They’re patient and understanding. They take pity on the kids from darker backgrounds and shine the light on them, lifting them up. JJ hadn’t experienced that. Teachers looked down their nose at him. He could feel their distaste in the way they spoke to him, in how they addressed him, and in the ways they’d pick on him to answer when they knew he wouldn’t know what to say. It pissed him off. Made him want to give it back. A taste of their own medicine.

Romeo and Juliet was the biggest snooze-fest JJ had ever read. ‘Read’ might be generous. He had skimmed the pages whilst hanging on the boat with his friends, having stolen the novel from Pope after he’d fallen asleep. Love-dovey-crap, that was all it was. The ending was ridiculous. Killing yourself for love? 'Give me a break', JJ thought to himself, snapping the book shut. It was fair to say the quiz that Mrs Hall dished out on the Wednesday prior hadn’t particularly elated JJ. Who said this, who did that - who fucking cares, is what JJ would like to know. He’d guessed half the answers and, whenever possible, left ridiculous responses to the others. But now, on Monday, after a weekend that felt like JJ had dragged his feet through the doorway of Hell, he was having to face the consequences of his actions, yet again.

“I’ve got to say, guys. Not your finest hour,” the teacher, Mrs Hall, remarks as she paces the aisles of the classroom. JJ lolls his head back in his seat, eyes closed, arms folded over his chest. His foot taps impatiently on the vinyl floor, his combat boots a strange comfort in his unease of being in a classroom. The click-click of Mrs Hall’s heels on the floor feels like a countdown as she nears JJ’s desk. The smell of casserole comes with it. He wondered if she ate it everyday, for how often she smelt like the stuff. Boiled potatoes and carrots and gravy. JJ cracks an eye open to see his quiz sheet being placed in front of him on the table.

“Poor work, Mr Maybank,” Mrs Halls reprimands. “I want you to see me after class.”

JJ peers down at the red letter ‘F’ circled in marker. It sneers at him, mocks him and his stupidity. What a waste. Maybe his dad was right. Maybe he would be better off dead. This felt like proof that JJ had nothing to show for himself.

Restless, heart beating and body sweating, JJ tugs off his cap and runs his fingers through his hair. Huffing, he rocks back in his seat and tries to calm himself down. He’s angry. At the teacher, at the quiz, at Shakespeare, at himself. His mind fills with insults which berate him, chipping at his confidence and self-worth, and clipping his mood shorter and shorter.

“Nice job.”

JJ glances over to his right. Mrs Hall blocks his line of sight but he can make out the other student well enough. She’s chewing on her lip, hands neatly placed in her lap as if praying, and she’s staring down at her quiz paper that Mrs Hall has just returned to her. His eyes flit up to Mrs Hall’s face. She’s proud, visibly so. Nobody’s ever looked at JJ like that.

“Top of the class - as always,” she adds. Then she’s continuing down the aisle to the tables in front. JJ frowns as he watches the girl. She reaches out a hand and strokes the ‘A +’ that JJ can make out from where he’s sat, as if she’s some Disney princess petting a wild rabbit. It’s laughable. She thinks it makes her special, having a teacher give her praise as if handing out candy, letting a stupid letter define her. But it does define her. Makes her better than him. Than everyone. Gives her keys to doors that JJ won’t ever be shown to. He can imagine her going home, gloating to her parents with faux humbleness, waving the quiz paper around to her glassy eyed parents who beam with pride at their wonderful ball of sunshine. And he hates the image he conjures in his mind. Hates the way he can practically feel the warmth of the fairytale-like fireplace on his skin; the smell of the chicken roasting in the oven; the sound of the radio playing cheerful music from the better decades.

JJ looks back down at his quiz paper. The ‘F’ looks back at him. It winks. JJ snorts. His voice doesn’t sound like his own when the worlds bubble up from inside him. They come out his mouth in a mocking sneer, as uncontrollable as vomit.

“Fuckin’ virgin.”

The girl behind him sniggers, and so does the boy in front. It makes JJ smile, smug and proud, because that is what he’s good for. Being the comedic relief, with quippy remarks. That’s all he’ll ever be: the joke.

But in his peripheral, he sees the girl’s head suddenly sag. It hangs low, shameful, embarrassed. He tilts his head just-so to make out her face. Her eyes are wet. Her lower lip trembles and he watches her sink her teeth into it, trying to keep it still. It looks like she might cry. His heart squeezes. For some reason, he thinks of his mother. Of the way she used to smile at him when tucking him into bed. Guilt washes over him like a cold shower and it makes him uncomfortable. It shocks him, catches him off guard, because he doesn’t even know this girl, so why does he care if he upset her?

But he does care. He cares a lot. He cares because he doesn’t want to be that guy. To be callous and cruel and condescending. JJ suddenly realises that he doesn’t want to be his father.

His throat goes dry and he stares down at his test paper, but his attention remains on the girl. He hears her sniffle. He clenches his jaw. The words of an apology churn his stomach, similarly to before, but they’re less willing to come out. And just when JJ’s about to muster the courage, the girl’s hand is shooting up.

“Yes?”

“Can I be excused to the bathroom, please?”

“Go ahead,” Mrs Hall sighs. The chair squeezes loudly as she pushes out of her seat. JJ glances at the door just in time to see her slip out and into the hallway. He swallows down the lingering guilt, pressing his eyes shut.

“Alright, let’s get started. If everybody could open up to page fifty-three, I really want to start by reminding you about the conflict between the two families - since most of you seemed to forget about this in the quiz…” Mrs Hall begins her lesson. JJ doesn’t make any notes. Instead, he quietly and strangely obsesses over the fact that the girl never returns to her seat for the rest of the lesson.

Over a year later…

JJ waits outside of the elementary school. It’s hot today, even though summer is officially over. Fall had walked into people’s lives with cinnamon coloured leaves and cool breezes at night, but there were still long stretches of daylight, warm enough to warrant nothing more than a sweater. He stands in his trousers and graphic tee, hands in his pockets, and rocks back on forth on his heels. He knows he doesn’t fit in with the others who stand in the playground. The mothers who gather in small groups like birds, squawking their gossip to one another. The fathers who small-talk over the latest baseball or football game, occasionally glancing at their phones to check their emails from work. There’s a nanny here too which is providing JJ with entertainment. She’s trying to wrangle three toddlers, with a brooding preteen unwilling to assist. The baby in the pushchair is crying out for attention. The nanny looks like she might throttle someone if they look at her the wrong way, though, so he only glances from time to time.

His phone buzzes and JJ checks the group chat with the Pogues. They’re planning on going to a kegger tonight; JJ replies that he needs to check with you. The last text he sent to you remains unanswered, though that isn’t all that uncommon.

‘At Leo’s school now.’

The ringing school bell has him shutting off his phone and pocketing it. The doors open not long afterwards and children come flooding out into the school yard in throngs. Girls loudly talking over one another, boys half-wrestling whilst descending the stairs, teachers looking crazed as they follow and try to control the chaos. Leo walks out by himself. He wanders out into the world, undisturbed by the madness happening around him. His hands clasp his backpack straps. He stops suddenly in the middle of the pathway just after the stairs. Some kids shout at him for it, brushing past him, and JJ has to clench his fists to save from walking over and giving them a piece of his mind. But then Leo’s looking around patiently, scanning the area, until his eyes land on JJ. He gives a small smile which speaks to boundless enthusiasm and runs across the tarmac to him. JJ grins, dropping to his knees, and lets out a huff when Leo’s small body collides into his with an embrace.

“Hey bud,” JJ chuckles, hugging him back. “You good, little dude?”

“‘M good,” Leo nods, pulling away. JJ helps him shrug off his backpack; looping an arm through it, JJ carries it easily on his back. At the feel of Leo’s clammy hand pawing for JJ’s, he gladly takes the little boy’s hand in his, and the two of them begin their walk out of the school grounds.

“How was school, little dude?”

“S’good,” Leo murmurs.

“Oh yeah? What lessons you have?”

“Um…we had gym, and art, and math, and English…”

“Sounds like a busy one, huh?” JJ wonders, glancing down at Leo. He’s focused ahead but nods. He gently squeezes JJ’s hand and JJ smiles, looking ahead. The rest of the walk back to your house is spent in scattered conversation. Leo asks borderline intrusive questions about yourself and JJ, and JJ likes to think he strategically dodges them. Leo asks about girls and what they like, and reminds JJ about the “prettiest girl in the whole world” that’s in his lessons, and JJ gives appropriate advice for the audience. When the pair finally round the now familiar walkway to your home, Leo’s hand slips free and he races ahead. JJ follows him into the house.

“We’re home!” Leo hollers loudly. He rushes into the living room. JJ chuckles, shaking his head, closing the door, toeing off his boots. “Mama! Sissy! We’re home!”

“I think they heard you, little man,” JJ calls back. He places Leo’s backpack by the rack of coats and shoes, and he smiles to himself like an idiot at the sound of your footsteps on the stairs. Standing up, he looks over to catch you hurrying through the hallway to him. You’re beaming, glasses sitting pretty on your face like always, and JJ opens his arms in time to catch your hug, He wraps an arm around you and lifts you off the floor, savouring your giggle, grunting happily as he squeezes your frame against his. Your feet carefully reunite with the floor; arms staying coiled around his neck.

“Hey brown-nose,” JJ smiles down at you.

“Hey blue eyes,” you smile back. You push onto your toes and press a kiss to his lips, and JJ swears to God he feels every minor stress that he’s collected throughout the day fizzle away. “Thanks for picking up Leo.”

“All good. You get that food shop done?”

“Yep. Mom should be back any time soon,” you tell him. The kiss you press to his cheek is like a reflex before you pull away, untangling yourself, walking to the kitchen. JJ follows you. He sits at the kitchen island and watches you unpack the shopping. You slide a box of cherry tomatoes over to him which he happily cracks open, popping a few in his mouth. From the living room, the television whirs to life, loudly chattering into the quiet.

“Missed you at school today,” JJ tells you.

You smile as you open the fridge. “Missed you too.”

“Mathletes go well at lunch?”

“Yep. We think we might make it to the finals this year,” you reply, slotting various fresh fruit and vegetables into the fridge.

“Damn. That’s exciting.”

You laugh. “Might wanna look up the definition for the word ‘exciting’.”

JJ laughs too, nods a little, eats another tomato. “Hey, the Pogues texted today. Said something ‘bout a kegger tonight. You down?”

“Maybe,” you say, closing the fridge. You wander over to him, leaning across the counter. “What time?”

“Whenever you wanna go, really. Guessing you wanna change,” he shrugs.

You feign offence, leaning back and gesturing to your sweatshirt and jeans, stained with curry you meal prepped the night before. “You sayin’ I don’t look hot?”

“Come on,” JJ croons, grinning playfully, “You always look hot.” You roll your eyes, smiling despite yourself, and resume your previous position propped up on the counter. “Seriously, though. You wanna go?”

“I’m guessing you do.”

“Hell yeah, I do,” he replies, making you laugh.

“A’right. On one condition, though,” you say, pointing a finger at him. JJ’s heart immediately sinks an inch lower in his chest. “Esme’s coming too.”

“Really?” JJ asks. You shrug and steal a tomato.

“She’s my best friend. I feel more comfortable at those kinda things with her,” you say, popping the tomato in your mouth.

“You do know that I’ll be there too, right?” JJ half jokes. You roll your eyes once more.

“I know that, dumbass. It’s just nice having another familiar face, y’know?”

“The Pogues not familiar enough yet?” JJ wonders. You’d met them more than enough times, now.

You shrug. “I just worry ‘bout her. She doesn’t really go out to a lot of things. ‘Sides, I want you two to get to know each other more. Y’know, hang out and stuff.”

“A’right, a’right, sure. Esme can come too,” JJ says.

You grin at him. “Thanks, babe.”

You lean across the counter, clearing the space between the two of you, and press a quick kiss to JJ’s lips. Then you’re pulling out your phone and calling Esme’s number, wandering out the kitchen just as the line connects. JJ sighs and tosses another tomato into his mouth. As he half-listens to your conversation in the hall, his mind begins to wander.

You and JJ slotted into each other’s life like the perfect sized hardback on an overflowing bookshelf. Time which was once kept to the confines of tutoring sessions in Mr Sunn’s classroom had now stretched into days at the beach, hours on the boat, or nights in your bedroom. When neither of you were at school, and JJ wasn’t at work, you’d spend your time together in one way or another. You’d lie down on the wooden slays of the pier in a bikini, holding a book above your face to read, shielding you from the sun, whilst JJ would fish nearby. You’d lounge on the boat, relaying the details from the latest documentary you’d watched, whilst JJ would drive the two of you around the marshland. You’d lean against his shoulder, sitting side by side, roasting marshmallows over the campfire with the other Pogues, stealing sips from his can of beer. You’d stand at the stove, stirring a comically large wok full of food that you were meal prepping for the week, dressed in one of his sweaters and a pair of sleep shorts, with JJ’s arms wrapped around you from behind as if he was the one holding you together. You’d snuggle against him, safe and cosy in your bed, glasses slipping down your nose as the two of you would watch Rick and Morty on your laptop. You’d watch like a hawk as JJ mimicked surf lessons with Leo, balancing the young boy on a child’s sized board precariously planted atop of a stack of throw pillows.

JJ had wormed his way into every aspect of your life. Your mom welcomed him as if he was an extension of the family. She borderline pressured him to stay for dinner and always reminded him to help himself to anything in the kitchen. She let JJ waste her daughter’s time with someone who would probably never amount to more than a high school graduate with average grades. She didn’t look at him the way most other adults did: like he was something dangerous, as if he were a cockroach that needed squishing.

Leo adored JJ. You’d told him this, many times. JJ was more than happy to become a fixture in the young boy’s life. The pair had a secret handshake. JJ would read him bedtime stories when your mom had a night shift, giving you the time to shower in peace before winding down for bed. JJ played monster-truck racing with Leo any chance he got. You once made a half-joke to him. ‘I think Leo might be healing your inner child or something.’ Maybe he was. Maybe JJ was trying to give Leo the life that he never had growing up; full of patience and support and encouragement. He wanted to keep him safe from everything and anyone. He wanted to give Leo the world on a platter and then some.

“Perfect! We’ll pick you up later then! Love ya!” you chirp through the phone.

Yes, JJ had melded perfectly into your life in nearly every aspect. The one roadblock? Your best friend, Esme.

JJ had tried literally. Fucking. Everything. He’d offered her rides back after school. He’d offered her to tag along on dates that he would much rather spend just as you and him. He complimented her, conversed with her - hell, JJ even read a book to have something in common with Esme to talk about. No matter what he did, no matter what he tried, Esme very obviously did not like JJ. The best part? This was an unspoken thing. The kind of quiet, simmering hatred that was only detected in the occasional glower and glare, in the odd snide comment, in the vague back-handed compliments. JJ knew enough about girls to know when one didn’t like him, and he had a feeling that Esme didn’t just ‘not like’ JJ. No, he was rather certain that Esme hated him.

All that to say, he wasn’t about to give up hope. Esme could come along and third-wheel to the kegger if she wanted to. It wasn’t like JJ wanted to be mortal enemies with the girl. You valued Esme as much as you valued JJ, maybe even more. The way you meshed with the Pogues was as sublime as lemon slices in iced tea. You and Pope could sit and talk for hours about books and movies and general, intellectual stuff that JJ tuned out of. You and Kiara would give tarot card readings to one another whilst sharing a joint. You and John B had the same sense of humour, sniggering and laughing like kids. JJ wanted that with Esme. He wanted to be friends with her, the same way you probably wanted him to be friends with her too. That to say, when you walk back into the kitchen, JJ plasters on a smile.

“She’s coming!” you chirp. JJ makes space between his legs for you to stand between them. His hand rests safely on your sides and your arms loop around his shoulders.

“Great,” he forces, hoping it sounds elated and not like he’s constipated. “We picking her up, did I hear?”

“Mhm. I just need to change,” you tell him. JJ smiles, the irritation of Esme tagging along fading away. “Can you hang with Leo whilst I shower?”

“Can’t I just shower with you?” JJ asks with a cheeky smile.

“Mm. Don’t tempt me, blue eyes,” you reply slyly. JJ hand slides tantalisingly down your sides until they're sweeping under your ass. He squeezes gently and tugs you closer, and he can’t help but grin at the way your breath catches. Your fingers sink into his hair as you kiss him deeply. His tongue brushes teasingly against yours, chasing the taste of you. He hums appreciatively at the lingering flavour of fresh tomato juice, palms splaying shamelessly across your butt. You’re breathless as you pull away. JJ fills his time with kissing lightly at your jawline. “We really need’t go upstairs. Don’t want Leo to walk in.”

“You worry too much,” JJ mumbles against your skin, but he silently agrees, slipping his wandering hands back up to your hips. You rest your forehead against his and sigh happily. JJ can’t wipe the smile off his face, it lingers like mist in the night.

“Hey, JJ,” you whisper.

“Yeah?”

There’s a beat of quiet and JJ opens his eyes. His smile dwindles at the look on your face: so serious, so contemplative. But before he can ask what’s wrong - what you’re thinking - you’re smiling again and kissing him, wiping his mind clean. “Nothing. Doesn’t matter.”

With that, you’re walking back out the kitchen, calling over your shoulder: “I’m gonna get a shower!”

JJ frowns at the door. That was weird.

By the time you re-emerge downstairs after your shower - dressed and ready to go - JJ has watched so much children’s television, he wouldn’t be surprised if his brains are leaking out of his ears. Leo is good entertainment: he takes up the main space of the living room floor, dancing around to the theme tunes and dialogue, driving his red truck that JJ fixed in the air. As if on cue, as you make your way down the stairs, the front door opens.

“Mama!” Leo yells, running to the front door.

JJ hears the oof your mom lets out from the hallway, likely after Leo has collided with her legs in a hug, and he laughs to himself, shaking his head. You walk into the room and plop down on the couch beside him. You lean your head against him, tapping on your phone as you text Esme. The smell of shampoo and moisturiser and perfume radiate off you and it consumes JJ.

“Mm. you smell good,” he murmurs, staring absentmindedly at your phone screen.

“Thanks. So do you,” you reply, typing away.

Your mom wanders into the room with Leo in tow. “Oo, you’re all dressed up. You guys going somewhere?”

“We’re heading out for the night. Is that okay with you?” you check, glancing up at her. She smiles at you and then at JJ, nodding her head. “You sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Go on, have fun. Be a normal kid, please. It’s a demand.”

“Thanks, mom,” you reply mirthfully.

“Is it just the two of you?”

“JJ and Y/N, sitting in a tree!” Leo loudly begins to chant, giddy and overexcited.

“I’m never forgiving you for teaching him that,” you mutter under your breath to JJ. He holds back his laugh. Then, replying to your mom, speaking loudly over Leo’s singing, you say, “we’re meeting JJ’s friends there, and picking up Esme on the way.”

“One of y’all is driving?” JJ nods, raising his hand slightly. “You drinking?” He shakes his head. Smiling, nodding, she says, “good.”

Leo concludes his song with a giggle, clapping his hands happily.

“A’right, we should probably head out,” you say, pushing up onto your feet. “Told Esme we’ll set off in five.”

“Okay, you two. Stay safe, have fun,” your mom says, heading toward the kitchen. As you venture into the hallway to pull on your sneakers, JJ ducks down to meet Leo’s height. The little boy stares at him, eyes slightly unfocused, a smile lingering on his puppy-fat face.

“You gonna be good, little man?”

“Mhm,” Leo nods.

“A’right. Gimme some skin,” JJ murmurs. The two begin their handshake, tapping knuckles and wiggling fingers. With a two finger salute ‘farewell’, JJ’s rising back to his full height and Leo is wandering past and into the hallway. JJ follows to spot you giving Leo a tight embrace, smiling contently.

“See you later, hon.”

“Bye sissy,” Leo replies, pulling away. He goes to find your mom in the kitchen. JJ intertwines his fingers with yours as he guides the two of you to the door. You look beautiful as you step out into the golden glow of sunset; hair slightly damp, freshly styled, and make-up glossy on your skin. Your glasses frame your face beautifully, eyes twinkling behind the lenses, and JJ is certain that he hasn’t seen anything as pretty as you.

“You remember Esme’s address, right?” you ask JJ as the two of you walk to his truck.

“Yep,” he nods, unlocking the truck. The two of you get comfy, settling into weird unspoken routines and rituals: JJ turning the key, starting the engine, whilst you mess with the air conditioning and radio. There’s a sticker that you bought a few weeks ago that’s stuck to the visor: second in command. It was a bit of a gag, considering that you were the one that made most of the plans. The queen of schedules. The drive there is quiet but not uncomfortable. JJ reaches across the centre console and rests his hand on your thigh, thumbing at the thin material of your dress. He can feel his mood dampening as he pulls onto Esme’s street.

“There she is,” you chirp, pointing at Esme standing on the street side. She’s scrolling on her phone but looks up at the sound of the car. You wave at her and she waves back, eyes zoned in on you and not JJ. She clambers into the back, the smell of her perfume washing out yours - ticking JJ off more. “Hey!”

“Hey,” she brightly returns.

“Hey Esme,” JJ says, smiling tight-lipped at her in the rear view. She nods at him in brief acknowledgment.

“JJ.”

Whatever, he thinks, checking the mirrors and setting off once more. You turn in your seat and make conversation with Esme, asking about her day, checking in on her studying.

“I’ve only just started studying for Mr Sunn’s class,” Esme tells you.

“Really? I’ve been studying since the semester started,” you frown.

“Girl, that’s because you’re studying all the time,” Esme joshes.

“What!? I do not study all the time, do I, JJ?”

JJ’s eyes flit up to the rear view mirror, catching sight of Esme’s irritation of him being included in the conversation. He struggles to bite back his smirk from how much it seemingly bothers her.

“Babe, you do study all the time,” he tells you.

You gape at him, laughing, “wow. I feel like I’m being ganged up on.”

“This is why I’m telling you that you gotta relax. Don't stress - that's what papa J's here for,” JJ reassures lightly.

“Yeah. Pretty sure you’re a pro at relaxing, huh, JJ?” Esme asks somewhat rhetorically. You’re oblivious, it seems, to the double-meaning, but JJ isn’t. He catches it clearly in her tone.

Rolling his eyes, he bites his cheek and continues the drive to the beach. He lets you and Esme talk about books and study techniques and gossip about your other friends and peers, half-listening to the conversation (though mostly to you). Finally, he’s parking up at the beach. Dusk has now fallen, the sky a delectable collage of deep purples and blues and blacks, with nothing more than a glimmer of orange that hovers on the far waves of the water in the horizon. It’s already pretty busy at the boneyard. Touron season is mostly over meaning it’s primarily local kids. Thankfully, the Kooks seem to have other plans. Only a small group of them hover on the outskirts of the beach. As the three of you make your way over, JJ’s hand in yours, the music playing from a Bluetooth speaker gets louder, and the smell of beer and seltzers combines perfectly with the sea salt and fresh air.

“Hey! There he is!” John B calls out. JJ grins, guiding the three of you over. He does a quick handshake-greeting with his best friend. You’re then letting go of him to give John B a hug. “What’re you guys drinking?”

“No drinking for me tonight, amigo. I’m D.D.,” JJ tells him.

“JJ being responsible? Who would’ve thought we’d see the day?” Kie mutters jokingly into her cup.

“I know right? Almost as shocking as when we found out he was getting tutored,” Pope kids along.

Rolling his eyes, JJ slaps his shoulder in a brotherly fashion. “Just admit it, Pope. You’re intimidated by what might happen if I have the brains and the beauty."

“Good thing your girls got the brains and beauty part on lock,” Kiara comments. You smile at that, grateful and flattered, and JJ hooks his arm over your shoulder, tugging you closer to him.

“You guys remember Esme, right?” you say, gesturing to your friend.

“Course! She manage to convince you to come to another one of these things?” Kiara asks her.

“Seems like it,” Esme chuckles, shrugging. JJ fights the urge to roll his eyes; it feels like a reflex reaction to anything she says.

“Hey, why don’t you girls catch up and I’ll grab us some drinks,” JJ offers, untangling from you. You smile at him, nodding. Pointing a finger at you, he checks, “beer?”

“Yes please.”

“You got it,” he grins, walking over to the kegger. John B and Pope follow, leaving the three girls to chat.

“Yo. What’s that Esme chick doing here again?” John B asks JJ.

“Beats me, man. Y/N insisted that she comes,” JJ sighs, hands sinking into his short pockets.

“What’s the problem with Esme?” Pope asks, frowning. JJ and John B both give him a look of really, man?

“Esme hates JJ.”

“What? No way,” Pope replies.

JJ snorts, grabbing a cup from the stack that leans against the kegger. “I’m tellin’ you, man, that chick wants me dead. And odds are that she’ll be the one to kill me off, too.”

“You find out why she hates your guts yet?” John B wonders.

“As opposed to all the other reasons most girls hate your guts,” Pope mutters. JJ shoots him a glare and contemplates shooting some of the kegger at him, but refrains. Can’t waste good beer, after all.

“Nope. Y/N is in happy denial that there’s even an ish.”

“Damn,” John B says, glancing over to the trio across the beach. Cup now full, JJ makes space for John B and Pope to fill up four more. “Look, maybe you could just ask Esme tonight if you get a chance. I mean, you and Y/N ain’t breaking up anytime soon so she’s gonna have to get over it at some point.”

“I mean, I’ll try, man,” JJ sighs. He takes a sip of your drink. It’s crisp and refreshing as he swallows. “I wanna get along with her. I know how much Esme means to her. God knows why but, hey, who am I to judge when my best friends are you guys.”

“That’s sweet, JJ,” Pope sarcastically retorts. JJ grins at him.

His temporary annoyance of Esme’s presence disappears when you press a kiss to his cheek in thanks, taking your drink. Kiara’s in the middle of a story about a seal that she saw on the beach the other day; JJ listens along, his arm wrapped around your waist, and Esme seems to lighten up a bit. She tells a story that even JJ has to admit is pretty funny, and when he adds a joke to the narrative, she laughs. It’s a small victory but he’ll take it. As the night stretches on and the stories continue to be thrown around like a volleyball, you toss back drink after drink. It seems like you’re making up for JJ’s lack of alcohol and drinking for two.

The drunk alter-ego of you is one of JJ’s favourites. You get silly; loosened up like oil in your joints. You want to dance with him, and tell loud stories, and giggle at just about everything. Considering your tolerance is piss-poor, JJ keeps an eye on you. As you’re animatedly debating the latest character addition to the fantasy series you’ve been reading with Pope, Esme gets up from the driftwood.

“I’m gonna grab a drink,” she says. JJ sees his moment and takes it.

“I’ll come with. Could do with a soda,” he says cordially. She doesn’t look thrilled by his company but doesn’t say anything, walking over to the keggers. JJ easily catches up with her, hands in his pockets. “So…you havin’ a good night?”

“You don’t have to do this, y’know?” Esme says, tone far from friendly.

JJ frowns, glancing at her. “Do what?”

“Try and make nice with me. Like we’re gonna be friends,” Esme sighs. JJ stops suddenly in the sand, causing her to halt too, a few steps ahead.

“A’right, what gives?” JJ sighs, dropping the niceties. “I’ve tried fucking everything and you won’t budge.”

“Won’t budge on what?”

“On giving me a Goddamn chance,” JJ replies harshly.

Esme scoffs, rolling her eyes, folding her arms across her chest. “Typical man.”

JJ grinds his jaw. “Look, did I do something to you or some shit? I don’t get what your problem is? Did I steal Y/N from you, is that? Some secret feelings there that I’ve fucking steamrolled?”

“Of course! A heterosexual man’s mind jumping straight to lesbianism. Classic.”

“I swear to fucking God,” JJ mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Esme seems to take pity. She sighs before saying, “look, you really wanna know what my deal is?”

“Please,” JJ replies, meeting her glare once more.

“I can’t forgive you for what you did.”

JJ feels like he’s in a K-hole. Throwing his arms out, he incredulously asks, “what did I do!?”

Esme laughs bitterly, shaking her head. “Oh my God! Of course you don’t even fucking remember! Classic!”

Before JJ can question her further, she’s planting him with another glower. “Look, she might be willing to forget about it, but I’m never going to forgive you for the way you made her feel. You’re just going to have to suck up the fact that me and you ain’t ever gonna be friends. Sorry, cis white man. Go cry about it on your Reddit page.”

JJ’s bemused, completely and utterly lost in the conversation. Esme seems done with it, finishing the walk to the keggers alone, and JJ doesn’t bother to follow. Instead, he returns to the others, soda-less. Your eyes light up at the sight of him, cutting off your own sentence.

“Hey!” you grin. You act like he’s been gone for hours. It sure as hell feels like it, JJ thinks to himself. Your arms wrapping around his neck does help brighten his mood though. He finds his smile again. “I missed you.”

“Barely went anywhere,” JJ chuckles, kissing your cheek nonetheless.

“Don’t care. Want you around all the time. Like a shadow. You remember the shadow lesson? I got you to do that experiment and you got super moody about it?” you ramble, giggling at the foggy memory. JJ chuckles, looking down at you. But then you’re yawning and swaying slightly on your feet, and JJ smoothly glances down to check his watch.

“We should probably head out soon,” he tells you.

“M’kay. Whatever you wanna do,” you hum, leaning against him, arms now wrapped around his middle like you’re a koala embracing a tree.

“Hey guys,” JJ calls out to the others, catching their attention, “I’m gonna take her home. Any chance someone can give Esme a ride back?”

“I can,” Kiara offers happily, tipping her cup at him.

“Sweet. Thanks,” he replies. He untangles you from his frame, taking your hand in his. “See y’all later.”

“Bye!” you call out, waving farewell as the two of you walk away. JJ glances briefly over to the keggers where Esme is just finishing up. She glares at him once more and JJ has to look away. Her words bounce around his brain, desperate to trigger some memory, but he’s coming up blank. What did he do to you? What is she talking about?

“Did you have fun?”

JJ comes back to the world and smiles at you. “Yeah. Yeah, I did. Did you have fun?”

“Mhm,” you sigh, tossing your head back with a content smile. JJ laughs to himself. “God, why did I wait so long to start drinking?”

“Jus’ waiting for a horrible influence like me, I guess,” JJ replies. You smack lightly at his chest.

“You’re not a horrible influence,” you mumble. The two of you step onto the tarmac and off the beach. “I think you’re probably the best thing that ever happened to me.”

JJ’s heart stammers from the casual gravity of your words. His lips twitch in a dopey smile.

The ride home is hilarious. You sing along to nearly every song loudly and incredibly out-of-tune, making up lyrics on the spot for those that you’re only half sure of. Your hand stays latched in JJ’s the whole journey. Every now and then, you point at him, egging him on to sing too, and he shakes his head but happily complies. It's hard sometimes to match this version of you to the one he met at the first tutoring session. Pulling into your driveway, JJ is amazed you haven’t exhausted yourself from the concert alone.

There’s a urgency that JJ knows all too well when you lead him up the pathway, hand in hand. You’re fumbling with the key for so long that JJ does it for you, and just as the two of you have stepped into the threshold of the house, the front door shut, you’re all over him.

“Woah, woah,” JJ chuckles, searching for your shoulders to try and hold you back.

“Come onnnn,” you preen, swaying on your feet. “Y’know you wanna.”

“Do I?” JJ snorts. Your mascara has smudged under your eyes and your pupils are dilated. It’s adorable, he has to admit. The picture of you gazing up at him wedges itself in his memory for a rainy day. “Come on, let’s go upstairs.”

“Hell yeah,” you whoop. JJ laughs and tries to shush you. You’re not particularly delicate as you stumble up the staircase. JJ enters your room first, you in tow. As he toes off his shoes, you shut the door. A hand grabbing his t-shirt has him glancing over his shoulder. Your hands plant on his face, pulling his face down to yours, and your lips collide with his in a messy kiss. JJ indulges for a moment, turning to face you, his hand finding your waist. But then you’re deepening the kiss and all what JJ can taste is beer and he’s pulling away.

“Think we should just g’to sleep,” he tells you gently.

You roll your eyes, the smile on your face not budging. “Boo,” you deadpan, dropping onto your bed. “Boring.”

“I gotta go pee,” JJ says in a hushed tone. “Don’t choke on your tongue while I’m gone.”

“I’ll try,” you sigh, lying down on top of your comforter. JJ chuckles. He makes his way quietly to the bathroom and flicks on the light. He pees, washes his hands, splashes his face with cold water, and borrows some mouthwash. As he swirls it around his mouth, he studies his reflection. His blonde hair is messy, partly thanks to your wandering hands. There’s a slight stubble building on his jawline that he should deal with sometime this week. The shark tooth necklace that you love to toy with sits atop of his t-shirt. JJ frowns at the thought of you and the conversation with Esme, and once more tries and fails to come to a conclusion as to what she might mean.

By the time he’s back in your bedroom, you’re half-asleep, curled up in the centre of your bed. He laughs silently, grabbing a make-up wipe from your dresser, and rolls you onto your back. Your arms fan out and you crack an eye open. Your grin gives you away.

“Take me,” you murmur sardonically. JJ snorts.

“Sexy. Hard to say no to, for sure.”

“I know right?”

After taking your glasses off and placing them on the bedside table, JJ carefully wipes your face. When he’s confident he’s got most of the make-up gunk off, he tosses the wipe in the trash. Pulling you up by the arms, JJ reaches for the hem of your dress.

“You want me to change you, or you?”

“You can do it,” you yawn, not bothering to open your eyes. Your head sags tiredly. It’s a quiet but overwhelming trust bestowed upon him by you in that moment. JJ eases your dress from your head and unclips your bra, mostly successful in averting his eyes from your chest. He eases your pyjama top over your head and you hum in approval. You slip off your panties and pull on your matching pants. Fully changed, donned in out-of-season reindeer pyjamas, you crawl into the bedsheets. JJ slips off his shirt and follows after you, flicking off the light as he does. You grab his arm and guide it over your middle; JJ takes the hint and spoons you.

“You comfy?”

“Mhm.”

“Feel sick?”

“Mm-mm,” you hum ‘no’. JJ kisses the back of your neck through your hair. It smells like you. He feels safe here, like he’s hiding from the world, from his mind, from his memories. It’s an oasis. Your bedroom is a sanctuary where his dad can never go. Nothing matters in these four walls except you and him. “D’you remember?”

“Huh?” JJ whispers, brows tugging together.

“The quiz,” you slur against your pillow. JJ frowns.

“Quiz? Baby, what’re you talking ‘bout?”

But you don’t reply. He feels you go limper in his hold, slipping away into sleep. You seem to murmur something else but it’s barely intelligible. JJ’s half-certain you say, “I remember” but he can’t be sure. He just kisses you again, tugs you tighter against his body, moulding you into his hold, and closes his eyes.

After an hour or so of disturbed sleep - full of twisty, turny dreams that make JJ feel sea sick - he stirs and wakes in the dead of night. Sighing, JJ leans over the edge of the bed and taps blindly around the floor until he finds his phone. 4am. Great. With a grunt, he flops onto his back and stares at the ceiling. His eyes slowly adjust to the darkness like mist clearing from morning, and he zones in on the once glow-in-the-dark stars. They only just shine through the dark room. JJ takes to counting them as if counting sheep, hoping the mundanity will help him drift off, but it doesn’t. Sighing once more, he looks over to his left to be met with your face smushed into the duvet. You must’ve rolled over at some point in the night; you’re nestled into the bedding as if trying to smother yourself. Without your glasses, you look so different. It’s as if you’ve shed a skin. JJ doesn’t realise he’s smiling until he feels it begin to fade, just as Esme’s voice rings in his head like he’s being haunted. “She might be willing to forget about it, but I’m never going to forgive you for how you made her feel.” Pursing his lips, he racks his brain once more, but the sleep makes his mind foggier than usual and he comes up with nothing.

Feeling antsy, JJ gets out of bed. He sneaks out the bedroom, easing the door shut into its hinges, and slowly makes his way down the staircase. He knows it well enough to remember which floorboards creak. The hallway is dark but he can make out the obstacles well enough from streetlights infiltrating through the windows. Pushing open the kitchen door, rubbing tiredly at his forehead, he freezes. The overhead oven light is on; it casts a dim amber glow into the room, just stronger than a candle. Sat at the kitchen island is your mom. One hand props her jaw up, the other mindlessly fiddles with the corner of a leather-bound folder that she’s reading. At the intrusion, she looks up and meets JJ’s eyes.

“Uh…I was just, um…” He awkwardly fumbles, gesturing vaguely to the hallway. Your mom just smiles and rolls her eyes.

“I knew you were here, JJ. I heard the two of you come in - you need to get better at sneaking,” she tells him. Her voice is light-hearted and hushed, careful not to wake the other two upstairs. JJ smiles sheepishly.

“I can head out–”

“--Don’t be silly,” she replies, waving his offer away with her hand, “you’re welcome here, you know that. ‘Sides, I raised my daughter well enough to trust she won’t wind up pregnant.”

JJ feels his face flame red. He can hear the lie in his voice as he stumbles with an awkward laugh, “oh, uh, we don’t…Y’know…”

Your mom cocks a brow at him in that way only parents can. “Are you about to stand there and lie to me, JJ? Lie to a nurse?”

Pursing his lips, JJ decides to avoid the topic entirely, instead asking, “how come you’re awake?”

She chuckles smally at that. “All these night shifts mess up my sleep schedule.”

“You’re not tired?” JJ wonders, wandering further into the kitchen to take perch opposite her at the island.

“Course I am,” she laughs quietly. “Thought I’d try the good old fashioned tricks to try and get back to sleep.” With that, she lifts a mug of what smells like warm milk to her mouth and takes a sip. “What’re you doing awake?” She asks after swallowing.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Anything in particular?” JJ shakes his head. “Anything I can help with?” He hesitates, then shakes his head again. Your mom watches him for a moment before nodding, returning her mug to the island. “You want a shock?” she asks. JJ nods. “I like you for my daughter.”

JJ’s smile is a reflex; it’s bashful and flattered and somewhat giddy. “You do?”

“Mhm. I think you’re a good influence on her.”

And that - that is funny. JJ is amazed he holds back his laugh. It’s hilarious, even, and JJ wonders if he’s managed to fall back asleep after all because no parent in their right mind would say that to him. He’s pretty sure that he falls perfectly into a parent’s idea of ‘the worst thing that could happen to my child’. He’s a poster child for failure and bad decisions. At least, that’s what he’s let himself believe. It’s as if the universe is throwing him a bone; after a childhood and adolescence full of shitty adults, it gifts him with two wonderful ones in the span of a year. First Mr Sunn, and now your mom.

Maybe she can read his disbelief, or hear it echo around the room in his silent laugh, because she’s smiling and chuckling through her nose. She pulls her dressing gown tighter around her, cosy in the fluff. “I can’t imagine what lies you must tell yourself, but you’re a good kid. I don’t think I’ve known anybody be as good to Leo as you, second to my family, of course.”

JJ smiles at the thought of the little boy. Shrugging, he replies, “he’s a good kid. Funny.”

“Stubborn,” your mom adds, making his laugh a little. “It’s not just him though,” she continues, tapping her fingers against the ceramic mug. “You’ve changed my daughter. Made her happier, lighter. Made her a normal teenage girl again.”

His smile turns softer, tender, at the thought of you. Every version of you that he’s had the pleasure to meet: the tutor, the sister, the friend, the caregiver, the daughter, and now, the girlfriend. Somehow, someway, with every side of you revealed to him, JJ only cares for you more. He falls deeper and faster to the point that he’s afraid his bones might break.

“I know she’s had it rough. She had to grow up fast, as much as I tried to make sure she didn’t, and she places so much pressure on herself to be perfect. But when she’s with you, it’s like all of that fades away and she can just be…well, her,” your mom remarks.

JJ stares at her. She’s exactly how he pictured a mom to be: shadows below the eyes and laughter lines on the forehead. Inviting and warm like a hot cup of cocoa in a log cabin. Familiar like a song from childhood. “Thank you,” he quietly replies. He’s afraid if he says it any louder, he might start to cry, and that might be his worst nightmare.

As if understanding this, your mom smiles and nods to herself. She closes the folder up and takes her mug in hand. Stepping down from the stool, she says, “well, I think it’s time I try again at getting some sleep. Help yourself to whatever. Oh, and remember to turn out the lights when you’re done, hm?”

JJ nods, smiling at her. Tugging her robe tighter once more, her slippers shuffle against the tiles as she heads for the doorway. As she passes, she tells him, “goodnight, JJ.”

“G’night,” JJ mumbles. The room is quiet after she leaves, save for the dripping tap and ticking of the clock on the wall. The light above the oven hums. JJ hears the stairs creak as your mom makes her way up them. Curious, he reaches across the kitchen island for the folder. It’s like an oversized book, with the covers bound in brown leather. When JJ opens it, he quickly realises it’s a photo album. The front page has the number three written in marker. Flicking through the pages, he gets sucked into the story of your life. It’s like an obsession; every image has him craving another. He builds stories behind them; imagines the conversation; pictures the scene behind the camera; hears the shadows of laughter from times passed.

“Hey.”

JJ cusses and jumps in his seat. His head whips around to the doorway. There you stand, smiling cheekily, dressed in your reindeer pyjamas that are almost too small for you.

“Hey,” he smiles.

“What’re you doing up?”

“Could ask you the same thing?” JJ replies as you approach. Exhaling slowly, contently, you lean your head against his shoulder. JJ turns his head to press a kiss to your forehead and you smile. You seem to have significantly sobered up. There’s a minty wash from your breath which tells him you’ve brushed your teeth since waking up.

“I had to pee and found you missing.”

“Damn. You didn’t call the cops?”

“Was just about to. Thought there was an intruder in the kitchen.”

“Mm. Yeah, I heard a thief was hoverin’ round these parts.”

“Oh God. D’you think he’s cute?” you ask with a gasp, playing along.

JJ smiles. “Think he prefers the term ‘sexy’.”

“Think he might be delusional, then,” you murmur. JJ’s hand reaches out to squeeze a tickle at your waist. You snort and try to wriggle away. Then the two of you are back to how you were. JJ follows your gaze to the open picture book. “You snooping?”

“Blame your mom. She’s the one that left it out. I’m only human.”

“This is almost as bad as when you read my book,” you tell him. JJ sniggers. He turns a page of the book, impatient to see the next collection of photos.

“Nothing could be as bad as that. Think I still need therapy for the PTSD.”

“Should just take notes, really.”

“Like I need pointers,” JJ is quick to reply. “I know what my girl likes.”

“That you do,” you murmur, nuzzling your face against his neck. The kiss you plant after is sweet and sensual, lingering before your lips pull away. JJ breathes out happily. But just as before, his smile slowly fades. He swallows but the question doesn’t wash away.

“Hey, babe,” he murmurs.

“Mhm,” you hum, pressing another kiss to his lower neck.

“Can I ask you somethin’?”

“Course,” you reply. You pull back, resting your head against his shoulder once more, and JJ’s grateful that you don’t stare him down as he musters up the courage.

“Something kinda happened tonight and I wanted to ask you about it,” JJ tells you.

You’re quiet for a moment. Your finger reaches out to toy with the page of the photo album. Quietly, you reply, “okay.”

“It’s just…I spoke to Esme tonight, about the whole ‘her not liking me thing’--”

“--JJ, what’re you talking about? Esme totally–”

“-- she literally told me to my face that she doesn’t, a’right? She’s pretty transparent with it,” JJ chuckles.

Sighing, you nod against him. “A’right, yeah. Esme doesn’t really like you. I wouldn’t take it too personally, though. She doesn’t like most heterosexual cis men.”

Chuckling again, JJ nods. “A’right, noted. But I did ask her why she didn’t like me, y'know, specifically.”

“And?” you wonder.

“And she said something kinda weird. She said I did something to you? I don’t really know what she was talking ‘bout but she said something about how you might have forgotten, but she’ll never forgive me for how I made you feel,” JJ replies. There’s a feeling of shame that comes with it; it’s prickly and uncomfortable. JJ swallows. “Any idea what she’s talking about?”

You don’t say anything. There’s a strange silence that comes and you fill it by turning the page in the photo album. JJ glances at you and you’re staring blankly at the book, lips pursed, and he sighs. He moves away and swivels in his seat. Bringing a hand to your face, you finally draw your eyes away from the book to meet JJ’s. His thumb strokes at your cheek, obsessed with how soft the peach fuzz of your skin is under the pad of his finger, and you press into his hold just slightly like a leaf sinking into snow.

“What’s going on? I feel like I’m being left outta something here,” JJ confesses. God, it’s so uncomfortable, feeling this vulnerable. Your eyes flit down to the floor. The sigh you give tells JJ that something is about to come that he won’t like. It’s the type of sigh he imagines a doctor to give before delivering bad news. The type that a police officer lets out before arresting someone that they know.

“D’you…D’you remember our first interaction?” you ask him, meeting his gaze once more.

JJ smirks slightly at the memory. “What? When I stopped for take-out and you wanted to kill me?”

You smile too, but it’s small and fleeting, and JJ’s smirk quickly disappears into his frown. “No, not that. Not our first conversation. Our first interaction.”

JJ brows tug together. “I thought that was our first interaction.”

Sighing, you start to pull away. “Look, jus’ forget about it, alright? Esme is just holding a grudge over something that really doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Woah, now, hey,” JJ mumbles, reaching for your hand and pulling you back into the conversation. “It’s clearly something. I don’t wanna be held on trial for somethin’ I ain’t even remember doing.”

You’re visibly uncomfortable, shaking your head, huffing, glancing off to the wall. JJ swallows. He feels antsy, restless, and his foot taps nervously on the bar stool.

“Fine, a’right. It was in Mrs Hall’s class. You remember her?”

“Mrs Hall?” JJ checks, frowning when you nod. “Maybe…Is she the one that smells like casserole?”

You snort and JJ’s happy for the slither of humour. “Maybe? She taught English.”

“Yeah. She smelt like casserole.”

You laugh now, shaking your head at him, and JJ grins at the expression on your face, as if you’re in wonder at how his mind works. JJ tugs you slightly closer by your interlocked hands and you comply, squeezing at his palm. The smile becomes a shadow; you take a breath, and then you talk.

“Okay. In Mrs Hall’s class, like a year ago, we were sat together.”

JJ’s eyes widen.

“Not together together. Our tables were just next to each other. You were sat to the left of me? You weren’t in that class a whole bunch, so I doubt you even remember. Anyway, we had this quiz one time for Romeo and Juliet. I stressed myself out like crazy for it,” you laugh sadly. JJ squeezes your hand. His throat feels dry. “Leo had three surgeries the week before. Two of them were emergencies. I spent the whole time in the hospital studying next to his bed. I slept in a chair basically every night. I missed so much class that semester, too. Maybe that’s why you don’t remember…”

JJ wishes he could give you an answer, but Mrs Hall is drawing a blank in his mind outside of ‘casserole’. You suddenly struggle to meet his eyes. JJ feels his core clench as if preparing for a punch.

“Mrs Hall started to hand the quizzes out, marked. She gave you yours first. I’m guessing it didn’t go so hot, cause you seemed pretty ticked off, and she asked for you to stay after class. And then she gave me mine back and I did pretty good. Well, more than pretty good, to be honest. I was the top of the class.”

“Brownnose,” JJ mumbles with a small smile, hoping to tease. But you don’t smile back. He prepares for the punch. A reflex. Your eyes close. Another deep breath.

“Maybe you were annoyed, or maybe it was something else, I don’t know. But you said something, and some people overheard, and they laughed and…And I don’t know why it upset me so much, but it just did, and I left the room.”

JJ’s frown is deep and his brows are tightly furrowed in confusion. “Wait? I ‘said something’? What did I say? What’d you mean?”

Shaking your head, you sigh, “I really don’t wanna talk about this–”

“--Well, I do,” JJ accidentally snaps. “You just said I upset you. You gotta tell me what I said to you.”

“I don’t ‘gotta’ do anything,” you bite back, frowning at him.

JJ shakes his head, trying to calm himself. He feels like he’s falling all over again, but this time it isn’t as exciting. It’s terrifying. He doesn’t know where he’s going to land. “A’right, you don’t ‘gotta’ tell me, but I really want you to. Please?”

Your eyes suddenly wash with tears and JJ wants to throw up. His mind races. Why the fuck can’t he remember this fucking class? What the fuck did he say to you?

“God, this is so dumb,” you whisper to yourself. You pull your hand from his to pre-emptively wipe at your eyes and JJ has never crazed your touch more. Staring at the ceiling, you take a breath. “You called me a virgin.”

JJ blinks at you. “I called you a what?”

“A virgin, JJ,” you snap. You meet his gaze and you’re quick to anger. “You called me ‘a fucking virgin’ in front of the class. And people heard, and people laughed, and…and you just didn’t say anything else.”

JJ stares at you. His lips fumble uselessly for words. You shake your head and close your eyes, and just as you’re mumbling something like, this is so fucking stupid, a tear slips down your cheek. And JJ fucking hates that he can’t remember this. It feels like a fever dream; like a blackout nightmare when someone tells you the next morning all the things you did and said, whilst your mind is nothing but white.

“I…I don’t know what to say,” JJ whispers. “I’m so sorry. I don’t…I can’t fuckin’ believe I said that. I don’t even remember it.”

“Well, I do,” you sniffle.

JJ eyes press shut. The praise your mom just gave him feels empty now, because if she'd known that he hurt you like that so flippantly, without it even leaving a stain in JJ’s mind, he could only imagine her hurry in seeing him out the door.

“I don’t know what to say,” he repeats in a murmur. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not fine,” JJ snaps. He’s not angry at you. He’s angry at himself; at his past. His carelessness that had now tarnished something so special in his life. “I thought for once in my fuckin’ life I hadn’t managed to fuck something up and now–”

“Hey, woah, woah,” you hurry out. Your hands plant on each side of JJ’s face and JJ wants to cry because you still care. You’re shaking your head. JJ feels his eyes go glossy. You smile at him, small and sweet and reassuring, and fuck I’m going to cry, JJ thinks. “You haven’t fucked anything up, m’kay? This isn’t me breaking up with you, this is just me filling you in on why my best friend might wanna slice your balls off.”

JJ gasps out a laugh and it’s heavy, wet with tears that are going to start falling any second. You’re nodding now, smiling tightly, holding his gaze.

“You haven’t fucked anything up, a’right? I know you now, JJ. I know you. And I’m sure whatever the fuck it was that made you say that had nothing to do with me, a’right? I’m sure of it.”

“It wasn’t. I don’t know why I’d fuckin’ say that but I promise you that don’t bother me, a’right? Like it’s a fuckin’ childish thing to say anyway.”

You chuckle at that. You nod, agreeing, “it was pretty fuckin’ childish.”

JJ laughs again and sniffs harshly. Your fingers swipe gingerly under his eyes and you collect the tears that have just started to fall. What a scene, the two of you must be. Dishevelled from sleep, standing in a nearly pitch-black kitchen, JJ in an old tee and shorts, you in reindeer pyjamas, crying like idiots. If it were any other circumstances, JJ would ask for a photo.

“Do you forgive me? Like, I don’t fuckin’ blame you if you don’t, I just…I’m sorry. You gotta believe me when I say that, yeah?”

“You’ve got me, a’right? I forgive you, JJ. Please don’t tear yourself apart over this, a’right? I don’t give a shit about that, now. Esme does because she’s a good friend and she’ll go to hell and back for me. But I don’t give a shit,” you tell him firmly. “I swear to God I don’t care.”

“I do,” JJ whispers.

“I know you do,” you reply, just as quiet. The kiss you give him is far too short, over too soon: nothing more than a pack. “That’s what makes you a good person.”

JJ shakes his head and you nod yours and the two of you laugh.

“You are, JJ. Cause if you weren’t - if you were a true, hardcore dick - then you wouldn’t give a shit right now about something that happened over a year ago before we even knew each other,” you tell him.

JJ shakes his head at you, mouth parted in disbelief. “How the fuck did I get lucky enough to bag you?” You laugh at that, rolling your eyes, but JJ can’t get past it. “I mean, I must have been a fuckin’ saint in my past life or some shit.”

When you step into JJ’s orbit, he’s so relieved it’s nearly palpable. He wants you to devastate his personal space - it’s not like he liked it anyway. Your hands slide up his arms and slowly over his shoulders, and JJ plants his trembling hands on your hips. His fingers press gently into the bones as if he needs the tangible proof that you’re still here. That after he could say something so fucking pathetic, you still want him.

“For the record, you were wrong,” you say. JJ frowns slightly. You’re smiling, now. It keeps growing by the second. “I wasn’t a virgin. Sorry to burst your bubble.”

JJ scoffs. “Bubble not burst, don’t stress.”

“If you want some good news, you outrank him by, like, miles.”

JJ can’t help the smug grin that comes with that comment. “I do?”

You nod, smiling slyly, leaning closer. JJ can smell your perfume and the lingering scent of the laundry detergent from your bedsheets. It’s intoxicating. He tugs you closer by an inch. The cotton of your pyjama pants are soft and scratchy.

“It was some random guy from Model U.N.”

“Which country? Switzerland?”

You giggle. “Russia.”

“Russia? Damn, if this was cold-war times then you could’ve been arrested for that,” JJ jokes. You laugh and it’s the best sound in the Goddamn world. He’s falling again, slipping, quick, and he feels like he knows where he’s heading now. “Y’know why he sucked?”

“Why’s that?”

“He weren’t French. You know those guys are freaky as fuck.”

You’re giggling, bumping your forehead against his, and JJ is sniggering too, and everything washes away as the tears finally stop falling from either of your eyes. Then, as if sharing a thought, the laughter dies down, and the moment settles into a simmering heat, and the two of you are standing so close, you’re nearly one. Your arms tighten by a hair around JJ’s shoulders. He stares up at you and you down at him, and he knows it. He’s known it for a while. Your smile flickers - comes and goes like a dying lightbulb - from the nerves, and JJ feels like he’s a mirror.

“I love you,” you whisper.

JJ lets out a sharp breath. He swallows the fear, the self-doubt, and he tries not to cry for the second time that night. “I love you too.”

“You do?”

Laughing, he shakes his head ever so slightly. “You wanna know somethin’? From the minute you called me ‘blue eyes’, I was done for.”

You giggle, bashful, giddy, and JJ feels like he gets it now. He gets why Romeo and Juliet did the stupid things they did, all in the name of love, desperate to be together. He understands why people lost their minds and fought the wars. He understands why there’s so many songs, so many poems, movies, books, fucking greeting cards about the damn thing. It isn’t just one thing - it never is. It’s the way you sleep nuzzled in your sheets. It’s the divots your glasses leave permanently on the contour of your nose. It’s your laugh when JJ tells you another corny dad-joke. It’s the books you read when JJ’s fishing. It’s the sounds you make when JJ makes you come. It’s the patience you have with Leo. It’s the abomination that is the pasta you cook in the microwave when you’re hungover. It’s the way you kiss him when you’re high, and the way you kiss him when you’re not. All of it, every version of you, every piece and part that makes up the puzzle of your life: JJ is in love with all of it.

His lips press to yours desperately, like he needs to tell you all of this and more. You hum deeply, pressing back against him, fingers quick to reach for his hair. JJ’s hands grasp at your body, tugging you in, reeling you nearer until you’re practically falling against him.

“Fuck,” you whisper in the brief pause of the kiss. JJ grunts, kissing you back harder, deeper, and you’re whining into his mouth. The tips of your nails scratch tantalisingly at his scalp. One of your hands slips down until it’s on his thigh, searching for purchase. JJ feels like every nerve ending is lit up with electricity. He needs you closer, deeper, more more more. The taste of you; the wetness of your tongue; lips slick with spit. JJ wants it all.

His hands hook under your thighs and he picks you up. You let out a squeak, breaking apart, as JJ lifts you up and onto his lap. You giggle into the kiss, reconnecting your mouth with his, and JJ grins.

“We should really go upstairs,” you tell him between kisses.

“Fuck that,” JJ replies, making you laugh. He shushes you, chuckling too, and you pull away and place the back of your hand to your lips as if to stifle them. JJ brushes some hair off your face and smiles at you. He’s so turned on and so in love and he gets it now. “I love your laugh.”

You roll your eyes, smiling coyly, rubbing your lips together. JJ swipes his tongue over his own, savouring your taste. You stroke his cheek as your hand descends down his body. It follows the curve of his neck, the unsteady rise and fall of his chest, before it slips into the waistband of his shorts. He lets out a sigh, relieved and desperate for more all at once, as your hand wraps around him. Your eyes twinkle with your smile: teasing, shameless. He grows harder and harder with each gentle rub, your fingers delicate around his length. He starts to breathe heavier, small pants and gasps, trying to hold his head up. Your teeth sink into your lower lip.

“Feels good?”

“Fuck yeah,” he grunts, eyes slipping shut. There’s the rustle of your clothes as you lean forward, and then there’s the wet feel of your mouth on the thin skin of his neck, kissing and suckling. JJ moans loudly and you pull away, slapping a hand over your mouth.

“Shhh!” you giggle. JJ laughs against your hand, cutting himself off with a moan, and you giggle harder. Your breath is hot and downright erotic when you whisper into JJ’s ear, “you gotta be quiet. Don’t wanna get caught, d'you?"

JJ pulls away from your hand and sniggers, chasing your lips. “You’re fucking evil,” he murmurs before kissing you again. You hum appreciatively into the kiss, hooking an arm over his shoulders for stability, and you jack him off faster. JJ’s head drops against your shoulder and he pants heavily. He can feel it building, the edge inching closer, and he’s trying so fucking hard to be quiet.

“Don’t wanna come yet,” he mumbles, trying and failing to kiss you. “I wanna come in you.”

“M’kay,” you breathe, pulling your hand away. Despite his words, he whines at the loss of your touch, and you’re giggling again like all of this is just so Goddamn funny, and he’s chuckling too.

“Get on the counter,” he says before kissing at your neck. You nod, eager, and JJ chuckles as you free your hand and grab the edge of the counter to your side. Once perched (photo album shoved carefully to the side, out of the way), JJ stands up, pushing the stool back, and plants a hand either side of your legs. He kisses you like you’re the only air in the room and he’s suffocating. Your hands paw at him, clawing at his skin, holding him close. Moaning and whining into his mouth, quiet but not shy. “I fucking love you.”

“Love you too,” you gasp. His fingers hook into the waistband of your reindeer pyjama pants and JJ can’t help but chuckle.

“These fuckin’ things.”

“Shut up.”

“No, no, they’re sexy,” JJ tells you in a hushed tone. It’s all giggles and humour as JJ tugs them down, you wiggling ungainly to help get them free. “Fuckin’ better than all that ling-e-rie crab.”

“It’s pronounced lon-zhuh-ray,” you correct.

“Remember our rule? No big words?”

“It’s not a big word, just a French one,” you tell him, lightly kicking your feet to help get them off as JJ pulls, now on his knees.

“Whatever. They’re banned too,” JJ grins. He tosses the old, worn-out pyjama trousers to the side. His palms slide up the inside of your legs, easing them apart with a gentle push, and you’re leaning back on the counter on your hands, breathing heavily in anticipation. JJ pushes up onto his knees and glances up at you; you’re watching him through hooded eyes, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, teeth gnawing at your lower lip, and weirdly JJ wishes you were wearing your glasses. He presses a kiss to your inner thigh and smirks at the sound of your breath catching.

“You’re so fucking pretty.”

One of your hands sinks into his hair. JJ takes your silent command. The first taste is exiguous - he goes down on you like a man fucking starved. Your own advice on being quiet proves difficult. You’re a whining, writhing mess, gasping out his name in stuttered breaths, fingers tugging and pulling at his locks, nails scratching at his head. JJ moans, the taste of you heady on his tongue, and his hands grip your thighs mean to keep them open, needing something to ground himself with, and it’s so fucking good.

“Fuck, Jay,” you gasp, thighs flinching. He hums appreciatively, suckling at your clit, and your legs hook around his shoulders, holding him near. “Don’t stop, don’t stop…”

Your words become mush, an incoherent jumble as you chase your high, hips buckling off the counter, and JJ refuses to relent until you’re coming with a mewl, only just on the brink of being too loud.

“That’s it,” JJ murmurs, savouring every last drop. “That’s it, baby.”

“God,” you sigh.

You flop onto your back, laughing breathlessly, and JJ leans back, wiping his grinning mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes glance between your legs, watching a droplet of your wet slip down the inside of your thigh, and he has to have you now or else he won’t last. Everything is a blur of clothes being shed - murmurs of come here and gotta fuck you - and JJ has never been more grateful for the pill. When he fucks you, it’s fast and desperate and somehow loving all at once: a strange erotic mess as the two of you chase your release. You're barely balancing on the edge of the counter, legs wrapped tightly around him, arms wound around his shoulders like a viper. His lips are searching, alternating between your collarbones and tits - your pyjama top discarded. You struggle to keep quiet, biting into the skin of his shoulder, making JJ groan into the flesh of your chest, and it follows that strange dance and pattern until JJ’s gasping, “M’fuckin’ close, baby. Fuck, I’m gonna fuckin’ come.”

“I’m close, I’m close,” you whimper, kissing at his neck as if that’s going to make it easier to hold out. Then you’re holding him close, head tilting back, and JJ knows you’re about to come. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, yes, right there, right there, Jay. Yes.”

He falls over the edge the second you clench around him, grunting against your clammy skin. The two of you rise and fall together, breathing heavily, heads foggy, and JJ feels like he returns to earth when you gently stroke his cheek, easing him away from your body. He finds your lips easily like following a route home. You sigh against his mouth and he can taste your smile; it mirrors his own.

“I love you,” you whisper. You could say it forever, everyday, every second, and JJ doesn’t think he could ever get sick of it. He pulls away and opens his eyes into yours. You're smiling at him, admiring him like he’s the rarest thing on earth, and he shakes his head in disbelief that this is his life now. That he gets this, and he gets you, all because of some tutoring sessions.

“I love you too,” he whispers back. Then, unable to help himself, he asks, “Still better than Model U.N. guy?”

You bark out a laugh, stifling it in his neck, and JJ chuckles. “Mhm. Much better.”

“Good. I gotta beat Russia - that’s, like, my duty as an American.”

Before you can make another joking retort, the sound of a bedroom door creaking open upstairs has the pair of you freezing. The two of you stand as still as statues, waiting in laboured breath, listening.

“Sissy?” Leo’s sleepy voice calls out from upstairs.

You meet JJ’s wide eyes with your own.

“Get dressed.”

---

taglist (let me know if you would like to be added): @highformaybank |

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whosashan · 1 day ago

Text

I've got my eyes on you

In which - How did you and the LaDS men start dating? Reader is not mc - except in Caleb's section.

Xavier

The moment you laid eyes on Xavier, you knew you had to have him. How could you not? That strikingly handsome face, those curious blue eyes, and an effortlessly captivating presence—it was impossible to resist.

The first time you approached him was at a grocery store. Your heart pounded against your ribs, threatening to break free from your chest, but you forced yourself to remain composed. Summoning your courage, you struck up a conversation.

He didn’t seem particularly interested, responding with brief, lackluster answers.

‘It’s fine, he’ll warm up to me,’ you assured yourself, determination flickering in your gaze. You had never pursued a man before, but this time was different. There was something about him—something magnetic—that refused to let you walk away.

Somehow, you managed to secure his phone number, and you wasted no time texting him, attempting to revive the conversation from earlier.

With persistence, you chipped away at his guarded demeanor, gradually uncovering bits and pieces of who he was. One particularly useful detail you learned? He lived close by. Another? His cooking skills were, to put it lightly, atrocious.

‘Perfect,’ you mused, making a beeline for your kitchen. It was time to put those cooking classes to good use.

Weeks turned into months, and an unspoken routine formed between the two of you—you would cook, and he would eat. As cliché as it was, the old saying held true: the way to a man’s heart really was through his stomach. Your bond deepened, not in a whirlwind of passion, but in slow, comfortable moments. And you didn’t mind one bit.

Late-night arcade outings, spontaneous hangouts, and occasional movie nights became the norm. And every time he fell asleep beside you, his face soft, his messy hair falling over his slightly flushed cheeks, your heart stuttered in your chest.

But with familiarity came a new problem: you had started to care, truly care, and with that realization, your once-unshakable confidence wavered. Flirting had been easy before, playful and teasing, but now? Now, every word felt heavier, every glance more meaningful. And the worst part? You were sure he didn’t even notice.

The final straw came when you noticed a certain colleague of his getting too close for your liking. That was it. You couldn’t put this off any longer.

“Hey, Xayxay, can you meet up? I want to talk to you about something,” you texted, before promptly throwing your phone onto your bed as if that would somehow lessen the weight of your nerves.

You waited. And waited.

It felt like an eternity.

Then, a sudden knock at your door.

You nearly tripped over yourself in your rush to open it. And there he was—Xavier, slightly breathless, eyes laced with concern, like he had practically run to get here.

“Did something happen?” he asked, stepping inside with the ease of someone who had long since made themselves at home in your space. And you loved that.

You sighed, wringing your hands together.

“Look, I don’t want to put this off any longer…” You hesitated, biting your lip. “Xavier, I like you. More than a friend.”

You braced yourself for rejection. But instead, you were met with his puzzled stare.

“…Aren’t we dating?”

“…What?”

So, it turned out you had nothing to worry about after all.

Zayne

On your way home, you stepped into a charming little pastry shop near the hospital. The aroma of freshly baked goods filled the air, making your mouth water in anticipation. You could already picture yourself sinking your teeth into a rich, decadent cake.

As you stood in line, your gaze landed on a man whose face was so strikingly handsome it felt almost unfair. There was an air of quiet composure about him, an effortless grace that made it nearly impossible to look away. You found yourself studying him, mind racing with ways to strike up a conversation. How often did you come across someone this captivating?

"Excuse me, sir." Your voice took on a honeyed sweetness that made you cringe internally, but desperate times called for desperate measures. "You seem like quite the pastry connoisseur. I don’t come here often, so I’d love a recommendation." A harmless lie.

He turned his gaze toward you, expression unreadable. Crossing his arms, he seemed to consider your question carefully before responding.

"If you’re looking for something light, the macarons are an excellent choice. If you prefer something more substantial, the caramel cheesecake is exquisite." His tone was smooth, assured—like a man who always knew the right answer.

At least he had good taste.

"Ahh, thank you! I’ll definitely try both," you said, flashing him a bright smile. Then, before you could lose your nerve, you added, "If you’re not busy, maybe we could enjoy them together here?"

Where had this sudden boldness come from?

He studied you for a moment, as if weighing his options. Then, with a small nod, he answered, "I do have a break from work right now. Alright."

You nearly leapt with joy, but just as you were about to celebrate internally—

"Ahh, Y/N! My favorite customer! What can I get for you today?" the cashier called out cheerfully.

You froze. Busted.

Despite the momentary embarrassment, the interaction led to an exchange of phone numbers. You didn’t get to see Zayne often due to his demanding career as a doctor, but he always found time to text back, even indulging your occasional rants. Sometimes, he even called. The slow progression of your relationship was something you treasured, a delicate dance of growing affection.

Time passed, and though you longed to ask Zayne out, you hesitated. He almost seemed too good to be true. Would he ever truly be interested in you?

Then, there were the little things—how his gaze lingered a second too long, how his hand seemed to hover over yours before pulling away, how, despite his overwhelming schedule, he always carved out time for you. Were those hints? Or were you reading too much into it?

Your thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the soft ping of a notification. Your heart jumped as you picked up your phone. A message from Zayne.

"Are you free tonight?"

Such a simple text, yet it sent heat rushing through your body.

"For sure! What do you want to do?" you replied, fingers trembling slightly as you awaited his response.

"I’d love to take you out."

Your breath hitched. Take you out. As in… a date?

You stared at the message, searching for any alternate meaning, but there was none.

"I would love that, Zayne," you finally typed, hands shaking.

"Lovely. I’ll pick you up at 7."

You practically sprinted to your room to get ready.

The evening was nothing short of perfect. He took you to a refined restaurant, surprising you with a bouquet of your favorite flowers—proof that he had been listening all along. The air between you was charged with something different, something new yet thrilling.

After dinner, the two of you strolled beneath a sky blanketed with stars, the crisp night air adding an almost cinematic touch to the moment.

"You’re shivering," he observed, his voice as calm and measured as ever. Without hesitation, he slipped off his coat and draped it over your shoulders, the warmth of the fabric—and of him—enveloping you.

"Thank you…" you murmured, smiling softly but avoiding his gaze, afraid he’d see just how deeply he affected you.

"Y/N." He came to a halt, prompting you to stop as well. His tone was composed, yet there was an unfamiliar weight behind it.

"I would love to take you out more… What I mean is, would you do me the honor of being my girlfriend?" His face remained impassive, but you swore you caught the faintest hint of a blush gracing his cheeks.

Your heart nearly exploded.

"I would love nothing more, Zayne."

Rafayel

Being an art enthusiast, you often found yourself wandering through exhibitions, losing yourself in the beauty of each piece. Tonight, however, felt different. This was Rafayel’s exhibition—a name that had long held a certain power over you. His art possessed an almost hypnotic quality, evoking emotions so profound that you struggled to put them into words.

As you moved through the gallery, your gaze inevitably found him. Rafayel stood amidst a small group of admirers, answering their questions with an effortless confidence. His voice was smooth, steady, rich with an underlying intensity that made it impossible to ignore.

But it wasn’t just his voice that captivated you. He was a masterpiece himself—dressed in a crisp white blouse, his dark hair slightly tousled, his sharp eyes carrying a quiet depth. There was something about the way he carried himself, as if knowing the effect he had on people.

You didn't want to appear as just another admirer swooning over the artist. Your fascination went beyond that—you were genuinely intrigued by his mind, his process. So, when the crowd around him began to disperse, leaving him momentarily alone, you took a steadying breath and approached him. He stood before one of his paintings, his gaze heavy with contemplation.

"You truly know how to capture a moment," you mused, your voice steady but tinged with admiration. "This piece in particular—it feels almost melancholic, like someone longing for something just out of reach."

Rafayel’s eyes flicked toward you, scanning your face, weighing your words. For a brief moment, you feared he might dismiss you with the same aloofness he granted others, but instead, his lips curved into something almost thoughtful. And just like that, an unspoken understanding passed between you, giving way to a conversation that carried on far longer than you had expected.

That first meeting was the spark. You found yourself returning to his exhibitions more often, drawn not just to his art but to him. It became a quiet routine—the two of you engaging in deep discussions, learning the intricacies of each other's thoughts and mannerisms. At first, Rafayel maintained his usual air of arrogance, teasing and enigmatic, but with time, you glimpsed something more—something raw and unguarded beneath the facade.

It wasn’t long before your admiration deepened into something more. You had fallen for him, hopelessly so. And you liked to think, in stolen moments of lingering glances and fleeting touches, that perhaps he felt the same.

One evening, you found yourself in his studio, sitting on the floor as he worked, the only sounds being the occasional stroke of his brush against canvas. The atmosphere was comforting, intimate in a way words couldn’t quite capture.

“You’re unusually quiet,” he remarked, his tone laced with amusement. You rolled your eyes, looking up at him from your spot on the floor.

“And you’re talkative, as always.” A soft smile played on your lips as you stood and walked toward him.

“Rafayel, can I ask you something?” The hesitation in your voice made him pause. He turned to face you, one brow arched in curiosity.

“Why so serious?” he asked, studying you intently.

You scoffed lightly. “Never mind, then.”

He let out a small sigh. "You’ve already started. Might as well finish."

You hesitated for a beat before finally speaking. “Do you… have someone you like? More than a friend, I mean.”

For a fleeting second, something unreadable passed through his gaze. Then, a slow smirk tugged at his lips. “Curious, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

He exhaled a quiet chuckle before answering, “There is someone. She’s insufferably stubborn, a little reckless, and quite possibly the clumsiest person I’ve ever met.” His gaze softened, a rare warmth creeping into his tone. “And yet, she’s also the most endearing.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs. “You need to be more specific.”

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “If you weren’t so oblivious, you’d figure it out.”

A teasing smile spread across your lips. “Wait—are you talking about me?” You nudged him playfully.

He said nothing, his focus returning to his painting.

Oh.

“YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT ME?” you blurted, eyes wide with disbelief.

“Don’t flatter yourself. It’s just a small crush,” he scoffed, though the faint pink dusting his ears betrayed him.

A laugh bubbled out of you, pure and unrestrained. “Aww, Rafayel! I like you too.”

His expression flickered with surprise before he quickly masked it with his usual confidence. “Of course you do. Who wouldn’t?”

Despite his words, his actions spoke differently—pulling you into his arms, he pressed a tender kiss to your temple, lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

Perhaps, just this once, he didn’t mind wearing his heart on his sleeve.

Sylus

Sleep had eluded you, leaving you restless and craving the crisp night air. The city was bathed in the gentle glow of streetlights, the sky an endless expanse of inky black adorned with shimmering stars. Their quiet brilliance was captivating, an ethereal distraction that kept your gaze skyward as you wandered aimlessly through the quiet streets.

Lost in thought, you didn’t notice the figure in your path until you collided with him.

“Oh! I’m so sorry—” you started, but your words caught in your throat as you looked up at him.

The man before you was striking. Towering in stature, his silver hair gleamed beneath the moonlight, tousled in a way that made it appear effortlessly elegant. But it was his eyes that truly seized your breath—deep crimson, piercing and intense, as if they could unravel every secret hidden within you. His features were sharp, sculpted to perfection, and his presence exuded an air of undeniable dominance.

He regarded you with a smirk, his amusement evident.

“Worry not, sweet thing,” he murmured, his voice a velvety caress against your senses. The smoothness of his tone sent a shiver down your spine, deepening the warmth blooming in your cheeks. His gaze flickered over your face, noting your reaction, and his smirk grew ever so slightly.

Only then did you realize what else you had stumbled upon. A few feet away, a man knelt on the pavement, head bowed, his entire posture trembling before the silver-haired stranger. The sight sent unease prickling up your spine.

What exactly had you just walked into?

The silver-haired man followed your gaze before exhaling softly. “Ah,” he mused, as if debating what to say. “A young lady like you shouldn’t be wandering alone at this hour. The night is filled with monsters, after all.”

The way he said it, with that knowing glint in his crimson eyes, sent a fresh wave of unease through you. Somehow, you knew he wasn’t speaking metaphorically. But instead of pressing for answers, something in you decided it was best not to ask.

“I was just out for some air. I should…probably head home now.” You forced a steady voice, willing your body not to betray the apprehension creeping into your bones. Every instinct in you screamed to run, yet your legs remained locked in place, unwilling to reveal your fear.

He tilted his head slightly, watching you. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Allow me to escort you.”

Your breath hitched. “You seem more dangerous than whatever else is lurking out here.”

A rich chuckle escaped him, dark and amused. “A fair observation.” He leaned in slightly, his gaze never wavering. “But that decision, my dear, is entirely yours.”

Despite every warning sign flashing in your mind, you hesitated. There was something about him—his presence was undeniably commanding, yet oddly reassuring. And then, there was the nagging feeling that he was familiar, though you couldn't place why.

Eventually, you gave a small nod, curiosity overpowering reason.

And so began your entanglement with Sylus. The enigmatic man came and went like a shadow, slipping in and out of your life at his whim. Some nights, he would appear unexpectedly, gifting you your favorite sweets or leaving a new dress draped across your doorstep with no explanation. Tickets to your favorite concerts would mysteriously find their way into your mailbox, the sender unstated but obvious.

It was infuriating. It was intoxicating. He was impossible to understand, yet he made you feel desired—seen in a way no one else ever had.

But after monthsof his unpredictable vanishing acts, your patience wore thin. So when he strolled into your apartment one evening, pouring himself a glass of the wine you had bought earlier, you finally snapped.

“You’re confusing me,” you blurted, frustration lacing your tone. “What am I to you, Sylus?”

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. He raised the glass to his lips but paused, considering your words. Slowly, he set the drink down and approached you, his crimson eyes locking onto yours. When he reached out to cup your cheek, you instinctively pushed his hand away, resolve burning in your gaze.

He sighed. Vulnerability did not come easily to him; that much was clear. But you were different. You had made him a little softer, a little weaker in ways he didn’t quite understand.

“I can’t keep living in uncertainty,” you continued, voice steadier now. “Either tell me what you want, or leave me alone.”

A beat of silence stretched between you before he spoke, his voice low, certain.

“I want you.”

The simplicity of the statement sent your heart racing. You hadn’t expected him to be so direct, nor for his words to carry such weight.

Your face grew hot. “You’re an idiot.”

A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest as you sighed, resting your head against him, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. He smelled of something rich and warm, a scent you couldn’t quite place but already found comforting.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you mumbled, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Sylus merely hummed in amusement, his arms wrapping around you with the quiet possessiveness of a man who had no intention of letting go.

Caleb

After your reunion with Caleb, an unfamiliar feeling took root in your chest—no, not unfamiliar. It had always been there, buried beneath layers of friendship and denial. But now, it was impossible to ignore. Suddenly, you were hyper-aware of just how much of a man he had become.

His kind yet brooding eyes, that boyish grin, the intoxicating scent that lingered on his clothes—had he always smelled this good? Broad shoulders, strong arms, hands that had always handled you with ease, lifting you effortlessly whenever. The thought alone sent heat creeping up your cheeks, and the man sitting across from you clearly took notice.

“What’s got you all blushy-blushy, pipsqueak?” he teased, pinching your cheek with that infuriatingly smug smirk.

You scoffed, turning your face away. “Don’t touch my face, Caleb! I have makeup on.”

Lately, you’d found yourself caring more about your appearance around him. It was absurd. He’d seen you at your absolute worst—bedhead, tears, even the aftermath of too much liquor. Yet now, every glance he sent your way made you feel… shy? What was happening to you?

He only chuckled in response, leaning back against his chair.

The two of you had met up at a café to play Kitty Cards, an old favorite. He always let you win, though he never admitted it. You pretended not to notice, but every time you did, it made you smile—just a little.

“Alright, come on. The movie’s gonna start soon.” He stood, extending his hand toward you. Without hesitation, you took it, savoring the warmth of his rough palm against yours.

The movie of choice was a horror film—Caleb’s idea, of course. You had agreed, partly to humor him and partly because any excuse to spend more time with him was welcome.

Inside the theater, you sat beside him, the glow of the screen illuminating his sharp features. The flickering light made his eyes glimmer, and for a moment, you were caught staring. You quickly looked away, but not before he noticed. Of course he noticed.

“You’re acting weird.” His gaze lingered on you, his voice laced with curiosity.

“I—uh—I’m on my period,” you blurted, grasping for an excuse. “That’s all. I just feel a little unwell.”

His expression softened instantly. “You should’ve told me. Do you want to go home? I’ll cook you some soup, and we can watch something there instead.”

There he was again—always caring, always thinking of you. It made your heart race, and you hated how easily he could do that to you.

“No, it’s fine. Let’s just watch the movie.”

As the film progressed, it proved to be far scarier than you’d anticipated. Without realizing it, you had latched onto Caleb’s hand. He chuckled at your reaction but didn’t pull away.

Then came the jump scare.

Out of reflex, you turned toward him, seeking comfort. But at the same moment, he turned toward you.

Peck.

Your lips brushed against his.

Your breath hitched. His eyes widened slightly, and for a few heart-stopping seconds, neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. Just stared.

“I’m so sorry!” you yelped, whipping your head away in mortification.

“Hey, it’s fine, pipsqueak.” He gave you a reassuring smile. “It was an accident.”

You didn’t know why, but his words stung a little.

“…Yeah.”

By the time you returned home, your shoulders were weighed down with something heavy, something unspoken. It gnawed at you, clawed at your chest.

Caleb, as if sensing your turmoil, placed his hands on your shoulders, turning you to face him. “Alright, that’s enough. Tell me what’s wrong.”

You swallowed hard, your gaze dropping to the floor before gathering the courage to meet his eyes.

“Caleb… would it be selfish of me if I said I want to kiss you again?”

Silence. A single, tense moment stretched between you, thick enough to drown in. Then, without a word, he reached for you. His hands cupped your face, disregarding your earlier complaint about ruining your makeup, and with a quiet exhale, he pressed his lips to yours.

The kiss was brief, tender—yet it held the weight of something long overdue. In that moment, you knew he was no longer only your best friend.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #caleb x reader #caleb love and deepspace #lads caleb #lads rafayel #lads xavier #xavier love and deepspace #lads sylus #loveanddeepspace #lads zayne #lads x reader #lads fluff #rafayel love and deepspace #xavier x reader #zayne love and deepspace

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starcurtain · 1 day ago

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A Closer Look at the Phaidei Memory

I've seen so many people talking about this scene with Phainon and Mydei and making fun of how blatantly obvious Phainon is about his... respect for Mydei's... conspicuous body, but one thing I feel like a lot of people missed (or at least I haven't seen anyone discussing) is that this memory seems to come from very early on in their acquaintance.

Looking at it closely, it's clear that the two aren't particularly familiar with each other yet in this memory sequence. For one, Phainon questions things that he should easily know if he was well-acquainted with Mydei already.

First, very comically: "Do you even bathe, bro?"

And second, Phainon questions why Mydei isn't immune to the black tide:

This suggests that, up to the point of this memory, Phainon had not been in enough battles with Mydei (or at least close enough to Mydei) to see him be affected by the black tide. Apparently, this memory-Phainon-and-Mydei don't have years of rushing into battle side-by-side to defend Okhema yet.

It's also hilariously clear that the Phainon in this memory has absolutely no idea how to talk to Mydei.

Breaking this scene down, it's literally Phainon just trying really hard to strike up conversation, doing his best to try to crack the tough exterior and get Mydei to actually interact with him. He jumps around through topics rapidly--the baths, the black tide, their personal sparring--looking for anything that will catch Mydei's attention.

Meanwhile, we can tell that Mydei is not particularly familiar or comfortable with Phainon yet because his dialogue is so different from any of his other scenes in the game. Although Mydei is obviously not the game's biggest yapper, he does always have full sentences to contribute to other conversations and banters readily with Phainon whenever he's baited into it.

In this memory, he instead starts off polite but also completely aloof:

This is the exact sort of response you'd have to a vague acquaintance coming up and trying to talk to you like you're best friends. Phainon skipped at least four steps of familiarity here, and Mydei is obviously at a loss for why the conversation is even happening.

He responds by blatantly stonewalling, answering Phainon's (slightly pathetic) attempts to start an actual conversation in nothing but single word answers:

You can even see Phainon recognize how bad he's failing half way through the conversation, which prompts him to vocally declare that he's going to make a complete topic switch:

And this time, it works!

When Phainon brings up their personal duel or spar, whichever it was, finally, finally Mydei caves and engages in the conversation with him:

Which prompts Phainon to laugh (in relief? lol) and flat out crow about how he's finally cracked the code and figured out how to get Mydei to notice him:

Poor Mydei, however, did not seem to realize his slight display of interest was going to lead him into a full conversation, and he responds to Phainon's blatant invitation to keep talking with a confused:

Witness Mydei accidentally turning down Phainon's request for a date in real time.

The only thing that complicates the situation is what Phainon says late in the memory: that they've battled "all this time." However, looking at his earlier comments, this last statement may just be in a general sense, as in "two Chrysos Heirs who have been fighting the titans for years," especially as the rest of the line "How do you train? Would you consider teaching me?" once again indicates a lack of close familiarity.

(It's also possible this line is just poorly translated in English, and was actually meant to refer to their legendary ten-day-long duel: "We battled all that time, yet I never saw you fatigued." Given the rest of the lines in the memory, I think "dodgy translation" honestly makes the most sense here, and would also just have really funny implications: Phainon and Mydei didn't fall in love at first sight; they fell in comically-long-duel at first sight. Okay, maybe for Phainon it was both.)

Phainon's earlier statements in the memory make it clear that he isn't very experienced with fighting Mydei specifically, with the overall implication of the dialogue being that they've just had their first duel against each other recently:

So anyway, where I am going with all this?

I know a lot of people got distracted by Phainon's (accidental?) pass at Mydei in the first line, but I think taking a step back and looking at the scene as a whole, in context, makes it even more hilarious and off-the-cuff:

Phainon and Mydei aren't well-acquainted in this scene.

Phainon literally walked up on a guy he barely knows and the first words that fell out of his mouth were "Dan Nicky your bobbies." "I would know that body anywhere."

Even Mydei was weirded out at first!

Like, Phainon has absolute foot-in-mouth syndrome around his new "friend." He spends the whole conversation narrating his own attempts to communicate ("Ah, I see I am unwanted. Instead of leaving, I shall try another tactic. Is it working yet?" and "Yes, yes, yes, it worked!") like this is a remotely normal thing to do around a person you're not even close with yet.

You can see his puppy tail wagging. He wants to be friends with Mydei so bad.

He is actively making up excuses to try to get Mydei to spend time with him here--first the comment about "Yay, you're here!" at the baths like he expects them to bathe together, then the whole "Why don't we go somewhere and have a long conversation about the insights we gained from rolling around in the dirt together?" to finally just flat out asking Mydei to train with him.

It's so charmingly earnest, straightforward, and even a bit awkward that I think this scene is really under-rated by the fans. It's not just another example of Phainon commenting on Mydei's muscles--it's a glimpse into what they were like before they were close and just how much Phainon wanted to connect to Mydei, how willing he was to explore to discover exactly what Mydei would be interested in so that he could seize that common ground between them.

Really a masterclass in showing us fans characterization right on the cusp of changing, and for showcasing both Phainon's charming audacity and Mydei's surprisingly-reserved-around-strangers behavior.

And, since we know the future that memory-Phainon-and-Mydei are headed toward... we also know it worked! Mydei is smiling by the end of the conversation! He and Phainon are going to become vitriolic best buds--er, rivals--and Phainon is going to get all the spars he wants.

Persistence pays off!

#honkai star rail #phaidei #myphai #phainon #mydei #amphoreus spoilers #just was thinking about this scene a lot #and I'm surprised more people weren't talking #about how obviously awkward Mydei and Phainon are with each other #like your honor that is a boy who has NO IDEA how to talk to another boy #Phainon is trying so hard #bless his heart #Aglaea probably had to tell him off for stalking his fellow Chrysos Heir(s) at least once #also this is a great scene for Mydei's characterization #because it suggests that his go-to tactic for talking to strangers #is “If I ignore it hard enough maybe it will go away”#big “Don't even perceive me” vibes #really a very very sweet scene overall

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worrynoodle · 2 days ago

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My grandparents gave me a set of beautiful world encyclopedias from the 70s - here's what it has to say on fascism (i highlighted aspects i thought were particularly interesting):

Read the whole thing starting at "fasces" which I highlighted in red because I thought it was important to point out that saying that what Elon did was a 'roman salute' doesn't help his case much. Fascism was named after a Roman power.

It may be 50 years old, but this information seems fairly accurate and in line with the 14 characteristics of fascism but adds some extra details that I think we should pay attention to.

"- disagreement will look like treason."

"Fascism... rests finally upon the sincere consent of a large part of the population. To maintain this consent, the fascist leadership must cut off the people from any information which might cause them to doubt the complete truth of fascist principles."

"... maintains among the people a permanently warlike frame of mind. Every citizen feels that he is mobilized against enemies of the regime within-"

"The dictator usually comes to power during a period of economic crisis."

i know people have been pointing it out for years but like. lest we forget that the US is checking 14/14 boxes.

#us politics #fascisim #yes i have encyclopedias #yes theyre out of date #but they look pretty on my shelves

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atleastpleasetelephone · 19 hours ago

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Elvis who absolutely just loves eating readers pussy and fingering her and can't get enough and whines everytime he can't have it. Sorry if this isn't good it's my first request lol

A/N: I got another similar request so I've grouped these together. I thought 1950s E was best for this one.

Picture You

Pairing: 1950s!E x reader

Word count: 840

TWs: Public sex, Elvis is pussy-eating-obsessed, kind of exhibitionism, dirty photos, smut.

“Whaddya mean, no?” Elvis is looking at you with big, puppy dog eyes and his voice is particularly whiny.

“The opposite of yes, El.”

“But why?”

“Because we’re going out with my friends in five minutes, and I know you’re good, but you’re not that good.”

Elvis humphs. “‘S’not fair, honey.”

“It is too. You ate me out last night and this morning.”

“But y’look so pretty in this dress…” he weedles, fingering the fabric.

“You just wait until tonight,” you try to tell him, but suddenly he’s on his knees and pushing his head under your skirt. “ELVIS!” You squeal, backing away while his fingers do their best to get into your panties.

“Honey…” he pleads, following you on his knees, head still under your skirt.

You’re in the process of pushing his head away from your thighs when you both hear Gladys shouting up the stairs. Your friends have arrived.

***

You spend the day around Beale Street, drinking ice cream floats and listening to the live music in the bars there, since you turned 21 last week so now you’re allowed in. Elvis loves every minute of it, and insists that you come back after dinner to see when things really get wild. You nod and giggle, cuddling up to him in a corner for a while. Some time in the late afternoon the pair of you come across a photobooth. None of your other friends are interested, saying they’ll meet you back at A Schwab for more floats, so you get in together, laughing and giggling. As you fiddle with the settings, trying to make sure your chair is in the right place, Elvis has an idea. He gets down on his knees between your legs, pushing his head under your skirt again. You squeak.

“Elvis!” Your heart is beating quickly and you’re flushed. It might be a booth but it’s still kind of public. The curtain doesn’t quite touch the floor, for a start.

“Let me, honey. Wanna photo of that lovely face ya make when ya cum for me.”

You squeak again. “Elvis! People might see!”

“Cum quickly then.”

He pulls your panties to the side and starts to lick your clit furiously, feeling it harden under his tongue. You moan softly, looking down at the bulge his head has created under your skirt. The boy has a problem. You were the first girl he’d ever licked, down there, and it had gone from something that disgusted him to a full-on addiction in a matter of days. He wanted your pussy all the time, to lick and finger until he made you scream. You’d had sex once or twice, but this was his preferred method of getting you off, and it seemed to make him crazy too. More than once he’d cum in his pants, or against the mattress as he lay on the bed with his head between your legs. You kept trying to tell him to wear underpants so he’d stop ruining his slacks, but he wouldn’t listen.

His long middle finger slips inside you and curls to hit the perfect spot. You let out a shuddering moan and hit the button to take the photos. Sucking on your clit now, he slips another finger inside and pumps them quickly, knowing what will get you there. The camera flashes once, twice, and then you feel the tide of your orgasm wash over you and murmur his name. Two more flashes and he licks you through it, kitten licks to your sensitive clit that almost make you yelp.

“Come on!” Someone yells from outside. You freeze. There hadn’t been anyone else around when you’d come in, but now there must be a line.

You sit up and mumble something to Elvis about getting out, and he emerges from your skirt, hair ruffled and lips glossy with your arousal. He grins, sheepishly.

“Can’t wait to see the photos, baby,” he murmurs, as you try to get him to stand up so you can both leave. “Think I might haveta go home now though.”

Tugging on his wrist, you turn back to look at his face questioning. ‘Why, El?”

He giggles, pressing his lips to your ear as he follows you out of the photobooth.

“Made a mess in my pants.”

You blush as you pull him behind you, waiting outside for the photos to come out as the girls waiting tut and look at you like they know exactly what you’ve been getting up to in there.

“El! What did I tell you about wearing underpants?” You whisper, shame making your face even redder.

He wraps his arms around your waist, hiding his crotch from view. “Sorry, honey.”

“Won’t let you have it any more if you don’t wear some,” you tell him, as the photos drop into the slot.

He whines into your neck. “But honey, I need it.”

“Then get your mama to buy you some underpants,” you chide, picking the photos up and pushing them into your purse. “No underpants, no pussy.”

***

Taglist:

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed:

@arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978 @wildhorseinkansas @pocketfulofpresley @dkayfixates @iloveelvisss @kxnnxy @presleyhearted @lvrdollep @nebulamorada @iloveelvis2 @18lkpeters

#elvis #elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #elvis fic #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley fic #elvis smut #elvis fanfic #elvis presely smut #elvis presley fanfic #elvis imagine #elvis x reader #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley x you

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marokra · 2 days ago

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something about movieverse Sage interests me. i’ve seen a lot of concepts, theories, and ideas thrown around and i adore every single one of them, but honestly i have to wonder why Sage would be created in the first place.

Both she and Stone are both driven by the same thing—loyalty, the only difference being that the former’s coding had that as it’s basis. fundementally, at least from movie 1 Robotnik’s point of view, they serve the same purpose, to protect him, to serve his whims and carry out orders to a tee. having two while only one worked perfectly fine would be redundant, again, from his pov, therefore there wouldn’t be any reason to pursue Sage’s creation. well, unless there was some sort of need.

maybe she was created to assist Robotnik on that mushroom planet, or as a post-sonic 3 thing with fix-it fic undertones.

maybe she was a years-old passion project, some scrapped lines of code he never had the time or purpose to pursue, as she wasn’t particularly needed. he didn’t need a hyperintelligent ai that was built purely to protect and aid him, as Stone did that job well enough already, despite being oh-so-painfully human. so that leads me to wonder which circumstances would drive Robotnik to pursue this dead end, to finish what he started.

there’s a lot of possibilities that could lead to it, honestly. mainly driven from the idea of separation, at least how i see it.

maybe he based her personality on Stone, just a little, most likely unintentionally. deriving from his loyalty, maybe a stray mannerism here and there. Sage, once sentient, once she gets introduced to him, i feel like she’d start to notice the little similarities within her code.

not much gets past an AI, really. she noticed the agent’s quirks, and upon doing a deep dive of her own code, she’d come to realize she had ended up adopting those same mannerisms, that unwavering loyalty towards her father, despite not having known the agent long enough for the mirroring to kick in. it intrigues her. what about the man would drive her father to allow her to mimic him? to deem those traits important enough to include in her code?

but as she kept observing, cataloguing even the simplest of things; like the way he made lattes, his thinly veiled distaste for humanity, and the way he looked at her father like he was the embodiment of the scorching, sharp, yet ever so radiant sun, was when the pieces started to fall into place.

noticing the things that her father loved about his assistant (even though he would deny it to hell and back if she brought up her hypothesis) answered her questions quite clearly.

she knew regular children take on the image of both of their parents. and if her theory was correct, maybe she would come to see Agent Stone as her father, too.

#these musings aren’t comprehensible in the slightest—but then again when are they ever #i might turn this into a full fledged fic idk #stobotnik #mostly just REALLY STRONG stobotnik undertones but it’s meant to be viewed from the perspective of the ship #you can interpret it as platonic if you squint your eyes and turn it at a 45 degree angle but i wouldnt reccomend it #long post #good times with mar #sage the ai #sage robotnik #dr eggman #ivo robotnik #agent stone #sonic #sonic the hedgehog #sonic movies

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dreaminguponlilypads · 3 days ago

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COD characters reaction to your.. questionable music.

imagine if you listened to alot of.. questionable (aka freaky/vulgar) songs.. very mixed reactions tbh. short blurb hehe

Price – Shocked. His ears are not used to such vulgar lyrics, and he finds himself genuinely baffled at how anyone could enjoy this. He’s heard rough language in the military, but this? This is excessive. He rubs his temples, debating if this is worse than a firefight.

Ghost – Unimpressed but morbidly curious. He’s not easily rattled, but the sheer audacity of the lyrics makes him raise a brow. He leans against the wall, arms crossed, and side-eyes you like you’ve committed a crime. “This is what you willingly listen to, baby?”

Soap – Entertained. He’s actually laughing at how absurd the music is, shaking his head with a smirk. “Ye really listen to this?” He might even start dancing mockingly just to make it worse.

Gaz – Disappointed. He's too posh for this, really. He expected something questionable, but not this. He sighs, arms folded, and shoots you a deadpan look. “This is what you’re into? Seriously?” Every few seconds, he winces at a particularly explicit line.

Alejandro – Amused but slightly horrified. He tries to keep an open mind, but some of the lyrics make him physically recoil. He glances at you with a mix of judgment and curiosity, shaking his head. “Dios mío, you listen to this on purpose?”

Rudy – Uncomfortable. He’s too polite to say anything outright, but his face says it all. He’s just standing there, stiff as a board, wishing for the song to end. “Ah… interesting choice, amor,” he mumbles, avoiding eye contact.

Graves – Weirdly into it. He acts disgusted at first but then starts nodding along. “Alright, I see the vision,” he says, grinning. By the second chorus, he’s vibing. “You got more of this?”

Valeria – Unfazed. She’s heard worse and probably listens to something just as bad. “Tch, you call this vulgar?” She scoffs, unimpressed, and scrolls through her own playlist—probably filled with songs that would make the others even more uncomfortable.

#cod #call of duty #cod mw3 #cod mwii #cod 141 #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #cod x reader #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty fanfic #call of duty ghosts #call of duty rp #fanfic #cod fic #call of duty fic #my fic #fanfiction

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live-emotion · 19 hours ago

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There really are more and more examples of gen AI usage in Live Emotion the closer you look, and it seems to be happening more with recent releases, or at least it isnt being touched up by actual artists as much anymore.

Heres some examples from this street background showing some common signs of AI! For reference, this is the full background image (Thanks to the Wiki for the source!) And of course, who knows if Live Emotion is using AI, I certainly wouldnt accuse them of that would I??? Lets just use this completely normal background illustration to study what could be signs of AI shall we?

Might not look too bad at first glance right? But when you look closer:

Uneven, unconfident, wobbly awning with inconsistency shapes for the draped part (particularly on the left).

A shadow on the brickwall thats not coming of of any visible object! How interesting! (its not the telephone poll to the left of the image, and that is at a different depth). Fake shadows and varying light sources are a sign of AI.

Lots of inconsistent brick sizes (thats not how bricks work). Notice also how the bricks are coloured. Especially on the right most building, there is a patch that is much lighter/brighter red, but it doesn't line up with any of the actual bricks. Anything that has an extremely consistent, well known, real life pattern to it can be a clear sign of AI usage when its incorrect.

Every window has an exhaust fan (excuse my lack of architectural lingo) except the one on the top left. Also, notice the different heights and widths of the windows! Particularly the bottom left window is a lot smaller, and the bottom middle window has an odd little nubbin in the bottom left corner of the windowsill.

What unique architecture, look at how it simply melts into itself with a lovely little floating ball detail on the roof. The way that the lighter part of the exterior perfectly lines up with the vertical line of the same coloured building in the background also commonly happen when the AI gets confused and merges two shapes together. Shapes and colours blending into eachother with no clear definition or hierarchy of depth is a common sign of AI.

Lots of strange unexplainable particule effects/dots strewn about the image.

More incredible windows where the brick texture melds into the border of the window, and some of those borders are also blending into the surrounding brick. Areas with similar colours will often blend into eachother unnaturally with AI generates images.

Bonus round of spot the difference using the Skate event background pointed out by the wonderful people over at the Live Emotion Wiki! Dont you just love when the entire architecture of your city changes at night time?

Flick between the two images and see this magical city transform with the power of badly disguised Gen AI! (boooooo!! ewww!!!)

Any one of these things on their own is fine, especially coming from growing artists! But certainly not something you expect to see to this amount in a game thats making so much money from a big company right? And that's just a couple parts from two backgrounds!

But again, what do I know! Its AI generated

#utapri #live emotion #*everybody booed #dont get it twisted #I love Utapri I just hate gen AI #do better!!!!

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flickeringquip · 1 day ago

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Convince the Fighter abstinence is bad for his health. There may be consequences(?) <<

Part 2 of this post, feat. @thedolmainblog's Blythe

(smut continues below the cut + link for the full nsfw aster pic)

(full & uncropped picture here)

(1) Arrive at Blythe's flat.

It's only when the engine cuts out from beneath you that you realize you're shaking, clinging to Blythe as tightly as you can. It would be easy to assume it was from some manner of fright or nerves from the reckless ride—

But it was certainly not fear that had your face burning beneath your helmet, caught somewhere between dazed by the experience and mortified at the very real worry you'd left a stain on the leather seat of Blythe's bike.

Blythe who disentangles himself from you with little difficulty despite your death grip, dismounting in a smooth, practised motion before turning sharply back in your direction. A few seconds later finds you free of your helmet — and realizing all at once that he hadn't worn one.

"You shouldn't ride one of these things without a h—" The concerned admonishment slips free of you before you even really think about it, but your scolding is interrupted when the Fighter hoists you onto his shoulder like a particularly prized sack of potatoes, your voice pitching high as you cling to the back of his shirt, "—elMET!"

(1) And once again you're along for the ride as Blythe makes for his apartment with the same single-minded focus as before.

You expect this ride to be much shorter than the last, and it is, but you can't help but be a little confused when you aren't set down as Blythe steps into his apartment like you'd been expecting.

It's a confusion that only grows when you remain slung over his shoulder as he locks his door. As he crosses the length of his apartment. As he steps into what you assume to be his bedroom.

He only lets you down when it's to drop you the short distance to his bed, leaving you to blink up at him as he whips his shirt off and tosses it somewhere out of your line of sight.

(1) Get a little distracted ogling Blythe's chest and biceps.

Look.

The man is shredded.

You may be a little restrained compared to some other residents of this hell hole, but you do have eyes. Eyes that are all too happy dip as Blythe shoves his trousers down his hips, and you aren't sure if he had simply skipped on boxers or if they went down with the pants, but it's a question that'll have to wait, because—

(1) Turns out Blythe was very proportional.

In the span of time it takes for you to force yourself to stop gawking at him, Blythe closes the distance between the two of you once more, stripping you from the top down with the same ruthless efficiency he'd rid himself of his own clothes. The last to go are your own pant and panties, tugged off in one go that leaves you splayed on your back on his bed, more exposed in front of someone than you've been in a long time.

"It's-" Your tongue sticks to a suddenly dry mouth as you push yourself into a seated position just in time for the Fighter to lift one knee to the bed — your voice pulls his attention up from your body so fast it almost startles you, the intensity in his gaze more than enough to have you squirming a little beneath his attention, "It's been a bit for me, that is, since the last time I, y'know— I mean, not as long as it's been for you of course—"

After transitioning to working for Landry full time, you had seen no need to continue doing sex work on the side; working for the Criminal had proven more than profitable enough, and you didn't even have to see Bailey's stupid face anymore thanks to automatic deposits. And without that pressure to constantly have to make more money, you simply had found your interest in sex greatly reduced.

You weren't unhinged about it like someone — and besides, you weren't part demon, so it's not like being abstinent would've even hurt you the same way — but it wasn't uncommon for you to go months and months between your little dalliances. You'd never experienced sexual attraction quite like most of your peers, and you found that now that it wasn't a transaction, you generally needed to get to know the person before you'd even really think about sex.

(1) Which was really all to say: you weren't fitting him anywhere without some prep first.

The moment you opened your mouth to offer to handle it yourself (look, you'd never really gotten the hang of the whole 'rely on others' thing), a yelp stole free of you instead. Why?

It probably had something to do with how Blythe grabs your thighs and yanks you towards the end of the bed, looking for the world like he'd heard the words you'd been about to say and found them truly, deeply insulting.

And then his gaze dips between down to your legs as he hoists each of your thighs over one of his shoulders, you, well—

(1) You're not sure what's going to kill you faster: the sudden shocks of intense arousal or the overwhelming embarrassment.

And you just wanted it on the record that you're hardly some blushing virgin, and while you have far more experience giving oral than receiving it, you had been eaten out before. It was just. . . a long time ago. By a client you really hadn't liked much.

And yeah, fine, you are blushing, but it's because this is Blythe, who you'd formed something resembling a friendship just by proxy of co-existing in the same spaces long enough for you to get a little attached — even if you hadn't really thought he felt the same. It had never bothered you, if the people you cared about reciprocated the feeling; you'd managed to shake the guilt over the years, but the caretaking habits had held fast. And it had been nice, knowing someone else who had clear, simple loyalties — him to Aiden, you to Landry. You didn't have to really worry about navigating weird backstabbing bullshit, and if down the line your respective employers' relationship turned sour, well. . .

. . .There wouldn't have been hard feelings, at least.

(But wow, that's an anxiety that's gonna haunt you later, isn't it?)

Which was ALL to say, you think you have a pretty solid grasp on what's about to happen as Blythe yanks you a bit closer, close enough that the feel of his breath has your thighs jolting a little overtop his shoulders.

(1) It only takes one lap of his tongue for those confident expectations of yours to Go Out. The Fucking. Window.

Because you were so wrong, holy shit, you were so wrong it's not even funny, you hadn't even come close up realizing what you were in for—

But how could you have possibly known he'd be this good? That it would only take a couple minutes for you to be squirming something fierce in his hold, mewling as his tongue laves through slick, sensitive folds to flick against your clit. That it would take barely a few minutes more to find yourself cumming embarrassingly fast, hips jerking fruitlessly in his hold as he keeps your climax going for as long as physically possible, pausing only when you slump in his hold, breathing hard.

". . .Why on earth are you so good at that?" The words spill out of you as soon as you have enough air for them, an arm tossed up and over your eyes because you aren't sure you could survive whatever sight he must make between your legs right now, "You've been abstinent for like— Ack!"

The startled squeak that leaves you is far from dignified, but that's a hard thing to maintain when Blythe slides your thighs off his shoulders — only to push them up towards your chest instead, making use of your flexibility to all but remove your ability to squirm and wiggle as he holds you in that position with just his hands.

. . . It's both a little insulting and incredibly enticing how little effort it takes him to keep you pinned down like this.

(1) That's the last coherent thought you have for awhile, because—

Blythe isn't satisfied with only making you cum on his tongue once. The man eats you out like a man posssessed, and each new noise he pulls from you only seemed to encourage him. And when he closes his lips around your clit with a moan that you feel all the way to your core and you're all but thrown into your next orgasm, he works you through it and keeps going until the next one, until your thighs are trembling in his grasp and you keen loudly enough for the sound to echo throughout his room. It's only then that he at last pulls away, and even the groan that escapes him is enough to have you whimpering from sensitivity.

Your legs feel like jello when he finally releases them, pleasure long having robbed your limbs of any semblance of strength. For all that you haven't really done anything, you feel like you've run a marathon, flushed and panting. Blythe's palms are rough against your skin as he smoothes his hands down the backs of your still faintly-trembling thighs, a soothing gesture—

And one that is very at odds with the salacious way he licks his lips and the ravenous glint in his eyes.

(1) Which is obviously a great time for you to realize that you had yet to even really touch him, let alone help him release all that pent up stress form his abstinence.

"Do you want—" A true seductress you are, truly a vixen to be feared, your words winded and blurted as your hand meets his thigh and sweeps upwards, "I could suck you off—?"

Your fingers don't quite get to brush against him before you find your hand caught in his grasp, a full-body shudder rolling down your spine when Blythe growls and guides both of your hands above your head, pressing both wrists hard into his sheets with one hand in clear command — stay — before letting go.

You- you stay.

"Next time," His voice is even rougher than usual, guttural in a way that would've made your thighs clench, had he not already reduced them to jello — he splays a hand over your belly that feels hot enough to brand, something in you coiling hot and tight beneath your skin, "Only place 'm gonna cum tonight is inside you."

(1) This man was going to fucking kill you.

A fact you become more and more sure of when Blythe hits you with that fucking bombshell and does not immediately fuck you into next week, because first he has to loosen you up a little first.

Any attempts on your end to convince him you probably don't need any more prep are utterly ignored as he works one, and then two fingers inside of you — and, to his credit and despite your assurances, even with you all but dripping off his wrist thanks to his earlier affections, there's just enough of a stretch to it to make you shift in discomfort.

And for all that you might have expected him to call you on being wrong about how ready you might have been, Blythe seems to instead throw all of that energy into actually accomplishing that goal. There's a level of meticulous care to the careful way he works you open that you wouldn't have thought possible for someone in his state, and it does things to you, things that have you clenching around his fingers with a shivery little moan.

(1) The sound seems to chip away at the remnants of restraint you're not even sure how he's been hanging onto.

Blythe fingers you through two more orgasms — once with his thumb pressing sinful circles around your swollen clit and another by fucking his fingers and curling them into a spot that makes your legs shake with every stroke — before you start to crack.

Like you'd been the one who'd had a decade-long stint of abstinence.

"—Please," There's just enough desperation in your voice to bring Blythe to a pause as he teased a third finger against your entrance, one trembling leg hooked over his forearm to keep you spread wide for his touch, "I'm ready, I-I promise I am, please Blythe, I want- I need you to—"

Blythe seems to freeze above you, but you keep pushing, because you're not sure how much more of this you'll possibly be able to survive but you know you have to at least accomplish the singular thing you'd set out to when you'd kissed him.

(1) "I need you to fuck me, Blythe, please—!"

Even if you hadn't already been spread too thin to have room for embarrassment, you simply wouldn't have had time to even feel things like that with how fast Blythe sets upon you. The words have barely slipped past your lips when you find them claimed, the kiss as ravenous as the man himself as he hitches your thighs up around his hips, the heavy weight of his cock a brand against your dripping sex that has you both moaning in tandem.

Blythe doesn't leave you in suspense, driven by a lust you barely imagine as he lines himself up and pushes forward with a groan so deep in his chest you can feel it through him and it's—

It's a lot.

Your arms twine tight around his neck as your legs squeeze tight against his hips, needing something to ground you against the almost dizzying sense of fullness as Blythe sinks deeper inside of you inch by agonizing, amazing inch. You realize at once why he thought to prep you to three fingers, but it is not pain that has your nails scrabbling against his back as you cling tighter to him.

It's the way every inch he sinks deeper has you pulsing around his cock; the way his weight above you presses you down into his sheets like he never wants to part from you; the way his lips suck bruising marks into your pulse; the way he sounds, the shuddering gasps and broken groans breathed right into your ear—

(1) And above it all it's the words spilling from him like the sweat across your brows, rough and breathless and adoring.

"Fuck, you feel—"

"You're so—"

"Perfect, fuck, Aster, you're perfect—"

And it's his fault, it really is, it's his fault because you're already so sensitive, so hyper-aware of his everything, and what right did he have to say your name like that? To talk to you like that? Of course you find yourself pushed to the very edge just as you feel him press flush against the back of your thighs, and realizing you'd taken every last inch of him does things to the both of you.

"Blythe—" Your voice quivers alongside the rest of you, his name nearly a keen as tension winds tighter in your middle, eyes squeezing shut as you tried to hold yourself together just a little bit longer—

(1) Only for them to fly open with a yelp at a stinging smack to your hip.

"Eyes on me," Blythe chooses then to begin to pull back, establishing a rhythm that's slow but deep as you shiver and squeeze around his cock, his words half-groan, half-command, "Want to watch you— cum."

His hips snap forward with a force that steals the breath from your lungs, feeling what scant control you'd mustered beginning to slip as you turn your burning cheek to the side despite his demand—

Only for the sound to taper off into a whimper when strong fingers catch you just under your jaw and turn you back to face him with a strength that brooks no room for argument and the barest little squeeze that sets your already racing heart beating even faster.

Your lashes flutter unsteadily, vision blurring as you desperately try to hold your pleasure at bay when every slam of Blythe's hips threatens to send you careening over the edge.

"Aster," One of his hands slips down from your hip, and your whole body jolts beneath with a stuttering cry as his thumb presses into your clit with tight, devastating little circles, "Cum for me."

(1) And damn him, you do.

A pleasure crashes through you that blinds you to all else; light splintering through a prism as waves of heat burn through your veins. Some distant part of you is sure you're going to be mortified by the noises you're making right now, sure to wake his neighbors, but you cannot stop them anymore that you could the climax currently shattering you to pieces.

And throughout it all, Blythe's rhythm only grows more desperate, the sordid sound nearly as loud as you as he fucks you deeper into his bed — and beneath it all, you can hear his voice, a strained mantra of curses as his fingers squeeze and shake around your hips.

(1) And all at once, even beneath the all-consuming tide of your climax, you're filled with a fierce, singular desire: make Blythe cum — isn't that why you'd come?

(a few times, at this point.)

"Blythe, p-please—" It's all you can do to mewl the words, your voice raw from all your cries and still shuddering through your own release; it takes everything you have to focus up on him with blurry eyes, to keep them on him like he'd wanted because you want to be good for him, "You p-promised— wanna feel you cum i-inside, please—!"

"Fuck—" He tenses above you, every muscle taut as his his hips slam into once, twice more—

Before a scalding heat bursts inside of you as Blythe makes a noise so relieved he sounds almost pained by it, fucking you through his orgasm while the feel of him has you whimpering a new, aftershocks of your own pleasure skittering up your spine.

(1) You all but melt into his sheets, feeling well-fucked and accomplished.

Blythe's lips meet yours in a kiss sweet enough to make your chest warm, hands rubbing up and down your sides as he breathes praise against your lips; how well you'd taken him, how perfect you feel, how perfect you are for him — and you ride an altogether different kind of high, a euphoria that has you shuddering as you coast along cloud-nine.

Before you can sink too deeply into the afterglow, all soft-limbed and sleepy-eyed even as the slow drag of Blythe's cock from inside of you, the spill of his cum making your face flush anew—

(1) You're startled back into full-alert as Blythe rises to his knees and rolls you onto your belly, pulling your hips back towards himself and pushing back inside of you with a groan.

"Blythe?" You shake and squeak below him, twisting to look over your shoulder in time to watch and feel him tug your hips higher, trembling thighs unable to support your own weight but so easily supported by his strength, "D-didn't you just—"

He does not start slow this time, setting a rough pace that quickly finds you keening into his pillows; you're just so sensitive now, pleasure bringing tears to your eyes as you squirm, only to yelp when Blythe answers your wiggling with a spank that makes you squeeze around him for reasons you aren't going to think about.

And then you hear a word you've heard once before tonight already, a pattern he's spent all night establishing as his fingers slip over your hip to find your clit, still flushed and swollen from his loving abuse—

"Again, love."

(1) And for the first time this evening you begin to realize the predicament you'd gotten yourself into. Good luck!

#I DIDNT EXPECT THIS TO BE SO GODDAMN LONG #this might the filthiest thing ive ever publicly posted but i am POWERING THRU THE EMBARRASSMENT #because Blythe Deserves It!!!#the world conspired to stop me by starting my period and rendering me bedbound for like 2 hrs immediately after work cuz #anemias a bitch all the time but gives me wicked headaches that make me hella light sensitive until i take some iron #but tylenol + iron + coffee FINALLY got me able to look at a screen again #and my determination to get blythe laid and aster absolutely wrecked handled the rest #this was very fun!!#i think im gonna do more of these aster pov 2nd person things #for when i wanna be creative but drawing is a little too much Brain #aster the gutsy #blythe the scrapper #aster the agent #blythe the fighter #degrees of lewdity #dol fanfic #flicker writes

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bmpmp3 · 1 day ago

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Kitty Has Been Born.

Kitty Being Constructed.

#FACE ADDED HEAD ATTACHED #attaching the head was the hardest part definitely. i just ladder stitched that shit on <3 #i ladder stitch too many things im addicted to ladder stitching #i help run a knitting club at my school thats been slowly expanding into a general fibre arts club #and a lot of people are really interested in learning sewing. particularly for basic repairs #which is good! very good and very understandable. and because of that i will not stop teaching people ladder stitches LOL #its not perfect for everything. but if u have like a lined jacket that has a seam splitting? ladder stitch that shit baby!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#getting enthusiastic about the ladder stitch. anyway. look at this kitty #i wanna make another one. i think the more i try making these guys the better i'll get and the more i'll learn #for a simple pattern theres some nice techniques to try out! especially the leg darts. thank u runo of nunodoll

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not-magdi · 12 hours ago

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-a deal's a deal / ben shelton

Warnings: none just pure fluff :)

Words : 937

Reading Time: 4 min 41sec

A/N My first time writing fo Ben Shelton!You are very welcome to request something ! Hope you enjoy it love y'all Magdi<3

Ben let out a deep sigh as he settled onto the massage table, his muscles aching from his three-set battle earlier that day. His shirt was off, his back glistening slightly with sweat, and he was already melting into the firm padding beneath him before Y/N had even laid a hand on him.

Y/N, standing beside him in her navy-blue physio uniform, rolled her eyes as she squeezed a bit of massage oil into her hands. “You act like I’m about to fix all your problems,” she teased.

Ben turned his head slightly, flashing her a lazy grin. “You usually do.”

She scoffed but couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at her lips. “Flattery isn’t going to get you anywhere, Shelton.”

He smirked. “You say that, and yet here you are, touching me.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh and pressed her thumbs into his upper back, starting to work out the knots in his shoulders. “That’s my job,” she reminded him.

Ben hummed, his voice slightly muffled against the table. “Mhm. Still doesn’t change the fact that you like it.”

Y/N shook her head, ignoring him as she worked her way down his back. They’d had this same playful banter for months now—ever since she’d been assigned as one of the ATP physios at his tournaments. At first, she’d assumed his constant flirting was just part of his personality. Ben was naturally charismatic, always cracking jokes, always keeping things lighthearted.

But lately… she wasn’t so sure.

Ben wasn’t just throwing out compliments for the fun of it anymore. He was looking at her differently, holding eye contact just a little too long, finding excuses to talk to her even when he didn’t need a physio session. And the way he was acting now—completely at ease under her touch, grinning even through the discomfort of the massage—made her suspicious.

“You know,” Ben said after a few moments, “we really should hang out outside of these sessions.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You mean outside of me fixing your body after you destroy it every match?”

“Exactly,” Ben said, his voice dripping with amusement. “I was thinking more along the lines of dinner.”

She stilled her hands for just a second before continuing her movements. “Ben…”

He immediately picked up on her hesitation. “What?”

Y/N sighed, pressing a bit harder into a particularly stubborn knot. Ben let out a quiet groan at the pressure, and for a second, she thought about pretending she hadn’t heard his question.

But Ben was persistent. Always had been.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she finally said. “It’s not exactly professional.”

Ben scoffed, turning his head so he could look at her from the side. “Oh, come on. It’s not like you’re my full-time physio. Just one date.”

Y/N shook her head. “I don’t know…”

Ben propped himself up slightly on his elbows, ignoring the way his muscles protested. “Alright, then let’s make it interesting.”

She gave him a suspicious look. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

Ben smirked. “If I win this tournament, you have to go on a date with me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “And if you don’t win?”

“I’ll stop asking.” He shrugged. “Promise.”

She exhaled, debating for a moment. The chances of him winning the whole thing weren’t impossible, but they also weren’t guaranteed. It was a stacked draw, and anything could happen.

“…Fine,” she relented. “If you win, I’ll go on one date with you.”

Ben grinned. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

—

Y/N should have known better.

She should have known that Ben would take this bet personally.

She had watched from the sidelines as he steamrolled through his next opponents, his confidence only growing with each match. And when he stepped onto the court for the final, there was a determination in his eyes that she had never seen before.

Now, as she stood among the crowd, watching him lift the trophy above his head with a victorious grin, she felt an odd mix of emotions. Pride, amusement, and—if she was being completely honest—dread.

Because she had lost the bet.

And Ben was never going to let her forget it.

—

She had barely made it back to the physio room before she heard footsteps behind her.

“Don’t even start,” she said without turning around.

Ben’s laughter filled the room. “What? I’m just here to check when you are free for our date.”

Y/N sighed dramatically, finally facing him. His face was still slightly flushed from the match, his trophy tucked under one arm, and in his other hand—much to her surprise—was a small gift bag.

She eyed it suspiciously. “What is that?”

Ben smirked, handing it to her. “Just a little something from the city. Thought I’d soften you up before I tell you when and where we’re going.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but took the bag, pulling out a delicate bracelet with a small tennis racket charm on it.

She stared at it, momentarily caught off guard. “Ben…”

“You like it?” he asked, his voice softer now.

She nodded, unable to fight the small smile forming on her lips. “Yeah. I do.”

Ben’s grin widened. “Good. Then you’ll love the restaurant I picked out for our date.”

Y/N let out a laugh, shaking her head. “You really don’t give up, do you?”

Ben tilted his head, his expression completely serious for once. “Not when it’s something I actually want.”

She met his gaze, her heart skipping a beat at the sincerity in his voice.

“…Alright,” she finally said. “A deal’s a deal.”

Ben’s face lit up. “Damn right it is.”

-----

Don't forget to leave a note if ypu enjoyed it, feedback is always welcome !❤️

#ben shelton tennis #ben shelton x reader #ben shelton fanfic #ben shelton imagine #tennis #us open

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shrimpnurse · 1 day ago

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I'm opening commissions via p@ypal and c@shapp!! If you are interested, please shoot me a dm or you can grab a slot on my ko-fi!

↓↓↓↓

I will draw: OC's, fanart, self-inserts/selfships, suggestive content, light gore/minor injuries, & simple/patterned backgrounds.

I will not draw: Full-nudity or overtly offensive content. Please feel free to ask if you are unsure if what you are wanting fits this criteria !!

✿ Particularly complex designs may warrant a small additional fee!

✿ Payment is received up-front, with full refunds being available until completion of the sketch.

✿ Any major revisions (such as posing) past the line-art phase may warrant a small additional fee! Minor changes are free.

-> More examples of my art can be found here!

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triangulumlights · 2 years ago

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youtube

Some Until Dawn stuff y'all might not have seen! These are from the files for the 2012 Alpha and 2011 First-Person Demo. The first is an early version of the 'Events of the Past' totem video, and the second is a neat little live-action mood/aesthetic/theme video.

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langfield · 3 days ago

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i just want to preface by saying that if i accidentally misconstrue the meaning of your post, it’s because i had to make a couple of logical leaps in the places where you didn’t finish your sentences! i also wanted to point out that the point of this post was never to make ‘blanket assumptions’ about why people don’t like double exposure. at no point was anyone on this post saying that the only issue people had with double exposure is the fact that chloe isn’t in it. rather, people were rightfully pointing out that pricefielders are unfairly emphasizing the importance of chloe’s physical presence in the game. and this is not coming from a place of disliking chloe or wanting her out of the game! the op of this post is a fan of chloe and ships pricefield. actually, pretty much almost everyone on this post likes chloe and does care a lot about pricefield. this post isn’t about double exposure being perfect, nor is it about hating on chloe or pricefield. there’s a big difference between haters making blanket statements about chloe/pricefield fans and people who love this character and ship bringing up genuine problems with the way said character and ship are worshipped in fandom to the detriment of another, aka max. it’s not difficult to find evidence as to why people would believe that many pricefield shippers only care about max insofar as she is with chloe. for example, many people did not care for max in the original game! people hated her for ghosting chloe for all those years, people felt that she had been unfair and cruel to chloe, and they largely found her bland and uninteresting as her own character. there was a lot of max hate in the fandom during the early days! not to mention, when before the storm came out, there was nowhere near the amount of outrage that max was not present in the game as there is about chloe not being in double exposure. and while, yes, bts is a prequel, there is still something to be said about how the characters were treated by fandom. rachel, like max, was constantly measured up with her flaws put at the forefront while people wondered if she was ‘good enough’ for chloe. of course, people want the best for their favourite characters, but rachel and max have always been widely talked about in terms of chloe rather than for the sakes of their own characters. even when amberpricefield was popular, as the ship name suggests, chloe was always depicted as being in the middle of that relationship. people generally didn’t care about max’s and rachel’s relationship outside of the fact that they both love chloe … which completely ignores max’s very real feelings about rachel, and instead sands it all down into ‘chloe gets the girls she wants and she kisses them about it.’ this is valid, of course, but shows an interesting line of thinking.

none of this is particularly new, though. as you’ve mentioned, this brand of pricefield shippers have been around for a whole decade, and unfortunately, their behaviour hasn’t changed much. ever since the first game came out, there has been cry after cry for a ‘life is strange 2’ that would function effectively as a pricefield dating sim. and every time a game comes out that is not about max’s and chloe’s relationship ( which, by the way, these companies are not obligated to create -- they have their own visions for what life is strange games look like, and they are entitled to write the games in the way that they envision ), there has always been a huge amount of backlash from fans who only care for the franchise because of max’s and chloe’s relationship. even the creators of the beloved lis1 have confirmed through tweets that pricefielders have sent harassment to them and others simply because chloe and max were not in lis2 :

not only is this childish, but it’s rather horrifically disrespectful. it is undeniable that pricefield shippers have harassed the writers, actors, and creators of the life is strange games and rejoiced when said people have lost their jobs and have been repeatedly made to feel unsafe and targeted in online spaces ( if you want evidence of this, you can find examples even here on tumblr, with accounts saying the narrative writing team deserved to lose their jobs before christmas ). many of these people are queer, poc, and part of other marginalized and oppressed communities. it is ludicrous to me that pricefield shippers repeatedly prioritize a fictional white sapphic ship over the livelihood, physical safety, and emotional safety of real life marginalized people and then claim that they are doing so in the memory of “one of the most important lgbt gaming couples of all time”. i personally don’t doubt pricefielders’ perceived loyalty to ‘the game’, ‘the franchise’, etc. i doubt their love for the characters within the games and their openness to exploring any part of the franchise that does not concern chloe, or max-and-chloe.

it is true that life is strange 2015 revolves around max’s and chloe’s relationship. it’s true that the game would fall apart if you removed either of those characters from the game. similarly, life is strange 2 is about sean’s and daniel’s relationship, and the game would fall apart if you removed either of those characters. before the storm would fall apart if you removed chloe or rachel. true colours would fall apart if you removed alex or gabe. and double exposure would fall apart if you removed max or safi. ( honestly, i would argue that double exposure would be a stronger game overall if there was more of max’s and safi’s relationship in it! ) the simple fact of the matter is this : double exposure is not the same game as life is strange 2015. again, people understood this about before the storm. before the storm is a game about chloe’s and rachel’s relationship. max is a presence in that game but she is not a character in it. similarly, double exposure is a game not about chloe and max, but about max and safi, and while chloe’s presence is always there in double exposure, she is not a character in that story. sometimes a character needs to be removed so that another character can have new relationships and flourish. like max and chloe say in the first game and farewell, they will always be max and chloe even if chloe dies or if they’re apart from each other. i don’t understand how max having her own game with her own relationships devalues the bond that she and chloe have. max loves chloe, and she always will. this is abundantly clear whether you choose bay or bae. this is abundantly clear even in their so called ‘shitty’ ‘ooc’ break up, with max acknowledging that chloe would still drop everything if max called and that she’s one day going to reunite with chloe when she’s ready. however, max does deserve to grow as a character on her own and to have her own stories independent of chloe, just as chloe has had a story independent of max. a story that was told.

and as for your bullet points about double exposure’s failings :

the cash grab cat dlc and the alderman plotline being completely dropped are actually very common criticisms the game faces, both from haters of double exposure and from the most devoted of fans. it’s two rather glaring errors that are always brought up and i’ve never seen a single person try to defend or excuse those choices. as for max not caring about killing a man, she’s also the same girl who was able to brush off frank bower’s death at eighteen if chloe kills him ( doesn’t even rewind instantly and assures chloe it was self defense before looting his corpse ) and is capable of letting an entire town of people die as well. when max has a goal, she is extremely capable of tuning out everything else to work towards it. i’m not exactly surprised by her reaction nor do i think it’s out of character, but i ( like everyone else ) wish there was more to it than that. double exposure drops the ball on all plot writing in later episodes and everyone agrees on that matter. you’re not contributing anything new here?

safiya explains the ‘power thing’ to us point blank in episode four, actually, and it’s not hard to figure out. her shapeshifting abilities is inherently tied to how lacking she, safiya llewellyn-fayyad, is made out to be by her mother. as a single child of a divorce ( an event that easily causes the kid to feel like the problem ) and as a brown woman in society, there has always been a pressure on safiya to be perfect and unwavering in said perfection. she tells max her powers awakened because, in highschool, she wanted so desperately to be someone who wouldn’t disappoint her mom … and then she stopped being herself entirely. she shows during the krampus roast that she is more comfortable in other people’s skins than her own — absolutely tearing into lucas as vinh but then completely clamming up when it’s just herself up there, confronting him in front of everyone. safi hates herself. safi thinks she isn’t a real person without maya. she thinks that the only way to be free is to be someone who isn’t her mother’s daughter. some of this is implied, but most of this is explicitly explained or stated by safiya herself to max in moments of honest vulnerability or roiling distress. her powers make sense for her character! i’m not trying to be mean when i say this, but i do wonder how much of the game you have played when this is explained to you as plainly as can be in episode four. just like max and alex ( and daniel, though his are more vague and metaphorical ), safi’s powers intensify and soothe her core insecurity and thus creates a deeply personal character problem in equal measure.

safiya isn’t evil, either. what about her is ‘evil’? the game doesn’t vilify her : safiya is always allowed her exit to freedom at the end, with the only choice being if max will wait for her or not, for a multitude of reasons max can give to moses depending on said choice. again, safiya has spent her entire life playing someone else’s game, never being allowed to live her own life or make her own decisions, and being forced to hide her entire true, authentic self because people would be scared of the real her. this is also explained to us in the final scene! yes, safiya’s talk of gods and monsters and being destined for greater things is scary, a tad delusional, but it is all coming from an emotional place. she’s at a point in her life where everyone she’s ever cared for has betrayed her, despite her repeated forgiveness in her mom’s case. but … there’s max. someone who never hurt her and someone who’s like her. safi realises she’s not alone, despite feeling that way for most of her life, and that there is more out there. so she shuns the normal and embraces the powerful and flees. to view safi as evil is a rather simple perspective on the matter … but this doesn’t surprise me because people think that safi finding people whom she can connect with is somehow her forming the avengers? and … taking over the world? it has always been clear to me that safi merely wants to understand herself and that, to do so, she must find people like max : who have been there, done that, and came out better or worse for it. at best, she’s looking for a community. at worst, she’s maybe forming a cult. perhaps if people tried analyzing these characters instead of dismissing them or barely paying attention to them when on screen, these assumptions wouldn’t be made and things that are rather obvious would actually be seen. but most fans haven’t bothered playing double exposure themselves or, if they had, went into the game expecting to hate it. believe it or not, this does affect immersion and how you will view things.

caledon is a campus in the town of lakeport, vermont. there is not a lot of wiggle room one can do with a small, college setting. if you compare double exposure’s primary location to the other games ( arcadia bay for lis:1, lis:2 has no set setting whatsoever because it’s a travel game, and lis:tc is exclusively about haven springs ) there’s a noticable size difference in our caledon setting versus actual small towns or entire states. i do think there could’ve been more variety for sure, like seeing abraxas house or more of the school itself, but seeing a bunch of teacher offices and living spaces would also get repetitive. i’d say that max should’ve left campus more, but the plot calls for her to say exclusively on campus due to the safi importance, so … not much they could’ve done there. they wrote themselves into a corner, which is entirely fine to criticize! but i also think the smaller setting makes sense and wasn’t something they just did due to laziness, or something.

every lis game has powers. and it wasn’t the main driving force of the game anymore than it was in lis:1. yes, double exposure is impossible to tell without max’s or safi’s powers, but lis:1 wouldn’t be a game period if max couldn’t rewind to begin with. could max’s time hopping ability be more connected to the themes? naturally. that i can agree with and have no complaints.

your opinions are subjective about the characters and max herself, so i don’t have much to say there. you are entitled to think so! and it’s a very valid critique if that’s a problem you had with the game. however, i and many others found max caulfield perfectly characterized in this piece of media and found double exposure’s cast to be one of the better parts of the game. hannah telle also loves max dearly and wouldn’t return to a title that would write her in a way hannah herself couldn’t see. she’s been nothing but happy about max’s return and i love double exposure for handling max in a realistic way : all the ugly bits, all the progress regression due to triggering trauma, and all the loveable cringe parts. she isn’t max from lis:1 because she developed in many ways and was stunted in many others. i could explain your points about her immaturity, regression, and selfishness away but it wouldn’t change anything. you have your opinion, and others have theirs.

the rest of this, i won’t bother with commenting on. the points you make seem to circle back to the things i already addressed in this post, somewhat, so i’ll let this lie. to reiterate my earlier statement : nobody in the original post was claiming that double exposure was perfect, nor were they anti-chloe or anti-pricefield people like you claim. they are more than right to call out things as they see them, and these comments don’t at all mean that they either a.) didn’t understand life is strange 2015, and / or b.) think that double exposure’s only point of criticism is chloe price and pricefield. i’d suggest maybe reading the post thoroughly as well as assessing your audience so you don’t make such bold and rather unfair blanket statements yourself. thank you!

I like shipping, pricefield is fine and all, but I feel like it’s pretty strange that so often Max isn’t appreciated individually as a character outside her relationships with other characters especially Chloe! The thing is DE is kinda of a cash grab because Deck Nine is in financial trouble I think, but it got people talking about Max again and people were saying they were excited to play the game. And then the actual game came out and when people found out Chloe wasn’t in it, they were no longer interested in it and people were saying the game disrespects Chloe and pricefield and stuff….blablabla. And that part is a little strange, because I had the impression people liked Max, but like the people forgot Max exists as a character outside of Chloe. Like hello…this is Max Caulfield we’re talking about here, she’s the main character here! she’s her own person with her own thoughts and stuff. But it feels like at this point that a chunk of the fandom views Max as an accessory to Chloe and as a part of pricefield which is kinda sad. There were people literally saying Max cannot work on her own as a character without Chloe….which is a choice to make. Idk sorry for this essay, I didn't know where I was going in it, but the discourse is clearly making people feel weird in some ways….and you’re not wrong in your assessment of Max and DE.

NO BECAUSE I COMPLETELY AGREE WITH YOU.. i love shipping tbh like its just silly whimsical and fun but some people (like pricefielders..) only enjoy that aspect of the media and thats SO UPSETTING.. because you dont even like it you just like the ability to ship characters. and it sucks that people only view max as an accessory or that she's not interesting w/o chloe because she is her OWN PERSON. and i dont get how people dont see that and see her as a part of pricefield (as you said) rather than her OWN PERSON. she doesn't NEED to be in a relationship with chloe to be "interesting" considering the girl went through unimaginable trauma and still struggles with that pain in DE (ptsd perchance?). i dont get how people cannot look deeper into her character rather than just seeing her as an accessory to chloe. people act like chloe is max's lifeline and shes NOT.. she can function (semi) normally in society with or without chloe. i truly dont believe these self proclaimed pricefield fans actually like max, they just like chloe.

#my posts.#life is strange double exposure #i’d say that i care for chloe and that i like pricefield but i don’t think that matters #you can love a ship and a character and you can acknowledge that a majority of the fans are weird about said ship or character #to act like pricefielders haven’t been behind the charge of multiple harassment campaigns #or like they haven’t ACTIVELY said they won’t bother with de just because chloe isn’t in it is objectively false #it’s rather embarrassing that the lis:1 creators have had to say multiple times to fans not to harass deck nine’s poor employees #for a game that most of these people have admitted to not playing!#also as said in the comments of this post : fans of pricefield have openly admitted to viewing max as just chloe’s arm candy?#obviously not all pricefielders do this! there are many pricefielders out there who adore max and are very sweet and normal people #but the majority ( or at least the most vocal parts ) do not act that way #which is completely fine and valid of op and the anon to point out without listing all of de’s problems in the same breath #this isn’t me being mean but frankly the tone of your rb ( on a harmless post bringing up a valid criticism of fan behavior ) was rather #accusatory and some of your points ( particularly about safi? ) was uh. wrong. blatantly #anyway. yeah!

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