#this got a little off topic but you're going to have to cope i fear

[god-has-entered-my-body]

cum play??

George loves cumplay in theory, but can't handle the sensation of the wetness on his skin to actually indulge. He did almost black out the first time he gave Matty a facial though, and realised maybe his fantasy isn't all that unattainable.

Finishing on Matty's face is something he couldn't have dreamed up in his wildest fantasies. But when he saw how good he looked with his cheek pressed against his thigh, lips slightly parted and eyes decorated with that glittery eyeshadow of his, he couldn't control the words that left his mouth.

"Wanna cum on your face, fuck."

Matty grinned so wildly you'd have though he'd just won the lottery, nodding his head quickly and eagerly. "Yeah? Gonna make me yours, pretty boy?"

George had never come harder in his life, painting Matty's face with thick ropes of cum, admiring how it dripped down his lips, his tongue darting out to lick some of it off his bottom lip. He loves watching you kiss after, his cum on Matty's lips smearing onto yours, enveloping your senses. The salty taste drives you just as insane as him, never getting enough.

Matty likes it a bit messier, letting George cum anywhere he fancies. His chest, his stomach, his face, in his mouth. He doesn't really care about the cleanup, thinking it worth the effort after. Matty begs George to cum inside of him when they fuck, relishing in the feeling of cum dripping out of him. He also likes finishing all over himself and then having you smear it around, picking some of it up and making him lick it off your fingers while staring at your uncontrollable reaction.

Both of them, on the rare occasions you fuck, love finishing inside of you. George likes you face down, arse up, digging his blunt nails into your hips as he rails you senseless, Matty getting himself off to the filthy scene in front of him. He always asks for permission, no matter how many times you tell him it's fine, and that he doesn't need to. Such a sweet boy, it makes your heart swell.

Matty asks once beforehand, and when you do say yes, he just takes and takes, a different side of him coming out. His favourite position is missionary, his lips all over your face and chest as he fucks into you so fast and hard he makes you see stars. His shameless moans when George turns up the vibrating plug stuffed inside of him only amplify the pleasure you're experiencing, the blissed out expression on Matty's face going straight to your core.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

I was given oral herpes by someone who didn't feel the need to disclose that they got cold sores before we had a one-time little dalliance.

I might've gone for it anyways. I'm self destructive. But I guess the lack of being able to choose whether to take the risk, it's left me feeling pretty bitter about the experience.

And I'm left feeling like a biohazard. I haven't really been able to explain to my friends yet why I'm suddenly extremely cagey about sharing my drinks and food. And all my favorite sexual activities are off the table forever. I know, dental dams, condoms, but half the fun of oral sex and making out is, you know, the taste, the heat, the absolute control. I was good at it.

It feels especially embarrassing since I'm ace and the whole reason I hooked up with the person was kind of... I don't know, fear that if I didn't, then we wouldn't be able to hang out anymore.

I'm not sure what I'm asking. Maybe, was it wrong for them not to disclose something like that? Considering how common it is? I feel obligated to disclose myself but maybe I'm just weird for that.

Thanks for doing what you do here.

Kind regards,

Asexual for Ethical Reasons Now I Guess

hi anon,

I don't often apologize for needing time to get to anons, because I really need people to have reasonable expectations about the amount of time I'm willing to commit to my inbox, but I am sorry for not getting to this one sooner. it's a topic that's very important to me, and I can tell you're dealing with a lot of hurt.

first off: I'm very sorry someone wasn't totally honest with you. that's never a good feeling, and especially in the context of sex it's a huge betrayal of trust. it's deeply unfair to you, and I hope you're able to recover from that.

having said that: you are not a biohazard. you're a person with an incredibly common virus. the World Health Organization estimates that somewhere around 80% of people worldwide have herpes (and that's a rough estimate, since they use different age ranges for HSV-1 and HSV-2). skip to the factual part of this tiktok at 00:10 seconds. herpes has been with us since before we were human; there's nothing disgusting or even unusual about having herpes.

herpes is different from most STIs in that it is lifelong, but that doesn't make you an unfuckable pariah. it makes you someone who may sometimes have open sores, and should give partners a heads up about your virus to avoid putting anyone in the same situation you're in. while you're at it, let them know that most people with herpes live asymptomatic and uncomplicated lives. many people never even know they have it!

I understand that spending the rest of your life with a viral buddy doesn't sound super fun right now, but I promise that as viruses go you can do WAY worse.

personally I've always felt the best way to get comfortable with something is to learn more about it. why not let clinical sexologist Dr. Doe talk to you about her own herpes, and how to be conscientious about minimizing the risk of sharing herpes with others?

or listen to writer Ella Dawson talk about learning to cope with the exact stigma you're currently struggling with?

or listen to Dr. Sydnee Smirl McElroy explain why herpes bears such a heavy stigma for such a mild virus in the first place?

you're not a biohazard, and neither is anyone else with an STI. that's a terrible way to think about yourself and others.

you're under no obligation to stop being sexually active if you don't want to be.

please don't feel that you have to have sex with anyone out of a sense of obligation anymore, but also please don't feel that herpes is a punishment. sickness isn't something that happens to people because they're bad or deserve, sickness happens to people because people get sick.

take care 💜

[liquidorcard]

You know, while we're on this topic, to the people who dismiss the idea that media is important in a very tangible way that deeply effects people's lives, let me tell you about the song Saint Veronika by Billy Talent.

Tw again: Discussion of suicide and suicidal ideation.

I'm fully aware Billy Talent is considered one of those 3edgy5me bands to people today. Tbh, I think a lot of people who dismiss entire musicians' bodies of work/genres are often fucking wrong and just irony poisoned when you dig a little deeper but that's besides the point-- for the sake of this point I'll just say, I don't give a fuck.

If this isn't your taste in music, if you don't connect with this because of how aggressively 2010s it is, I got no bones to pick with you. This was the shit I grew up listening to though, and I still love it even if my music tastes have expanded.

Now, to the point:

Picture this, it's 2010. You are a 13 year old deeply closeted AFAB trans kid attracted to women. You're three years any of privately coming out as a lesbian, five years away from openly identifying as one, and a full 12ish years away from transitioning. You live in a conservative hick town and you have good reason to believe if your parents found out, you would be disowned so you do everything to suppress those feelings. You have had a very traumatizing childhood, you live in a very unstable home. You're beginning to develop a chronic illness that will go untreated for 10 years, which causes you a LOT of pain. You have been an insomniac since you can remember, and have had concerningly few good night sleeps your whole life. You have had limited medical and no mental health treatment, to the point where you know asking for any is already off the table. However, have been told all your life by your formerly poor parents because of your upper-middle-class upbringing, any negative feelings you have are invalid and a sign of your laziness, and how spoiled you are. You have been told so often you must be faking your chronic pain, your fatigue, vomiting and migraines you've begun to wonder if you're just a big baby. They haven't even clued in yet that the reason why you're struggling with the switch to English from French schooling is because you're dyslexic and need glasses. In about a year's time you're going to begin developing an eating disorder. You've been bullied at school by students AND teachers since you were in grade 1. It's a good week if you've only cried once. You are ALREADY a year and a half roughly into stealing your parent's booze as quite literally the only resource you have access to to cope-- no fear that you'll be caught since they have such an absurd amount of it.

Now like, I'm not trying to throw myself a pity party here. Honestly, people expressing sympathy when I talk about what my life is like makes me uncomfortable. I understand people mostly genuinely feel bad and don't know what else to say, but like, I'm not telling people about this so they feel bad, lol. No offense, but like, it happened to me not you, and I'm spent plenty of my own time feeling bad for me-- I'm kinda over it, mostly.

No, I'm saying all this to make a point: I feel wanting to die is a pretty reasonable response for a 13 year old to have in those circumstances. Like, what else am I going to do? I had be told all my life the issues I was having were me problems, I couldn't figure out how to overcome them. If I'm the problem, like. You know, that's the obvious solution, right? Obviously as an adult I recognize that's not the case, but. I was barely a teenager.

To give context to the time period, I went to Catholic school. They had JUST stopped teachers from casually saying that people who commit suicide go to hell-- to fucking children. Stay classy, Alberta Catholic School Board. Oh, while we're here by the way, not too long ago they forced all the teachers to take any pride or LGBTQ+ related iconography down and started implementing policies like teachers being forced to out kids to their parents or risk being fired. Policies that would have put MY well-being in danger if they were implemented when I was a kid.

Here's their publically available email and phone number. No reason, just, if you're looking for a place to express your feelings on adults using their positions of authority to endanger children, or for a place to spam your dankest memes. I'm sure they'd love that:

E: http://acsta.ab.ca

T: (780) 484-6209

But, anyway, the new """progressive""" approach was to basically say just, "killing yourself is never the answer. Think of everything you have to live for." Literally, "Aha, don't kill yourself, your so sexy," before it was cool. 10/10 counciling. We had two suicides when I was in high-school, and countless other attempts.

What we have now isn't even that much better. What the fuck IS a teenager supposed to do with, "mental health is important, let's talk about it" but find out a lot of people are just as miserable as them? Which, finally, brings us back to this song . . .

"She was sick and tired of being invisible, Hard to see in color when you’re miserable,"

What is this I see!? Actual validation of negative emotions, articulated shockingly efficiently in a fucking song lyric?

"Veronika, Saint Veronika, You can't leave this world behind, So be strong enough to hold onto us, We're still right here by your side,

I know people kind of reflexively cringe when people say this or that piece of media saved their life. And, if it must be said, it's kind of fucked up that ANYONE has to get therapy from something like an emo-agacent rock band-- that's not supposed to be their fucking job. However, I can't articulate how much this meant to me when this song came out. "This IS as shit as it feels, but find the strength to hold on," managed to be just enough for me to survive until adulthood and get real mental health help. For me to tell my parents and be taken to the hospital after my first attempt at 16. Reframing it from "your life is precious" even though all perceived evidence was to the contrary for me and many other kids especially, to "find the resolve to keep going, you aren't as alone as you think."

"Always said her life was never meant to be, Stuck here living someone else's dream, Well beyond your window there is so much more, Even every prison has a open door,"

Though I'm a little jaded to some extent to the "it gets better" narrative, that was a more fresh idea at the time, and it is good to try and inspire hope in people going through suicidal ideation. It just can't be the be all, end all of the discussion.

Regardless, this verse articulates the emotional displacement of suicidal ideation really well. Especially for a kid stuck in a bad environment like I was.

"And while the angels sleep, All of the devils are awake, Waiting to steal your love, Right outside of Heaven's gate, And all the sacred hearts, Can't numb the feeling from the pain, Cause when the drugs don't work, You're gonna curse his holy name,"

To this day, nothing has captured my personal experience with suffering with suicidal ideation more than this bridge. Especially as someone raised Catholic. The metaphor of devils stealing your fundamental ability to love and be loved, to have meaningful bonds, just agapnizingly out of reach of safety and comfort. Because the systems supposedly there to protect your very "soul" aren't paying attention.

The Sacred Heart is the concept of God's divine love for humanity in the Catholic faith. The thing that is supposed to make you feel whole, complete and fulfilled. But, it's nothing. It's a sugar pill. It's symbolic of all the non-solutions presented to you to hand-wave away the problem without dealing with it. So you curse life itself, you reject the divinity of your own existence.

The music video is notably, pretty impressively tasteful too. Especially for the time. Yes it's visuals are also a little 2010s, but compared to trash fires like 13 Reasons Why that came out five or six years later. It threads the needle of using visual metaphor to communicate the pain, validate it, without glorifying suicide-- in my opinion.

Simple but effective: Doll girl unravels the more isolated she becomes, until it takes her life. It accurately depicts the act of suicide as a desperate attempt at ESCAPING from agony, not the solution. It manages to get the idea across while not showing any real life method itself. Genuinely, an extremely thoughtful exploration of the topic.

I don't know for sure if I'd be here today to write this post without this song but . . . There's 100% a chance. Real, accessible mental health care is what we really need, but in the mean time this is all some of us have. Especially minors.

Media matters.

[zoskas]

PLEASE IM THE ANON WHO SENT THE HOT SHOT THING AND PLEASEEE I AM BEGGING FOR MORE OF YOUR THOUGHTS DOESNT JUST HAVE TO BE ON THAT TOPIC LITERALLY ANY HOT SHOT AS A RODICLASH KID THOUGHTS AT ALL I MUST HEAR FROM YOUR GENIUS MIND

SORRY I TOOK SO LONG TO GET TO THIIIIS i was dead after new years i drank 2 much and then i forgot to respond whoops. UMM I SPILLED MOST OF IT IN THE LAST ASK FOR THE MOST PART I THINK..... having to churn my brain for transformers headcanons and fandom-specific words i had back in 2021 is INSANE im rubbing at my head. for the most part like i said in the prev, i think rodimus had a whole personality shift out of fear of being a bad parent. he has a lot of issues with emotional regulation in my brain (adhd for life...sarcastic yawn) and he acts out a lot to try and stay in a good mood. coping after nyon messed him up a lot, unsurprisingly, and it reflects into his everyday life years later. i don't think he's childish by any means because it's a popular headcanon for a grown ass man that gets on my nerves a lot LOL; but he's definitely very emotionally overwhelming and makes up excuses or outright dismisses a lot of things--i figure without thunderclash in the picture he'd definitely spoil hot shot a lot in attempts to give him a less stressful life and it'd definitely be a power trip for the kid. this isn't really to set thunderclash up as the bad cop, he's just definitely more calm and well thought out compared to rodimus and i think rodimus himself would take it as example, which is why he has such a hesitant and pushed personality shift in the aftermath. do i think he slowly goes back to normal as he gets more comfortable with the situation? yes. and thank god, because thunderclash was getting worried after it went on for a little too long. neither of them are amazing at being parents, i don't think either of them pictured a kid in their lives before they met each other (thunderclash was constantly busy, rodimus prefers independence in his private life) and there's a lot of worry between the two if they're being too helicoptery outside of their hab suite. i think that's half the reason they send him to RBA. they realize he needs to socialize more and be independent, but it's safe and private which gives them some peace on the matter.

once he's old enough, hot shot knows very well who his parents are and what they mean to society: queue added pressure to perform, which we see at the start of the series. growing up he was very sheltered and only got to meet people within the LL circle: queue added confusion. it's not that he didn't go off the ship once he was old enough, and more that rodimus and thunderclash were very picky about when and where to take him out. ironically, once he reaches the age where all of this really affects him in personality, he's at the academy. i don't see many pairs on the ship having families, outside of lug+anode who canonically stated wanting kids, and whirl's scraplet baby who is TOTALLY whirl from rba (if we're ignoring canon rules for a little bit then hot shot totally dragged her into it and they knew each other before this)--so he only really got to meet a few people his age growing up before the RBA story. a lot of people would see him taking his try-hard traits after rodimus but i've worked with kids in the past and i think it's just that--him being a kid. personally i see him growing out of it and behaving more like thunderclash in his adulthood, heatwave's behavior also plays a part in this (and i find him to be a bit of an uncle to him) ^_^ he definitely idolizes both of his parents (which is a little sad to a degree) but when you're in the place of people who are basically historical figures, it's really hard not to. i think he gets a lot of real-talk from drift+ratchet on the matter... ESPECIALLY from ratchet since he started working at the academy (iirc) (my feelings on drift+rodimus' and thunderclash+ratchet's friendships are for another time but it definitely impacts these discussions) yes, they keep in touch over comm. yes, rodimus cried when he got home like it was the first day of kindergarten. hot shot grew up very clingy due to how he was raised, but after getting a lick of independence he had a complete turnaround. post RBA i think he has a vision for himself and does his own thing happily. in his adulthood he calls when he can, he goes to see them when he can, but he's not a homebody by any means. hopefully this is all cohesive again LOL i basically just tried to word vomit what i remembered and what i realized while writing... i don't think hot shot's life was luxury by any means but he didn't have a bad childhood either. everyone in his circle meant well and he appreciates the people in his life the same way they appreciate him ^_^

[cryptid-killjoy]

And Flotsam's golden eye was sparkling brimming with ideas for that party now that they got to host a lovely baby bash. He didn't think twice about going to the mother of the child about the party. It felt like the most natural choice in the world actually.

"I had a feeling it might." Bastien said.

However, he wouldn't necessarily call it a flaw in her. Bastien saw her tendency as self preservation. A coping mechanism. One that might keep a person stagnant, so maybe he could see it being considered a flaw, but it's still a safety precaution. He knows those are easy to build plenty of. He couldn't see armor as a flaw even if he wished she put it down more. He knew he had some armor of his own.

He didn't think of her as an angry person no. His experience with controversy when she is involved has ended up with intense life altering consequences whether through her or the dangerous people she's being headstrong with. Not an angry person, but he shall say simple situations end up high velocity. Headstrong is definitely a word. Debates. They've had disagreements. He'd call them arguments, but that didn't mean they had to involve yelling. Honestly, it was mostly crying. Yes, crying or life altering catastrophe in the wake. He may have a tiny fear he'll set something off like that in motion again. Consider the last time they argued and the result ended up going their separate ways, she eventually got kidnapped because of this, tortured, he got shot by pirates, brainwashed into thinking he wouldn't even come rescue her when her own friends in to set her free which made him feel heartbreak like he'd never ever known until right then, and he got thrown into a mental hospital by her mother, so on and so forth. All of this was triggered by their initial inability to stick together and stay on the same page when they were clearly destined. That's really how he saw it. It was a serious fear of not being the best one to take care of Maddy which was a super serious job in his head. It became his existence. It's really all he wants to be and the more she lets go he doesn't get to be that. It's so complicated and he doesn't always consciously think it through, but it is.

So, he's not been sure this is nothing new. It's really no wonder the fear of Pierre being right started to set in when he started to get scared to speak his own mind again. He's not a big fan of controversial subject matter with her and the ramifications thereof when all that is what played out the first time they couldn't get it right. He's also not a big fan of thinking the only reason he has a wife is because Declan tortured her into it and it was all one more brainwashing game. That weighs on him so hard. It will probably never stop living in the back of his head, trying to thrive in any rockiness. Time meant endurance. His mind struggled. He tries so hard not to let it because that would mean Declan wins. But when they can't get on the same page how can his mind not slip there? It feels like a second curse put on him.

He felt like the most cursed individual ever sometimes.

"Well yeah, I mean I don't have to tell you every little thing to do every day. We're not on the street and you're not just a rookie there now. I get that. But thanks, baby." He smiled a little there. He appreciated what she was saying. He really did.

Putting it that way to Flotsam kept him chuckling for that second longer. "He'd call it out anyway."

Then when it came to all the big serious Bastien was fretting to the point of physical exhaustion about, it seemed like maybe he was going to get a drama free response after all.

He sat there digging his fingers into his forearm, clutching with his arms wrapped in front of his stomach, his jaw clamped holding his breath.

Then one by one she went through each of his topics and simply apologized. Not only that she spoke on how she'd make it better. He felt a little out of place so used to the debate. What a disarming feeling. He was ready to be aimed at like a target. Ready for shots fired. His walls were going up the moment he braved actually speaking and then... nothing.

He looked down when he felt that hand on his thigh. Everything that was hurting hurt just a little bit more in that moment, like touching an inflamed raw wound not expecting it, but then it was like salve. It turned soothing. He let out that breath he was holding.

She said she'd throw the bandana and necklace out. Just that thought alone helped him breathe better.

"I'd appreciate that."

It wasn't really about other gifts given in friendship since their reunion in Laveau world. Bastien wasn't bothered by random gifts. It would be somewhat rude to show up to Christmas all the time with nothing at all. But, it was about symbolism and what it meant to those involved with these special meaning gifts she was holding on to. Those are the only ones.

He almost opened his mouth to interrupt and explain what he meant better about Declan and Chip, but as she went on, she explained enough to describe she got it. It wasn't just about being the hero or anything like that. He loved her damn it. He wanted to fight for her, but he also wanted to stand up for himself. This didn't start with Maddy even if she got the worst part of it. Bastien got to be the one who had to blame himself forever and carry what he set in motion whether he did it on purpose or not. Of course he wanted to be the one to end it.

"The amount of restraint it took to stay with you every day hurt as much as it felt good because all I wanted to do was go figure out how to deal with him after what he did to us."

Us. Not just her, but him too.

But she got it. Every way she explained it to him using Pierre as her example let him know she understood when he was never sure she did before, even if there was nothing to do about it now. It felt extreme because even though he never thought of Pierre as quite the same sort of killing, more a mercy killing, like putting a beloved dog down for it's own sake in comparison to assassination. But, like any good dog owner, like in Old Yeller, the boy wanted to shoot that dog himself. Same thing. Assassinations are colder hearted.

"Yeah, actually. That's it. He should have been mine, but I let him go. I know that was my choice." He'd still own that. He could have just did whatever he wanted despite Maddy's wishes. "He wasn't Old Yeller though, like Pierre. But, he still should have been mine."

It was the only way he could explain himself. The gargoyles were so solemn watching. Hearing her say those things now after all this time felt awful vindicating. She gave credence to all that felt disregarded or overlooked for so long while he'd been so focused on helping her heal from it.

There frankly wasn't a whole lot on healing Bastien. It was all about Maddy for obvious reasons. The only thing worked on to heal him from was himself, his mutation, his curse, his mother fucking ugly so he could walk in the day. In his mind, that wasn't what he needed healing from, but he'd do whatever made his people happy.

Having Chip walk into his house with the box like a hero after what he and Seven did didn't help Bastien at all. Of course it was Chip. He loved his bro, man, but just anything to keep his lady admiring Mr Fear Factor Knight in Dusty Camo who was worth trying to outcon a God for. Clopin was Chip's Godsend making him The Messenger. Bastien would never betray Chip, but if he were any other regular dude, Chip would be so hammered for a few moves he'd made in the past. Luckily, Bastien idolized him too. Still, him being the one didn't do Bastien's self esteem any good whether he wanted Declan gone or not. It festered over time as she held on to these items. Maybe that's why he liked Fester? He related to the name.

But, she was putting everything on deck for acknowledging now. It was like everything that was inside him was slowly releasing from his pores as he sat there listening to her. It was rather surreal actually considering how pent up he'd been.

To recap-

He turned off his social media. She never showed any care about it. She didn't even ask. No hey honey, everything okay? No what made you decide to do that? Delta even tipped Maddy off soon after mentioning Bastien's social media randomly just to see if Maddy would say something to him or even her, anything. Nothing. He also knew she'd been on it since via Delta even though he didn't look himself. Sent her a pic of Bastien since his IG was gone. That was all Delta would do. She wasn't going to play couples therapist and spell it out for her anymore like she did in the beginning forcing things to happen. Might not be end of the world stuff, but really any partner would at least ask what's up. Take about another round of jab Bastien in the chest. Delta realizes she's hurt her Hunch enough trying to make them happy. She's gotten on board of the let them fuck it up themselves train.

Stagnation no more.

"I'd really like it if you changed it." He nodded his head up and down. He wiped at his eyes, but didn't say a whole lot. Everything hurt and felt better at the same time. "Thank you, for saying that stuff."

He was honestly having a hard time believing this was so easy and to find words.

"I might even turn mine back on if you do." He smiled softly and sighed as he put his hand over hers that was on his thigh. "Maybe."

He gave a good long thought to all that negative heavy weight he'd been carrying inside for so long that was crushing his insides. This all inside his mixed up head that can't always keep everything in order or every detail right, his memory a melting pot. It's a disturbing existence sometimes. Plus, the longer something stays unaddressed the bigger it builds, even mutates. It can become something it never was. So, this release right now was the most medicating feeling. So much negativity, hurt, and jealousy in him. It was just insane how much build up. Now he wondered if it was because he finally got brave and did what Delta told him to do all along or if his own patience finally paid off long term and it ran its course. Did he simply wait long enough for the right time for her to be ready to talk about these things at this level of shared understanding? He shook his head at such philosophical questioning. That one would stay with the gargoyles.

"That was a lot easier than I thought it would be. Thanks. Thank you, Maddy."

Then he realized he was just sitting there doing nothing, not even fidgeting. The nothing was too much. He reached out to hug her. "Had to. If I sat there doing nothing any longer my insides were going to misfire and I don't know, ooze out all over. I just need to hold them in with you. Doc Vic has enough bodies to keep together. You'll do for me just fine. I'm feeling much better already."

Just with all of the messes that Agnes caused - it never felt right to Maddy to bring anything negative into their lives on purpose. Even after all of this, it still felt like she was under probation. Only there because of Bastien. At least, it did until Flotsam sent HER that birthday party message, which would actually be one of the most meaningful things to her. Because he could have just asked Bastien, and Bastien could have asked her, and she’d make the arrangements and such but Flotsam came right to her. When that happened, she was in a golden mood the rest of the day.

“Yeah, weirdly it’s that which makes me understand it more than being homeless ever did,” She admitted, rubbing the back of her neck. Not that she had been homeless for very long, mind, but both times that she had, she had gone willingly, knowing that she would be. That was also a change from just about every homeless person. They didn’t choose that life. She had. “I’ll work on it, though. I promise,” She said, smiling softly at him. He was right. What she saw as a flaw actually would just strengthen her friendships. It was a flaw that she was hiding it at all.

“I do,” She told him, earnestly. She really never felt lost with him. Not even for a moment in this strange country. They could throw the GPS out the window, and she’d still follow him, wherever.

Well, she also didn’t really think of herself as an angry person. Arguing, at least in her house growing up, usually required yelling. She argued with her brother a lot, like damn. But she couldn’t ever actually picture herself yelling at Bastien unless he did something just - really bad, which she also couldn’t picture. He was a great husband. He was a great father. There was nothing to yell about.

But apparently he didn’t always think the same.

“I’m sorry,” She said, taking a deep breath. “I trust you, I do. I still depend on you for what to do next, if we do anything at all. It .. hasn’t been the day to day stuff anymore, I know.” There wasn’t as much danger in Feral, save for the occasional surprise zombie but she knew how to take care of that now. The zombies are actually a huge upgrade from the people that used to live in that town, or walk around it. “And I do trust in your judgement, baby, and I’ll work on showing that to you.”

She thought that she was now, anyway. Trusting in his judgment. Trusting in him to know what he was doing when he made up this plan that anyone sane would have said no to immediately. Guess she never really had been sane. Because she was in this, booking the tickets just as soon as he said what he wanted to do.

She did smile again though. She really meant fuck, not making love, though that was always perfection as well. Sometimes a gal just wanted to be put into her reaper harness and pushed over their dinner table and taken. Well and truly fucked.

“Okay, maybe I might put it that way to Flotsam, since I know if they ever asked us to babysit, he’d come right out and say it like that too,” She giggled. The Laveaus, maybe she’d be more blunt with. But with people like Koda, or Zero, or Willem or Figaro, she’d be a bit more tactful.

She nodded at him with wide eyes though. Yes, there really was nothing sh favored more than these two.

She stayed quiet - something she had gotten a lot better at in the last two years - while he spoke, but was listening, giving her entire attention to him. She put a hand lightly on his thigh after he took that gasp, that big breath, touched his heart like all of this physically hurt him. And she imagined that it did. Things that she didn’t even think about. The necklace and the bandana? Sure, they were in her jewelry box but she didn’t see them, they were under other things that she collected and kept in there because they didn’t have other places, like the concert tickets to see Ray and the ladies perform at the House of Mouse, or their printed out boarding passes from Paris, the things she actually enjoyed looking at sat on top of them. But she wasn’t going to point out that she didn’t think of them, because that was just an excuse at this point. She recognized that. But this still didn’t feel like a fight in any way.

“Okay -” She nodded, when he was done. “Okay. You’re right. You’re totally right about the stuff in the jewelry box and as soon as I get home, I’ll toss it, like I should have done years ago. You’re entirely right,” She said, giving his thigh a little squeeze. Also nothing about the Christmas gifts because the only thing that she sent Chip was the vintage Pilot’s Helmet, and the tactical changing mat for the kids, nothing else. “I don’t need them. I never needed them.”

And then onto the next thing when it came to the Messenger. “I never wanted him to deal with that situation either. Bastien, I couldn’t say his name to anyone until he was dead.” Even when she ‘told’ Willem, it was in response to the name being said by him, never actually saying it. “But - I understand, I held you back because I was being selfish and I just wanted you with me. And I didn’t understand how that could weigh on you until..” Her nose curled a little, remembering this next situation. “Until I had to take care of the situation with Pierre, or Leo, or - whatever he was when he died, doesn’t matter what he went by. How freeing it can feel after making that choice and I am truly, truly sorry that I took that from you. It was selfish of me and .. I would take it back if I could. I should have trusted in you, and I should have trusted in Papa Clopin when he left it up to you.”

And then the last thing to address which was also something that she never once thought of. It never occurred to her that anyone would take the screenname that she chose in that way. She certainly didn’t, which he acknowledged. She’d never want to hurt him or disrespect his mother on purpose. “I admit, I never thought about it like that. Maybe I should have. Maybe I should have thought what ‘just’ would be taken as. But I can take care of that too. I can change that. I can’t change the way that it made you feel, and if it made you have any regrets, but I can try to change the way you feel going forward.”

[heartshapedbubble]

May I have platonic/Familial headcanons of a gn! survivor! reader who gets along super well with Robbie? Started off rough, maybe he's being a little bit of a menace as a treat but they soon grow really close to the point where you usually wouldn't see one without the other?

Maybe he'd even go over to the survivor's part of the manor to spend time with them, much to some's horror at seeing my boy at the end of the hallway at like 6 in the morning going like 🧍

Angst idea: He slips out a 'Dolores' or refers to reader as his sibling offhandedly, I dunno I just wanna hug him so bad

Feel free to delete! Have a good day! Your writing is so warm 💖

THIS IS SO CUTEEE and thank you anon <333 i have a soft spot for mr robert white and found family so im using this prompt to hc dump😈😈

robbie and survivor!reader platonic/family headcanons🌲

robbie is one of the friendliest hunters out there!!

he doesn't take the matches seriously and doesn't consider that it might be painful or scary for the survivors - he thinks of them as games, like hide and seek or a game of tag

your first encounter with robbie was. not the best i fear

robbie downed you quite quickly with his scorching fire souls, leaving a smug smile on his face

(also robbie loves graffitis and emoting at the person on the chair. not really a good thing if you've got a short fuse)

yet you also pitied him as he got stunned by patricia and norton, feeling bad as you heard him cry and hold his head in frustration

i mean... at least you enjoyed the candy he gave you while you were chaired? you weren't expecting such a thing, considering how you got used to jack playfully tracing his blade over your skin and mary lifting up your chin whenever your attention swayed away from her

the next time you joined a duo hunters game, robbie approached you himself - survivors rarely share candy with him, thinking it's some some kind of a trap, so he remembered you easily and wanted to be friends

now you got yourself mr robert himself following you around like a duckling >:]

he's very hyperactive, always asking questions and jumping from one topic to another

"___, why does mr. prospector have a candle on his head?" "well, he needed it for his job..." "YO ___ I FOUND A SMOKE BOMB‼️‼️" "ROBBIE NO"

im straying away from the canon right here but i think robbie would have an ipad. hes not a greasy ipad kid tho he just likes watching cartoons and playing minecraft while queuing (HE LIKES BLUEY!!!!)

he would also bring his tablet to you and show you pics of his favourite dinosaurs

little man robert actually really likes survivors :) he finds you guys silly and he can't wrap his head around the fact that y'all are so nervous and scared most of the time in the game

would probably have to beg michiko for it but eventually he'll sneak into the survivor's side of the manor to visit you

just imagine. him standing menacingly in front of your door at 2am like 🕴 , scaring you shitless in the process, and suddenly whispering:

"i brought cookies"

he comes over each weekend for movie nights >:) you two build a pillow fort, bring snacks and watch disney/superhero movies

would also ask you to play roblox with him or something

besides games like minecraft and roblox he likes to play pretend/roleplay as pirates or ninjas and would love it if you joined him

he has pet rats inside his head and all of them Have names :) occassionaly he'll take them out and show them to you

asks you for piggy back rides when he's too tired to walk around

he spends a lot of his time outside playing in the nearby forest and sometimes he'll just come inside carrying like. a massive fucking frog or some shit just to show it to you

would hold your hand while walking around the manor and during matches :))))))

robbie actually looks up to you a lot, even though he's a hunter and you're a survivor :] eventually you'll find him referring to you as his "best buddy" or even "bro/sis/sib"

still haves memories of his sister and his life in the asylum - although he coped with it a long time ago since he didn't have any other option, some of his mannerisms still stem from his past experiences

like for example, sharing candy, sneaking through the manor even though he hasn't done anything bad, hiding whenever some of the hunters walk by etc.

sometimes you'll hear him mention "dolores" in the middle of his usual info dump about his interests

robbie got over the loss of his sister pretty well and loves talking about her anyway, but even with that he still lacks an older sibling/big brother/sister figure deep inside

that's one of the reasons he's very friendly in general and protective of people he likes - he doesn't want to end up all alone again no matter what, and is afraid of someone leaving him

sometimes, before you tuck him to sleep and read him a bedtime story, you swear you can hear him sob - you end up staying by his side every time until you're sure he falls asleep with a smile on his face

[s-brant]

Angels Roll Their Eyes (2/2)

(gif: @toesure) (PART ONE)

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

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

Word Count: 24k

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

Hurricane Agatha.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What are you smiling about?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Really?" she asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He isn't sure why she buys into it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

JJ misses her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Weird in what way?"

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

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

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

She sighs.

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

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

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

That part is the most fuzzy in her mind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Gotta catch me first!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You okay?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They tried.

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

It was simple in the beginning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What the fuck?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Because what?" he asks.

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

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

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

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

There it is.

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

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

Her heart sinks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

He doesn't miss a beat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Then prove it."

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes."

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

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

"Okay."

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

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

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

"Do I make you nervous?" she asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Internally, JJ is losing his shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"If you tell anyone, I swear I'll—"

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

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

"Promise?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He's the one to break the silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I wasn't staring."

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

"Whatever you say."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you okay?" Y/N asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shakes his head.

"You didn't do anything."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's okay," he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

How could she be so stupid?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She is never skipping this song again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[maddiwrites]

Let Me Go

Pairing: JJ x Reader

Summary: This was requested! Y/N still lives with the Cameron’s following the death of her brother, but she’s being held there against her will. After many failed escape attempts, Y/N finally gets out of Figure Eight, but she’s far from safe. (The request was long so I’m going to link it here so you can see the full summary of what anon wanted!)

Note: I’m sorry this took so long to get out!!! I literally had half of it written and then it all deleted and I’m so upset because my first attempt at writing it was better but oh well. I hope you like it. Again, sorry for the long wait!

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: MENTIONS OF DRUG ABUSE, CHILD NEGLECT, GUN VIOLENCE, ATTEMPTED SUICIDE. PLEASE DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THESE TOPICS TRIGGER YOU. PLEASE. SUICIDE HOTLINE: 800-273-8255

Masterlist

You weren’t always like this - sitting up in your unmade bed, staring at the blank wall in front of you like you could see through it, unshowered, trembling from your shoulders down to your toes, feeling empty from the inside out. 

You forget what it’s like to be free. Following the death of your brother, you’ve been trapped like a rat in a cage. Figure Eight is no longer the luxurious part of the island to you. It’s filled with lies, manipulation, secrets, murder. 

You’re still living at the Cameron’s. No, not living. Surviving. Ward refused to give his guardianship of you up. Some people wondered why - why would Ward want to live with the sister of a murderer? Yeah, that’s what they thought - that your brother killed Sheriff Peterkin and tried to kill Ward too. But you knew why.

Ward no longer treats you like a member of his family. He has you locked in your designated room on the third floor that’s basically only used as an attic and storage area. Your own personal prison. Because you know what he did - not only to your brother and his daughter but to your dad. 

You felt like you were losing grasps of reality. You only knew fall was approaching because you could hear Wheezy talking about it to Rose outside your door. You guess the time of day by the sunlight through your window and the meals brought to your room. 

Of course there have been times you tried to escape. You managed to run away a few times. The first time, you went straight to the police station and tried telling them that Ward was keeping you trapped in his home. Of course they didn’t believe you. Instead, they called Ward to come pick you up. He told the police that you’ve been experiencing delusions since the death of your brother. Without a second thought, they believed him and ignored your cries for help completely. The second time, you tried going to Kie’s, but the police found you first and brought you back to Ward’s now that they think you’re going through some kind of mental breakdown. 

By now, you’re exhausted. You’re tired of fighting and arguing and screaming. You feel empty inside, craving some sort of release or embrace of comfort. You haven’t seen your Pogues in weeks, maybe months. You wonder if they still think about you. Do they blame you for leaving John B to go off by himself with Sarah? Do they hate you?

Not only is living inside an enclosed box hard enough, but dealing with the loss of your brother, friend, and father, is killing you inside. You can’t help but feel guilty that you weren’t with them. You and your brother were supposed to be partners in crime and you totally let him go off on his own. You feel like you abandoned him and that keeps you up at night. 

Since your ways of coping are limited, you’re not proud to say you found an unhealthy way of relieving your pain. 

When you were first locked up, you would scream and kick the door that hid you from the rest of the world, begging for anyone in the house to let you go. Never did it work, but one time Rafe got extremely fed up and raced upstairs to make you shut up. You didn’t know it, but Rafe was on the verge of a breakdown himself. His dad complete shut him out as he tried to fix the damage he caused. He assumed Sarah was dead. And Barry basically owned him, making him do all his dirty work. Maybe he deserved it, but he didn’t live a luxurious life either despite living in Figure Eight.

You took a couple steps back when you heard heavy footsteps approaching your door. Rafe quickly undid the locks and barged in so fast that he almost knocked you down. 

“Oh my god. Do you ever shut the fuck up?” Rafe was breathing hard and quickly getting red in the face. You stumbled backwards, suddenly afraid of being alone with him. 

You sniffled. “I need to get out of here.”

“You’re not leaving.”

“Please, Rafe. You got to get me out of here. Please!” You never thought you’d be here, begging Rafe of all people for help. Yet here you were. With no other choices left.

Rafe paced the room and raked his fingers through his hair. “You do realize you're not the only one going through something, right?”

You swallowed back your tears and scoffed at the Kook in front of you. “Seriously? Your family is keeping me locked in here like some kind of zoo animal! My brother is dead -”

“Sarah is too!”

“But that’s not my fault!” You screamed. You pointed an accusatory finger in his direction. “That’s yours!” Rafe froze and turned to look at you. You didn’t know where you grew the balls to keep going but you did. “I know what you did. I know what your dad is trying to cover up. And he’s using my brother to do it.” You saw Rafe’s adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed. “Why do you think your dad is keeping me locked in here?”

“Shit,” Rafe cursed. Now he knew why his dad gave him strict instructions to never come up to your room. He started shaking his his head and shaking in his skin. “I didn’t mean to - I - I - it happened so fast.”

You could go on and on about how Rafe would never be able to dig himself out of this hole. How he will never be able to convince you that he wasn’t guilty. But you didn’t. Because he’s the only one who could help you.

“Rafe, please,” You begged. “I won’t say anything. I just need to get out of here.”

Rafe sniffled back his own tears and fears and looked out the one window that looked out into the backyard of his home. He couldn’t let you go. He knew it was selfish, but he had to save himself. 

“I can’t,” Rafe said.

A new wave of tears hit you and you felt defeated. You fell back on your bed and cried into your hands, hunched over above your knees. 

“I’m sorry,” Rafe said, but his apology was as empty as you feel. 

“Just go,” You rubbed your eyes hard enough to see stars. 

You hear something light hit the bed next to you. “I know it’s not much. But this helps me get through all this messed up shit.”

When you didn’t look at him or whatever he gave you, he took that as a hint to leave and quietly left the room. You listened to each lock being fastened again, each one leaving a crack in your heart. 

Rafe offered you something you should have never taken. A small baggie filled with fine white powder. You should have never even considered it. Drugs were never your thing. You wouldn’t even smoke with JJ when he offered a hit of whatever he was smoking. But the idea of anything taking your pain away enticed you.

And that’s how you ended up here. Broken, alone, and craving something only Rafe could supply you with. Literally. He came around every so often, sliding a small baggie under the door for you. It was the closest thing you and Rafe had to a friendship. 

Today was particularly a bad day. It was dark and rainy outside and you remembered John B’s birthday should be quickly approaching. You missed him. God, did you miss him. You would do anything to hear his voice again or steal his clothes or go surfing in the ocean with him. 

You trudged out of bed towards your dresser that held a faint line of coke left over from yesterday. With a one dollar bill, you sniffed the rest of it up your nose and blinked back the sting of tears that pricked your eyes after you did it. A rush of energy sparked up your body, through your toes and up to your head. You immediately felt lighter and that the world was spinning a little faster. But with that rush came a surge of emotions. You went from being sad to being angry real fast. 

You hated Ward. You hated Shoupe. You hated this house.  You hated Kooks. You hated yourself. You hated everything about the Outer banks. You just wanted to leave. 

You find the closest thing to you, a small makeup mirror, and smash it against one of the locks on the door. You’ve done this hundreds of times and by now the door was scratched and bruised from your abuse, but you didn’t care. You didn’t feel the glass of the mirror slice into your skin as you continued to bang it on the metal lock. You didn’t care if Ward and the others heard you throwing another temper tantrum. You just wanted out.

When you felt the lock stumble to the side of the door, you froze in your place. You stared at the broken lock, wondering if this was all a dream or a hallucination from your high. “No fucking way,” You mumbled. You looked down at the door knob and repeated the same movements until the handle completely fell off and clattered to the floor. 

You dropped the mirror and stuck two fingers through the hole in the door where the door knob use to be. While holding your breath, you slowly pulled the door open and couldn’t believe when it moved without any hiccup. 

You never thought that you would get this far, and now that you were here, you didn’t know what to do. You felt scared. Cautiously, you stuck your head out to make sure no one was in the hallway. When the coast was clear, you tip toed throughout the house, listening to the eery silence that filled it. No one was home. 

When you passed Rafe’s room, you stopped. You were out of supply and you needed more. Rafe owed you anyway, you told yourself. So you ransacked his room. Found about four more small baggies and stuffed them in your pocket before leaving.

As you walk through the halls, you pass Ward’s office and paused. It was open and unlocked. Even before all this shit happened, you never remember it being this way. You didn’t know what it was. Maybe it was the adrenaline from another escape attempt or maybe it was the cocaine, but you walked yourself into that office and looked around. 

You cursed at all the accomplishments hanging on his wall, the trophies, and expensive relics of random shit. His desk was neat and orderly despite the major crime he was trying to cover up. You sat yourself in his chair, trying to imagine what it felt like to be him. Motherfucker probably felt like a king. 

You went through his drawers, thumbing through random files you had no business looking through - most of it work related stuff and banking information. You tucked that one in your pocket for later. 

Then you hear something thump against the drawer when you pull it out. A revolver. Small and silver. Cold against your fingertips. You breath hitched as you brought it up to your face. It felt like you were holding a bomb. An object that could change your life forever. Another fresh set of tears threatened to roll down your face but you shook them away. No. No more being sad. 

You shut the drawer hard and walked out with a couple new items in your possession.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

The Pogues were spending another dreary day at The Wreck. The September sun might be out, but their spirits were down. Two of their best friends are dead and the other is trapped with two murderers. They were scared for you and have tried everything to get you back. They tried talking to the cops, they tried breaking her out. But each times the cops got in the way. They were running out of hope. At this point, they didn’t even know if they would ever see you again. They just hoped you were okay. They knew you tried escaping a few times and prayed that you would eventually get yourself out of there soon.

“JJ, you gotta eat,” Kie sighed as she watched JJ play with the fries in front of him. If anyone was handing it the worst, it was JJ. Both John B and Y/N were his best friends first. Hell, he was in love with Y/N. Had been since the sixth grade. One of his biggest regrets is that he never told you. Now he didn’t know if he ever would. 

“’M not hungry,” JJ mumbled. 

The door above the restaurant entrance rang as a couple of police officers walked in for their lunch break. The group of three glared at them as they walked in with their cocky stride and their hand resting on their tasers and guns as if everyone should be scared of them. 

“Fucking cops can’t do their goddamn job,” JJ sat back in his seat and flicked one of his fries down on the table. He hated them. More than he ever had. He couldn’t believe these people took an oath to protect this county. Fucking cowards, all of them. 

“Fucking assholes,” Kie said and watched her father approach them with a friendly smile. 

Pope snapped up when an idea popped into his head. “Sarah’s sister.”

“What?” Kie’s brows furrowed. 

“School starts next week,” Pope explained. “She’s starting high school, right? What if you tried talking to her? Maybe you can -”

Pope paused when he heard the sound of the police radios echoing off the walls from their belts. 

“Code10-92. Runaway teen last reported on Baker’s Street. Proceed with caution. Last seen wearing black sports shorts and a white tank. Suspect may be armed and dangerous.”

JJ’s head snapped back to his friends with his brows pinched together. Could this be you? Could you have made it out again? But what did armed and dangerous mean? That didn’t sound like you.

Shoupe radioed back to the station. “On our way.”

The officers dropped ten dollars in the tip jar before charging out the door to go to their vehicles. 

“We gotta go,” JJ stood up first and stuffed his phone and keys into his pocket. The other two nod and follow him out the door. If that call was about you, they wanted to find you before the cops did. “Okay. Kie, go home. She tried going to your house last time. Maybe she’ll try that again. Pope, go to Heyward’s. She trusts your dad. She might try to find him for help.”

“Where are you going to go?” Pope asked. 

“Everywhere else.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

You trudged through your old home with heavy feet. Nothing in there felt familiar to you - like it belonged to you in another life time. You first went to your room and stared at the girl in the mirror. You didn’t recognize her. Bones sticking out of your skin, dark bags under the eyes, and cracked lips and dry skin. 

Without thinking, you took the gun that’s still in your hand and smashed it against the glass, shattering it all around you. 

Ignoring the stinging in your hands from the shallow cuts on your skin, you moved on to the next room. Your brother’s room. It looked like a tornado made its way through here. Everything was tossed and turned from the police and FBI ransacking it during their search for John B. Nothing felt like it was John B’s anymore. Nothing felt private. And that pissed you off. 

Next you went to your dad’s office, somewhere you haven’t been since you found the compass. Even now, it felt like you weren’t supposed to be in here. If you believed in an afterlife, you would think your dad would be shaking his head at you. 

The office looked like John B’s room did. Whatever belonged to your dad now belonged to the state. The only things left were random files and belongings the police didn’t find of importance. But they were important to you. 

The first thing you found was a picture in a cracked frame of you, your dad, and your brother from when you were ten. Your dad was holding both of you as you blew out the candles on a birthday cake. Looking at the picture, you felt your heart being shredded apart. The picture only brought back pain and grief. You wanted that happiness back that ten year old you portrayed in that picture. But you can’t have it. Ever again.

A cry ripped through your throat as you chucked the picture across the room. From there, you went on a rampage, throwing and kicking anything that was in your way. You took one of the baggies out of your pocket and dumped it on the desk in front of you. Without any precision, you fixed the lines up with your finger and took a long whiff. You gripped the roots of your hair and tugged as you sobbed loudly and felt one of the biggest headaches explode in your brain. 

You paced back and forth in the office with the gun held in your shaky hands. You were mumbling to yourself about your options and how horrible of a sister and daughter you were for leaving your family behind. You wanted to see them. You wanted to be with them and prove to them you never meant to abandon them. 

You didn’t hear the door to the Chateau open or the sound of footsteps following your cries. It wasn’t until you heard his soft, delicate voice that you turned around and stared at your best friend with wide eyes and a startled expression. 

“Y/N...” JJ breathed out. He didn’t see the gun yet. He just saw you, crying and broken and not looking like the girl he knew only a few months ago. 

“What are you doing here?” He didn’t recognize your voice either. Hoarsed and scared. “You’re not supposed to be here!”

“The cops are looking for you! Okay? We need to get you out of here!”

“I’m not leaving!”

“What?” JJ looked at you like you grew two heads. “What are you talking about. We -”

“No! I said I’m not leaving! Agh!” Your hands flew up to your pulsating head and gripped at your hair again. The pounding in your head was excruciating and wouldn’t go away. Between the cocaine, your cries, and the exhaustion, you didn’t think it would ever go away. 

That’s when JJ saw the gun and took a shocking step back. His hands immediately flew up in surrender and he gulped down his nerves. Now he knew why the cops had called you armed and dangerous. Probably because Ward reported a stolen gun. JJ never knew you to be a violent person. It wasn’t in you. You couldn’t even hurt a fly. Which meant you didn’t steal this gun to hurt someone else. But probably...

Then his eyes flickered to the desk where he saw the reside of white powder next to an empty baggie. Now he was petrified because he didn’t know how to get through to you - if he even could get through to you.

“Y/N, baby. Put the gun down.”

“No,” You shook you head. “No, no, no. I need to see them. I need to see my dad and John B!”

“Y/n...”

“I should’ve gone with them. I should’ve - I - I didn’t mean to leave. I’m so-sorry, John B. I’m so sorry.” You were a mess. Tears and snot and running all over your red and puffy face. 

JJ kept looking between you and the gun. His only comfort was that he knew you didn’t know how to use it. You wouldn’t even touch the one he stole from Scooter Grubs. But that didn’t mean accidents couldn’t happen.

“I can’t do it anymore,” You continued. “I can’t go back there. I won’t. I won’t. I just want to see my dad.”

JJ took a hesitant step closer to you and nodded his head, keeping his hands up. “Okay. Okay. What if I helped you see your dad?”

“H-How?” You hiccuped. JJ didn’t know where he was going with this. He just knew he had to get that gun out of your hand. He took another step closer to you, but this one made you jump back. “No! No! Stay away!”

“Okay, okay!” JJ yelled back at you. “Hey. I’m here to help you, okay? Whatever you want to do.”

“I want to see them. I want to say sorry. I - I’m so sorry.”

“Y/N, they’re not mad at you-”

“I’m sorry, daddy, I -”

With you distracted, JJ took the opportunity to run at you and tackle you to the ground. He ignored the pang in his heart when he heard you cry harder, wondering if he hurt you, but he cared more about keeping you alive. He wrestled the gun out of your hands and quickly emptied the cartridge. He chucked the multiple pieces across the room and wrapped himself around your crumpled body.

“No! No!” You shrieked in JJ’s shoulder and gripped onto his shirt for dear life. “Please! Let me go!” 

JJ held on to your crumbling body as you wracked with sobs. Exhaustion quickly took over you as the adrenaline slowly vanished out of your system. Your throat was on fire from all the crying and the screaming. Your chest felt empty and your lungs heavy. All you wanted was to close your eyes and never open them again.

JJ couldn’t hold back his own silent tears as they ran down his cheeks. He hated seeing you like this. And he hated even more that he didn’t know how to help you.

“It’s going to be okay,” He said as he brushed the hair out of your face. He kissed the top of your head with his soft lips and kept mumbling into your head. “You’re going to be okay. I’m never leaving your side again. It’s going to be okay.”

He didn’t know if he was trying to convince you or himself. He jus knew he had to make you believe it.

About ten minutes later, he felt your body relax against his. When he found you fast asleep, he pulled out his phone and texted Kie to pick the two of you up. 

Until Kie got there, he stared at the delicate skin on your face with such admiration. Rage bubbled through this veins as the ideas of what you possibly went through in the that hell hole in Figure Eight. 

He knew it was going to be a long road to recovery. He knew there was a lot of fixing that needed to be done. But he made a promise that he will never let you out of his sights again. Because today was a close call. And he never wanted you to be that close to death ever again.

[let-them-read-fics]

Blackpink Reaction To Their S/O Struggling W/ Drug Addiction

Warnings / Misc. -- ⚠️ Sensitive Topic ⚠️, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

A/N: Hey everyone! This request covers a sensitive topic that I haven't been personally exposed to, but I hope that I do it justice. I did my best to handle it with care and be as realistic as possible. Let me know what you think!

PS -- I didn't specifically name any substances or describe them in too much detail; I wanted to leave you room to picture whatever you had in mind, especially if you happen to be struggling irl.

👩 Also, I wrote this as Fem!Reader because nothing was specified. I hope that's alright, anon! Thank you for your patience :)

♡ Happy Reading ♡

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Jisoo

Discovered it after a few weeks of dating

She's amazing at reading people, so she had sensed that you were struggling with something; she just didn't know what. 

She wanted to wait for you to tell her about whatever it was, but one fateful day she witnessed something that explained it all. 

It wasn't meant to happen; she wasn't meant to see you like this. But, as fate would have it, Jisoo stumbled across something she never saw coming. 

Her footsteps grow louder as she walks her way through the house, peeking her head into various rooms in search of you. The two of you invited some of your mutual friends over, and they've all been curious as to where you slipped away to earlier.

"Baby, are you in here? Everyone's wonder--" 

The sound of the latch clicking out of place makes your heart drop and sets you into motion. Before you have enough time to fully react, though, Jisoo opens the bathroom door to find you sitting on the ground, attempting to shove a foreign substance into a plastic baggy. 

Your hands make quick work of moving it out of view and sitting up on your knees, but she picks up on what's going on. Her eyes land on the material as you shift it behind your body, looking up at her with wide eyes. 

"Jisoo--" Tears are already beginning to work their way into your eyes, slightly blurring your vision. Too many people have walked out on you after witnessing this, and the thought that she might go too is overwhelming. 

She keeps her tone level as she steps into the room and quietly shuts the door behind herself. "Y/N, please explain yourself." 

"I-I'm sorry Jisoo, I should've told you sooner." You shakily say, bringing a hand up to swipe away the few tears that've already leaked out. It's not usually like you to get so emotional so quickly, but seeing the pained look on her face is reason enough. 

"Come here," she utters, plopping down next to you and pulling you up against her body as she leans back on the side of the tub. Her fingers rub soothing circles on your back while you rest your head on her shoulder, lightly dampening the material of her shirt with your tears. "I'm not mad at you for this, but I need you to tell me about it. I want to help you, my love. I can't watch you hurt yourself like this." 

"Okay. Just promise you won't go," you softly say, the syllables of your words breaking here and there from the raw emotion you feel. 

"I'm not going anywhere, Y/N." She presses a light kiss to your temple for reassurance, and her heart breaks when she feels your hands grip at her clothes out of habit. How many times have people told you that and still left you in your time of need? She cradles you in her arms, realizing just how fragile you are in your current state, and tells you to take your time. 

With a steadying breath, you begin to explain your struggles. 

Road To Recovery

Constant check-ins

"Hey honey, we're at the studio now. Are you taking care of yourself for me?"

Helps you deal with the symptoms of withdrawal when they hit

Focuses on distraction and redirection as ways to help you cope

If you're at a party and feel tempted after seeing someone use, she leads you away to distract you from the urge

Helps you find safe alternatives 

Celebrates the little victories

"Yes, Y/N, 4 and a half weeks clean is plenty reason to celebrate. Now mark it on the calendar and get over here so I can put this hat on you." 

Playdates at your local dog café to keep your mind occupied (and bringing Dalgomie so he can make new friends, of course)

Takes you indoor skydiving. She wanted to find a way to give you an adrenaline rush while still being able to participate with you, so that was a happy medium. She battled her fear of heights to do that with you.

Not letting you lose hope if you relapse

"You're not a burden, and I'm not letting you give up on yourself. Not after all the progress you've made. I believe in you." 

Accompanying you to rehab and recovery meetings, if you want her to

Bringing you your favorite snacks and candies when she picks you up

"I got you a little something," she smiles, leaning over the center console of the car to kiss your cheek. "You deserve a treat, baby." 

Whenever you decide to tell everyone about your struggles and recovery journey, she's right next to you for support 

Spends all the time she can with you

Early on, she would get really worried when you missed her calls or took a while to respond, but eventually she got over her fears to some degree

Still checks up on you when she's away for work

"Sorry for missing your call, Chu. Dalgom tried to kill me when I was giving him a bath and I couldn't get to the phone in time." 

Overall, just a very proud girlfriend who sticks by you no matter what

After You've Recovered

Annual "recovery party" to commemorate your sobriety 

Sometimes you invite the girls and your other friends, and sometimes you prefer to just spend the day at home with Jisoo

"Look at how far you've come, my love. I'm so proud of you."

♡♡♡♡♡

Jennie

She would be the only one who figured it out on her own. She picked up on the signs fairly quickly and always subtly helped steer you away from any potentially tempting situations

If you two watched a movie that happened to have a triggering scene in it, she always noticed how you'd look away and subconsciously tense up a bit

"Hey, babe. This movie's kinda boring; why don't we watch that new Netflix documentary instead?" 

If the two of you were invited to parties that were likely to have a bunch of alcohol and drugs, sometimes she'd try to suggest staying in or doing something else instead

You eventually caught on to her diversion attempts, and sat down with her to have a talk. 

"How long have you known?" You ask, pulling your legs up towards your chest as you sit back against the headboard of your California King. 

"A few weeks," she starts, running a brush through her hair until it's untangled. Her damp locks stick to her shoulders as she approaches you, some strips slightly drier than others. "Were you ever gonna tell me?" She inquires softly, facing you as she sits down beside you on the bed. 

"Of course, Jen. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you sooner, I just… I was on my own with it before you. I didn't have anyone to turn to because everyone left once they found out." Your confession makes her chest ache -- it's a physical, honest pain that she feels as she imagines you battling such an unforgiving foe with no one in your corner. She places a warm hand on your thigh to comfort you, knowing just how much her touch helps when you're upset. "Hey, it's okay. There's no point in worrying about that now. I know it's hard to open up, babe, so thank you for doing this. I'm here to listen, alright?"

"Thank you, Jennie. I don't know what I'd do without you." 

"You'll never have to know, either, because I'm staying right here." 

"I love you," you whisper, leaning forward to press a kiss to her lips. 

"I love you, too," she sighs against you, preparing herself for the emotional night you're about to have. For now, she takes a moment to just pull you into her arms and rest her forehead against yours, finding comfort in your steady heartbeat. 

"We'll start whenever you're ready." 

Road To Recovery

Makes various arrangements to ensure that the media won't know of your struggles

Keeps things on lock, especially if you decide to remain private on the matter and not tell the world

If you make a public statement about it, she still does everything she can to keep you protected from the negativity. She knows first hand how tough it can be to deal with, so she never lets you face it alone

You both help each other work through things

"You're my rock, Y/N/N." 

"And you're my world, Jen."

Takes care of you during bouts of withdrawal 

Sings to you to calm you down and help you relax

Takes you to theme parks and rides all the big coasters with you so you can get a similar high that you did from the drugs. She gets to be clingy with you and spend the day having fun, so she doesn't mind it, and you enjoy it just the same.

Suggests fun activities for you to do together 

"We should visit that pottery place tomorrow! I've heard a lot of good things about it." 

You stick close together when you're in public, especially when paparazzi are near

Your presence helps with her anxiety, and you hold her close and tell jokes to keep her attention off of it

Random surprise celebrations waiting for you when you get home

"Hey Jen, I'm home." You announce, shrugging your coat off before hanging it up on the metal rack next to the front door. 

"In here," she calls from the kitchen, effectively pulling you in with that sweet voice of hers. When you reach the doorway and peek in, a dumbstruck smile slowly parts your lips as you see the set up she constructed. 

"Happy 3 Weeks" a multicolored banner reads, displaying the phrase above your dining room table where Jennie sits. "Surprise, honey," she says softly, glancing down at the cake she made for you as she scoots it closer. You approach the table and examine it, practically feeling your heart grow 10 sizes from the love you hold for your girlfriend. 

"Is this why you left practice early?" 

"Mhm," she nods, kissing your cheek before she reaches into a small gift bag next to her chair. "I'm so proud of you," she grins, sliding a thin, glittery headband into your hair. It has two springs attached to the top that bounce in every direction possible, surely making you look like a dork. 

"God, I love you." 

"You'd better keep that same energy after trying the cake. I think I might've added too much baking soda…"

You shake your head and pull her in, pressing kiss after kiss to her lips until she's grinning just as hard as you. 

Going on adventures with Kuma and Kai

Especially to dog parks and other national parks 

Helps you fill things out for rehab and doesn't let you get too stressed about it

Helps you regain confidence in yourself if you relapse

"This isn't the end, Y/N. You're strong, I know you can beat this."

Is right next to you through it all

After You've Recovered

Go on an annual vacation to get away from everything and celebrate your sobriety. You take the opportunity to escape the media and reconnect with each other

"Where to this year, Y/N? Bora Bora, maybe?"

Intimate celebration between the two of you on vacation, and then the girls throw you a party when you come back

♡♡♡♡♡

Rosé

You were really good at hiding your secret from people -- especially those that you care about most. You're always afraid that once they find out, they'll pack up and leave. 

Rosé was one of the first to actually stay

She had been fairly oblivious to your struggles since you masked that side of yourself well, but one day the two of you attended a little get-together at your old friend's house, and your dirty laundry was aired.

"Bro, come on, let's play Truth or Dare!" One of your old friends says, perking up at the fact that he remembered the game even existed. He's already a little tipsy, but so are some of the others. 

"I don't know, dude," you hesitantly start, missing the way that Rosé curiously raises a brow beside you. 

"Come on, we'll keep it tame." Another person adds from the couch opposite you, their voice low. You recognize her as Cho, a sort of frenemy from your high school years. Something doesn't sit right for you with the hint of mischief that shines in her eyes, but your friends' pleas eventually push the feeling away and you relent. 

"Fine, but if Austin gets dared to do some dumb shit like last time I'm dropping out." 

"Like what?" 

"Like what?" You ask back, disbelief evident in your voice. "Are you forgetting the fact that I had to bail you out after you got arrested for streaking down the neighborhood?" 

"Okay, fair point," Austin holds his hands up in surrender. "Just a few rounds." 

--

As everyone's once boisterous laughter finally dies down into quiet chuckles, you turn to Rosé for a quick kiss. She reciprocates and holds you there for a few more seconds, loving the way your lips feel against her own. As you brush your nose against hers and garner a sweet giggle from her, Cho interrupts the moment with a phrase that makes your blood run cold. 

"So, Rosé, has Y/N told you about the time she got arrested for drug possession? Word on the street is that she still can't shake her old habit..." 

Rosie feels the way you tense up at the question and pull away from her, cringing at the exposure you just received. The room goes silent, enabling a pen to be heard if it were dropped. 

"Hey," Austin goes to defend you, about to yell at her for bringing up such a difficult topic. 

"It's fine, Austin," you say, sticking your hand out in front of him to keep him from approaching her. The last thing you want right now is a screaming match about your struggles. 

Rosie finally speaks up after what feels like an eternity, turning to Cho to say, "No, but that's none of your business. And I strongly advise that you don't speak on her name like that again." She cuts her eyes at the other girl, sending an icy glare at her to show that she's serious before giving her attention to you again. 

When a few tense moments pass with no one really saying anything, Jackson, the host, speaks up. "I think you need to go, Cho." 

"Ah, what a shame. The fun was just starting," she mockingly pouts, stopping next to you on her way out the door. Rosé strokes the back of your hand to soothe you, tracing mindless patterns with her thumb until your shoulders relax and you look into her eyes. With Cho now gone, your friends decide to go out into the backyard and give the two of you some time to clear things up. 

"So, I guess we should talk." You start, pulling your legs up onto the couch to sit criss-cross. She studies the way that you begin to nervously fidget and drop eye contact, and the sight breaks her heart. 

"Your past is your past, Y/N, and I won't ever judge you for it. I wish she wouldn't have brought it up like that -- I really wish she didn't," she says, emphasizing the word to remind you of how upset she is with Cho, "But I can tell that you're still struggling. I want to help you get better, and I'll be here with you every step of the way, babe. You mean the world to me." She smiles sadly, trying not to think of how much it would hurt to lose you. 

"Okay," you breathe out, accepting the honest help that she's extending to you. You've been burned and lied to in the past, but you trust Rosé to stay true to her word and assist you on the hard journey laid out before you. "Let's start from the beginning," you say, preparing yourself to retell your struggles from the moment they began all those years ago. 

Road To Recovery

Takes care of you when withdrawal hits hard

Isn't afraid to take the day off if it's bad enough and she needs to

"Hey, Teddy. Tell everyone that I'll be staying home today, okay? I've already let the girls know, too." 

Reassurance to the max

"You're doing amazing."

Is your shoulder to cry on when times get tough

On a weekend trip, the two of you snuck away to the beach to go cliff diving. It was a thrilling experience, and you'll always remember that day with her

Helps you find healthier alternatives to your addiction that can make the transition easier until you fully recover

"Baby, look at this." She says, repositioning her laptop so that you can see what she's looking at. The two of you are sitting on the bed, and her legs are stretched out over yours. "These herbs are safe to smoke and they can help with a lot of your troubles. These over here," she says, pointing to a section of the screen, "help with stress and anxiety. They make it easier to relax." You nod, logging the information in your brain as you run a hand over her smooth skin to keep yourself calm. It's a habit that both of you love. "Thank you, Rosie. Nobody's ever done anything like this for me." You say, keeping your head down as you remember all the people that have left you behind in your time of need. 

"You'd do the same for me, and I'm happy to be here for you." She declares, holding one of your hands within both of her own. She cradles it delicately, just like she does your heart. "I'll do whatever it takes to make you feel my love. I'm not going anywhere, babe." She leans in, connecting your lips in a sweet kiss. 

Keeps your spirits up if you relapse

"You're not a failure, Y/N/N. This is just a setback, and we're going to get through it together."

One of her friends told her about a fun art class that's supposed to help people in recovery let go of some of their resentment and negative feelings, so she brought it up and you agreed to go

It was structured in two parts:

Part 1: Everyone went out to an old car lot that had various old vehicles, electronics, and other things to smash up. Once you let loose and relieved some of your tension, you collected scraps of the things you destroyed.

Part 2: With the scraps you brought back, you were told to create any type of artwork you wanted -- whatever felt right. Collage, graffiti, scrapbook, etc. At the end of the class, you were informed of the driving message behind it: Though the negative feelings and aversions you dealt with in the past may have left you feeling broken, you never really were -- you've always had the power to piece yourself back together and continue on.

After You've Recovered

Taking a month off work every year to travel and experience new things together. Usually consists of going to another city (or even country) and exploring their art museums and other artistics outlets 

The new experiences help remind you off all the reasons you want to stay sober, and they help her have new material for her songs

Lots of pictures and drawings to remember all of your adventures

Collect trinkets to hang up / display, especially around the holidays

The girls have a special celebration waiting for you when you return

♡♡♡♡♡

Lisa

She could tell something was wrong when your behavior started to change over the course of a couple weeks

She suspected other things, but after finding a substance in your bag while on a vacation trip, she was blind sided by the reality of the situation

"Hey Lis, have you seen my swimsuit?" You casually ask, strolling into your hotel bedroom in search of the item. "I thought I left it--"

Your words catch harshly in your throat, nearly making you choke from how quickly you cut yourself off. She's sitting on the edge of the bed with the baggy in her hands, and tears brim in her eyes. 

"Fuck," you wince, closing your eyes as you put your face in your hands. "You weren't supposed to find out like this."

"Why didn't you tell me?" She asks, staring straight ahead, though her eyes don't focus on anything in particular. Knowing you hurt her is bad enough, but seeing her like this makes the pain even more evident. 

"I was going to, I promise. But I've been trying to wean myself off of it," you begin to explain, slowly walking across the room until you're in front of her. You squat down and put your hands on her thighs, staying quiet until she meets your gaze. "I've tried to quit cold turkey in the past but it didn't go down well. I figured I could handle this on my own and not get you involved."

"Baby, I want to be involved. You've been different lately, and having you shut me out didn't help ease my fears. I want to be a part of this, okay? You can turn to me when you feel alone," she says through the occasional tears that roll down her cheeks, "It's my job to help you and keep you safe. So let me," she crouches down next to you as she says the last part, wrapping her arms around you when she notices your lip tremble. "I'm not gonna let this get between us," she says against your shoulder, reminding you of how strong her love for you is. 

"I'm sorry I waited so long," your words are muffled against her shirt, but she can hear how the emotion in them changes your voice slightly. 

"We have to start somewhere, and this is just as good a time as any. I'm right here, Y/N/N."

Road To Recovery

Sweet texts and reminders throughout the day

"Hey baby, have you eaten today? The girls and I miss you like crazy." 

--

"Don't forget about your check-up tomorrow. I already told my manager that I'll be taking the day off, so I'm all yours 😉"

--

"*image attachment* Question: Do you think Lego would look cute in this or do you think Lego would look cute in this? Because he WOULD." 

Stargazing trips to talk about how far you've come

Making treats for the cats together if you have a bad day

Sometimes your withdrawal leaves you with weird cravings, but she never hesitates to race to the store at any hour and snatch up your favorite treats

Learning how to cook together to keep you occupied and give you a hobby (plus she's always wanted to get better at it)

“If you fling that at me, I swear to God I'll--”

"Oops!"

"LISA!" 

Day trips to random parks and open locations to have little photoshoots when she has free days

Once took you bungee jumping for the experience and adrenaline rush

Bringing you into the studio if you're having a hard time and don't want to be alone

Always listens to you and shows how much she cares

Opts out of events if she suspects that drugs will be there to tempt you (considering you're always her plus one)

You still send her to enjoy herself at the events without you sometimes, though it does take a lot to convince her to leave you at home

"Okay, okay! But we're binging that new show when I get back." 

Makes you laugh often and cheers you up when you need it most

She's your sunshine

After You've Recovered

Considering that you're her muse and she's the artist that she is, she hatched a plan early on to document your journey to recovery

"One more, babe. Just like that." She instructs, holding the camera up to her eye one final time. "Perfect." 

"Alright, close your eyes and turn around." She commands while returning to the coffee table that sits in the middle of your living room. Her hands make quick work of putting the finishing touches on her gift for you while you patiently sway and hum to whatever song is stuck in your head at the moment. 

"Annnnnd done!" She shouts, approaching you with a wide smile tugging at her lips as she holds the book out in front of herself. "It's a photo album. I started it the day you told me you wanted to try and get better," she says, smiling softly as she slowly walks you through the beginning pages of the book. "I thought it would be nice to see how far you've come," her eyes remain glued to the pictures she took as she continues flipping, and she fails to realize that you're staring at her now. 

"I'm so in love with you. I can't thank you enough, Lis. This is beautiful." You shake your head in quiet disbelief, genuinely surprised that someone would work so hard on something for you. It shouldn't be a surprise with her though, considering how much she loves you, but it still baffles you sometimes. 

"This gift only shows a fraction of my love for you, but I'm happy you like it. This is nothing, baby; there's so much more where this came from. Thank you for letting me in." She captures your lips in a meaningful kiss, and finds it hard to pull away. You seem to be her drug of choice, but neither of you care to end that sweet addiction.

Annual trips to photoshoots and fashion shows

Being her favorite model (seriously, she could look at you for hours on end)

Always feeling so loved and cherished, no matter what the two of you are doing

[themadauthorshatter]

... I'm not apologizing.

I've been reading Descent into Perdition by @dreamsofspike-blog after Repossession, and after the utterly beautiful darkness of it all, I've decided tontake it upon myself to inject some hunorninto bothbof these stories so they're slightly easier to swallow.

If you haven't read either fanfics, first off TW for abuse and manipulation because both deal in those topics, along with non-con and kidnapping, so if you're sensitive to any of those, don't read them.

If you have read them, I hope you enjoy this because this is honestly me using my coping mechanism so I don't lose it from all the edge😅

With all that out of the way, ENJOY!!

So, right off the bat, this is something of an Actor AU where the characters are acting in a production like a film or movie.

In this universe, Repossession was filmed before DiP, so it was demanding for Crowley and Gabriel, who both had to lose weight for their roles, though Crowley did get to get those pounds back in DiP.

The three slept in different rooms, like hotel rooms, and Crowley ended up being the absolute devil because he had copies of their room keys and would wake up Gabriel and Aziraphale because he was the most energetic of the three.

Aziraphale wasn't a fan of wearing gloves because he kept dropping his props.

Gabriel remembered all his lines.

The transition from badass protector to pure villain for Aziraphale was harder than Gabriel's transition from bastard to victim. Crowley was just glad to not be in anymore rigs for hours at a time. And having short hair again.

There were a total of 24 doctors on stand by during both productions; 5 doctors, 3 psychologists, 4 physicians/physical therapists, 2 first responders that had tools in case the rigs broke, 7 psychiatrists, and 3 people who had access to a non-kill, purely cared for animal shelter that let the guys come and go as long as they didn't steal any of the animals.

Crowley only feared Gabriel when he was restrained to the point he couldn't move. Aside from that, Gabriel made him laugh more than scared.

To lose weight quickly in time for DiP, Gabriel ate nothing but apples, though Aziraphale did make him have "cheat days" where he ate three full meals.

Aziraphale had a surprising amount of fun as an antagonist, but would apologize to Crowley and Gabriel before and after scenes were filmed.

NO ONE GOT ANYTHING DONE WHEN THE THREE WERE IN A ROOM TOGETHER. Any time they filmed scenes together, a chain reaction would begin with Crowley being a mischief maker and making the other two laugh and it would lead Aziraphale and Gabriel to forgetting their lines and even ad-libbing to make up for it.

All three agreed that the DiP dinner scene was the easiest to film because they got it all in one take, as Gabriel had never had sushi before. When it came time for the wasabi, Aziraphale told Gabriel to tell him to stop as he carefully put little bits of wasabi on the sushi roll. Gabriel only stared at him and said, "Put on so much that I can't even see the fish inside of it."

Aziraphale did not like mistreating his friends, but Gabriel didn't really take it personally.

Gabriel, surprisingly, loved the kilt he was given, and had replicas made for varying states of the story. Nevermind the faux-degradation Aziraphale used, Gabriel would stand up and do a cute pose to make him laugh; "You wouldn't hit someone this cute, would you?"

Crowley eventually got himself a kilt and the two came up with some 'comeuppance' for Aziraphale: he doesn’t get a kilt until after the production is wrapped up.

The bookshop scene at the end of Repossession was Crowley's hardest scene to film because the set had been changed and he didn't know his way around very well. And because he was in heeled shoes that weren't very good for running.

The wings both were and were not CGI. The wings them selves were, but the damage dine to them wasn't.

Crowley kept the prop collar he wore as a momento, though he never really puts it on.

One outtake from the DiP dinner scene from Gabriel: "F[BEEP] you, I don't want your ravioli." It took everyone a good ten minutes to calm down.

Michael, in both productions, often forgot her lines and would need to do retakes. All three male leads did tease her on this in a very well-meaning way, but Gabriel helped in Repossession by holding giant cards behind Aziraphale for her to read.

Makeupband the writers did consider changing Aziraphale's hair for DiP, i.e. making it parted so it'd out of his face more, but let the changes to regulated in his eyes.

Crowley did not get blinded in Repossession. He was just blindfolded for a little bit.

During the DiP dinner scene, Gabriel actually had to fake the sour face because he enjoys lemons and sour things, even doing a lemon version of the orange smile thing people do with orange slices.

The slaps in the both weren't fake at all. Crowley and Gabriel got bruises from how many slaps they took, but they returned it at Aziraphale's request.

The rings Crowley wire in his wings were slip on cuffs that didn't hurt him at all.

Things the three kept from filming: Crowley kept the collar and rings, Gabriel kept the kilt and the heavenly suit, and Aziraphale melt the weapons and the watch, and he keeps them all on his mantle.

The bags and dark circles Crowley and Gabriel had were drawn on with eyeliner.

During the "stretching the wings" scene in Repossession, Crowley made Gabriel laugh because he kept remarking that his position would make a SICK album cover.

Aziraphale was nervous and excited at hearing the news of Ascent from Perdition, because he hated hurting Crowley and Gabriel. He also wasn't too keen on his costume change.

Go read Ascent from Perdition to get it😉

One person actually did try comforting Gabriel in one of the scenes of DiF. It was legitimately funny to see, but the cut did not make it into the final project.

Numerous people slipped on the floors of Heaven because they were polished and waxed ALL THE TIME.

Gabriel laughed the most during 'intimate' scenes.

At least 50 cuffs were broken

ALL of the weapons were real. Nothing was faked, though Gabriel and Aziraphale were beating on dead pigs as anolouges.

Michael calling Gabriel 'brother' made a lot of his days while filming

When filming wrapped up, the makes celebrated with a small get together, and then sleeping like the dead

[eel-bitch]

Sorry it took me sooo long I am back to school and hating it, hope you enjoy

Rated: Teens up

Word Count: 1439

Ao3, Prologue, 1st Chapter, 2nd Chapter

Since the End/Begining of Time

Chapter 3 - A Predicament

The Gamma Forest

They all turned to the sound of the voice to once again to be shocked, though as they recognized who had spoken all their faces, bar Missy’s who face only showed a slight irritation, hardened, there standing in all his holographic glory, with suit shoes, checked trousers, navy shirt, checked waistcoat, purple suit jacket and a manic grin was, The Master. The trees around them seemed to stop rustling, if you asked Graham he would say they were softly shaking in fear, at the presence of two equally insane and cruel regenerations of the Master.

“Awww…. What's this not happy to see me” The Master sneered out grinning down at The Doctor, her companions and Missy. It was obvious the hologram was propelled upwards from the embedded crystals in the Missy’s axe from its place on the tree stump, so it would give the Master an air of superiority “Not even you lady version?”

“Well I don’t particularly like gifts with holographic crystals embedded in them” Missy quickly snipped “I knew they were there all along by the way”

“Sure you did” the Master sarcastically drawled “That's why you left then in the axe, even though I gave you more than enough time to remove them”

“I wasn't bothered!”

“You cut down a tree!”

“From frustration of having to see you again, it was my coping mechanism” Missy dramatically threw the back of her hand unto her forehead

The Doctor seemed to finally snapped out of the shock induced daze, by the two regeneration of the Master bickering, her face went murderous then back to perfectly calm, like a storm behind

“Where is my wife” her voice tense and full of anger, her whole posture was rigid. The whole display was full of anger and utterly fighting but was cut off by

“Wait a second, did I hear you right, wife??” questioned Graham looking at Yaz and Ryan trying to see if they knew what was going on Yaz's jaw just kept opening and closing like a goldfish, while Ryan looked like he was about to say something but kept thinking better of it.

“Yes yes, the Doctor has a mongrel wife” The holographic Master quickly said interrupting any questions from the Doctor's companions were going to ask, effectively moving the process much faster, “On the topic of the half-breed, do I need to get tested for rabies or something, she made me bleed!” lifting up his left hand to reveal a human, mouth shaped bite mark that even with the hologram you could see it was bleeding.

Then a chair leg appeared in the hologram smashed off the Master's head before the Master fell forward towards the doctor and Co. then disappeared from their view. Then what the Doctor will always call the voice of a goddess spoke saying two words she really wanted to hear

“Hello Sweetie” with a certain amount of flair only River Song could pull off “Sorry but he likes the sound of his own voice way too much and he would have started on done sort of long dramatic speech I did us all a favour by stopping him and may I just say he was being too dramatic it was only a tiny nip he was annoying me”

“None of your bites are tiny” The Doctor muttered under her breath, softly rubbing her neck

“What was that sweetie” the woman who now stood exactly where the Master previously had been not 2 minutes ago and she seemed to radiate so much power it rivaled if not more then him, now smirking down at the Doctor “I didn't quite catch that”

“It was nothing dear” the Doctor full on squeaked and flustered about, before looking her straight in the eye “I just missed you”

The Doctor and River seemed to be in a world of their own cataloguing each others every features savouring each curve, freckle, remembering the exact colour of each others eye and-

“Yes, yes, your happy to see your curly haired half-breed, can you stop now I think I'm going to puke” Missy said breaking the spell over the wives “Also how did you escape whatever other me used to trap you, did I keep all the brains when I regenerated?”

Both they both silently decided to just completely ignore Missy and turned to the Doctor’s fam when Graham finally decided to speak up

“Um doc, what's going on? And who's that?”

“Aww you're still going around not telling people about me? Do I embarrass dear?” the space hair woman put on a pout and looked over at her wife. The Doctor blushed and looked away before muttering

“It's too hard to explain our timelines on its own that's without adding all the other stuff, plus, it never came up”

River looked as if she was about to answer, but instead her eyes just widened she tensed up and collapsed

“River!” the Doctor cried, her voice breaking and on her face was pure terror for her wife, this shocked her fam as they were used to seeing her with bright smiles and a cheery attitude even if it seemed a bit fake at times.

“Oh don't be so dramatic! She's only unconscious” the Master said as he kicked River out of the projection and reclaimed his spot once more, rubbing his left hand, that was now covered in blood from the bite off the back of his head, where he had been hit “You really thought I would keep you pet assassin without precautions did you? “

“What have you done to her?!”

The Master’s infamous manic grin formed on his face as he held up a remote “I have put a little incentive in the shape of about 50 eltronic shock emitters…… meaning your trained psychopath has multiple tiny devices, that I can use these little beauties to just knock her out but they can also send out a powerful enough shock to fry all three brain stems and stop her hearts from pathetically beating, she would be completely stone dead never to live again”

“Do you understand the time ripples that will send, the timelines will be destroyed, would you really do that just to get at me?”

“Oh you don't know? Oh this is amazing!” the manic grin seemed to grow even bigger on his face as he watched the Doctor's confusion “Oh come on Doctor why haven't you got it yet, do I need to spell it out for you?” the Master questioned teasingly “You get it lady version don't you or did I take all the brains with me when I became my own being?”

“Of course I know, I figured it out when she first teleported into my beautiful Tardis” Missy snapped back

The Doctor looked between the two masters, looking truly lost, before looking straight at the Master

“what do you mean?” she was confused, angry and was on the verge of snapping and she needed answers quickly

“It means that this River Song is from after the Library, it means that this is your supposed lover after you failed to save her, it means that your wife could die all over again and you would be failing her, letting her die all over again just after she was saved”

The Doctor’s face was pure joy at the thought of her wife being once again alive, after such a long time, then her face hardened at one fact the Master lied they always did trying to find the best way to destroy her, having hope again only to lose it again would be the final step in the her destruction.

“Did you really think I would fall for that, getting my hopes up so that even when I save River from you, I will once again have to send her along to her death like every other time”

“Do you really believe I'm that cruel?” Missy asked annoyed “I did see you after Darillium after all”

The Doctor winced at the name of her home for 24 years, the last place she had ever seen River before this

“Yes yes I do” the Doctor snapped at Missy who then had the audacity to look upset. She then turned back to the Master and asked

“What do you want?”

“Finally the question I have been wanting to hear” the Master sneered down at her “Let's meet up and discuss, how about the ruins of Galifrey at our favorite spot, bring lady version won't you don't want to have her getting in the way somehow” and his hologram disappeared leaving once again silence.

[wafflewarriors]

Five Times Sherlock Shrugged Off John, and One Time He Couldn't

3. PTSD

John was never sure of the extent of what the war had done to his mental health. At first, his therapist pinned it as post-traumatic stress disorder. After the battlefields and his scarring injuries, it seemed realistic. But then, John met the Holmes brothers, and they turned the soldier 180 degrees away from his therapist's claim. They told him that he missed the war and adrenaline. He was addicted to the action and the race.

John had no doubt both were true to an extent, yet he questioned both theories. As a doctor, self-diagnosis was his natural go-to. Perhaps that was how he coped, and maybe it helped to see himself as a client and not as a victim.

He had always been dependent on the adrenaline rushes. It's what had drawn him to the rank of an army doctor. He'd been in the medical field at the time, and the army seemed like a reasonable position. He definitely missed the war for the thrill and action.

But there was also another side of John. The side of John whose leg limped when he walked, or whose arm throbbed sorely when recalling the battlefield. The John who woke up nearly crying after a sickening nightmare of recalling a bullet lodging within his skin. The John whose eyes darkened at a mere reminder of those days.

John was a complicated man, no matter what others informed him. Even through all the suffering of war, John could still fire a gun with a steady hand and he could overlook his psychosomatic limp in an intense chase. This was possible simply because Sherlock influenced him, manipulated him. He was a genius, after all. Real life was a game to Sherlock Holmes, so he dissociated easily from most emotions linked to particular cases. He presented John with the facts, so that's what John hung onto.

In fact, Sherlock had managed to mend most of John's war trauma just by busying his life with awkward situations and perplexing cases to focus on. John almost forgot his past life when he began to revolve around his new role in participating in crime solving and holding the title of Sherlock's only best friend.

And although John thrived upon a good adrenaline kick, he couldn't ignore the signs of PTSD, however slight. Because there was only one thing Sherlock would never cure, and that was his inevitable negative mental reaction to the sound of fireworks.

Fireworks had always been a trigger point to John, which utterly confused him. He’d had bombs strapped onto him by the psychopath Moriarty, watched a landmine go off in the Hounds of Baskerville case, and had a gun to his head in the Scandal of Bulgaria. Yet fireworks set him off. John loathed the crackling of colors that lined the sky.

John was at edge on New Year's Eve. As the hours crept up to midnight, something within him grumbled sickly. His anxiety reigned him inside.

The first time John had learned of this trigger was before he had ever met Sherlock Holmes. There had been a fireworks show with a new date, standing in the dew of the grass patiently. Before John even had time to process the cracks of the fireworks above, he was back in the battlefield.

The experience was not one John wanted to recall, so he focused and assigned himself a simple task: making tea. Making tea had always managed to calm John's nerves. The light, fresh, orchid fragrance soothed the night air. It never failed to wash away his worries as the warm aromas melted into the flat.

It was only a few hours before midnight struck, so the flat was asleep. Only the streetlight that filtered through the windows allowed moonlight to illuminate the corners of the flat. John sipped his tea and tiptoed to the living room and he let memory guide him down the hall.

John froze when he noticed Sherlock's unmoving silhouette on the couch; his hands were praying under his chin with his feet propped up onto the armrest. It was unlikely he was asleep, though his eyes were closed. John considered retiring to his bedroom, but he continued his way to his chair and taste his tea.

“You're up late.” Sherlock hummed.

John shifted in his seat, “Yes.”

Sherlock peeked an eye open, observing John. He was rather tense, gripping his tea close to his chest. Usually, John's default stance was his soldier posture, and not so… slouchy. “Something on your mind?” Sherlock inquired.

John took another drink of his tea, forcing a passive expression. He failed. “New years spirit.” John offered tautly.

Sherlock gave a wary glance. Something about the way John replied didn't settle with the detective. Perhaps he could relieve John of this with a case. He cleared his throat. “Well, Lestrade suggested I observe the town before midnight. Fireworks tend to cover gunshots, and we will need to watch for potential shootouts. We might even get ourselves a case. Care to accompany me?”

John was surprised, to say vaguely, though not pleasantly. The pit of his stomach folded in dread. “Oh, sure,” was his strenuous response.

As Sherlock left the living room with narrowed his eyes, contemplating what was bothering John. Although nothing registered as potentially bothersome. Sherlock would need to dig into the topic further, though preferably not now. Sherlock was determined to distract John. After all, Sherlock owed him immensely for past experiences he'd endured.

John left to the kitchen. He steeled himself as he discarded the rest of his tea. There was nothing to fear about fireworks. He had encountered much worse is his life, so he wasn't going to allow a little explosion to handicap him. He was a soldier.

John had always suspected his reason for dreading fireworks was for the random timing. John had never fancied storms for this reason, as well. The thunder got to his head. With a gun, you knew where it was. You knew who fired it. You knew you were under attack, or at least, in John's mind.

It was a messy concept.

Sherlock was wrapping his scarf securely around his neck and proceeded to pull up his collar. He was still uncertain to the cause of John's tension, and it annoyed him endlessly.

John was failing to ignore Sherlock's prying eyes, constantly shifting his stance. He adjusted his posture and straightened his ever-failing mask.

Sherlock saw right through it.

“Prepare yourself John, keep your eyes peeled for suspicious movement. The firework show should be in a matter of minutes.”

Don’t remind me, John thought dizzily. His breathing was stressed now, with each respiration as a slight panic and a wish that he’d outright refused the case. Regret bubbled in his gut. He felt rather faint, favoring his heels as he braced himself for the distress to come. His eyes darted about, and he found himself searching for future exits. Just in case something went wrong. No harm in that knowledge, right?

Sherlock could practically feel the waves of anxiety rolling off of the soldier. He turned to him, and for the first time in his life, he was hesitant. “John? You're… you're beginning to hyperventilate.”

John swallowed thickly and blinked up at Sherlock in detachment, not registering what the detective had told him. “Hm?” He inhaled through his nostrils suddenly. “No no, I'm good.” He cleared his throat, though his breathing was still shallow and heavy. John strived for a viable reason for his breathing patterns.“Just, ah, smells nice, you know? Midnight air.” He wheezed. It was extremely unconvincing.

Sherlock stated in exasperation, “You're not a bloodhound, John. You're breathing is labored. Are you… panicking? You are. You're panicking.” Sherlock stared at John.

John was getting antsier by the minute and was now avoiding eye contact. He could get through this. He could. He just needed rational thoughts. “No.” He replied sharply.

“Yes, you are. You're a terrible liar. What's troubling you?” Sherlock was baffled.

John’s tone was snappy, “Nothing.” He rested his hands on his knees, and forced even, deep breaths. “I just need to… catch… my breath.”

Sherlock watched as John attempted to regain his composure. “John?” Concern seeped into the question.

John glanced up at Sherlock, who was lingering in clear discomfort and although he would never admit it, hovering in worry. John hesitated to state the truth. Lord knew Sherlock would have a fit once he learned John's cause for anxiety.

And, God, he was a grown man! John Watson could handle fireworks. It was irrational to fear them. He had never once had a bad experience with fireworks, but now that war blended with its loud sounds, he was crippled to suffering panic attacks beneath their harmless wrath. It was ridiculous and humiliating.

Sherlock reached out a hand, “John, it's-”

And suddenly, the sky was cracking with an enemy bomb. John nearly keeled over flinching. He grit his teeth at the overwhelming fear.

There was a shredding of shrapnel at his face. Blasts of dust made him want to cough as his lungs itched. As he touched the ground his senses reminded him where he was. The sand was like smooth concrete; there was no grainy texture. The Afghanistan sun wasn't beaming down in scalding waves, but the moon simmered in the night sky. John remembered where he was for a moment, but the memory was ingrained into his eyelids. The momentary flashes burning into his London surroundings.

And Lord, Sherlock was probably wondering what was going on. John licked his lips in unease and he battled his anxiety, “It's the fireworks. I’m… I'm afraid of fireworks. I can't- I thought I could fight it.” He was sweating beads.

Sherlock instantly moved beside him, though there was a shuffling and adjusting of something John could not see. He was too busy mentally readying for the next launch.

Another blast went off, and John slammed his hands over his ears, now prepared for the noise to come. He stumbled a bit, with waves of Afghanistan desert rolling in and enveloping his mind like a constricting python. He squeezed his eyes to avoid seeing it, but his mind reminded him exactly what a bullet wound felt like. His leg and arm suddenly ached terribly with a sharp buzz.

Sherlock was removing John’s clasped hands away from his ears and pushed them aside. Before he could protest, a cloth was wound tightly over John's ears like a thick headband, and John stared in astonishment at the detective. His shock of Sherlock's thoughtfulness shooed away any other thought of war as if it had never been a part of him. Had Sherlock just given up his scarf for John to have earmuffs? He had, hadn't he? What-

Sherlock clutched John by the shoulders and began pushing him to move. “How do you ever tolerate storms?”

John winced as a muffled boom erupted behind him. “They're not as bad. Storms rumble different than bombs or fireworks, and we never had many world-shaking storms down in Afghanistan. It is a desert, you know.”

Sherlock blocked John's view of the fireworks, even though it wasn't the color that triggered John. If anything, it kept him grounded and stable. Color was one thing he rarely saw back in the war. It had always been dusty browns and tans, and the occasional, unfortunate blood red.

John poked at the scarf and admired the fabric. Blue. There was never blue in Afghanistan. Just a pale, milky sky.

Sherlock flashed John a look of fond incredulity. “You’re alright, then?”

When John nodded, the flaps of the scarf waved at Sherlock. “Yeah, I think I might have a cup of tea, you?”

Sherlock bit back his comment for a moment. He debated whether if he should mention John's shaking hands, but he thought less of it. “Yes, that sounds... nice. Thank you.”

[bramblepurr]

I think you're taking that post about death too personally... It was a response to people being rude to others for being ok with it, and that's not okay to be rude to people about. Like its not a judgement on people who are upset about it. /gen

okay i totally get u anon but i feel like i need to properly explain Why i get so messed up with this topic. obligatory disclaimer that i’m not trying to come off as aggressive or anything here i just have big emotions but it’s not directed at u n stuff

also obligatory warning bc i’m gonna touch on sh and suicidal stuff as well as delusions i have but i won’t go into excessive detail (i’ll put a warning around the actual paragraph featuring this) oh and spoilers for cr but i don’t rlly tag for spoilers here anyways i just trust that op did. this is a lawless land

while i completely agree that ppl shouldn’t be attacked or have any rudeness directed towards them for being okay with character deaths (hell, i’m pretty emotionally neutral on laudna dying but of course i’m sad for the other characters and it sucks that it happened and i can definitely relate to ppl who’s worlds are crumbling down around them rn as a molly fan) i think framing it as those of us who Are upset being “death-phobic” or simplifying our feelings to just being sad abt characters is just. really weird and quite frankly insensitive. not to make it all about me but while i have the natural human feeling of Dying Is Scary (bc it is) i’m not really death-phobic and i don’t avoid the topic of death in my day-to-day life (caitlin doughty my beloved). i just cope through fiction and get extremely attached to fiction so it’s a very different situation for me

DISCUSSION OF MY OWN FEELINGS BELOW (SH AND SUICIDE WARNING)

while i’m already talking about myself i’ll get my own personal feelings abt the topic out the way. i don’t make it a secret here that i have a delusional attachment to mollymauk, essentially I Am Him He Is Me Unironically And Genuinely. because of this i was Extremely effected by ep26 even though it had already happened by the time i got into cr in 2019. i knew what happened. but i still got really attached and the death hit me like a ton of bricks, i still haven’t watched the episode. i can’t. i can’t even watch up to before the fight i just. can’t touch the episode at all. similarly, when ep140 happened i was really fucking happy that molly came back. i’d been hoping for it forever, pretty much deluding myself further into believing that everything i want to happen Will happen if i just believe hard enough and want it enough. and then ep141 happened and without going into too much detail, i had a bad relapse and made plans to kill myself. mollymauk had been erased, a handful of caduceus fans were mocking us and essentially going “i told you so”. i felt fucking awful. if kingsley was a thing then i might as well be like molly. and of course there were a lot of parasocial elements that went into this as well but delving into all that makes me feel a little bit Too insane for my tumblr blog but a couple people out there have an idea of what i’m talking about, looking at a couple mutuals here.

now fast forwarding to the recent episodes, i relapsed again after ep33. i made some Insane Person With Scary Mental Illness posts on here that got me in trouble. i sh’ed again because of that. i got so deep in my head about my fear of losing fearne and orym that i got desperate for a way to fix things. i’d spent so long relapsing after an upsetting episode that i toyed with the idea of doing it before as a sort of blood sacrifice to make things go my way, which sounds super edgy 12 year old when i say it but that was genuinely my line of thinking. and lo and behold it worked. orym and fearne are okay. i’m neutral about laudna. so now i have a brand new compulsion i guess.

DISCUSSION OF MY OWN FEELINGS OVER, STILL A WARNING FOR SUICIDE

all this oversharing to say: this is the shit that can happen to people. while you may look from the outside and go omg get therapy!! sad little deathphobic fandom ppl!! there is a lot of shit that goes on in people’s heads when these things happen. i almost killed myself because my favourite character that is also myself got turned into a new person out of nowhere. hell, let’s not even just make this about cr: SPOILERS FOR BNHA but in a recent volume bakugo died (apparently he’s not actually dead and he’s fine now, which is great!! i’m not a bnha fan but i love that dude sm) and from what i’ve heard people did actually kill themselves because of that. and people were mocking them for it. people died and shitheads were making jokes saying it was a good thing and they were weak for doing so. this wasn’t even edgelord dudes mocking it, this was other mentally ill people. it’s fucking disgusting.

so yeah. excuse me for not being at all thrilled by that post and a lot of other posts over the years i’ve seen exactly like it. hopefully this explains where i’m coming from.

tldr: people need to be careful with how they approach this stuff bc while it may not be that bad For You it can be extremely bad and terrifying and life-altering for others and that isn’t something that should be swept aside in favour of people who are getting mean anons because they’re not sad about a character dying

[panandinpain0]

My house is haunted, just found out by possibly the most disturbing way I could.

Okay, I know what you're thinking, it's a very click-baity title but just here me out.

My older sister, we'll call her Q, has always been a bit more comfortable exploring spirituality and stuff. I was never interested in it, just wasn't my thing you know. But when we moved into the house we currently live in she caught onto the vibes real quick.

She had told me stories of not only her sleep paralysis experiences but also the spirits she felt/visited her often. Some of you won't believe this and that's fine, I did though. I mostly trusted this information because I'm really close with Q and she wouldn't lie to me about something like that. Or if it was a prank she would tell me eventually.

It was really harming her mental health and sleep schedule so she figured out a way to cope and stop thinking about it. I remember she told me, "Welcoming good spirits brings in all kinds of other spirits."

Q's been doing good for a while now and it hasn't really been a topic of conversation since about a year ago.

Until this morning.

I was sleeping on the couch in our living room alone, because I don't even know where my mind is at these days, and naturally I went to bed around 3 AM (as most writers on the internet do).

Around 4:26 AM I woke up in a cold sweat, which I hadn't really experienced before. Growing up I had nightmares often (adults always blamed it on my imagination so I just kinda went along with it. It might've been the actual reason but idk what else it would be), but I would usually remember what the nightmare was about (often having reoccurring ones). But when I woke up I couldn't remember a nightmare or anything else that would've woken me.

I looked to the corner and saw a boy with dark hair and vibrant green eyes, staring straight at me. And he really wasn't happy. It gave me horror movie vibes when the villain is murderous because something really happened to him. He felt to be around 14 years old, but man was he intimidating.

Terrified, I think justifiably, I ripped off my blanket and ran PAST HIM (I wasn't fully awake yet, I'd totally die first in a horror movie) and up the stairs (because I was in the basement). We have this gate at the top of the stairs to keep our dog from going down to the basement and terrorizing our indoor cats. I was fumbling with the gate in the dark, not even thinking of turning on the light.

When I opened the gate I felt a very strong presence of a little boy, who resembled the older boy in the basement. He seemed to be around 6 or 7. He was very angry, not like the green eyed boy because he was more bitter than angry, if that makes sense. The little boy seemed to be trapped upstairs.(Q theorizes that it's because we put up a gate, somehow prohibiting the little boy's travel to the basement.)

I ran into my kitchen, which has a dining room attached to it and the back door leading out of there. I stood in the corner facing the whole room so I could see it all, when I registered how afraid I was of the back door. It wasn't my own fear though, it was more powerful than my own.

There was a man, like the stereotypical "lumberjack". He was buff and had a big beard but I knew that the green eyed boy was afraid of him, and so was the little boy.

I spent the next 20-30 minutes sitting on the couch, coming in and out of this daze and not really being able to comprehend anything. I was incredibly paranoid at this point as well, glancing around rapidly and feeling like people were watching me from my window, through the mirror...

As I mentioned earlier, growing up I had nightmares almost every night. I always got super paranoid like this either before or after the nightmare happened. But it was weird because it all felt the same as the green eyed boy's presence. The energy he gave off, it all felt the same.

So here I am, 7:14 AM and still not having slept.

Q listened to me tell her all of this, explaining the boy's appearances and emotions, and she recognized them. We've come to the conclusion that the green eyed boy prefers the downstairs living room, the little boy is somewhat trapped upstairs, and the lumberjack guy just isn't safe period-he's tied to the back door.

The sooner I stop thinking or recognizing these spirits the sooner I'll forget them and they'll let me sleep normally.

So believe me, or don't. I don't care.

[AS]

[artificiary-fr]

Hi, hello, I'm so sorry to intrude- genuinely. But if you feel like you're intruding on people in a group discord- please take it from a fellow RSD person: it's not you. often times people within a group don't know how to 'properly' respond to a share of ideas. most often they wait for a signal from other members. and if someone post something more 'reactionable' after you? then the conversation shifts to that person rather than you. This isn't about 'finding better friends' just... about (1/2)

(2/2) knowing that your friends are probably at least half as awkward as you, and don't know how to respond. If you talk to members individually and they like the idea? Yes!! But if you don't talk to more than one member individually? Know your view is biased. Not negatively or rudely somehow- just. Factually. People with rejection sensitive dysphoria get real fucked up about some... 'nothing' shit sometimes. ... uh. sidetracked 3/3: share your OC's. Talk about the things you love. BE WHO YOU ARE. and find the people that will love you /FOR/ that, not /BECAUSE/ of it.

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

Hey anon! There’s no need to apologize - an ask is never an intrusion (unless it’s like.... aphobic or homo/transphobic or smth but that doesn’t apply here / isn’t the point) - rather, I appreciate it a lot. I put all three of your asks together in one, I hope you don’t mind! I’m gonna answer under the cut as well so my own words don’t take up a ton of space n’ such. I have a rambling problem.

Okay, so. First thing’s first: I really appreciate you approaching me and saying what you've said. I feel like I guilt tripped y’all into it - that’s the real bad downturn of venting about stuff like this I guess, like when people do pay attention due to the topic matter you’ve forced them into it - but either way, I still appreciate it. It’s definitely not an intrusion.

So a little before-note: I myself have been diagnosed with GAD / SAD (generalized/social anxiety disorder) and have suffered from diagnosed chronic depression for... uh... about 8 years? Anxiety for about 11-12 years. I’ve gone to therapy for it for around four-ish years (I think???), but my therapist left her job at the beginning of this year and felt I’d progressed and learned enough coping skills that I’ll be OK on my own with periodic check-ins with someone. I’ve also got untreated/untested ADHD of some kind - my therapist never got around to doing some other tests with me beyond one preliminary simple one. Relevant bc I understand how sometimes it’s not not-listening but an inability to focus. Some background/context, woo!

Anyway... I felt like I’d heard the term RSD before somewhere (can’t remember where) - but I didn’t know what it was at all. So I looked it up! I try not to attribute mental illnesses or afflictions to myself unless I’ve been diagnosed, but based on what I was reading, I just kind of went “...oh.” Next time I have a therapy check-in, whenever that might be, I wrote a note about it to maybe bring up or talk about it.

But on the other hand non-RSD, it’s like.... normally, and in the past, I’ve been able to shrug this kind of stuff off. Does it sting/hurt a bit? Sure, and I’m sure it would for most people! In this case though it’s something that’s just been building and building and building for a few months now, with multiple people in multiple groups, both one-on-one, in discord servers, and IRL. The servers just happen to be most relevant because of the covid isolation. So it’s like a... straw on camel’s back, rather than everytime situation. Does that make sense? I’m rambling, sorry. If that’s still RSD, cool! (...ish!) I’m still gonna bring it up either way. I’m just unsure if the compounding still like... counts or not?

TL;DR for there - sounds like what RSD seems to be, but instead of overnight or every occurrence, this little breakdowns been building for months from multiple sources. Unsure if that’s still RSD or not, bc I also have GAD/SAD.

Anyway continuing on.

I’m sure it wasn’t meant like that, but the bit about “ if someone post something more 'reactionable' after you? then the conversation shifts to that person” kind of hit different in a really big ouch sort of way.  I get where you’re coming from and what you meant by it, definitely! It just sounded kind of like a.... hm. “If someone else posts something more interesting than you, of course conversation will shift to them.” Which... is exactly part of what’s been hurting so badly ahaha. Nobody wants to be ostracized or treated like they don’t exist - especially if it wasn’t long after they talked in the first place. Nobody wants to share their happiness or excitement and then be deemed “not interesting / reactionable enough”. Y’know?

The problem with the talking to more folks in groups one-on-one to share is that’s where the possibility of RSD falls aside and my diagnosed GAD/SAD takes over. I get scared sharing one-on-one because I’m afraid people are gonna call me stupid or shut me down or even then pretend I don’t exist bc it hasn’t been the first time - especially IRL. Talking to people or making friends is really really hard. And when that fear gets reinforced it just.... snowballs.

It’s kind of a damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

But anyway, god, I just wrote a rambling essay, which yikes for a whole other reason bc once I start I just don’t stop, eh? Sorry, Anon! I’ll go ahead and quit while I’m ahead, but I just want to reiterate - I really appreciate you sending me this. It was really nice of you, and I appreciate that you shared your own experiences via having RSD and how that can affect how things look - especially since it gave me something to look into.

Thank you. <3

[ladyslounge-blog-blog]

If you're bored, you're boring

Dear Jennifer June, I follow you on Instagram, Facebook and twitter. You seem so down to earth and fun, even now, during this global disaster. I don't know how you do it! Sorry for writing about something so depressing, I'm sure you have more interesting things to do than read this, but I'm having a hard time coping with this whole Corona Virus thing and you're basically my idol and there's nobody's advice I would cherish more than yours at a time like this. It's hard enough living alone in this 3 story house, with nobody to talk to but my extraordinarily independent, mute, non-shedding, hypoallergenic cat, and nothing to do but play my baby grand piano, cook in my Wolfgang Puck inspired kitchen, and watch the plants in the solarium grow, without having to try to make sense of all the contradicting political and public service announcements on the news - on top of it all. How do you stay so grounded and levelheaded during this crisis? Anxious and alone, with nobody to share any of my wine with, Samantha P.S. I love your hair like that. You’re so pretty. Dear Samantha, Thank you so much for following me, and for your very kind words. I know that times like these can be very trying for anyone, and I honestly can't imagine how hard it must be for you to have all that empty quiet space to occupy all by yourself. The solarium alone sounds dreadful. I don't know if they will be of any use to you but here are 10 of the tools that have kept me calm, reflective and mentally grounded over the last few weeks. Regular exercise - At least 4 times a week (weight training, cardio, stretching etc.) Ritual - meditation, prayer, lighting candles, manifesting and projecting feelings of love and positivity for others, iChing, vision cards, visualizing acts of kindness etc... Weekly check-ins with a fabulous therapist who reminds me to honour all of my feelings and be true to myself. Minimum of 90 minutes daily gentle hand-picking of individual cat hairs out of every single inch of fabric/carpet/my body that I can find. Poking my lettuce seedlings with a chopstick several times a day to "check" if they're growing. Robert Mondavi Private Selection Cabernet Sauvignon Bourbon Barrels Sartori Valpolicella Superiore True Zin Puglia Boisseaux-Estivant Réserve de la Chèvre Noire Bourgogne Santa Julia Biologique Cabernet-Sauvignon Mendoza Hope this helps!  JJC Dear Jennifer June, I've been to pretty much every single show you've ever done, and I love how funny you are. Everything you say on stage is so relatable even though you're obviously cooler, smarter and prettier than me. I got 3 cats and 1 dog because of you and I named them Phoebe, Flo, Willow and Nina, just like yours! But not in a creepy way. Anyway, enough about me, but not really because I'm writing to you about me, because this quarantine vibe has me so down, I can't take it anymore. Ugh, Montreal is supposed to be the city of lights, or the city that never sleeps or whatever but I'm so lonely and bored, I literally almost thought about inviting my pharmacy delivery guy in for a drink yesterday when he came to deliver my topical rash ointment. You post the coolest stories on IG and you seem to be actually having fun. What do you do all day? How are you not dying of boredom right now? PS Prescription guy - cute a f Bored Becky  Dear Bored Becky,  Thank you so much for the kind words. I'm so glad you enjoy the shows. I'll be honest with you Becky; I have never once been bored in my adult life. I am actually fortunate enough to be able to work from home at the moment. I also have many projects on the go at all times.   I love spending time with my family, listening to music, reading, and cooking. I also try to truly  savour the rare moments that I get to just sit back and relax, whether it's in an Epsom salt bath, in a pile of blankets and cats (hair) on the sofa, or in a pool of my own nap drool /cry-orgasm-tears at the foot of the basement stairs. I think that first, it's important for you to ask yourself, are you truly bored? Or are you feeling something else. Possibly, what you're feeling is avoidant. Maybe you're trying to procrastinate.   Perhaps you're simply paralyzed with terror because the whole world has the fucking plague and people are smashing into each other in the streets like a swarm of contagious germ feast zombies. Or maybe you're truly bored, Becky. And if you are.... Well, I don't want to be the jerk who says "If you're bored, you're boring" but I am, and it's true. Seriously Becky, there are 22 different species of squirrel (in Canada) to post photographs of on Instagram, 165 shows on Netflix, over 100 knitting stitches you can learn, 19054 different red wines at the SAQ, millions of bananas that have not yet been baked into loaves of bread, and 64 editions of Guinness World Records, compiling thousands of really fun, super safe feats for you attempt to break, from the comfort of your own home, including heaviest weight lifted by human beard, most apples crushed with the bicep and longest fingernails grown by a woman. Hope this helps! JJC Dear Jen, First: You’re hilarious and I LOVE your dog. Second: I have a never-ending to-do list that I always say I don't have enough time to tackle. Thanks to the global pandemic, I am currently unemployed and under quarantine, which means that I have all the time in the world. I don't know why, but for some reason, I can't seem to get my shit together and do any of the things on my list. I basically just scroll through Instagram, watch television, drink wine and bake cookies. I feel so lazy, I'm even embarrassed to be sending this to you. I mean, I know that this kind of life changing event is enough to cause anybody trauma and make them feel creatively blocked, if not paralyzed. And I get that I should try to be self-compassionate and realistic about what I my limitations are under these times of great stress, but I can't help but feel a little bit guilty for not being able to do more. Is there something wrong with me? Shauna Dear Shauna, I think it's super important to remember that despite all the extra time you might have on your hands, it can be difficult to find inspiration for anyone right now. The fear of the unknown, being inundated with a storm of anxiety-inducing news and so much contradicting information that leaves us entirely confused as to whether to go for walks or not go for walks, wear masks or not wear masks, stay 6 feet from people or 6 meters from people etc... It's a lot and can be really demotivating and even completely draining. That having been said... Get off the damn sofa and do the shit on your god damn list. If months go by and you come out of this with nothing done but 15 new pounds gained on your lazy ass, you're going to fucking hate yourself. Study your damn Italian, post the dumplings on your vegan web site and do those stupid stair push-ups every stupid day or you will keep crying every time you can't do more than 10 of them. Oh! And write your book already!!! You have time to send 86 memes back and forth with your kids and post pictures of squirrels on Instagram every single day, sew 4 pairs of pyjamas, bake cookies you don't want to eat, watch every single episode of Game of Thrones in under 2 weeks, set up a photography corner in the basement that you don't use, and try all 19054 different red wines they sell at the SAQ, meditate, pray, light candles, manifest and project feelings of love and positivity for others, throw the iChing, pull vision cards, and visualize acts of kindness, and write not 1, not 2, but 3 drippy whiney love songs that you'll never let anybody hear because they're "not funny", "not done", and "not good enough", but you can't write a single chapter for your book? Are you kidding me right now? Jen seriously! Get it the fuck together. Hope this helps! PS My dog smells like rotting Doritos. JJC   Read the full article