#this has been cooking for so long for how short it is

[featherandferns]

sugar (fic)

ex!jj maybank x ex!fem!reader | set in season 4 without the Blackbeard mystery! (non-canon) | inspiration

content warnings: mentions of/references to sex (m and f receiving; MDNI); drug use; unfaithful relationships

word count: 18k.

blurb: JJ comes back into your life - older, richer and different again from before. Can the past stay the past, and the two of you be friends, or is there too much history there to let it all lie?

Cinnamon Buns

“Where would you like these?” Someone calls out to you. You turn and take in the tray of mouth-wateringly delicious looking cinnamon buns that a volunteer holds. Smiling, you point to a far table on the grassy field. 

“Anywhere over there is good! Those look amazing, thank you so much!” 

You turn back to the task at hand: organising cans of tinned, chopped tomatoes. To your left is a stack of bags of rice and to your right, bags of pasta. It’s quick work as you separate them by flavour: garlic and herb; chilli; regular…In the background you overhear chatter of fellow volunteers. Where should I put this? Who had the plastic bags? This was your happy place. 

‘The Stirring Spoon’ is what you had called it. It was your passion project born out of daydreams. A collaborative, community effort, providing food to anybody and everybody, free of charge. It wasn’t a traditional food drive. Instead, it was like a potluck dinner that you hosted every Wednesday in the late afternoon, running into the evening. People brought whatever dish they had prepared, or any ingredients that they had going spare which you and a handful of other volunteers whipped up into mains and desserts. Tomato soup and lentil curry and meatball subs and rainbow brownies and chocolate chip cookies. You’d even managed to rope a few local establishments into it. Any leftover bakes that they had when the workday was over, or things that were just a smidge out of date by a day or two, you took and offered out. Today? Cinnamon buns that were baked yesterday at a humble cafe in the town centre, just shy of Figure Eight. Food health and safety laws were strict but you could stretch them for The Stirring Spoon. After all, you weren’t technically selling a product so no harm done. People were clued in about the supposed “risk”. 

You lift up a can of tomatoes and study the ‘best by’ date on the metal lid. A month in the safe zone. Perfect. As your mind flicks through recipes of what you could cook up, a voice stood out amongst the chatter nearby. It was like a siren’s call; distinct and damning. You could pick it out even when deaf. 

“I gotta delivery here for y’all.”

“What’s in it?”

“Fresh sorta stuff. ‘Tatoes and that kinda thing.”

“Over there, I’d say.”

As the footsteps approach you can feel your heartbeat quicken. It taps nervously in your ribcage like you’re sixteen all over again. Your focus remains on the task at hand until a slight shadow casts over you, and you know you can’t stall any longer.  Your hands freeze over a can of tomatoes. Looking up, standing in front of you, clear as daylight and bright as dawn, is JJ Maybank. He’s dressed in his usual attire of a worn-down t-shirt and shorts; his fingers and wrists decorated with metal rings and beaded bracelets. If you squinted, it’d be like no time had passed at all. He doesn’t look all that different from the last time you saw him and yet, he’s entirely changed. In his hands is a large cardboard crate of various fresh produce. You smile. 

“JJ.”

It comes out in a breath as though you’re seeing something supernatural before you. In a way, you are. How long has it been now? Two years? Nearly three?

His own surprise mirrors yours on his face. But JJ was always better at hiding his emotions, once he had a chance to catch them. It was like a teasing glimpse before he closed the curtains. His recovery is quick as a smile starts to show, and he says your name like he’s practised it everyday. 

“Hey.”

“What’re you doing here?” you ask.

“Brought some deliveries,” JJ says, hitching the box. “Kiara mentioned something ‘bout a community kitchen drive y’all do and we thought we could contribute and stuff.”

“Well, that’s nice of y’all. Thank you,” you reply. 

You shuffle some stuff out of the way on the pop-up table in front of you to make space for JJ’s box. It’s hard not to watch his arms as he lowers it down, the way the biceps flex and tense beneath the skin. It’s hard not to think of other times his arms have looked that way, wrapped around your body, tugging you closer. You blink the memories away. 

JJ’s hands slot into his short pockets. He rocks on his feet. “Looks like it’s a pretty popular thing, huh?v This food drive, I mean.”

You glance around at the bustling volunteers. Smiling, you say, “Yeah, I guess it caught on pretty quick. Could say the same about y’alls tackle-and-bait shop you got going. It’s the talk of the town ‘round here.”

JJ grins with visible pride and it isn’t until you see it that you realise how much you missed his smile. You wonder if he’s surveying your face and body the way you are his, as if looking for some inconsistency or change since the last time you saw him. 

“Yeah, it’s coming together pretty nice. Helps having a bunch of us working on it, though.”

“I bet,” you say. You’d heard the chatter on the island about the Pogue’s latest venture. The sneers of the kooks and the curiosity of the locals. Their bets and wagers on whether the business would sink or float. You’d wanted to wander down and check it out for yourself but you always chickened out. Truth was, you’d been avoiding JJ Maybank like the flu, and now here he was in front of you, putting all your quarantining to shame. Your eyes flit down at the crate and you gently rifle through the food for a distraction. Tomatoes and potatoes and bunches of fresh berries and fruit. 

“I, uh, don’t know if there’s much in there that y’all need but–”

“No, no, this is great,” you assure him, smiling. “It’s really generous of y’all. Every contribution is appreciated.”

“Happy to help. To be honest, it’s Kie and Sarah you should be thanking.”

“Yeah, I didn’t peg you as the gardening type,” you tease. 

“Well, only for the stuff that matters,” JJ grins with a wink. You consciously try to fight away the warmth running to your cheeks. Damn it, you weren’t sixteen anymore. “So…how have you been, then? Since we last…y’know–”

“Baby!”

It’s a reflex reaction to turn at the sound of Mark’s call. He comes bounding over with a wide grin. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to the elbows and flour is dusted on his khakis. It’s a reflex to close your eyes when he dips his head to plant a kiss to your lips, too. You rub them together after as you prepare yourself for what might be the most awkward interaction you’ll ever go through. 

“JJ,” you say, turning to the blonde haired boy. “This is Mark. Mark, this is JJ. We used to…uh…Well, we used to hang out.”

“JJ - pleasure,” Mark says sincerely. He sticks out his hand and for a painful moment you genuinely worry that JJ might never take it. But he does, shaking it. 

“Likewise,” he says. 

You feel Mark’s spare arm slide around your back, his palm placing itself respectfully on your side. That was Mark: respectful. Righteous but not in an arrogant way. He was kind and caring without judgement, like the sort of Christian boy your nana would want you to bring home. The sort of guy who would bring your mother flowers and play golf with your father on the weekends. The kind of face you’d see flash on the television during the six o’clock news as the reporter relays a daring and heroic tale of saving orphaned kittens from a burning tree. 

“This is the guy that’s started the tackle-and-bait shop. Y’know, the one with the surf store and stuff,” you say to Mark. Realisation dawns upon Mark and he wags his finger at JJ. 

“Wait, wait, JJ as in JJ Maybank? One of the gang who found El Dorado?” 

You roll your eyes at the pure awe in his voice. JJ chuckles somewhat nervously and nods as he says, “yeah, uh, that JJ, I guess.”

“Holy shit! Baby, why didn’t you say!? Oh man, I read all about that. It sounded freaking incredible! I have so much to ask you, I mean-”

You place a hand to his chest and laugh, slightly embarrassed by his fangirling. “Baby, baby! Cool it a second, yeah?”

Laughing, you glance at JJ. And you catch it. That emotion he lets slip just before correcting himself. His eyes dart to yours in a second but they were looking elsewhere before. They were looking at your hand on Mark’s stomach. 

“Nah man, it’s cool. You guys should stop by sometime and I can tell you all about it. The other Pogues too, yeah,” JJ cordially replies. 

“Oh sick, man. That’d be great,” Mark beams. You smile at JJ and nod. 

“I’d love to see what you guys have done to the place,” you tell him. JJ smiles but it falters, like a flickering lightbulb that’s fighting to stay on. An awkward quiet passes and you clear your throat and glance around at the voluntary effort. “Well, I should probably get back to work.”

“No, yeah, course. I ought’a get back to the shop,” JJ replies. 

“Thanks for the stuff though. We really appreciate it.”

“You brought this?” Mark wonders, picking a strawberry out of the crate. He pops it in his mouth and hums happily. “Damn, those are some fresh strawberries.”

“Yeah, man. All from our local garden we got going.”

“This place sounds like the dream,” Mark tells you. You smile up at him. He takes the crate in his broad hands and lifts it easily into the air. Being sandwiched between two toned-up guys had you feeling as brittle as candyfloss. “I’ll take this over to Nancy. Nice meeting you, JJ.”

“Yeah, you too, man.”

You watch him wander off a moment before turning back to JJ. He offers you another smile. “I’ll come check out the shop soon,” you promise. 

JJ points at you, playfully warning, “you better!” before walking away. You watch him with every step he takes and the moment he’s out of sight your head drops. You let out a breath that you didn’t know you’d been holding. Your entire body feels as though it’s vibrating; your heart running laps in your ribcage. And the funniest part of all is the strange thought that races around your mind, he’s real. It had been so long since you’d seen JJ, let alone heard from him, that it felt like a daydream. The memories were so hazy now that they’d been painted over in sepia and you wondered if you’d imagined the whole thing. But no, here he was, knowing you and recognising you, and talking to you. The two of you back in Kildare, seemingly for good. 

“Baby! Can you give us a hand?”

The call drags you out of your thoughts. Your eyes fall onto your boyfriend. He stands a good head taller than most people. He’s almost lanky in build but not ungainly; broad shouldered and slim nosed. His eyes are those of an otter: nearly black with how brown they are; beady and shining, even from over here. There’s a smattering of freckles over his cheeks which is adorably boyish in contrast to his stubble on the jawline. He’s smiling at you in a way that all girls want to be smiled at. Unashamed in his admiration for you. It grounds you from the dizzying interaction with JJ and you walk over to him, ready to help out in any way you can. 

The rest of The Stirring Spoon passes without a hitch or unexpected visitor from the past. It’s as popular as always, with locals and tourists stopping by. The lentil and tomato soup that you whipped up disappears within the first half hour, alongside the nearly stale but still delicious cheese bread. Mark stands by your side the whole time, smiling as he serves. He whispers little jokes in your ear that have you giggling in the quiet periods of the food drive. Then came the evening rush, with people stopping by after work. The culmination of it all meant JJ was pushed out of your thoughts and back into the long-term store, where he’d been haunting before. That is, until you’re tidying up. 

“That JJ guy seemed nice,” Mark says from the table to your right. You look up from the plastic snack-bags you’re tidying away. “You said you guys used to hang?”

“When we were sixteen,” you reply. 

“How come you stopped hanging out?” he wonders. 

You look down at the bags and obsess over the colours of the labels as you debate how best to word your reply. What do you divulge to him? There’s an index of memories labelled JJ and you know not all need to see the light of day, let alone enter the mind of your boyfriend in scarring reenactments. 

“We just grew apart. He was going through some stuff, I think, and then he got really into that whole treasure hunting thing,” you tell him. It was true enough to not be a lie. Mark hums in thought. 

“That’s a shame.”

You quirk a brow, amused. “Why? Cause I could have cashed in on the gold too?”

Mark shrugs and you laugh. “What!? I’m just saying, some people are worth staying friends with!”

But that was the thing. You and JJ weren’t just friends. Shaking your head, you close the cardboard box of repacked snack-bags and carry it over to the table where he’s working. You held him wrap individual muffins in napkins before placing them in a large tupperware box. 

“Hey, y’know what’d be nice?” Mark says. 

“What?”

“If we took them over some leftovers. I mean, we made most of this stuff with the ingredients they gave us anyway. And there’s still some of those cinnamon buns going spare.”

You take pause and look up at him. He’s obliviously working away, head tucked down to look at the muffins. There’s an easy smile that’s permanently etched into his face, as if he came out the womb cheesing away. That wasn’t why you fell for him though. No, it was his kindness. His offhand generosity that came so naturally to him it was almost offensive. Pressing up onto your toes, you cup his jaw and press a kiss to his cheek. He chuckles quietly. 

“You’re wonderful,” you hum happily. “I think that’s a great idea.” 

“You go wrap up some cinnamon buns then. I’ll pack up some of these muffins for them.”

You do as he asks and soon enough, there’s a box of miscellaneous leftovers from your food drive. Mark drives. The sky is a delicate colour of amber and pink warning of soon nightfall. Colours like that always make you feel relaxed. It helps ease the nervousness of seeing JJ again. You weren’t sure why it was making you so antsy. It wasn’t as if you and JJ parted ways on bad terms. You suppose it’s just a bitter-sweet memory. All memories of JJ came with that sour coating now, like sherbet lemons on your tongue. You wonder if you’d feel the same way if Mark weren’t around. 

But he is, and you’re glad he is. 

Looking over to him, you reach out your hand to capture his, resting on his thigh. He glances over at you and smiles. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just happy, s’all.”

“That’s good,” he says, looking back to the road. Like something from a music video, he raises your interlocked hands to his lips and presses a kiss to the back of your hand. “Means I’m doing something right, if you’re happy.”

It’s impossible not to do a double-take as you pull up to what was formally the Maybank property. It’s as if new life has been breathed into it. More than just a lick of paint, there’s two brand new buildings alongside a pretty sturdy looking pier and dock. There’s a handmade charm to everything that makes it all the more enticing and impressive. Mark seems to think so too because he whistles as the two of you pull up the driveway. You look to your left and see the Twinkie. A relic from your past, of memories half-naked, rolling around the back with JJ, sharing a blunt in a post-orgasmic haze. Your thoughts shut off with the engine. 

Mark takes the lead, his hand in yours, and carries the box of leftovers up to the house. You both wander up the porch and Mark knocks twice on the door. Your eyes look at everything, taking it in, admiring every detail, until someone opens the door. It’s Kiara. 

“Hey. Can I help you?” she asks your monolith of a boyfriend. You poke your head from around his body. 

“Hey Kie.”

“Oh my Gosh! Girl, where have you been?” Kie beams. The two of you embrace, laughing and smiling. “Wait - did you get the stuff I sent JJ over with?”

“Yeah, we did,” you say. “Thank you so much.”

“We actually brought this as a thanks,” Mark adds, offering out the tub. She eyes him almost with suspicion. 

“Sorry, I forgot to say - Kie, this is Mark. My boyfriend,” you explain. Kie’s eyebrows shoot up with that final word but she recovers quick. 

“Nice to meet you, Mark,” she says. She takes the box and glances through the plastic. 

“Just some leftovers we thought you might like. Muffins and cinnamon buns and things like that.”

“Thanks guys, you didn’t have to. We’re happy to contribute,” Kiara tells you. “In fact, me and Sarah were talking about maybe making it a regular thing. Like every Wednesday we bring some stuff from the garden, or fish that we’ve caught?”

“Oh my God, yeah, that’d be amazing,” you nod enthusiastically. “We can definitely figure out a system.”

“Perfect. I’ll put these inside. You guys want a drink or anything? I can show you around,” Kiara offers, opening the door wider in invitation. 

You glance over her shoulder into the room and then around the porch, behind you out to the water. You’re not sure why you were expecting JJ to just appear out of thin air in front of you. 

“JJ’s out on the dock, if you want to catch up,” Kiara posits, as if hearing your thoughts. You look at her and hold her gaze, and - unable to read what her expression means - nod. 

“I think I’ll go say hi. We didn’t get a chance to properly catch up,” you reply. You glance up at Mark. “You want to come with?”

“It’s alright. I’ll stay here and get the tour,” he tells you with a wink. You smile, press a kiss to his lips, and wander off with a wave to Kie, towards the dock. 

Feet thudding on the slabs of wood, the structure creaks as you walk to the shop. An American flag waves in the breeze. You run a hand along the thick rope bannister and glance down into the growth of plants and water weeds underfoot. I can’t believe they built all of this, you can’t help but think as you walk up to the wooden-slatted tackle-and-bait shop. As you walk into the store under the wooden ‘WELCOME’ sign, reggae music blesses your ears alongside the smell of incense. It’s jam-packed with miscellaneous water accessories: fishing gear, surfing gear, refreshments, you name it. There’s nobody behind the counter. You glance around and squint, catching onto a spot red through the window. JJ lies outside atop of a vintage cooler, feet crossed one over the other, arms tucked under his head. You can’t help but smile. Walking outside, you lean against the doorframe and fold your arms over your chest. 

“Well, as far as customer service goes, this is pretty crappy.”

He snaps up to sit like he has the joints of a ken doll. You laugh as he blinks his eyes awake, laying them on you. 

“Oh shit,” he says, clearing his throat, running a hand through his hair. “When’d you get here?”

“A few minutes ago. You looked pretty comfy there,” you say, amused. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s a good nap spot,” JJ chuckles nervously, glancing down at where he just lay his head. He straightens his t-shirt and then looks back at you. His brows furrow. “Wait, what’re you doing here?”

“Came by to see the new place,” you reply, gesturing around you. “You offered.”

“Didn’t think you’d be in such a hurry.”

“No time like the present and all that.”

You’re acutely aware of how you’re avoiding mentioning Mark and how he’s currently being led around JJ’s former house and yard under Kie’s tow. 

“This is a pretty sick set-up,” you praise. 

“Yeah, it’s pretty good, huh?” JJ grins, getting to his feet. “Here, you want a beer? We’re technically closed for business anyway.”

Laughing, you shrug. “Sure. Why not.” 

Cracking open the cooler, he reaches in and retrieves two ice-cold cans. One is tossed to you and you catch it, and a feeling of deja vu rings through you. JJ, younger, just as handsome, throwing you a can of beer at a kegger. He leans against the cooler and you against a wooden pillar. Cracking cans and the fizz of beer, and you take a refreshing sip. A comfortable quiet comes and the two of you catch one anothers eyes. You smile. 

“I don’t think I said earlier, but it’s really nice to see you again,” you tell JJ. 

He smiles, small and reserved. “Thanks. It’s nice seeing you too. Even if it is with Joe America over there.”

“Joe America?” you snort. “Come on, he isn’t that bad.”

“No, no, he seems…uh, he seems nice.”

“He is nice.”

“I believe it.”

“Well…good.”

That marked the end of that conversation. You take a sip of your beer and sigh, looking out to the view of sunset over the marshland. 

“I wish you could’ve seen it,” JJ suddenly says. You look over to him with a frown, confused. “El Dorado, I mean. South America. It was beautiful. Like actually fucking stunning out there.”

“Really?” you say, smiling. 

“Hell yeah,” he grins. “Like there was colours out there that I didn’t even think existed without, like, LSD, man.”

You laugh and he does too and you’re glad whatever awkwardness that just came passed quick like a seastorm. 

“I still haven’t gone farther than Charleston, so I guess I’ll have to live vicariously,” you lightheartedly remark. 

“Yeah, well, turns out there’s a pretty big world out there,” JJ grins. 

“Glad one of us got to see it,” you hum. 

“Nah, you’ll see it too. All of it. Even Paris.”

The city’s name hangs heavy in the air. It was more than just a throwaway comment. It was a secret message, as if JJ was speaking in code. I remember it. I didn’t forget. You wash down the adrenaline with another sip of beer. 

“But no place like home, huh?” JJ says, clearing his throat. 

“Probably helps now that John B ain’t a fugitive anymore,” you muse. JJ laughs, nodding. 

“Yeah, yeah, no, for sure.”

“Well, I’m glad you found your happiness, JJ,” you say, smiling at him. “I’m glad you found yourself out.”

“Ain’t we all?”

The two of you watch one another for a moment. His resting smile lingers on the edges of his thin lips. His round, soft cheeks that add to a boyishness about him that his jawline doesn’t allow. You always liked JJ’s hair though. A mop of blonde planted atop of his head with sun-bleached highlights and deep-sea lowlights. But he’s taking you in too. You can’t take the weight of his stare after a while. Taking a deep breath, pushing away from the beam, you ditch your half-drunk beer atop of the cooler. 

“Well, I better get going.”

“You sure? I mean, we can hang out a bit longer, if you like?”

You smile politely and shake your head. “I’m not the one driving, so…”

JJ looks over your shoulder and spots Mark. “Ah. Didn’t know Dollar Store Chris Evans was here, my bad.”

“JJ! Don’t be mean!”

“I ain’t being mean! If anything, that’s a compliment,” JJ defends. You roll your eyes. “Look, I’ll see you around though. It’d suck to go back to being strangers again when we’re both in the same place for a change.”

Despite the innocence of the offer, something in your gut tells you that you shouldn’t agree. You should set a boundary there, draw a line, and leave it in the past. So, really, you have nobody to blame but yourself for saying “I’d like that” with a smile in farewell, before walking back across the dock to your boyfriend. 

Salted Chips

JJ had always been in your life. However, in the past, he was more of a background character, like an NPC in a videogame that creators constantly add in like an Easter Egg. The kind of character you’re curious about, in terms of their past and their present, their wants and their fears, but the kind you never have the privy to get close to in that way. He’d be at parties, at the surf break, at the shops or at school, but he wasn’t in your life. Until he was. 

Fate came in the form of a seating plan for history class. 

You and JJ were classmates. Table buddies. At first, the conversation was nonexistent. Sometimes JJ wouldn’t show up to class at all, either bunking off or playing truant in the bathrooms to light up a joint. But sometimes he’d come to class, usually escorted by Pope, and you’d share an uncomfortable silence as you worked through the hour. But then came an assignment that needed to be done out of class, and numbers were exchanged and words were shared outside of ‘what did he say’ and ‘what’s the homework’ and ‘what answer did you get for five?’. At your prompting to start on the project, JJ offered up the Chateau to work at, John B’s house that was a renovated fishing shack on the marsh. 

To stimulate inspiration for the poster the two of you had to create - outlining the history of the American Civil War - JJ had offered up beers and a blunt, and you were glad to take him up on the offer. If you’re going to be doing schoolwork at the weekend, you might as well get something out of it other than mind numbing boredness. It seems you saying yes to JJ’s “gifts” put you in his good books. It’s as if you could see the moment his opinion of you changed. From there, it was as if the two of you had always known the other. Conversation came easy, banter even more so. Time spent together stretched outside of the classroom and instead into lunch breaks and evenings and weekends. He’d seek you out at keggers and hang with you at the beach. Somewhere in the roots of you friendship grew an attraction from the fondness. You noticed it in his lingering glances, his drifting gaze from your eyes to your mouth to your body. Later, you heard it in his words, finding innuendos in smalltalk, catching compliments like falling stars. Eventually, both slightly intoxicated, it came to a head, about three months into this natural-forming friendship. 

“Yo!”

You turn around, beer in hand, startled by the interruption. It’s JJ. He’s wearing a cap, squishing down his beautiful locks of blonde; the muted green pairs well with his t-shirt. His combat boots sink into the ground, damp from the rainfall earlier in the day. Everything smells piney and fresh. You lift a finger to your lips to coax him to be quiet. His brows quirk up, a bemused smile gracing his gorgeous face. God really does have favourites, it seems. 

“You good?”

“Sh! You’ll scare them,” you whisper. At his cocking head, confused, you fervently gesture for him to come over. He does. His presence by your side is almost overwhelming. The buzz from the liquor makes it difficult to keep your itching hands to yourself and your inhibitions at bay. “You see them?”

“See what?”

“The birds.”

“What?”

“Look, here,” you mumble. You lean close to him so you can point clearly with your finger, just along his line of vision. A whiff of JJ’s scent dusts your nose. He’s warm like he creates heat. Through the canopy of leaves, you can make out a single branch of a tree. In the nook, against the trunk, is a nest, and inside is a bunch of baby birds, cawing out for their mother, hungry, blind. You’d left them some salted chips on the floor, crumbled and scattered, in case the mother wanted to steal some to take up and gift. She probably wouldn’t, but something about their cries made you feel the need to do something, and it wasn’t as if you could offer up your beer. 

“Woah.”

“You see ‘em?”

“Yeah,” JJ breathes. “That’s sick, how did you see them?”

“I heard them first,” you tell him, keeping your voice low so as to not frighten them. “Needed some air.”

“The smoke from the campfire botherin’ you?”

“I swear to God, it targets me,” you sincerely reply, making JJ laugh. You finally retract your finger (still sticky from the Smores made earlier) and turn, looking up at him. He looks down at you. Some strands of hair stick out from under his cap, pressing against his forehead. His brows are almost permanently slanted, eyes bright in the dusk of the evening. His shark tooth necklace sits against his chest. JJ’s lips quirk at your staring. “It’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair?”

“You’re so pretty,” you say, shaking your head, smiling. The alcohol has given you too much confidence, it seems. Loose lips. His eyes widen in momentary surprise but he catches it, covers it well. Then, comes his mask of confidence. He gives you a cocky smile. 

“You’re not too bad yourself,” he suavely replies. 

“Nah, I mean it. You’re really something, Maybank,” you smile, doubling-down. In for a penny and all that.  

His smugness fades into something more real. He doesn’t seem to know how to take compliments like that. Then, strangely, something like panic tugs his brows together. “I’m not very good at this sorta thing.”

Your frown of confusion seems to spur him on. 

“Being honest. Real. I’m…I’m pretty fucked up, y’know?”

“The best people are,” you murmur, meaning every word. 

“Nah, I mean it, though. I’m not…I don’t wanna hurt you.” JJ says it so quietly, so sincerely, that you get the sense that he’s never said it before. Maybe only thought it on dark nights, when you’re so alone with your thoughts it’s maddening. Smiling, shaking your head, you lift a hand to his cheek. Your heart hiccups at how he relaxes into your touch. 

“I don’t think you have to worry ‘bout that,” you whisper. 

You’re not sure who moves first, whether it’s him or you, but you end up a hair-width apart at the lips. His breath is hot as it fans onto your lips. Risk comes like a lightning rod and you take it, pushing onto your toes, connecting your lips with his. His hand finds yours and squeezes. That small gesture, as innocent as it is, tells you that you’re crossing this boundary together, from friends into something more. 

Pistachio Pastries 

The smell of coffee rouses you from sleep. You hum sleepily into your pillow, nuzzling in the scent of your boyfriend: peppermint and sage. A heavy palm gently pets your hair. 

“Wake up, sleepy,” Mark murmurs. 

You grumble in protest and he chuckles. The bed dips and the duvet lifts as he climbs back into the cocoon of warmth. Rolling over, you tuck yourself against him. He always slept in pyjamas. It was adorable. Nothing cheesy: just a simple shirt and flannel bottoms. His arm hooks around your waist and holds you against him. You swear to God, you could hide here forever. Mark was safety and security. Mark was the netting beneath a trapeze artist. Mark was the emergency brake in a racing car. 

“Wednesday again,” he says, stroking the skin of your back. “Kiara messaged the Instagram page today. Said one of them will drop off an order around one-ish.”

“Sweet.”

An alarm blares from Mark’s phone and he cusses, breaking apart from you to retrieve it and turn it off. You take the opportunity to sit up and grab your coffee. The steam tickles your nose as you blow on it. Routine. Mornings spent in the mini home Mark had made in his parents backyard, in their old shed. He brought you coffee in the morning and you brought him tea before bed. You’d be asleep by ten and awake by eight. Your shifts at the smoothie shop typically followed a Monday through Friday routine, with the exception of midweek, with Wednesdays reserved for The Stirring Spoon. Weekends passed in a blink. Then, you reset to continue with the same thing again. 

But that’s okay. Routine is okay. It’s reliable. Monotonous in a way that assures certainty. Besides, you liked your job, and your coffee, and your Stirring Spoon. But maybe it might be nice to stray from it all, just for a change. 

You carefully place your coffee back on the side table and look over to Mark. He’s scrolling on his phone, lips set in a line, brows tugged together in vague concentration. A thrill runs through your body at the thought, as you press several kisses to the skin of his neck. You feel him breath beneath you. Then a kiss comes to your forehead, quick like a grandparent to their least favourite grandchild. 

“Baby,” you hum, lifting a hand to rub your finger along his jawline. 

“Mhm?”

“Do you have any, like…things you wanna try.”

He takes a moment to think, looking up from his phone. A smile comes to his face and he looks down at you, and your body burns with anticipation. “Surfing. Was never that good at it but I’d like to try it again, y’know?”

It fizzles away like water atop of a dying flame. “Oh. Yeah, no, yeah…that’s…you should do that.”

He frowns. “You okay?”

“Well, I just meant more…in the bedroom. Like anything, I don’t know…” Your face burns like you’re a nun stumbling across a Playboy magazine. “Kinky?”

“Kinky?”

“Not like oh my God, kinky. Just…I don’t know…”

He quirks a brow, smiling at you in a teasing sort of way. “You got some kink you’re not telling me about?”

“Maybe,” you tell him, hoping it comes out seductive. 

“I don’t know,” Mark sighs, resting his head back against the wall. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows and you lick over your lips. He grins, like something dawned upon him, and he dips his head suddenly to press his lips to yours. “Wanna know what I’ve always wanted to try?”

“Mhm,” you say, lifting your hands to cup his face and keep him near. Yes, your body practically cries. Tell me, tell me, tell me. 

“Well,” he stalls, kissing you again. You chase his lips, shortening in breath. “I’ve always wanted–” another kiss “-to try-” another kiss “-doing it in the shower.”

It’s hard not to deflate completely with disappointment. 

Wow, yeah Mark. Kinky. 

But when you open your eyes, you come face to face with a nervous, sweet, caring Mark. A Mark who always makes sure you feel good and safe. A Mark who would never walk past an elderly man struggling to cross the road. A Mark who would donate a twenty dollar bill he found on the roadside. And you can see it in his eyes, this burning passion, this shock at his own words, because for him, that was like confessing to watching gangbang porn in a Church. So, you plaster on a smile, feigning excitement. “No, yeah. That’d be fun. We should totally do that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you grin, kissing him again. He sighs, pushing back against you. Your body sparks up again. The feel of his hands on your sides is like static energy. “We should try it now.”

“Now?”

“Mhm,” you nod eagerly, kissing at his lips desperately. “Good way to start the morning, huh?”

“Maybe,” he says. He pulls away slightly, guilty as he adds, “but it’s been a while since I cleaned the bathroom. And I promised my mom I’d help her out today, and I gotta be good to go in like ten minutes so…”

“Oh.”

He kisses you fleetingly on the lips and then tosses the bedsheets off his lap. You watch him get up. “But maybe soon? Like Friday?”

Routine with scheduled sex. 

“Okay,” you say through a false smile. You sink against your pillow and watch him put on his slippers. The moment his back turns, you drop the expression. You’re so disappointed there doesn’t feel much point in trying to get off by yourself now, either. You don’t seem to fix your frown quick enough before he turns back around. 

“Oh, hey, baby, I didn’t mean to upset you,” Mark frowns. He lowers down so his eyes are level with yours. You pout like a child as you look at him. He pushes some hair off your face. “I swear, if I weren’t about to go help my mom, I’d be all over you right now.”

“Mhm.” Maybe you are being a bit selfish. He’s helping his mother for God’s sake! Smiling, properly this time, you jokingly warn, “I’m gonna hold you to that, Mark.”

“You better,” he winks. He kisses you before leaving the room, into the bathroom. Sighing, you roll on your back and blink up at the ceiling. You practise your mantra - Mark is good. Mark is good for me. Mark is good. Mark is good for me - and you get up to start your day. 

The Stirring Spoon is a good distraction from your whining libido. It’s hard to think about fucking when you’re comparing shapes of pasta. And yet, you still find a way. Because as you stack packets of spaghetti, you try and recall the last time you and Mark had really good sex. Not sex where it’s soft and nice and satisfying. Sex when you feel like you might cry or scream, just to cope with the pleasure pulsing through your body. Sex when you’re actually scared that you might have a heart attack from how fast your heart’s beating. Was it ever like that with Mark? Was it ever like that with anybody else?

Yes. 

“Hey.”

The very boy who just popped into your mind like a vision stands before you, crate in hand, smile on face, as if you manifested him. 

“JJ.”

“You good? You were looking at that spag pretty hard,” he asks, amused. 

“No, yeah, I’m good,” you say. You drop the pasta like it’s incriminating to what you were thinking about. Don’t tell JJ about the hot sex I was thinking about with him, pasta, please. “What’re you doing here?”

“Delivery from Kildare County Kitchen,” he says, dropping the crate down onto an empty spot on the table. “Some of Cleo’s less deadly version of her gumbo; a few sandwiches that Sarah whipped up; and some fish me and John B caught the other day.”

“Damn, that’s quite the haul,” you say, glancing into the crate and surveying its contents. “Thanks, JayJ.”

As you retrieve the items and lay them out carefully and neatly on the table, JJ shoves his hands in his short pockets and looks around the yard. “So. Loverboy here?”

“He’s busy today, helping his mom.”

“Ah. You short of a helping hand today, then?”

“Why? You want to help?” you say, half-joking. But JJ shrugs. 

“I’m not doing much. Why not?”

“Don’t the others need you back at the shop?”

“There’s five of them, I think they’ll manage,” JJ replies sardonically. He claps and rubs his hands together. “Where do I start?”

“Um…” You stand upright and scan the area, checking what looks the most chaotic. As if on cue, the local bakery van pulls up. “Oh, sweet. Delivery. You can help me unload and log inventory.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The two of you walk over to the van, side by side, hands kept politely to yourselves. Small talk sits on your tongue but doesn’t make it into the world. 

“Morning Mr Parker,” you call. 

“Morning, darlin’,” he croons in his southern accent. “You too, Maybank.”

“Good to see you, sir,” JJ nods. 

“What you got for me today?” 

“Some good stuff, I’m not going to lie to y’all,” he grins over his shoulder before opening the doors to the back of the van. Mr Parker pulls out a tray of sealed baked goods. JJ steps in and takes it, and as he holds it you crack open the lid to peer in. 

“Pastries?”

“Pistachio pastries,” Mr Parker says proudly. His takes off his cap and brushes a hand through his short grey hair. “My wife got a bit carried away. People in this town don’t have that fancy of taste buds.”

“Maybe not on the Cut,” JJ mumbles, making you smile. 

“Well, be that as it may, glad I can contribute something to your little venture,” Mr Parker tells you. He squeezes your shoulder sweetly. “Y’all doing a good thing, with this here Stirring Spoon.”

“Thank you,” you say, overwhelmed by the simple praise. “Well, we appreciate any contribution, especially pistachio flavoured ones.”

With that, the three of you get to work carrying the four trays of baked goods to a spare table. Bidding Mr Parker farewell, you and JJ take pause against the table. 

“I think I’ve earnt a break.”

“You’ve been here less than an hour.”

“Time flies by when you’re having fun, and all that,” he says passingly as he cracks open one of the bakery tubs. He grabs one of the pastries and tosses it into his mouth. His eyes widen as he chews. “Holy shit. These are so good.”

“JJ, you’re not supposed to eat the–”

“--try one.” A pastry is shoved into your mouth. You glare at him but bite, and holy shit this is really good. It must read on your face cause JJ grins. “Yeah, right? So good.”

“Oh my God,” you mumble. The two of you smile at one another like you’re stealing cookies from a jar. 

“You remember that time we got high and raided Pope’s dad’s fridge?”

You laugh and nearly choke on the flaky pastry. “Oh my God, I totally forgot about that.”

“You were like a fucking racoon,” JJ sniggers. 

“You were the one that got me high in the first place.”

“I didn’t fucking drug you! You wanted to try it!”

“Yeah, I did,” you grumble, unwilling to accept responsibility for completely draining the Heyward fridge. 

“You’re cute when you’re high.”

You glance up at him. His smile is coy, like he knows he shouldn’t have said that. Because he shouldn’t. Rolling your eyes, you play it off as best you can. “Cute whilst I’m stuffing my face with questionable cheese?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, shrugging. “You’re cute all the time though, so guess it’s not very hard for you to be even cuter high.”

“JJ, stop it.” Your tone is gentle but firm. “I have a boyfriend.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” JJ says. “Captain Vanilla.”

You hate how he isn’t completely wrong. “That’s not his name.”

“It’s just too easy,” he shrugs, playful as always. “The guy is a walking textbooked ‘good guy’.”

“What’s so wrong with that?” you mumble, picking out another pastry and studying the way it’s rolled. 

“Nothing, I guess. Just find it funny.”

“Funny how?”

“That you’d go from me to him.”

You glance up from the pastry to meet his gaze. “We never officially dated, JJ.”

“Same difference,” he shrugs. “But hey - you know you. You know what you want.”

“Exactly…” 

You do know you, don’t you? It sounds like such a crazy thing to question. But the older you get, the more you think you don’t know a thing about yourself. What’s your favourite colour? What’s your favourite animal? What do you want out of your future? What do you want out of a relationship? Journeying back to the morning, your mind replays the scenes like a horror movie. The worries of when the last time you felt passion in the bedroom feeds into worries of when the last time was that you felt passion, period. Oh no: it feels like an existential crisis might be coming on, about thirty years too early.

“Hey.” You snap out of your spiral. JJ forces a smile. “Just wanna know that you’re still living, not just secure. Y’know. As a friend.” 

Funnily enough, that does little to cheer you up. 

Croissants

JJ’s skin is warm against your cheek. Your face rests on his bicep, using it as a makeshift pillow, as you lay skin-to-skin, body-to-body. One of your legs is hooked over his, and his palm rubs large, mindless patterns against the sweat-sticky skin. The room is bathed in moonlight, the curtains drawn closed, and you can hear the sounds of the marsh from outside the Maybank residency. You wonder if JJ might have fallen asleep. His chest is rising and falling rhythmically and you can’t see his face from here, to tell if his eyes are open or shut. But then he sighs and you smile against his arm. 

“Tell me about your family,” you request in the quiet of the room. 

“What about them?”

“Anything, really. Like about your mom and dad; if you have any siblings,” you murmur. 

“Not much to tell,” JJ replies in a hum. 

“Still. Tell me anyway.”

“Tell me about yours,” JJ deflects. You crack a smile. 

“Alright,” you relent. “I live with my mom and my dad. She’s a waitress and he’s a mechanic.”

“You got any brothers or sisters?” he asks, his thumb massaging your upper leg. 

“I did,” you say, your voice turning softer. “An older sister.”

“What happened?”

Your lips press together. An image flashes into your mind like a jumpscare, of a coffin dressed in white daisies and lilies. Swallowing thickly, you close your eyes and will the memory away. It’s then that you decide to confide in JJ. 

“Do you know who Andy Warhol is?”

“I recognise the name,” he replies after a moment, not questioning why the sudden change in topic. 

“He was an artist. Painted a lot of pop-arty things.”

“Is that the freakshow who painted those boring-ass soup cans?” JJ wonders. You laugh quietly. 

“I wouldn’t describe him like that but yeah, that’s the guy.”

“What about him?” JJ asks. 

“He was in love with this man, way back when. He kept a diary and this man he was in love with died, and Andy was heartbroken. But he ain’t like to say that somebody had died. Instead, he used to write that ‘they went away’, like on a trip or somethin’,” you tell him. Your voice trails off towards the end, fearing JJ might laugh at you as you go on to say, “I don’t know. I think I’d like to say that about my sister.”

JJ shifts underneath you until the two of you are lying side by side, now able to see one another’s faces through the muggy darkness of the room. His eyes glow in the non-existent light, shining and present, gazing into yours. 

“Where’d she go, then? On this trip of hers,” he coaxes. Your lips part in surprise, and for some reason, you want to cry for his small act of kindness. Then, you smile, small and sombre. 

“To Paris, in France,” you whisper. 

“She go to the Eiffel Tower?”

“Every day. She eats dinner there at night and watches it twinkle. For breakfast, she buys a croissant and sits by the Seine,” you murmur. Tears wet your eyes as you picture your lost sister, venturing the streets with the wind in her hair, kissing her plump cheeks. Your voice is thick when you continue, “it’s her dream to see all the stuff in the Louvre. She goes every week and keeps a note of where she’s been and where she wants to go.”

“Like the Catacombs?”

You laugh and sniffle. “Nah. They’re too creepy for her.”

“Damn straight,” JJ mumbles. “They scare the crap outta me.”

As a tear lets slip, trickling down your cheek, JJ reaches out his thumb and wipes it away. His hand lingers on your face and you feel yourself lean into his hold. It’s like he’s holding you up. He’s holding you together. You open your eyes into his. There’s a smile on his face, different to the others. More reserved, less obvious, so different to the JJ you’d known and heard of before. You’re terrified of losing it entirely or saying something especially stupid, and so instead you mouth two words: ‘thank you’. 

When he kisses you, it’s different too. There’s something about it, like a taste that wasn’t there before, and it lingers in your mind and mouth. It only grows as JJ deepens the kiss. Your hand traces his jawline and your fingers loop through the locks of his hair, and you tug him closer with a breath. The dance of your lips and tongues and teeth is growing more and more familiar by the day and it terrifies you how easy it has been to become accustomed to it. How easy it has been to become accustomed to JJ. Hands on your hips, JJ lifts you atop of him with a grunt, him rolling onto his back. You shrug the comforter off your back and straddle him. Your hands cradle his face, palms cupping his cheeks. You kiss him like he’s the antidote to all your ailments. Your mouth chases him in the teasing of his lips, breaking apart just to reel you back in. JJ’s teeth nip at your lower lip and pull, just so, just enough to have you whining and sighing like some lovesick fool. Maybe you are. 

“JJ,” you mewl, rocking back against him. He groans as you begin to torture his jawline and neck. Groans louder when you suckle on the tender skin by his ear, painting hickeys like a beautiful landscape. His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips deep enough to leave delicious bruises. You feel him growing hard beneath you as you grind against him like some animal in heat. 

“Fuck, you’re so…Fuck…” 

Your lips continue their descent down his body. Kisses are peppered along his windpipe, bridging over his Adam’s apple, and you can feel every breath, every stutter, every sigh. Down his chest, bare and broad, and down his stomach. His hands are now free from your hips and instead they tether into your hair, combing through the strands. You look up at him from between his legs - he’s made space for you - and can make out his lazy smile through your hooded gaze. JJ’s looking down at you too. His eyes glow. 

You ghost a kiss over his boxers and he inhales a long, deep breath, his head tilting back into the pillows, eyes undoubtedly slipping shut. Lips upturning with a smile, your fingers tuck into the band of his boxers, and you pull them down his legs tantalisingly slow. Somewhere in the shadows of the room you hear him mumbling, ‘please.’ Taking him in hand, revelling in his short gasp, you guide him to your mouth. The smell, the feel - it all consumes you as you go down on him. The brush of bristly hair scratching against your nose, flooding your senses. JJ’s hand comes to the back of your head quick, as if guiding your pleasure, wordless praising your ways. Until it’s not wordless. 

“Fuck, that’s it…Taking me so fucking good, huh? Look so pretty like this…”

You hum around his length and he stammers out a moan. Your eyes flick up to take in the sight of his exposed neck, head thrown back, mouth hanging open as he lets noises slip through, shameless and sinful. And you love it, the way you can bring him to the brink, the way you can manipulate his satisfaction like moulding something out of clay. A finger here, a stroke there. The tip hits the back of your throat uncomfortably. You pull away with a damning pop and a trail of saliva connects the two of you. Resting your head against the apex of his thigh, you jack him off with your hand, almost mesmerised by the way he pulses in your hold. Maybe it’s the sounds he makes. JJ Maybank walks like he’s a God; it’s a power trip to have him weak at your hold. 

“Please, please, fuck…Jus’want your mouth, baby, please,” he begs through gritted teeth. His hand gently yet firmly pushes at your head, trying to guide you back to him, and you feel a giggle bubble up through your throat. It feels unnatural, this version of you. Sexy, seductive, sly. 

“You want my mouth?” you tease, pressing a kiss to his throbbing dick. 

“Fuck - yes, yes, please,” he groans. You glance up at him and meet JJ’s gaze. His hair, damp with sweat, hangs over his forehead, dangling over his eyes. A sadistic smile is on your face as you pull away, easing your hand off him too. His brows furrow. It’s like something snaps inside of him - some restraint he was holding breaking like the overstretching of elastic. His hands are on your in a second, gripping and grabbing at your body like you weigh no less than feathers, and you gasp as he tosses you onto your back. He’s on top of you, ravishing your throat and collarbone so mercilessly, you’re gaping at the ceiling, eyes wide. 

“Think that’s funny, huh? Wanna see how much you like it?”

You stammer something out; you don’t even know yourself if it’s a yes or no. All you know is you want him - you need him - on you, in you. Anything. JJ doesn’t make you wait. His hands pull your panties away swiftly. A finger slips all too easily through your slit and you gasp, eyes rolling shut. His laugh is deep, crooning, cruel in your ear. 

“So fucking wet for me, hm? Such a fucking slut. Wanna see how it feels?”

“P-please.”

The stretch of your walls isn’t unpleasant as he eases a finger in. You let out a wanton moan. It pumps leisurely inside, the foreign metal of his ring overwhelming, and the brush of the tip of his thumb against your clit has you panting from the pleasure. 

“Yeah, you like that, huh?”

“Fuck…”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. Then the torture begins, of the instant movement of his finger, in and out, in and out, before easing away so suddenly it’s like he was never there. After that, the faintest of pressure on the exposed skin at his mercy. His damp finger trailing the inside of your thigh. He repeats this cycle until you’re almost in tears. Your hands clutch the bedsheets in fists, feet writhing uselessly at the head of the bed, kicking at the flimsy pillows. You know he’s gloating from the power he holds. Something tells you he doesn’t get this much control in most aspects of his life. Something tells you he gets off this just as much as you. “You wanna come? Do you?”

“Fuck! Please, please, JJ, please. I’ll do anything, please, please,” you blubber. You don’t care how embarrassing it sounds; how much it pleases him. All you care about is feeling that hot, blinding, pulsing pleasure consuming your every nerve, every bone, every fibre of your being. His breath is hot against your collarbone. JJ kisses the lobe of your ear in such a tender way you wouldn’t be able to fathom the magic he works with his hands below the belt. And as you finally break, tumbling over the edge, letting out a fucked-out sob when you do, you can make out JJ’s low voice, his Southern accent thick like molasses. 

“That’s it, baby. Make a mess on my fingers.”

Smores 

Despite telling Mark where you’re going, it still feels like sneaking around behind his back as you walk up to the Pogue’s house. But this isn’t anything nefarious. This is just you breaking routine. This is you catching up with old friends, current friends, and having fun. Sharing some drinks, smoking a joint or two, sitting around a campfire. Good, old fashioned fun just like when you were sixteen. 

Yep. That’s all. 

“Hey yo! There she is!” JJ hollers the moment you come into view. 

“Hey!” you smile, waving. In your other hand is a bag filled with a six pack of beer, a packet of graham crackers, some chocolate and a bag of marshmallows. You ditch it by the cooler to hug everyone hello. JJ’s last. His arms wrap around you like tree vines, secure and strong, and it’s familiar in a way that has you lingering. Mark. You break apart and take a seat on the opposite side of the campfire to him. 

“What’s in the bag, mystery girl?” the girl you now know as Cleo asks. 

“Some refreshments,” you say, lifting up the six pack. That earns a few whoops and hollers of approval from the already tipsy group. “And some snacks.”

“Smores?” Sarah gasps. She takes the bag of marshmallows from you. 

“Just like old times,” you say. Your eyes catch JJ’s. He’s watching you. 

“Let’s light these bad boys up,” John B announces. The gang is vocal in their approval. Sticks and twigs are gathered for skewers. Marshmallows dangle over the open flames that lick into the dusky air. A marshmallow shoves at yours and you glower at JJ. 

“Leave my marshmallow alone.”

“Hey, this is America. I got rights, y’know?”

“Says who?”

“The constitution,” he retorts, grinning. You roll your eyes, trying and failing to bite back your smile. 

“Y’all better stop it,” Cleo says in her thick Jamaican accent. “I ain’t wanting any marshmallows going to waste.”

“You heard her,” you playfully quip at the blonde haired boy. He rolls his eyes at you. He’s smiling. The amber of the fire paints his face like an oil artwork. What must it be like to grow up that beautiful? 

No, no, stop it. Stop it! God, what is wrong with you? This is just because you and Mark have been a bit distant lately. Yes, that’s all. You’re getting stuck on nostalgia. It’s a mind’s trick. It didn’t work before with JJ so who’s to say it will again. The two of you are friends - he’s been a good friend - and you don’t need to go muddying the waters. You punish yourself by staring into the flames and trying to make images of Mark’s face in the fire. 

The night spurs on with drinks that wash down the sickly sweet snacks. You listen to the tales of El Dorado and laugh at the reminiscences of youthful madness when you were all in high school. It isn’t until you’re back in the bubble of the Pogues that you realise how much you missed it. It’s like rediscovering your favourite movie from childhood. It brings a certain comfort that few things can match. They ask about The Stirring Spoon and you recount the tale of how you came about with the idea, of how you got it off the ground. Nobody asks about Mark and you’re ashamed that you don’t feel the urge to bring him up, either. 

You go for another swig of your beer to find it empty. The cooler by John B is empty too, upon investigating. You drop the lid. 

“You guys got any more beers?”

“Probably some down at the fish and tackle shop,” Kiara tells you. 

“Thanks,” you say, starting towards the dock. The further you walk, the more the vivacious chatter turns into a humming like the crying cicadas and croaking frogs and cooing owls. The water laps at the wooden pillars and you smile, letting your eyes slip shut for a moment as you walk. Nature is so wonderfully peaceful. The cooler is full of bait and chum, but there’s a small section for the beers. You retrieve one and drop the lid to find JJ standing in your peripheral. 

“Holy shit!”

“Sorry!”

“What the fuck, man?” you laugh. 

“Just wanted a refill too,” he says, shooting you a squiffy smile. His hair is dishevelled. He seems to wear caps less now, you note. You’re happy about that. In your tipsy state you can admit your attraction with less shame. You chalk it up to appreciating beauty the way one can appreciate a perfect sunset or timeless painting. To stop your staring, you open the cooler and hand him a can. “Thanks.”

“Hey, cheers,” you say, holding your drink out. He clinks his against yours. “To old friends.”

The two of you take a drink. Neither of you go to move back to the other Pogues (who are seemingly in some weird charades battle that is far from quiet). JJ gestures over your shoulder. “You seen the boat yet?”

“The H.M.S?” 

“Nah, the new one,” JJ answers. 

When he walks past you, you catch a whiff of his smell and it reminds you of home. You turn and follow him. He steps up onto the large boat. It’s painted bright green and in yellow paint, the name reads The Snapper. JJ offers you a hand and you take it, letting him help you up onto the boat. You feel your phone vibrate in the pocket of your shorts but you’re in no mood to check it. 

“Pretty sweet, huh?”

“So sweet,” you agree, looking around. JJ wanders over to the main console and flicks on an overhead light. He glows beneath it. When he takes a seat on the bench, you do the same, sitting opposite. Sighing, you lean your head back against the brutal plastic. “This is the life.”

“Yeah? You miss the marsh?”

“I miss it all,” you quietly confess. 

You can hear the rustle of clothes and the flick-flick of a lighter. The smell of cannabis drifts into the air. “Here.”

Opening your eyes, you lift your head to find a joint extended out to you. Smiling, you take it with thanks and have a hit, then a second, then a third. You haven’t smoked in what feels like forever. Mark doesn’t like the smell; says it makes him feel sick. You wonder why you stopped indulging in something you enjoyed just because of that, even on your own time. 

“Thanks,” you say, passing the joint back. You ditch your beer can to the side. One poison at a time would be best in these sticky situations, you reckon. 

“What’d you mean, ‘you miss it all’?”

“I don’t know,” you sigh. You gaze off into the distance; it’s hard to make out much definition in the dark, save for some lights of houses in the far distances and the silhouette of plants and trees. “I feel like my life is so…‘same’ now.”

“Same is good.”

“Sometimes,” you say. “But I keep thinking about what you said to me, the other day. About being secure but still living. What if…What if I’m not living?”

“Well–”

“--I mean, look at you guys! You went to El Dorado! You found El Dorado, and the Royal Merchant, and the Royal Merchant’s treasure, and the Cross of Santo Domingo. What did I find? A mouldy tomato in a box of potatoes.”

JJ cracks up and you roll your eyes. “It’s not funny,” you mutter, smiling nonetheless. You take the joint back and have another drag. Relief fills your system. The muscles in your face loosen along with your mouth. “It’s pathetic. I’m nearly twenty-one and I’ve been as far as Charleston and have about a handful of exciting memories to my name.”

“Woah, come on now,” JJ chuckles, taking the blunt back. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit hard on yourself? You heard what Mr Parker said: that Stirring Spoon thing is awesome, and that was all you. You’re feeding the community, bringing people together. That’s way cooler than some shiny fucking  stones.”

“Meh,” you shrug. “Guess I’m just jealous of you.”

“Ha! Yeah, don’t be,” JJ sarcastically berates. A shadow comes to his face. Foot in the mouth syndrome curses you.

“Shit. Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You’re good. I sometimes forget how bad it was too, with how things are now,” JJ admits. He smiles at you and takes another hit. “But I guess I didn’t fully let you in then, huh?”

“You think?” you jest. He laughs, thankfully, and you inhale the sweet scent of the herb. “Guess I just get stuck on the good memories from before. Like all the days skipping school to surf. And how the summers felt like they could go on forever. Or that time we broke into City Hall, or pranked Topper’s house.”

“Damn, I guess we did get up to a lot of shit, huh?”

“Damn straight,” you grin. Following the dance, you take the joint back. 

“Well, I can think of some other memories, too,” JJ says. His grin is telling, tongue poking through his teeth. You bite back your smile. 

“Don’t,” you warn. 

“What?” he chuckles. 

“Don’t! That’s dangerous territory,” you tell him. You point your joint at him. “That’s no man’s land.”

“Oh man!” JJ groans, tossing his head back. “Why’d you have to call it that!? You know that’s like calling a moth to a fire or whatever!”

“What?” you giggle, eyeing him. 

“Telling a guy not to do something is the exact thing to do to get a guy to want to do something,” JJ argues nonsensically. You laugh, shaking your head at him. He holds your gaze and you feel your smile settle into your skin like footprints into damp sand. “They were pretty good memories, huh?”

“Yeah,” you quietly say. “They were pretty good.”

“Remember that time we did it on the beach.”

“Stop it,” you say, but there’s little conviction in your words. You can’t take his eyes anymore, the blue dragging you under like currents in a riptide. You look down at the joint and fixate on the way the embers burn at the paper. 

“Or that time–”

“JJ, I mean it,” you say, your tone losing its humour now. You shoot him a look that you hope will put a pin in it. “We should talk about something else.”

“Alright, alright,” JJ surrenders, holding his hands up and all. He relaxes back against the plastic seat of the boat and you do the same. Your legs outstretch so you can rest your feet on the spot beside him. The two of you catch each other’s gaze and look away, chuckling bashfully like preteens. You take another hit of the joint and watch the smoke fizzle away into the night. “How’d you meet Mark, then?”

You glance at JJ. “A few months back. He’d just moved to Kildare and came by to The Stirring Spoon to help out, and we sort of hit it off.”

“He seems like a nice guy.”

“He is,” you smile. But it fades. The weed tickles at your emotions, pulling the wires as if to wreak havoc. JJ seems to take advantage. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you lie. You take another hit and shake your head, plastering on a smile. “It’s nothing.”

Sighing, JJ folds his arms comfortably over his chest. “Y’know, just cause I know what you look like naked don’t mean we can’t be friends now.”

Barking out a laugh, you shake your head. “There was definitely a better way you could have put that.”

“Probably,” he shrugs, grinning, “but it’s true, ain’t it? We can be friends.”

“Of course we can. We are,” you emphasise. 

“So…That means that if you wanna vent about Mr Loverboy to me, you can,” JJ offers. 

Laughing, you rock your head back and gaze up at the sky. The stars are out. They shimmer white and crystal in the abyss of the night. “That’d be too weird, I think, but I’ll keep it in mind, thanks.”

“I just got one question. Just one.”

“Go on,” you reluctantly reply. 

“Does he say ‘thank you’ after the two of you fuck?”

You burst into fits of laughter. It’s so sudden that it has you doubling over. Tears slip from your eyes and you wipe them away, looking at a grinning JJ. God, you missed him and his twisted sense of humour. 

“He just looks like the kinda guy who would!”

“Oh my God, no!” you laugh, shaking your head. Catching your breath, you manage out, “no, he doesn’t say ‘thank you’.”

“Is he the sub then? Cause there is no way that guy is laying his hands on you without written permission.”

“JJ stop! I’m gonna pee myself!” you cackle, kicking your feet. JJ starts laughing too. You open your eyes and make out his face in the lowlight of the pier’s lamp. Wheezing, you catch your breath and calm yourself. “This is exactly what I was talking about.”

“I can give the guy pointers if he needs them,” JJ jokes. Your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets just at the idea though and you point at him in another warning. 

“Don’t you dare!” you say, trying not to crack up again. “‘Sides, he doesn’t need pointers.”

“Everybody needs pointers,” JJ says with a roll of his eyes. “John B gave me one of the best pointers.”

“I find that impossible to believe,” you snort. 

“He did! It was a tip for kissing. Works like a fucking charm too, I’m telling ya.”

“Mhm, I’ll bet,” you sarcastically return. You glance at the joint to check if it needs tapping off, take another drag, and then look up to find JJ watching you. He hasn’t changed enough for you to forget what that expression means. 

“You want me to show you?”

“Show me? How?” you say with furrowed brows. Something in the air shifts with your question. An unspoken thing, an unseeable thing, but something nonetheless. A nervous tickle comes to your throat. 

JJ doesn’t reply but he slowly leans over the seat towards you. Your breath catches in your lungs the moment he enters your bubble, breaking some unspoken barrier, and your smile fades away like day into night. You feel as though you’re stuck in place, plastered to the seat, and you’re ashamed to admit that you don’t hate that you are. You’re ashamed that you’re not pushing him away, telling him to buzz off, laughing at his idiocy. You’re ashamed that you’re curious as to what he’s going to do next. 

JJ’s close enough now that you can smell him. His cologne mixed with something sweet but tangy, like seasalt and citrus. Something masculine underneath, that has a primal instinct inside of you wanting to claw its way out. Your fingers grip the edge of the seat instead. Your eyes stare into his. You study the laps of green and grey in the sea of blue, mesmerised in the way the night sky reflects in the iris. His gaze darts down to your lips and you have no idea how this happened and how you got here, and everything is blurry but so, so clear from the cannabis as he leans forward, and you can’t move but you should move and you want to move but you don’t, you never want to move again, as his lips brush against yours just so, just enough for you to know that they have, that he has, that he’s real, but that he hasn’t, and that you can take it all back, and that it doesn’t count and it shouldn’t and you shouldn’t but–

Your hand clutches his jaw and you pull him in. His lips crash against yours in a breath. You kiss him like you won’t ever kiss him again. He sighs against you in the hurried mesh of mouths, groaning as your tongue brushes against his, tasting him for the first time in years. It’s like finding a childhood toy and it smells like nostalgia. It’s like eating a baked good and it tastes like a specific holiday. It’s like smoking your first joint and it feels like floating. 

Until you’re not. 

Your body falls back down to earth with a thud. You shove JJ away as if he’s flammable and you’re the deadly spark. Your mouth hangs open in shock, your eyes filling with horror, and the worst feeling you’ve maybe ever felt overcomes you so suddenly, you worry you might be sick. 

Guilt. 

“Oh my God,” you whisper. You lift a hand to your lips and your fingers brush against the damp of his spit that lingers, and it confirms that it was all real. “Oh my God.”

JJ’s lips move to try and formulate words but nothing happens. He looks just as stunned as you do. His eyes are wide, lips swollen, cheeks pink. Those three words bang about your brain as you take in the sight of him. It’s not at all unfamiliar. 

Hot ash from your joint drops onto your thigh and you cuss, brushing it off. You toss the joint into the sea behind you as if it’s the culprit, the plotter, behind all of this. Then you’re on your feet and rambling out excuses. 

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I did that. I think it was - it was definitely the weed. I really should go, it’s so late. I’m so sorry. Oh my God, I have no idea-”

It’s as you’re about to step off the boat and onto the wooden pier that JJ’s hand locks around your wrist. It freezes you in place once more and you want to climb out of your body and scream at yourself. Instead, you look down at him. 

“You can stay, y’know,” JJ whispers. There’s a pleading in his eyes, a tenderness that you haven’t known before in him, and you finally know how Eve must have felt with that damn serpent in Eden. Temptation at its finest, dressed up in blonde, unruly hair and dreamy eyes and sculpted muscles and a graphic tee. 

Mark. 

You shake your head and snatch your hand free. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here.”

And no matter how vehemently you tell yourself that you mean it as you hurry away from the pier and from the house, you know you don’t. 

Cheap White Wine 

The tart tanginess of the wine is sharp on your tongue as you take another swig. It’s late, or perhaps early, and the Chateau is illuminated by amber and orange from lamps. It’s raining outside as hurricane season rattles on, but you and the Pogues could care less. When you have wine, you really have everything you need. 

“Come on, come on!” Kiara laughs, egging on you to loop your arm in hers. The two of you line dance together to an old noughties CD in the player. You swing one another around in a tipsy haze to the upbeat tempo. Pope and John B heckle and holler from the pull-out sofa, toasting their beer cans up in approval. You’re happy here, like this, in your bubble. As the song comes to a close on a major chord, you and Kiara giggle and take joking bows to your audience. You frown when you look around the room, not finding JJ anywhere. 

“He’s on the porch,” Pope says, seemingly catching on. 

“Thanks,” you smile, a little embarrassed that you’re that easy to read. Taking the wine, you venture out the door, closing it behind you as another song starts up. Kie’s cheer and begging for John B to dance is muted through the shutters and windows. 

JJ sits on the sofa, a joint lit up, legs outstretched on the coffee table. He glances up at the sound of someone coming out and smiles at the sight of you. 

“Hey. Can I join?” you wonder. 

“Course,” he hums, shuffling a cushion in invitation beside him. You sit and lean against him, hitching your feet up onto the table beside his. He knocks one of his shoes against yours teasingly and you smile. Through the netting of the porch, you can make out the lashing of rain in the yard. It’s pitter-pattering is soothing like a nursery rhyme. You sigh and let your eyes slip shut. “Having fun?”

“Always,” you mumble, making him laugh. “You got any dreams?”

“Like sexy ones?”

“No,” you giggle, elbowing him, making him let out a few laughs too. “Like actual dreams. Ambitions. A wish.”

JJ takes a pause for thought. You have a swig of your wine as you wait, revelling in the sound of his heartbeat through his shirt, steady and constant. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Your heart sinks with disappointment. This wasn’t the first time this has happened. It felt as though every time JJ came close to pulling back the curtain and letting you see a glimpse, he caught eye of something that scared him and he slipped it shut again. He told you what he wanted to tell you and kept the rest close to heart. You weren’t going to pry his cards from his body to see them, but it would be nice if he showed you them once in a while. It felt like the more time you spent with him, the less you knew. You could guess things from small clues as if playing a boardgame. He hardly went home, never mentioned his mother, and his father came into conversation with a shadow. He spoke lowly of himself, presumed the worst before others could, and it saddened you how clearly he believed everything he said. JJ couldn’t see himself the way you did. 

“I do,” you whisper, hoping it might entice him to share. 

“Oh yeah? What’s your dream?”

“I want to start a kitchen.”

“Huh?”

“Like a community kitchen thing. Not a bakery or a restaurant, just a place for all kinds of food, for all kinds of people, y’know? A good thing, like that. My sister used to help out at a soup kitchen and…I don’t know. I always liked that.”

JJ squeezes your thigh in acknowledgment. “Sounds fuckin’ amazing.”

“Thanks.”

In the Chateau, John B and Kiara laugh and Pope speaks loudly over them, something teasing, and you smile. The smell of weed fills the air before you and blends in with the notes of your wine and the telling scent of JJ. You wonder if the smell of you affects him in the same way; if the flavours of your perfume haunt him when he can’t sleep the way his cologne does for you. Suddenly, somewhere in the serenity of the moment comes a calamitous realisation, like a rumble thunder breaking the rain. 

You were falling in love with JJ Maybank. 

Biscuits  

Food poisoning. That’s what you’d told Mark. The heavy sickness that had sat in the bottom of your stomach like a boulder since last night lingered still. You hoped it was a hangover, but that passed with an advil. You knew what this was. 

You only escaped the guilt in your sleep. The moment you returned home, you climbed under the sheets of your bed like a child hiding from the bogeyman. Sleep was the only reprieve, though it didn’t come easy, and the second you came to in the morning, the first thought in your head was the look on JJ’s face just before his lips touched yours. 

Fuck. 

Your phone pings with another message that is no doubt from Mark and you can’t bring yourself to look at it. It doesn’t help that there’s a framed picture of the two of you staring at you from the bedside. It was his gift to you for your one month anniversary, because of course Mark cares about one month anniversaries. You hadn’t gotten him anything; you had to make up some lie that it was late in the mail, and then run to the shops that night. Just further proof that you don’t deserve him. 

Hello, hell? I’d like to reserve my spot in advance. Queen sized bed please, for me and my whorish ways. Much love. 

When the phone begins to ring you groan aloud and send it straight to voicemail. You bury your head beneath the pillow and close your eyes, but the memories haunt you like flashbacks. JJ’s eyes. JJ’s lips. The way he tasted, the way he bit your lower lip just so, in that way that only he knows, in the way that he always knew drives you crazy–

“Stop it!”

Hello, hell? Quick update: I think I might be going insane, too. Just thought I should preface you. 

Somewhere in your self-loathing, you manage to drift off into another restless sleep. It’s broken by a tapping on your door. Groaning, you force yourself out of the safety of your bed and wander to your door, expecting to find your mom. Instead, your head tips back to see the face of your boyfriend. 

“Hey,” he says. His voice is thick with concern, brows knitted with worry. “How you feeling?”

“Like shit.” Thankfully, you didn’t have to lie with that one. “What’re you doing here?”

“I needed to check on you,” he replies. He steps into your room and you make space, sitting on your bed. He closes the door behind him. “I tried calling but you didn’t answer.”

“Yeah, sorry, uh…I was just feeling really frail, y’know?”

“Oh, baby,” Mark sighs. He sits beside you on the bed and places his large palm on your forehead. His brown curly hair sits in perfect ringlets atop of his head. One dangles over his forehead, out of formation, and it reminds you of JJ. Just how you went from me to him, JJ had said. Were they that different, after all? “You got a temperature?”

“I don’t think so,” you say. You gently push his hand off your face. “I think I just need to sleep.”

“Well, I’m here to take care of you.”

“Really?” You hope the dread in your voice isn’t obvious. 

“Course. You’d do the same for me,” he smiles. He lifts a bag you didn’t even notice he was carrying and shows you each item. “Mama’s homemade biscuits. She’s real worried about you, y’know?”

“I’m fine,” you insist, “just a bit sick. I think the worst of it has passed.”

“That’s good, then. I’ll make you a hot drink, yeah? We can watch a movie or something. You get cosy,” Mark tells you. You nod and try your best to smile. Mark leans forward and presses a fleeting kiss on your lips, and the sickness comes back tenfold. You want to cry the second he’s out of your room. 

Mark is good. Mark is good for you. But what if you’re not good for Mark? 

Chocolate Chip Cookies

“I don’t understand.”

You sigh, rubbing tiredly at your forehead. Bile lingers in the back of your throat but you swallow it down, alongside the feeling of self-reproach. This was it: the conversation you’d been dreading. The conversation that needed to happen. You’d rehearsed your words in the mirror like practising lines for a play. Journals and diaries filled with debate, as to whether you stay or bolt. But now was as good a time as any, and you knew in your mind what the right thing to do was. You can’t risk getting in the car accident if you step out of the vehicle. 

“Did I do something?” JJ then asks, his voice weak, naked. You meet his gaze and shake your head firmly. 

“No,” you breathe, “no, you ain’t do nothing, JJ.”

“Then I don’t get it,” he repeats, stronger this time. Frustrated. You knew none of this would be easy. 

“Look,” you cut yourself off with a sigh. You shuffle your crossed legs, sitting on JJ’s bed in the Chateau in a way that you never have before, as if you’ve never stepped foot inside his life. “My parents are heading to Charleston for a couple months anyway, to stay with my grandmother and help look after her, and…well, maybe it’s for the better, that we have this distance sooner rather than later.”

“Distance?”

“You’ve been removed, JJ,” you mumble, hoping not to sound accusatory. “And that’s okay, I know you’re busy. I mean, you told me from the start that you don’t do the whole relationship-thing. But I don’t think I can stay, not right now.”

“Okay, is this some kinda joke?” JJ snaps. He gets to his feet and paces a few steps in the small throughway of his bedroom. Taking off his hat, JJ rakes his fingers through his hair. He looks at you, eyes fiery, expression hard as if to shield from the hurt that you don’t mean to cause. “What the fuck are you even talking about? I thought we were fine.”

“We are fine,” you insist. Sighing, you try and find the best way to explain yourself without giving it all away. “Look, I ain’t meaning that you’re a bad guy or that you’re damaged or anything like that. I don’t think that, not at all. But…How can I explain this?”

JJ takes a moment or two to calm himself as you hang your head and clench your eyes, searching for the perfect turn of phrase to make your thought process make sense. You find it. Lift your head, soften your gaze at the hurt on his face, and try your best to smile through the sorrow. This wasn’t easy for you either. 

“You know when you see a tornado?”

He stares at you for a short while before nodding, urging you to continue. 

“Things that like…They’re always so pretty for afar. So mesmerising, how nature can create something like that. Stunning, really. Epic. But then, you get too close, and you get sucked in. And it’s just chaos and there’s no way out of it without being broken.”

JJ nods again, pursing his lips. 

“I think that’s what might happen here,” you whisper. “If I stick around.”

“I don’t get it. You’re saying I’m gonna break you?”

“No, I’m saying…I’m saying you’re not in a spot right now to give me what I need. That ain’t your fault, JJ, but I can’t let myself stay knowing that I’m gonna have my heartbroken. I wish I could - I wish I could just wing-it like that - but I can’t.”

There’s a pregnant pause that JJ drags out, staring at you as if trying to see into your head, searching for some lie. Sighing, he must come up empty, as he takes the spot beside you on the bed again. You test the waters, leaning against his chest, feeling the warmth radiate through his t-shirt. One of his hands lifts and strokes your hair, smoothing it down. 

“I really do care ‘bout you, y’know? Like, that ain’t fake,” JJ admits in a hushed tone. 

“I know, JJ,” you reply, just as soundless. “I just think you gotta figure yourself out before you can…”

“...love you?” JJ hesitantly whispers, after you lose nerve. Your eyes squeeze shut. 

“Mhm.”

“You can’t love me ‘til then, either?”

Laughing sadly, you shake your head against him. He really couldn’t tell how much you’d fallen for him already, could he? “I don’t think you gotta worry ‘bout that ever, JJ.”

A soft kiss is planted on your forehead. “So…Just gotta do some soul searchin’, huh?”

“Somethin’ like that,” you hum. “But hey, I tell you what.”

You break apart from the comfort of his hold, tilting your head so you can look up, into his eyes. The pain in JJ’s gaze tears you like wrapping paper, and it’s worse to know it’s your fault, but you know that it’s the only way to save you both from further pain. It isn’t the right time, and that’s a shame, and it isn’t fair, since you’ve memorised the outline of him and drawn him into all your plans and daydreams. But you can hear it when you talk and feel it when you sleep together, this detachment, this removal of himself, that can’t come until he’s healed in a way that he’s far away from now. There’s something pulling him away from you, an adventure of sorts, and you don’t want to keep him from it. You want JJ to love you but you want him to choose you, too. And until then, you don’t have it in yourself to sit around on the sidelines, waiting for your heart to be broken. It’s like sitting a toddler in front of a plate of chocolate chip cookies but demanding them not to touch; the temptation might just kill you. 

“What?” JJ gently prompts, bringing you back from your thoughts. 

Your smile is sick with inner lamentation. “If you do figure yourself out, after some soul searchin’ and all that, then chances are I’ll still be here. So, I guess, if you ever feel like fallin’ then lemme know. You can catch me on the way down.”

JJ’s smile is beautiful, even when his eyes are wet with unshed tears. You lean up and press a fleeting kiss to his lips, but you don’t let yourself linger. If you do, you’re afraid you’ll never leave. You murmur some sort of goodbye, making an excuse that you should get going, and JJ doesn’t argue. He watches you as you stand, waves farewell with two-fingers as you leave, and you walk home with your heart halfway broken but more whole than it might’ve been if you stayed and tried to make this impossible thing work. JJ wasn’t ready to fall in love, not yet, but you already had. 

Ham and Cheese Sandwiches  

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I promise,” you reply to Mark, smiling reassuringly. You wonder if it looks like a grimace. It feels like one. Even touching him makes you want to cry, as you brush your hand atop of his on the table. Your feigned food poisoning was two days ago now but Mark was still worried for your health, likely because you were still acting so withdrawn and drained. It’s hard to sleep when you’re consumed by guilt and confusion. “Why don’t you see if Nancy needs a hand in the kitchen, yeah? I can work on the inventory out here.”

“You sure? I don’t mind helping.”

“I’m sure,” you nod. “I can come get you if I need anything.”

“You better,” he grins. He dips his head and kisses you and it takes everything inside of you not to pull away like a flinch. It’s not him. It’s you. You feel like you’re poison. Like JJ’s kiss has infected you and you can’t get Mark sick too. His brown curls bounce as he walks back to the building. You busy your mind with counting tins of soup. The Stirring Spoon had never had so many posters, so many new recipes, with how much you’d been trying to keep yourself busy. You picked up extra shifts at the Smoothie Shop to avoid Mark during the daytime, and you submerged yourself in your voluntary-planning work and ‘early nights’ to avoid him during the night. It wasn’t fair to him but you didn't know what else to do. 

Well, that’s a lie. You know exactly what you should do, but denial is so much easier. 

Ducking down, you grab another box of leftover soup from a local supermarket. They’d recently changed providers and all the old stuff had to go. You were thinking of making toasted sandwiches with soup. Grunting, you lift the box onto the table. The sun beats down on you as if the universe is punishing you. Good, it’s the least I deserve. 

You can spot him anywhere, even blind. He’s in the far corner carrying a smaller box than usual, compared to his crate. A sudden wave of panic comes over you and you speed walk over to him. He frowns as you approach. 

“You good? Hey!” 

You grab his arm and drag him out of sight from the field, behind an overgrown bush. “W hat are you doing here?” you hiss. 

“Bringing sandwiches?” he replies, as if it should be obvious. “Are you okay?”

“JJ, you can’t be here,” you snap. “Mark is literally in the other building!”

“So?” 

“So? Do you…Do you not remember what happened the other night?” you ask, calming down slightly. 

JJ sighs and puts the box down on the floor. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he shrugs. “Look, clearly you spun out. I ain’t gonna mention it if you don’t want me to.”

“Wait…Really?”

“Jesus Christ, I ain’t a homewrecker,” JJ chuckles, trying to lighten the mood. You want to crack a smile but you think your face might be permanently stitched in perpetual concern forever. His laughter dies. “Listen, I think you got some stuff to figure out, a’right?”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t get offended! I’m jus’ saying…” JJ cuts himself of with a sigh and brushes a hand through his hair. He pinches the bridge of his nose. You missed all his little ticks and quirks. “Look, don’t kill me for sayin’ this, I’m just tryin’ to be honest. I don’t think Mark’s the right guy for you.”

“I-”

“I’m sorry, a’right? I don’t think you want to admit it either but…I think you gotta be honest. You don’t love him, okay? And that’s a’right, I’m not saying he’s a bad guy. I just think you need to make a choice.”

“What does that mean? A choice?” you quietly ask, terrified for his answer. 

His smile is sad as JJ shrugs. “I was an idiot to lose you once, I ain’t gonna lose you again - not if I can help it. If Mark’s who you want - if Mark makes you feel like you’re living - then I’ll never bring it up again. Hell, I’ll stay away from you forever, if you want. Least, I’ll try to. I don’t know if I can be held accountable for when I’m drunk but- look, now I’m getting side tracked. The point is:”, JJ speaks with his hands,  “if Mark isn’t the one for you…I’m here to catch you, y’know?”

You blink at JJ and blink away the tears. You’re not sure if you can form words right now, not even sure what words they would be, so you try your best to nod. JJ tries another smile. 

“There’s some sandwiches from Kie and Sarah for today. I hope it all goes okay. Just…lemme know. Or don’t, y’know? Either way,” he trails off with a shrug. You feel cemented into the dirt as JJ backs away. Then he’s gone. Your eyes slip shut. Some weird hybrid of JJ and Mark’s faces fill your thoughts. 

‘If you ever feel like fallin’ then let me know. You can catch me on the way down.’ 

‘I’m here to catch you.’ 

You need to figure this out and fast. It wasn’t fair to anybody, not even yourself. Dragging things out doesn’t make it any easier, it only delays the inevitable, like tediously inching a bandaid off the skin. Sometimes you just have to rip. You just have to prepare for the aftermath.

How ironic, how when you were sixteen it was you waiting for JJ to figure himself out, and now it’s your turn. It’s a shame you were never all that much of a fan of irony. 

Cinnamon Buns 

Baking is therapeutic. The precision of weighing out the ingredients; the cathartic relief from beating together butter and sugar until fluffy like clouds; the tapping and cracking of eggs; the rhythmic folding of flour; the soon-to-arrive reward for your labour. You like baking when life gets stressful. Few things are so systematic, so simple, so quick to resolve, as baking. Life is more complicated than that. 

Mark and JJ. Two sides of different coins. Neither good, nor bad. Human, just like you. 

As you prepare the batter for cinnamon buns, you try to make sense of everything. Figure yourself out, as JJ had put it. 

Mark was designed to be easy to fall in love with. It was as if the universe had a recipe for him, everything the girls crave, the people fawn over in romance novels, the parents pray for in their child’s partner. Responsible; caring; thoughtful; kind; secure; safe. Mark was good. There was no other way to put it. Hell, you met him at a voluntary community kitchen. He gave you stability like a white picket fence. Perfect and practised, like he’d been waiting for that his whole life. But you found yourself restless in the fairytale. Found yourself itching for change, for chaos, for clutter. He was sentimental in a way you weren’t. That wasn’t to say you were heartless - the two of you just loved differently. 

JJ Maybank? He wasn’t designed for it in the same way, but it was impossible to not fall in love with him. You knew it from the moment your paths crossed, back when you were sixteen and the two of you tumbled through two months together. That’s why you left in the first place. To save yourself from the inevitable heartbreak that it would bring, because sixteen-year-old JJ was in no place to commit to anybody. You assumed that with time your feelings would fade away and when you met Mark, you believed they had. You liked Mark - that wasn’t false - and you had feelings for Mark. But the love you had for JJ didn’t vanish. Like energy, it could only be transferred. It went into the back of your mind as if in hibernation but the moment JJ waltzed back into your world, it was awake. It was impossible to ignore. 

Mark was the netting beneath a trapeze artist, but JJ was the acrobat. Mark was the emergency brake in a racing car, but JJ was the driver. But JJ was safety too. He made you feel safe, but he also made you feel alive. 

And you wanted to feel alive. 

Mark was routine. He was predictable. You could see the next five, ten, twenty years of your life laid out nice and neat with Mark. But did you want that? Did you want to give up the adventure? The chaos? The things you missed so desperately. 

As you drizzle the topping on top of the cinnamon buns, you summarise your scrambled thoughts into one neat realisation: you wouldn’t have kissed JJ if you truly wanted Mark. 

Your heart feels like it’s in your throat as you walk to Mark’s house. The buns sit neat in the tupperware and you’re careful not to shake them. His door looks like a tombstone as you knock on it. There’s a noise from inside and the door opens. Mark smiles down at you. He’s dressed in a baby-blue waffle sweater and it’s so undeniably, so wonderfully him. 

“Hey!” he grins. 

“Can I come in?” you ask. It sounds ridiculous asking that when you used to sleep in this house almost daily. 

“Course,” Mark replies. He opens the door further and you slip inside. It shuts behind you. You place the tupperware on the countertop, taking too much time in letting go. “You alright?”

“Mhm. I just…I think we should talk about some stuff,” you say, feeling your voice losing power. 

“Alright. Come, sit,” he urges. You do as he asks and take the spot on the bed beside him, leaving a gap. “What’s up?”

You fumble your fingers together and stare intensely at your hands, racking your mind for the words, for where to start. You’d practised this so many times in the mirror. Childish. 

“I did something and I need to tell you, because you’ve always been so good to me, and so honest with me, and it isn’t fair to hoodwink you.”

“Okay,” Mark faintly replies. 

You take a steady breath in. Mark is good. He deserves the truth. “I went to see JJ last week, and one thing led to another, and we kissed.”

For a moment, there’s nothing. Just the sounds of the air conditioning unit humming as white noise. Then, 

“Oh.”

You clench your eyes shut before looking up at him. He’s detached in his expression. Your eyes fill with tears. “I’m so sorry, Mark,” you whisper, scared your voice will break if you talk any louder. He meets your gaze. “You don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve to be treated that way. You’re such a good, genuine person. I just…I don’t know why, but I just…I can’t love you.”

Mark swallows thickly. The tears are warm and sticky on your cheeks. It’s so selfish to cry when you’re the one who threw the punches. You hang your head with shame and watch the teardrops land on your restless hands.

“I swear I didn’t plan it. I didn’t even know I still had feelings for JJ until…Well, until then.”

“I did.”

Your head snaps up. He’s staring at you, but he doesn’t look angry. No. There’s a shadow of a smile on his lips. A sad smile, no doubt, but a smile nonetheless. 

“You did?”

“The minute you saw him, that Wednesday at the start of the month. I saw it on your face, clear as day. You never used to look at me like that.”

“Mark–”

“--That’s okay,” he nods. He’s crying too, now, and you’re not sure what to think, what to do. But Mark does. Of course, he does. His hands reach out to hold yours, warm in his clutch, and you blubber like a petulant child. “You’re not a bad person, Y/N. I could tell something was bothering you this past week.”

“I just didn’t know how to tell you, and I didn’t even know what it meant. But I have to be honest for the both of us, and I don’t…I don’t think I’m the girl you’re looking for, Mark,” you say through your tears. 

Mark smiles solemnly and nods once. The squeeze of your hands tells you everything. I know. I agree. It’s okay. 

“Do you hate me?” you ask in a moment of pure patheticness. Mark laughs and shakes his head. 

“You’re too pretty to hate.”

“Ugh! You can’t say things like that!” you whine, throwing your head back. He laughs again, soggy with his sorrow, and he shrugs. 

“Just got to keep my good-guy rep up.”

Laughing, you shake your head at him and smile. The two of you share a breath and he nods. A conclusion. His smile dwindles. 

“I’m gonna need time, though…Before we can be friends, maybe. Just to…You know…”

“Of course,” you whisper. “I understand. Whatever you want, whatever you need. It’s all on your terms, I promise.”

Mark nods. Thanks you. It is so fucking bizarre to have the man you cheated on thank you but here we are. Life is full of strangeness. 

“Can I give you a hug?” you wonder. Chuckling, he nods, and you waste no time in throwing your arms around his shoulders. Mark holds you in the embrace and the two of you savour the feeling of one another for one last time. Against his shoulder, you murmur, “I’m going to miss you, Mark.”

“I’m going to miss you too,” he tells you into your collarbone. “JJ’s a lucky guy. But make sure to tell him I know where he lives if he hurts you.”

You tearfully giggle against him. “I’ll pass on the message.”

Bacon Sandwiches

It’s warm today; bright and brilliant. The critters are happy, chirping in the trees, croaking in the overgrowth by the water of the marsh that lines the Pogue’s house. Your footsteps feel heavy as you walk up the driveway, anticipating weighing you down. You lift a hand to shield your eyes from the sunlight and make out JJ. He’s at the entrance to the shop, stood a few rungs up a free-standing ladder. He’s trying to staple something to the walls - a banner of some kind - and you make your way over. 

“Need a hand?”

He jumps and you cringe. Oops. JJ looks down at you and his lips quirk at the corners. The muscle tee he wears is grey and hangs loose on his well-kept frame. He’s armed with a staple gun. “Yo. What’re you doing here?”

“Want a hand?” you repeat, nodding up at the banner, not quite ready to confess. JJ shrugs and nods. 

“Sure. Thanks.” 

You glance around and find something that looks sturdy enough to stand on. Dragging it over, you boost yourself up and hold out your hand to take the other side of the banner. Holding it up against the wall, JJ leans forward and steadies himself with an elbow on the wooden panelling. 

“We’re selling bacon sandwiches on weekends now, so thought we oughta advertise it, y’know? So, anyway, what’re you–” a grunt and a click of the staple gun, “-doing here?”

You step down from your boost and JJ takes your place. You don’t speak, stalling time, as JJ secures the banner. Sighing, taking it in, nodding with contentment, JJ jumps down and ditches the gun. The he stands with his hands on his hips and looks at you, shrugging again. 

“I, uh…I needed to talk you,” you say, clearing your throat. 

“A’right. What about?”

“Just like…” You rock your head back, take a breath, and steel yourself. Somewhere in that split second, you find a new mantra. JJ is good. JJ is good for me. I’m good for JJ. We’re good for each other. Smiling, you look at him again. “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?” he mumbles. 

There’s a playfulness, a teasing, as you shrug. “That you’ll catch me.”

You can see the words as they process through his head. See the moment he tracks the meaning, parses it altogether. A smile, beautiful and brimming, greets you, and then JJ crosses the gap between you in two large strides. He wraps his arms around you and lifts you up in an embrace. He swings you around for good measure and you laugh, looping your arms around his shoulders, holding him close, smiling against him. This is good. 

“You mean it?”

“I mean it,” you whisper in reply. He carefully reunites you with the ground. You smile up at JJ, gazing into his blue eyes, bathing in their depths. Your hand strokes along his jaw, slides down his front until it rests just above his heart. “It was always you, JJ.”

“You think…You think you can love me now?” he nervously asks. 

You shake your head with a silent laugh. It feels like breathing, like you’re finally free, as you admit, “I’ve always loved you.”

It comes and goes like a comet; the flash of shock in his eyes; the glow of his smile; the burning passion of his lips on yours. And as you kiss JJ, without guilt, without fear, you finally feel at home. When you break apart, short of air, JJ rests his forehead against yours. His thumb smooths along the soft line of your jaw and you smile. He takes a small breathe, shaky, unsure, but JJ's words are sure like bedrock.

"I love you too."

[phantom-rats]

Ok, so- (said with intent to infodump)

Teruteru is such a performance of a person. I think a pretty integral part of his character is his tendency to self-aggrandize, if not outright lie about his upbringing and accomplishments. I often wonder if he’s actually ashamed of his background at all, or if he just knows that a certain subsection of people would think less of him for it. Because, at the moment, it seems they only want him around when he’s providing something for them… Food, primarily. And I think he would tell himself that he’s content with that, with embodying this persona and proving himself through his talent, but his desperate bids for attention through his weird and creepy behavior would say otherwise. He’s fun to dissect, because how much of what we’re seeing is really him? What would you find if you managed to get past that?

His arc in the simulation, short as it is, is very fascinating to me. Primarily because I don’t think Teruteru is stupid. He’s in such deep denial, from the very beginning, and the paranoia he’s doing a piss poor job of pushing down eventually bubbles over until he can’t take it anymore. But maybe if he didn’t feel the need to hide so much of himself, including his completely understandable levels of terror and concern for his mother, he wouldn’t have needed to do what he did… I wonder if he could’ve been talked down, if only he wasn’t so deathly afraid of emotional vulnerability… But then again, I do think he was genuinely looking for a way to get back home to his mom, no matter the cost. 

His mom seems to be the only person he truly allows himself to be genuine with… And, in some ways, the only person he seems to really deeply care for. His dad left him and he openly dislikes his siblings. I don’t think he has any friends and his classmates don’t seem to care for him too much (in canon, at the start, at least). It adds a whole layer of tragedy to his story both in the simulation and during his time as a Remnant, given that he… Well, he very likely killed her himself, if not cooked and ate her too. I really adore this part in his FTEs where he’s asked what his dream is, he gets so confused and just throws out some random answer that he thinks aligns with his persona (“My real dream is-! Having a cute, sommelier wife… maybe…?”). I think the culmination of his FTEs and arc in general is that, in the end, he wanted to make his Mom smile, and I think this desire extends to others too. But he wraps it up in so many layers of grandiosity and bullshit that it can easily come off as arrogant and attention-seeking. 

He wanted to make people happy, and he still does, but he’s not doing such a good job of it anymore. He hopes his cooking makes up for everything everyone hates about him, and it does, but he can’t possibly be satisfied with that. He acts like he is, because he knows it’s better than nothing. And they don’t have a choice but to keep him around. But he has to want more than that, doesn’t he? 

Sorry for the extremely long reply! As a massive Teruteru fan of several several years, I’m probably overanalyzing him a little bit- 

inauthentic

[redtrack]

fogo e noite | charles leclerc

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!portuguese!reader

summary: two similar but still different cultures clash. how would charles leclerc, a monégasque f1 driver, react to having a portuguese girlfriend?

author’s note: a bit of a self insert here but nothing serious! i thought that it would be adequate to make my first ever work close to home. vamos, portugal! this is quite short since i’m only experimenting, but let me know what you think!

warnings: usage of y/n, mentions of fem! reader, reader has a previously defined nationality, some cursing, english is not my native language :( i used some photos from pinterest so the rights go to their rightful owners, user alexandra as a faceclaim on the last post

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charles e carlos reagem a comentários parte 2 — by shell v-power

(charles and carlos react to comments part 2)

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yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, yourbestfriend and 167,000 more

yourusername tinha que o levar ao dragão (sorry for the yelling baby ❤️)

(had to take him to dragão's football stadium)

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charles_leclerc it's okay, mon ange 🤍 (why were you wearing another man's name on your back, though?)

yourusername last time i checked you didn't play for porto

user5 CLOCK HIM !!!

charles_leclerc watch me sign with them next season

user81 a queen é portista obrigada deus 🙏🙏 (the queen supports porto thank you god) liked by author

yourusername 💙

user31 y/n taking charles to a football game in her city is so them coded for some reason

user16 exposing him to the good stuff

yourbestfriend you always go a bit crazy on game day

yourusername leave me alone omg i’m worse on race days liked by charles_leclerc

user14 she’s so us omg 😭

user98 FORÇA PORTO ALEEE !!! (GO PORTO!!!) liked by author

charles’s interview for gq magazine

Q: You have recently made your relationship with the Portuguese model Y/N Y/LN public. How do you two manage a multi-cultural love?

Charles: I must admit that I was quite scared at the beginning. (laughs) We come from different cultures and grew up a thousand miles apart.

Thankfully, we both speak english quite fluently and my Y/N has picked up some french from her education in Portugal. I love it when we speak in french. (laughs)

The hardest part was probably meeting her family. They’re quite diverse when it comes to age, so at first I was only able to communicate with the ones close to our without Y/N translating everything, since the oldest and the youngest generations don’t speak english at all.

When I first met her dad, he was super friendly, but I understood that he would change languages every time he spoke to Y/N about me. She later reassured me that it wasn’t anything bad. (laughs)

Despite everything, they have always been extremely welcoming and friendly to me and I truly feel like a part of the family whenever we come to visit.

Q: We take it as you have her family’s blessing, then?

Charles: I hope so! (laughs)

Both of her parents are long time fans of the sport, just like my Y/N, so I think that really helped. And my charm. (laughs)

Q: How about your family? What was their reaction when meeting Y/N?

Charles: My Maman was very excited. (laughs)

I had already talked a lot about Y/N to my mother and brothers, so it kinda felt like they knew her for ages.

It was a really special night for us. Y/N had been away from home for a while. She was extremely home-sick, but still insisted in meeting my family. I was really touched.

I told my Maman about it, so that we could avoid certain topics during dinner not to make Y/N uncomfortable. But when we got there, we found out that my mother had attempted to cook some of my Y/N’s favorite home dishes to make her feel better. She spent the rest of the night hugging Maman while crying and thanking her a million times. (laughs)

I fell in love with her a bit more after that day.

Q: You two seem like a very romantic couple.

Charles: We are. I absolutely love her with my whole heart and I know it goes both ways.

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charles_leclerc

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charles_leclerc this picture was taken in the very first few hours of 2025 somewhere in Portugal with my baby.

happy new year everyone 😘

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yourusername happy new year charlie 💓

charles_leclerc feliz ano novo, mon ange 🤍

pierregasly already spending new year's with her family i see

charles_leclerc you did the same with kika though

user54 ate him up omg

user81 watching their relationship grow in front of my eyes make me cry

user43 they're my favorite couple

user67 oh he travelled to spend new year's with her and her family i'm sick

user21 i love them sm

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, francisca.cgomes, yourbestfriend and 198 720 others

yourusername eu, o meu monegasco e o meu porto para sempre ❤️

(me, my monégasque and my porto forever)

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charles_leclerc ❤️

[wardenparker]

In the Still of the Night, ch 1

Zach Wellison x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Grown up and looking to the future, Zach Wellison and bunkmate Shane Morrissey are working for a new cruise line that offers its guests a vintage Vegas experience on the Mediterranean. The romantic atmosphere is rubbing off on many of the crew members, and Zach finds himself to be no exception when he meets the beautiful lead singer of Shane's band.

But being wrapped in the seductive arms of an atmospheric cruise is a far cry from real life. How will their relationship fare on dry land? They can't know unless they try.

Rating: M for Mature but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 11.7k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this story include: Cursing, alcohol, food, cooking, eating, discussion of clothing/costumes. Mentions of prison time served, mentions of past homelessness.* Just absolute fluff. We're starting strong with a chapter full of flirting. Summary: In the first few weeks working in the kitchen of a cruise ship supper club, Zach has developed a crush on the club's jazz singer. Notes: Welcome darlings! We're so excited to welcome Zach Wellison and Shane 'Dio' Morrissey to the soulmate universe!

There’s a peace that come with the early morning hours. The darkness is only cut by the lights from the interior of the ship. The sound of the water and waves are all Zach can hear from where he is standing against the rails, looking down at the faint waves as they rush by the hull of the cruise liner.

It’s been a long hard road to where he is right now. Clawing his way up from depression, despair and anger. Slowly starting to believe that he deserves to be happy, deserves to do more than sleep on the ground and cart everything he owns in a backpack and be on guard with a pipe in his hand.

Now he has a room – although he had a roommate – with a bunk that is all his own. A small, but growing, collection of personal items plus a bank account that has more than a few dollars in it. It has made him think about other things. Like the mark that he wears, the link between him and the soulmate that happens to be out there somewhere in the vastness of the ocean that would be between them.

******

"Behind! Hot!" The calls come frequently and loudly enough to count as orders these days, the chaos of the kitchen being calmer than the battlefield but sometimes not by much. Today there is extra incentive to be on top of their game because of some VIP reservation, but Zach is able to focus on his task. All of his focus goes to the job at hand, because it isn't the customers he's cooking for this afternoon, but his coworkers.

Since getting a second chance at life after hitting rock bottom, Zach has worked his ass off. He still is the live-in maintenance manager for the little apartment building he lives in, but he has found that working in a kitchen was where he was truly happy. Taking a job that had at first been about having that extra cushion and security, then had developed into the passion that made him eager to rush into the chaotic kitchen where he seemed to thrive under pressure. It was almost cathartic, to be able to work through stress, although this stress doesn’t involve someone shooting at him.

"You good, Wellison?" His boss is across the kitchen accepting a shipment, and the answer is pretty much always yes, but he still checks in.

“Yep.” Zach narrows his eyes as he continues to whip the cream to the perfect consistence before folding it into the broth. “Good as gold.”

"Heard." He knew the answer but he's still glad to hear it. It means he's able to sign off on this delivery and shake the hand of the other man standing outside with a smirk on his face. "You're lurking, dude," he laughs, moving past the back door to greet his brother.

“Just making the most of my short time off.” Chuckling, and relieved to be back on land, he pulls his brother in a crushing hug. “Smells great in here.” He huffs. “Must not be your recipe.”

"Har har." Rolling his eyes, the chef waves off the jibe. "How long are you on leave?"

“Two days.” Snorting, he shakes his head. “I have to interview a bunch of knuckleheads to try to find someone to fit the vibe of my new dinner club.”

"That's the jazz thing, right? Rat Pack Vegas vibes?" As long as they're outside, he'll take the chance to smoke a cigarette. It's murder on the taste buds but so fucking necessary for getting through the day. "You have a menu yet?"

“Not yet.” Running a new concept on a cruise liner is hard. “They gave complete control to us since this is the first if it’s kind.”

The older brother snorts. "They handed you a restaurant and you have two days to hire staff to cook a menu you haven't written yet? Cruise ships make no sense to me."

“Yeah, you’re telling me.” He laughs. “I’m think something family style, but with a twist?” He offers, knowing his brother would understand. “Maybe timeless classics? Old style American?”

"Like supper club style?" A drag off of his cigarette is time to think, and he nods. "Pluck a place right out of the 60s and stick it in the middle of the ocean. Oysters Rockefeller, steak Diane...French sauces and strong drinks?"

“Very strong drinks.” He grins. “Our cocktails will only be available in the club.”

"Sounds like a place Dad would have loved." Both brothers laugh at that. They had followed their father's footsteps into culinary work and never looked back. So why stop at just the profession?

“Smoked gin and tonics for the win.” He steals the cigarette from his brother and takes a drag, groaning in pleasure. He doesn’t have time to smoke most days, so he’s pretty much quit, but there’s something about a good puff on a cigarette that touches his soul.

"You wanna come in?" With his little brother off on a cruise ship serving from a floating kitchen every single day for years, they don't get to see each other much. "Family meal's almost ready. Hang out a while."

“Sure.” He had been to many family dinners at his father’s restaurant and enjoys them. “Thanks.”

The smell only intensifies when they go back inside, and it becomes clear that this particular family meal is more like a family feast. A hotel pan of Monterey Chicken made with the odds and ends of slab bacon and Monterey cheese blocks smothered in the end of a batch of scratch barbecue sauce looks like a masterpiece, and the scraps of vegetables that have become a medley rather than ending up in a stock pot are beautifully roasted. The cook who went after this feast has even made rolls studded with the stems of fresh herbs, and the entire staff are salivating over the offering.

“I’m impressed.” Looking at the meal that is laid out, it looks like something that would be prepared for a special event rather than the family style dinner that had become such a tradition when their father had been alive and running his restaurant. “You’ve stepped up your game from the meals we ended up making.”

“By outsourcing,” the older of the two brothers admit with a laugh. “Zach, come here a second.”

Zach might be annoyed by the interruption, but no one would ever know it. He finishes wiping the rim of a four inch pan and quickly strips off his gloves, wiping his hands as he turns around. “Sure thing, chef.” He notices a man standing beside him and nods. “What’s up?”

“I want you to meet somebody.” His chef explains, gesturing to the look-alike younger man beside him. “My brother Sam. He’s—” It will be such a loss if Zach decides to go that he almost doesn’t want to do it, but the kid deserves something good after the hell he’s been through. “He’s got a new place opening that I think you might like the sound of.”

“Oh yeah?” His brows lift and for a split second, he wonders if his work has been lacking and his boss is trying to get rid of him. But Toby isn’t like that, so he looks over at the other man. “A place like here?” He asks.

"A little different." Sam leans against the nearest wall with one shoulder. Hands in his pockets, he surveys the man in front of him with interest. "Supper club on a cruise ship. We're doing old school Vegas all over the ship so the vibe is classic dishes revamped. It's an experimental sort of thing where we'll have entertainment during service. But the fun part is that we pretty much have free reign on the menu as long as we work within our genre."

“A ship?” Zach has been on a ship before. When he was in the Marines, he was assigned as the Marine detachment to a battle group for six months. It was the best sleep he had ever had. “A supper club?” He hums. “That sounds like a challenge, a fun one. Live entertainment? What kind?”

"A four-piece band and a singer. The intention is to evoke the Rat Pack days on the Vegas strip, so the band will do jazz standards and jazz covers of contemporary songs. There's that..." Sam struggles for a moment, trying to remember the name of the band. "Is it...Postmodern Jukebox? That style." He can tell the kid – alright, he’s not a kid but he's definitely younger than Sam is – is interested so he nudges a little. "It would be six months on the Mediterranean for the maiden voyage. Living and working and everything else on the ship with occasional trips ashore. Sound like an adventure you might be interested in?"

His eyes shift towards Toby to see what his boss thinks about all this, but all he sees is that his boss is smiling and nodding along as if it sounds like a great idea. “I loved being on ship in the Marines.” He admits, more willing to talk about his service now that he had when he first started. There were a couple of vets in the kitchen with him and they had bonded over hard work that was still better than being shot at. “You need a prep cook? Something like that?”

"Actually?" Sam is feeling nearly fucking victorious about this little introduction, but he tries not to show it too much. Not yet, anyway. "I'm going to be executive chef of two restaurants on the ship, so I'm going to need a hell of a Chef de Cuisine to run this club for me. Think you might be up to it?"

Zach nearly chokes in surprise, sure that this is some kind of joke. “Just like that?” He asks, looking between the brothers.

"I wouldn't have even mentioned you if I didn't think you could do it." His boss promises. "It would be a hell of an opportunity for you." It's good experience for his resume, and it's a chance to save money. Toby won't mention it out loud in the middle of the kitchen but he knows that will be good for Zach.

"And I'll take my brother's recommendation over anything else." Sam nods. "I've got some interviews to do for the rest of the kitchen staff. If you want to be a part of this process, we'll sit down to family meal and then we'll get out of here. Work on a menu before we start those interviews."

There’s almost a surreal feel to this entire moment. As if he’s dreaming because opportunities like this don’t just fall into people’s laps for real. That’s for the movies. He takes a moment and nods. “Yeah- yes.” He corrects himself. “I would love that, When would I expected to be on ship?” He asks. “I’m - I have another job as a live in maintenance guy for my building.” He explains. “Would want to give them as much notice as possible.”

"I've got two days before I have to be back." Sam tells him, but laughs and waves one hand when Zach looks gobsmacked. "I have to finish out another contract. We've got a month before we've got to be onboard for this one. So you'd have plenty of time to give notice and we'll have time to work on our menu. I just have to get these interviews done while I'm on dry land."

Again, Zach looks towards Toby. “I don’t want to leave you shorthanded the next couple of days….” He tells his boss. “Do you want me to see if I can find someone?”

Toby shakes his head though, seeing how badly Zach wants this thing he never even knew he could have before. "I'll call my guy at the CIA and see if he can send me a student for a few days. I'll move one of the prep cooks up to your line position while you get this done." He pats the younger man on the shoulder twice – his standard display of affection – and smiles. "This is gonna be good for you, man. And if you decide it's not your thing and you wanna be back on land after giving it a try, you just come on back."

There’s a feeling of security in being assured that he would be welcomed back. “Okay.” He agrees, looking over at Sam. “I’ll do it.”

"Fantastic." Sam puts out his hand and they shake, sealing the deal with enthusiasm. "Let's go eat. If your food is half as good as it smells, this club is going to be packed."

******

Even though the quiet of the night is soothing, it’s been a long day. Eventually Zach heads inside and takes the elevator down to the lower levels where the crew quarters are located. Knocking on his door twice before opening so he doesn’t see anything he doesn’t want to from his roommate.

"Hey man." Shane is on his bunk, phone still in hand, though his relaxed posture says that he's just finished this nightly phone call rather than been interrupted.

“Hey.” He moves over to his clothes cabinet and starts to immediately remove his toiletry kit. He needs a shower before he can crawl into the sheets. A far cry from when he didn’t know when he would be clean.

"Diana says hi." The other man waggles his phone in the air. Even though his bunkmate and his soulmate have never met, she's a fairly gregarious extrovert who can make friends even second hand – so she always sends her greetings along with every phone call if Zach isn't in the room to respond at the time.

“How’s she doing?” He smiles to himself, grateful that his roommate has been an easy friend and his soulmate even friendlier. “I know she’s counting down the days.”

“She started counting the second we left New York.” Shane had a certain amount of very real pride in his relationship with his soulmate. It’s the healthiest thing in his life without a doubt, and that’s a life that hasn’t had too many healthy things. “No surprise she’s been working doubles while we’re out here. It’s not like there’s a single Emergency Department in New York City that doesn’t need extra doctor all the fuckin time.”

“That’s the truth.” Zach snorts and closes his locker. “You need in the bathroom? I want to jump in the shower.”

“Nah, go ahead.” The older of the two men shakes his head. “I’ll take a cold one in the morning and wake myself up. Got some new material to rehearse.”

“It sounded good from the kitchen.” Even with the heavy din of clashing pots and clinking plates, the sounds of the band can be heard when the wait staff flow in and out of the kitchen.

“Thanks, man.” Shane stretches, groaning slightly and privately cursing crossing the age of thirty. Everything has hurt since. “We’ve got some new numbers and transitions and things to work out, but it’s coming along.”

“That’s great. Let me know if we need to tweak the menu for the new set.” Zach tells him. He’s already swiped some shorts and he heads into their shared shower.

Shane will tell him later, but he’d sooner pull teeth than change the menu at the club on ship where they both work. His bunkmate is a hell of a cook to the point where the band’s singer is obsessed with nearly everything that comes out of that kitchen. He can’t blame her. That’s the kind of food he used to dream about it the chow line when he was locked up.

The bathroom is tiny but efficiently set up. Serving the needs of both men without wasting space and the best part was that there was unlimited hot water coming through the pipes. Zach turns on the water and stares at his reflection. He’s tired, but at the same time, he’s been having a great time.

There is never a shortage of things to do on the ship, mostly because the staff party hard in their downtime. Most of the staff work multiple positions so they’re constantly busy. It makes that downtime they have both precious and very necessary. In the two weeks since they came on board there have been parties every night. It’s a lot, but it’s also a lot of fun.

As quick as he jumps in, he’s jumping out and opening the door to vent the steam. “Are we drinking tonight?” He calls out, wondering if his roommate was tired or if he’s gotten his second wind.

“You wanna go?” Shane calls back, and Zach can hear movement from the other room. “Wouldn’t take much to talk me into it.”

“I could use a beer or three.” Zach admits. He’s careful not to over indulge and develop a habit, but he actually likes socializing with the rest of the crew.

“Club’s empty.” Shane suggests. He’s hopped to his feet and thrown his boots back on, and is now inspecting his eyeliner Ina small wall mirror when Zach comes back in the room. “I’ll see if anybody wants to meet us there.”

“The bar would be easy to access.” All of the terminals are set up to become the crew bar for the night.” Zach tells him. “But you are not going to play.” He warns. “Just let someone use their playlist.”

“But what if I want to play?” Shane poses, waggling his eyebrows in challenge. “Musicians are impossible to stop, man. We just go and go.”

“Good for you, I guess.” Zach snorts, rolling his eyes playfully. “I just figured you would want to set me up with another girl.”

“Oh, I absolutely do.” This bunkmates claps him on the shoulder with a smirk after he’s shoved his phone back in his pocket. “Ready to go?”

“Sure thing.” His latest obsession is with a new cologne that Toby’s wife had given him as a birthday present - early - before he left, so he adds that to the pulse points and hums when he rakes his fingers through his hair. “Now we can go. I smell good.”

“Now we can go.” Shane teases, but play-shoves Zach out of their little cabin and toward the stairs without hesitation. For all the bullshit he put himself and the people around him through as a kid and as a young man, ever since he got released he’s made the active decision to try to be a better influence. More positive. For himself and for the people around him. Sure he slips up here and there, but he’s only human. What matters is that he tries.

Shane Morrissey is a good man, upfront and honest. He had told Zach that he wouldn’t hold it against him if he didn’t want to bunk with a former felon, Zach had relearned to judge a man by the weight of their character now instead of the mistakes of their past. He knows all too well what happens when you are too harshly judged and looked down on. It had actually be a perfect situation since Zach didn’t feel the need to hide his own past and had not seen the pity or judgement that might come from others. “I need a beer and like- three shots man.” Zach groans as they trail down the hallway towards the elevators.

“And someone to flirt with.” Shane insists, still steering the way. Truthfully, Zach needs to get laid just to fucking relax a little but both men know it’s not always that easy.

“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve flirted?” Zach snorts, shoulder checking his friend. “I would embarrass both of us.”

“All the more reason to get back in the fucking saddle,” Shane points out. He jams his finger into the call button for the elevator and leans against the wall to wait. “If I kind find my soulmate in a fucking ER bay, you can flirt with drunk coworkers. I believe in you, man.”

He chuckles at the confidence the pianist has in him. “Keep it up.” He teases. “I’ll think you’re in love with me.”

Playfully, fraternal, Shane rolls his eyes when the elevator to his right dings and slides open to admit them. “Get in the damn elevator, kid,” he gripes to the man barely two years younger than him.

“Sure thing, daddy.” Zach bites his lip playfully, completely enjoying the way Shane turns beet red at the mention of that nickname. He had accidentally heard that part of a conversation when he had come into his cabin without knocking the second day on the ship.

“Shut the fuck up.” Shane mumbles, now jamming his finger into the button to select their deck. “Diana likes it. You think I’m gonna tell a woman that smoking hot who wears all my stupid ass scars no?” He likes it too, it’s just not easy to admit. It’s not easy to bare even the smallest parts of himself sometimes.

“I’m just teasing.” Zach reaches out and pats the other man’s shoulder. “I only wish I had a fraction of what you and Diana have. I’m fucking jealous. And if my soulmate is half as pretty, she could call me daddy any time she wanted.” He adds with a snort.

“You’ll find her.” The vote of confidence Shane has in the other man really comes from just knowing that life works in weird fucking ways most of the time. But instead of getting philosophical, he elbows the former Marine. “Maybe one of those room keys you get slipped every fuckin day will be the one.”

“Shiiiiiiiit.” It’s the craziest thing that he’s ever seen in his life. He would have never expected to have passengers slip him a room key and ask him to join them before. Some are older, obvious cougars on the prowl, but a few of them have been his age and he’s been tempted, but he couldn’t risk his contract, his job.

“We get them too, the band, but not the sheer fucking quantity you do, man.” The elevator jolts to a less than smooth stop and Shane grins. “Excellent.”

“Someone needs to look at that.” Zach huffs as he steps off the crew elevator. “I think they expect me to cook for them in the room or something.”

“Some of them, probably.” The two men make their way along the hallway with purpose. “But there’s worse things in life than getting fucked and making somebody breakfast after.”

“You aren’t wrong.” Zach snorts. He’s never been a very casual person when it comes to sex, but he’s had some flings. “Maybe I will.”

“If there ever comes a night that you don’t make it back to the room, I’ll celebrate for you.”

“Thanks.” The entrance to the club is a large circle, the double doors exactly half of each side and the brass handles are trumpets. Immediately making Zach relax as he knows the inside of this place better than anywhere else on the ship.

The inside has been decorated with a combination of plush-looking fabrics in rich colors and art that invokes the best sixties nostalgia, with just a dash of Sam’s native New Orleans to top the whole thing off. It feels welcoming and luxurious for guests, but those same open arms are here to embrace the staff as well.

“Anybody here yet?” Shane calls from the threshold, seeing as the lights are already on.

Zach doesn’t spend much time in the actual lounge, he’s too busy back in the kitchens making sure each plate is perfect before it’s sent out to the passengers. It’s still new, but so far, every seat in the house has been booked and the reviews have been raving.

"Shane!" Two of the other members of the band have made it there first, and they appear from around the corner with drinks already in hand. "Zach! Hey man, what a fucking day."

“It was pretty busy.” He admits with a grin. The band often plays out on the main deck for the passengers lounging around the pool, even though the space is covered, it’s hot out there. “I swear the breakfast buffet never stops sometimes.”

“Never.” The band’s bassist, Rick, shakes his head as he reaches over to pat Zach’s shoulder. “How you been, man? We don’t get to see you much in that kitchen.”

“Busy.” He chuckles. “Gotta put them in a good mood with the food so you can croon to them and make them feel like they are in a jazz club just for them.”

“You don’t want me doing any of the crooning.” Rick jokes. “That wouldn’t put anybody in a good mood.”

“It’s true.” Shane agrees, coming up behind them both. “Come on, we need drinks.”

“Yes we do.” Zach nods. “Especially after today!” He had nearly half of the supper club wanting the special so he had been busy.

"You have to bring that special back." Shane insists, making his way over to grab beers for himself and his bunkmate. "I think our singer was drunk on the smell. That's like all she talked about between sets, was how good it smelled."

“Did she get one of the plates?” Zach always makes some extra plates for the crew and the band, wanting them to be able to know the menus as well as they can.

"Nope." Rick shakes his head and takes a swig from his own beer. "Gave hers up to a waitress who had had a shitty table. I think that's why she was so fixated."

“Man, that sucks.” Zach has only caught glimpses of the headliner, often too busy to really introduce himself - it’s not because she’s insanely beautiful and he’s developed a bit of a crush just from the way she seems to sing to him, but he would want her to have some. “I’ll have to make sure she gets a plate next time.”

"You should hand deliver it." Shane waggles his eyebrows. "For bonus points."

“No way man.” Zach scoffs. “There’s absolutely no way she’d be interested in me.”

"Who?" The band's drummer, and Rick's bunkmate, Keo, emerges from the kitchen with his own drink already in hand, looking a shade guilty. Like the bottomless pit he is, the youngest member of the band has probably been rooting around for unmarked things to snack on.

Zach chuckles and shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. Don’t tell me I need to do a club snack for us?” He teases.

Keo and Shane's faces light up, like this is a possibility they had never considered and now it's the thing they want most in the entire world. It's Shane, though, who pulls the trigger. "But what would you make?" He asks, already knowing his bunkmate can't resist that sort of challenge.

Zach knows the galley pantry like the back of his hand and what he has left over from the meal tonight. “Prime rib croquettes with creamy horseradish sauce and tempura Tiger prawns with Thai chili sauce.” He decides.

"Duuuuuude." Keo groans, wide-eyed and sounding like someone just taunted him with the greatest richest in some magical kingdom. "You can't just say things like that, man!"

Zach snorts and claps him on the shoulder. “Tell you what, you go get me a drink and I’ll fire up the cookers so we can drink and eat.”

"The hero of the hour!" Another voice from the doorway proclaims, only having heard the words 'drink and eat' come from someone they recognize as kitchen staff. This won't be a large party but it will be a party, and a few more people spill through the door in turn.

"I'll make you something good, man." Keo promises. Musicians who were bartenders in previous jobs are not rare but they are good to have around, and Keo was a hell of a bartender.

“I’ll hold you to it!” He has free range over his space and there are a few more ideas that he can try out tonight and use the crew as his test dummies. They never hold back their opinions on the food and he loves that, always striving to make it better.

The large handful of people who flood into the space ends up totaling more than a dozen within just a few minutes of Zach disappearing into the kitchen, but the last one through the door is finally dressed down after a day of performing and being on for passengers.

Jeans and a sweatshirt. That’s all it is for you after dark, though you would stay dressed up if you had someone to impress. When it’s just Shane and the boys, though? They can stand to see you without full hair and makeup.

Shouts of your name ring out because the music hasn’t started yet, Zach hearing it from the kitchen. He perks up slightly and hates how he feels his pulse picks up knowing you are here.

"That's a hell of a welcome," you tease, gratefully accepting a cocktail when it's pressed into your hand and doling out hugs to your bandmates. These guys have become your family in just a few short months, so much so that taking this adventure on the ship together seemed like a no-brainer. Each of you had things that had brought you into New York City but few of you have any ties to bring you back there, which makes this floating madhouse all the more fun.

The ship was the best decision you could have made, in a lot of ways. There is a camaraderie here that you couldn't have anticipated and it soothes you in equally unexpected ways. While you love spending your regular time with the guys in the band, you've found a friend in your bunkmate as well, which is great when River is just as excited to do to these staff parties as you are.

In the kitchen, the fryers are heating up and Zach works quickly to whip up a tempura batter. The fried prawns won’t take but a minute, but while it's resting, he's mixing up the shredded prime rib with some leftover fresh breadcrumbs and making meatball sized bites to stuff with cheese. Coated in panko, it will be a delicious little appetizer and something that he had been thinking about adding to the dinner menu one night.

The party is starting to kick up in the club. He can hear music start to play and people chattering over each other while he works. The atmosphere is laid back enough and it’s not too late at night that they can be assured of a few hours of uninterrupted revelry — just the way everyone likes it.

The music starts to filter back into the kitchen, making Zach wish that they had installed speakers, but he can hear the music every time the door swings open. He hears the door behind him, and he calls outs, “where’s my drink!”

“It’s right here.” The door thwaps shut behind you and you juggle the glass in your hand so the ice rattles. “But you have to be nice or I’ll drink it myself.”

“Oh!” He hadn’t been expecting that voice, whirling around to find you, the girl that he’s been crushing on the smokey smooth vocals being performed every night, standing on the other side of the stainless counter with his drink in your hand. “I— uh, I thought you were Shane.” He flusters, feeling his cheeks heat up as you smirk at him.

“Not last time I checked.” In fact, that little shit had been teasing you mercilessly lately about the crush you’ve developed on the hot chef at the club and specifically shoved you through the door with his drink just to bust you up about it. “It’s Zach, right?” As if you don’t already know. As if you hadn’t found out his name right away.

“Yeah— uh, that’s – that’s me.” The fact that he’s stumbling over his words makes him want to kick Shane’s ass, as well as his own. He used to be able to talk to pretty women with confidence. He says your name easily. “Of course I know the voice I hear every night.”

“Should I apologize?” You ask, mostly rhetorically, and set his glass down on the counter between you. “If you can identify it already, you’ll be sick of hearing me before too long.”

“Not at all.” Zach snorts. “Sometimes your song sets are what power the kitchen through the night.” He tells you. “I wish I had them put speakers in here.”

“Really?” The tips of your ears are immediately on fire and you try not to look too pleased at that, imagining him in here listening to you sing whenever the doors open and close. That answers your silent wondering if he had ever cared to listen. “Do you…have a favorite? Something I can put into the set on busy nights for you, maybe?”

“Crazy.” Zach immediately says, before he coughs and turns back around to his mixing bowl to continue to roll out the snacks. “It’s unique and I swear the first time I thought it was a recording of Patsy Cline, but then you changed the words.”

“I thought the last verse deserved a little hope,” you admit, feeling your cheeks heat to match your ears. “A song about broken love and broken trust can be beautiful, sure. But life without hope is just too sad for me.”

“That’s why I love it.” Zach admits, glancing over his shoulder at you and then back down at what he’s doing. “I heard you sing it from the depths of your soul.”

With your glass halfway to your lips, you can only pause and hope you don't look nearly as flustered as you actually are. "It's for you, then." You tell him, wondering what the hell has gotten into you. "Anytime you hear it. It's for you."

Zach is so damn grateful that his back is turned so you can’t see the way he flushes hot. “There’s been some times I’ve needed something to cling to, and that song….it reminds me of that. Beautiful melancholy.”

"Same." Gently, deliberately, you slide up to the counter to lean your elbows on the stainless steel. "I don't know what you're doing in here but everything you make smells so fucking good."

He chuckles, preening slightly and his shoulders straighten slightly. “You should have sent word you needed another plate.” He looks back at you again. “I would have made sure you got a new one.”

"I didn't know I could call in special privileges." Sure, you're teasing. But his cheeks have pinked in the most adorable way and maybe just maybe you won't murder Shane for shoving you through the kitchen door after all. "Giving me that power might be dangerous."

He laughs as he drops the first round of croquettes into the fryer. “Yeah?” He turns around and smirks slightly. “You would abuse the power?”

"Constantly." There is an accidental groan in your voice, but it's honest so you just shrug it off. "I swear that chicken thing you did last week with the herby butter inside it? Best thing I've ever had in my life. Hands down."

“I bet I can change your mind on that tonight.” He lifts the basket out of the grease and shakes the cooking food slightly and checks the color. The cheese will melt and become a wonderful gooey surprise in the center. The only thing that would make it better is if he had horseradish cheese. Maybe next time he will grate the cheese and mix it with horseradish for the desired bite. But for tonight, the cream sauce will be a good substitute.

"Oh yeah?" A man who cooks for you is already your favorite man at any given time. That's probably where this little crush came from originally, but it has clung on over the first few weeks on board instead of shaking off like it usually does. Like glitter holding onto your hair with every ounce of determination, this crush is making you giggly and flirty like you're in high school all over again. "What are these?"

Zach waves you behind the counter as he pulls up the fryer basket again. “Prime Rib Croquettes.” He tells you. “Shredded prime rib meatballs basically, stuffed with white cheddar, breaded and fried.” He grabs two of the balls and drizzles the horseradish sauce on a plate before he lays them on it carefully and wipes the plate clean out of habit before turning and presenting it to you. “Tell me what you think. This is my first time playing with the idea.”

“So I’m your guinea pig?” Why that theory delights you so much, you’re not really sure, but you lean on the counter with a very serious expression. “Well they look beautiful. Let’s see if they’re as good as they look.” The little nuggets are bite sized and crispy, and when you pop the first one into your mouth the first thing that happens is the bone-rattling groan that rolls through you. The flavor is incredible and the outside crunches while the inside melts in your mouth — salty, unctuous, spicy, creamy, umami goodness making you close your eyes and hold onto the taste while you eat.

“That.” You still have your eyes closed but you point in the vicinity of the plate. “Is the best thing ever.”

You make the food sound sexual which makes Zach’s body react if a very primal way. Shifting slightly, he picks up another one from the basket and squirts the sauce directly on it. “Yeah?”

“Seriously.” You nod enthusiastically. “Eat one. You’re a genius.”

Zach pops it into his mouth and chews. Groaning while he’s analyzing the flavor profile and wondering if anything needs to be added. “Would you want a red wine au jus reduction dipping sauce if there was horseradish in the croquette or leave it as is?” He asks you seriously.

Laughing is probably a self-conscious reaction, but you look up at him with a slightly cringed expression. “I don’t have any idea what a red wine juice—whatever you just said,” you admit. “But I like wine and I like horseradish, and I like this, so probably.”

He chuckles quietly, nodding as he motions to the other one. “Well, when I put this on the menu as an appetizer, why don’t I offer both and see what you think?”

You have absolutely no shame in picking up the other fried nugget of delicious glory, and practically hold it up to him in salute. “I promise you a full report, and look forward to finding out whatever a red wine juice is.”

“Au jus.” He smiles as he watches you eat the next bite. “It’s French.” He explain. “It means ‘with juice’.”

No power in the world could stop you from finishing and thoroughly enjoying that second bite, but when you do you grin at him unrepentantly. “So I was right. It is red wine juice. Just fancy.”

“Fancy.” He chuckles. “It’s actually the drippings from the prime rib, reduced down with red wine until I make it the best tasting sauce you’ve ever put in your mouth.”

“Oh my god.” Even just explained, it sounds amazing, and you groan at the thought of it, though the sound turns to laughter after a second or two. “That sounds amazing. You can probably tell that I know nothing about cooking.”

“That’s okay.” He chuckles as he drops another round of the croquettes to fry and then turns towards the prawns. “I know plenty.”

Warmth curls in your belly, low and teasing and curious, and you suck a drop of the cream sauce off your thumb with a flashed grin under intentionally lowered lashes. “Is this where I suggest that you teach me?”

Zach watches you for a moment, wondering if you are flirting with him, because it feels like you are flirting with him. "Somehow I think that you wouldn't really want to learn how to cook." He teases.

"Fuck, that was awful, wasn't it?" You laugh, dropping your cheek over to one palm in a sort of sheepish expression of apology. "Unless you like cheesy flirting, in which case it was totally intentional and I'm owning it."

"Then you own it." Zach snorts, grinning at you happily as he waggles his brows. "I'm so out of practice flirting that all of it is cheesy."

"All flirting is cheesy anyway, that has nothing to do with being out of practice." As if to dispel any idea that it could be otherwise, you wave one hand and scoop up your drink with the other. "I am interested in learning to cook, for the record. But...call it a secondary interest."

"Okay." He nods and lifts a brow playfully. "Are we at burning water skill levels? Or can you at least feed yourself?" He asks. "What am I working with here?"

"I can follow reheat instructions, make macaroni and cheese from a box, and make a hell of a sandwich. But anything past that?" You shrug, but the whole thing stays playful and you flash him a grin. "I can proudly say I've never burnt water."

"Now I'm sure that I'm supposed to be horrified that you eat mac and cheese from a box...." Zach shrugs. "But that shit is good sometimes."

"You would be more horrified if you had seen my one attempt at making it from scratch," you promise him, though you're absolutely able to laugh at your past food follies. "Do you know that show Worst Cooks in America? I would be an excellent candidate."

"That bad?" He can't help but laugh, but you are grinning with him. He pulls the rest of the croquettes out of the hot oil and smirks as he starts to batter the fresh prawns in the airy batter and dropping them into the grease to start bubbling.

"I've got a lot to learn." He has the most fantastic laugh, and it rolls through you until your stomach flips all over again. "About cooking anyway. Not—not other stuff." Yeah...maybe you're out of practice too. That's okay, though. "So...what are those?"

“Uh.” Zach clears his throat as his thoughts when decidedly X-rated and he looks down at what he was doing off of muscle memory. “Tempura prawns.” He tells you. “Gonna toss them in a chili sauce.”

"Oh, come on." A delighted moan of anticipation slips from your lips but you don't care. "That sounds incredible."

“I thought it would make the best kind of party snack.” He admits. “And give me some feedback.”

"You were absolutely right." You promise him, watching as he moves around the corner of the kitchen with confidence and a graceful economy of movement. "I've never met anybody more consistently hungry than a bunch of musicians, and that's who is out there for the most part."

“Ha!” Zach snorts. “You’ve never met a bunch of marines.” He tells you as he rushes to get the chili sauce. It would be better to warm it up.

"No, can't say I have." Self-consciously, your fingers brush over your shoulder where the aged lines of a warrior's tattoo are forever marked in your skin. Thankfully Zach is looking away in that moment, and doesn't see the flicker of something longing and unknown in your eyes. "You served?"

“Yeah.” It’s taken him a long time to come back to being able to talk about his service even casually, but he doesn’t feel the need to be defensive with you. Despite being the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen, he’s comfortable with you. He starts to warm up the sauce and finally picks up the drink you had brought him. “Six years.”

"I'm getting the sense that 'thank you for your service' is maybe not your favorite thing to hear?" He finally steps away from cooking to come back over to the counter you've been leaning on and for the first time you catch the little flecks of gold in his eyes.

“It’s okay.” He promises softly, wincing as he hopes he didn’t come off as angry like he used to. “It’s just- it didn’t end well.” He admits. “Still feel guilty sometimes.”

"Well..." This doesn't seem to be a very happy topic and we were flirting just a minute and a half ago, so you try to steer things back to a more upbeat direction if you can. You know all about making sacrifices for the thing you thought was right. It doesn't always leave the most positive feelings in its wake. "Hopefully now you're doing something that you love?"

“I love being in the kitchen.” Zach flashes you a grin as he looks up from stirring the sauce and moves back over to pull up the prawns. “It’s honestly soothing.”

"And you're amazing at it." Not that you mind watching, either. If you happen to catch the movement of his back muscles under his t-shirt every time he turns around to work on something? Well, that's just a fringe benefit for you.

“It’s about being able to execute and plan.” He tells you as he transfers the prawns into a bowl and reaches for the sauce pot. He drizzles the chili sauce over the fried seafood and starts to toss them in the bowl. “And adapt to overcome any obstacles that might arise.”

"Sounds like good organizational skills wrapped around a creative outlet." You observe, watching the deft, quick movements of his hands as he continues to work. If you maybe imagine other things those hands could be good for? Well, that's just for you. "Food is art, isn't it? I've always thought so, anyway."

“It absolutely is.” He agrees before he plucks a prawn out of the bowl and offers it to you. “Tell me what you think.”

If you were ten years younger you might have nipped that bite right out of his fingertips and let your tongue linger just to tease, but you’re both adults. You’re a little past the point of overt horniness with total strangers.

Probably.

So instead you take the offering from him with two careful fingers, and pop it in your mouth with the highest of expectations. Expectation which are immediately met, as one more heavenly groan escapes you and you positively giggle with glee.

“You like it.” He can tell and there’s just a drop of the warm chili sauce on your lip, right in the corner that makes Zach want to lick it off your lips.

“S’that obvious?” You grin, practically giggling through the end of the bite and licking up the drop of missed sauce along with it.

“I guess you’re hungry since you gave away your dinner.” He supposes. “So you have to make up for it now.”

Curiosity makes your head pop up again, and your forehead creases in question. “How did you know about that?”

“Shane told me.” He admits, reaching for another plate so he can fix you more before bringing out the food for everyone else. “Said you had been drooling over the smells but you didn’t get to eat.”

“That’s a very attractive picture of me that he’s painted,” you huff, almost rolling your eyes. Of course Shane gave you up. He’s been telling you to talk to Zach for ages now but you hadn’t had the guts.

He chuckles softly. “I took it as a compliment. Like half of my staff mooning over you instead of working when you start singing.”

“To be fair…” A smart ass grin curls up the corners of your mouth so that you don’t end up flustered With the compliment. Sarcasm is an old shield and good friend when it comes to flattery. For you at least. “That’s just a standard issue Sea Witch enchantment. Very susceptible to magic, your staff.”

“Sea Witch enchantment, huh?” He grins back at you. “You don’t look like I remember Ursula.” He teases. “And I loved The Little Mermaid when I was younger.”

“Makes sense.” That smirk of yours blossoms, ending up in a grin. “You’re a dead ringer for Prince Eric.”

“Me?” Zach shuffles, trying his hardest not to blush but he’s probably failing. “Hopefully I’m not as dumb as he was to not know the woman in front of his was his soulmate.”

“Neither of them had any scars,” you remind him, but the two of you seem locked in a trance for an unexpected moment before your smile widens and the fluttering in your chest deepens. “You’re cute when you blush.”

“Well, they were cartoons.” He snorts, flashing you another smile as he tries not to preen because you think he’s cute.

"So what would a scar for a cartoon character be, then?" The question makes both of you laugh and you shrug. "A tear in the page, I guess?"

“An interesting question.” He hums, picking up his drink and taking a sip of it as he watches you. Thinking that you look so young, so carefree in your relaxed clothes. He’s caught glimpses of you in your gorgeous gowns you wear on stage, but honestly prefers this look.

You laugh, shrugging it off, and don’t let yourself reflect too long on how silly you feel gazing at him across a damn stainless steel counter. “It’s a silly question. But thank you for humoring me.”

“Not silly.” He sets the food into two large pans and reaches for one of the serving carts. “Want to grab a stack of plates and we will go join the party with the food?”

“The least I can do is help if you’re going to feed us magic food.” The plates he points out are nearby, and you help him stack up the cart with everything that’s needed. It’s probably silly to feel like he trusts you by asking — you are right here, you’re the obvious and convenient person to ask — but somehow stacking plates and finding napkins and helping him make room for all of the containers of amazing food he’s made makes you feel…special. It’s silly, but you don’t want to banish the warm feeling in your chest anytime soon.

Zach is grateful you didn’t deliver his drink and just rush out. “Well, maybe everyone else will appreciate it, but you made it magic with your reaction.” Damn, maybe flirting isn’t as hard as he imagined it to be after so many years. Seems to come easy with you.

"I'm very glad you liked it." Maybe you do tend to be slightly pornographic with the sounds of enjoying food from time to time, but there's no reason to be embarrassed about that when you're literally flirting with a chef. In fact, maybe you should have been flirting with chefs all along.

He hums as he motions you towards the door to leave the kitchen first. “After you, madam.” He says playfully. “I will let you lead our procession.” It sounds gentlemanly, but he also gets the added bonus of watching your ass as you walk.

The second the kitchen door opens there is an explosion of sound, and honestly you had almost forgotten that there is a whole damn party going on out here. Keo has music playing but it’s only a matter of time before the band hits the stage again. It doesn’t matter that they just performed for passengers an hour ago. This time is for fun and for them.

“Time to eat!”

If there is one thing that Zach can count on, it’s that the crew will always swarm where there’s food. He grins at your wide eyes with everyone is instantly at the cart he rolled out and surrounding you.

You scurry out of the way with a loud, barked laugh, and practically hurtle yourself into the corner so everybody else can get their plates. You’ve had some already, served especially by the chef, and want everyone else to try the incredible bites that Zach made.

Glad he made plenty, Zach explains what each appetizer is and quickly serves up plate after plate of food. Grinning whenever everyone ‘ohs and ahhhhs’ over his food.

“Isn’t it insane?” He overhears you saying to Rick, nodding enthusiastically a few feet away over another one of the prime rib croquettes. The grin on your face has stretched wide, making you glow.

He puffs up with pride, knowing that it might be silly that you are gushing over his food, but it makes him preen. He straightens slightly as he finally gives out the last plate and can leave the cart to be picked clean by the vultures he calls co-workers.

It’s easy to get swept away from each other in the sea of silliness and general merriment, and before too long your bandmates have dragged you up on stage in an entirely predictable show of what happens when performers spend time with friends.

They always, always perform.

“How did we all end up working?” Zach snorts, although he’s got a drink in his hand and his seat is as close to the stage as he could get without being on it. He never gets this view and he doesn’t care that there’s not a perfectly synchronized light screw working or you aren’t dolled up. Just music and the love to entertain shines and he watches as you laugh and grip the microphone.

Slipping back to the piano one more time to consult with Shane, there is a confident grin on your face when you return to the mic and take it off its stand to be more comfortable on the small rectangle where you perform night after night. "Everybody has tested out Zach's new recipes and now we're going to test out a few new songs," you joke to your coworkers, though it is completely true and no one minds at all.

Zach claps on the table top, eyes glued to you and it’s amazing how warm he feels right now. Like the alcohol in his system has set him on fire.

"This is something Shane and I have been toying with in rehearsals." There is no need for long or fancy introductions to songs, not when you're just having fun, and you turn to Shane to make sure you're starting in time with each other. The first chord on the piano is done in tandem with the first lyric, and the jazz arrangement that you have been slowly working on together takes shape for an audience for the very first time. "My lover's got humor...she's the giggle at a funeral..."

Zach sips his drink, leaning forward slightly and not even noticing it. Eyes fixed on you and ignoring everyone else in the club as they fade into the background.

Take Me to Church is a hell of a good song to begin with, but tonight it takes on an unexpectedly plaintive tone. Like rather than the passionate promise of someone already with the lover in question, you’re asking to be allowed to be with them. Making your case as a potential partner. Or maybe it sounds the way it always has to everyone else and the fact that you keep looking back at Zach in front of you is making your brain fog over with lust…and if that’s the case it would be extremely reasonable…

Completely entranced by the sultry, plaintive tone to your voice, he’s haunted by the idea - the hope - that you are singing to him. Knowing that everyone who sits in your audience probably feels the same way, he watches the way your eyes roam around the room and then land on him for a split second. He knows logically that you are just being a good showman, but he wants you to have the same desire and yearning that has him nearly aching. Even if he’s not physically hard, thank god, because it would be so obvious - his body is lit up with need.

They tug on you like a rope anchored deep in your chest, those few moments of eye contact. They steal your breath and buckle your knees, and when was the last time you had it this bad for a guy you barely knew?

It’s a miracle or a mercy that Shane calls the next song, but you could kill him for the choice. The intro he plays is a well beloved favorite, but the message makes you ache.

Maybe this time I’ll be lucky…maybe this time he’ll stay…maybe this time for the first time…love won’t hurry away…

Your words pierce his soul and make him bleed. He would close his eyes, but he can’t risk losing the sight of you clutching the microphone and pouring your soul into the words. Making him swallow harshly and nearly start to cry from the emotions you are exposing.

The end of the song is a belt, twisting you up as the intensity rises further and further, until the final blow out has you feeling as wrung out as a wet rag and practically sagging at your mic stand. There are tears in your eyes that get dabbed on the sleeve of your sweatshirt and you turn around to grab your drink off the nearby stool with a ragged breath. “Gimme a second,” you mutter to Shane, wondering why — after singing that song a thousand times — this is the one that makes you feel like you have ripped your heart open and left it shattered on the floor.

Maybe this time I’ll win.

No. You know why. That lyric and the man in the front row. Dammit. You really are a fucking sucker when you like someone.

Zach leans forward, wiping his eyes discreetly and hoping he doesn’t look like a wreck. It’s be so goddamn long since he’s had hope. Not hope for his future, but for his heart. His time in the Marine Corps had changed the course of his future and for a long time, he had believed he didn’t have a future at all. Roaming the streets had a tendency to make you hardened towards the ideals of love and life.

“You good?” Shane murmurs from across the piano, vamping to give you time to breathe. Normally a consummate professional, you’re pretty good at holding off your emotions until you’re off stage. He wonders if this is why you never drink while you’re singing. If it makes it harder for you to focus.

“Yeah.” You nod, wishing he hadn’t gone straight for the emotional jugular. “Something more upbeat this time?”

“Sure thing.” Shane nods and immediately transitions into a catchy, fun song that had been last years summer theme song and converted to a supper club song.

This is more like it. A pop song. The rendition of Katy Perry's Roar would go over well with the teens or other daughters of passengers that got dragged out to the supper club because their parents like jazz, and it's a lot of fun for the fifth member of your band. Cliff is a sax player and a hell of a fun guy, but doesn't always get to shine during all of your songs. He's been pitching a cover of Careless Whisper that is going to be a crowd pleaser too. Shane is a hell of a band leader and is working with him to make it phenomenal. For now, Roar is another good place for Cliff to show off.

Shane makes a playful face while you start singing, remembering how he would have at one time hated this song on principle. He was a rotten little fucker, but he has straightened up and he can’t help but admit that it’s catchy. Especially with you singing it.

This is the tempo most people were hoping for. You can see that in the crowd. People react unconsciously to things that make them happy and the brightened faces and straighter backs of your friends and coworkers is obvious. You look over to flash a smile at Shane -- who you know can't believe you talked him into pop songs – and give him a nod. This is the way to go tonight.

There’s something to be said for the energy of the crowd. Zach looks around, the place isn’t packed but there’s more noise coming from the staff in the seats than most of the customers in here most nights. Although they are normally busy eating full course meals, they aren’t up dancing like some are now.

It makes it fun. It makes it easy to lose track of time and enjoy yourselves. And it makes it more fun to sing for people who are also making a party out of it.

The dancing and drinking goes on, the party hits a stride, and before long a few people are pairing off and heading out for the night so that the party inside the club starts to naturally wind down. You have no idea what time it is when you come down from the stage for the second time tonight, although it's much nicer to breathe deeply and have the atmosphere of good friends around you instead of the awkward curiosity of the guests.

“Well I have to say that you definitely beat me out for the best performance of the night.” Zach scrubs his hand on his jeans as he comes up to you with a cup of ice water for you.

"Hardly." You laugh though, cheeks warm just at the sight of him walking up to you. When he holds out the drink you practically awwe out loud. "That's very sweet of you, though. Um...both, I mean. The compliment and the water. Thank you."

“Have to stay hydrated.” He knows you had drinks while you were on stage, plenty of others delivered them to you, but they were of the alcoholic variety. “Are you still hungry after basically working again?” He asks, grinning at you in awe.

“Fun fact about me,” you tell him, greedily sipping the cold water for a minute and enjoying the way you can feel it run down your entire body. “I’m always hungry.”

“Is that like…your superpower?” He leans in and whispers it playfully, like he’s asking in confidence. “Kind of like Bruce Banner is always angry?”

Zach’s breath is so hot on your skin that you almost flinch, a warm roll of anticipation chasing the cold feeling of the water all the way through you. “Maybe,” you tease back. “You wouldn’t like me when I’m hangry.”

“Then I guess I need to keep you fed.” He snorts, the alcohol in his system making him a little more relaxed than before and it feels like this entire night has been one big dance to lead up to a ‘moment’.

“Good thing you’re very talented.” Fuck…what a terrible line. To avoid owning up to it, you take another sip of water.

He bites his lip at the compliment and watches as you fluster slightly. “Well, since it’s my duty to keep you fed, I guess you should be able to reach me, right?” He asks. “A bat signal for food?”

Instinctually, you’re about to refuse, until about two seconds later when you realize what he’s saying. What he’s offering you. And then the smile splitting your face open grows even wider. “I guess that would be good,” you tease him again and relish the feeling. How easy it is and how good it feels.

Zach pulls out his phone and opens it up to the messages to hand it over to you. “Here you go.” He offers, wondering if you are finding it a little cheesy how he’s basically asked for your number.

Typing your number into the top line, you tilt his phone away from him with a mischievous grin to type out a little message and send it to yourself. When your own phone dings in your pocket a second later, you pull it out and make a great show of reading the message before you react.

Gorgeous chef promises gorgeous singer to keep her fed and she promises to dedicate songs to him in return. Everybody wins.

“Why Zach,” you gasp playfully, one hand flying to your chest after you have his phone back. “You think I’m gorgeous? You flirt.”

Zach reads the message on his own phone and looks up at you for a moment. “And a little too self confident.” He practically giggles, butterflies swimming in his stomach at your description of him. “You’re gorgeous and you know it. Me? Not so much.”

“It’s all a costume. The hair, the make up, the gowns? All of that’s a mask to hide behind.” You may be dressed down right now, without your mask on and not ready to fight, but you know that that’s why you do it. Why you get dolled up every night. It’s not for the guests. It’s your armor. “I…was calling you gorgeous. Adding it for myself was just in case you didn’t mean this as flirting. I could say it was all a joke…”

He stares at you for a moment and shakes his head. “You look great right now. And I know you’re not in a gown or wearing a lot of makeup.” He points out. “So I meant what I wrote.” He tells you adamantly, even if you had technically written the text.

“And so did I.” Setting aside anything else, you add Zach’s name to your contacts and slip your phone into your pocket.

You let slip a yawn and he frowns. “It’s getting late.” It’s the early hours of the morning, and everyone has to be up soon to start the day over again. “Why don’t we get you a snack and get you to bed?”

“That is quite possibly the sexiest thing anyone has ever said to me,” you tell him, grinning all over again. When your roommate calls out that she’s leaving you just tell her to go on. That you’ll catch up. You may be hoping a certain chef will walk you back, but you know he and Shane are housed on a different deck.

“So the way to girl’s heart is through her stomach too?” He turns back towards the kitchen and his hand hovers over your back again. “Interesting.”

Letting yourself be led by him is easy. Honestly it might be the easiest you’ve ever gone with anyone anywhere. “Anybody who claims they can’t be won over by a person who puts enough thought and care into to them that they craft a whole meal to take care of them with? Liars.”

He hums, smirking slightly as he guides you towards the refrigerators again. “What are you thinking you want to eat?” He asks, curious about your comfort foods.

“I wouldn’t even know where to start,” you admit. His kitchen is so well stocked and his skills are so much more extensive than yours. “I basically survive on sandwiches if I have to feed myself.”

“So would you like a sandwich?” He asks. “I can make that happen.”

“Actually,” he sits you down on a stool at the counter and you feel a little dreamy just watching him move, but at least it’s honest. “That sounds amazing.”

He hums as he looks through the fridge and smiles. “Then I know exactly what I’m going to make you.” He starts pulling out ingredients.

“Did you…like any of the music?” It seems right to make conversation, especially since he is once again feeding you, and you are honestly curious. Any song he likes is going to get more play in the club, you can admit that to yourself plenty easily.

“All of it.” That answer comes easily and readily falls off his tongue. “I think you might be the best singer I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“Oh come on.” The best you can do is a huff of disbelief so you don’t break out into nervous laughter, but your stomach flips and your whole body turns hot in pleased embarrassment. “You’re exaggerating.”

“No.” He shakes his head as he brings his treasures over to the counter to lay them out. “I’ve heard a lot of people. Some of the street singers came close, but you beat them all.”

Surveying him quietly, you don’t think too much about the comment on street singers since buskers are everywhere where you’re from. Instead you crack a self-deprecating smile. “Would you mind calling up some of the producers I’ve auditioned for and telling them that? I think I could use a spokesperson.”

“Give me their numbers.” Zach huffs. “Guaranteed in a few years you are headlining somewhere.” He tells you. “Vegas or something.”

"Then this is a perfect place to start." You motion to the ship around you. "Floating Vegas, if you will."

“It’s a good place to forget the rest of the world and all the problems there exists.” He agrees, methodically putting your sandwich together.

"And." Leaning forward on your elbows, you bite back your broad grin into something more flirtatious. "To meet gorgeous chefs."

He pauses for a moment, meeting your eyes and his own smile blooms over his face. “And sultry singers.”

For a moment you consider just trying your luck. Just leaning across the counter and kissing him and seeing what happens. But there is just enough of a hint of nervous in your system despite his red cheeks and hooded eyes that you hesitate, licking your lips and swallowing the lump in your throat. You can shoot your shot in a different way, without being too forward. Just in case.

"Would you..." There is blood pounding in your ears and you can't quite hear what you're even saying, but you press on. "Would you...want to go out sometime? With me, I mean? Like when we both have time off?"

Zach is stunned silent for a second before he remembers that he had to answer you out loud. He handed you the sandwich with a beaming smile. “I’d like nothing more.” He promises.

"Yeah?" Now you're both grinning at each other like idiots, and you nudge the plate between you accidentally before remembering he was just cooking for you like a damn culinary angel that dropped right out of the sky. The sandwich he made is a work of art, and you pick up one half before nudging the plate back at him to share. "Okay, um...just let me know when you have time off?"

“I’ll check the schedule and text you.” He smiles as you take your first bite and wonders how the hell he’s gotten so lucky.

------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

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[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

Castlevania Characters Comforting GN! Reader After They Receive Bad/Scary News

A/N: Yes, this super-fast little headcanon piece was inspired by the US Election results. I did a lot of crying and mourning the day after and now I am ready to fight. I can’t offer you all a lot on this blog besides escapism and comfort, so I opted for the latter for this little post. They’re short (with some shorter than others) but I wanted to bang ones out for as many characters as quickly as possible.  

Note: Politics are not mentioned in the headcanons below. GN! Reader’s upsetting/scary news is not directly mentioned, rather the focus is on how their partner would comfort them.  

Word Count: 3.6k  

Trevor:  

Comfort, for most of his life, has been a stranger to Trevor. But that doesn’t mean he is incapable of providing it for his partner. It’s quite the opposite really.  

Trevor will make sure you’re warm and cozy, wrapping you in his cloak or blankets, and sitting beside you.  

Trevor won’t promise that everything will be okay, because, let’s face it, he knows better. Life isn’t always okay, it’s hard and unpredictable. As a result, Trevor feels empty sweet words aren't as comforting as they are infuriating or patronizing.  

Instead, Trevor simply holds you and tells you that he will always be by your side- in every battle, through every hardship, and every sunrise- he will always be there for you.  

Yes, Trevor’s a little rough around the edges, but he’s smart and wise when he wants to be. As hard and dangerous as life may be for you, you can trust he’s always observant, and on the lookout for anything else that may wish to do you harm.  

If anyone wants to get to you, they’re gonna have to go through him first.  

Sypha:  

Sypha is naturally empathetic and nurturing, so comforting her loved ones after they receive bad news comes easily to her. She’s such a comforting presence herself that even if you were hesitant to explain your feelings, just spending time near Sypha reassures you in a way.  

She makes sure you’re warm, especially your feet since hers are freezing all of the time.  

Once you're settled comfortably, she pulls you into her chest and allows you to rest your head on her shoulder.  

If you need to cry, that’s okay. She rubs a heated hand up and down your back as you let it all out. Her Speaker Magic ensures her hands are at the best temperature for soft, loving warm touches.  

Alucard:  

Alucard is no stranger to grief. He’s been given many reasons to mourn throughout his life, even if he’s had to temporarily compartmentalize those feelings to perform his more important duties. 

But because Alucard has never had the opportunity to feel first and act later, he takes it upon himself to perform any obligations you may otherwise have while he lets you sit in your despair.  

And should the level of pain prevent you from doing the things you need to do to take care of yourself, Alucard has no problem aiding you with those duties as well. He’ll cook you a nutritious meal, draw you a nice warm bath, and whisper you stories until you fall asleep.  

He finds that your vulnerability prompts him to further open himself to you- your worry reminds him it’s okay to have his own. The two of you cry and commiserate, holding each other through the tears and sadness as well as the feelings of betrayal and anger.  

Things may be difficult and dark ahead but as long as you can hold on to each other, Alucard swears all will be alright.  

Greta: 

Greta has endured a lot as the leader of her people. Even so, grief and anguish aren’t really her thing.  

Still, she knows when other people have reached their emotional limit, and she’s quite good at getting them to open up to her in ways they may not have expected.  

As her partner, know that she’s very observant and in tune with your emotions. Before you can even tell her that you’ve received bad news, she knows that already, just by the look on your face.  

She’ll take you somewhere private, away from the other villagers’ prying eyes, where you can express freely how it is you feel.  

Like Trevor, she won’t promise that all will end well, but she swears that no matter the storm, you don’t have to weather it alone—she’s not going anywhere.  

Dracula:  

Dracula is a loyal and obsessive lover, which makes him almost supernatural at detecting your moods/emotions. 

He can read your face the way scholars read a book- he knows what it is you're thinking, and just how it is you’re thinking of it.  

If you’re shaken up or upset, or incredibly angry at some news you’ve just received, Dracula will not only do everything in his power to console you but to amend whatever issue it is that has you so worked up.  

If someone has wronged you, he will kill them, it’s as simple as that. (Unless, of course, you beg him not to, in which case, he cannot help but do as you ask.)  

If you’re worried about your coming physical safety, fear not. He simply takes it upon himself to accompany you everywhere you go. (He’s learned this lesson the hard way, and he’s not about to lose another love in this manner.)   

If all else fails, Dracula will encourage you to do what you must to feel better: to release these feelings any way you know how. If you need to scream or cry or hurt a human or two, he does not judge you for it. You are his beloved human, and he is nothing but in awe of your emotional spectrum. Even though he despises the ignorance of humanity, Dracula cannot ignore the beauty that exists in feeling alive.  

Lisa: 

Lisa is a doctor, and she’s very used to delivering bad or unsavory news to her patients. Of course, it’s much more difficult for her to do so when she’s handling you, but she still puts on a brave and wise face for your sake.  

If it's a problem she can help you with, you can rest assured she will use every bit of knowledge, every tool at her disposal to make you feel better. And if it is a problem of society, not medicine, or science, she still tries her hardest to cheer you up.  

She reminds you of all the scientific advancements humanity has made thus far. Sure, many times things have been forgotten, or left to the wayside, but knowledge is forever. And just because the majority of people refuse to accept or believe in something, does not mean that science is dead.  

She will help you archive and preserve your experience as she believes leaving knowledge behind for future generations, even emotional and personal knowledge is a must.  

And on the nights when it all feels hopeless, she will brush your hair and sing you lullabies, like the ones she sang to Adrian all those years ago.  

Hector:  

Hector is a very emotional person. It’s his sensitivity that led him to discover his forgemaster abilities, and partly due to that, he sees his sensitivity as a strength.  

He cares for all wounded animals, and don’t think for a second that he won’t drop absolutely everything else to care for you, his partner! 

He will call over all your favorite reanimated pets and orchestrate a giant cuddle pile, especially in the coming days if he has to return to work/can’t hold you 24/7. He ensures you’re never lonely or frightened by creating a night creature guard who he orders to protect you with its life.  

Hector is very interested in your thoughts and opinions about your grief. He wants to know exactly what it is that hurts you, and how it’s materialized within the world, so he can record it in his teachings/books for later scholars to come to understand.  

Hector truly loves just having you near, holding you close, be it in bed, or seated outside enjoying a beautiful sunny day. He loves picnicking with you, showing you all the little amazing things the world has created, from the single blades of grass, to all the little bugs and creatures that call it home, and to the gorgeous blue sky, and the many different species of birds that travel through it.  

He knows humans can be cruel. He knows the world can be ugly, but he also knows it can be beautiful, and more than anything, he wishes to share that with you, because, well, he thinks you’re one of the most beautiful things in it.  

Isaac:  

Isaac has a naturally soothing presence. Just him being there for you makes you feel less unsteady.  

Once he calms you down enough so that you can speak without sobbing, he'll ask for as much information as he can. He’s not trying to rib or interrogate you, it’s just that he wishes to be as equally aware of the subject as you are.  

Being a very wise man, Isaac will offer advice on the situation, when applicable. And when it isn’t, he simply assures you that within his palace, so long as you are surrounded by his night creatures and those of a like mind, no harm will come to you.  

He encourages you to sit and meditate with him. The two of you sit close to the ground, breathing in and out. It doesn’t undo what has happened, but it helps make you feel more in control of your future. All that Isaac asks, in imagining the possibilities of such a wonderful future, you include him in it.  

Godbrand:  

Let’s be honest, Godbrand is pretty darn observant, but only half of the time. So, after you receive bad news, he’s either made aware at about the same time you are, or he’s 100% in the dark until you tell him to his face what has happened.  

If he doesn’t pick up on your soured mood, he’ll be a big grumpy baby about it. He complains when you don’t laugh at his jokes, or compliment his prowess after he tells the group a story of one of his recent spoils. He keeps picking at your expression until you’ll eventually have enough, and feel petty enough to spite him.  

It’s only after a week of you reeking of garlic that he relents and asks what the hell’s wrong.  

You throw a bulb of garlic at his head.  

In the event he has picked up on your mood, he assumes he’s done or said something to (ahem, once again) offend you. He’ll bring you jewelry or flowers or clothes or some of that mushy shit in an attempt to apologize. And when you tell him that this time, he’s in fact done nothing wrong, he bursts out laughing. The ridiculousness of the situation causes you to laugh too and before you know it the two of you are enjoying a night of merriment and drink, teasingly but lovingly, laughing at the other’s antics.  

 Raman and Sharma:  

Whatever this news is, you can bet their response will be similar.  

They’ll lavish you with fine gifts- gold, jewelry, and silks- but don’t expect too much emotional support.  

They adore you, but they also believe you to be this precious ornament, the rarest gem in their crown. You may have feelings, and be a multidimensional human, but they simply cannot see you that way.  

For them, humans are stupid, weak, imbeciles that are par in comparison to them. But you, you are not stupid, nor weak, nor an imbecile, and while they certainly don’t believe you rival them per se, they do believe you’re worthy of their attention.  

They tell you to forget about other people. You have them now. And if they’re being honest, what better news could a person like you possibly receive than that?  

Cho:  

Cho has never been one to care for weakness, be it physical or emotional. However, she has been known to make an exception on occasion for you.  

These feelings of grief, or anger- whatever they may be, she tolerates you exhibiting them so long as you do not ask her to physically comfort you.  

If you wish to be cuddled, she has other human servants in her court who could provide such service for you.  

While she claims to be unmoved by your situation, however, she does make a note of finding out if someone or something in particular has caused you this distress. When you ask her about it later, she feigns ignorance as to why that person or that thing has suddenly disappeared.  

Dragoslav:  

Dragoslav is a very practical, no-nonsense kind of man. He was that way even before he was turned into a vampire.  

He understands that humans and vampires have feelings because of course they do. But he does not see the reason for giving in to such things all the damn time.  

Where he comes from, people are usually very hardy, they do not complain about having to weather life’s many difficulties.  

However, as he is a vampire aristocrat, he’s become accustomed to a certain degree of luxury. This privilege has made him soft, in a way. His simple approach to believing merely being a vampire is enough to allow him to feel no threat nor shame when you confess your feelings of grief or anger to him.  

He lets you indulge in your feelings for a short period, perhaps even daring to sit with you as you talk through them, before telling you to brush your shoulders off and become strong once more.  

Zufall: 

Zufall (second only to Dracula) is closest to what you’d assume a stereotypical European vampire is like. 

In his immortality, Zufall prefers to be alone and chooses rather to surround himself with books and trinkets as opposed to a court full of servants.  

However, he does take an interest in humans as temporary companions. You are warm and interesting, and so eager to satisfy him, how could he resist the temptation to have a handful of you in rotation at any given time?  

You are one of his favorites, and while he will not ever regard you as an equal, he does truly wish for you to be content with his company. If you’ve received bad news, and are looking downcast, he will enquire about it, asking to know if there is perhaps something about your room or your enrichments that he can alter.  

If you are more on the hysterical side, Zufall will even begrudgingly allow you to hold him, as he runs his clawed fingers gently up and down your back. He hushes you before telling you parts of a fable he can recall from back when he was still a human boy. His deep voice and strong accent help lull you to sleep.  

Carmilla:  

Upon finding out you’re upset because you’ve received bad news, she’s filled with both annoyance and rage. Who dares to upset you? Don’t they know better than to trifle with her precious human? She will make them pay, whoever did this, whatever caused this. She will slice it to death with her claws if need be.  

If your news isn’t caused by the actions of one other person, but let’s say a mood or an opinion of society, she rolls her eyes, before pulling you close to tell you that you have nothing to worry about.  

Society is what’s kept her powerless and secondary all these years, she has no respect for its select worship and demonization of certain people and powers that be.  

She makes sure you’re pampered: the finest linens and silks, the best meals, and the best wine Styria has to offer if all yours with a snap of your fingers.  

She tells you not to worry, dear pet. She swears the world will soon bend to accommodate both yourself and her. And should anyone dare to stand in your way, she will squash them like the insignificant bug they are.  

Overall, she’s a little dramatic and murder-y about it, but it’s only because she loves you, and she knows how hard living (or nonliving) is when you’ve been made to feel small. She never wants you to know that pain. And you won’t, so long as she has something to say about it.  

Lenore:  

Lenore is a natural peacekeeper, so when she notices you are upset, she immediately sets out to do something about it.  

She will ask if there’s anything you would like help with, or if there’s perhaps anything she can get for you.  

If someone else is causing problems for you, she offers to act as a go-between or mediator of sorts and talk it out on your behalf. She insists on it, especially if the person causing you great distress or giving you bad news is one of her sisters.  

Striga & Morana: 

Striga and Morana are very practical thinkers, even if Striga is prone to outbursts occasionally. As a team, they are strategic experts in execution. As such they notice small changes in your mood. You don't even have to confide in them before they ask you what’s wrong.  

Striga offers to torture or kill whoever’s causing you to feel this helpless meanwhile Morana makes you a soothing cup of tea.  

It can be a lot to take in at once, two people who love you who want to protect you, assisting you in the very distinct ways they know how, but you know it is because they treasure your company.  

If this news is not something that can be fixed, they will hold you sandwiched in between them as you let out your feelings, be it by crying or simply voicing your frustrations.  

St. Germain: 

St. Germain tends to get carried away in his train of thought, so he is not always privy to your feelings and opinions.  

You would have to confide in him that you’ve received such devastating news, otherwise he would be completely oblivious.  

He still swears he has no clue as to why his previous lover left him, something that haunts him to this day. So the minute you tell him something’s wrong, he drops everything he’s doing and listens.  

He’ll hold you close to him and whisper sweet things into your ear, telling you how much he loves you and values you. He ensures you this world, and countless others, are greater with you in it. He begs for you to internalize that. He truly doesn’t believe he could survive without you.  

All he knows is that this world, as well as his life, would be poorer if you were not in it.  

Ratko:  

Ratko is not a sensitive man, but he does recognize the importance of sharing news with your loved ones, so he will insist you tell him what you know, as soon as you know it.  

When he learns it’s distressing, he sighs and reminds you that when you are close to a victorious vampire, such news should not matter.  

Still, if you are shaken up or angry, he will relent and allow you to sit in your emotions for a time.  

When he thinks it’s appropriate (most likely sooner than you would have), he demands your presence, bringing you to a surprise. It may be good human food, it may be money, it may be clothes, either way, those things matter not to Ratko. To him, they are merely symbols of wealth and victory.  

But that is why he insists you enjoy them. Despite whatever news you receive, he insists that you spend every waking moment feeling victorious- because you are.  

He thinks most humans are stupid pigs, beings he feels no need to respect. But with you, he is in awe of you. That alone, he will remind you, should make you feel more worthy than any other human on the planet.  

Varney/Death:  

Varney is an enigma, mainly because he’s playing dual roles. As Varney, he is compelled to embellish and dramatize his thoughts and feelings, and he will respond similarly to your own. On the other hand, as Death, he is compelled to be stoic and serious, gleefully capturing souls after they’ve departed.  

In the chance your upsetting news is the loss of a loved one, he will know before you. (Because you know, he is Death after all.) But for your sake, he will act shocked when you tell him. It may be a lie, but it’s meant for your benefit. He’d rather lie and validate your feelings than tell the truth and make you feel more alone.  

In the case your news is not a death, he will learn of it only if you tell him. And when you do, he tries to listen, and not tune you out. It’s a difficult task, the ups and downs of a single human life tend to seem too trivial to him, but for you, he makes an exception.  

And while he cannot directly kill all the people who have upset you, should your news be centered around the actions of a large group of people, he will make a point to consume their souls much slower than others, telling such folks he is doing it as an act of vengeance in your name.  

A/N 2.0: Can you tell I have a favorite background character or two? Lol.  

As always, if you enjoyed reading this work, please Like but more importantly, REBLOG.  

If you’d like to support me, Consider Buying Me A Coffee <3. 

[writing-until-i-drop]

Wildflowers For A Hangman Ch. 20

Summary:

Daisy, a career novelist, moves in with her college best friend Phoenix who has been permanently assigned to Top Gun with Dagger Squad. She finds herself instantly connected with a cocky pilot who's soft only for her and Jake can't help but want to know everything about her. When the past comes knocking at both of their doors, will they stand together or fall apart?

Or: The Dagger Squad can't cook and Jake falls in love with a woman who makes a mean lasagna while they work their personal trauma.

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x writer!femOC | 18+ (eventually) minors dni. Fluff, smut (eventual), idiots in love, past trauma.

A/N: Jake comes clean and Daisy has to talk to Penny

AO3 Link

Previous Chapter

I managed to make it until we were back at my apartment before I broke. Tasha was spending the night at Javy’s place, which meant it was just the two of us and after a  few hours of thinking up the worst possible scenarios for what Jake had to tell me, I was ready to cry, scream, or throw up. Or do all three at once, it was a toss up really.

“I’m going to sit down on the couch and you’re going to tell me what’s going on,” I said, putting my hands on Jake’s shoulder to stop him from kissing me when we walked in the door. “Because I know there’s something you’re not telling me.” Jake sighed, running a hand over his face.

“We’re not breaking up, let’s start with that,” Jake’s voice was tired but serious, his words striking out one of my fears. I nodded, running my hands up and down my pajama pants, trying to ease my anxiety with the familiar feeling of the fuzzy fabric. “Rooster and I might be deployed soon.” The news hit me like a blow to the gut, deployed? What happened over Thanksgiving had been a mission, just a few days apart and that had been hell.

“How long?” I heard myself ask, knees folding into my chest. Jake sat beside me, wrapping me in his arms, chin resting on top of my head.

“I don’t know, Wildflower.” 

“Where?” 

“I don’t know and I couldn’t tell you if I did, it would be classified,” Jake kissed my hair. “I don’t have any details, I don’t even know if it’s happening. It’s all just whispers behind closed doors and rumors at this point, which is why I didn’t want to say anything.” 

“I love you,” It’s all I could think to say. Jake’s thumb brushed over my cheeks and that’s when I realized I was crying, “I love you so much.”

“I know, baby, I love you too,” Jake held me tight. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I didn’t want to say anything until I knew for sure.”

“Tell me next time, okay?” 

“I promise, Wildflower. I’m sorry I worried you,” Jake kissed the top of my head, rubbing circles into my back. “I love you so much.” 

My first thought was to run, to get away but the second that crossed my mind, the idea of being without Jake hit me like a truck. I didn’t want to be without him, I couldn’t imagine not having Jake in my life. He had managed to intertwined every part of my life with his, from my writing to his family, we were bound together. Running away now would be running away forever. Right?

“Why don’t we call Penny in the morning?” Jake kissed my hair again, drawing me out of my thoughts. “Maybe we can call mama and pops too.”

“I’d like that,” I nuzzled into his neck, “How long are deployments usually?” Jake sighed, bringing me onto his lap.

“It depends, there’s short deployments of just a few months and then there’s deployments that can last over a year.” A year? My grip on Jake’s waist tightened, “It’s probably not going to be that long, baby but if it is, we’ll figure it out.” After a few minutes of silence that felt like hours, Jake whispered, “You’ll be waiting here when I get back?” 

“Always,” I answered without hesitation. I took Jake’s face in my hands, staring him down even though I still wanted to puke a little bit. Jake’s eyes were intense, his brow creased in worry. “I’m not going anywhere and no matter where you go, you’re coming back home to me. Deal?” 

“Deal.” Jake closed the distance between our lips, kissing me soft and sweet. There was no rushing, it was as if we had all the time in the world, and if we did have all that time, what was a few months apart? He pulled my legs fully around him and stood, never breaking the kiss as he carried me to the bedroom. 

When he laid me back on the bed and stripped me bare, Jake took his time. He covered my body in kisses, worshiping every inch like he was committing it to memory, and when we finished, he pulled me into his chest and held me tight all through the night. 

The next morning I called Penny, who evidently had been waiting to hear from me. I tried to ignore the fact that everyone around me probably already knew about the deployment, especially the fact that Tasha hadn’t said anything. Penny invited me over and Jake dropped me off,

“Call me when you’re ready,” He whispered, kissing my forehead. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, cowboy.” 

Penny greeted me with a hug and a mug of peppermint tea, she looked cozy in her navy pajama set and robe, pulling me into her living room.

“How are you holding up, kiddo?” Penny passed me a cream blanket that was soft.

“First thing I wanted to do was run,” Penny hummed, rubbing my knee. “Now I just feel a little numb.” 

“I thought having grown up with my father’s deployments would have made things easier the first time my ex-husband deployed but it didn’t.” She sipped her tea, staring ahead where a picture of her and Amelia hung on the wall. “I spent the first month crying in bed, almost got fired from my job. Then one of the other wives in his unit, an older woman named Vera, sat me down for a talk.” 

Penny looked the picture of calm as she spoke and I envied her for it. What I didn’t envy was how many years, deployments, and undoubted heartache that it took to cultivate that calm. 

“She first told me that I looked like crap,” I chuckled along with Penny. “Then she told me I was going to join her walking group. Most of the wives in the unit met up every morning and walked a mile around base. If we had news, we shared it, some women talked about how their kids were handling things, we organized what we were sending in care packages, and we traded recipes. Anything to keep ourselves sane.” 

“Are you asking me to join your walking group?” Penny pursed her lips at me, rolling her eyes. “What, you, me, and Ames could totally go for walks on the beach before school.” 

“Good luck dragging that girl out of bed early,” She pushed my knee, laughing. “But seriously, Daisy, one of the best things you can do while he’s gone is stay busy and stay connected with me and with him.”

“How am I supposed to talk to him if I don’t know where he is?” 

“You’ll most likely be able to call him but if you want to send him letters, you’ll give them to command and they’ll send the letters to him when they can.” When they can. That wasn’t very reassuring.

“What else do I need to know?” 

X

I spent the day getting my affairs in order, scheduling a stop on my mail, making sure all my bills were on auto pay, and updating my will and life insurance policies. By the time it was lunch, my head was pounding from all of the tedious details. 

When lunch time came and went without a word from Daisy or Penny, I stopped by the store and picked up a few things for Daisy’s apartment. Bath bombs, new pajamas, a few nice notebooks that she’d probably never write in for fear of “ruining” them. I chuckled to myself, I really did love her and all of her little quirks. If it wasn’t for Daisy’s one-year rule I’d pick her up from Penny’s and take her straight to the court house if she’d let me. 

Deployments had never bothered me before, in fact, I loved them. They meant that I could fly on missions, feeling the adrenaline pumping through my veins as I kept an eye out for enemy bogeys. Now the thought of being away from home for even a few days made my heart hurt. I wanted to go to work in the morning, fly formations with the team, and come home to Daisy at the end of the day. I wanted to fall into bed beside her and tease her when she spent twenty minutes rearranging the blankets so she wouldn’t be hot. 

The deployment hadn’t even started yet and I already wanted it to be over. I said a quick prayer, praying that this deployment would be a short one.

Taglist: @dizzybee03 @littlezee80 @nervousenemyduck @carolina-on-my-mind03 @mizzzpink @beltzboys2015-blog @writingrose @hookslove1592 @closetspngirl @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @closetspngirl @shanimallina87 @owenniasstars @cevansbaby-dove @caitsymichelle13 @bigstrongblackheart @mrsevans90

Next Chapter

[madlori]

A breakdown (no, not that kind)

So, in an effort to be clear-headed about the ship, I am here reporting a complete list of the scenes in which Tommy appears or is discussed in the context of his relationship with Buck. I'm not counting 7x03 as that was all pre-relationship (shoulder touch notwithstanding). Scenes in italics are ones in which Tommy is discussed or is present in the conversation but does not appear.

7x04

Buck visits Harbor Station

Sewer rescue (Eddie tells Buck about all the cool stuff he and Tommy have been doing)

Firehouse workout scene (Buck's angling to get an invite to basketball where he can see Tommy)

Basketball game

Tommy visits Buck's loft, first kiss

7x05

First date

Conversation with Maddie

Conversation with Eddie

Coffee date

7x06

Bachelor party

Hospital kiss

7x09

Medal ceremony

Conversation with Bobby (Tommy's good people)

7x10

Dinner scene

8x01

Birthday party scene

8x05

Tommy comes to the hospital for Buck's shoulder

Tommy and Buck at home before bed

Breakfast scene and discovering boils

Eddie comes over to look at the boils.

Waiting at the hospital for Denny

Cemetery

8x06

Miceli's anniversary date

Talking with Josh and Maddie

Final loft scene

Now.

This is not a lot of scenes. It's 24 scenes total. But what's even more telling is that 18 out of those 24 scenes are from the first two eps (when the relationship was being established) or the last two (when it was being dissolved, although that isn't apparent until the last scene).

So...six scenes in between. And that's counting one scene Tommy didn't appear in. Six scenes to carry the relationship between establishing it and breaking it down.

It felt like more, didn't it?

I can tell you why that is. Because the fandom took away from those scenes faaaaaar more than just the content of the scenes.

The birthday party scene was short, but from it the fandom inferred: Tommy is being incorporated into Eddie's life. He's maintaining contact with Chris and important enough to be included in this zoom call. He and Buck are relaxed and flirty with each other. There's some sexual sparks between them. Eddie's comfortable with the two of them.

The dinner scene was less than one minute, but from it the fandom inferred: They're cooking at home together. Buck's coming home to his person after a hard day. Tommy's opening up about his father, and their relationship isn't great. Tommy's asking about Buck and being concerned about his emotional state. Buck is listening intently to what Tommy's telling him. They have a close, settled rapport. Tommy's comfortable in Buck's kitchen. They're being flirty/naughty a bit and enjoying it. They have a healthy sexual relationship.

Tommy wasn't even there for Buck's conversation with Bobby, but from it the fandom inferred: Bobby approves of this relationship. He has seen how Buck has been while dating Tommy, and it's doing wonders for him. He hasn't had to talk about it with him or ask. He's used to seeing Buck to go Tommy overnight, motioning to the bag Buck is packing. He's happy they're dating and is all but giving his blessing for it to go on long term. Bobby is Buck's father figure, and Buck will take this as a confirmation that he's on the right path this time.

So these scenes are doing a lot of heavy lifting, but is the show doing that, or was it us?

Now, none of the inferences I just described are WRONG. Everything I just said is totally reasonable for the fandom to take from those scenes. But a casual viewer, or someone who didn't care about or like the relationship, wouldn't take that much from it. And how much we examined, analyzed and discusses every single scene in depth magnified its presence in our minds until the relationshp gains a weight in the storyline that really...isn't there as much as we thought it was.

It was NOT unreasonable or delusional of us to think this relationship was being positioned to be long term. If they had continued, if 8x06 had ended happily, that would be the first beat in the continuation. It wouldn't feel out of place that the intervening ten or so episodes only had like four scenes of them, because more would be coming, and for a potential LTR, it doesn't matter that much. So how much of that positioning was more about Tommy's identity as a character, his potential as a new member of the 118 firefam, his friendship with Eddie, him being a firefighter. The only one of those things that the show actually used was his friendship with Eddie.

It's a waste of potential. But I can't exactly call Buddie fans wrong when they say it was underdeveloped. It was developed GREAT...by us. It started real strong, trickled off, and then built up again just to end. 8x05 was by far their strongest episode, and if they'd done one or two more like that in the interim, with Tommy a much more present character, it would have been even clearer that he was to continue. But now...it just feels hollow.

I still don't know if they meant this to be a "starter" relationship all along (I still think you don't give the starter boyfriend the heroic rom-com hospital kiss, but it's clear by now I don't understand a lot of the writers' thinking) or if they were originally thinking long term and pivoted at some point. I'm frankly tired of theorizing about that. But it feels like season 7 was a lot more committed to the relationship than 8 was. The few scenes they had, had more import.

Anyway. I'm not casting any aspersions. If we read more into things than was intended, well, that's more or less the short definition of fandom.

It was fun while it lasted and I will always love the relationship, even if we never see it return.

[tighnarisfavourite]

⟡ says he’s gonna teach me just what fast is, say it’s gonna be alright ── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

cyno x fem!reader

it's been days since the investigation started, and you were losing hope. will you get your deserved freedom, or will it be taken away?

a/n : please read part 1 before reading this! also i wrote this at like 1am last night so I apologise if the writing is bad!! >_<

word count : 1595

⟡ One day had passed since Cyno returned to the Akademiya to search for evidence that could lead to the student being the one who really committed those crimes and not you.

As for yourself, you went back to Aaru Village since you couldn’t possibly show up at the Akademiya after everything that has happened. Your parents happily greeted you and let you stay for the time being.

Of course, they had asked why you suddenly came back to Aaru Village but you just explained that you wished to see them again after so long, which wasn’t necessarily a lie and it held some truth but not the full truth.

You had busied yourself with helping around the house, doing chores such as helping with cleaning and cooking, and even going out of your way to assist Candace if she needed anything. You just needed to keep your mind distracted and not let it wander to... well, you know what.

But one day soon turned into three days...

Three days since that fateful day.

When you were left alone with your thoughts, you always came to the conclusion that maybe the search is just taking a while... after all, evidence isn’t something that can just be found easily, especially when you’re investigating a student from the Akademiya.

During the evening, just as the sun dipped low over the dunes, you found yourself at the village outskirts, taking a short walk with Candace. “You know,” Candace started to speak, her hands behind her back. “I always thought you’d find your way back here someday. You left to chase your dreams and become something great, but there’s a peace in Aaru Village that can’t be found anywhere else, so you return to it.”

You managed a faint smile. “I never thought I’d come back like this, unannounced too. Well, what can I say? I wanted to make my family and the fellow desert folk proud before I made my return.”

Candace let out a hum, nodding. “And you have made your family and the desert folk proud. You’ll be a clear inspiration to the children of the village too, and they’ll feel as if their dreams of becoming a scholar in the Akademiya isn’t silly at all, but very manageable and achievable if they study well.”

Being seen as an inspiration right now with everything that’s going on, isn’t exactly how you wish to be seen... after all, you don’t even know if you can return to the Akademiya after this. If you can continue being a scholar...

That was always there in the back of your mind— the sights of the cold, judgmental faces of the council that replayed nonstop, you wondering if Cyno would find any proof... it kept gnawing at you, a constant ache you couldn’t shake, no matter what you did. It was always there, haunting you.

The third day soon turned into the fifth day.

Five days since the investigation started.

You couldn’t deny the hopelessness you started to feel, perhaps this was it, no evidence leading to the student being the one who did it and you’re forced to stand on trial and get locked away for a long, long time while he stays free.

The fifth night was colder than usual, the desert winds sharper, biting at your skin as you lay awake, staring up at the vast sky with the stars lighting it up. You couldn’t help but head to the top of the hill where you and Cyno usually laid and stargazed as kids.

As you settled under the twinkling night sky, your thoughts began to spiral deeper.. wondering if this would be the last freedom you would ever experience, the last time you’d get to look up at the stars as a free person?

Shoving those thoughts aside— you tried to find comfort in the memory of this place, this familiar hill where so many of your happiest moments had been spent with Cyno. It was here that you used to imagine a world filled with possibilities, a future full of promise.

But now, that future seemed farther away than ever. Completely stripped away from you and the hard work you had put in for it was useless. Utterly useless.

Had it not been for you being so naive and trusting of others, you’d still be at the Akademiya, going on with your research but it seems like you just so happened to be unfortunate that day and everything came crashing down.

Studying in advance for everything, making so many backup projects and theories for all the work you had to do as an average student... just what was all that for? The all-nighters you had to go through, the amount of times you’d be too tired to focus on what the professors were teaching, but fighting through that tiredness— achieving the best grades that you possibly can.

All of that... for what?

You break out of your thoughts once you hear distant footsteps coming from behind you— standing up and turning around... you recognized that individual very well, his silhouette outlined by the moonlight.

“Cyno,” You whispered, barely able to believe he was really approaching. “You’re here?”

“I’m here. The search took longer than I expected, but I found it,” Cyno started. “The evidence. The student made an error while forging your signature— he left a trail. It was subtle, almost too well-hidden, but there was enough to prove he was the one behind everything.”

Hearing those words... your face lit up fully, those thoughts that were driving you mad just a few seconds ago— completely disappearing. Feeling the wave of happiness and relief wash over you, you couldn’t help but run up to Cyno and wrap your arms around him, pulling him in for a hug.

He was a bit surprised at the sudden affection at first, but quickly came to accept it, his arms wrapping around your waist— keeping you close to him. The nightmare you were living in for so long... it was finally over.

“I knew you’d be able to do it,” You whispered against his shoulder, letting out a short laughter of relief afterward. “I was starting to lose hope, but... I should’ve known better. I should’ve known you’d find a way. You’re not the General Mahamatra for no reason.”

Cyno pulled back slightly to meet your gaze. “I wasn’t going to let you suffer for someone else’s deceit. After all, it’s my duty to bring justice to everyone.”

His words were a reminder of just how deeply he cared for somebody close to him, even if he rarely allowed it to show. “I don’t know how to thank you,” You pause, a grin that carried only joy appearing on your face. “For not giving up on me, even when it seemed impossible.”

“You don’t have to thank me, [name]. You know I would never give up on you, not in a million years.” A warmth spread throughout you, making your heart race, and your stomach felt those butterflies— the same ones you had felt whenever you were around him as a youngin.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Silence making itself very known, but it would occasionally be broken by the sounds of the soft rustle of the desert wind. Looking into his red eyes that so carefully looked back into yours... you knew it was the right time to do what you’ve been wanting to for so, so long.

Your hands slither up to his neck, letting them rest there as you lean into his face, closing your eyes before you place your lips onto his— a fiery feeling coursing through the both of you.

The worries, the pain, the harshness of the past days all melted into the background, leaving only the warmth of his lips against yours and the steady beat of your hearts.

The kiss deepened, and a spark ignited between you. Here, in this quiet yet passionate embrace, you felt as if you’d come home at last, to a place you hadn’t known you’d been searching for. A true home.

Cyno was your home, and he was the one that you would cherish for eternity.

You finally pull back, breathing in the desert air as you open your eyes. “Didn’t expect that, did you?” You chuckle, a small smile playing on your lips as your eyes meet his once more. “I can’t say I did, but it’s not unwelcome.” His hand reached up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, fingers lingering against your cheek as if he wanted to memorize this moment.

“Wanted to do that since we were in our teenage years... been waiting for this for so long.” You admit, feeling a hint of embarrassment but too happy to care. A faint smile curled his lips, and he leans closer, his forehead resting gently against yours. “You don’t have to wait anymore.” Cyno murmurs.

“Honestly... forget about the butterflies. When I’m with you, I feel the whole zoo.” And of course... the romantic moment was ruined just like that, he really couldn’t hold back a joke, could he?

“You should’ve stayed quiet...” You mumbled, a sigh escaping your lips.

For the first time, you felt certain that this was only the beginning— the beginning of an actual happy future with the one you love most. No matter what may come, Cyno will always be there by your side,

loving you to the moon and back.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Favorite Day

Part 2 of Favorite Woman

Pairing: Jim Street x fem!reader

Summary: You, Jim Street's favorite woman, finally meet Street's team.

Warnings: fluff, banter, friendly betting, the usual

Word Count: 1.1k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Jim Street Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

Picture from Pinterest (ik it's not Street but it's cute)

Street takes your hand, smiling as the charm on your bracelet taps his wrist. He bought you the bracelet for Women’s Day, and you’ve worn it every day since. His initials are carved into the charm, and you look at it often.

“I can’t believe this is finally happening,” you muse as Street pulls you to his side.

“Me neither,” he admits, running his thumb gently under your lips. “Some people might think that I didn’t want to introduce you to my team.”

“Those people wouldn’t have had to be lonely while your team worked overtime every week since March.”

Street smiles and pulls you closer as the fall winds blow through Los Angeles. He taps your side and leads you up the short walkway to the house he shares with Luca. You’ve met Luca, but you’re growing nervous about the rest of Street’s team. His coworkers have become his family; it’s been a long time coming, and you don’t want to jeopardize the relationships Street has worked so hard for.

“Ignore Hondo,” Street suggests as he opens the door for you.

Watching Street’s profile, you murmur, “It’s hard to pay attention to anyone else.”

“There’s my best friend!” Luca calls as you enter.

“Thanks for cooking,” you respond, smiling as you pull your hand from Street’s to hug Dom.

“Streeter!” Hondo yells. You recognize him from pictures and smile to stifle your laugh as Street raises a hand.

“I’ll get to introductions, Hondo, try not to be so blatantly pathetic.”

Hondo stands, but Street pulls you before him and says your name. “This is my girlfriend. Girlfriend, this is Hondo, Deacon, and Tan.”

“Nice to meet you all,” you add. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Then you know Street’s a pathological liar,” Tan responds with a smile.

You offer your hand but don’t get a single handshake as you’re pulled into three hugs. Street’s friends are just as kind and welcoming as he said, and as you sit between Street and Deacon, you feel like you are part of the family.

“I see why you hid her so long,” Hondo jokes, smiling at Street.

“Yeah,” Luca agrees as he sets a plate on the table. “Because he gets more annoying every day.”

“I’m just glad they aren’t blaming me for how long it took,” you whisper to Deacon.

“Oh, we’ll be on your side for everything, even if it’s just to mess with Street,” he replies.

“That doesn’t make any sense, Deac,” Street says, abandoning his bickering with Hondo. “She’s part of me, so you can’t mess with me like that. She’s always right.”

“Somebody got that on camera, right?” you ask.

Luca returns with the last of the meal and sits across from you. As they begin eating, they ask you questions about how you and Street met, what you’ve done since you’ve been together, and hint at ideas about marriage. You find it incredibly easy to talk to them, and as you listen to their jokes and observe how well they get along, you smile and take Street’s hand under the table.

“Time for the heavy stuff,” Hondo announces as the food runs low. He places his napkin on the table and turns toward you and Street.

“I told you to return the bracelet when you had the chance,” you mumble to Street, holding his hand in your lap.

“Don’t go there,” he replies. “Hondo has a different idea of heavy stuff.”

“But I don’t,” Deacon interjects. “And we do have something important to talk about.”

“Do you, uh, do you want me to go?” you offer, gesturing toward the hallway to Street’s room.

“No,” Tan assures. “Street can go, if he’d like.”

“Ha ha,” Street deadpans. “Just spit it out, guys.”

“My wife Annie wants to meet you,” Deacon tells you as Hondo and Luca look at each other. “No rush.”

“That sounds nice,” you reply. “I’d really like that.”

“Okay,” Hondo begins. “It’s very clear that you’re in love, that you make Street tolerable.”

“We mean that in the nicest way,” Luca assures. “But… I can’t do it, Hondo.”

“Do you love him as much as he loves you?” Tan asks quickly. “See, wasn’t hard.”

Street shakes his head and begins to speak, but you gently squeeze his hand and smile.

“You all care about Street, and I appreciate it more than you believe. I’m guessing you’re asking because you have an idea of how much Street does for me, how he shows his love. Yes, he buys me gifts, like the expensive bracelet I wear, and takes me to nice restaurants. The answer to your question is undoubtedly, completely, yes. I love Street more than I have ever loved anyone or anything before in my life. You may not be able to see it when Street walks into a room, but he is the love of my life, and I do my best to show him every single day that I’m lucky enough.”

The men around you nod, watching you as Street turns toward you.

“That’s better than any wedding speech I’ve ever heard,” Deacon says, breaking the silence.

“I’m telling Annie!” Hondo yells.

“She didn’t write her own,” Deacon argues, “but be my guest.”

“Did I pass?” you whisper to Street.

He doesn’t answer, so you move to face him. Street’s eyes are fixed on you, and he doesn’t hear anything his friends say as he watches you with a lovestruck look in his eye.

“I know you do,” he whispers. “I love you.”

“Heavy stuff now?” Luca asks.

“You mean that wasn’t the heavy stuff?” you question.

“Of course not,” Hondo responds. He smiles to ask, “Now we need to talk food and how often you can serve as a buffer between us and Streeter there.”

Street lists your favorite foods, then says, “And as often as possible.”

“What’s your favorite day of the year?” Tan asks.

You furrow your brow but answer, “November 6th.”

Street smiles, aware that you go above and beyond for birthdays and love celebrating him, but Tan sighs and gives Luca cash as Hondo fishes for his wallet. Deacon rolls his eyes and tells you this is normal, but your curiosity is piqued.

“What did you think I’d say?” you inquire.

“March 8th,” Tan and Hondo answer.

“Because of this one romancing me all day?” you ask, pointing to Street. “That was a good day, but, I mean, they’re all special with him.”

“If you like birthdays,” Tim begins before trailing off.

“I’m really glad I came tonight,” you say. “But there is one question I had for all of you, if that’s okay.”

The men around you nod, and Street leans closer to you as you ask, “What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve seen Street do?”

Street groans as he hides behind you, and Hondo, Luca, and Tan speak over one another before Deacon shakes his head and assures him he has seen him do worse.

“You’re lucky I love you,” Street says against your neck. “And don’t think I’ll forget this when it’s time to write wedding speeches.”

[madelynhimegami]

Maguro Sasaki Guide

I can't tell if these have started to balloon out of control, or if I didn't do Ecolo and Amitie enough justice in their posts? If it's the latter, I might need to redo them...

Maguro Sasaki is a bundle of energy tightly secured in a chill package.

He may or may not be the closest anyone in the Puyo cast gets to "shitposting memelord."

When he was younger, Maguro was a frequent target of bullying. Two things changed by the time he hit middle school completely overturned that.

The first thing was that the onset of their grade's puberty led to Maguro to start becoming handsome-- and a lot of classmates noticed.

That's why Maguro has his eyes covered by his hair. His face is so beautiful that anyone who sees it uncovered falls in love. He and Ringo (who is immune by being a childhood friend) call it the "beauty beam."

It has been confirmed multiple times that the effect has no regard for gender. At most, those not attracted to guys are left unaffected (but even that's speculative).

The second thing that happened by middle school is that he decided to get better than his bullies at what they do best-- and succeeded.

Consequently, Maguro has a vast skillset. He also enjoyed developing those skills enough that he considers them hobbies.

Said skillset/hobbies include: ★ Kendama (naturally) ★ Fashion ★ Cooking/baking ★ Sports ★ Chess and tabletop games in general ★ Video games ★ Martial arts ★ Fishing ★ Dance ★ Musical instrument playing (Tuba has been mentioned) ★ Stage magic and sleight of hand ★ Lockpicking ★ PC building ★ Puyo Puyo

Basically, if you can think of a skill or hobby a middle schooler would realistically have, odds are Maguro knows how to do it and is ridiculously good at it

Despite that, he considers himself more of a generalist than an expert in any of the aforementioned.

Becoming good at so many things has led to him being confident enough to not be bothered by bullying anymore.

Not that it happens particularly often. He's actually quite popular, and his skillset makes him in high demand with several student-run organizations.

He prefers hanging out with Ringo, though.

As you can probably imagine, while he's generally unphased by rudeness directed at himself, he does not take the bullying of others lightly.

Probably comes with the territory of not only being a former bullying victim (and being best friends with someone who almost certainly got bullied and may very well still does) (like have you met middleschoolers?), but also an older brother.

Maguro's brother is apparently helpful and kind-hearted, but can be easily exploited because of that.

Being from a fishmonger family, Maguro is well versed in the physical characteristics of fish and is able to identify many different species on sight.

Maguro's greatest frustration with his life is his inability to devote all the time he wants to spend on his myriad hobbies (honestly, mood).

Compounding this is his ever-shifting focus. He often finds himself unable to stick with anything for very long.

Maguro also hates having to sit still doing nothing. He always needs something to keep himself busy.

Socially, Maguro is pretty well put together. He's very chill and good at helping others staying chill. He can get a good read of situations fairly quickly and is pretty good at knowing what to say.

He doesn't surprise easily, either. Generally he's able to roll with a lot, but doesn't handle abrupt changes or being put on the spot very well.

Maguro and Ringo vibe so in sync that they're telepathic when they Puyo battle, be it with or against each other. Literally.

He knows how to best keep Ringo from getting too stressed, and also knows how to ground her wild-running excitement. Except when he's the subject of her excitement.

Maguro's speech and behavior (in Japanese) suggest a connection to a subculture among male Japanese teenagers that started cropping up around the time that Puyo 7 was released. Short version is, it suggests that Maguro's not interested in dating or pursuing a relationship. Interpret that as you will.

As a result, he doesn't like when people assume that he and Ringo are dating.

At some point after 20th Anniversary, but before Puzzle Pop, Ecolo had become enough of a staple to physics club hangouts that Maguro no longer seems to have trouble remembering him.

Ecolo considers Maguro an enjoyable person to play Puyo against, and Maguro does know that Ecolo is a friend (with a tendency for mischief). But beyond that, as far as I know their relationship hasn't been explored all that much.

With how much Ringo vibes with Maguro and Ecolo, I'm very sure the latter two would get along quite well once they got to know each other better.

Maguro has a strong dislike of scalpers. He also says to support your local brick-and-mortar game stores.

It probably goes without saying, but Maguro is a huge nerd. His flavor of nerd tends to be a lot more media-centric than Ringo's.

If something of interest comes up, Maguro can't hold back the urge to infodump. One Quest mini-story has him interrupt multiple times, Emperor's New Groove-style, to just gush about Sonic the Hedgehog. He even admits he's not supposed to be in the story.

He'll also start infodumping when he just knows a lot about of the subject in general. (And that's how Witch ended up concluding he was stalking Ringo)

[agirlwholovesrockstars]

°𝄞 𝐒𝐄𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 °𝄞

☆ 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚒𝚡 ☆

"Is a Hero or a Criminal?"

♬♪ 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 ♬♪

ᯓ★ previous chapter | next chapter ★ᯓ

✶࿐ Summary : was it wrong to defend someone you hardly know but also you knew too well?

✶࿐ Word Count : wishing that you won't get bored lol

✶࿐ Warnings : 18+ Eddie Munson x Future!FEM!reader, cursing, use of y/n, g0re, vi0lence, d3ath, action, upside down, police chase, false accusations, Jason and his gang reoccurring, misunderstanding, denial, I'm gonna stop right here! 🤭

✶࿐ What to Expect : reader lives in 2024, ANGST, FLUFF, fantasy, romance, comedy, time travel

✶࿐ Note To Reader : fasten up seatbelts guys, because this is going to be a tough one to read

✶࿐ Author Note : I'm so sorry for y'all keeping on waiting I'm so caught up with my life lately but I'm here now! 🥺

𓆩♱𓆪 𝙚𝙙𝙙𝙞𝙚 𝙢𝙪𝙣𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 𓆩♱𓆪

❦ 𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙖'𝙨 𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙥𝙖𝙜𝙚 ❦

"Ow!"

A big thud that made you jump as you flip the pancakes and you turned around to see Eddie looking groggy as he tries to get up from the floor

You snort as you continue to cook the rest of the pancake batter, "Morning" you shake your head of what just happened to him

He rolled himself over in the couch too much that it made him fell over

Eddie had to blink twice to make his vision clear as he grunts, "Uh- good morning"

You heard his raspy voice as he went beside you to grab a glass as he opens the fridge fills it with water

"That smells good" He watches you from the back as he gives him a full idea of what it could be like

This feels so domestic, you with that collar loosed gray shirt with pajama shorts and your hair is down, shit- he even had to check his heart to feel if it's still beating

You glance at the back, you smile, "Yeah? this will be all ready soon to be plated"

"Jesus Christ!"

You flinched at the high pitched voice from Eddie as he shook his head at Chrissy who is now standing so still in the hallway

"How long you've been standing there?!?" Eddie asks as he huffs out of air from his lungs as he went over at the table

She blinks dumbly, "Uh, I don't know" she shrugs as you give her a threatening look as you point the spatula at her

Chrissy bits the bottom of her lip to hide the teasing smile but you know her deep down

As you turn off the stove and stack up the rest of the pancakes as you place it down on the table

"Chrissy, if you won't stop I'm not giving you any" you give her a final warning look as Eddie chuckles when you move the plate away from her as she groans

"Fine, I'll behave" she snickered as she poked your side as she reaches for the mug and a teabag in the counter and filled it with hot water and let it steep for a while

Eddie grimaces at the faint smell of the tea brewing "I seriously have no idea why people enjoy drinking that"

"What? Tea?"

"Yeah, it tastes like leaf!"

"it has benefits that's why we drink it"

"We? Who's we?!?"

You washed and cleaned all of the mess that you used for cooking as you listened to their silly banter as you chortle to yourself while you dry your hands with a paper towel

"Eddie, it's healthy!-"

"Nah, that's like a death sentence-"

"Alright, children! Y'all done arguing?!?"

You start clapping to get their attention as they both went silent as you sit at the center of the table

"Jeez, I'm like the peace maker of this home" you say as you placed two pieces of pancakes in your plate and you know damn well that Eddie has a stomach of a dinosaur so you made well enough for all of you to eat

"More like our mom" Chrissy teases as you kick her foot under the table

"Hi mommy" Eddie says it with a forced baby tone as you cringe at it as Chrissy bursted cackling

"Oh my fucking god! Just stop the both of you and let's eat!" You said it with a laugh as you throw him a blueberry originally you aim at his face but instead he catches it with his mouth as he shoots you a playful wink as you roll your eyes at him

"Y'all are a menace"

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"Do you really have to go?" Will emphasizes his words to his mom, obviously begging her to not leave

"Yes, dear" Joyce gives him a small smile with a sad glint on her eyes

"He's already there waiting for us" Murray saids as he carries his duffel bag over his shoulder

"Jonathan, you're the one in charge, okay?" Joyce calls out before she closes the door

"Uh, yeah, mom- I got it" He says nervously as he clears his throat

"Joyce-"

"El, how many times do I have to tell you-"

"Yeah, I know, sorry- I just wanted to say something"

"What is it, honey?"

"My friends back in Hawkins, they're kinda having a trouble in there and they found someone who is....." She trails off and she averts her eyes elsewhere

"Who is what?" Mike chimes in the conversation as El gulped, Joyce waits for her patiently to continue

Will gave her an encouraging nod as Jonathan listens while standing in the doorframe

"I-I wanted to tell you, I just don't want all of you to worry but our friends found someone who is from the future"

"What?!?" Murray hurriedly walks back in the house as he overhears El

"I know this is going to sound crazy but Dustin told me without her a lot of teens might've been killed"

"Killed?!?" By who?" Jonathan uncrosses both of his arms as he tries not to worry about Nancy

Will who walks out in the middle of the conversation as he went by the living room and turns on the television

"Vecna" El saids it plainly

"Guys?" Will calls out to everyone without taking his eyes off in the television screen

The rest of them walked closer and they saw Eddie Munson's Wanted picture along with other Hellfire Club members saying he's the cause of the murders

"Wait, Eddie? That's not- this is a hoax!" Mike exclaims as he took the remote from Will's hand as he switches the channel but everything is a headline now that Eddie is a wanted man and that frustrates and infuriates him

"That's why Dustin was so urgent to talk to us" Will manages to put the dots together, Jonathan drags his palm over his face

"There is something you should know about Yuri" El immediately saids before they tried to leave again

"Woah, wait- we never told you about-" Joyce and Murray we're both appalled as they both looked at each other

"It's Y/N, the girl from the future, she told me"

That alone left the two adults enthralled by this

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"Shit, we we're so close!" Enzo pants as he grimaces at his new scar on his arm

"Now, that's the real question....if we could ever make it out alive here" he kicks the door out of frustration

Enzo heard Hopper's quiet sobs in the corner as he straightened himself up

He has never seen or even heard him like this

"Everyone that I care, the more danger that comes to them"

One of the Russian guards threatened him with words that he knows that isn't true, they're just trying to get in his skin but sometimes he just fears that some of it might be true

When someone exposed Enzo's agenda with Hopper he got himself imprisoned and he is still got the shivers from the story that Hopper told about the rest of the prisoners while they're chosen for having a free feast

It's the way that Hopper eeriely said it

"We're not prisoners here, they're using us as bait, that's why they're feeding us like this so we can be plumped and fresh for the monster to devour us"

Enzo can't even spoke a word after that, this is the only time he ever seen his friend on this vulnerable state

Only thing that he can ever do is to just listen

"This girl, El, and there goes Joyce, I told myself that they needed me, turns out I was the one who needed them"

He sniffles as he sits up properly and Enzo didn't catch Hopper getting something on his prison jacket

"So, that's why the answer to your question, we're going to make it out here alive"

Hopper reveals that he successfully stole the lighter from one of the Russian guards when Enzo thought they lost their chance when the rest of them are outnumbered and they got beaten brutally

Enzo is mixed up with a lot of emotions showing up to his face, his jaw is slightly open and his eyebrows are raised as he begins to chuckle in disbelief

The gloomy demeanor has been diminished when seconds ago, he thought his friend was already losing hope

He must be executed from underestimating his friend's faith

"Y-You.....you motherfucker" he chuckles yet again as he shakes his head

"Don't make me laugh, my ribs are cracked"

₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.₊˚ʚ

Gareth, Lewis and Jeff are sitting at the small coffee table as they inhaled every waffle that Steve cooked while the kids....are getting on his nerves

"Hey, hey! No dirt on the carpet!"

"Yeah, we know, Steve" Dustin rolls his eyes sarcastically as he munches chocolate chip cookie on his mouth

"The crumbs are now all over the place!" Steve exclaims as he points out his parents most beloved carpet in the living room

"You know you already ate a lot of those, man" Lucas snatches the cookie jar away from Dustin as they start a commotion in the kitchen

"I wasn't finished eating that!" He shouts out loud as he chases Lucas

He runs a stressful motion on his hair as he takes a deep breath, "They can stay but I need a little respect here!"

Unbeknownst to Steve, Fred is silently observing him, it's not his place to be nosy about his best friend's life but he can't help but to feel like Nancy is too good for him, he is well-aware that Nancy thought highly of him but since he also knows the history of King Steve, since he's here, he has to be sure that he truly changed

Steve goes to the other side of the room where it seems more quiet, so, he can deal with his thoughts for a minute

"What's troubling you?"

He is so locked in with his thoughts that he didn't catch Robin stands beside him by the window

He sighs, "I-I am not so sure about what's bothering me"

Robin processes his words for a while and then she goes, "Is it Y/N?"

"What?"

"We might be acting unserious all the time but I know what's going on with those eyes ever since the time you saw her for the first time"

He sighs, "Alright, fine, you beat me to it" he says as he put his index and thumb finger on the bridge of his nose

"We're going over there right? why won't you just talk to her?" she says as she slightly open the blinds by the window

"It's not that easy, Robs-"

"What do you mean it's not that easy?!? the Steve Harrington all of the sudden doesn't know how to talk to girls?!?"

He huffs, "No, I don't mean that- I just met her..... it's not even a week and yet I am here losing my mind over at her"

"You got it so bad, huh?" She says with a grin like a Cheshire cat would do

He throws a pillow at her but she manages to catch it before it hits her she laughs

He chuckles as he ignores the butterflies in his stomach, "Yeah, yeah, come on, let's tidy up, so, we can visit there"

₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.₊˚ʚ

"This is why I don't let my children be exposed to that music"

"Yeah, I trashed my son's Dungeons & Dragons game"

"Good riddance that Munson boy is gone"

"He's a bad influence, he could ruin lives of our kids"

".....Back in 1986, many speculation and a lot of conspiracies in this town of Hawkins, what really happened on that day? some people still believe that Eddie Munson, the leader of the Hellfire Club is the crime suspect as well in the deaths of these ghastly things circled around the area back then, is it really natural causes? The Earthquake?......this case is remained unsolved....but today, I must question you....is Eddie Munson, a Hero? or a Criminal?"

"Fuck, this media shit, of course, he is a goddamn wild criminal!"

"I heard he sells drugs in highschool"

It's 2024, and yet, people still grew hatred towards him, you got tantalized by that question in the news from a TV store by the window that is surrounded by parents with a scowl in their faces as their conversations overlapped in your ear

He didn't deserve this, he didn't asked for this, you want it to stop

It's crazy how you care so much about the so-called dangerous man in this town, when you didn't even born at that time, maybe, it's different for them

Sure, maybe, they're right, but also maybe they're wrong

You're going to prove it, someday

He is a hero to you

"Y/N?"

"Uh- yeah?"

"You okay? You looked like you're thinking again"

You stare at him with blankly as you let out a deep sigh, "Am I easy that to read?!?" he sits down beside you at the platforms in the back of the house as you both stare the scenery in the lake

"It is given that I don't know you yet fully but this" he gestures to your face as you chuckle, "I know you well enough with that"

"I just want all of this to be over" you say as you bring your knees closer to you as you duck your head down

His smile slightly falters as he rests his hand on your shoulder, "Hey"

You turn your head to face him with worry, "I know, we will be fine"

"Why?"

"Because you're here"

You smile fondly at that, he looks like he wanted to say something more but Chrissy came in hurriedly

"Chrissy?" You say as Eddie turns his head as he follows your gaze as she walks closer to the both of you

"Yeah, sorry, uh- I think I need to go home"

"What?" You stood up quickly and so does Eddie who is looking at her like she's grown two heads

"Jason, he will find out about everything that we do here, I know him, I know what he is like he won't rest until he finally got what he wanted, I fear, he is now suspicious, I'll just show up and I'll come back here"

You think about it carefully and you agree even you don't want her to leave

"You promise, you'll come back?"

"Yes, I promise"

You both shared a tight hug as she does the same to Eddie as well

"Whoever starts this fiasco, I'm gonna kick them in the balls for you"

He chuckles at that, "I'm gonna be so honored that the Queen of Hawkins High defended me"

She snorts at that title, "I would rather be one of you than some fake ass boring title like that"

As you both watch her leave, Eddie is still amused by this version with Chrissy that he hasn't seen in her

"What's gotten into you looking like that?"

"My bad, Y/N, it's just.... that's the first time that I ever heard Chrissy swear"

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"It's Patrick, isn't it?"

You look at Lucas, he saw the answer in your eyes as you nod slowly

He purses his lips as he starts to twiddle his thumbs, "I-I saw him while I was with him in the car, I-uh- I saw the signs"

"What did you do about it then?"

"I didn't do anything even I wanted to do something, but whenever I overheard him a couple of times in the men's locker room after our basketball practices, when someone asked him, he always saids it was just nothing but now obviously it isn't"

"The fuck is wrong with kids nowadays" Steve scoffs

"Hey language!" Dustin nudges his shoulder as he mutters an apology

"I mean, I don't blame Steve either, I hate it when you show some care, they get mad or when you don't, they're still mad" Robin rambles

"Guys, have you ever thought about that maybe it's their household is the problem because they got no one else to talk about it?" Max speaks up as everyone had a agreeable nod in unison

You sigh, "just like Chrissy" you say in a whisper

"Y/N, tell us, what we should do?" Nancy places her hand on top of yours as she give you a warm smile

"Yeah, Y/N, you know all of the answers" Jeff stands up, Gareth and Lewis chimes in the conversation

All of them are in straight forward attention with you, all eyes are in you

When you shift in your seat, Steve notices it, "You don't have to-"

"It's alright, Steve, I got it" You held his hand as you give him a tight nod

"Okay" ignoring the warmth from your hand as he says softly as he stands beside you

"So, uh, do any of you know the story about Victor Creel and his family?"

"What's the old man got to do with this?" Eddie asks in confusion

"Because Vecna is Henry Creel"

"What?!?"

They all say in unison, they said it so loud, that you have to shush them in an instant

If only this wasn't a life-threatening scenario for you, you would've laughed at their comical reactions

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"Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you check Chrissy for me? She said she'll come back soon but it's been an hour and I'm worried"

"O-Oh yeah, sure"

"I hate asking favors but-"

"Y/N, it's fine"

He held both of your shoulders as you exhale and smile at him as he tries to not get too much a leap of his feelings in the process

He doesn't wanna ruin this let alone scare you

"Okay, uh- thanks for everything, really" you gesture at the grocery bags in the counter as he nods

"Yeah, well, anything for my friends"

"Friends?"

His heart pangs slightly when you said it that word again but he knows it's too soon, but this....he will be so contented if he's included in your life

"If you want to"

You pinch him by the arm as he exaggerated his reaction, "Hell yeah, I wanted to" you say with a proud smile at your face

While you're talking to Steve, there's someone else watching the both of you, a pair of chocolate brown eyes locking in as you interact with him, he doesn't know how to feel, a slight wave of insecurity or jealousy?

My god, he needs a reality check, he's not even yours but yet, he's here acting as if he is your boyfriend

So, he left before he could tear himself apart if he continues watching the two of you

When everyone else left, saying they'll keep a look out of what going on with the town and the news

"Hey" you say as you walk outside while zipping up your jacket, he takes a drag of his cigarette

No response

That's weird

You're trying to unshake the feeling of the obvious weight of the mood shift but still you wanted answers

An hour ago, you saw him being a chatterbox that you almost forgot that you're helping him get out of this fuckery that Jason did, he was okay, and now you thought maybe his social battery was drained but no

This is far more different than that

This is something else, but you hope that you're thinking, what he is thinking

"Eddie?" you say as you place yourself in front of him but he moves away clearly dodges your eye contact on him as he takes the last remains of his stick as he stuff it out on the ashtray in the tabletop

"Is there a problem?" you move closer to him, fuck, if you keep doing that, he might kiss you

Even when he tries to avoid you, he can't do it in an hour, please, it doesn't take him a minute to ignore you

He acknowledges you finally with a brief glance "No" he says flatly

"Eddie, I know you're new to all of this but please-"

"Shh-"

He shushes you as he places a hand over your mouth as he saw a freaking headlight towards in the front of the house

The both of you looked at each other in fear as the both of you investigate outside

Neither of you can't identify what's going on of how dark it is, both of you see people but you don't know who it is

"Take Chrissy with you but make sure she's stays put in your hold, alright?"

"Got it, Carver"

The dark circles around her eyes and the red stinging because of crying and she is tired of this and being abused like this, so, she takes the matters into her own hands, adrenaline rushes through her system

Before, Jason and his friends come any closer to the property

She elbows the guy holding her mouth and her hand as she kicks him in the balls and manages to dodges a hit from a baseball bat as she punches him in the face

She picks up a weapon and also catches a glimpse of the car keys as she pocketed it as she screams

"EDDIE AND Y/N GET OUT OF HERE!"

Everyone shooked at the loudest shout from Chrissy that echoed

Now, you know why Chrissy can't come back

She is now being held against her will by Jason

"You fucking dumb bitch!"

"That's for you, Jason!" She flips him off as he angrily stomps forward to her

"Don't you dare come any near from me!"

Jason exasperated sighs as he closes his fists aggressively, he signals his friend that was about to come and grab her but stops him

"I should've done this a long time ago" she says as she walks backwards as she reaches at the car door and gets inside of it and locked every door

"Chrissy, you're siding with the wrong people" he places his hands on top of the car

"Am I? tell me, Jason, who do you think who is at wrong here?!?" Chrissy says as she turns on the ignition of the vehicle

"Spoiler fucking alert, it's you, Jason, willingly to end someone's life for a crime that he doesn't even commit and I know you're the one who brainwashed everyone's minds to this bullshit"

"I told you they gotten into her" says one of his friends beside him

"Oh, fuck you!"

"Chrissy-"

"Just stop, you're sick, Jason, you're the one who's supposed to be everyone is afraid of, it's over"

She leaves at that as she takes one last look at the lake in the rearview mirror she weeps as she wishes she was there to help the both of you

She couldn't bear being so far away from you

Millions of emotions runs through your core, you don't know if you should be terrified or burning with huge fit of fury

You swallowed your gasp as you couldn't pack up anything that you both needed as you watch Eddie grab the walkie-talkie he whispers the emergency many times but nothing ever picked up as the both of you went off in the backyard

You both ran towards at the speedboat as you both discreetly get on with it, you both paddled at the middle of the lake before Eddie starts to pull the engine

"There's someone here"

"The son of a bitch was playing on us this whole time"

"Hey!"

One of the goons saw the both of you in the window as they jump in the lake

The terror in your eyes mirrors with Eddie as he quickly pull the engine, but your nerves got even more rattle than before when it didn't work

"Help me out here, man" Eddie panicked as he keeps banging at the engine

"Eddie, we need to defend ourselves, they're swimming towards here, they're getting closer"

He takes one of the oar as he swings back and forth, "Hey! back off, man!"

Patrick, you saw him behind Jason, you hit him in the side of his face as he almost grabbed Eddie

He exclaims in pain as you yell at him, "You're about to witness, the death of your friend you careless stubborn motherfucker!"

Eddie gets alarmed by your tone of your voice as he breathes heavily of what's going to happen.....again

Your heart cracks piece by piece when you realized that you can't even took that trauma away from Eddie

He saw this not once, but twice, most people overlooked that part of him

"You should've listened to Chrissy" you say in defeat as Jason looks at you in confusion

You already know what she did and they didn't believed her, obviously, my god- all of you ever wanted to do is to give her a hug when you know damn well for sure that she anything to save Patrick

"Ah- fuck, come on, man, we're close"

He keeps looking from his behind but no one is there

"Patrick? What's going on-"

His body out of nowhere jumps out of the water and you and Eddie freaked out from the sudden scene as the both of you fell from the boat

Jason his mouth is hanging agape as he couldn't understand what's going on and then suddenly Chrissy's words are all connecting now

"It almost happened to me, he is denying it, I know he heard the clock chimed!"

*EYES WENT WHITE*

"You want to help your friend, right? Ask him what is his favorite song!"

*BONE SNAPS*

"Regret, you're going to regret this, you're not listening to me, he will die because he is the next target!"

*LEGS TWISTED*

"He saw what I saw in the trance, Vecna, he's the one who is killing the kids not Eddie!"

*JAW CRACKS*

"Believe me when I tell you this, there is evil in this town and you're just too stupid to see it"

*EYES SUCKED OUT OF THE SKULL*

Patrick's lifeless deformed body dropped back down in the water like it was nothing as he stare at it into a blank space as his mouth moves without any noise that is coming out of it

You felt Eddie's body stiff as you try to get his attention, he wished he won't see that you're crying, but you are as you steady your voice

"Eddie, we have to get into the surface"

"Y-yeah, o-okay"

₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.₊˚ʚ

Steve is a man of his word

He checked Chrissy for you but no one is in there in her house, neither Jason's

You told him to call you right away when it's done

No word from the both of you, the silence is killing all of them

Extremely and overall shaken of how long not receiving anything from you and Eddie

"They're not picking up the phone?" Max freaks out as she kept pacing at Steve's house

"I've lost count at how many times I called them!" Dustin redialed as much as he can

"I-I tried the walkie-talkie too, no update" Fred stumbles over his words as Robin gave her a small smile for the effort and help that he gives

"Do you think we should drive over there now?!?" Steve stresses out as swings his keys on his finger as he went out for the door

"Hey dude, let's not rash-" Gareth blocks the path as he tries to get away from him

"Harrington, we saw the cops outside, they might think we know something, do you wanna get caught?" Lewis pushes Steve by the shoulder

"She's with Y/N, she knows what to do-" Jeff adds

"Don't put all of the weight on her, man- she has feelings too!" Steve reasons as Robin tries to calm him down

"Let's just hope that they're okay" Nancy bites the tip of her tongue as she tries not to be frantic when everyone else is already is on the edge and she doesn't want to fuel it more

When everyone clashes out with an argument, Lucas wipes an exhausted hand over his face as he heard the tire screeching sound outside of Steve's house

"Guys?"

All of them shut up finally as they whipped their heads towards to Lucas

When Steve opens the door, shit, he rubbed his eyes at the person standing on his front door

Gareth emotion's swirls in beyond relief when she saw her in the flesh but his gladness slowly diminishes when he saw the bruises and wounds all over her

Before all of them speak up all at once, she holds up a finger

"I need all of you to come with me at the police station"

The ride on the way there is so disturbing for everyone else because it's too quiet, but of course, the rest of the young adults are mature enough not to ask about what just happened to Chrissy

The elephant in the room

The kids however are slowly dying inside wishing to know about what happened to you and Eddie

When Chrissy caught Dustin staring with a longing and worried expression desperate for answers, he stops staring as she inhales before she spoke

"They're alright, all of you can take a breath now"

Everyone cheers in hushed whispers as Chrissy continued to explain further

"Damn, they showed up?"

"Yeah"

"How you ever manage to-"

"I've handled it" Chrissy says it so coldly and pointedly that Steve slowly nods in understanding

He knows it's not targeted at him but he knows something else is deep within that

When they arrived at the police station, a bunch of parents curious eyes looking at them as they stepped into the premises, all of you ignored the shocked gasps from the other adults in the neighborhood when they recognized Chrissy as everyone tailed behind to hear some scoop

"Officer Powell and Officer Callahan?" Chrissy called out as they were both stunned at her appearance

She catches a missing poster of herself as she chuckles bitterly as she shakes her head

"Yes?" They both said in unison

"We need to talk"

₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.₊˚ʚ

taglist <3 : @paleidiot @marsmallow433 @whothefckissofia @letsfallinlove-blog @silky-luxe @imagine-all-the-imagines @theladyasgard @mayaluvzyou @mewchiili @crystalr @sadbitchfangirl

(hey y'all, I'm so sorry again for this chapter, I know it been long overdue, but my life has been eventful lately but I am truly okay! I really hope that you didn't forget about me and this story! I tried it make it fully detailed and enjoyable, thank you for your patience and your support, I am grateful! stay safe! 🥺🫶🏻✨)

[wreckedandpolemic]

spilling amaretto - george daniel

(mdni) in which you and george make good use of an empty bar after closing time (or, the bartender!george au). 5375 words.

warnings: daddy kink (i'm sorry), public sex, praise, degradation, spanking, oral (f receiving), brief mentions of body insecurity, gratuitously slutty matty cameo

The expression the night shift makes for strange bedfellows had never been one you’d much considered until now, with George’s body warming the sheets as you stir awake. You couldn’t pinpoint when the tension between you had begun, but you know the sequence of events that had pulled you into his bed tonight. It had started in the walk-in fridge, ironically in the least sexy way possible.

You crumple to the floor, shivering in the chill and covering your eyes, silent sobs wracking your body. Just as you stand, your deadline on self-pity drying up, the door bangs open. “Sorry, I’ll get out of your way, I—” Your words die in your throat as you look up at George, his frame towering in the doorway.

“You alright, sweets? What’s wrong?” He’s watching you, concern written across his face.

You sigh. “Nothing.” You move to push past him, but he stops you with a carefully placed hand, heat prickling under your skin at his touch. George fixes you with a look. “Been doing three people’s jobs fucking thanklessly all day. Tony’s up my arse, as per. Woman on seventeen shouting at me because I brought her the drink she fucking ordered and she didn’t read the pissing menu. Had a shit day yesterday, I’m on the fucking close today. I dunno, s’all just shit.” Your voice cracks a little on the last word, a humiliated flush creeping up your cheeks as tears brim on your lashes.

“C’mere, sweets, s’gonna be fine. C’mon, I’ve got you,” George murmurs, folding you into his arms. You melt against his chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat soothing. His hand comes up stroke along your back, tracing delicate patterns over your spine. “There you are, pretty girl.” Embarrassingly, your heart jumps. “I’ll take the close, yeah? Or at least get him to put me on it as well.”

You shake your head, mortified. “No, don’t. M’being a baby. It’s not that big a deal.” Wiping your eyes, you sniff and try to suck it up, dragging your feet as you start to head back to the neglected bar.

“If you’re this upset, it’s a big deal, love. I don’t mind taking it, I’m serious. Could use the extra couple of quid, honestly.” George smiles earnestly down at you, slinging an arm over your shoulder as you return it thinly. “See, I got you, promise.” Slightly less shaken, you follow George back to the bar, slipping back into customer service mode with a falsely cheerful Hiya, sorry for the wait. How can I help?

George flags down your manager and essentially strongarms him into sharing the close with you, cheerfully taking over the till as you weave past him with a tray of drinks. The second you emerge from the glasswash, you hear the sound of snapping fingers behind your head, and you clench your teeth.

You turn as slowly as possible, nails biting into your palms to keep calm. “Giz a Stella, would you, beautiful?” the customer leers through genuinely about three teeth, and you shudder.

“There’s a queue,” you say flatly, and he frowns.

“Oh, smile for me, sweetheart,” he says, not even pretending to hide the way he’s addressing your chest. “Come on, you’re a pretty girl, it’s a beautiful day, you gotta giz a smile,” he smirks, sleazy and unsettling.

Thankfully, George steps up behind you, resting a hand protectively on your shoulder. “Don’t speak to her like that, mate.” His tone is firm, perfectly polite and yet undercut with a threat that you know he can back up.

“Who’s this, your boyfriend?” he sneers, leaning close enough that you can smell alcohol sharp and acrid on his breath. “Like an older man, do you, pretty?”

You just stare, stunned into silence, until George slams his hand down on the bar and you jump. “Get out,” he orders, low and furious. “Get the fuck out of my bar before I haul your sorry arse out myself.” He’s deadly quiet, angry in a way you’ve rarely seen him, and the guy seems to sense that he’s serious; he flees with his tail between his legs and you snort.

“Thanks,” you mutter, a little shaken.

“Of course. You okay? D’you need a minute?” You smile up at him, nervously tucking a loose piece of hair behind your ear and turning to pour a pint.

“Nah, I’m alright. S’long as I’ve got you to rescue me,” you grin, eyes focused on the glass in your hand as you flush red.

George slides his hand down to your hip, squeezing gently, and heat flares between your thighs. “Always.”

Service slowly winds down, until finally, blissfully, the last customer clears off. You throw up two fingers at their back, mouthing good fuckin’ riddance, and George shakes his head with a laugh. “You feelin’ better?” he asks, leaning across you to reach for the glasses stacked on the bar in front of you.

The heat of his body warms you through, the scent of his cologne dizzying as it envelops you. “Y-yeah,” you say, desperately trying to calm your racing heart. “Thanks.”

“Good,” George grins, placing a hand on your waist and gently nudging you to the side. You turn, pinned between him and the bar as you look up into his smirking face. Your heart hammers, a needy, trembling thing, and he leans close. “You’re too pretty to be cryin’ like that, you know?”

He’s so close you can feel his breath against your lips, so close you could memorise every square inch of his face, so close your chest is constricting. You lean away before you do something stupid, huffing a quiet laugh. “Fuck off.” You flush, grateful for the bar’s dim lighting.

“Am I interrupting something?” Matty’s teasing voice startles you out of your trance, and you scowl playfully at him.

“Yes, actually,” you retort. “Don’t you have cutlery to polish, or something?”

Matty laughs, the sound low and rich, a smirk pulling at his lips. “Nope.” He pops the ‘p’ obnoxiously. “Everyone’s done closing except you unlucky fuckers. Just came for a pint.” You roll your eyes, watching him critically as you start him a Guinness. His chef jacket is stained, hanging  unbuttoned off his shoulders, the tank top underneath sweaty and tight to the contours of his body. You bite your lip a little, his frame undeniably attractive as he steps outside and lights a cigarette.

“G, d’you want something to drink before I close the taps?” you call, pouring yourself a cider as Matty wanders back in. You can’t help but watch the muscles in his throat as he swallows, the way his thumb brushes across his plush lips when he wipes his mouth.

Matty smirks back at you like he can read your thoughts and leans close. “Anytime, darling,” he murmurs, sudden warmth flooding your body. “Either of us. Or both, if that’s what you want.” You can’t help but imagine it, the heat pooling in your belly suddenly too much to bear.

“Nah, I’m alright, sweets. Thank you, though,” George says, emerging from the back. He huffs a disbelieving laugh at the sight of you and Matty, seemingly sensing the tension in the air between you. “Mate, are you ever not thinking with your dick?”

“Just makin’ sure she keeps her options open,”  Matty says, downing the rest of his drink and standing. “You two have a good night.” He pats your ass and strolls off, humming cheerfully as he goes.

George huffs, folding his arms and staring in the direction Matty left from. “I can’t believe him. Sorry, sweets. He’s full of shit.”

You can barely believe the words that fall from your lips, but they’re out there before you can think them through. “Is he? Or is that true?” you ask, fixing George with your best innocent eyes. “Have you ever shared a girl?”

You’re breathless, the room suddenly far too small for the swell of tension pulling between you. “A couple times,” George says, like it’s the most casual thing in the world. “Why? Is that something you want, sweets?”

Thoughts race through your head so fast you’re set spinning, a coin set on its edge. Flashes of fantasies fill your vision, of plush lips and greedy hands and tattooed skin and sharp teeth; of three bodies, of slick sweat and slicker thighs, of bending over and being filled everywhere at once, of gentle praise and taking it like a good girl. You’re sure George can read your thoughts on your face, but you answer anyway. “Maybe. Maybe I want you all to myself, first.”

His grin is wicked, promising as he leans close, pinning you against the bar and speaking against your lips. “I’m right here, sweets.”

Your bravado collapses.

“I’m gonna go and do a restock,” you mutter, looking everywhere but his eyes. Thankfully, George relents, lets you slip out from under him and dart off to the cellar, but you can feel his eyes burning into your back as you go.

Heat flushes your body even in the cool of the cellar, the memory of George’s touch ghosting over your skin, his searching gaze, the promise of something unnameable hanging in the air between you. You lull yourself back into calmness with the rhythmic rattle of bottles as you pack them away, carefully hefting a full crate and lugging it up the steps. George rushes over as you kick the door open, easily lifting the crate from your hands. “Should’ve come and got me, love,” he chides, and you scoff, pouring yourself a rum and coke just to have something to do with your hands.

“I can do it myself just fine,” you say, even as you shamelessly ogle the muscles in his arms, biting on your straw to keep your thoughts inside.

“Trust me, sweets, I know exactly how capable you are. I’m just trying to be a gentleman, take care of you like a lady,” he adds, tossing you a smirk that drips down your spine, the words catching in your throat and bleeding into your lungs.

Shaking your head as if to clear it, you paste on a grin. “You’re so full of shit. Nobody who works here is a gentleman. Or a fucking lady.”

George shrugs. “Maybe not. Does that mean you don’t want me taking care of you, sweets?” There’s no mistaking his meaning, the slick, hot undercurrent of his voice. Your thighs clench involuntarily.

You knock back the rest of your drink for courage before you answer. If you pussy out again, you’re going to lose your nerve completely. “And what if I do?”

There’s a sharp exhale, then George crosses the bar in three long strides, crowding you against it but hovering just out of your reach. “Then I’d say be careful what you wish for, pretty girl. You sure you wanna get mixed up with me?” He grins wolfishly, and you shudder, arousal pooling in your belly. You nod, heartbeat thumping in your throat. “Last chance, darling.”

The epithet sends a burst of heat between your legs, and you bite down on a whine. “Shut up and kiss me,” you groan, stretching up to sling your arms around his neck. Finally, gloriously, he does.

The kiss is explosive, hungry, an outpouring of pent-up energy and desire. George’s big hands cup your face, fingers rough as he slides them up into your hair, unpinning the clip and letting it tumble loose over your shoulders. His tongue meets your lips and you part them eagerly, letting him lick frenzied into your mouth. You make out until you’re dizzy from lack of oxygen, pulling back to gaze up at George dreamily. “You,” he groans, kissing you so softly it would almost be chaste if your lips weren’t still dripping with his spit. “Have no fuckin’ clue how long I’ve been waitin’ to do that.”

You giggle as his lips find your jaw, fingers gently sweeping your hair off your neck and trailing down kisses. “I think I have an idea.” You push his head away so you can look in his eyes, wide and liquid and luminous. “But why don’t you tell me anyways?” you add, grinning slightly.

“Wanted you from the first second I saw you, sweets,” George promises, kissing over the hollow of your throat. “Mmm, up you get, c’mon, love,” he says, tapping your thigh until you jump up and lock your legs around his waist. Sweet, blunt pain blossoms from where his fingers dig into your thighs as he carries you across the floor and deposits you on the other side of the bar. “First fucking second you walked in here, dolled up all pretty in that little white skirt, all ready for this place to ruin you, fuck. Should be fuckin’ locked up for the things I thought about you,” he groans, kissing softly over your jaw.

Tipping your head back, you moan softly as George nips at your neck. “What’d you think about?” you ask, sliding your hands under his shirt and mapping the vast, smooth expanse of his back with your fingertips.

George’s hand comes down to your chest, squeezing your tit before he pops a button on your uniform shirt. “Could see those little black panties through your skirt. Wanted to— mmm— get on my knees for you, pull ‘em off with my teeth, get my mouth on you.” He breaks up his words with slow, indulgent kisses, heat curling in your belly as you wrap your legs around him. “Got myself off so many fuckin’ times thinking about you. How you’d taste, what you’d look like under me, whether you’d be a good girl or a little brat.” George pinches your nipple through your shirt and you gasp into his mouth, arching your back and letting him loose your last button.

He sucks in a sharp breath at the sight of your tits, and you flush crimson when you realise you’re clad in your most unflattering underwear. “Sorry, I didn’t— I wasn’t expecting— If I’d known—” George’s rough fingers tug down the cups of your bra, bending his head to press featherlight kisses over your tits.

“Don’t fucking apologise, are you mad? Been dreaming about these pretty tits of yours for months, sweets. Gonna worship them properly when I get you in a bed, promise.” George bites at your tits, blunt pain spreading from the points his teeth graze your skin and falling to your cunt. Your back arches when he wraps his lips around your nipple, sucking softly and pulling a moan from your lips. “Shit, y’so pretty, baby. You want me to go down on you?”

Your cunt clenches, desire pulsing dizzily through you. “Here?” you gasp out, the last vestiges of your rational brain clinging to control.

George laughs. “Why not? Everyone’s gone home. S’just you and me, sweets. Can scream as loud as you want for me, yeah?”

Clumsily, you wriggle out of your jeans and let them crumple to the floor under you, watching his eyes blow wide at the sight of you in just your work shirt and underwear. “Better make me scream, then. Do your worst, Daddy.”

He chokes, eyes glinting with steel. You glance down to see his cock straining against the confines of his jeans, your mouth watering and head spinning at how fucking hard he is. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, sweets,” George says, low voice stirring a thrill in your belly.

You throw him a challenging smirk. “Shouldn’t you be finishing me?” you tease. His hands creep down to your waist, your body trembling at his touch as he slides your panties down your legs. The sight of them crumpled on top of the bar is flusteringly obscene, your cunt pulsing as George drops to his knees.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs, kissing at the insides of your thighs as you squirm.

“Stop staring at me,” you complain, pressing a hand to the back of George’s head to urge him closer.

“Can’t help it, sweets. You’re a fuckin’ masterpiece. This cunt is so pretty, ‘n I bet she tastes so sweet, too,” he says, in that slow, implacable drawl of his. The seconds between you stretch, pulled like taffy, the eagerness in your limbs almost vibrating.

Finally, gloriously, George leans in, licking a broad, flat stripe along your cunt, moaning as the taste of you hits his tongue. You cry out, legs kicking helplessly in the air. “Oh, my God,” you moan, heat pulsing in your core when George kisses your clit and sucks it into his mouth. “George, please,” you whine, white-knuckling the wooden bar-top as he licks at you with fervour.

“Sweet girl,” he murmurs. “Taste so fucking sweet. Want Daddy to make you cum, baby?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, mouthing over you as your back arches to press your hips against his mouth. Liquid heat pours down your spine, hot and sugary as it drips over George’s lips.

Calloused fingers brush along your inner thighs, creeping higher and higher until you’re full so fast you’re choking. “Oh, fuck, yes!” you cry, euphoria twisting through your bloodstream as George sets a punishing rhythm, your head hazy as the rest of the room fades from your consciousness.

George licks at you starvingly, one big hand digging into your thigh while the other fills you ruthlessly, waves of hot, sweet pleasure cascading over you. Your cunt throbs wildly around his fingers, thighs clamped around his head like a vice as he moans against you. “So pretty, sweets. You ready to cum for Daddy, hm?” The vibration of his words as they ripple through you have you melting, pure bliss splattering on your ribcage and dripping down your insides. 

He curls his fingers just so, a pulse of wild, frenzied ecstasy knocking the wind out of your lungs. Your cunt throbs around his fingers, pleasure humming in every corner of your body as you cum against George’s tongue. “Shit, Daddy, m’cumming, fuck! Oh, fuck, I can’t— fuck,” you whine, chest heaving as arousal floods out against his tongue and drips down his fingers.

Grinning wickedly, George lifts his head, sucking his wet fingers into his mouth deliberately slow and teasing. He stands, catching your lips in a hungry kiss, the taste of you smearing sticky between your mouths. Carelessly, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and smirks. “God, look at you. So fuckin’ pretty, sweets.” You tug your panties back on and hop to your feet, legs wobbly as you readjust to carrying your own weight. Bending over to retrieve your jeans, you suck in a sharp breath as George taps your ass, not hard enough to be a slap, but definitely more than a pat. “Oh,” he says, the smirk in his voice audible. “You like that? Good little girl wants Daddy to spank her, yeah?”

Your stomach clenches, flames licking along your thighs at his words. Grinning, you turn to face him. “And who said I was a good girl?” George’s gaze burns hot, darkly intense over your skin as you fix your bra and button your shirt. “Maybe I’m filthy. Maybe I’m a whore.” A grin stretches wide over your lips, swollen and kiss-bitten. Your eyes flicker down to where his cock is straining against his jeans, the sheer size of his bulge making your mouth water. “D’you need some help with that, Daddy? Could be your little cocksleeve, if you want. Any hole you want, promise,” you smirk, slinking past him to toss your empty glass in the back. “Just gotta take me home, first.”

George’s hands are shaking as he locks the doors behind you, and you thrill; feel a sick sense of pride at flustering him for a change. You don’t let up on the drive to his place, propping your feet up against the dash and drawing slow circles over your clit, slow, deliberate pleasure seeping into your bloodstream. The light flush spreading across his cheeks emboldens you, your lips parting around a moan. “D’you know how many times I’ve— mm— got off thinking about you? Dreamed about gettin’— shit— getting fuckin’ split open on your dick?”

A sound that’s pure lust spills from George’s mouth. “God, we wasted so much time,” he groans. “First time you came to shift drinks, you were sat in my lap, ‘n I almost asked to fuck you right then. Would’ve, if I’d known what a needy little slut you are.”

Your head tips back, gasping as you speed your motions over your clit. “I remember that,” you moan. “Was tryin’ every fucking trick, y’know? All the grinding and the whispering and the fuck-me eyes. Would’ve thought you weren’t interested, ‘cept you were holding my waist so tight I couldn’t have got up if I wanted to. Never finished the guy I went home with, ‘cause he left after I called him George when I came,” you add. George’s jaw clenches.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters through gritted teeth. “M’gonna make you forget every guy you’ve ever fucked, sweets, I promise you that.” Your thighs clench, anticipatory. One of George’s big hands wanders to cover your own, his fingers replacing yours over your clit. “God, y’so wet for me, baby. Bet I could just fuckin’ fill you up right now and you wouldn’t even notice, right?” You moan helplessly as he does just that, sliding two of his fingers into you alongside your own. “Don’t worry, sweets, we’re not far now. Needy cunt’s gonna get filled up soon, promise.”

At first, George matches your rhythm, then speeds until your nails are digging into his inked, muscled arm for dear life as he finger-fucks you ruthlessly. Pleasure pins you back against your seat, breath stolen from your lungs as if you’re driving a hundred miles an hour. He drags you to your peak, so tantalisingly close that you can fucking taste it, then pulls away cruelly. Before you can so much as whine, he tosses you a shit-eating grin. “We’re here, love,” he says, parking his car and climbing out.

You take George’s hand as he helps you out of the car, let him pin you against the cold metal and kiss him feverishly, your jeans still unbuttoned and sliding off your hips. “Bed, please,” you whimper against his lips.

“Whatever you want, you’ll get, sweets,” he grins. Your stomach swoops as he picks you up bridal style, his heartbeat thumping in time with yours when you press your head against his chest. He descends on you with starving lips as you fall into his bed, licking furiously into your mouth and tearing at your clothes. You’re naked and George is shirtless and panting before you break apart, roaming your hands over his sweat-damp skin and grinding against his cock through his jeans.

“Want you to fuck me,” you plead. “Please, Daddy,” you add coyly, parting your lips coquettishly and letting your tongue loll out a little.

George just grins, kneeling up and grabbing your hips to roll you onto your stomach. “Not just yet, sweets. Gotta spank you first, make sure you’re gonna be a good girl for Daddy, yeah?”

Face pressed into the pillows, you moan helplessly, unconsciously widening your legs as you drip over George’s sheets. You arch your back, push your ass up towards him, whine something incoherent into the pillow. You hear the harsh crack of flesh against flesh before you feel the pain, a sweet sting sliding deliciously through your body. The second slap is just as unexpected as the first, but you feel it more acutely; the same, stinging pain undercut with the bite of metal where his rings connect with your skin. “Daddy, yes,” you moan, writhing happily as he hits your other cheek.

“Y’such a slut, baby,” he coos, gently kneading your flaming skin and nudging your legs further apart. “I fuckin’ love it,” he adds, his grin audible.

“I’d say it’s only for you, but that’d be a lie,” you smirk. “I’m just a slut. A dirty fuckin’ slut. You can do anything you want to me, and I’ll like it, promise.”

“Is that right?” George breathes, low and dangerous. It’s all the warning you get before his hand comes down hard against your cunt, a shockwave of pleasure crashing over you. You gasp and writhe, pleading incoherently as he slaps you again.

Your head thrashes back and forth, tension coiling hot in your belly. “George, please,” you whimper. “Just fuck me. I’ll be good for you, promise. I need you s’bad, Daddy.”

“Such a little whore,” he says reverently. “Jesus, this arse,” he groans, watching the fat of it ripple under another slap. “These fucking hips, those tits,” he practically moans. “D’you know how crazy this perfect little body makes me, sweets?”

Heat floods your cheeks, the intensity of his gaze palpable as George maps every inch of your exposed skin. Briefly, you thank God that you’re facedown; this level of scrutiny over your stomach would send you spiralling. “S’not that little.”

George laughs. “What are you, sweets? Five-four?”

“That’s not what I meant,” you say flatly, and George seems to sense the souring of your mood.

He flips you over, gentle concern written across his face. There’s no pity there, though, his eyes still dark with lust as he brushes your hair out of your face. “D’you remember that time we went out and you were wearing that tiny, tight little black dress?” You nod. You remember exactly how self-conscious you were in it, too. “Thought I was gonna fuckin’ burn a hole in it from how hard I was staring. Y’looked so fuckin’ good, could barely control myself. Got off thinkin’ about fucking you in it every night for a week. Drove me crazy. Don’t worry, sweets, m’gonna fuck all the thoughts out of that pretty head of yours, okay?”

You nod, swallowing hard. “Thank you,” you murmur. “Want you bad,” you add shakily, stretching up to kiss him hungrily, and George smirks against your mouth.

“There you are, pretty girl. C’mon, legs up, yeah? Gonna fuckin’ wreck you.” You obey thoughtlessly, gazing up at him with lust-blown eyes as he peels out of his jeans and boxers in one motion. Drool floods your mouth at the sight of his cock springing free, hard and heavy and fucking huge between his legs.

“Fuck me,” you groan, pressing your head back. “Need you to fuck me so hard I can’t walk, Daddy, please,” you whine, letting him fit himself between your legs and slowly slide his cock through your folds. Pleasure ripples through you as he presses into you, the feeling divine as you stretch around his head.

George buries his head in your neck. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans. “This needy cunt’s takin’ me so well, sweets. So wet for me,” he praises, one of his hands coming down to play with your tit, grasping and squeezing greedily. “Would you think I was a fucking pervert if I told you I’ve had dreams about fucking these gorgeous tits?” A heady, dizzying pulse of arousal hits your core, arousal dripping out over George’s cock as he slowly starts to move.

“Maybe. If I didn’t like you so much,” you giggle. “I mean, you’re, what? Twelve years older than me? Some perverted old man at my job starin’ at my tits so hard he tips lager over a customer?” George winces, and you laugh. “I noticed. So filthy, Daddy,” you add smugly, moaning against his mouth when he fills you slow and deep. Pleasure winds tight through your body, fizzing and sparking sweetly in your chest.

“Can you blame me? I mean, fuck, look at you. D’you have a single fuckin’ clue what you do to me in those low-cut little tops you wear?” The praise sends liquid heat curving up your spine. The knowledge that you’re the one getting him off, that you’re the object of his fantasies is nothing short of dizzying. “Takes all my fucking self-control not to just—” George cuts himself off, burying his head between your tits and lapping hungrily at your skin. You moan happily as his teeth scrape against your flesh, the sudden, sharp pain delicious as it falls to your core.

Your chest is heaving and spit-slick by the time George looks up, cunt soaked and clenching around him. “Need it harder, Daddy, please,” you beg, locking your legs around his waist as he fucks into you. You can feel every single inch of him, feel the pressure of his body against yours, feel his heartbeat kicking in tune with yours.

“So gorgeous, sweets. Such a good girl for your Daddy, yeah?” His hips slam against yours, every breath a struggle against the liquid ecstasy filling your lungs. He’s crooning out soft praises, lowering his head to kiss and bite at your tits again. The thought of the bruises that’ll litter your chest tomorrow makes you thrill, hips rocking up against George’s as you careen towards your orgasm.

One of his big hands trails down to rub circles into your clit, wetness smearing under his fingertips as pleasure races uncontrollably through you. “George, please,” you whimper, back arching and legs trembling. 

“Right there, aren’t you, sweets?” George croons, rough fingers scraping over your sensitive nerves. He lowers his head, covers your mouth with his, kisses you so gently it would almost be sweet if he weren’t fucking into you at a brutal, uncontrolled pace. “God, you feel so good, so fucking good. Better than I could have dreamed, angel.”

You flush red, squeezing your eyes shut bashfully. Your orgasm builds and builds, a ball of pleasure screwed tightly in your core, hot and overpowering. It’s more intense than you think you’ve ever felt, George fucking deep into you with your body practically folded in half. “Shit, Daddy, m’gonna— I can’t— Fuck!” you cry, your vision whiting out as you cum impossibly hard. Your entire body turns liquid, arousal literally gushing out of you and flooding the mattress. “Oh, my God,” you whine, convulsing with pleasure as George grips your hips to hold you steady.

“Oh, baby,” George murmurs, hips still rocking steadily against yours as you float back down to Earth. “Shit, you fucking— Does that— I mean, was that me?”

You giggle. “If you’re asking me if anyone’s ever made me squirt before, the answer’s no. Guess that makes you the best I’ve ever had, huh?” George smirks, still rubbing your clit as he fucks into you, near-unbearable heat burning you from the inside out. “Are you gonna cum, Daddy? You wanna fill up my slutty cunt like I need?”

His pace turns erratic, desperate, your nails digging into his shoulders to anchor yourself to reality. “God, this cunt is so perfect, sweets. Gonna make me fuckin’ cum, make you all mine, yeah?” The words have barely left his lips before he does just that, spilling inside of you and groaning your name against your lips. You moan happily as his cock pulses, ropes of cum painting your insides white.

You kiss him greedily, whining when he pulls out, his eyes falling to your messy, dripping cunt. “You dreamed about me?” you grin, and George flushes siren-red, caught. “Were they dirty dreams?” you tease, rolling on top of him and resting on your elbows to gaze down at him.

His eyes are wide with lust, and he looks almost shy as he speaks. “Dreamed about this,” he grins. “Thought about how good your cunt would feel, how gorgeous you’d look cumming for me. Dreamed about your pretty lips around my dick, about tasting your pretty pussy. God, I just want you to sit on my fuckin’ face and drown me, sweets.” 

Smirking wickedly, you push yourself up into a sitting position. “That can be arranged,” you say, straddling him and moaning softly as you grind your cunt against George’s stomach. “Are you hungry?”

George licks his lips, eyes glinting as you shuffle your way up his body and kneel over his face. His tongue flickers out to tease your clit, and you gasp, hands fisting in the sheets. You feel him smirk against your core. “Starving.”

[marsbotz]

many of you may be unaware that i have been going cazyyyy over herobrine qnd mc lore in general recently. im in my beautiful world

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓 ! ❞

❝ SATORU GOJO KNOWS JUST HOW TO KEEP YOU COOL DURING A HEATWAVE - WITH HIS D!CK !! ❞

✧ pairing: satoru gojo x reader

✧ summary: it’s a heatwave in tokyo and who better to spend it with than satoru, who has an interesting idea of how to pass the time — fucking the heat away.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, porn some plot, best friends to lovers, tiny bit of angst about suguru, inappropriate uses of popsicles, fucking in the heat, ice play, sex (p in v), oral (f!receiving), fingering (f! receiving), cum eating, cum fucking, pussy drunk satoru, implied multiple rounds, fanart by @ / umbra3terna on twt / tumblr (pls go follow htem, they are so talented)

✧ w/c: 7,161

“It’s so fucking hot,”

“Then let’s fuck to cool off.”

What? 

You stared at the strongest sorcerer, his face flushed red, heat clinging to his cheeks, white locks blowing in the cool breeze of the fan, his shirt lifted up to cool him or maybe to tempt you, his melting popsicle dripping onto his burning skin — and your eyes flicked to the blue liquid slipping down his abs, then back to his face. 

The low buzz of the fan filled the silence between the two of you as you stared at him, “what?” The question slipping from your mind out your lips. 

Satoru Gojo had far too many outrageous things leave his mouth — he was insolent, arrogant, and even mildly violent (mostly towards Ijichi) — but you didn’t know if it was him or the heat — but you were considering it. 

What the fuck was wrong with you? 

(Him. It was him that was wrong with you.)

It was a heatwave in Tokyo. The one rare time you hadn’t been sent away on a mission, and you couldn’t even leave your apartment with the heat warning issued. Not to mention your central air breaks down, with a repairman nowhere in sight. 

It was just your luck. 

You rub at your eyes — and you weren’t sure if they were burning from your sweat or your lack of sleep last night. You’re blasting your fans around your apartment, stripped down to your shortest shorts and lightest tank top. You’re walking around your kitchen, using a takeout menu to fan yourself as you watch your order drive towards your place. There was no fucking way you were cooking in this weather. 

And you see a phone call come through — Gojo Satoru’s name flashing across the top of the screen. You sigh, contemplating ignoring the phone call, but you know he would only call a million times more, and you pick up. 

“Why did it take you so long to pick up my phone call?” and you shake your head, placing the call on speaker as you watch your takeout arrive at your place. 

“It literally rang twice,” Satoru’s patience had not changed since your time Jujutsu Tech — as you glance at your contact photo, a picture of him dressed in Shoko’s skirt from your school days, with Geto snickering in the background — though a lot of things had. 

“Two times too many,” you knew he was pouting. 

“Satoru, unless the next words out of your mouth is an offer is to fly me to a place where the weather is better, I’m gonna hang up on you,” you sigh, making your way to the door, opening the door to find Satoru standing there, looking far too stylish in a white t-shirt, his blue shorts hanging low on his waist, and sunglasses perched precariously on his head, your takeout in hand, “what are you doing here?” 

“Well I thought you wouldn’t  want to take a beach day with me unless I showed up to your place. Ta-da!” he lifts up a duffel bag, seemingly stuffed to the brim. 

“Satoru, there’s a weather advisory out. I’m pretty sure all the beaches are closed, and even if you’re immune to heatstroke, I’m not,” you step aside to pull him inside, the humidity sucking the little cool air you have in your apartment, “why did you think going to the beach in this heat was a good idea?” 

He shrugs, “An excuse to get out of the house, plus, my apartment’s cooling is out—“ 

“So you thought even if you couldn’t go to the beach, you could steal my A.C.?” you sigh, collapsing on the couch, “well too bad because mine’s busted too,” you glance over, but your gaze doesn’t find Satoru, seeing his paintbrush head stuck in your freezer, “you’re going to melt—“ he turns around to have a blue popsicle stuck in his mouth and you almost snort at the sight, “bring me one too.” 

“What should we do?” you murmur, sticking the popsicle in your mouth, as you laid back on the couch, sucking on the end of it, “watch a movie?” 

“It feels too hot to do anything but lay here,” Satoru sighed, the crinkle of his second popsicle white noise as you scroll through possible movie options on your phone, until you toss it away, metal overheating just as you were. 

“Well, we have to fucking do something other than just burn,” and you glance over, his white tee rolled up to expose his stomach as he ate his popsicle, and you raise an eyebrow, “what the hell are you doing?” 

“What’s it look like? Enjoying my popsicle,” he half mumbles as he continues to suck on the colored ice, “it’s better than it getting on my shirt,” You watch the popsicle drip onto his exposed abs, liquid pooling in the crevices of his toned muscles, you lick at your own popsicle, catching the drops off the melting ice with your tongue, wondering how much sweeter it would taste to lick it off his abs, “see something you like sweetheart?” 

His teasing words and wide grin pry you from your reverie with the subtlety of a crowbar, and your cheeks burn, as you roll your eyes, “You’re a dumbass,” you mutter, and he snickers at you, as you avert your gaze from him, and go back to eating your popsicle. 

You don’t miss the way his eyes linger on you as you slide the popsicle into your mouth, and you definitely don’t miss the way he eyes you as you suck at the fruity ice, before letting it slip from your lips, leaving only the tip of it pressed against your lips. 

“See something you like, Satoru?” and he has no reaction, shamelessly staring still, as he tilts his head. 

“I do,” he says without missing a beat, lifting his gaze to meet your own, “are you offering?” and you blink, before looking away — why was everything with Satoru a game of chicken? A bull’s rush to the line the two of you refused to cross, but did everything to pull the other over it. But neither of you had faltered, not in all these years. 

Not since the very last summer just like this. 

The sun had sunk past the horizon line, the summer night only predicated by the harmony of cicadas and the humidity that still stubbornly clung to the air, despite the sun being long gone. And that’s when Satoru had knocked on your door to tell you — tell you what had happened with Geto. 

He was gone. He had left. And he wasn’t coming back. 

And why was it that the signs were all there, laid out before you like directions to where he was going — and you didn’t see them, obscured by his empty reassurances and your own selfishness. 

You didn’t blame Suguru. Not after everything that had happened with Riko, Haibara, and everything else. But when you saw Satoru before you, despondent and broken — not a single inch of his usual flippant humor present, not a bit of his joy that he always had. But a part of you wanted to blame him — blame him for hurting Satoru, for hurting you, so prolifically. 

But you couldn’t blame him all the same. 

Satoru had spent the next few nights in your place, even sharing your bed at time, waking up with his long limbs tangled with your own, his face often buried in the crook of your neck, and you could see the evidence of dried tears on his face, despite his best efforts to cover his own tear tracks. 

“Do you think I could have stopped him?” he had asked you that night, his head laid in your lap as you flipped through the channels of the shitty TV you had brought from home and refused to replace, “do you think he would have listened?” 

“I think Suguru is even more stubborn as you are — because you were stubborn enough not to listen to your best friends,” your fingers cupped the bottom of his chin, “there wasn’t anything you could do — you can’t help someone who wasn’t willing to accept it,” 

“I could have made him,” and his skies contained in his eyes were infinite — just as he thought of himself — but he wasn’t. Because unlike the sky, he was human. 

“No, you couldn’t have,” you flick his forehead, and he pouts up at you, “and sitting here and wondering what ifs will do nothing for you — except drive you and your very excellent best friend crazy,” 

“Lucky for me she loves me even when I drive her crazy,” and you roll your eyes, a smile pulling on your lips, as he stares up at you, your fingers mindlessly tracing the length of his jaw, feeling the quake of his body as he shivered under your touch. 

“Very lucky,” and you could feel the pull between your bodies, the ever so slight way you leaned, willing for once to cross that line for him, for you — but he turned on his side, facing the TV instead of you. 

“What should we watch?” 

And you had promised yourself that night, you wouldn’t let your feelings get in the way of your friendship, you wouldn’t do that to him — because you knew he had already lost too much. 

But now—he was the one trying to cross the line. 

You stared at him, before scoffing, “Shut up,” but you were too afraid to let him. Your eyes drift back to the TV, leaning back against the couch — it was for the best this way, “think the heat’s getting to you more than you admit,” 

“Maybe,” he hums, as you finish your popsicle and sigh, leaning back on the couch again, with a groan. 

“It’s so fucking hot,” you sighed, leaning back on the couch, head hanging over the armrest. 

And you could feel his gaze on you, undeterred from before, “Then let’s fuck to cool off.” 

You almost think you heard him wrong, as you slowly lift your head to look at him. You must have heard him wrong. Satoru was known to make bad jokes or say ridiculous things — but not like this. And you find a smirk across his lips, but the heat in his gaze had not a hint of humor in it — burning hotter than the sun taunting all of Tokyo. 

“What?” You don’t know what you want him to say — say that it was a joke, say that you heard him wrong, or just say it again. But your eyes can’t pull away from his, the blue of his eyes pulling you close instead of pushing you away unlike his technique by the same name. 

“You heard me, sweetheart,” he tilts his head, biting into his popsicle, letting the tip slip into his mouth, “we could fuck the heat away,” the idea slips so casually from his lips, as if he was recommending a movie or a book, and not fucking you here and now. 

“Satoru—“ your voice is chiding, you’re shaking your head, but the couch creaks as he leans forward, the remnants of his popsicle slipping down his abs and through his happy trail and seeping into his shorts, “don’t fuck around—“ 

“Do you think I’d say that to you of all people just to fuck around?” he raises his eyebrows, and your words flee your mind just as you wish to, but you sit, wondering if this is a literal fever dream from the heat, “you don’t have to think about it so much,” 

“Don’t I?” you scoff, shaking your head, as you get to your feet, wiping the sweat from your forehead, “Satoru, why—“ 

And he’s getting to his feet, wiping the melted popsicle on his stomach with his white shirt, no longer caring as much as he said he did. And you can feel the heat radiate from his body, all consuming just as this heatwave was — clinging to you even as you tried to keep cool, sweat dripping off your flesh like the pleas that left your lips. 

“I’ve thought about this for too long, too many times,” he murmurs, fingers brushing against your cheek, featherlight as if you’d break apart under his touch, “we’re sitting in your place — it’s just you and me. You’re asking why, and I’m asking why not?”’

“I don’t want to sleep with you just like that, I can’t. I want it—“ you cut off, but he doesn’t let you turn your head, hand cupping your cheek now. 

“You want what, sweetheart?” Your mouth was impossibly dry, the words unable to force their way from your throat, “tell me, please,” and the pleading in his voice breaks you. 

“I want it to mean something,” and his gaze softens, as your eyes meet his again, a ghost of a chuckle on his lips, “it’s not funny—“ and he’s daring even closer, a hand sliding down your side. 

“It’s funny because you could think I would ever want anything that’s to do with you to be only meaningless,” he murmurs, words fanning your skin, and god it was so fucking hot. Between the temperature, his closeness, and his words, you were sure you’d pass out, “do you know how many times I wanted to do this? So many times during the days and nights we’d spent together, I wanted to just reach over and pull you into a kiss,” 

“Then why didn’t you?” your brow furrows, “and why now?” 

“Because I’m tired of waiting for a sign, for something in my head to tell me it’s safe, that you won’t disappear,” his thumb rubs back and forth, “just like every good thing in my life,” 

“I’m pretty sure you’re stuck with me at this point,” and his lips curl, a breath away, “Toru—“ 

“Can I kiss you?” and you almost laugh at the absurdity of the situation, but you can’t, the heat so thick it feels as if every molecule of your body was on fire, and the only thing that could quench the flames was his lips. So you just nod wordlessly. 

His lips find yours. It was chaste, a brush of his lips against yours, the lingering sweetness of the popsicle dancing on your tongue. It’s too soon that he’s pulling away, your lips mourning the absence of his touch already. 

“Feeling cooler?” his words warm your lips, but even so you’re pulling him back into another kiss, lips sliding against his firmly, his fingers tangling in his hair, wanting nothing more than to melt into his grasp.

And you part your lips from his for a moment,” Not at all,” and your eyes flicker to your refrigerator, “but maybe we can cool down.” 

“Fuck,” Satoru shivered, and he wasn’t sure if it was your lips against his pulse, or from the drag of the quickly melting popsicle against his burning skin. But neither of those compared to the soft groan ripped from his lips as your tongue dragged up his side, following the sticky, sweet trail of melted ice, mixing with his sweat, “well, am I sweeter than ice cream?” 

He’s too sweet. 

He’s certainly sweet like this, laid out on your bed for you, his shirt long discarded, his shorts about to join them. Soft pants made his chest rise and fall, slowing and quickening with your touch — his pulse thrumming under your touch. 

But he’s also sweet with the way he looks up at you, soft eyes to match his smile, as if he was made to look at you like this. And a part of you wanted to believe he was — even if most of you couldn’t quite believe it. 

Your lips curl, humming as you press a wet kiss to his sticky skin, “i don’t know, I need more time to make my final decision,” you lick up the length of the rapidly melting sweet, droplets of sweet sugar water dissolving on your tongue, but you knew it really was nothing compared to the taste of his lips. 

But you weren’t going to tell him that. 

You take a bite of the popsicle, before leaning down to kiss him, letting the ice melt between your tongues, as his fingers tangled in your locks, and soon enough he’s rolling you onto your back, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs. 

And he leans forward, eating the last bit of the popsicle from the stick, “Well it’s my turn to taste now,” 

“You can’t even wait your turn for this, huh—“ the last word is a squeal as his fingers slide into the waistband of your shorts, snapping it against your heated skin, flames licking everywhere he touches. 

The melted popsicle runs down his muscles, rivulets running down the contours of his body, before dripping onto your burning skin, nipples pulling taut from the sticky sugar. He leans down to tease one nipple, sucking the melted liquid off, before doing the same to the other. 

“I’ve waited long enough, sweetheart,” and he’s dragging your shorts off, thighs crying out in relief as the cool air of the fan did it’s job to ebb away the heat ever so slightly, drying the layer of sweat, “I don’t want to wait another minute,” 

“So impatient,” you chide teasingly, voice lilting and yet he looks at you with a half lidded gaze, sending a wave of heat right to your core. And the way your thighs press together doesn’t go unnoticed, fingers splayed against the plushness of your thighs, forcing them gently apart. Your cheeks burned, and this time not from the weather, “Toru—“ 

His cerulean eyes find the wet patch of your panties, a smirk pulling at the corners of his pretty lips, “Don’t think this is sweat, baby,” he teases, fingers skimming over the damp spot, “or should I make sure?” 

“Satoru—“ and your chiding is cut off by the sinful press of his fingers to your clothed cunt, his dark eyes lidded as they watch your slick soak through the ruined panties already. And you can’t help the way your hips buck against his hand, “you motherfucker—“

“Funny coming from the one humping my hand,” he grins, and his thumb grinds down against your clit, his other slipping under your ass to knead the soft flesh, “maybe it is sweat and I should just leave you to cool off,” his fingers slipping away, delicious friction that your cunt was already spread open, wet, and willing for— 

A whine leaves your throat, an all too pretty noise, “Toru, please, I—“ and his fingers are hooking in the fabric of your panties before ripping them off, quite literally, the sound of tearing fabric making you gape at him, “what the fuck—“ 

“It’s too hot for these anyway,” Satoru pockets the panties in his shorts, “look at this, you’re burning up,” he stares at your leaking pussy shamelessly — because shame was a word that Satoru Gojo did not know, “and I think I know just what to do to cool you down,” his head leans down, blowing softly at your inner thighs, over the sweat mixed your pre that coated your skin, your folds twitching, just as the corners his lips did, “so needy,” 

“You’re the fucking worst,” your words a mutter unfolding into a gasp as he drags a single finger up your leaking folds, gathering your slick on the tip of his index, and then he’s tracing a slow circle around your clit, “Toru,” your words are half pleading, half pouting. It’s so hot, his touch only serving to make you sweat — literally and metaphorically. You were sure your sheets would be ruined after this — and not just from your sweat. 

“Lemme savor this, you kept me waiting so long, Princess,” his reverent words pressed against your inner thigh, teasing butterfly kisses that make you squirm, a flick of his sharp tongue that tastes the sweat against your skin, “how’re you this sweet? S’perfect,” his words are seemingly more for him than you, pussy drunk without even taking a single sip. 

But not for long. 

His nose bumps against your clit, tongue flicking against the seam of your messy cunt, eager fingers pulling the sticky, sweaty skin apart, and your cheeks burn with how exposed you feel—and how self conscious you were. 

“M-maybe this isn’t a good idea. I’m really sweaty—“ and the flat of his tongue drags up your sopping pussy, and fuck, good wasn’t enough to describe it. 

“Then I better clean my nasty girl up, right?” he cools your sticky skin with another soft puff of air blown between lips glossy with your precum, making you whimper as he pulls away, “one sec, sweetheart, think I need reinforcements,” 

The creak of the bed as he scurried off for a moment making you lift your head, an embarrassingly strong ache between your legs making you whine, legs closing, as you bit your lip, “Toru, what the fuck—“ 

And he’s back, but not empty handed — a glass filled to the brim with ice, a grin on his lips, “ready to cool off, Princess?” 

~~~ 

“A-ah, too cold,” you whine, and Satoru can’t help but disagree it’s far too hot — and it wasn’t the weather. It was you. 

You were always hot. You always had been — otherwise how else did you melt his icy demeanor from the moment you met? Too big of a chip on his shoulder from all those years spent at the lonely top of his clan, and you had no problem keeping company up there while kicking off his pedestal. 

Fuck, you’re so pretty like this. Gasps pulled from spit soaked lips, chest rising up and down, and your legs spread open just for him. You shivered as he dragged a half melted ice cube along your collarbone, water trailing behind that he was more than dragging his tongue along, the sweetness of your skin mixed with the tang of your sticky sweat. 

How had he resisted for so long? 

It had been years and years of pining. Of late night spent watching movies, of days spent fighting alongside each other, and even more days spent trying to get home to the other. And all that time, he still had stayed at the same distance. 

Because it was safer. It was easier. But he wasn’t know what it was — the heat, patience wearing thin, the fucking sight of your smile even in this fucked world — but he couldn’t stand it anymore. 

Not without you by his side. 

“Think the ice would beg to differ, sweetheart,” he hums, as he presses a kiss over the pooling ice as it melts right above the swell of your breast, “I’d say it’s much too hot,” your nipples grow hard under his treatment, a hiss leaving your lips, as he sucks the ice water from one nipple while rolling the other between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Toru, fuck, please—“ your words cut off with another gasp as he buries his face in the swell of your breasts, licking up the valley, before his lips find your pert nipples, lips closing around, sucking and licking, before nibbling at the skin. 

“You always this needy, pretty? Or is it just for me?” his words are said teasingly, but his eyes are just as desperate as yours, fingers dragging down your sides now, “better be just for me,” he mutters more to himself than you, as you gasp, ice cold fingers prying your thighs apart, “heh, what a mess you’ve made,” his fingers skim your dripping cunt, and he lifts his fingers to spread them in front of your face, your pre strung like spider webs between them, “don’t think sweat’s does this, does it?” 

And he turns his head, pressing kisses to your thighs, a glorified slip and slide from your sweat and pre alike, but how was it that you still tasted so sweet? A whimper escapes your bitten lips, his breath warming your pussy, a puff of air blowing over your twitching entrance, eyes sliding to the glass of melting ice. 

“You put a fucking ice cube in me and I’ll—“ he snorts, but grabs an ice cube all the same. 

“Only I belong inside you, baby, nothing else,” and he presses the ice cube to his lips, your eyes hypnotized as you watch him drag it back and forth, until he lets it slip into his lips, melting as he leans down, “now let me cool you off,” he presses his lips to your clit, a short kiss that has him melting all the same. 

You jerk. Cold. His lips tingled as his lips enveloped your clit, and his tongue was no better. Fucking freezing, a yelp that he rips from your body, as you can’t help but squirm. But he doesn’t let you get away that easily. Because nothing about the two of you was ever easy. 

His fingers press into your hips, arms pinning your body to the mussed sheets of your bed, as his tongue circles your clit, cold ebbing away with each stroke, until he’s lost in the warmth of your pussy. 

And Satoru only could wish he set up a camera — so he can watch you again and again with your gaze hazy with lust, tears welling like the condensation on the glass on making your eyes just as glassy, but you stared at him all the same. 

So he might as well give you a show.

“Fuck, could live in this tight cunt, you’re gonna be the only sweet thing I drink all summer,” the only summer drink he will settle for — the only thing sweeter than sugar itself — and he only one he wants. His tongue parts your folds, sinking deeper past your entrance, until he’s practically tongue fucking you, face buried in your cunt.

“T-Toru, ngh, too much,” and it was all too much for him — your soft moans, the lewd squelch of your pussy, the tremble of your thighs as he ate you out, and his tongue pulls back a moment, choosing to focus on your clit, as he sinks a cold finger inside, “fuck!” 

“Now you’re getting it, Princess,” he coos, and your scowl only lasts a second as his thick finger fucks you open, “gotta make sure I fit don’t I?” 

“You’re so fucking full of it—how about less talk and more—“ and he presses his erection against your leg, letting you feel how hard you’ve gotten him, and how fucking much he could cum in his boxers here and now. And you whimper, pussy clenching at the sight of him, “Toru, how will you—how—“ 

He’s so fucking big. 

“Don’t worry about that, sweetheart,” and he’s slipping in a second finger, as his tongue laps at your clit, “I’ll make myself fit,” and he would be the only one who would fit, the only one that could fuck your cunt, have his fingers curling deep, the only one making your head loll back against the pillow, “she’ll let me in, fuck you right, make sure I can carve out a nice place for myself — when I fuck every inch of her,” 

And his fingers piston into you, surely pruning with how your pre slips down his wrists and the wet sounds of your sloppy cunt grow louder, almost louder than the moans you make. 

Almost. 

“Said I’m the fucking worst, but it sounds like I’m the best, huh?” and you’re too far lost in the pleasure, nodding your head, as he’s fucked all the logic from your mind — leaving only want behind. And it seems like you both were on the same page now. 

It was nasty, the way his tongue took turns lapping at your walls, before teasing them open with his fingers. The way his sweat dripped down his face and mixed with your pre as he glued himself to your pretty pussy — and he was sure he could die of heatstroke with how fucking warm your pussy was. 

And he would die happy. 

But he knew you were close — with the way your hips were nearly grinding against his face and fingers, spit mixing with pre as he pulled away a moment, continuing to hit every spot that drove you to the edge closer and closer, “G’nna cum already, baby?” His taunting lilt makes you scowl, even with how far gone you were,  “s’cute, is it that easy?” 

“T-toru, I swear—“ and his lips latch to your clit, sucking hard, right as his fingers find that spot—and he swears your soul leaves your body, your body tenses under his touch, lovely lips falling open with his name on it as you cum. 

Well, more like squirt, your release making even more of a mess of yourself, the sheets, and him. It splatters across his face and hands, and he’s groaning, vibrating against your cunt, as he fucks you through your orgasm, sucking and slurping every drop you gave him. And it’s a feat as you absolutely drench his mouth, slick, sweat, and spit, dripping down his jaw. 

And he’s a fucking vision, once you get it back, far gone in the pleasure, as he continued to lap at you, until he finally pulls his fingers from you, and your eyes flutter open, chest rising and falling as you watch him lick each one of his digits clean, sliding him into his mouth, “what? Y’know i love my sweets,” his tongue then darts out to clean your slick from his face, before wiping the rest off. 

You’re reaching for him, eager fingers finding his shoulder, as you tug him on top of you, before flipping him with ease, so his back hits the mattress. He stares up at you — and god, did he always look at you like this? And how did you never see it — and how would you ever stop? 

“Princess—” but you don’t let him protest, lips meeting his, a soft groan as you taste yourself on his lips, palms sliding down his sticky chest, and your lips journey downwards, ghosting down his body. Your lips linger over his raised nipples, tonguing and teasing them, a hint of sweetness that lingers from his popsicle undoubtedly. 

“And you said I was sweet, you’re the one covered in melted popsicle,” you mumble, and he smirks, but his reply melts into a groan as the tip of your tongue traces the ridges of his abs, “can’t take it, Toru?” 

“F-fuck, can you blame me, sweetheart? Been thinking about this for too long. Wanted nothing more, nothing more than you,”  and your lips graze down his happy trail, a sharp inhale as he shudders as your fingers dip into the elastic of his boxers, tugging it down.

He’s perfect — just like every part of him, almost annoyingly so, if you weren’t too busy drooling over it. Swollen tip flushed a deep red, while the rest was a perfect blush pink that you wanted to paint your cheeks with, glossy with precum and sweat, begging to be touched. 

And you were more than happy to oblige. 

He nearly cums then and there when his cock grazes your cheek, smearing his pearly precum across your face. You turn your head, letting his tip drag over your lips, painting your lips with his pre. 

“Shit—“ he sucks air between his teeth, fingers digging into the sheets of the mattress, “not gonna last long at this rate—“ 

“I’ve barely started, surprised the honored one hasn’t cummed in his boxers yet,” he pouts, before he’s hissing as your lips press teasing kisses to your inner thighs, “can’t handle the heat?” And the tip of your tongue licks at the pubes above his cock, the melted sugar water clinging to the skin there, leaning down to kiss the tip of his cock— “then maybe you shouldn’t have started this—-“ 

And his fingers sink into your flesh, and now you’re on your back, sweat making you nearly stick to the sheets but you could care less with the sight above you. His cheeks flushed as he looks at down at you, but his lips curled in the same grin he always had, “oh, I’m going to be the one end it,” 

“End it? Don’t tell me this is the last I’m seeing of you,” vulnerability creeps back in a moment, and his fingers traces the curve of your cheek and down to your lips — “didn’t take you the type to hit it and quit it,” 

And he snorts, “I didn’t take you as the type to know what that means,” but his thumb rubs back and forth across your bottom lip, “but do you think after all this time I could ever quit you?” 

His fingers grasp at the base of his weeping cock, groaning as he teases your entrance with his tip, marking you with his precum, your gasp making his dick twitch, as if it’s begging to be inside you. “All of this is for you,” he grunts, guiding your hand to his chest, feeling his heart thus underneath your palm, “it’s always been for you,” 

“I’m starting to think you didn’t wanna just fuck the heat away,” and he laughs, his tip kissing your entrance, just as he brushed his lips against yours. 

“Well, who said that was the only reason?” And he’s sinking inside you, inch by inch. And there far too many fucking inches. He groans at the sight of your folds, swallowing his cock whole, walls stretching around his length, “look how good you take me — this perfect pussy was made for me, isn’t that right?” and you’re nodding wordlessly, lips parted in a silent moan, as your walls pulled him deeper and deeper, “not g’nna be able to control myself, shit, feels too good, princess,” 

“Feels too good to be like this,” you’re panting as the words leave your lips, your eyes glassy with lust — Satoru swears you could look at him, and it would be enough for him to fuck you all over again, “too big, Toru — you gonna fuck me stupid,” and you can feel his dick grow, pushing against your walls as he bottoms out, and you whine in return, “hngh, I wasn’t being serious—” 

“So tight,” An almost guttural hiss pulled from the back of his throat, and he’s smug as he looks down at you, mouth fallen open, “I’m always serious about fucking you stupid, sweetheart,” as he lifts your legs, pressing them to your chest, your ankles dangling next to his head, as he kisses the soft skin there, a wicked grin, despite the sweat trickling down his face, “it’s the one time I can be smarter than you,” 

He’s torturing you. Torturing you as he grinds his hips roughly against you, the lewd noises of your sloppy cunt and the sticky perspiration between your bodies deafening, yet still won’t give you what you want. More than that, the heat between your bodies was too much — flames engulfed every muscle with every brush of his body against yours, every twitch of his dick inside you, and veins full of fire rather than blood. And you were sure you’d spontaneously combust in this heat, and he’d still fuck you all the same — letting himself be swallowed up by the fire just as well. 

Your moan was almost unrecognizable to you, the pleading in your voice bone deep, just as the heat was, “Please, Toru, move,” and he’s grunting, and you know he wants you — has wanted you all these years, and he only smiles at your words, a short laugh on his lips. 

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” and his fingers dig into your hips as he begins to fuck you, hard and fast. His balls slap against your skin, the noise ringing in your ears, and your cunt resists every time he pulls out — as if you never want him to go. And he never will. He can’t stand the thought of anyone else seeing you like this — see the way your lips part in moans; the way your eyes glaze over in pleasure; the way sweat drips down your face, running down into the divot between your tits; the way your tight cunt bulges at the sides as you take his dick so well — no, this is a sight just for him, “s’pretty, and all for me,” 

You’re already s’close after all the teasing all night, the sounds of his grunts and groans doing nothing to help as his tip rams against your cervix, and you’re sure his dick is fucking places you only dreamed of reaching, but still you can’t help but want more—so much so that the word slips from your mouth. 

He laughs, fingers pushing on the slight bulge in your stomach making you gasp, the sweat of his palm mixing with your own that gathered on your stomach, “Even when you’re getting your guts fucked, you want more, sweetheart?” and his fingers rub meanly at your clit, pinching and pulling at the sensitive spot as his tip hits that spot that has your vision blurring again and again, “I’ll give you anything you want, because you’re mine,” 

And you’re surprised the bed frame doesn’t break as he begins to slam into you, but it does creak, begging for a break, just as you had begged for this dick. Your eyes water as he rams into you, rutting like a dog in heat, and maybe he was — maybe you both were. 

“Toru, Toru, I’m close, s’close, I can’t—“ and you’re so cute, like this, whining and begging for him, for the thing only he can give you — and he’s twitching inside you, and he knows he’s not far behind. 

“Cum for me,” he nearly orders, and his words are the thing that makes the ribbon of heat in your cunt snap. Your toes curl, as you cum hard around his cock, walls squeezing and shuddering around him as he only pistons into you harder and deeper, intent on making you feel pleasure in every inch of your body, and he’s shifting your legs, hands helping you wrap them around his waist, as he ruts into you, chasing his own high. 

You’re boneless and long gone, as your chest bumps against his as he fucks you, but you still manage to find words to push him over the edge, goad him as you always did, because you know right where to touch (especially now). 

“G’nna cum inside me, Toru? Fill me up with your release?” and he swore he lost the ability to breathe, heat and your words stealing the breath from his lungs, as he ruts into you, mix of sweat and sex making his head spin, but not as much as your sweet cunt does. 

He’s close, he knows he is, especially when he looks to see the ring of cum and sweat around the base of his cock, and when your fingers thread through his white locks, thumb rubbing against his undercut, to pull him back into a bruising kiss, right as his cock hits your deepest part again—

“Cum for me, Toru,” and he does, uncoiling at your command, spurting thick ropes of cum inside your walls, painting your insides, as he fucks it deeper into you with every roll of his hips. Debauched groans leaving his lips as he murmurs how perfect you are, because you are — even more than he could have ever imagined. His thrusts slow, the sticky sweat and cum drenching both of you and the sheets alike. He pulls himself gently from inside, groaning at the loss of your warmth, but also wondering if your cunt doubled as an oven — the cool air of the fan sliding over his bare skin a relief. 

He eases onto your side, pressing sweet kisses all over your face, before you bury it in the crook of his neck for a moment, before pulling away, “You’re all sticky,” you wrinkle your nose, with a whine, and he laughs, a shit eating grin on his lips — more euphoric than sarcastic. 

“Well, who’s fault is that?” and you’re pouting, brow furrowed. 

“The same guy’s bright idea it was to fuck in the middle of a fucking heatwave,” and he props himself up, the sheets nearly glued to him as he took in the damage, mussed and ruined with the mess of cum, sweat, and spit all over, “you’re buying me new sheets,” and he chuckles, leaning over to peck your lips. 

“I’ll buy you a new bed if you ever let me do that again,” and you shake your head, eyes fluttering open and then closed, as he nosed as the column of your neck, completely fascinated with the way your skin was glowing still after all of that, “you just gonna doze off after all of that? Such a nasty girl, we gotta clean up after all that, don’t we?” 

“Don’t wanna get up,” and he chuckles, pressing a sweet kiss to the top of your head, but the touch seems to make you whine, “fuck, but its so hot,” 

“And yet I didn’t hear you complaining when I was fucking you,” he tilts your chin up, glazed over eyes fluttering open to meet his, and how was it that your gaze alone was enough to want him to pin you down and fuck you all over again? “Told ya it was a good idea to fuck the heat away,” 

“Except when it ends up like this,” and he sighs, the creak of the mattress underneath, as he gets to his feet, “what are you—ah!” he’s lifted you into his arms, sweat soaked bodies sticking together nearly as he carries you through the living room, making a small pit stop to grab two ice cold water bottles, sounds of the TV still floating through the apartment, towards your shower. 

“Who said this heatwave was over yet?” 

A weather report was playing, a snippet Satoru caught before he shut the door. Reports say the heatwave is going to continue for the rest of the week. Residents are advised to stay inside until things finally cool down!  

“You hear that, sweetheart?” as he sets you down, turning on the water of the shower, letting the cold water soak you both, as he loomed over you, pinning you against the shower wall, “guess it’s just you and me for a week,” and he opens the water bottle, taking a sip before pressing his lips to yours, forcing you swallow the water, tongue seeking after it. 

His fingers rest below your chin, as his lips ghost over the curve of your jaw and the slope of your neck, before his teeth graze the hollow of your throat, as his fingers sneak down to tease at your aching cunt, sinking in to stuff his cum dripping down your thighs back inside, “lucky I know just how to keep you cool, right?” 

✧ a/n: its been super hot here where i live and i'm dying so i want gojo to come fuck the heat away.

✧ taglist: @mysticaltigersorceress, @kentocalls, @biblioth-que, @dreamtardisspace, @augustwinesworld, @totallytatum, @hanxyy, @sxnkuna, @spindyl, @rosiesroseas, @kxouri, @elisaj313-blog, @theelegantpotato, @peppertoastuniverse, @alwaysfreakingout, @being-me-is-not-a-sin, @pompompurin-rambles, @catsgomurp, @admirxation, @ninikrumbs, @equanimoushuman, @mysticaltigersorceress, @eightantseatingapplesss, @notgoodforlife, @satowooo, @gojo-gets-me-wetter, @ivypinsss, @fayyyrieee, @hcn-eyes, @designerpvssy, @mua-for-now, @sukunabish, @fushitoru, @spider-fan72, @suguwife, @forest-fruits-jam, @pinkyvomit, @ranatherealestsigma, @gojosbrat, @megumibrainrot, @pxppygirl

[whateveriwant]

Task force 141 reacting to their very pregnant wife still trying to clean, cook etc

This turned more into ‘Task force 141 preventing their very pregnant wife from trying to clean, cook, etc’ lmaooooo I hope that's alright

Price

HA! Good one!

No seriously, it's actually hilarious that you think you'd do anything for yourself when your hubby's around

That man has been waiting on you hand and foot since you first got together. So now that you're pregnant and you think he'd let you so much as lift a finger? You must have a serious case of pregnancy brain, sweetheart

Price is doing all the cooking, the cleaning, the running errands, etc. throughout the entirety of your pregnancy (and at least the first several months postpartum)

He's kept you practically bed bound these last few months to the point where you think there's a perfect indent of your body molded into the mattress

Seven months in, he's suddenly called away to a quick mission halfway across the globe, and you think finally you'll get some of your autonomy back...

Well, think again because who should show up at your door the next morning than your mother-in-law herself, ready to pick up where her son left off

She came at the behest of your husband, of course, and was armed with a detailed set of care instructions

What does your husband think you are? Some sort of one-of-a-kind, priceless artifact that needs special handling? (Actually that's exactly what you are. Price-less… I'll see myself out 🚶🏻‍♀���)

Ghost

When it comes to having some semblance of independence during your pregnancy, Ghost will give you a bit of a longer leash than Price, but only just so

You’re going for a walk around the neighborhood? Hold on, let him grab his coat to join you. Or you're going into the backyard to tend the garden? He'll pull the weeds while you water the plants

But when it comes to letting you do certain things, there are some hard nos that he will absolutely not budge on

You try to use a stepladder to reach the top of the cupboard? Stop! You'll break your neck! You try to pick up anything heavier than 10 pounds? Stop! Give it here! You try to drive?... Don't even fuckin' think about it, precious.

The farther along your pregnancy progresses, the better he gets at predicting (and intercepting) your next move

You were gonna do laundry today? Well, wouldn't you know, he's already got a load going in the washer. You were about to make dinner? Well shucks, he just ordered takeaway from that Greek place you love

His ability to read your mind is honestly impressive once you get past how damn annoying you find it. Just because you're pregnant doesn't mean you're incapable of fending for yourself, and you're tired of him acting as if otherwise

But really, you can never get mad at anything he does for you. After all, what kind of a husband would he be if he didn't take care of his missus and your little one?

Soap

If you take Ghost’s cautiousness, mix it with Price’s thoroughness, and crank it up to an 11, you get Soap

From the moment he found out you were pregnant, he put your house into full lockdown mode, stopping just short of booby trapping the front door in case you got any funny ideas

You want some fresh air? Just open a window. You want to go for a walk and stretch your legs? Just take a few turns about the living room like you're some Austenian heroine

Don't let him catch you doing any kind of physical labor, because so help him Jesus he will grab a spray bottle and use it like you're a feral alleycat he's trying to house-train (he wouldn't really... but don't test him)

You try to unload the dishwasher? Ehrr! Wrong move. You try to remake the bed? Ehrr! Nice try. You try to mop up your own mess. Ehrr! Enough already. You try to– OCH, WOULD YE BLOODY SIT DOWN, WOMAN?!

For nine long months during his requested leave from work, your husband is attached to you like some kind of loving, smothering barnacle

But doesn't he miss his job, or the lads for that matter? What if the world needs saving? What will they do without him?

Well, (in his exact words) fuck the rest of the world! You're his world, bonnie, and he'll give you everything you could ever wish for and then some

Gaz

By far, you have the most independence with Gaz than you would with any of the other three men… at least, at the beginning of your pregnancy, that is

Once you get to around five or six months he becomes just as helicopter-y as all the others; he's just ever so slightly more bearable, perhaps

There's lots of peeking his head around the corner to check on you throughout the day or appearing seemingly out of thin air whenever you're doing something he'd rather you wouldn't

You've lost count of the number of times you've been in the middle of cooking or hanging up the laundry or whatever and his hand has suddenly appeared out of nowhere, gently taking the object from you before directing you to sit and rest

And like, look. He knows you can handle yourself. He knows you could conquer the whole world if you wanted to. That's one of the things he loves about you the most

But seeing you like this – so fragile, so vulnerable, so beautiful and soft and pregnant with his child; his child – it just… It makes him…

He just needs to do these things for you, alright, love? Just let him take care of you, please? Would you let him do that?

You already have so much you have to carry. Let him ease some of the burden off your shoulders. Let him do these small things for you because they don't even compare to all that you're doing for him 🥲