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s-brant · 3 years ago

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Pirates and Princesses (8/8)

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

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

Word Count: 13.4k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hook, line, and sinker.

She scoffs, "Your girl?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good Try!”

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

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

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

Deep down, Y/N had a feeling.

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

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

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

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

"Bad day?" she asks.

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

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

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

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

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

His bottom lip trembles with the urge to cry.

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

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

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

She has only been here a few times.

The first time, she was seven years old.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The second time, she was thirteen years old.

It was a Friday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He's silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

He isn't listening to her.

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

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

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

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

It doesn't matter anymore.

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

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

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

"JJ?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

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

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

She sees right through him.

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

"You're not hearing what I'm saying—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sighs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nods in agreement.

"Baby steps."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh my god," she whispers to herself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What the fuck, Kie?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe that's how it is, she thinks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's a shoe box.

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

"What is this?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"JJ..." she murmurs in awe.

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

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

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

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

Letters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dear John B,

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

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

Also, I'm really sorry for—

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

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

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

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

I think you knew it before I did.

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

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

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

I'm keeping my promise.

- JJ

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

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

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

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

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

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

It brings happy tears to his eyes too.

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

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

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

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

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

"Ditto."

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

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

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

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

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

They bury it together.

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

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

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank smut #outer banks #obx #fanfiction #i'm gonna miss these dorks #🥺#I love how he tries to break up with her and she’s like ‘no❤️’#also totally do not put on ‘seven’ by Taylor Swift during the childhood flashbacks unless u wanna cry #cause I did and my sensitive ass was crying #that song is about John B and JJ okay #it just is

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yoonia · 2 years ago

Note

hi! 13 & 26 for the ask game 🤍

Hello! thank you for sending this in!

13. What is a subject matter that is incredibly difficult for you write about? What is easy? The subject that becomes an incredibly difficult matter to write about would be anything that has to do with character death, or grief, or mostly those that involve terminal illnesses. Which is ironic, since I know that one of the series that I finished last year talked about grief and the biggest one that has been on hiatus (About Time) has characters with terminal illnesses. This topic is just too close to home for me, but at the same time, it also offers me a sense of healing by talking about this through my writing. The subjects that I avoid the most would be physical abuse and the usage of drugs. I don't think I can even bring myself up to read or watch anything that has these topics because they're too triggering to me. And if there's any chance that I have to include these topics into my writing, I tend to write them vaguely or just have them briefly mentioned without getting into details. What is easy? romance, affection. I think I'm the kind of person who craves affection and romance the most in order to be able to be intimate with someone, and I could just put the things that I wish for from a partner into the characters and the scenes I write to fulfil that need. It's not always easy, but it works the best without giving me so much of a hard time (unless I'm not in the state of mind to do it, just like this one time I wrote a boyfriend JK fic while having a fight with my bf and it turned into angst lol)

26. How do you get into your character’s head? How do you get out? Do you ever regret going in there in the first place? I usually put myself in their shoes, and picture myself experiencing the situation that they are in and try to see what I would do if I was in that situation. This is probably why I always grow attached to the characters that I write about. Because even if I always focus on their character traits while doing this and use that to solve the issues or find resolve, I'm still doing it while becoming them for a brief moment so I can feel what they're feeling, I know what they're seeing, etc. I get out by distracting myself from that writing. take a long break, but at the same time, I try not to read or watch anything else just to get out of the bubble so I won't lose touch with the story or characters in case I'm still working on it. Just do whatever I could to get my feet back on earth and stay grounded. I never truly regret doing so deeply when I create these characters. except for maybe one occasion. There's a reason why I haven't been able to continue writing About Time. I always tend to get too deep into my OC's mind when I'm working on that story, and oftentimes (again, because the topic that I write in that story feels too close to home) I end up getting too emotional after writing the scenes that I always have to take a long break from it to get out. The latest update took me months (maybe a year even?) to get out of the mindset I was in while I was writing it, hence I've been afraid of starting it again when I have so many WIPs to focus on.

❥ Talk to me: Weird Questions for Writers

#ask game #get to know the author #fic: about time

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foulcrownkryptonite · 3 years ago

Text

Tracing Constellations

A storm rages through the 104th's wooded training quarters, leaving a long hike for Jean and Marco to fix a water-logged issue... the time alone making for some unexpected discoveries.

(for the sake of the fic + levels of maturity I am achieving with this story, everyone will be legal adults!)

Chapter One: An Obscurity.

“I’ll kill them all! Just you wait and see!!” The dining hall had been relatively calm, the tranquil buzz of steady conversation and cutlery clinking against plates mixed to create a pleasant hum. It was one of those rare nights their usual starchy glop was exchanged for a more sustainable, hearty potato soup, paired with a cheap but effective booze. A good night to say the least. A good night until Eren (Dumbass) Jaeger opened his obnoxious mouth. The young man’s tired phrase reverberated throughout the hall, pitching obnoxiously off the high ember ceiling. God, I’m too sober for this…

Eren’s endless prattling of ‘I’ll save the world’ or ‘I have more passion than anyone here’ had gotten old fast. It bugged the ever-loving shit out of him, and with the current daggers-for-eyes and under-the-breath-scoffs Jaeger was getting, the sentiment was well shared.

“Don’t give me that Mikasa, I mean it! I’m going to kill every last one of those-'' Eren was promptly cut off by Jean’s hands smacking the table in front of him, causing a nearby fork to clink to the ground. Jean rose from his seat with an overly dramatic flare, making a show out of swooping his hair back. If the entire dining hall weren’t already watching the pair with dreadful, tired looks, they certainly were now. Some hushed whispers and exasperated groans sprinkled about the room as Jean assumed his stance towering over Eren.

“Well, all hail King Jaeger, eh? Oh don’t worry my friends, the man who can’t balance on his ODM gear will stop the incoming apocalypse!” he taunted, voice oozing with that special kind of ridicule Jean knew got Eren’s blood boiling. He was up and out of his seat before Mikasa had a chance to pull him back. Jean snorted loudly.

“Eager are we? Well then Jaeger, fight me like the man you’re always claiming to be.”

“Says the fucking horse face”

“Oh how original”

“Foal!”

“Jackass!”

The surrounding cadets watched with jaded faces, sighing at the scene unfolding for at least the third time that week. It was no longer entertaining, or really worth wasting any time or energy on, so they returned their attention to their much more exciting dinners and side banters.

The ever arrogant duo stepped to the center of the room, assuming, of course, all focus to be on them. Sharing dissent and ill-bred sneers, they theatrically assumed their fighting position. Guess I’ll just have to put him back in his pla-

“Nope. Okay-hah, we’re done here.” Marco interrupted, their foolish behavior striking his last nerve, the last nerve of the entire collective dining hall for that matter. Sighs of relief and annoyance sounded around them as Marco marched over and grabbed at Jean’s jacket, pulling him out from the table and towards the door.

“‘Ey, what’re you doin-” Marco wordlessly dragged the half pissed, half confused and positively tipsy Jean across the room, the grip on his jacket unwavering. A small chuckle escaped Jean’s mouth at Marco's unexpectedly forceful behavior. Damn, those muscles aren’t just for show, huh?

Marco sighed as he led him towards the door, a poorly concealed smile creeping its way onto his features. “Bedtime.” Marco concluded, biting back his smile in need of a more threatening look. Jean didn’t fight it. Instead, he bristled as he caught Conny’s snide face before the door to the dining hall was shut by Marco’s boot. The low lit lantern illuminated the two in a soft orange glow and the thick wooden door effectively drowned out the murmurs coming from behind it.

The change in air was drastic, shifting from a crowded and loud mess hall to the peaceful sounds of an autumn night and Marco’s freckled face incandescent under that old lantern. Marco’s hand remained firm in the layers of his jacket yet neither made motions to move. Jean was in a weird sort of trance and yeah he should move and unblock the way for Marco but for some reason he didn't. It wasn’t as if the other had really given him a chance to, what with him still holding onto the front of Jean’s coat.. A couple still moments passed and Marco had a strange, almost calculating look on his face.

Jean couldn't remember how long he had been standing there, the alcohol starting to intoxicate his body and the sheer closeness of Marco starting to intoxicate his brain. But if the loosening grip on his chest and Marco’s suddenly flushing face said anything, whatever this was had gone on a bit too long. The last thing Jean wanted was to make his good friend uncomfortable- No matter how nice just standing there in the cool breeze with Marco’s hand on his chest… Nope. Backtrack on that line of thinking. Immediately.

Things were getting awkward fast and Marco looked like he was going to say something and shit he probably shouldn’t have chugged that last bit of his drink, huh? To clear the sudden tension caused by his inability not to fucking gawk at Marco, Jean did the only thing his dumb tipsy brain could think of: make a drunken escape.

“Betcha can’t catch me.” he blurted before breaking out of Marco’s loose hold, running towards their quarters in a less than put together fashion. Was Jean literally running away from whatever moment just passed between the two? Why yes, indeed he was. But Marco’s eventual breathy laugh and quickening footsteps enclosing in on him told Jean everything was fine. Well consider that a job well done.

The two then stupidly ran around the camp, Jean hiding behind every tree and supply wagon trying to scare Marco, and Marco doing everything in his power to tackle the other. After a particularly bone crushing embrace and a loud laughing fit quickly admonished by Shadis, the inebriated pair walked the rest of the way to their dorm, the air around them now whimsy and casual.

They trudged through the wooded path, torches lighting the ground every few yards. They sprung into sporadic fits of giggles over absolutely nothing, both of the men now feeling the full effects of dinner’ mead, and Marco no longer playing the role of the responsible sober friend.

The cadets had been training in the woods for a week now, the goal being to get them used to ODM gear and combat in a dense forest. It was a welcome change of scenery from the usual parching desert and brutal heat. Being surrounded by rich greens and active rivers somehow made the strenuous drilling and long hours somewhat enjoyable.

Though navigating the dark forested path whilst drunk proved to be more than a little difficult. His attempts at walking straight in the dense woods were apparently remarkably entertaining, as when Jean confidently waltzed straight into a tree the slightly less drunk Marco lost his absolute mind, laughing himself into a puddle on the ground.

With minimal bumps and bruises, they eventually made it to their quarters. Marco plopped himself dramatically onto an old shipping barrel and started to squirm his way out of his jacket. Ok, perhaps the other was drunker than Jean thought.

Chuckling to himself, he walked over to help his struggling friend out of the confines of the fabric. Marco stopped squirming and tried to accommodate for Jeans helping hands, flushing slightly when his eyes met Jeans. He quickly averted his gaze, turning to eye the door as Jean finished struggling with the last button.

With the jacket discarded, Marco straightened his gaze to look up at Jean, who seemed to tower over him. A couple heated seconds passed in silence until Marco started… shaking? Before concern could settle in, sporadic chuckles started to escape from the man underneath him, evolving into a full on belly laugh. Jean took a small step back and looked down at him in bewilderment but Marco just shook his head, words be damned in his current state.

“Sorry, I just-” he began to topple over himself, a fit of laughter bubbling in his stomach. “I don’t know why I’m laughing honestly-” he spat out through giggles. He was fluctuating between attempting to catch his breath and then losing it all over again. It was utterly ridiculous, but Jean couldn’t hold back his own ugly laugh at the scene. Every couple of seconds Marco would try to stop and speak through the laughter but to no avail, making Jean slump to the ground in front of Marco, clutching his stomach as his body heaved with mirth.

Marco was snorting at that point and on anyone else he would’ve been annoyed at the sheer volume. Say, if Eren was sitting on that barrel losing his damn mind over nothing at all he would’ve slapped the sense back into him. But something about Marco’s water filled eyes and big loud smile just made him feel warm. Or.. perhaps that was just the alcohol.

He grinned as he looked only at the mad man sitting in front of him. From this distance he could see each little freckle adorning his nose and cheeks and the way his nose would scrunch in between sets of giggles. It was an endearing sight, cute even, though Jean would never admit that aloud.

Too caught up in their snickering, the two almost didn’t notice their comrades briskly stumbling in, Ymir being the one who pushed the two large wooden doors hurriedly. “In.” she commanded, and stepped back as everyone else dashed inside. Jean startled and Marco’s laughter alleviated as Ymir eyed them, her face contorted so it was impressively indecipherable. She had quite the poker face, though some general annoyance seemed to seep out as usual.

“What’s the damn ruckus about?” Jean demanded more than he asked, his filter coming back down hard now that more people were around. Ymir looked at Jean with a face that basically read as, ‘Shut the fuck up you’re the one making a dopey ruckus.’ Instead of voicing any of that though, she shut and locked the door as the final cadets made their way inside.

“Massive storm coming in, it’ll do some damage” she stated plainly before her eyes went back to Marco. “Maybe you two lovebirds would’ve noticed if you weren’t screaming like damn hyenas.” she joked dryly, her arms coming to a close across her chest. Marco snorted slightly at the tease but Jean stood up defensively, though perhaps a bit wobbly.

Before he could say a word, Ymir cut in with a raised brow. “Whoaaa relax there horsey, I’m kidding. Mostly. Just go lock the windows in the other rooms before they blow out in the middle of the night.” he nodded hesitantly in response and gave Marco a floppy wave of sorts. He still looked like he was glowing, as if somehow the light from the torches outside still reflected in his pale brown eyes. A sneer from Ymir brought his attention back to… what exactly? Oh right, the windows. Jean quickly left without another word, cursing the alcohol slightly under his breath. The rest of the cadets shuffled about, fulfilling whatever it was their makeshift Captain Ymir ordered.

Not without a scoff and an eye roll, she turned back to Marco. “Just us,” she demanded. “Help me with the rest of the rooms.”

__________

(MARCO POV)

After a solid half hour of flood-proofing the place to the best of their ability, as well as general clean up, Ymir poured the two of them a small whisky to top off the night. Marco relaxed into the sole couch of the common room and Ymir slumped herself into a chair by the window.

The living space was dusky and growing winds pounded the windows, putting them slightly on edge. Nevertheless, Ymir seemed to have something to say to him. She gulped down her drink and tossed the empty glass onto the ground, Marco’s eyes widening in both awe and intimidation. He steeled his nerves as he prepared for whatever it was Ymir needed out of him.

She looked at him like a scientist to a specimen, searching for something upon Marco’s features. Marco squirmed under the intense stare, and it was then that Ymir asked the burning question, cutting right to the chase.

“Do you like Jean?” she probed. Marco sucked in a quick breath at this question. The answer was yes, but why was she asking in the first place? Not knowing exactly what angle she was getting at, he tried to answer in the simplest, most non revealing way.

“Yeah I mean we’re definitely good friends.” he said apprehensively. Not wanting to look Ymir in the eyes, his gaze fell back to the rather pretty glass in his hands, thumbs tracing the engraved pattern.

Ymir smirked at this reaction and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees in a carefree ‘Ymir’ kinda way. “Marco. You know what I'm asking.” her voice was laced with mirth and her sneering face told him she probably already knew his answer. Damn her perceptiveness. Marco had hoped he wasn’t too obvious in his… feelings. But he supposes after tonight's less than subtle antics, e.g., grabbing a laughing Jean into an animalistic embrace and holding it for much longer than necessary, people would start suspecting something.

His eyes still didn’t meet hers as he sighed shakily, knowing there was little to no backing away from this conversation. “Please just… Don’t tell him?” he pleaded, looking back to the girl sitting across from him. Her previous visible mockery and inevitable taunt had faded, her features setting into something akin to understanding.

“Sure, you can trust me.” she said casually, taking a swig of the remaining whisky straight from the bottle. “We’re the same in that way if ya catch my drift.” Although compared to, say Christa, Ymir’s words would seem invasive and rude, they were sweet in their own way. And although Marco wouldn’t say this wasn’t invasive, he appreciated the kindness nonetheless.

Regardless, Marco definitely “caught her drift”. He looked at her with a sort of twinkle in his eyes, pleased to know there was at least one other person in the 104th that wasn’t straight. He chuckled, still embarrassed despite the genuinely accepting nature of their conversation thus far. “God, what gave it away?”

“Oh, I dunno,” she sighed dramatically, “Maybe the way he was looking at you. Maybe the way you were looking at him… Or maybe just a hunch I happened to get right.” Marco laughed at the sentiment before a frown crept onto his face. “Does anyone else…”

“Know?” she finished. Marco nodded. “No, they don’t. It seems only I had the misfortune of seeing you two ogle each other all the damn time. Awful luck on my part. But don’t ya worry, your dirty little secret’s safe with me.”

He snickered as he raised his glass to his lips, downing the rest of the liquid inside. Ymir gave him a curious glance, and Marco softly set the drink down to his side, hands reaching up to grab at his warming face.

“God, what do I even do about it?” he mumbled through the palms of his hands, and Ymir could taste the desperation from where she sat.

Resting her chin between her fingers, she spoke. “Look, hear me out before you interrupt and tell me I’m wrong - but he likes you too.” Marco lifted his head to speak but Ymir cut him off with a glance. “I said, listen. I see the way he looks at you. I saw the way he looked at you tonight. He wasn’t just glancing at his friend… He was admiring you, Marco, your features. Now to me, that’s pretty telling.” Marco contemplated what she was saying, tried to really think about it before he shot it down entirely.

Is that really true? Is it even possible that the oh so straight Mr. ladies man Jean could… Feel the same way about him? It’s true they had some… moments tonight. Hell they’ve been having “moments” for as long as they've known each other. Though Jean did end up speeding away from one of those so called moments just over an hour ago… Was he being too hopeful? Oh god was he coming on too strong?

Ymir groaned at Marco's crestfallen face and stood up, closing the distance between the seats and plopping herself next to Marco. He gave her a curious glance, and in turn she gave a patient smile, well it was really closer to a grimace but still, it was the principle of it all.

He sat quietly, picking his lips with his bottom teeth. Ymir let him wallow in his worry for a whopping three seconds before kicking his ankle with her boot.

“Ow!” Marco pouted. An unspoken question of ‘The hell was that for?’ being shut down before it could be voiced.

“Oh shut it you were visibly spiraling.”

Ymir sunk into the back of the couch, pondering a moment before speaking again.

“You know, Jean isn’t going to initiate anything. Seeing as you’re more in tune with your emotions than that knucklehead is, you need to drop your damn balls and make a move.” Marco scoffed, shaking his head with a slight smile at Ymir’s bluntness.

“I know, I know… You’re right.” Marco finally begrudged, causing Ymir’s ‘Of course I'm right’ smile to appear. “But we never get alone time - we’re always interrupted before he can fully open up to me…”

“Yes!” Ymir exclaimed. “You see it now. Sure it might seem tricky, but if Christa and I can find a way, you can too.” she winked and Marco damn near choked.

“You- and- I had no idea I mean-“ he stuttered before she kicked him again.

“Shut up. And don’t tell a soul.” She smiled cheekily. He nodded intently.

“Course, Ymir.” She playfully punched him, standing up from the sunken couch.

“Good luck, Marco.” she whispered.

He beamed, his chest gleaming with a soft gratitude. “Thank you.”

When Marco turned in for the night, his mind raced with endless possibilities, ranging from transcendent to nightmarish. Wishful thoughts flashed through his mind; Jean getting impossibly close, feather light touches of hands, his head resting in the crook of Jean’s neck, Marco being told he was wanted, telling Jean he wanted him. He bit his cheek, smiling stupidly at the fantasies before he felt a deep sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Jean could easily not feel the same. Jean could easily have never entertained the same idyllic fantasies as Marco was now.

Great, now it hurt.

Plagued with a new sense of guilt, he tossed and turned in the seasoned cot, praying for sleep to take him away from the build up of emotions in his chest. He pondered the possibility of similar thoughts dancing in Jean’s mind…

__________

(Jean POV)

Jean didn’t “wake up”, he just was up. That damned storm last night had kept him awake practically all night. What first was an occasional gust quickly turned into a rampaging wind-demon set out to prevent him and apparently only him from sleeping soundly. Someone had cursed him. Probably that damn Jaeger out for revenge due to Jean always winning their feuds. Typical.

The little sleep he did get consisted of repeated unsolicited scenarios about… Well that didn’t matter now.

It was the morning after a ferocious storm and he was reluctant to see the wreckage he knew he had to help out with. He groaned, rolling out of his bed in an overly dramatic pout. Sure he was acting a bit like a child but right now he just needed sleep so damn everything else, he’s going to throw his little fit. He caught Marco looking at him out of the corner of his eye, his hair ruffled and looking extra fluffy. He was giggling at Jean’s stubborn theatrics, a sweater-hooded hand loosely covering his mouth. Cute. Jean felt a bit more energized after that and he didn't bother to question why.

Once dressed, he headed out to meet the rest of the trainees outside the sleeping quarters. Holy hell, the damage was bad: shingles of the roof scattered the grass, trash was knocked down, even some large trees had fallen in the distance.

Eren rolled his eyes before their commander could even step close. “God, can’t we make someone else clea-” the brat began before getting hit softly by Armin.

“Eren! One day of cleanup doesn’t equate to the fall of humanity.” he sharply retorted. Jean chuckled at this exchange, overjoyed to see the prick put in his place by his own best friend. Speaking of which, he couldn’t seem to spot Marco…

“ATTENTION CADETS.” their Commander roared as he marched toward the gathered crowd.

“YES SIR!” They yelled back in unison, fists crossing chests in an assertive salute.

“Deep woods ODM training is put on hold for today due to the storm. I will be assigning you each in groups of two or three to aid in cleaning this mess.” Jean scanned the surrounding area nervously, where was Marco? “Proceed to the front to get your duty from me before you grab a cold meal.” the Commander directed. Pairs of people made their way to get their job of the day, but Jean stayed behind, unable to spot Marco. Nerves crept up his spine as the line got shorter, indicating he would have to grab a job with someone he possibly couldn’t stand - especially after such a shitty sleep.

A few moments later and the remaining crowd was scant, still no Marco to be seen. “Jean, you’re on running water. I need you to go up to the creek and find the source stopping the water from running back to us. We have enough for the day, but this cannot go on. You will need a partner…” Shadis trailed off, finding only Annie and some guy Jean barely could remember the name of. Tomas? Tobiaus? Timothious?

He sighed, knowing nothing but complaints would come from either cadets if forced to spend an entire day with him. Jean crossed his arms, awaiting a choice of partner from his boss while he dreaded the inevitably long journey stuck with either insufferable silence or annoying small talk.

“Commander sir, I can go with Jean.” A pleasant voice chirped in from behind. And with those few words: salvation. Jean subconsciously uncrossed his arms and smirked as the Commander let out a sigh of relief upon seeing Marco approach.

“Thank Heavens, the one person who can stand him.” he murmured, Marco frowning at the not so quiet comment as he walked up to Jean's side. “That is fine, pack plentiful in case you get stuck for a night, we are not sure how much wreckage is up there, nor how long the journey on foot will take. There’s a shed around there you could set up in for the night. Do not come back today if you do not have ample time before sundown. Now get moving!” he ordered, his last words reverberating in a loud squawk.

“Yes sir!” They saluted before Jean met eyes with Marco. “Where the hell were you?” he questioned. Marco playfully rolled his eyes.

“Worried, hmm?” he chuckled, “Don’t worry, I was just helping Ymir with something.” he replied brightly. Ymir? That seems random… But he decided to not question it.

The two went back to their rooms to pack for their lengthy and no doubt strenuous trip up the mountain. Jean found himself not only not dreading the excursion, but actively looking forward to it. He felt a bit like a hyperactive kid as genuine excitement coursed through his veins. Should he bring his comb? Nah he probably won't need it. But what if they do end up having to spend the night and Jean turns too much in his sleep and his hair gets all messy and floofy and Marco looks at him with damned bed head and then probably giggles to himself and makes a dumb but cute comment about it because its Marco and somehow he always manages to make what Jean is insecure about into something he can actually like about himself just like when he’d said Jean’s eyes were pretty like a brown hibiscus and he stopped hating the way his eyes looked when he saw his reflection looking back at him and- Jean grabbed the stupid hairbrush and threw it into his bag.

Once sufficiently supplied, they scarfed a crummy cold meal before heading out as quickly they could manage.

Marco seemed awfully giddy as they started down a gravely path lined with fern. Though cheerful he often was, Marco was struggling to hide a smile. It wasn’t a bad sight at all, though Jean was curious. “What’s got you so damn happy today?” he questioned. Marco shrugged.

“I think I made a new friend - always a nice feeling, yknow?” Jean would say he’s surprised, but everyone in the 104th loved Marco, even the stoic ones, and he had a sneaking suspicion of who exactly his new friend was.

“Ymir?” he asked plainly. Marco nodded, a soft smile finding its way onto his face.

“Yeah. Y’know, she may seem edgy but she can be really kind.” he expressed, eyes a bit starry and thoughtful. He clearly didn’t hear how the words sounded to Jean.

Jean bit back the bitter remark already forming as envy crept its way into his mind. Why was it bothering him? He’s still his friend. His best friend even. Gah, not a big deal, keep it together. He told himself before rephrasing whatever edgy comment he was going to sneer into a hopefully harmless question.

“You like her?” he ended up asking, false humor falling from his tongue.

Marco looked visibly confused. “What? No I’m- not my type. She just has a good head on her.” he surmised. Why won’t Marco ever admit attraction? Does he not trust Jean? Jean had no problem divulging about those he found hot, so why wouldn’t Marco do the same?

The next few hours were spent bullshitting around as they walked; sharing stupid jokes about who in their class was most likely to get kicked out, a stupid conversation about Ymir that probably shouldn’t have peeved him so much, Jean going on a long winded rant about how justified he is in smacking Eren atop the head, Marco stopping to pick up random bird feathers exclaiming each time that, “No Jean, you don’t get it, this one is rare.” and eventually, as the sun started its descent towards the horizon, their casual banter shifted into their hopes for the future.

“Eh, I don’t wanna get married. Who wants to be stuck with a chick forever?!” Jean quipped. At his words Marco chuckled nervously, his gaze diverting to the coarse dirt beneath him.

“Yeah, me too. I don’t wanna get married. I’m fine living a life alone with me and my hobbies.” he said flippantly, fiddling with the strap of his backpack. Jean found the tone of his voice had changed into something more sullen and somber, and a glance over at his friend did not yield him any better results. Jean must do something about this.

He lightly elbowed his friend. “Well, if ya change your mind, I think you’d make a great husband some day.” Jean said honestly, no lick of sarcasm to his voice. Marco’s knees wobbled for a moment before he corrected them, clearing his throat to cover his obvious nerves.

“Thanks, Jean. You too.” he replied, biting his cheek. Another glance towards his friend showed a soft smile and a flushed face. Jean succeeded. Though now he too felt a bit hot in the face. He once again decided not to unpack that.

As they hiked, they spotted a would-be stream leading down to their base. Taking note of the lack of obvious running water, they were certain something rather large had blocked it. “Guess it’ll be a chore huh.” Marco pointed out. Jean began flexing dramatically, his tight muscles showing slightly through the thin white tunic.

“Pfft, your ol’ buddy Jean here will fix it right up for us, eh?” he joked, Marco eyeing him with a raised eyebrow followed with a hearty laugh. Sure, he wasn’t helping Jean’s ego, but he didn’t care.

The more they conversed alone, the more Jean felt his social facade fade, ending up losing whatever filter he had in place for other people all together. He wasn’t sure why this was the case, only knew that it made him feel relaxed and just genuinely, all around good. Perhaps it was the lack of a crowd - or Eren Jaeger. Either way, he was loosening up and took joy in seeing Marco enjoy himself on this trip as well.

“This is nice,” Jean said, smiling at the open air and lack of obvious walls. It felt open here, almost free. Hell, for the most part, they’ve forgotten completely about life inside the walls. Marco looked over and followed his friend's gaze to the sky, basking in the comfortable feeling.

“It is…” he began, sneaking another glance at Jean. “Really nice.”.

PART 2!!!

https://foulcrownkryptonite.tumblr.com/post/663166809268224000/tracing-constellations-pt2

#JeanMarco #jean kirstein #jean kirschtein fanfiction #marco bott #marco bodt #jean x marco #fluff #kissing #making out #spicy #marco x jean #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #our second fic ever #please be nice #and gentle #slow burn #slow build #cute

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awhst-alt · 3 years ago

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I HAD THE BEST BYLER DREAM LAST NIGHT AND I REALLY WANNA SHARE IT WITH YOU ALL

it's so long (literally 2k words) so im gonna put it under the cut haha <3

so basically this would take place after mike and will start dating or something, idk exactly the time frame (i picture them being like 18 or something and this is the summer before college) and will goes to this summer arts program for like 2/3 months (i dunno how long american summer is but something like that) and its all the way far from home so there is dorms and stuff and he's "not in hawkins anymore" (no pun intended)

mike and will decide after will finishes his school they'd go to college together (cuz they're gonna be comic book artists together bc thats boyfriend shit) so throughout these months he's practically just waiting for will (<333333)

so one specific scene i remember from my dream involved will and mike getting off the bus to the school and then they hug and then mike grabs wills hand and brings him behind the bus and then he gives will a biggg kiss bc he won't be able to kiss him for 3 months. then they say they love each other and will gives him another quick kiss and is like "two kisses". they agree they'd call each other every day.

so will goes inside and mike goes back on the bus and goes home.

and basically the whole day is a whirl, until the end of it, in which mike is sitting in the kitchen near the phone waiting for like 3 hours for will to call, and will doesn't end up calling.

AND THEN IT GETS SPICYYYYY

so meanwhile at the arts program will asks like the front desk or something if he can call mike and they say phone is offlimits and they don't let him call mike

so then will goes to sleep and he's paranoid that he thinks mike is gonna hate him or something like that

mk than the next day in class there is this girl (they didn't reveal her name in the dream, ill call her stella) so stella is basically looking at will the entire class but will doesn't know it

so when they exit the class stella's like "hi" and will says "hi"

then stella says "i like your painting."

will is like rlly weirded out so he goes "thanks?"

"i um- hope this doesn't sound weird but i have no friends, do you want to be mine?"

"sure"

and then end of scene (this does not sound like a normal conversation but it's my dream so it doesn't have to make sense"

so BACK AT HAWKINS mike is still sleeping even tho it's like 3 pm because yk depressed boyfriend shit but then the PHONE RINGS and mike gets out of bed frantically and goes to the phone and he picks it up and is like "will?" and then it answers "it's el, idiot"

i feel like this is important for context but el speaks english very well now and hoppers back and she lives with hopper and not the byers anymore. ANYWAYS

el says "how's will?"

mike says "idk he didn't call"

"he didn't?"

"no, he didn't"

"okay. well maybe he will call later"

"yeah mb"

"wanna come over"

"ok"

so mike hangs up and gets changed and goes to el's house bc they r a couple o' besties and when he gets there it's like a therapy sessions bc mike usally talks to will every single day and he can't for like 3 months (unless will calls, but he's not going to) so he accepts he's gonna be depressed for 3 months and he's just talking to el about how he's gonna miss him so much and no be able to see his face and that shit

so el's like "well do u wanna do something to take ur mind off of him"

and mike's like "no im not gonna replace will" (I SCREAMED IN MY DREAM SRSLY)

but than el says "okay. guess im gonna go to the mall by myself" (ig starcourt is rebuilt by now)

and than mike bolts up and is like "fine"

"we can by something for will"

"okay yay"

so then they go to starcourt yasss!!

anyways back at the art school will is having lunch and stella is with he friends (even tho she said she doesn't have any friends) and one of her friends is like "omg did you see _____ he's so hot"

and another friend says "YESS! but ____ is cuter"

"what abt u stella? who do u have ur eyes on"

she says "byers" BUT NOOOOOOO WILL IS MIKES MAN

and they say "ew that kid who came back to life"

she says "yea. but he's cute, and shy, and once i wrap them around my finger i can get them to do anything"

so then she goes to sit down next to will at lunch

"hi will"

"hi"

"hru"

"im good"

"okay. good." and she gets upset because will goes ask how she is but she keeps her urging rage inside. and than they have this weird conversation and will is uncomfortable the whole time bc shes all like flirting with him and will is seeing someone obvi

but then she puts a hand on will's shoulder and he's shaking and then says something (idk what it is it wasn't explaining in my dream) then will stands up and runs to the bathroom. so he's just sitting in the stalls crying.

okay back at starcourt this part wasn't shown in my dream but im just gonna make up that mike and el go looking around starcourt for something for will (sort of like the mike/lucas/will montage where they were looking for stuff for el) and then i guess they find something for will and i don't have the slightest idea what they could have got for him BUT THEY GOT HIM SOMETHING GOOD

so mike's all happy but they'res still that depression inside of him lol

so fast forward a week, it really isn't explained but ill just make up that will still hasn't called mike, and he's super sad and all sleeping in but decides to look through his good ol binder full of will's drawings and in the arts school will and stella have a few more interactions im sure which are still very uncomfortable

okay so it's lunch again in the cafeteria and somehow will and stella are talking again but somehow it ends in stella kissing will and will like pulls away immediatley and is like "what is wrong with you!?"

and she says "what?"

"i'm seeing someone!"

"oh i uh- i didn't know."

the whole cafeteria is staring at them

so will's freaking out almost on the verge of a panic attack "idk what to do, he's gonna hate me and-"

"he?"

will has the look on his face like shit shit shit oh fuck no

"you're gay?"

"i-"

and will runs off once again. and everyone in the whole cafeteria knows that he's day and ofc with everybody being homophobic will knows it's not good at all bc everyone's gonna bully him

so then the next day he goes to class and the teacher is like "does anyone care to tell me where ___ is?" (it would be like a math question like 'where x is' but in art idkkk) and then the teacher calls on "will? can you tell me where ___ is?" and they'res a pause and then the teacher says "or perhaps you'd want to find your boyfriend instead?" (giving me anne with an e vibes prolly cuz i did a rewatch last weekend but i won't explain more in case some people haven't watched it but) anyways will stands up from his seat, everyone is looking at him, and he's shaking and so concerned but then he goes "fuck. you" badass will yeaaaa thats my boy

so then he runs out of the classroom and out of the school in a really cool montage way but then he realizes he's like 2 hours away from home but he runs and runs and he goes to a random bustop (it's not even garanteed if it takes him to hawkins but whatever) he gets on and tries to go back to hawkins.

and soon enough, he gets there, and immediatley goes to the wheelers because he needs to see mike and apologize for everything. so he's at the wheelers, and rings the doorbell, realizing he's still in his uniform lol but karen answers and mike is upstairs in his room sulking (i picture it would be 8 pm by now) so will asks for mike and karen calls mike. mike groans obviously because he doesn't know it's his boy, but he comes down, karen gets out of the way and as soon as he sees will they have a really big hug and it's super sweet and my heart UFHEIOSKA

mike says his usual "are you okay?" and mike is still confused as shit but will says "i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry" and mike says "you don't have to be sorry for anyrhing" but will says "ill explain"

so then they go to will's room, side-by-side on his bed and will starts explaining everything

(this is mostly improvised by me but it's still pretty similar to the dream)

"i hated it."

"the school?"

"yeah. there was no you, (mike blushes lmao), everything was terrible, i felt so lonely, they didn't let me call you-"

"what?"

"they said the phone was off limits. i wanted to talk to you so bad and i thought you'd hate me"

"i could never hate you, will, even if i tried." will smiles

"and then there was this girl, and she hit on me and i didn't know what to do bc i'd be the face of the school if i told her i was dating you and was gay and today she kissed me"

"WHAT"

"im sorry im sorry i didn't kiss back and i was so scared bc i never was in a relationship before and i was so scared it was considered cheating-"

and mike LAUGHSS

"what? mike? what's wrong?"

"if you don't do anything back, it's not considerd 'cheating'"

"oh. good. are you mad at me?"

"what? no! no never!" so mike opens his arms and says "come here" so will and mike hug or something like that and then mike says "do you need me to beat her up?"

and will says "you can't even beat eggs. besides, your noodle arms wouldn't be able to do harm to even a fly"

so mike laughs and says "i'm glad your home"

so will blurts "i cursed out a teacher"

"you? cursing?"

"yes."

"might have to start calling you a bad boy now"

will just smiles and says "i love you"

and mike says "i love you too"

AND THEN END AND IM SO PROUD OF MYSELF BC I LOVE THIS DREAM LIKE I CAN'T BELIEVE MY BRAIN THOUGHT OF THIS BUT IM OBSESSED

ALSO ONCE I FINISH WYBMFFAE ILL PROBABLY WRITE THIS INTO A FULL BLOWN FIC BUT AHIHFUSAH

edit: i have no idea what mike did with the present him and el bought for will but i guess they ended up giving it to him lol

#byler

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gwendeeagain · 3 years ago

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How I wrote the Demon fic

Don't draw devil's traps in janitors' closets is one of my longest fic series I’ve ever written, the most notable of which would be my Demon Gakushuu fic, if you’ve seen it.

In partial response to an ask post (link here), I’ve decided to revisit my writing of this fic series! It was quite a long journey for me and I think it might be fun (?) sharing it with everyone. It’s rather long, so I’ll tag it under “keep reading”.

FYI this thread contains major spoilers for the fic (and would honestly make no sense if you do not have prior knowledge of it).

I'll just refer to the first fic in the series as Books because it has an insanely long title. Subsequent fics are in order Burgundy, Potential, Illuminate, Illuminate rewrite, and Addendum. The main series is linked here.

Addendum is not linked in the main series for reasons I'll explain below. (link here)

Books

I think one of my biggest mistakes writing Books is my lack of plot planning, and subsequently how thematically inconsistent it became. I start off most my fics with a rough idea of how I want the story to end, and a few good themes to carry me through the plot as I write, but for Books I started off with the first chapter and nothing else. If you followed the notes of my fic you'd probably have witnessed my gradual descent into uncertainty and despair as the fic spiralled out of my control due to how wrong I felt it was becoming.

The fic took a surprisingly hard toll on me. I absolutely hated it. I refused to mark it as complete because I was dissatisfied with how it ended. I thought that everyone was out of character, that I lost the original ending and goal in my head, that it was thematically messy such that I couldn't justify any ending I tried to come up with, and I was just grasping at straws trying to make it work.

The three things that bothered me were Gakushuu’s wings, Koro-Sensei and the introduction of Aina. When I started this fic I had plans to kill off Koro-Sensei at the end, however as the fic went on it became a celebration of life and learning how to live, and I knew I couldn’t bring myself to have any death in this fic... but at the same time I had Gakushuu find a lot of meaning in Koro-Sensei’s (to-be) death and I didn’t want to undo that. The wings were on a similar note, because Gakushuu spend 50k words finding out who he is and accepting that he was different. Turning that message around and making him go back to being “the same” ate me up inside, but at the same time I set-up the Demon Society in such a way that they would kill Gakushuu if he didn’t have his wings, and it’s supposed to be a happy ending, dammit! Aina was a particularly egregious case because I threw her (and Ikeda) in without any prior warning at the very last minute. I already had a whole world and setting planned for them which I never got to expand on in the previous chapters because I was so anxious about the other two points, and when it came down to the last chapter I realized I had no set-up for these two, who were supposed to be major players in the finale. Basically I was bad at writing.

Even now I cannot fully articulate why it was terrible for me, but compounded with my real-life stressors, I suppose it just became a bit too much to deal with. (This is a piece of fiction that I am creating from scratch. If I can't even get this under control, what hope do I have for everything else?)

((For come disclosure I was never formally diagnosed with any mental illness, but my parents are the sort of people who don’t believe mental illness exists anyways. I would say that I’ve had depressive episodes when I was younger and sometimes even now, but I’ve learnt my ways of dealing with them!))

Burgundy

Four days later I published Burgundy, a short sequel to Books, very shortly after only because I had already finished writing by that time. I actually do still have several half-finished follow ups at that point, but I couldn't bring myself to complete any sequels because I couldn't even come to terms with the ending of the main story. (Those wips are lost to me now.) I think I was hoping that forcing myself to publish the sequel would show me that it was "no big deal" that the main fic didn't end the way I hoped it would, but it succeeded in making me feel worse.

Potential

About one month after that I wrote Potential. It was a three parter, somehow a fifth of the length of the main fic, that followed Gakuhou's perspective prior to the events of Books. It was a prequel which imo made it easier to write, because I still couldn't move on from Books yet. I think writing Potential was me trying to remind myself why I wrote Books in the first place, to perhaps reignite my original passion for the series. It's kind of funny to think about in hindsight, and a little meta, because Potential was a lead up to the events in Books. It worked... a little bit, I think. I still couldn't reconcile my feelings for the whole thing, but through it I got to revisit the original premise that I fell in love with and expand more on worldbuilding it. I could reprise Aina and Ikeda and finally write about the world I planned to introduce them in in the first fic and give more context and insights to how the demon society was supposed to work.

Illuminate

Six months after Potential, I ran into a comment that said, "what would Gakuhou have done if Gakushuu had died?" And for some reason it struck an epiphany in me. After that I wrote Illuminate in one night, cried myself to sleep, waited one more night to proofread it, and then published it. Illuminate was an AU to the first three fics in the series, and it was a fic about grief and mourning. Spoiler alert: I straight up killed Gakushuu in that fic. And somehow that was what I needed.

I quite literally killed my first fic - I upended the terrible ending I hated from Books - everything I had been uncertain about at first? I killed it. Plot points didn't fit my original plans? Killed it. (When I reread the death scene, I... honestly think I was unnecessarily cruel. I must have really been out of my mind when I wrote it, hah!)

And then I wrote myself a love story about missing it, grieving it, and finally letting go of it. It was heart wrenching for me - I made Gakuhou cry about what he lost, what could have been, what he realized he loved, and at the end of it all he could say "I love you and I can move on from you." And I did!

Illuminate (Rewrite)

Illuminate Rewrite, one year later, was me revisiting Illuminate to reflect on myself where I've come with this series. I actually just swapped the places of two paragraphs to change the mood at the end for something more contemplative. I elaborated a bit more on this in my notes for Rewrite, so I won't repeat them here.

Honestly, I still have a hard time coming back to reread Illuminate even after the whole debacle has happened. I attached a lot of emotions through my journey with this, and revisiting it each time takes quite a bit out of me.

Addendum

Addendum was just me having fun! After Illuminate, I managed to reconcile my feelings with the fic series. I was finally able to mark Books as complete and move on from it, and afterwards I wrote a fun little au sequel to Illuminate so that Gakushuu can live again. I could creatively expand on ideas and just do... whatever! It's more of a loose connection of plot points than a real fic, honestly.

Addendum follows Gakushuu in a future hundreds of years later, after every human who he's once known in Books has died. And... he moves on! Gets a job, makes friends, lives his life, and most importantly move on.

I chose to publish in a separate collection, however, because it was an incomplete story and I didn’t want to have a half-complete fic tacked on to what I have settled in my heart as a complete fic collection.

And that’s about it! <3

#karushuu #gakushuu asano #gwentriestothink

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hereliesanotherfic · 4 years ago

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Albert James Moriarty x Reader

A/N: Just a little drabble, nothing too intense. More an admiration for our handsome Albert ^^ But I hope to write more for Yuukoku no Moriarty! I just got into the anime so I know nothing of the manga. So in this fic, I had to make up an aristocrat family/servants. The more I learn of the series I might not have too! xD Let me know what you think!

Rating: PG 13 (probably) Triggers:

(Mentions of) Family member death, thoughts of suicide,

(Actions of) Murder but no heavy details.

You weren’t anything special to the world, or at least never felt like it for a long time. You had ‘worked’ for a wealthy family in Durham for more than 5 years now and most of your work was shared with your older brother. You haven’t been allowed to see him lately though, and it was concerning. He began to fall ill, and you did your best to care for him after serving all your duties to the family. But it’s been a long…long time since you’ve seen his face now, almost a year. The Lord of the house, Lord Vincent told you not to concern yourself and they had a handled on it, but over the time those words have been of no comfort. The fact that you cannot see your brother after so long makes you fear something awful has happened. After all, the noblemen and family weren’t the kindest to lower class like yourself. You’ve gotten smacked and hit, drinks thrown at you, belittled, and shamed beyond what is humane. Your only string to life is that your brother might truly be alive and struggling, but you’ve never felt a depression and despair this deep before.

At this moment, you were on your hands and knees scrubbing the dining room floor, the maids setting a table fit for five. You overheard Lord Vincent had invited some noblemen who were new to the area over for a feast, and once the reply came back, he demanded all get to work in preparations. The butler had stepped in, clapping his hands. “Alright, quickly now, clean up and make yourselves presentable, they will be here shortly!” You placed your sponge in the bucket and hurried it to the washroom. Racing back, you stood in your spot at the end of the line of maids, brushing out your uniform of wrinkles or dirt. The butler scanned down all three maids, his eyes scowling at you. The butler was a bit of a prick like the noblemen, he had no respect for you since you were on the bottom of the barrel. You looked to your feet, wishing for nightfall to come so you could sleep again.

“Come with me,” you heard Lord Vincent cheer and you dared to glance up at the guests. First was a very tall, slender brunette with gorgeous green eyes and a strong jawline. Following him were two blondes, striking ruby red eyes, a little more build but just as attractive. You quickly stared back down at your feet, praying you weren’t caught by anyone in the room. If Lord Vincent or his mistress found out you were eyeing the guests it’d mean another punishment. Your food, injuries, sanity? They liked to change it to see how far your threshold could go.

As proper maids do, you each stepped up to a chair to pull it out for the noblemen. You weren’t sure if you were lucky or doomed to seat the brunette. Allowing him to sit and then aid pushing his chair in, he glanced over his shoulder to you and your peripheral vision could see his small smile. Without thinking, your eyes looked up and locked to his, which made his own eyes soften slightly. You immediately looked back down to the floor and took your place back to the side of the room. It was only an interaction of maybe 5 to 10 seconds, but it felt so impressionable. You admired how his tux made his shoulders and back a bit broader, whatever fancy cologne he was wearing was practically intoxicating, and his eyes and smile could get you dangerously lost. It wasn’t often young noblemen appeared, and now you were glad they didn’t.

The five aristocrats talked and ate the delicious food. You never really knew what the foods were or how to cook them, but it always looked mouthwatering. Time seem to go faster today, but you felt it was because of that damn brunette. You locked his image to his voice after threatening another glance, his voice smoothing through the conversations like melted butter. In a moment, you heard the famous finger snap of the Lord, signaling for places and leftovers to be cleared from the table. As a good maid, you took action and stood besides the brunette, clearing his space leaving no crumb behind. You felt eyes on you, but you couldn’t tell if it was him, or the Lord on your left side. You did every mental trick in your mind to not be too nervous. But it was already failing you.

“Your maid seems unsteady, Lord Vincent, is she alright?” the blonde you learned to be William spoke. He was across the table but he still noticed the slight tremors in your fingers? What the hell?! You stood straight with your couple plates and cups and looked to Lord Vincent, who looked pleased, but you saw his little ticks to know well enough, he was pissed.

“Do not fret about the service Lord Moriarty! She has been failing my family repeatedly, so a change has been due for a while now.”

…What?

“It’s so hard these days to find high class maids,” his wife sighed loudly, a look of disgust lingering on your backside.

You heartrate increased dramatically while your skin paled. You slightly bowed to excuse yourself from the conversation (even though you were just the topic) and headed towards the kitchen to dispose of the plates. You practically dropped them in the skin and held onto the counter. Your suspicions about them killing off bad service wasn’t just a rumor, it was true! You knew now because you were next! Your brother—you had to find a way to get out and save your brother! …

Your eyes started to water at the realization. ‘They had a handle on it’, in aristocrat terms, in the Vincent family terms, they eliminated him. And dragged you on to play the fool believing your brother was alive just to suck out whatever they could from you. You dropped to your knees as your tears poured, fingertips turning while you still gripped the counter above you. And the thought of joining your brother now…maybe he would forgive you if you join him for letting him die.

“Why are you crying?” a voice behind you spoke softly, startling you out of your self-pity and turning around instantly. To your utter shock, it was Lord Albert James Moriarty, and he was less than two feet from you, one hand outstretches as if to catch you.

You harshly wipe the tears from your face and eyes with your sleeve, standing up as quickly as physically possible and giving your uniform a couple messy pats, yabbering your apologizes as if your ending life still depended on it. “I am so very sorry Lord Moriarty, you should never have seen me in such array. Please forgive my improper-ness.” You didn’t know where to look, what to do with your hands, your anxiety was eating you alive! So you did your only method, stare at the floor with your head down and grip your uniform, your hair falling slightly forward as it was falling out of its bun. You could feel your body shaking and tried to stop it, your embarrassment eating you up on the inside for making a fool of yourself in front of not just a Lord, but a handsome one at that. He couldn’t have been more than a couple years older than you, and he could be placed in a museum and you were the cement floor.

“Please, don’t be afraid of me,” Albert begged softly, the gentleness of his voice being completely unexpected. You felt his large hand wrap around one of your clenched ones, making you remove your grip from your dress and be held in his hand. In the same moment, his other hand swooped under your jaw gently and lifted your face to look at him, swiping the (still) falling tears with his thumb. He locked his eyes with you (e/c) ones, a small smile came back to grace his lips. Just as you feared, you fell into a trance. You felt his other thumb rubbing small circles in your hand as he spoke his velvet words again.

“Come, it’s time to leave,” he hummed, closing his hand fully around yours before turning and heading out of the kitchen. You immediately started to panic at the though of Lord Vincent seeing the guest of honor so close to you, let alone touching you or speaking to you.

“L-l-l-lord Moriarty, I can’t do—this isn’t rig-okay, I mean!—” You choked to find the words, not wanting to offend him in any way, but terrified of not stopping him before re-entering the dining room like this. His grip was strong and you couldn’t pull back more than he pulled forward. He stopped for a moment and chuckled, looking over his shoulder to you with a smile and slender eyes.

“Do not worry about that miss, Lord Vincent has no more hold over you.” And he continued walking. You had no idea what that meant, but you were about to find out.

After he pulled you through the doors into the dining room, the sight was appalling. The head Maid was sobbing on the floor, a bloody knife fallen from her bloody hand. Lying hunched dead over the table were the Lord and his mistress, each suffered one to three stab wounds. The smell of all this blood was too strong and you covered your mouth with your hand. Before you could take in any more of the messy scene, Albert was already dragging you along outside, the two blonde brothers finishing up inside with the maid. You were practically speechless.

“L-..Lord Moriarty?” you said just above a whisper as he opened the door to his luxury carriage, looking at you. “…What’s happened?”

“Lord Vincent and his wife have both paid their debt for the slaughter of lower class servant workers, that’s all,” he stated matter-of-factly. Your eyes widened at his words, but they were soft. How did another aristocrat family know of this, not to mention care?

“We in the Moriarty family are…different,” he chuckled, before stepping to the side. “Please, hop in.”

“Why?” You asked, forgetting for a moment he was a nobleman.

“I’d like to give you some time to think if you’d like to be a maid for our family, or if you’d like to start a new life elsewhere. In the meantime, I can provide you a safe place to stay.”

You cheeks reddened slightly at the word ‘I’ and he must’ve caught on, closing his eyes for a brief moment before looking back into yours. If it wasn’t so dark out, you could’ve confirmed or not if he was blushing a bit too.

“We, my brothers and I,” he corrected, and motioned you into the carriage. At this point, your former Lord was dead, you brother was dead and you had little hope immediately on the street. Maybe serving the handsome Albert James Moriarty wasn’t such a bad deal after all. Especially if they are taking away some of the scum of the world.

Albert couldn’t have been more pleased when you stepped inside the carriage. This operation William put together has been brewing for a few months. Truth be told, Albert has seen you more than a couple times, but he’s never interacted with you since that wasn’t part of the plan. It was obvious to William you were being tricked, and your heavy depression blocked your brain from the truth. Only once you feel your life was truly on the line would you snap out of it. Albert was just as happy as his brothers to save another lower-class citizen from harm. Not to mention Louis lightly teasing him about keeping his eyes on you a little too much.

#yuukoku no moriarty #albert james moriarty #albert james moriarty x reader #william james moriarty #louis james moriarty #moriarty the patriot #fred porlock #sebastian moran #sherlock holmes #john watson #william james moriarty x reader #louis james moriarty x reader #sherlock holmes x reader

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thefanficmonster · 4 years ago

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Promise

Anthony (The Dark Pictures Anthology: Little Hope) x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Death scenes, Grief, Housefire, Angst, Swearing

Genre: Angst, Romance

Summary: Sneaked glances and pass-by smiles are often times the start of the most beautiful of love stories. Sadly, many of those stories end too quickly, too soon for the souls in love to be able to enjoy them. This is the story of Y/N and Anthony. The love story that started with a promise and ended in flames.

Requested by @niksoiio Hi dear! Thank you so much for your wonderful request! I apologize for taking so long, but here it finally is! I know how excited you were for this fic, so I hope it fulfills your expectations and doesn’t let you down! Please enjoy! Love, Vy ❤

Never is a love story as pure as one long awaited to commence. The souls patiently waiting to intertwine, the emotions dying to shine through more than just glances and secret smiles. Feelings to mix, collide and dance together, creating a symphony of a lifetime. The symphony of love that lives beyond the end of the very souls that sparked it.

This is a love story, a story of loss, and a clear example, proof that a love simply doesn’t die. It’s an everlasting flame - burning brighter than the one that attempted to destroy it.

~~~

“You seem restless tonight.“ Anthony walks into the living room, placing a cup of hot cocoa on the coffee table in front of Y/N who’s reading the back cover of the book he has been keeping himself busy with lately.

Y/N has been Tanya’s friend since they met in middle school. When their friendship carried over into high school, that’s when her and Tanya’s adoptive brother Anthony met. They instantly became friends, sharing their love for thrillers and murder mysteries, similar taste in music and relatively similar personalities - the quiet peacemakers. The lovers, not fighters. Well, not fighters unless necessary. They are both protectors with many people they care about and would do anything to keep them safe. The two of them are pretty similar that way.

Very compatible, as some would say. Tanya being the first to notice the connection between two of the closest people in her life. Knowing the shyness of the two and their self-doubt, she chose not to speak up about it until spoken to, expecting them to take ages to finally see what’s been going on between them. Guess she wasn’t far from the truth.

On this night Y/N and Tanya were supposed to spend their time studying together for the last exam of the semester before Christmas break began. They have agreed to meet at the Clarke house at six PM in the afternoon which has long passed and Tanya is still yet to return from the date she went on with her boyfriend Vince. She promised Y/N she’d make it home by six, but now it’s eight and there’s no sign of her whatsoever. A snowstorm started slowly taking over the town approximately two hours ago, probably the reason behind her friend’s absence, but to Y/N’s dismay, also the reason she’d have to spend the night at the Clarke household because her parents wouldn’t be able to collect her in this weather, especially not with the run-down car they drive.

“Sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” She nods in gratitude at the boy who sits down on the couch next to her as she takes the mug containing the hot beverage with as firm of a grip as she can muster with her shaky hands.

She has indeed been restless since she arrived. Walking into the house, apart from Anthony who had let her in, the first person she saw was the youngest member of the family - Megan. The little girl has never done anything to her in particular, but there has always been something about her that has unnerved Y/N. Something in her eyes and demeanor, how empty and hollow her gaze was, almost like she was looking through people and objects instead of at them. The smile she sent her as a greeting sent chills down her spine, leaving her hands and knees shaky and her body jittery as if the house was colder than the outdoors. The thought that she’d have to sleep in this house made her stomach clench with discomfort, a sickening feeling of wrong taking over her mind and body.

“Maybe it’s the exam. You know, if Tanya doesn’t make it, I can help you. It’s not a difficult subject, after all.“ Anthony attempts to reassure her, giving her a sympathetic look as he takes a sip of his own cup.

She gives him a soft smile and another nod of appreciation for his offer, “No, it’s not that. Or at least I think it isn’t. Exams don’t make me nervous until after I’ve finished them, if that makes sense.” She giggles weakly, basking in the warmth of the porcelain cup in her ice cold hands. It doesn’t have much of an effect though - instead of warming up her skin, her hands are basically cooling the drink and she still feels as tense and endangered as ever. “But a study partner could be pretty useful, thank you.”

After finishing the rather disappointing movie they found on TV as well as their drinks, they make their way to Anthony’s room to actually get some studying done because, judging by the nearing of nine PM and the constant lack of her friend, she wouldn’t be returning on time. Anne attempts to offer them before they go, an offer which they turn down in favor of making the most of the time they have left before their brains would require rest for the day.

“You see, I get that it’s far less complicated than it seems, but I’m terrible at paying attention in classes, let alone at taking notes.“ Y/N admits while they take a short ten minute break between note-reading and revising the chapters they’ll have an exam on the following day.

Anthony’s eyebrows furrow, “Why’s that? I mean, the professor isn’t boring. Not to me, at least.“

She shakes her head, “No, no, far from it. The rare time’s I’ve managed to focus I quite enjoyed the lectures. But I tend to get too stuck inside my head to hear anything else. My brain gets overwhelmed by the future, by what’s gonna happen five minutes, five days or maybe even five years from the present moment. I sometimes get so lost in those thoughts that I end up...this is gonna sound weird, but I feel like I end up living them.” Somewhere along the lines she could no longer hold his gaze, embarrassed and afraid of how his opinion of her might change with this newly revealed information.

However, much to her surprise, when her eyes meet his again he’s looking at her with nothing but intrigue and child-like curiosity. No amusement or humor or mocking, just wondering, hoping to find out more. Little does she know, that’s how he always looks at her when she is facing the other way. “That’s so interesting. I guess the real question is: Do the things you imagine ever end up coming true?” It was said with a lighthearted smile with the intention of easing the tension in her, calming her nerves, but he had unintentionally struck a chord.

She nods her head, her eyes widening slightly, “Well that’s the weirdest part - they do. Almost all the time unless I do something to prevent it. It freaks me out every time.” An aura of fear surrounds and inhabits her as her gaze wanders away from his again, this time subconsciously, “It scares me so much, Anthony. I know something’s terribly wrong with me. I’m a freak of nature or...I don’t even know what. I just know it’s bad. And I probably shouldn’t have told you all of this cause you now won’t ever look at me the same, you will avoid me. Call me crazy behind my back. I see why but-...”

Before the petrified girl could continue rambling, Anthony takes hold of her hands, firm and comforting. The sudden, unexpected contact of their hands silences her, freezing her eyes on his as she breathes heavily in hopes to stabilize her rapid heart and far worse shakiness. With his hands holding hers, she feels protected, guarded from whatever the future may hold and from the very fact that she could probably find out if she tried. For once though, she doesn’t feel like she has to. She doesn’t need to see what will happen and prepare, she trusts it won’t be so bad as long as she has this boy holding her by the hands, looking at her with such softness in his green orbs staring back at her.

“But that’s all nonsense, Y/N. I’d never say something behind your back, especially not something meanspirited or ill-willed. You...“ he trails off, hesitating for just a moment longer, deciding against prolonging this grey area his feelings have been locked in for far too long as it is, “You are very important to me, more than you know. I could never see you as anything but amazing, mesmerizing. You’re you, Y/N. And that’s why....“ Hesitation and doubt make one final attempt at beating his courage bloody. Much like last time, they fail and Anthony carries on, “That’s the reason I’ve fallen in love with you, Y/N. Quirks, oddities, they are all beautiful cause they are yours. And I love them cause they make you who you are.“

He has somehow managed to turn the tables on her, leaving her to be the speechless one despite her having just revealed her freaky ‘abilities’ to him. What looks like a fiasco in her mind he’s made seem like a perfectly put together kaleidoscope. Like every piece of her shattered courage and bravery is back in it’s spot. Although he’s somewhat managed to put her together, she’s still a long way from being whole, which is why words have failed her now. She hasn’t felt so complete in so long, and now the final piece missing is that response that just refuses to leave her chest.

Seeing her stunned as she is, Anthony feels the need to apologize, justify his out-of-the-blue confession that startled her so much, “I know I should’ve you sooner, or at least picked a better moment but-...”

It’s her turn to cut him off though her method is much more efficient - silencing him by pressing her lips against his. Though caught off-guard, Anthony is quick to respond to it, kissing her back with the same amount of love she’s put in on her end.

“Hey, Y/N, I’m so sor- WHOA!“ The two pull apart at the sound of the familiar female voice that has suddenly filled the room. Tanya has picked the worst of moments to be coming home, and she’s more than aware of it. Despite feeling guilty for interrupting her brother and best friend’s moment, she’s also glad she didn’t miss it. After all, she’s been watching the two suffer in silence, pining for each other since the start of their high school freshmen year and even now that they’re in college. They’ve been quiet about their feelings for more than four years and she can’t be happier to finally see the prophecy fulfilled. “You know how long I’ve been waiting for you two to finally succumb to your hearts and turn those lame brains you have off?! Oh this is a relief like no other.” The older girl laughs, pleased with the outcome of four years of looking on at two very important people in her life adoring one another and not saying a word. Needless to say, she’s proud of them.

“Do you know what knocking is, Tanya?“ Anthony is the first to recover from the initial shock of his sister’s appearance.

“Only in theory. Not in practice.“ She replies sarcastically, giving a pleased smile that speaks volumes of how her spirits have been lifted all thanks to them. “I’ll go downstairs, pretend I didn’t see what I saw, make myself a cup of tea to warm up and when I come back I want to see that you two have pulled yourselves together. Your faces are burning red.” She instructs, backing out of the room but not before fixing them a narrow-eyed warning look.

She wasn’t wrong - they are indeed blushing a deep red and all they can do is smile when they look at each other, giggling a tiny bit.

Suddenly, Y/N’s eyes widen as though she has just remembered something of great importance. “Wait.” She mutters, more to herself than to Anthony. Her hand swiftly slides the ring off the middle finger of her left hand and offers it to Anthony, “Here.” The boy takes it hesitantly, turning it between his fingers as gently and cautiously as he can as though the ring would crack if his grip became any firmer. “By taking in, you’re making a statement, a promise. A promise that you won’t change your mind about me...about us by tomorrow. Or the day after that. Or by next week.” She’s unable to look at him yet again, instead focusing on her fidgeting hands rested in her lap.

After a brief moment of contemplating, Anthony hands her back the ring, “I don’t need to make a promise, I know I won’t change my mind. You could look into the future and see for yourself too.” He tells her reassuringly, a sweet smile on his face to show the lightheartedness of what he’s said, afraid it might be offensive to her if he didn’t clarify.

She shakes her head, “For once in my life I don’t want spoilers for the future. I’ll just let it play out. I’ll see it when it happens.” She pushes the ring back to him, “But I still want you to keep this. A reminder, if not a promise. A reminder that I promise to love you for a very long time.”

A warmth spreads throughout his chest, the wholesomeness of the moment having reached to his heart and soul. He curls his fingers over the ring protectively, “Alright, I’ll take it. As a promise that I too promise to love you for even longer.”

The strings of emotion connecting them are slowly being pulled, bringing them closer once again. They both lean in, ready to feel that incredible magic of a love-filled kiss another time.

“Consider this me knocking! My hands are kinda full so just open the door if I can come in!“ Lips less then an inch apart, they’re interrupted by the shout coming from the other side of the bedroom door.

The young pair laugh, accepting that their moment will have to be postponed before Anthony goes to let his sister, who’s carrying a cup of tea and some snacks, in. All Y/N can think about is how much happiness she’s found so unexpectedly, in a place she was all but willing to stay at. Life is full of surprises and unforeseen moments, so many things one can never predict. And even though Y/N can predict them, now she’d rather not. She now understands the importance of surprises in life and she wants to cherish them properly.

* * *

Flames, fear, screams, shouts, cries. All painted on the backs of her eyelids. The mortifying images playing out in front of her jolt her awake.

A nightmare, it’s just a nightmare, she tells herself.

But upon opening her eyes she is met by the misty darkness of the smoke-filled room her and her best friend are currently in.

A nightmare that she could’ve predicted and warned the others about.

“Y/N, get out of the window! I need to find Megan!“ Tanya tells her urgently, ushering her towards the windowsill, “Go! Anthony will catch you!“

Looking down at the snow*covered yard below, she sees Anthony’s figure, motioning for her to jump. She can barely hear him over the ringing and thumping in her head but she trusts him. She believes she’ll be ok if she chooses to rely on him. So, following both his and his sister’s instructions, she jumps, falling into his arms. For a few moments it’s all blank around her and in her head. She wonders if it’s just the feeling of the fall or the fact that she could’ve died so easily. Or maybe the close proximity to Anthony. Either way his whisper wakes her up from the blank trance she has fallen into.

“It’s ok, I got you.“ He steadies Y/N on her shaky feet, taking her head and leading her to the front of the house.

The next few minutes are a show of nothing but horror and pain. Her and Anthony witness it together, unable to do anything but look on as ever member of the Clarke family, one by one, has life escaping their bodies in the most brutal of ways: Tanya and Megan never made it out of the house; Mr. Clarke was caught under the fallen ceiling in the living room and Dennis was the worst, having impaled himself on the fence below the attic window.

They saw it all happen. They couldn’t do anything. Fear-ridden, powerless and helpless, frozen in their spots by the horrifying scenes playing out in front of them. With tears brimming her eyes and blurring her vision and her knees almost completely giving out, Y/N felt a little bit of her die with each member of the family. A large chunk of her died along with them. She can only imagine how Anthony feels.

“Mom...“ The distressed boy mutters, “Mom’s still in there! Mom!“ Before she could stop him, he’s running towards what used to be the front door of the house and into the burning hallway.

Y/N’s heart drops, adrenaline and the primal instinct to save the person she loves kicking in bringing her legs to life, carrying her forward. “Anthony no!” A loud cry of desperation leaves her aching chest.

She too enters the hallway, surrounded by the overwhelming heat that feels like it’s burning her skin off. She doesn’t dwell on that though, instead she lunges forward, hands grabbing at Anthony’s arm with all her might and yanking him back with as much strength as she has left. Thankfully, it’s enough to send the boy stumbling back, falling on the snow out in the yard, falling to safety just in time.

Just when the ceiling in the hallway collapses. Directly on top of Y/N.

Like the last breath had been drawn out of Anthony’s lungs. Like his last hope had just been shredded to pieces.

Like his life ended along with her, his heart severed and plucked out of his chest, thrown into the flames.

He bows his head, uncontrollable cries leaving his body, each feeling like a punch to the gut - oh so painful and oh so dreadful. As though his very soul is draining from his body with each scream of agony. Then he spots the shimmer in the snow, the twinkle in his darkened vision.

The promise ring that had fallen out of his pocket, its smooth, gleaming surface unharmed, reflecting the raging flames in front of him. Its statement, its meaning standing stronger than ever - an everlasting love. A brightly burning flame ignited by two souls so adored by each other. And even though one of the flames that started the fire has been extinguished, the fire of love hasn’t wavered.

The ring is sending him a message:

This is far from the end of his love. Far from the end of hers either. When two souls intertwine the way theirs have, the bond cannot be broken.

* * *

Half a century has passed and Anthony has never missed the day - each year gracing the town of Little Hope with his presence to commemorate his late family and loved one, bringing a flower to each of their graves.

Survivor’s guilt still haunts him. That night’s events still keep him up at night and the images still seep into his dreams. However, now he has a way to cope with it. He writes. He writes in a diary but in such a way that it’s composed of letters. Letters addressed to different members of his family though the majority are love letters for Y/N. He tells her about his day, how he wishes she were by his side, how he whishes they had more time or acted on their feeling sooner.

How he loves her even more now, how they have remained connected.

“Funny how we haven’t run into each other before. Fifty years and this is the first time I’m seeing you here.“ The deep male voice startles him, “I knew we’d run into each other eventually.“

It’s Vince, Tanya’s boyfriend - the person who’s been placing the flowers Anthony find on Tanya’s grave every year. He always assumed it was him, another man forever in love with the soul that is left to linger after its body vanished. Another man chained by a memory, one he wouldn’t escape even if he could. He still loves Tanya, no doubt about it, and he wishes to never stop loving her. Him and Anthony are rather similar that way.

“Though it was you. No one else knows Tanya’s favorite flowers.“ Anthony motions to the bouquet of white flowers in Vince’s hands, “Surprised you’re still here.“ He knows it’s not the wisest thing to say to a man who’s suffering down the same road of guilt and grief - the road only lit by the everlasting love that has remained in his heart as well as Vince’s.

“Surprised you haven’t stopped coming around.“ He replies though they both know what’s insinuated - they understand why neither of them can let go. They’re bound to bodiless souls that reside here. They are both more than determined to stay as close as possible to those souls they are so hopelessly in love with. Vince’s eyes trail down to Anthony’s hand which is holding the bouquet he was going to place on his sister’s grave. He catches the glint of a ring on his finger, “You’re married?”

The promise ring. He’s chosen to wear it in place of a wedding ring. It is not only a way to cope but it’s exactly what him and Y/N agreed on all those years ago - a reminder that they’ll love each other for a very long time. For forever.

“Yes. I’m married.“

He indeed is - to Y/N and the memory of her. To her soul that his will forever be connected to.

@artlovingbre @sparrow-gg @megandaisy9

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alienheartattack · 3 years ago

Note

Oooh fic game 😍 #5, #6 and #9 ??

5: Share a snippet that you’re proud of from an upcoming fic/chapter.

I have a couple of WIPs that I've abandoned because the ideas are too complex and I've been trying to finish this pegging scene in my novel for, no joke, two months now. I posted the cottagecore idea a while back so here's my abandoned Hizuru fic, where Levi and Mikasa move there separately post-canon. They don't know the other one is there but they both have extensive contacts with Kiyomi, who manipulates them both in order to get them together. She ends up tricking them into getting married sight unseen and unwittingly participating in a very unique marriage ritual that results in them fucking like coked-out rabbits. (Kiyomi's goal is that they produce a bunch of Ackerman children, who will be trained as elite supersoldiers for Hizuru. Levi and Mikasa are horrified when they figure that out.)

The sunset blazed on the horizon as the steam liner pulled into the port at Shimamoto, casting a rich orange glow over the traditional peaked roofs of Hizuru, and for the first time in his forty-one years, Levi Ackerman fell in love. His breath caught in his throat, stopping dead at the sight of the most majestic landscape he'd ever seen, rugged coast giving way to lush green hills and, beyond that, the misty rise of the largest mountain he'd ever seen, capped with pure white snow like a painting.

“This is Hizuru,” came a voice next to him. “Or at least what remains of it.” Kiyomi Azumabito set her hands on the ship's railing, the sleeves of her primrose kimono fluttering in the East Sea wind. “The land of the rising sun.”

“I see what you call it that,” he murmured. “It's beautiful. I've never seen any place like it.”

“Sounds like someone who's already been seduced by our beautiful land.”

He scowled at Kiyomi's phrasing, imagining himself digging a little hole in the ground to literally fuck the land of Hizuru. The mental image of him pumping away, his bare ass in the air as he thrusted into the dirt, made him snort out a laugh.

“What's so funny?” she asked.

“Just remembered a joke someone told me,” he lied. “It's pretty vulgar. You probably don't want to hear it.”

“Oh. No, I don't.” That was one of the things he remembered from their preparatory meetings for the trip: not to speak of bathroom humor in mixed company, though the topics men discussed amongst themselves were their business. “No woman wants to hear you talking about shit,” she’d told him.

6: What are some topics you will never write about?

I feel like noncon is an obvious one, but even then I don't mind including it if the plot requires it (see below), I just wouldn't write a graphic rape scene. I also won't write any fics involving self-injury: I don't know how common it is nowadays but there was definitely a phase in my fandom life where people were writing a lot of angst fics that were basically just scenes of their fave character cutting themselves or preparing to kill themselves, and I find that stuff both gratuitous and pointless, as well as romanticizing SI. I get that people who self-injure might be writing it as a coping mechanism, but I've personally never read a fic like that that made a larger point about mental illness or whatever.

9: Are there any fics you’d love to see but don’t want to write yourself? What are they?

I would love to see an epic post-canon fic where Mikasa decides to move to Hizuru and claim the throne that is her birthright. This idea is slightly different plot-wise and way more fucked up than the Hizuru AU above, which focuses more on Mikasa trying to navigate this new society rather than trying to rule it. I wanted to write all of the intrigue and political machinations and war that followed Mikasa's rise to power but I was having trouble keeping everything IC (I don't think Mikasa would want to rule Hizuru, for one), the story would have been mostly OCs, and a lot of the subplots I imagined were extremely fucking dark — Levi being kidnapped for Ackerman supersoldier reasons as above except he's kept as a prisoner and sexually abused, Mikasa forcing Kiyomi to cut off some of her own fingers as a show of loyalty in order to avoid death by torture for orchestrating Levi's abuse, that kind of shit — so I abandoned the idea.

Ask me some fic-related questions!

#rivamika #alienheartattack writes

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deancas-fanfiction · 4 years ago

Text

Hardest Part is Letting Go

Part 2/7

Pairing: Dean Winchester/Castiel

Fic Summary: Upon his diagnosis of a terminal illness, Dean vows to spend the rest of his short life with Cas by his side, completing his bucket list while learning what it really means to live and love.

Chapter Summary: Dean and Cas cross another item off Dean's bucket list. Shameless smut ensues.

Part 1

available on ao3

Days quickly turned into weeks as Dean and Cas continued to spend every day together. Some days that would stay in and watch old movies together and some days they would venture out into the city, needing a change of scenery. It was the end of September and quickly becoming bitterly cold. Earlier that day they drove into Lawrence to grab coffee from the quaint coffee shop where they had their first date.

They sipped their coffees by the large stone fireplace in the corner, reminiscing over a shared piece of coffee cake. It was nearly five years to the date that they started dating and it seemed a fitting way to celebrate. Dean still remembers exactly how he felt when he arrived and saw Cas through the large bay window. He arrived early and was sipping on a latte which left a little bit of foam on his upper lip. Dean grinned at that and his nerves were quickly replaced with complete adoration.

Dean and Cas first met freshman year of college. It was during welcome week at a forced mixer for all freshmen in their dorm. Dean was sipping on the sickly-sweet punch that was in desperate need of some whiskey to level it out when he inconspicuously made his way to where the aux cord was located. Just because he was forced to be at this party didn't mean he was stuck listening to today’s top hits.

When he was within sight of the aux, he noticed that someone else beat him there. It was the most attractive man he had ever seen. With striking blue eyes that were in perfect contrast to his dark sex hair, he was like Dean’s biggest fantasy in the flesh. His eyes appreciatively roamed Cas’s body noticing the way his dark jeans clung to his thighs and the way his dark t-shirt stretched tight against his chest and arms.

Cas was furiously scrolling on the phone when suddenly the song changed. Space Oddity by David Bowie was now blasting through the speakers. He looked immediately pleased with himself and continued scrolling, adding more songs to the new queue of the playlist.

“You know, if you’re going to try and get away with changing the playlist, you should really pick a faster song to make it less obvious,” Dean mused.

Cas jumped, unaware that he was spotted changing the music. He quickly regained his composure and smiled crookedly. “Bowie is always the exception.” His voice was gravelly and deep and holy hell he really was the hottest guy Dean had ever met.

Dean smiled at that. “I would say I’d drink to that, but this punch is certainly missing its kick.”

“You know, I think I can help with that.” Cas reached into his back pocket with an eyebrow raised and pulled out a silver flask. Glancing over his shoulder, he poured a healthy amount in Dean’s cup.

Dean took a long drink from the now significantly improved punch and grinned. “My god, and a whiskey drinker, nonetheless. Where have you been all my life?”

“Iowa,” Cas deadpanned.

Dean laughed and took another long drink of the punch.

“Want to get out of here?” Cas asked. “Go somewhere quieter, I mean. This isn’t really my scene.”

Dean grinned and raced out of the party with Cas in tow.

That night Dean and Cas walked along the deserted campus, passing the flask back and forth. They took turns being mock appalled over the bands the other hasn’t listened to, or the movies that haven’t been seen. They made future plans to correct those oversights and Dean felt true happiness for the first time in much too long.

Dean never kissed Cas that night. In fact, Dean didn’t kiss Cas until years after that night. They became comfortable in their friendship and Dean didn’t want to risk what they had. Cas ended up transferring back to Iowa for his last year of college to be close to his family when his mom was sick. After she passed, he moved back to Lawrence and it was through the late-night comfort sessions where Dean’s hands lingered too long, and Cas gripped Dean too tight that their friendship suddenly became so much more.

Dean was determined to do it right, so he asked Cas out on an official date and they went to their favorite coffee shop where they previously spent hours studying together. But this time, Dean could stare at Cas without worrying about the implications. He could reach out and touch him without trying to make up some excuse for it. It was freeing and exhilarating all at once. And now, five years after that first date, Cas still has that same impact on Dean.

It was those moments that Dean and Cas reminisced over in the coffee shop. Except there was an underlying tone of sadness and uncertainty for the future. But Dean pushed that away and focused on those happy memories. He focused on Cas and found himself just as stupidly in love with him as that first day he met him.

Now Dean and Cas were back at their apartment, cuddled on the couch with coffee for Dean and hot chocolate for Cas. Dean was exhausted from their excursion. His fatigue was really setting in now. He had felt it earlier, beginning to weigh him down like a blanket. He refused to let the illness win today. Cas deserved a nice day. But now that he was laying on the couch with his head resting on Cas’s chest, he just didn’t have the strength to fight it anymore.

He was drifting into a blissful sleep when he felt Cas nudge him. Dean grumbled and chose to ignore whatever the reason Cas was trying to wake him and relaxed, feeling sleep win over once again. Once again it was interrupted. “Jesus, what is it Cas?”

“It’s raining,” He whispered, his mouth close to Dean’s ear.

“So?”

“So…it’s raining, Dean.” The emphasis he put on it seemed to wake Dean as he shot up, staring at Cas with a smile on his face.

“It’s raining! We can cross number three off the list!”

It wasn’t that rain was uncommon in Kansas. In fact, there is probably quite a few rainy days left before it turns into snow, but Dean wants to finish his list and he wants to experience the items while he can thoroughly enjoy them.

All signs of fatigue washed away from Dean and he was leaping off the couch, bringing Cas with him. They both threw on rain jackets and some boots before bounding down the stairs. He felt like a kid again.

It was a cold rain, not the warm rain showers they had grown accustomed to throughout the summer. But Dean preferred this kind; it was refreshing and the goosebumps that formed from it reminded him that he is alive. Dean lifted his face towards the sky, feeling the raindrops wash over him. He opened his mouth to catch a few stray drops, laughing to himself because he used to do the same as a kid. When was the last time he enjoyed the rain? When was the last time that he wasn’t rushing to get out of it or complaining about the inconvenience of it? The answer was too long. He needed to focus on slowing down and enjoying life. And that’s what his list was all about.

Cas grabbed Dean’s hand breaking his train of thought and dragged him through a large puddle in the street outside their apartment. Dean smiled at his boyfriend, with his dark hair that was curling at the ends from the moisture and his pink lips that were beginning to turn a light shade of blue from the cold. He truly was beautiful. Cas wrapped his arm around Dean’s waist and pulled him against his chest, grabbing his other hand.

“May I have this dance?” Cas questioned, his mouth close to Dean’s ear which caused him to shiver and created a wake of goosebumps of their own kind.

“Cas, you fucking sap,” Dean teased, but rested his head against his boyfriend’s shoulder nonetheless. They began to slowly pivot in the middle of the street, the cold rain falling against them, soaking through their jackets and into their boots but none of that mattered. Not when they had each other by their sides. Dean sighed contentedly. Maybe he should have added ‘dance in the rain’ to his list because this – this was absolutely perfect.

It wasn’t long before the cold rain began to seep into what felt like their bones, and they stopped dancing. They both were lost in their own thoughts, but when they looked at each other, green eyes meeting blue, their thoughts were quickly consumed of the other. Dean’s eyes glanced down to Cas’s lips and Cas rested his hand on the back of Dean’s neck, pulling him close.

The rain was cold, but their lips were warm, sending sparks of electricity through the other. Dean’s hands were on each side of Cas’s face as their mouths meshed together perfectly and leisurely. No wonder kissing in the rain was always romanticized in the movies. It was incredible. They kissed slowly and with meaning, pouring emotions into the kiss that neither could put into words. All thoughts of a bucket list, terminal illness, and the cold were quickly erased from Dean’s mind. Instead, all thoughts were of Cas. Dean deepened the kiss, running his tongue along Cas’s bottom lip. He pressed his body against him, suddenly wanting – no, needing more of Cas.

A bright flash of lightning struck, causing the two of them to jump apart, laughing at the other’s momentarily frightened expression.

“Come on,” Cas said, grabbing Dean’s hand once again. “Let’s go take a hot shower and we can continue where we left off.” Dean grinned and allowed Cas to lead him inside and upstairs to the warmth of their apartment.

It wasn’t long before they were shut in the bathroom, stripping each other of their wet clothes as the water heated up. What started as a frenzy turned into something much more languid. Cas peeled Dean’s soaked shirt off of him and left a trail of kisses in its place which blazed into Dean’s skin. Cas kissed along his neck, lightly sucking and nibbling on the spot just under Dean’s ear that always elicits the sexiest sounds. When he was pleased with the mark he made, Cas continued down to his shoulders. He pressed feather light kisses along his muscles, paying extra attention to his collar bones.

Cas’s fingertips lightly brushed Dean’s nipple, to which Dean whined in response. “Cas.”

“Patience,” He teased. Cas slipped his fingertips under the waistband of Dean’s boxers all while peppering kisses and licking along his broad chest. He ran his fingers along the soft skin and listened to Dean’s labored breathing. “Shower. Now.” Cas ordered, pushing his hands down and completely stripping Dean of his clothes.

They both stepped in the shower, letting the hot water wash over their chilled bodies. Dean raised his face towards the water, mimicking his earlier action in the rain. The hot water trickled down his body, washing away the chill. Meanwhile, Cas grabbed a rag and soaped it up. He rubbed it in small circles along Dean’s back, massaging where he carried the most of his tension. “Cas,” Dean moaned. “Fuck, that feels so good.”

Cas hummed in response and leaned against Dean’s back, pressing his erection against him. His hands moved to his front, gently moving along Dean’s chest and stomach, leaving soapy suds in its place. Dean let out a low moan in response to the gentle caresses and the feeling of Cas against his ass. Cas’s hand moved lower, gripping Dean’s cock. He gently moved his hand along Dean’s hard length, jerking him off at a slow enough pace to drive Dean crazy. Dean whined in response; he could already feel the heat gathering in his stomach. “Cas, please.”

“Tell me what you want, Dean.”

“You,” He choked out. “Please. I want to feel you.”

Cas moaned and removed his hand from Dean. Dean nearly whimpered in response to the loss but then he heard the click of the lube bottle opening. Cas spread Dean’s legs and slicked up his fingers. He slowly pushed the first one past the tight ring of muscles. Dean groaned at the sensation and wiggled his hips against Cas, urging him to move. Cas gripped Dean’s hips with his free hand, stilling his movements as he inserted a second finger.

Cas paused, giving Dean a moment to adjust before he began scissoring his fingers, readying Dean for him. “Ah fuck,” Dean hissed as Cas brushed his fingertip against his prostate. “C’mon, Cas, I need more.”

Cas chuckled at his boyfriend’s impatience and added a third finger. He slowly slid them in and out, feeling the warm heat of Dean. When Dean was ready, he removed his fingers and squirted more lube into his hand. He ran his hand along his leaking cock. Dean looked over his shoulder and nearly came at the sight of Cas touching himself. His head was thrown back, eyebrows furrowed, and lips parted open.

“Dean,” Cas sighed as he removed his hand. He smirked at his boyfriend’s lust ridden expression. His pupils were dilated, leaving just a small ring of color around them.

Cas pressed the tip of his cock against Dean’s hole, lightly teasing him. “Fuck, Cas. Just fucking take me already,” He growled. With that, Cas slowly pushed in, letting the tight ring of his muscles surround him.

“You’re so fucking tight, Dean.” He growled.

Dean wiggled his hips in response, letting Cas know it was okay to move now that he was adjusted to the feeling of Cas inside him. He began pumping in and out at a slow pace, letting the tension slowly build. He adjusted his angle and brushed against Dean’s prostate on nearly every thrust.

“Cas, I need more,” He whimpered. Cas picked up the pace and began to kiss the crook of his neck. His breath was hot but still left goosebumps in its wake.

Cas whispered into Dean’s ear, “Touch yourself.” Dean immediately obliged, pumping his cock in time with Cas’s thrusts. It didn’t take long until that heat was ready to bubble over. He knew Cas wasn’t far behind based off the whimpers and curses falling from his lips. Cas picked up the pace, slamming into Dean’s prostate and Dean’s vision nearly went black from the pleasure. “Cas!” He screamed as he spilled over onto his hand and the shower wall.

As Dean expected, Cas was not far behind. It was a few more thrusts before he was following Dean off the edge with the cry of his name. The two of them caught their breath and quickly cleaned themselves up. Dean shut the water off and wrapped Cas up in a towel. He pulled him in and gently kissed him, soaking in the smell of his coconut conditioner.

“I love you so much, Cas.”

Cas grinned and replied, “And I love you more, Dean.”

Dean took in Cas’s look of pure adoration which made him feel warm and fuzzy on the inside. “Let’s go to bed, angel.” He said with another quick kiss.

Within minutes they were tangled up together in bed, sound asleep.

Part 3

#destiel fanfiction #destiel #deancas #smut #destiel smut #destiel fluff #dean and cas #established relationship

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