#though there was a decent stretch of sand between them'

[rubrumcalamumstyloscripto]

The temple of Viper

-The sky had bled,as the sun died in the horizon beyond any valley or dune.And soon it faded from crimson cold to grey,as night’s chariot raced through the now quite earth.

-When every conversation had stopped and all worries had been forgotten,under the warm shade of a home.But a lone traveller such as yourself cared little for such things.The warmth of a home could not warm your soul and though you could use a warm meal to warm your gut.The beauty and serenity of the wonders of the world was almost enough to feed your spirit whole!If it wasn’t for your growling stomach.

-A sandy grave was the dessert you dared cross,but your wits and years had you survive this whole ordeal.Sleeping under the sand during the day and navigating the cold ground through the stars.Avoiding dehydration,starvation,scorpions and snakes for three days.The only thing that wouldn’t kill you was a few withered plants and rare ruins of whatever this place could have been in it’s hay day.

-By the fourth you made it by a lush river bank,with fruits and clear water.Animals of all sorts gather to drink in it’s banks.Shedding your heavy and sand filled clothes you decided to bathe in it.The cold rushing water cooling your body in shivers and making your tiered aching muscles numb.Though you were covered during your travel the nasty burns from the sun on your hands,feet and face made themselves known when your head dipped below the surface.A quite hiss leaves your pursed lips as you resurface.Not a minute longer you swim back to shore.You check through your belongings and grab some dried valley flowers and soak them in a bowl of river water.

-From your heavy cloth bag you retrieve some aloe Vera and grad a handful of mud by the river.You mix the now hydrated valley flowers with the mud and apply aloe Vera on your arms,legs and face.The burn just a dull ache as you wait for the aloe to dry.As you apply your herbal mud mix and finally you sigh in relief.Looking for a decent place to rest you spot a banana tree,swiftly grabbing your things you settle under it’s shade.

-Grabbing a couple of leaves you wrap them around your arms and legs,and lay on the grass and with a final breath you fall asleep.Next morning comes when the sun is still young and small but you had awakened sooner.Washing your dirty clothes,cleaning your bowls and pots and taking note of all you had.As you finished putting on your boots and scarf,you turned to the sun,stretched out your arm and put your fingers between the horizon and it.

-“…4am…”-,you muttered,counting your fingers as if to count the hours.Grabbing your bag you followed a path by the river going north,leading you deeper into the lush rain forest.Although small and overrun by overgrown and wild plants,a path was still clear.And the more you followed the less untamed it became.It’s way revealed to you old columns and monuments,with ancient runes you hadn’t seen in your many travel.After all,travelling between regions has bound to have you at the feet of a house of prayer,for whatever deity it worshiped.Praying on a local god for safety in travel is common practice for travellers.And having the years and tears of a wonderer you are surprised to not even recognise the writing on the walls of these ruins.But soon you find yourself oddly,again before a temple as you clear the path.

-“…hm,so this is it…”-,you hummed under your breath as you behold the centrepiece of all the monuments you encountered so far.And you began the walk towards it.The temple was tall,made out of chipped grey stones covered in moss and vines.It was a simple square pyramid.with a box like room at the very top and a flight of wide smooth stairs leading to it.

-As you climbed up,you notice the faded carvings in every nook and cranny,depicting vague shapes you couldn’t quite decipher.Reaching the entrance of the high temple took long and all you found inside was a statue of a snake god with it’s head cut off.Though everything else was rather tidy,even if it was dirty.The offering table was empty and beside the stone table there was nothing else but carvings.These ones clearer.Reading through them you recognise the hieroglyphs.

-“…Jamil…”-you utter the name of the lord of this temple and it seemed as if the building creaked at the mention of his name.

-Jamil,snake god of order and chaos,servant of Kalim god of prosperity and festivities.You know of this because in the many parts of the Scalding Sands,celebration of the god of gold and his folklore is part of the culture.In an east southern province,by the east coast of the Red Sea in the writings of a temple you noticed an snake like god on the left of Kalim’s mural.Curious you asked one of the high priests and they told you the tales of how the two snake gods that created humans and beasts offered humanity to the gods,to forgive their sin of the procreation of monsters.And so serving the gods became humanities duty.But in older tales and books of magic such as The Book of Jints,speak of sheyatns bowing before the gods for redemption.And in some myths the snake gods offered their son,Jamil.As payment for their karmic debt.Thus was born the demon servant of Lord Kalim.But in the face of time and history,his stories are but the wind howling a dead tongue in peoples ears.

-Being that you were here might as well make an offering and a prayer.After all this was foreign land and to have divine protection from it’s god during your travels seemed not for naught.You would need to camp out here anyway.Until you got the forest mapped out at least.That alone would take you a few days.You leave your things neatly in the corner and go out with a pouch and a bow to fix yourself something to eat and offer.Although eating what you offer isn’t considered good prayer etiquette.By the time you return with two birds and a hare,the moon had claimed the heavens.However that didn’t bother you too much since the pale moonlight illuminated the temple stairs at your return.You make a fire by the entrance and clean your catch before cooking it in an everything stew.Meat,mushrooms,berries,fruits and random herbs you had on you.As the pot comes to a boil,you pour some stew on a bowl.Cleaning the offering table a bit you made your offering,burned some incense and sang a prayer before eating your own food.

-That night you slept by the feet of the snake god’s statue,behind the offering table.The only spot where the cold breeze couldn’t thaw your feet as you slipped into a restless slumber.

-The building creaked and groaned as it settled in the wind,that easily slipped into the cracks,billowing.But amongst the white noise a distinct sound could be heard.That of the grinding of stone on a rough surface.It was slow quite and it echoed so you couldn’t even distinguish where it was coming from.Your subconscious mind was to tiered to powerless and to afraid to awake and face whatever fearsome creature made such noise.When suddenly a tail dropped from above the ceiling with a not so subtle thud.It was long,and it wrapped around the now cold bowl of stew.Slurping sounds came from the dark ceiling where you couldn’t distinguish where it ended or where it began.A clawed hand slowly reaching for your frame,inching towards your face.

-As at it reaches your ear…it gently grazes your cheek and you stir but don’t awake,and the hand retracts.Only for a thin silk to be draped over your figure from above.

-"...it's been so,long."

[katherynefromphilly]

In honor of December 21, and the oncoming 10th anniversary of Diamond of the Day, here’s a fluffy excerpt from “Ever onward, through magic, through love” (AO3, Arthur/Merlin, rated Mature, 12k):

***********

They spend the Winter Solstice in a small house on one of the more populated Caribbean islands. It’s private enough, though, with its own beach, protected by palm trees and thick-leaved shrubs.

After they finish an ocean swim, Merlin spreads out a blanket upon the warm sand, Arthur stretching at once upon it, tucking an arm beneath his head to watch the sun melt into the ocean, amid a sky aflame with oranges and reds.

“Now that,” Arthur says to him, “is a sunset.”

Merlin starts to lay down beside his king, but gets distracted by the softening light shining upon Arthur’s bare chest, and the way Arthur’s soaking swim trunks pull tight his broad hips, the muscles of his strong legs flexing as he settles himself. Arthur is beautiful, breathtakingly so, and becoming more so every day they explore the modern world together. Merlin finds he can’t help but stare. But then, he’s allowed to do that, isn’t he. So he props himself up on an elbow, smiling to himself, and enjoys the view.

Arthur chuckles beside him. “You’re missing the sunset.”

‘What’s a sunset compared to you?’, Merlin wants to say. But his throat is tight, and he can’t trust his voice to speak, so he turns toward the setting sun, watching the view go blurry, trying to hide the storm of emotion rising inside him.

Moments like this, though, he can’t help himself. Arthur is too warm and too alive at his side, and the sunset is too beautiful over the sea, and their long lives are stretching ahead of them with the promise of more moments like these, together- gods- always together-

“Come here,” Arthur says, rough, and pulls him into his arms.

Merlin wraps himself around Arthur’s body, and kisses him, and kisses him…

The waves lap at the beach, and the leaves whisper in the humid wind, and the sky shifts from reds to oranges to violets as the sun dips below the horizon.

Merlin lifts his head, drunk on Arthur’s kisses and touches and love. Arthur looks the same as he feels, a crooked smile upon his face as he lays beneath Merlin’s weight, hands running up and down Merlin’s sides.

“I think we missed the sunset,” Arthur says, unconcerned.

“Happy Winter Solstice, then.”

“Feels more like a Summer Solstice, doesn’t it.”

“Too peaceful to be a Summer Solstice,” Merlin says, meaning Arthur’s return from the dead, and the battle they’d waged.

Arthur must think he means the festival, though, because he quirks his head to the side, as he brushes hair from Merlin’s eyes. “Do they have a festival in Avalon on the Winter Solstice as well?”

“People gather near the standing stones. That’s about it, though.”

“You don’t throw a big party?”

“In the cold weather?”

“Just like you to avoid being out in cold weather.”

“Well if I’d had a decent coat, or fur lined boots, like a certain royal prat I know-“

“Excuses, excuses…”

Merlin shoves himself up to an elbow. Peers narrow eyed down at Arthur. Then lifts a hand over Arthur’s chest, and wiggles his fingers.

Arthur’s yelp at the freezing sleet that follows is music to Merlin’s ears, for a few seconds anyway, until Arthur picks Merlin up and carries him, laughing and shouting half-hearted protests, into the ocean.

Merlin’s protests fall silent completely, when Arthur embraces him in the warm water, mouth finding Merlin’s own, sweet as Yuletide sweets, as the waves caress their bodies.

“Royal bully,” Merlin breathes between kisses, fingers winding into Arthur’s dripping hair.

“Insolent sorcerer,” Arthur murmurs back, and moves his hands lower, turning Merlin’s reply into soft gasps, and then groans, and finally, over and over again, simply “Arthur…”

[canmom]

l'aventure de canmom à annecy - épisode deux - mercredi n+1 - Sand Land

bonjour encore mes amis!

no, there isn't a secret second annecy festival two weeks later. much as I might wish otherwise! I'm just getting back to writing about stuff I did and saw in Annecy.

to start with, let's roll back to Wednesday with Sand Land!

I went into this one knowing basically nothing about it except the thumbnail looked neat, but it turns out to be an adaptation of a manga by the late Akira Toriyama of Dragon Ball fame. It portrays a dystopian (ish) setting in which an evil king controls the water supply; an ageing sheriff teams up with a demon prince to try to find an oasis in the desert, but their journey takes them into conflict with the king's army, and it turns out that our sheriff was actually a military commander who, duped by his evil commanders, participated in a genocide.

Ultimately, our protagonists defeat the evil general in a big battle and destroy the dam he's using to block up the water supply. The military is won over by the honourable ways of our sheriff, and there's a new era of peace between humans and demons. etc etc

What I liked about this movie? The visuals are solid. It's using a cel shaded cgi style, but it's done very well; the characters move in appealing, lively ways, and it allows them to stage big complex tank battle sequences very clearly. I'm not familiar with Toriyama's manga here, but comparing the pictures I can find online, they seem to have nailed the look. Cel-shaded CGI will never look exactly like 2D animation, but it doesn't need to. It's increasingly a solved problem to make a film that looks good in the style.

Sadly, the plot kind of lost me. It's a kids' movie, fundamentally; heroes and villains are archetypal and heavily telegraphed, and the heroes are too uniformly OP to ever feel like there's a lot of tension to the fights. The main dramatic conflict is over Rao's realising his complicity in a genocide, but the way this is presented lets him off the hook far too easily, with all the blame falling on the schemes of the evil general. We never have to confront the survivors in any meaningful capacity, and there's never any doubt about Rao in the present - he is the type of character to use supernatural combat skills to defeat enemies without killing them. It comes off as this rather strange strain of military apologia: despite being a dystopian setting enforced by military power, all the soldiers are basically decent guys when you get right down to it.

Beezlebub, the demon prince, is an entertaining but highly static character - his main change of heart is to think humans like Rao can be pretty all right actually. The final battle sees him pulling out a bunch of Dragon Ball-like powerups, and it's kind of whatever. His grouchy servant Thief is kind of fun, and the party banter over who gets to drive the car/tank etc is charming, and the weird desert gangs are a great chance for Toriyama to stretch his character design skills, but it was not enough to carry the larger story for me. I actually think it would work a lot better as a game, where the characters always winning feels like your success as a player, and the control of the party would get you invested.

That's OK, though! The fun of film festivals is taking a risk on things, and sometimes it turns out to be... not a dud exactly, this is a solid kids' movie, but not what I was hoping for.

The designs actually remind me a lot of Ankama's style (from the thumbnail alone I guessed this movie would be French), though I'm sure the influence goes the other way - Toriyama must have been popular in France, right? Anyway, overall, needed more weird guys, and less reassuring us that the military are actually good at heart.

[rmhashauthor]

First Ever WIP Wednesday!!

So, yeah! I should probably do this if I want to do what I set out to do and start sharing more of my writing outside of Wattpad. So here's a very short bit of my current work in progress, another plot-heavy softcore sci-fi romance that's mostly about rebuilding your life after trauma, learning to trust again, found family and a whole lotta Fuck The Police. Here we meet Kira, the main protagonist, very briefly. Begins under the cut!

TW: sexual harassment, language, hostile aliens, kidnapping

“Hold on!” Steve pressed the accelerator, the rover lurching forward over loose scree and spitting gravel. Kira slid her gloved hand into the safety-loop, affectionately dubbed the “Oh Shit Strap”, and held on as the rover lunged first up, then over a jagged hump of windblown rock and into the bowl of a decent-sized crater. The shallow bowl stretched out to the edges of her vision and then some, the curve of the red planet prominent even through the miasma of particles. Steve aimed the rover towards a lithoformation that, amusingly, reminded Kira of a fat dog lying on its side – a plank of rock even stuck straight up as though the stone dog had paused in the middle of scratching. “It's down in between the rocks,” Steve said, voice tinny through the speaker, “when we get there you'll piss yourself. I almost did.”

“What is it?” Kira asked again, uneasy that he wouldn't elaborate and had refused to show her any scans or recordings. This had better not be some stupid hazing thing. She'd had enough of that back on Earth. “I don't think we should be out here alone-”

“What are you talking about? We're not alone, we have each other.” Steve's grin widened and her stomach sank further below her feet. Kira was already on edge – things had been weird for the last couple of weeks, and she couldn't shake the feeling that something was off even though everyone else in camp acted like nothing was wrong. Suddenly she worried that Steve was taking her out here as revenge for turning him down, that he would threaten to leave her miles from camp with limited oxygen unless she did what he demanded. Come on, baby, every other girl in camp does it – why can't you just be cool?

“Commander, take me back.”

“What?”

“Take me back, I don't want to see... whatever this is any more. I-I'm sorry I embarrassed you, I was just–“

“Are you still mad about that?” Steve laughed good-naturedly and took one hand from the steering wheel to wave it at her. “Forget it! I was being a dick, this is my way of saying I'm sorry. It's just... just stupid guy stuff, okay? It won't happen again.”

Kira bounced in the bucket-seat, hardly reassured. If I'd known Victory was going to be one big fuck-camp, I wouldn't have signed up. Not that she hadn't anticipated it – everyone here knew they would die on New Mars one way or another, and Mission Control had made sure to recruit people of all tastes, inclinations and orientations to keep everyone happy – but since arriving two months ago Kira hadn't gone a week without being propositioned and couldn't remember a single night when at least one person wasn't getting their rocks off. Loudly. It was enough to turn her normally friendly, tolerant outlook closed and irritable. Which was why she'd snapped at Steve in the mess hall and told him exactly what he could do with his 'lonely little guy'. And the way she'd said it, Kira didn't think he'd let it go this easily. You can take your 'little guy' and shove him up your own asshole, if you can feel it!

Around the rover, the walls of the crater rose until they loomed like distant mountain ranges. The rock formation drew closer and Kira watched as a space opened up in the center of the rocks, a V-shaped gully bottomed with sand. Steve drove them directly into the narrow sandy path, humming softly to himself as he took each turn like he was driving a familiar route. The sloping red walls showed millennia of wind and sand scarring, long grooves in the rock like claw-marks– “What the fuck?!”

Perched on spindly metal legs, plated and segmented lobster-like, stood what at first Kira's confused brain took for a giant insect but corrected itself to see for what it was: an alien spacecraft approximately the size of a house. The surface, chitinous and smooth, glimmered greenish over a deeply black glaze like an oil slick on a puddle. The segmentation must have concealed the joins of the outer plates, as everywhere she looked Kira could not detect seams or welding-marks. This did something to her eyes that made it difficult to focus on the deep black glaze, her depth perception warped by the greenish film that rippled over the shell-like hull. Kira's eyes grew huge, straining in their sockets. Fuck, fuck, FUCK! Her stomach and guts roiled, terror squeezing them like toothpaste while her heart slammed. “What the fuck?! Commander, that's an Arakan ship!”

“Relax, Ames, they're friendly. This isn't my first time with these guys – they've been buzzing Victory for a while now, just seeing what we're up to.”

“Friendly?” For a time it was as though she couldn't breathe or think, the hiss of her respirator nothing more than background noise. “Steve, they're Arakan! You're putting the whole camp in danger–”

At what she guessed was the nose of the ship, segmented plates opened to a dark chamber before tiny blue-green lights flickered on to reveal at least four figures. Kira's hands flew to her mouth, but smacked the thick glass of her visor instead and she let out a yelp of surprised horror – the shapes inside resembled long-bodied lizards standing upright, encased in scaled armor like their ship and their heads covered by oblong helmets that shared the same greenish mirror-shine. They stood upon long bent legs and balanced on large, splayed feet like birds with long heavy tails extending out behind them, and to Kira's inexperienced eyes they might have been a species of dinosaur like the ferocious ones that chased people in old films. Steve spread his arms, using the interface in his glove to activate his external comm; his voice echoed in Kira's helmet. “Hey guys, look what I brought!” He smiled broadly and pointed at her.

[safereturndoubtful]

Melby Beach

Friday 30th June

This planet. How many lives would you need to live all the places that appeal? I could certainly spend one of them on Shetland. It has a coastline of more than 1700 miles, varying from extremes of boulder-strewn wild-storm beaches to barely touched stretches of white and golden sand.

Today I wanted to get onto the bit of wild coast at Skeld, just a few kilometres around to the west from Burra. There’s a farm at Scarbister (photo above), just out of Easter Skeld village, that I started from, though the actual route wasn’t initially clear. Land ownership on Shetland is either croft land, farmland or open hill, and it’s not always easy to tell which is which. There’s lambs around at the moment, but Roja sees them quicker than I do, and knows to stay within a leash length from me. My suspicion today was that the cliff pasture was open hill, but there are so few people hiking that if those who do have respect for the land and the grazing animals, I don’t think anyone is bothered.

Some rain was due today, a front coming quickly across at lunchtime-ish, but we managed just about, to beat it. It was more up and down than usual, and the cliffs a bit higher, but that made for a more spectacular outing. In all, it was about 6 miles, out for about two and a half hours.

After lunch I drove to the slightly bigger village of Walls, where there is a shop (photo below). This will be the last chance for a shop for me until next Wednesday, but really it was only bread I needed. It so happened to coincide with the end of school, and the shop was about as busy as it gets (maybe 10 people) with children celebrating the end of the school year. Those ten or so memorable years as a schoolboy, then another 30 odd as a teacher, that last day of the summer term is something well worth celebrating… Arguably more for the teacher than for the children, but as a youngster the 6 to 8 weeks seem as lot longer than they do as a teacher.

I had half a mind to stay around Walls, but decided against it, and headed about 10 miles across the west peninsula of Mainland to Sandness and Melby to a couple of north facing beaches that would be a bit sheltered, as there is a day of rain forecast tomorrow. It’s a Friday as well, so as ever, I was keen for a decent 4G signal to watch some sport, especially with a rain day tomorrow. It was the T20 Roses match this evening, though the Manchester weather put paid to that, so I flicked between 3 or 4 matches on YouTube.

I’m stopped for a couple of nights on Melby beach. It’s a great place, though does have quite a few flies from the seaweed rotting above the tideline, an excuse to get out the new fly net for the door. It’s a hack I picked up from the internet, a less technological net that adheres with Velcro, and it has a magnetic strip down the middle to provide access. By chance, the largest size I could find, 150 x 200 cms, fits my door perfectly. The good news is that it works very well. It will be a more difficult test with midges though, as they seem to find a way around edges and through any gap, but it kept these bothersome flies out, so at £25, a result..

[theburdenofresponsibility]

Harry Prince and the Philosopher's Stone - Chapter 2 - The Last In A Long While

prev chapter || masterpost || next chapter

read on AO3 | word count: 2,930

--

When Harry wakes up on the thirty-first of July, he finds himself in an odd mix of excitement and sadness.

Naturally, as has happened each year for as long as Harry can remember (and he tries pointedly to not think about the years he cannot remember right now, and the fact he would have lived in a different house and grown up to have different friends there had he been able to stay) Chris, Micky and Mandy will all come around for his birthday. Auntie Maggie and Catherine will spend the day tucked into the kitchen, baking Harry’s cake fresh for later in the day, and Harry and the other kids will spend all day playing while trying not to pester the adults to let them lick the bowl free of batter afterwards.

He’s still super excited for it, of course! His leg is jumping beneath the table as he eats his breakfast, and his eyes keep darting to the door as if expecting everyone to burst through early. It doesn’t matter that most of his friends live directly next door, and the rest he has seen every school day for the past six years, he’s still always beyond happy to see them…

Which is why today will be so hard. 

His leg bouncing shifts between enthused impatience and a way to pretend away the growing dread. One thing he had not thought about, until he’d had that clipped conversation with his dad over the dining table about what pets would be preferable for Hogwarts, was that he wouldn’t be seeing his friends for long stretches of time. The idea was practically unbearable, no matter that his dad had assured him that, even should Harry not get his own owl to bring to Hogwarts, he had an owl he could use or there were the school ones he could borrow to keep in touch with his friends. 

Harry has seen Chris in particular, his best friend, in person almost every day for so long that he can’t imagine not going to school together anymore. Sure, that will be the case for a year anyway, no matter what, since Chris is in the year below him, but he won’t even be living nearby. He’s going to be all the way across the country! 

Harry curls his arms around himself, unable to think of how he was going to break the news to everyone.

“Harry?” a voice calls from the other side of the dining table and Harry’s head snaps upward on instinct. His father clears his throat a little awkwardly. “I know you usually wait until your friends are here before opening presents, but I think this one might benefit from being opened away from a crowd of giddy children.”

With that, Snape pushes up from his seat and leads Harry to a decent-sized box on the coffee table. It’s wrapped in green wrapping paper with little frogs in party hats on, and Harry’s lips quirk upwards in an amused smile despite himself.

“There’s no bottom to this one, the box is just covering your gift so you only need to lift it up.”

Shooting his dad a confused frown, Harry reaches over to lift the box off of his present. Then, he promptly gasps.

Beneath the covering is a tank mostly full of some kind of bedding and with a few sparsely placed decorations. That isn’t what steals Harry’s breath, though. No, he’s staring in wonder at the little snake curled up towards the centre of the tank, peering back up at him.

“Maggie said you’d been looking at her when she took you to Diagon Alley. I hope that you’re alright with this as your companion for Hogwarts.”

Harry lets out a gasp, glancing between the man beside him and the little snake, still staring back uncertainly.

“Erys?” he asks, uncertainly, somehow not sure that this could possibly be the same snake, and that his dad had put in such care.

The little thing’s head turns more towards him upon hearing her name.

“Friend Harry,” the snake hisses, tongue flicking out as she speaks.

“She’s an emery kenyan sand boa,” his dad fills in, sounding slightly nervous which makes Harry blink up at him in surprise. “Only a baby – though she won’t get too big so you took a liking to a great snake to take to Hogwarts; I doubt having to house a huge snake would be simple in the dorms. Do you have a name for her?”

“She told me her name,” Harry tells him. “It’s Erys.”

“She… told you?”

“Yes,” Harry frowns. “Didn’t you ask her?”

“Harry, I don’t understand snakes.”

“Well, she’s probably a magical snake, right?” Harry tries, puzzled. “I mean, she was at the menagerie.”

“Yes,” Snape agrees; “she was at the menagerie. But that wasn’t because she’s a magical creature. Your snake – Erys? – is just the same as any muggle could procure. They’re sold at the menagerie because there is something of an appeal to snakes – especially in certain magical families.”

Harry frowns.

“So… you really can’t understand her?” he turns to Erys. ��Can other people not understand you?”

The snake gives a minute shake of her head. 

“I am not able to sssspeak to many humans at all. Only Friend Harry.”

Harry blinks in surprise, not even shrugging off the hand that lands on his shoulder despite the vague awareness that he’s still mad at Snape for lying to him. 

“Harry,” Snape presses gently. “Do you really understand her? It’s okay for you to tell me if you can.”

“I can,” he nods, smiling indulgently as Erys pipes up with a little: He can. “Is that weird?”

“No, not weird,” Snape dismisses. “Just rare. It’s a skill not many possess to be able to speak Parseltongue; I can only think of a few wizards known to be Parselmouths, and not a single muggle.”

“Parseltongue?”

“Snake language,” Snape fills him in. “It’s probably best if you don’t tell your friends that you have the skill, just as you can’t tell them of your magic.”

Harry nods compliantly.

“But I can keep Erys?”

“Of course you can.”

Without the festering grudge poisoning their relationship with tension, Harry likely would have thrown his arms about Snape and pressed his face into the comforting familiarity of the man’s clothes. As it was, though, Harry just manages a wide smile, keeping his arms firmly to his sides. 

For a moment he feels a fleeting stab of pain at missing that closeness he’d had so freely before. In little moments like this, since learning the truth of his past and the depth of Snape’s deceit, it has been so difficult to keep that distance between himself and the man who raised him. Sometimes he even wonders if it’s worth it – this is his dad – but then he reminds himself that Snape technically isn’t; …so that’s better, right? And, more importantly, he didn’t tell him about how important his parents were, how important he supposedly is, that he’s got living family he’s never let him meet.

The door swings open as Catherine lets herself in and Harry’s qualms go forgotten.

“Hey, tiny!” Mickey is calling as he leads his siblings up with his longer stride. Harry rolls his eyes – Mickey is very glad of his little growth spurt he had last month, it doesn’t matter that his sister is actually taller than him despite being a year younger.

Mandy scoffs and elbows her brother in the side.

“Hypocrite,” she chides, pointedly looking down on him.

“Hey, guys,” Harry is grinning before turning solely to his best friend. “Chris! Come look; my dad got me a snake!”

“Woah!” he enthuses, rushing up to peer through the glass of the tank. 

“Not quite a dinosaur but cool, right?”

“So cool,” Chris easily agrees, leaning in close enough that his nose is practically pressed to the side of the enclosure. 

“Hello,” Erys greets with a flicker of her tongue and Chris watches, enraptured, though Harry supposes Snape must’ve been right and he doesn’t understand her.

“Okay, that’s awesome,” Mickey is enthusing and even Mandy is peering between the boys’ shoulders, though more apprehensively. “What’s his name?”

“Her name is Erys.”

“Like the Greek goddess?” Mickey turns to him. “I’ve checked out a library book on Greek mythology at the minute –  it’s cool!”

Harry shrugs.

“It just… felt right for her.”

“Okay, kids,” Catherine admonishes. “Leave the snake to adjust to its new home. Why don’t you guys play hide and seek while you wait for Harry’s school friends to show up.”

They agree easily and hurry off to find hiding places as Chris starts to count, though Harry suspects that’s just a reason to let him gawk at Erys a little longer. Not that Harry minds, since Erys seems to preen under the attention before burrowing through the bedding of her tank.

-

Harry’s birthday goes along rather brilliantly, as always.

The group of kids – made up of Harry, his neighbours, and his four friends from primary school – play plenty of games as the enticing smell of baking chocolate cake drifts through from the kitchen. Harry wins a few games of hide and seek, though in a few instances he was sure the seeker looked straight through him, and then loses several games of tig and duck duck goose. It’s all great fun, and everyone is laughing breathlessly by the time the adults call them into the kitchen for lunch. 

They nibble on cheese and tomato sandwiches, and cocktail sausages before hurrying back out since the adults are ready to let Harry do his presents.

Maggie and Adeline watch on happily, though Harry knows the gifts they got him are waiting in his room to be opened away from muggle eyes, alongside a couple of smaller gifts from his dad. Chris is a lot less patient, and pushes the parcel he clearly wrapped himself into Harry’s hands – it’s a set of lizard figurines, which Harry grins at his friend for; at some point, the younger boy’s interest in anything scaly became mutual. His friends from school got him some sweets and hotwheels. Mandy and Mickey each got him some books that he unwraps with much enthusiasm–

Until he is cut off by everyone erupting in singing Happy Birthday, since Snape has returned from the kitchen – which Harry didn’t see him even leave to – carrying the cake. The candles are blown out and everyone pauses to take cake, because that always takes precedence over opening more presents.

When they get back to it, though, things take something of a turn.

“That one’s from me, Harry,” Cath smiles at him as he picks up one of the last presents.

Harry thanks her, pulling at the bright-coloured paper to reveal a pad of nice paper and a beautiful fountain pen.

“I thought it might help you keep in touch,” she explains. “For when you move away.”

The other kids’ heads shoot up.

“Move away?” Ben from his maths class is asking, half-frantic.

“What do you mean, mum?” Mandy pleads.

Mickey is blinking like he can’t even comprehend what is being said.

“Yeah,” Harry confesses, toying with the edge of the torn paper. “I’m going to a boarding school in Scotland for secondary school. The same one my dad went to.”

The other kids erupt into confused and excited questions. He answers the best he can without admitting anything he shouldn’t, and is doing so when Chris starts shaking his head.

“No.”

“Christopher, hun-” Catherine is trying to placate, but it’s too late. Chris’ face is scrunched up like it does sometimes when he gets overwhelmed, tears in his eyes.

“No. That’s not fair, you’re not going away.”

“I have to,” Harry defends, voice wavering. “I don’t want to say goodbye but I’ll see you in the holidays and I’ll write, I promise.”

“No!” Chris shouts, and then he storms out, walking himself home easily.

Catherine starts fussing, apologising profusely, and rounds up her other kids to take home. They give Harry a crushing hug like they might never see him again. Once again, he’s reminded about the fact that this one of the last times he will be seeing his friends in a long while and tears streak down his cheeks, crumpling his face into an ugly sob.

Harry casts a desperate look between his dad and Maggie, silently pleading for help. After which they start tidying up all the mess and helping the other parents wrangle their own kids to head home. 

He lingers just long enough to throw himself into a sorrowful hug with his classmates before he’s dashing up to his room. The door is slammed behind him, though his hands never touch the wood of it. Instead he rushes straight for his bed and collapses there, face pressed to the plushness of his pillow to stifle his sobs as best he can.

He’s not going to see his friends for so long, and Chris hates him for it– What is he meant to do? How will he make new friends at this new school? Who would even want to be his friend at all – maybe he’d just been lucky to make the friends he has here and no one really likes him that much. Maybe Chris won’t ever write to him, either, because he was so mad and he hates Harry now and—

“Harry?” comes the hesitant call from the other side of his door.

“Go AWAY!” Harry yells back, pulling his face away from the pillow just long enough to snap at Snape waiting in the hall before hiding away again. His head is pounding from the force of his tears and his nose is running and he just wants to be left alone.

“Harry…” Snape sighs and Harry’s temper boils over.

“Leave me alone! You’re not my real dad – you’re a liar and I don’t want to talk to you.”

As soon as he hears the silence that follows, guilt takes his heart in a crushing grip. Stubbornness overrules it, though; he’s not going to apologise. This is the worst birthday ever, and Snape is the worst dad ever and–

The door creaks open and Harry turns to glare daggers over his shoulder, not caring about how puffy his eyes are. It’s not his dad, though. His dad just left, apparently – didn’t even try again. Instead, his Auntie makes her way slowly over to his bed, looking at him with sorry eyes.

“You okay, kid?”

Harry gives her a sour look and she sighs.

“No, of course not. Your friend’ll come around – he just can’t deal with how much he’s going to miss you.”

Harry sniffles and presses his face back into the pillow. He doesn’t want to hear this, he doesn’t even know if he believes it. Harry’s seen Chris get overwhelmed, and upset, and mad a lot but he’s never seemed that mad at Harry. He’s not sure if they’ll ever be friends again – his breath hitches painfully – which is an awful thought. Tears sting back in his eyes and he can’t blink them away fast enough. His breath shudders as they race back down his face and join the wet splotch on his pillow.

Chris is– was his best friend. 

Maggie lays a gentle old hand on his shoulder, making him meet her eye.

“He will come around,” she repeats. “And until then, your dad’s really worried about you. He’s pacing down in the kitchen, wondering what to do – and he’s real hurt because of what you yelled at him.”

That feeling twinges in Harry’s chest again and he has to look away from Maggie’s eye. 

“I was right, though,” he insists, not entirely sure who he’s trying to convince. “He lied to me, and he doesn’t really care. Because of him, I grew up muggle which means that I’ve made all these friends I’ll have to lose. If I’d grown up in the wizarding world like I was supposed to, then this wouldn’t happen! I- I wouldn’t have met anyone that I have to leave. This is his fault.

“Besides, he left right away when he came to check on me, so can’t have really wanted to talk to me.”

The huff Maggie lets out is agitated.

“Now that is enough of that, mister,” she scolds. “That man loves you a great lot, you hear me? And when you realise how much you’d better run straight to him and apologise, you listening, kid?”

Harry flushes under her reproach, but stubbornly looks away and doesn’t agree.

When Maggie sighs, it’s half-resigned, half-angry.

“Well, if it weren’t your last month here I’d make sure your dad grounds you for that. But he won't, because this is your last chance to spend all your time with your friends, so you’re a lucky brat right now.” 

Something in her seems to deflate and she leans down to press a kiss to Harry’s hair, despite how he squirms away from the affection.

“Enjoy this time with your friends. You’ll keep in touch with them, I’m sure, but I know you’ll still miss them. Don’t you dare spend all August sulking, because as soon as September starts you’re off to Hogwarts and your time will be wasted.”

She pushes to her feet from where she’d been perched on the edge of his comforter. Stretching her joints, she lets out a groan. 

“Get some rest, kid. Being upset’s got you all tuckered out. I’ll see you soon.”

And then she sweeps from the room, leaving Harry alone with his grief again.

[goldendivinewrath]

@full-of-mercy

Vash holds back the purely theatrical offense regarding the places they used to stay in, mostly because he can't find it in himself to be offended by the truth. (There's an intentionally vague memory about making good on a threat to sleep outside in the sand instead of the bed or the floor. Only once. He thinks.) He is, however, tempted to tease for a moment about Wolfwood smelling him, but there's something about... that. Not just the contact, the casual warmth, but the way it's so very-- Intimate? Would that be the right word?

There's ample opportunity to react with offense all over again at the assessment, the squawk not nearly as played up as it might sound. "Didn't know I'd have company." He covers, poorly. Might as well just go ahead and admit that even though he has showers all to himself, he doesn't use them with regularity. When he has to! Like laundry. And absolutely none of those thoughts are going to be voiced.

Despite the subject matter, he's disappointed by the space between them no matter how small. Vash does take a moment to wonder if he shouldn't excuse himself, let Wolfwood have his hot water and his time alone, relaxing by himself in a proper shower with relatively decent water pressure. (There's only so much he can do about some things.) Almost immediately the idea is stricken down bit by bit thanks mostly to the way Wolfwood seemed to have made it clear that he wanted closeness.

Still wants, by that invitation. Even Vash can't pretend it's anything less, and he-- Really, truly desires in return, not hiding what his eyes are drawn to. With a fevered intensity bordering on need and then some. He wants to see the entire scar, to run his fingers over it, to memorize every aspect of where it stretches. He wants to brush his lips against it while his hands re-memorize everything, take in details he hadn't before, he wants to--

It's possible that he's just gotten very bad at self-denial after falling back on it for such a long time. It's not holding him up anymore. He keeps that thought firmly to himself, too.

"Yeah." He breaks out of his own spinning thought process, leaving it to crash completely somewhere behind him. Where, it doesn't matter. "There's hot water. Takes a while to refill..." Details don't matter either, he supposes. Far from a perfect system, tacked and held together from many sources and in many ways, but it works. Does what it needs to do, easy to fix, easy to teach someone else how to fix it...

It's another moment before he moves, but only just. Taking a breath. Once again acclimating to the idea that the safe house is no longer empty save for him. Muscle memory aids in taking his own coat off, hanging it on whatever hook it happens to catch to be out of the way, and his boots take an always ridiculous amount of time even knowing every buckle and clasp and catch so well that it looks like he hardly runs his fingers over them before they're open. Maybe it's about time he got something more practical.

Maybe it actually gives him the moment he needs to get his thoughts back in order, stepping out of the heavy boots with a couple of comical thuds as they drop off his feet: louder than intended acceptance of the invitation.

And still, still, he's caught between the desperate need to reach out and grasp and the equal need to be as gentle and careful as he possibly can, approaching the other man with a posture like he doesn't know what to do with his hands. (He does, he's just. Trying to be patient. Mostly.) "I'll help. With your clothes. Get them soaking first, y'know." It's the worst of flimsy excuses partially because it's true.

"Let me-- Let me?" Silly to ask, maybe. Silly to be worried. Wolfwood granted every request to touch he'd made, initiated contact himself. Invited. It's still with a delicate reverence that Vash reaches... right up until he gets to one of the buttons that's actually been serving a function. Something about that, about all too easily popping it open unwinds his posture with a soft laugh. "Don't think I have anything you'll be comfortable changing into. All my shirts have decency barriers."

This place is as dead as it is alive. Obstinate, damaged, not quite empty, its hollows are a liminal space both disconnected from the world and entangled with it as intimately as any other that receives service via transmission lines, via connection to some Plant- or wind-generated power. Isolated but not. A point of respite for transient people, transient notions, all with a foundation of purpose, it is…

Apt.

Even if the layout is straightforward, navigating it still feels like a maze between past and present. Wolfwood lead-follows, letting Vash guide them through halls he clearly knows floor to ceiling, every little twist and turn, every panel out of place, every outlet and every window mapped out as a just-in-case. Maybe it was a matter of mindless boredom, maybe a matter of paranoia, maybe a matter of grounding when he felt unmoored. It is not pride of ownership so much as familiarity born of experience.

Nicholas listens as he is wont, following threads spoken and not. Natural as anything, his thumb hooks into one of many belt loops, physical anchor. Shoulder to shoulder and of a height, they do not stagger, even if it might feel appropriate given the strange sense of disorientation.

It only redoubles when the lights flick on.

They have a sound. Subtle in the settling quiet, it presents a buzz of energy like moth wings fluttering inside of glass. At a glance, Nicholas can see the current, or at least its texture, and something in him is grateful that it is not pure white.

Not cold, not clinical. Perhaps that is on account to the enclosure's age, yellowed with dust and cigarette tar. By the time he realizes he is contemplating the character of a light fixture, Wolfwood also realizes that in that light there is no opportunity to hide.

The room is communal, though there has clearly been no reason to attach dividing curtains to the tracks running along the ceiling. Inn, hostel, shelter facility, group home. It could have been any number of things in previous lives, but Vash calls it a safe house, and that in and of itself is telling.

That's the thing about a Typhoon. Humanoid or not, they tend not to linger without some form of destruction. Even when he was living a quaint life in that little town after blowing a hole in the moon, he was on the run (from memories, from enemies, either, both, one and the same).

"Nicer than half the places we holed up in," he muses, squint-blinking slowly. Sure, maybe it is rude.

Blunt. Uncouth. Whatever. Better to focus on other things, better to… pluck at the thread from a few moments ago.

Turning his head and then his torso, he dips his chin and tucks his nose right at the crook of Vash's neck and shoulder, where the turtleneck often rises, where his collar usually conceals. There he sniffs, then sniffs again. Again. Deeper. Humming, assessing.

"Hmm."

A measured inhale, a slow exhale, and he nods to himself.

"You smell like you've kept up your bouncing off the damn walls at ungodly hours in the morning routine. Could both use the hot water, hm?"

And sure.

Yeah.

He'd made a fuss about it in the past, but that, like so many other things, was a front and an arm's length distance he desperately attempted (and ultimately failed) to keep, because he has always been an expert at lying to himself more than anyone else.

"Wouldn't say no to a hand or two."

Invitation, request, excuse. He meets eye contact as he sidesteps, crouching down to doff his dusty, road-worn boots. From here, the ragged and silvery edges of scar tissue peek where his lapels are askew.

"Unless you'd rather I use up all the hot water. Presumin' there's hot water to be had."

[orcelito]

tfw im trying to push thru the late hour to keep editing but i cant Fucking make sense of this goddamn paragraph soooooooooooo

maybe it’s time to rest

[dayenurose]

Writer’s Month Prompts (written for @writersmonth )

Day 29 - Bond (Romy)

Remy was dead. Again. All he could do was wait. That was the thing about being dead, you couldn’t rescue yourself. Someone from the outside—from the land of the living—had to open that door.

It didn’t always work. And, it was a risky venture. You needed someone with a strong bond to you and the willingness to risk following you into the Great Beyond. You also needed a will to keep living. If you didn’t have enough will on your own, then your Other Half needed enough for both of you.

“Ah’m selfish! Ah want better. And so should you!”

Gambit had made it to those pearly gates once before. He was ready to enter. But she had chased him down and called him back. She fought for him in a way no one had ever fought for him before.

“You don’t run out on us so easy! You got no right to call us quits b’fore we’ve had a decent chance t’ get started”

This time, he’d stayed closer. Built up a wall around himself to keep his sense of self from fleeing into the aether. Yes, part of him wanted to let go. Return to the gates, reap his eternal reward. But, he wasn’t ready to leave her yet. There was so much living they had left to do. Together. Over the course of their marriage they’d scarcely had any time together and they were long overdue to write that next chapter.

“Our story ain’t done.”

Last time he crossed these shadowy lands, he waited for her. He wanted to take that final journey together. She dissuaded him from his course, turning him back towards life. Towards hope. While it took time for him to come to terms with his decision to stay, he didn't regret it. Not when it meant he'd been gifted more time with her.

This time, though the circumstances were different, he still waited. Waited for her to open the door and reveal the path. He would always wait for her. He would always fight for her. Defend her. Comfort her. Make her laugh and make her cry. Make her feel. He would touch her and be touched by her. They were bonded together, heart and soul.

It’s what kept him here. Here in this in-between. Though time passed, he had no reckoning if the passage was marked in minutes or millennia. No matter the increment, time felt frozen in this place. Each moment stretched into a long eternity. As strong and as determined as he grasped onto his sense of self, his awareness slowly slipped like grains of sands from his fingers. He refused to let go. Instead he doubled down and held tighter onto the thread of their bond.

He built walls around his psyche to keep it from drifting away. In his memory, he constructed simulacrums to remind him of the man who he was, who he is, and who he will be. He tended to the shrine of his beloved wife. It was a reminder that he fought not only to retain his sense of self, he also fought for her. He fought for them.

When the sanctuary around him started to blur and night encroached upon his vision, a light, bright and bold, broke through the cloying miasma clouding his mind. A vibrant and familiar presence seeped into the in-between. She brought with her color and life. A spark traveled along their bond.

Haunted by ghosts of memories and visions of hope, he almost did not trust his eyes. And yet, he knew it was no lie. Long ago he had memorized every facet of her being. He knew his wife as well as he knew himself and would recognize her in any situation, at any time, and in any place. The sway of her hips as she walked towards him. The brilliant green gleam of her eyes. The snowy white fringe among the cinnamon curls. Each and every aspect of her was known to him heart and soul.

“My Rogue. Mon coeur.” Exhaustion pulled at his body. It would be easier to stop resisting. To give into the pull. To allow himself to stay, to change, to fade away, but he wouldn’t. Not now, not ever. Not when he was so close. “You came for me.”

“Of course, swamp rat.” Her face—so beautiful and full of life—emanated sass and fire mixed with grief and determination. Rogue—his wife, his heart, his soul—was tempered steel, forged in fire. When all else faded, she shone bright and clear. She was home. She was his harbor.

“I told you,”—When she spoke, her honeyed drawl rasped tight over the sharp, raw edge of the emotions bleeding out and through her. The words were so full of determination it oozed out of her and into him. Her presence was a burst of pure oxygen to the flickering flame of hope he’d tended with an adherent's devotion while he waited for her. “I told you, I will always—ALWAYS—find my way back to you.”

“I know. I was counting on that. Counting on you, mon coeur.” Warmth was returning to his fingers. His heart beat more freely. His lungs took in great gasps of air. Like spring flowers after a long winter, he was returning to full life.

Rogue cradled his head in her hand and brushed strands of auburn hair from his face. Her breath was warm against his cooling skin and offset the chill settling into his bones. She kissed him, her powers drawing his wandering psyche back to him. Her absorption only sipped along the surface and drew only a sample of his memories, his powers, into her. His sense of self, bloomed bright and bold. The familiar current buzzed through his veins and sparked at his fingertips.

“C’mon Rems, let’s go home.”

She held out her hand, like she had so long ago. This time, Remy didn’t hesitate. He slipped his hand in hers and squeezed it tight. Instead of flying off and taking her with him, she anchored him to this mortal coil. This time, he didn’t fight her pull.

His Rogue was real. Living and breathing. And so was he.

“D’accord.” Their souls were bonded together. The fate of one was the fate of the other. He would always be grateful that she felt compelled to fight for him—for them. “I love you, my sweet.”

“I love you too, Remy.”

Hand-in-hand, side-by-side, they turned towards the land of the living. Together, just as they were meant to be.

~~~

“But we always keep finding ways back to each other. So that’s what I promise you…that no matter what, I’ll find my way back to you.” ~ Rogue’s wedding vow to Remy (from X-Men Gold #30)

~~~

Quotes:

“Our story ain’t done.”

“You don’t run out on us so easy! You got no right to call us quits b’fore we’ve had a decent chance t’ get started”

“Ah’m selfish! Ah want better. And so should you!”

~X-Treme X-Men #18

[s-brant]

The Hidden Spot (3/3)

(gif: @television) (PART TWO) (SERIES MASTERLIST)

Summary: In the aftermath the argument, JJ tries to no avail to find a chance to apologize for his actions. Y/N seeks comfort from the girls but ends up finding a new perspective she hadn’t yet considered.

Word Count: 7.7k

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, implied sexual content/innuendos, implied parent/child abuse, and fluff.

A/N: Welcome to the final installment of Solar Power! Okay, I know I’ve been withholding this for a while (three months yikes) I was trying to continue writing it with the plans I made for it but I couldn’t and I didn’t have as much inspiration anymore, so I found a natural way to end it with what I already had. Thank you for your patience, and I hope you guys enjoy it. Have fun!

Laundry day is typically Y/N's least favorite.

The sand from sitting at the edge of the creek never fails to weasel its way underneath her clothes, her arms grow tired and achy from the constant movement of having to slap the wet garments over the boulder, and the fear of iguanas and snakes intruding is an ever-present anxiety she has to face each time. It's sweaty, exhausting work, but, today, it's her favorite option.

It's been days since she and JJ last spoke to one another, and it isn't like he hasn't tried. He tried on multiple occasions throughout the first day after he fucked up so massively to get a moment alone with her, but she refused.

First, he approached her as she was eating in the morning and sat down next to the tree she was seated against with the carefully thought words on the tip of his tongue. Before he could draw in a breath to say them, she tossed the cluster of ripe berries she was feasting on into his lap without a goodbye and stomped, actually stomped, away to help Pope fish for shellfish with their makeshift net. As long as she was with others, he couldn't give her the private, respectful conversation she deserved, so she made certain to have another person with her at all times.

The next time was later that day when she was reaching for a large leaf from one of the younger palm trees to add to their hut. Apparently, she missed a section while letting him seduce distract her the day they did it, so she huffed from inside of the decently sized structure and crawled out to find another leaf to thatch it over. One hand braced against the trunk of the tree for her to stretch up on her tippy toes to swipe a leaf off with the other when she felt someone come up behind her.

His voice was unmistakable, murmuring, "I got it."

Her breath trembled on the inhale, knowing exactly who it was she felt and saw reaching over her head to pluck the large leaf off of the tree for her with ease. If she focused hard enough, she could nearly feel his chest brushing a centimeter away from her back when he breathed, and that simple fact almost made her forget everything. It almost made her forget her anger to feel his fingers brushing hers when he handed her the leaf, but then she caught a glimpse of a hippeastrum flower in the distance and fled before he could say anything else.

It seems, however, that he has since stopped trying to talk to her since the third and final time she ignored him that day. Ever since, he might as well have dropped off the face of the earth to her, and though it's what she thought she wanted after his rude behavior, she is miserable because of it.

"I mean, what the fuck is his problem?" Y/N asks as she beats his only shirt against the rock to agitate dirt, sand, and ash from the cotton fabric, "First, he got shitty with me after I helped him save his best friend from becoming shark food, then he yells at me in front of everyone. For what? For having the audacity to care about him? I was worried about him for fuck's sake, and he"—smack—"fucking"—smack—"ruined"—smack—"everything!"

There's a pause in the air between the rest of the girls, then she feels someone coaxing the tank top from her hands like one would approach a wild animal prone to attacking people.

It's Sarah that she sees when she looks up from where she's half-submerged in the river with nothing but her underwear on as Kie dunks her shirt in the river to work on cleaning it.

None of them care much about nudity at this point in their friendships together. Without anyone else around or the structured expectations of society, there isn't a reason to care. It's not like any of the boys will come looking to hang out with them anyway. Not while they're busy dealing with JJ the same way the girls deal with Y/N.

Technically, they aren't all supposed to be here today. It's hers and JJ's laundry day, paired together in every job on their schedule thanks to Pope's initial suggestion of them partnering up to live together after they first got here, but she flat out told John B she wouldn't be doing it with him. Instead, the rest of the girls followed her into the forest with the entire group's laundry to make a day of it. A much needed day away where she wouldn't be subjected to her and JJ's mutual silent treatment.

"I think the shirt's clean enough," Sarah says with a kind smile.

She takes it away to drape over the clothing lines they hung between the trees.

The absence of string or twine made them get creative with their substitutes, so their clothing line is a vine they tied between low-hanging tree branches for them to hang their wet clothes on. It'd likely be smarter to tie them up on the beach as usual, but they know she doesn't want to be around him, or so she pretends, so they put some up out here for the time being.

Y/N sighs, reaching for the next shirt in the pile.

"I'm sorry," she says softly, "I'm literally going crazy."

The rest of them are perched around or in the flowing water with small piles of clothes that wouldn't even be enough to fill an average washing machine in the real world, but takes hours to wash and hang dry in their world.

And it may sound dramatic, but it truly is a different world than anything they're used to. They lived on an island before this, but it was bustling with civilization, technology, and every other aspect of modern society that they all took for granted before they were stranded. It's a slower, simpler world, and somehow, despite being at the mercy of nature, it's a kinder too. There are no divisions between them other than those they create themselves, no Ward or Rafe Cameron types looming overhead to ruin them at every turn like they did in Kildare.

Kie starts to slap her white shirt against the rock  to clean it, shaking her head.

"You aren't though, I think he's an ass for what he said to you. Sure, y'all hated each other for no good reason for years, but he didn't need to tell everyone you "threw yourself" at him. That was fucked up," she says.

Soon after, Sarah is murmuring her agreement.

"I think he's acting like an ass too."

Y/N takes a deep breath and leans forward to rest her chin on folded arms atop the boulder as she looks between the three other girls.

"I think he doesn't give a shit about me. The reality of the situation is, we're stuck in the middle of nowhere with no chance of getting back to our normal lives. Sarah is dating John B, he's already tried to hook up with you, Kie, and he knows Pope has a crush on Cleo, so he won't try that," she sighs deeply, "He's lonely, we all are, and it's probably been a while since he's had sex. I was just there. It was my fault to think it could've meant anything."

Forget what he said to her that night about waiting "so long" to be with her, or the clear evidence that was his genuine worry for her after they killed the shark. None of it matters to her at this point because she has already made up her mind and resigned herself to what she believes is the truth, which is that he always has and always will dislike her.

Her eyes are downcast with the thought that finally clangs through her.

It's the first time she's dared to consider it since their relationship began to improve over the course of the summer leading into autumn, and she can't deny that it hurts, it took her so long to admit to herself that she had feelings for him in the first place, so to be humiliated and rejected by him in front of everyone here...It hurts worse than anything.

She's about to crawl over to the shore to pick her shorts out of the sand to wash them when Cleo breaks her contemplative silence. They all look up from what they're doing at the sound of her voice.

"I think you're wrong."

The initial gut reaction she has in response to this is to laugh, but she doesn't. She is far too curious to hear her out for an explanation to laugh off her statement as nothing more than a misinterpretation. After all, sometimes an outsider perspective is more accurate than that of the two people involved in a friendship or relationship. Sometimes, you need to have distance from the issue to see it clearly without the biases of emotion.

Cleo walks over to the clothing line and throws the shirt she was washing over it to dry as she continues speaking as though pleading a case to court. In this instance, the deciding jury is composed of a heartbroken girl and her two friends who have every reason to hold JJ's behavior against him.

"His best friend was getting chased by a shark and he didn't jump in, but what did he do the second you got in the water?"

Y/N didn't see him diving in after her initially.

Bubbles dispersing around her from the impact of her body on the water roared in her ears, as well as the sound of John B yelling at her to go back once she resurfaced, so she didn't pick up on the splash of JJ jumping in too. She didn't turn around to see the absence of him standing atop the rocks with the same shell shocked look he had when they first realized the severity of the situation, she was too busy trying to keep her head above water as they fought back against the shark.

But she did notice when he reached them. His hands searched for her through the splashing water until they found her waist, and when she realized it was him, something strange happened. Even with life-threatening danger looking them in the eyes in the form of an aggressive, bloodthirsty animal, feeling his hands on her and knowing he was there calmed her instantly. It didn't matter that they were dancing with death, all she knew was that JJ was there, and if he was with her, everything would be okay.

Then, how could she ignore how he acted after? She doesn't mean his rude attitude either, she means the worry. The wide, melancholy puppy eyes she found staring down at her when he climbed out of the water and tugged her body onto his with no thought on his mind other than her safety. No matter how much she tries to convince herself of it, those aren't the actions of a man that "hates" someone. Not by a long shot.

She swallows thickly as she meets Cleo's gaze and sees the knowing smile growing there. Her hand rests on one hip, and she leans against the tree they tied the clothing line to with amusement toying at her beautiful features.

Clearly, their collective silence is the answer she needed to confirm her suspicions.

"I rest my case," she says, “You don't swim with sharks for a girl you hate. That, my friend, is love."

The four letter word is so plain and simple, yet it stirs her stomach with a fluttering sensation she often notices whenever he's around her or mentioned in conversation like this. For a second or so, it doesn't matter that he hurt her feelings as she lets herself consider the wild possibility of him loving her. It isn't long before her logical side kicks back into gear to remind her of their history, as well as the moment at the bonfire the other day when he humiliated her in front of their friends, but it's heavenly while it lasts.

How different would things have been if she accepted long ago, before their dislike for each other could snowball into a rivalry they upheld out of sheer stubbornness, that she has always had feelings for him?

She isn't sure if she can take the leap of faith needed to label her feelings as love yet, but it's the type of longstanding infatuation that promises to turn into love if they work things out and decide to explore a relationship. The thing is, even if they do mend fences, that doesn't mean he'll want to pursue anything with her. For all she knows, his intentions with her could very well be purely sexual.

It's all too fickle for her to trust it.

"I don't know, dude, figure it out," John B said as JJ trailed after him down the beach earlier today, shit outta luck with ideas on how to get Y/N alone to apologize, "Give her some flowers or some cute shit like that, and be honest. You clearly like her, so it shouldn't be that hard."

It is, in fact, that hard.

Speaking from the perspective of an outside looking in on his complicated relationship with her, John B doesn't know how it feels to live within the uncertainty of whatever it is they have together. He and Sarah are head over heels in love with one another, overcoming every obstacle, both self-inflicted and externally sourced, hurled at them over the course of their relationship. How could he understand what this feels like?

Even when he and Sarah weren't on good terms after Ward faked his death, there was no denying their love for each other, but with Y/N...He isn't too sure.

Sometimes, he thinks has it figured out. He'll catch a glimpse of fondness in her eyes for him and wonder if it means anything. He'll go a few days without arguing with her over the smallest, dumbest topics and wonder if it means she likes him more than she used to. But what truly made him question it was when she kissed him in the forest.

It makes him trip over his feet, lost in his memories, as he trails through the forest in the direction the other girls said they remembered her going in after they finished drying out the laundry.

Sarah's arm shot out to plant her hand flat against the trunk of a palm tree, hitting right against his neck when he aimed to walk straight through to the path. Stopping him right in his tracks, she looked him up and down with a glare that cut him to the bone. Even if she weren't physically blocking him from leaving, he likely would've stopped right there at the sight of that look—a look all girls, despite age or upbringing, have somehow honed to masterful extent.

"If you hurt her again, I will not hesitate to throw you to the sharks," she said, and he wasn't sure if it unnerved him less or more that she spoke the words so calmly. “Got it?”

It made her smile to see him swallow thickly at her promise. He deserved it for what he said to her best friend, so she played up her intimidating side far more than it naturally expresses itself. She didn't need to turn around to know that Cleo and Kie smiled with her, not only because of what she said, but because of what JJ following her into the forest again must have meant.

It meant that, whether she intended to forgive him or not, he was going to apologize to her. And, knowing them and their inability to be apart without finding their way back into each others lives one way or another, they knew where it'd lead.

Her reaction at the creek when Cleo said he loved her displayed everything she couldn't bring herself to say to them. They had no doubts that all it'd take was one more interaction between them after the time apart, which had pumped their hearts with an aching, swirling tension that promised an explosive resolution, for them to finally face the reality of their feelings.

He met Kie and Cleo's stares before coming back to Sarah's, nodding once. It was the only confirmation she needed to yank her arm back from the tree, her smile turning warm and friendly with his silent agreement in mind.

Sticks and fallen leaves crunched beneath his boots as he rushed off on the path they often take through the trees, and Kie called out after him in a shout, "She followed the water, so just stick to the creek and follow it up!"

So, he does exactly that—tramples through the bushes and weaves in and out between soaring trees on his way up the side of the creek that none of them have explored to its source up the incline of the island.

Most of the time, they don't have much free time to explore the island. They're often too preoccupied with doing what they need to in order to survive, then when nighttime comes and offers them time to do whatever they want, it's too dark to go exploring without anything to illuminate the way through the dark. The extent of her exploration often comes from the walks she takes when she's trying trying to find time to herself and ends up getting followed by JJ.

Y/N frowns to herself at the thought of him, tilting her head back into the water to wash away the buildup of sweat and sand clinging to strands of her hair.

Hiking up the creek until she reached its source proved to be her best idea since arriving here, because it has led her to something she regards as the most beautiful place she's ever seen. A waterfall flows freshwater into a swimming hole so blue, she hardly believed it was real when she climbed up the rocks separating the stream from the small body of water that feeds it. She decided immediately that it'd be her little secret for now until any of the others decided to explore and find it too, a place where she could visit when she wanted some time to herself.

But, for now, she uses it as a place to bathe without having to worry about being seen by any of the boys like she does when bathing by the creek.

There's no soap or shampoo, but the flowing freshwater feels better than anything compared to the salt and sand by the beach. The temperature is cool and refreshing, yet somehow comfortable at the same time. No goosebumps are raised on arms when she scrubs them beneath the surface, using the sand that already clung to them as an exfoliant until she's satisfied with her skin's softness.

No sign of dirt, sand, or the distinct scent of saltwater can be found on her now. Her bare body glistens under the sunlight coming down over the waterfall as she sits atop a rock, half-submerged in the water, and combs out the ends of her hair.

It's the happiest she's felt in days.

Since what happened with JJ, she hasn't been able to have a moment to think clearly without running into him or having one of their friends bring him up in conversation. The only person who didn't was Pope. He veered straight away from that sore subject the last time she spoke to him, which, if her memory serves her well, was last night when they ate dinner with Cleo.

But even then, the comfortable avoidance of her drama with JJ while she sat with Pope doesn't hold a candle to the peace she feels sitting here on her own. The rushing sound of water paired with chirping birds and the breeze fluttering the treetops mollifies her ill-tempered attitude the longer she spends here, and, with her work for the day behind her, she intends to stay until daylight runs out.

At least that way she won't have to see JJ again. Instead, she'll eat dinner with Sarah and head straight to bed for another day of finding innovative ways to dodge him.

It isn't like she hasn't thought of hearing him out. Somewhere deep down, all she really wants is to accept the apology he keeps attempting to give to her and tell him how she really feels. But it's not that simple, especially not after what he said to her the other day. How is she supposed to trust that he won't freak out again the next time she tries to act friendly with him? What happens if he rejects her and they're forced to spend the rest of their lives together here?

Perhaps if they were back in the Outer Banks, the risk wouldn't be as severe, but there's a very real possibility that they'll never be rescued, and she'd rather not make her future a living hell by confessing her feelings to a person who claims to hate her. It'd be too complicated, and the last thing they need in a place where they rely on one another for survival is to complicate things more than they already have.

Who needs JJ, anyway? She thinks to herself, I'm perfectly fine right here. I live in paradise with my best friends, and I'm staring at the most beautiful waterfall I've ever—

"Y/N?"

Her eyes shoot away from where they were trained on the waterfall to see someone hauling themselves up over the rocks she climbed over less than fifteen minutes ago, making her entire body jolt in surprise. At the sight of a blonde head peeking over the top, along with a set of hands grappling for purchase to help him climb up, she shrieks in surprise at the eye contact JJ makes with her from afar and does the only thing she can think of to hide herself from him.

She falls forward off of the ledge she sits atop and splashes face-first into the water.

Of course, this doesn't do much to hide her. He already caught a glimpse of her as soon as he was able to see over the edge of the ground, and he already saw her half naked in the moonlight not long ago, but she reacted as though he's never seen her undressed anyway. It made her stomach drop and her body lurch on instinct until she practically belly flopped on the surface in a huge splash that sprayed him with water.

She has to spit water out of her mouth and force it from where it flew up her nostrils when she comes back up with reddened cheeks that have nothing to do with her sunburn. Her hands frantically move to cover herself, one arm slung over her chest while her other hand moves down to cover herself below. It leaves her feet as her only way of keeping herself afloat, kicking desperately enough to keep her above water as she tries to find the words to speak to him.

"I—You—You're here, what the fuck are you doing here?" she asks.

Her voice is shrill with embarrassment. It makes him grimace from where he stands at the edge of the water with nothing to display his reaction to the situation. Though, on the inside, he can't ignore how vigorously his heart pounds in his chest.

On the inside, he can't ignore the swirling storm of the feelings that've built up over the course of the past week or so, all of them culminating into this interaction that he's played and replayed in his mind over and over while planning what to say. But now that he's standing here, he's speechless. It may have something to do with walking in on her being nude as in broad daylight, contrary to the other time he saw her without a shirt, that has him so bent out of shape, but it's more so his nerves.

His stomach is churning with anxiety and worry. Worry that she won't accept his apology, worry that his attraction to her isn't reciprocated, and the ever-present worry he's felt over her safety since they were stranded here. The minor detail of her being completely naked in front of him for the first time doesn't help though. If anything, it muddles his mind further and makes his attempt to response to her slow down as his eyes unconsciously roam over the expanse of exposed skin beneath the clear blue water.

JJ blurts out before he can think of anything else to say, "I'm sorry."

Her expression is a mystery he has no chance of solving at this point. It morphs somewhere between embarrassment, anger, confusion, and something else he can quite place as he continue to ramble on.

"I was a dick the other night. I know you've been avoiding me and, trust me, I was trying to give you space, but"—he stops to breathe for a second or two, running his hand through his hair to push it out of his face—"I didn't wanna leave things with us on a bad note 'cause, you were right, we've been friends lately, and I didn't know how to handle that. I still don't," he says, "So, I'm sorry."

The water bobs around her chin the entire time she floats there and stares up at him with wide eyes. There's a heavy pause between what he last said and when she opens her mouth to speak, leaving them with nothing to do but look at each other with the white noise of nature crescendoing in their impossibly loud silence.

She's about to say something, then snaps out of it and glances down at herself, as if suddenly remembering her current state of undress, and asks, "Can we at least not do this while I'm butt ass naked? I can't imagine you'll retain anything if you're staring at my tits the whole time."

The sound of her sardonic tone almost makes him crumble in relief. It's a good sign, a sign of the dynamic they used to have before he went and fucked everything up over his anger at her for risking her life.

In hindsight, he knows he should've thanked her for saving John B, not scolded and humiliated her in front of everyone they know, but he had a hard time controlling it. As soon as they made it back to land in one piece, he wanted to hold onto her and never let go while, at the same time, wanting to shout at her for being so stupid.

He scoffs.

"I would never—"

She cuts him off, "You're literally staring at them right now."

And her narrowed eyes have him spinning around in place instantly, squeaking out a quick, "Alright, yeah, fair enough. Turning around," as he does it.

His sudden compliance after getting caught staring so blatantly makes her stifle a traitorous giggle to herself. She hates that he's capable of making her laugh right now. After everything he said to make her never want to speak to or see him again, after what she said at the creek about knowing he doesn't want anything more than a sexual relationship with her, the fact that he still makes her laugh is infuriating.

She stares at the back of him on her swim over to the edge of the water to put on her folded up clothes. From the uncovered, muscular back facing her wandering gaze to the dirt-dusted boots planted firmly on the ground, she takes him in and thinks herself a hypocrite for telling him not to stare.

All she ever does is stare. It's the one thing she has ever allowed herself to do in regards to her feelings for him. She hasn't been able to say or do anything, so she looks. She steals glances and silently worships everything he has to offer visually while appreciating aspects of his personality to herself—where neither he or anyone else could find out.

By the time she's stood back up on the side of the water with her panties back on and her freshly cleaned white shirt now clinging to her soaking skin, her nerves have already began to get the better of her. Her voice is unsteady this time around.

"Okay," she says, "I'm decent."

When he turns around again, he wants to object because she sure as shit ain't decent, not at all, but he can't bring himself to do anything but gawk at her for a second or two before he catches himself. He isn't sure if he'd call her wet top, which is now see through, being "decent" but he doesn't comment on the pointlessness of her putting it back on. At least it makes her feel less embarrassed about being seen by him, even if he can still see pretty much everything he had before.

If it were a few days ago, perhaps she wouldn't have cared. He already saw her anyway. It may have been dark out, but he still saw and touched and kissed her. The only thing that makes this different for her is the terms their relationship is on and how much more vulnerable she feels in the wake of their fight.

Her arms are crossed over her chest protectively on his way over to her.

She sits back down at the drop off into the swimming hole with her legs dangling in the shallow decline into the deeper depths of the water. Neither of them says a word until he too is sitting there beside her. It's the closest they've been to each other since the day after their fight, when he helped her pick the palm leaf off the tree, and they're just about ready to burst out of their skin with the mutual desire to get closer.

A moment passes, then she shifts to face him a little.

"If you really mean this, we're gonna have to lay out some rules here. Okay?" she asks.

Usually, he'd make a joke right about now. He'd say something about how he should've expected her to ruin it with rules, or ask her if she's going to make him sign a legally binding contract over it. Except, he doesn't.

It's the most confusing turn of events to him that was set off in a chain reaction after she kissed him for the first time, but he doesn't want her to think he doesn't take her seriously. For once, he actually cares about what she thinks of him, and it's such a new revelation, he doesn't know how to act around it. It leaves him sitting here with nothing other than a nod given in her direction, looking over at her with his mouth clamped shut.

She gets lost in his eyes for an instant.

"You can't freak out on me like that again. I don't know why you were so pissed at me, but that isn't okay. If you have a problem with me, we can talk about it, but humiliating me and telling all of our friends that I threw myself at you isn't cool. Like, at all. You had no fucking right to do that to me."

He takes in a breath and opens his mouth to apologize again, but she stops him before he can get a word out.

"You can't act all buddy buddy with me in private and kiss me, then act like you hate me in front of your friends. I won't let you treat me like that, and I won't do that to you either. It's just not fair to either of us," she says it sternly, and the next sentence nearly makes him choke on his own spit, "If you wanna fuck me, you have to respect me first. I'm not one of those Touron girls that'll kiss the ground you walk on and never call you out on your bullshit."

That, he realizes, is precisely why he has always been enamored with her. It's easy to forget sometimes that what initially made him dislike her is also part of what attracts him to her. He likes that she's able to put him in his place this way without being too timid or too aggressive about it.

The way he treats girls is a topic he'll never hear the end of, both from the people around him and his own self critical thoughts.

Other kids growing up at the same time he did had a mom and dad. They had structure and genuine love in their households guiding them and showing them how they should shape their future love lives, but JJ didn't have that. His mom split when he was six after a tumultuous and violent relationship with his dad, who then siphoned his unprocessed hatred for his ex-wife into his child. It is needless to say, his life has been loveless from his conception itself.

All he knew was that sex made him feel better. It was a coping mechanism—a form of escapism that would never last but would keep everything at bay if only for a little while—and he started to gain a reputation in Kildare for sleeping around a little more than most people consider to be normal. It wasn't as if he tricked anyone into thinking he wanted anything serious though. He never fills anyone's head with the idea of being his girlfriend, but it does sting for them to essentially get used for sex and never get a call or text back.

Her voice speaking up again cuts through his faraway thoughts and brings him back the present, back to the stare cutting him to the bone.

"Cause if you don't want anything from me except sex, I don't want you. You know I have feelings for you, everyone does at this point, and I won't let you play with my heart like that."

This time, his response is immediate, as if he can't even help himself with the shock of the new information sinking into him for the first time.

He says softly, dead serious for the first time in a long time, "I didn't know that."

To have that be his first and only response to everything she's said so far scares her shitless. It makes her wonder if the risk of telling him the truth was for nothing because he doesn't give anything about himself away in the four letter phrase, except for the fact that he's been in the dark about her feelings for him. He doesn't say if they're reciprocated, or if he agrees to the rules she's setting down should their relationship progress past its previous hatred, and it terrifies her.

The vulnerability is written across her face as he looks over at her hugging her knees to her chest, pulling them from where her ankles dipped into the water to curl her body close to itself. It's an unconscious gesture that tells him everything about how she's feeling without her saying anything yet. It tells him that she doesn't know how he feels yet either, and his stomach runs rampant with butterflies at the idea of having to admit it.

"Well, now you know," she says it as casually as she can, then starts to stammer, "You don't need to feel obligated to like me back obviously, I just figured it'd be better to tell you before someone else did. Sarah was gonna slip up sooner or later anyway. Either her or Cleo. Cleo reads me real easily, it's honestly a little—"

His lips are slotted against hers mid-sentence.

She's too shocked to kiss him back for the better half of a second, her eyes wide open until it clicks with her what's happening. Then, after her delayed reaction, they flutter shut and her head dips forward to meet his in the midst of the kiss with an enthusiasm to match his.

It isn't a reincarnation of the first kiss they shared—charged with sexual tension, aggression, and years of hatred accumulated into one heated moment.

However, it's as ardent as one would expect an interrupting kiss to be. His hands are cupping her face how they had after they came out of the water from killing the shark, yet their feelings for each other in this moment couldn't be any more different. It's somewhat awkward and fumbling with her knees hugged to her chest between them, but it makes her heart soar just the same as it did when it happened the first time.

But, then, she remembers the important topic of conversation and forces herself to pull away from it, not wanting to get too distracted before they can fully resolve their issues. His kiss was an answer in and of itself, but she needs to hear him agree in order to accept the apology. She won't settle for anything less.

Their noses brush as she murmurs, "Does that mean you feel the same?"

His mouth curves into a trademarked JJ smirk that sets her heart aflame.

"Take a wild guess, Princess," he says.

The taunting nickname he uses has her shoving him with her arm so he wobbles on the edge of the water enough to get his heart pounding without pushing him in completely, but, as always since they arrived here, it's a playful shove. She had no clue of his troublesome home life before he broke down in front of them in the hot tub over the summer, and now that she does, she's careful to never be too rough with him during their meaningless "fights".

They're always taking playful shots at one another any chance they can, but she'd never want to trigger a foul memory through it. Their back and forth banter is ingrained in the love language of their relationship, so she never wants it to accidentally upset him.

In the span of time it takes for her to shove his shoulder and unintentionally create distance between them in the heated aftermath of the kiss, the tension starts to dissolve again into their typical dynamic. She smiles at him again for the first time since his mistake on the beach that night, and he lets himself appreciate it in a way he wasn't able to before they finally confessed their feelings.

Technically, he didn't say anything about his, but they both know he agreed with her. They don't need it to be said in explicit terms to know what this moment means for them. It's a turning point, that much they know, and neither of them wants to resist it, so they don't. They let it take control and drag them into the epicenter of its madness, tying their hands behind their backs to leave them helpless. It's clear to her now that there's nothing they can do to stop themselves now.

Y/N breaks his gaze and chances a mischievous glance at the waterfall, then sizes him up out of the corner of her eye. He can tell without any mythical power of mind reading or straight-up asking her what's going on in that head of hers that she's up to something. He knows her too well to miss that look on her face and mistake it as something other than her being the evil little shit she is.

"What?" he asks in dread, anticipating something far different, far more demon-eqse than what she has in mind.

Her smile grows as she stands up from the curled up position she was in and casts him another cheeky grin over her shoulders before it clicks with him what she's doing.

The wet fabric of her shirt is peeled away from her torso in one quick motion under the guidance of her hands, as if she had to build up the nerve to do it and get it over with before her nerves got the better of her. From the obscured view he's allotted from behind her, he can only see the shape of her breast from the side and watches in surprise of her actions.

Somehow, seeing her strip unprompted in the middle of the overwhelming daylight shining down at them over their secret swimming spot is more shocking to him than her jumping into shark infested waters to save John B. It takes her tossing her top aside, shimmying her panties off of her legs, and diving headfirst into the crystalline water for him to fully process the situation.

What fully wakes him up from it is her coming up from underneath water to beckon him in. She's already starting off in the direction of the waterfall, calling out to him in one last teasing invitation.

"Are you coming in or not?"

Hell yeah, I'm coming in, a voice in the back of his mind says with his body jolting into action quicker than the thought can finish itself.

She must press her lips together to stifle her laughter at the sound of him standing up and shuffling around on the ledge they sat on in a frantic effort to undress himself. The mental image she has of it is a mirror to reality: JJ almost slipping on the wet ground as he shoves his shorts and underwear off of his hips and kicks the offending material aside.

A clumsy splash reverberates through the area a second or two later, and, while he's underwater, she can't help but let out a quick burst of a giggle and peek around at the bubbling surface. The waves made by him jumping in after her bob up to her lower lip, making her spit some of it out on her leisurely swim to the other side of the natural pool.

JJ comes up looking a mess, his hair plastered to his face before he shakes it out of his eyes like a wet dog, but she has never found him more endearing than she does now. He paddles after her, fully engrossed in their little game of cat and mouse.

"Where are you going?"

She flips onto her back for a moment to see him. Her hand points to the waterfall now pouring close enough to her turned back that it sends stray droplets flying onto her shoulders and churns the water her hair floats in.

Contrary to his state of disheveled yet, as per usual, effortless beauty, she appears as native to their surroundings as the flowers growing in the woods around the water. For someone who was raised in the pristine conditions of the Kook kingdom, where the worst that can happen to a girl like her is a broken nail or unrequited frat boy crush, she fits in seamlessly with the island life they live. As it turns out, they were right to make it official through the silly ceremony they did by the fire. His girl is a Pogue through and through.

She says it loudly enough for him to hear over the rushing noise of the waterfall, "Take a wild guess," and promptly disappears within the sheet of splashing water.

The waterfall consumes her as though she was never there, her body backing up into it in swift kicks until she's hidden from him.

For a second, he's worried.

His pussy-whipped—without even getting any yet, he reminds himself—and love struck mind comes up with the possibility of her being dragged under or sucked into an underwater cave by the current with every powerful drag he makes through the water in pursuit of her. Logically, he knows it's merely a waterfall, a smaller one at that, that won't create enough of a current to do something like that.

His eyes are clamped shut under the spray of the falls on his way through, but as soon as he wipes his eyes and opens them to the awaiting natural beauty of nature, a space in the world carved specifically for them, he has to blink away his disbelief.

The waterfall acts as a divider between the outside world and the little secret she stumbled upon on her quick exploration of the area before JJ followed her here. On one side, the rest of the island sits in its bountiful glory for their friends to find them if they so please. On the other side sits an untouched cove. Leaves climb the moistened walls of the hidden paradise, leading down from the high veranda to the floor of smoothed rock that drops off into the depths of glowing blue water.

It's possibly the most beautiful thing he's ever laid eyes on. Well—his wonderstruck gaze flickers over her floating with her head dipped back in a peaceful submission to rest on the edge of the rock—almost the most beautiful thing.

She can sense him approaching in the gentle waves rippling from his movements, and her eyes peek open to see his face in the dimmed light at the same time she feels his hands taking hold of her waist.

"So, this is your new hiding spot?" he asks.

His head is tilted up to see the high "ceiling" of the small cove in quiet wonder, never having seen anything like it, even back home in Kildare. He follows the leaves climbing the walls up to the top where, he thinks, there's a small opening where a shaft of sunlight sneaks in. Following the light down to where it shines on the water next to them, his focus is taken up by the vibrant water bobbing in the tiny glimmer of light...that is until he feels her lips on his neck.

His mouth turns in a soft smirk, and she thinks his hands tighten their hold on her waist at the contact.

She shakes her head and lets herself smile against his warm, tanned skin.

"Our new hiding spot."

Tag List: @gabiatthedisco, @fangirlvoice, @black-syren, @apparrio, @particularcth, @planetdemon, @idk-ijustworkhere, @krisphann, @astrydis, @k-k0129, @zarahsloves, @sundownsdusk, @jessmaybank, and @stilesflannels.

[barrysmanbun]

On the Count of Three

A/n: This isn't edited but when is any of my shit ever edited

Description: Rafe and the reader want to go to the beach but Barry wants to spend time with them at home. They compromise by going to the beach.

Prompt: Rafe and Barry + Holding hands while jumping down from somewhere together

Warnings: Rafe x Reader, Barry x Reader, Rafe x Barry, fluff, Barry is a homebody, recreational cliff jumping, sass

~~

Today is possibly the nicest day you guys have had all year, weather-wise at least. It is sunny, not a cloud in the sky but still a comfortable 70 degrees thanks to the wind. Everyone is in a good mood, and having a blast at the beach. People took the day off from work, and even metaphorically from being a pogue or a kook or a touron so they could all share the beaches on such a nice day.

All of this doesn’t explain why you, Rafe and Barry are still at his trailer, cooped up inside.

“Come on, Barry, you’ll love it I promise.” Rafe pleads, coming up behind his partner to hug him as he pops open the beer he had just retrieved from the fridge.

Barry pulls out of Rafe’s arms, shaking his head. “No, I’m not going to the damn beach. Why would I choose to be around a bunch of idiots getting sand in places where sand don’t belong when I could be here: happy and sandless with you two?”

“Y/n, can I get some help here?” He asks, plopping down onto the couch with a huff.

Rafe and Barry both turn to look at you expectantly. “Well…” You think on it… “I know a special part of the beach that I’ve never seen anyone else at. It’s secluded, lots of shade and no one will bother us.” You reach out, taking Barry’s hand in yours and running your thumb over the back of his hand.

He looks between you and Rafe before sighing. “Fine.” He gives in and Rafe’s whiney expression turns triumphant.

Barry drags his feet through getting the bags together, and when You go down your mental checklist, naming things out loud for him to check for, he only responds in half-hearted grunts. He drags his feet getting out of the car and then drags his feet all the way to the secret spot you were talking about, barely saying 5 words the whole time.

The three of you break through the small amount of underbrush you have to trek through to reach the spot and then you’re greeted by a stunning view of the clear blue sky meeting the shinning ocean horizon. The spot itself is a decent sized clearing on a small cliff maybe 30 feet above the water. There’s a small rocky pathway to the left side that’s maybe a one minute trek that can be used as stairs to a small sandy beach area.

You glance over to Barry, smiling to yourself when you see his reaction to the beautiful area.

“What do you think?” You ask, setting down your tote bag as you turn to face him.

His eyes snap to you as he schools his expression, probably hoping you didn’t see how impressed he was. “It’s alright.” He grumbles, tossing his bag down next to yours.

You pull the blanket from your bag, setting it on the ground as Rafe strips off his shirt, and begins the trek down to the beach.

“Where’s he going?” Barry asks, stretching out his neck in an attempt to get a better look without moving.

“There’s a little path that way,” You explain. “It leads to the beach area I was telling you about. You finish setting up the blanket and pull out the sunscreen. Even if Rafe is crazy enough to not wear sunscreen you’re not. “Will you be swimming with us?”

You know he had changed into swimming trunks and brought a change of shorts, or rather Rafe had forced him to, but you didn’t know if he was actually willing to swim with you guys. Barry thinks on it quietly as he watches you rub the sunscreen into your skin. When it’s time for you to do your back he walks over and takes the sunscreen from you without you even having to ask.

His rough hands gently massage the sunscreen into your skin, the both of you quiet until he finally says, “Yeah, I guess I will.”

With a gleeful smile you whip around, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him on the cheek. “Thank you, baby.” You giggle, and then you quickly begin to apply the sunscreen to him before you drag him down the pathway.

The two of you meet Rafe there, who’s already waist-deep in the water. He turns when he sees you coming, smiling as he sees you dragging Barry behind you.

“Decided to join us, Barry?”

“Shut up, country club,” he grumbles just loud enough for Rafe to hear him. He hesitates at the water’s edge, glancing out towards the horizon then back at his partners.

“Don’t worry, you’re as far from made of sugar as someone can get. The water won’t melt you.” Rafe teases, a playful smirk blossoming on his face as Barry immediately gets a disgruntled look on his face.

“Alright, that’s it pretty boy, I’m gonna kick yo’ ass.” And with that Barry storms into the water after Rafe.

Maybe 40 minutes later the three of you pull yourselves back up to the cliffside, all smiles and loose limbs as you collapse on the blanket with tired sighs.

“You have to admit, that was a lot of fun.” You say to Barry as you grab his hand, giving it a squeeze. He rolls his eyes, not agreeing or disagreeing with what you said.

Rafe sits up on his elbows so he can see Barry from where he lays on your opposite side. “And to think none of this would have happened if we had sat on our asses in your trailer like you wanted.”

Barry turns to glare at Rafe, but the tall boy’s attention is already caught on something else. He stares towards the cliff’s edge as his expression slowly turns from teasing to scheming.

“Rafe… whatcha thinking about?” You ask, curious but also nervous. Most of his schemes end very, very badly.

“I want to jump off the cliff.” He states, then keeps to his feet with surprising ease.

You quickly stand after him, catching up only to grab his wrist and pull him back. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, baby…” You murmur, looking out at the water nervously.

“Babe.” He pulls you a couple steps forward, then motions down to the water at the edge of the cliff, “It’s maybe 25 feet, 30 if we’re pushing it. There's no rocks at the bottom, I would have noticed that when we were swimming.” He then takes both your hands in his, pulling you close to him till your chests are brushing and he can wrap his arms around your middle. “Jump with me,” He whispers sweetly, leaning over to brush his lips against yours seductively. Oh boy, are you really contemplating jumping off a cliff with this boy just because he asked nicely? Yes. Yes you are.

“Uh uh. Nope.” Barry pushes himself to his feet, shaking his head as he does. “Not happenin’.”

“Come one, Barry-” Rafe tries the same tactic on him, pulling him in and leaning down to brush a kiss to his lips but Barry simply leans back and shakes his head again.

“You’re fuckin’ crazy, baby boy, ain’t no way I’m lettin’ either of you jump off that damn cliff. Not a way in hell.”

“It’s completely safe.” Rafe tries to reason, “there’s no rocks at the bottom, we all know how to swim, it’s barely even 30 feet. We’ll be fine.” When Barry still doesn’t budge Rafe tries a different tactic. “Why don’t you come with us? It’ll be fun…” Rafe slides his hand from the middle of Barry’s back down to teasingly cup his ass, “Get the blood pumping. He murmurs, leaning in for another kiss. Barry ducks away again, shaking his head, though his movements are slower and more hesitant this time.

Rafe turns his puppy eyes on you, obviously expecting you to back him up.

You bite your lip, looking between your two partners. Rafe is set on this, you can tell by the stubborn look in his eyes, and Barry is already visibly bending to Rafe’s will. You don’t doubt Rafe’s hand still palming Barry’s ass cheek is helping with that.

With a small sigh and a glance over your shoulder and down at the water you say, “Rafe is right, Bear. It's only 30 feet. It will be fun."

Barry stares at you like you grew two heads, then slowly his shoulders slump and he lets out a groan. "Damnit," he mutters, pulling out of Rafe's arms.

"Fine. Fine, I'll fuckin' jump." He huffs, beginning to mutter under his breath, "Fuckin' crazy, ya' both are."

Rafe and you stand next to each other, facing the water, and with one last unintelligible grumble, he joins you. You wonder if Rafe is going to count to 3, or just jump, when suddenly you feel two warm hands grab ahold of your own at the same time. Rafe's hand is slightly larger, smoother, while Barry's is rough and holds onto your hand like you'll die if he doesn't.

"Alright." Rafe finally says, sounding slightly out of breath already. "On 3? One… two… three."

And then he's jumping, and so are you, pulling Barry down with you guys. Only a few seconds later you connect with the water, letting go of their hands on instinct so you can swim back to the top. You break the surface, inhaling the air deeply as you search for your partners. Rafe surfaces, then Barry, and you smile widely as you make eye contact with the both of them. A bout of giddy adrenaline rips a giggle from your throat and then all three of you are laughing as you hold yourself afloat in the water. The three of you swim the short distance to the beach.

"You two are fuckin' crazy," Barry chuckles, shaking his head with a fond look in his eyes. "You're fuckin' crazy people."

"We're your crazy people," Rafe states with a lopsided smirk, shaking the water from his hair.

Barry snorts. "You're somethin' alright."

[junghelioseok]

clandestine. | 04

↳ forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest.

◇ jungkook x reader ◇ smut | fluff | brother’s best friend!au ◇ 6.5k [4/6]

notes: we finally have a set chapter count! did this fic really need to be 6 chapters? absolutely not, but here we are! i’m hoping to have this fella finished up in the next month or so, but we’ll see how that goes given my track record. happy new year, everyone!

warnings: a little underedited bc i’m lazy, shower sex!!! mild? exhibitionist tendencies??? reader is dumb and jungkook is slutty, but what else is new 🤷🏻‍♀️

⇢ 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 

“I swear to god, I am going to amputate your arm with a rusty hacksaw if you elbow me one more time.”

Undeterred, your brother prods you again, pouting at you from his spot in the driver’s seat. “I just want another chip, Noona. Don’t be so mean.”

“Are you a baby bird?” you ask in disbelief, gaping at the way he opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue. “Seriously, I’m not feeding you. Get your own chips if you want them so badly.”

“But I’ve gotta keep both hands on the wheel,” he replies cheekily. “Ten and two positions, at all times.”

You frown. “Didn’t they change it to nine and three?” Nonetheless, you reluctantly reach into the bag in your lap, pulling out a potato chip and delivering it to his waiting mouth. “Next one’s going straight into your nose,” you warn as he happily crunches down on the snack.

Jimin simply offers you a beatific grin in between chews. “Love you too.”

“Nope, I changed my mind. Next one’s going up your ass.”

Your brother has long since grown used to your threats. “Kinky,” he chuckles as he merges smoothly into the next lane over. The song on the radio shifts into something more upbeat, and Jungkook is quick to start humming along under his breath from his spot in the seat behind you. Within minutes, it’s morphed into a singalong, and the offkey warbling of all seven passengers—no matter how dissonant—is a perfect soundtrack for the remainder of the drive.

The beach, when you arrive, is awash with tourists and locals alike, all clamoring to lay claim to a prime stretch of sand and a decent parking space. Jimin manages to snag a spot just as someone else is pulling out, and the rest of you are quick to disembark and scope out the beach for somewhere to set up camp. Plopping your bag down onto the sand, you rifle through it until you find your sunscreen, mentally patting yourself on the back for buying the spray instead of the cream.

“Can I borrow that when you’re done, Noona?” Taehyung asks, watching you wrench off the cap.

You nod, squinting against the sunlight. “Sure. As long as you help me get my entire back.”

“Deal.”

Flashing him a grateful smile, you shimmy out of your shorts and begin applying sunscreen to your arms and legs. Taehyung peels off his t-shirt, and you spray him down too, making sure to coat his entire back before he takes the bottle and does the same to you.

“I might have gone a little overboard,” he admits once he’s done, capping the bottle and tossing it back into your bag. Warm hands settle onto your exposed shoulder blades, deft fingertips rubbing the excess product into your skin. “There, that should do it. All better.”

“Thanks, Tae.” You turn around and reach out, wiping at a stray fleck of the white lotion on his bicep. “You’ve got a little bit here too, hang on—“

“Mind if I borrow this?”

You turn at the sound of Jungkook’s voice. The dark-haired young man is standing there with your sunscreen in hand, his gaze zeroed in on the way your fingertips linger on Taehyung’s bare skin. Awkwardly, you pull away and nod, hoping that neither of them can hear your heart pounding erratically against your ribcage.

“Yeah. Sure. It’s all yours.”

Jungkook grabs his white t-shirt by the collar, tugging it up and over his head in one smooth motion, and you swallow at the way his taut abdomen flexes as he tosses it aside. “You’ll help me get my back too, won’t you, Noona?”

You nod, moving before he can even finish his sentence. Your feet carry you across the sandy ground on autopilot, and Jungkook exhales audibly as your palms smooth along the golden expanse of his muscular back, dipping down to the waistband of his black swim trunks. Ever since his visit to your bedroom last night, you’ve been itching to touch him—to feel every last inch of him. It’s impossible with your watchful brother and group of nosy friends hovering around though, so you settle for this—rubbing sunscreen into his warm skin while he sprays down his arms and legs.

“Thanks, princess,” he murmurs once you’re done, soft enough so that only you can hear and raising gooseflesh on the back of your neck. “Maybe next time, you’ll let me repay the favor.”

Then Yugyeom is calling his name, and Jungkook sprints down to the shoreline to join his friend in the crashing surf, his face creasing with laughter. Each time he emerges from the waves, droplets cling to his skin like glistening diamonds in the sunlight. It’s impossible to look away from the sight, and your tongue darts out to moisten your lips as you watch water drip off his hair and down his nape, pooling in his collarbones before he shakes his head like a dog and sends it spraying in all directions.

All that sunscreen is going to waste, a tiny voice in your head points out, but it’s hard to worry about that when you’re too busy following the path of the water streaming down past his dusky nipples to the ridges of his abdomen. And it’s almost as if he feels your gaze on him, because he’s suddenly staring right back at you, a wicked smirk tugging at his lips.

“Come on, Noona,” he calls, raking a hand through his drenched hair. “The water’s fine. Don’t make me drag you in.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” you call back, immediately regretting it when something equal parts mischievous and dangerous flashes across his face. There’s a glint in his eye that wasn’t there before, and you back away nervously as he emerges from the waves and saunters toward you. “Jungkook—”

“Yes?” he asks, his voice dropping down into a low purr. “What is it, princess?”

You edge around the towel that you’ve laid out in the sand, as if such a flimsy barrier could stop him in any way. “Just—just don’t dunk me under,” you plead.

Jungkook looks genuinely offended by that. “I would never,” he says, laying a hand over his heart and grabbing yours with his free one. “Now come on—let’s get you wet.”

You groan at the innuendo and try to tug free from his grip, but Jungkook only tightens his grasp, cackling the whole way down to the water.

///

The sun is just beginning to set, streaking the blue sky through with wispy strands of orange and gold, when Jimin raises his hand and declares it dinner time. For the past two hours, you’ve all been engrossed in a very tight three-on-three volleyball match with Jimin serving as referee, and upon hearing your brother’s declaration, Minho looks about ready to chuck the ball into the ocean.

“Dude, are you fucking serious? We’re literally two points from winning!” He gestures wildly at an invisible scoreboard only he can see. “No way we’re stopping here. I refuse on principle.”

“Yeah, I wanna see who the real winner is, too,” Jungkook drawls from the other end of the court, where he’s flanked on either side by Taehyung and Yugyeom. “I mean, we’ve been leading for most of the tournament, so…”

Minho scowls. “And we’re about to win the whole damn thing. Just you wait, Jeon.”

Behind him, you and Taemin exchange helpless glances. It isn’t the first time you’ve seen Jungkook and Minho squabble over the years, and you’re sure it won’t be the last. Both possess a razor sharp competitive streak and a certain pigheadedness that only emerges when it comes to athletic endeavors, and luckily, your brother knows this just as well as you do. Heaving a sigh, Jimin wearily gestures for them to continue, resuming his post at the end of the net. “Fine, fine,” he mutters. “Next point wins.”

On the other side of the net, Jungkook’s eyes narrow. “I’m good with that if you are.”

“Oh, I’m good,” Minho retorts. “It’s our serve. You ready?”

Jungkook smirks. “Bring it on.”

Minho cracks his knuckles and tosses the ball over to you for the serve. “All right then, let’s fucking do this.”

You sigh. Taking a deep breath, you heft up the ball, testing its weight before hitting it smoothly over the net. Yugyeom jumps up to intercept, batting it back over to your side, and Minho attempts to spike it back and into the sand. Unfortunately, Jungkook is too quick, and dives down to bump it back over to you. The back and forth continues like this for a while—you see Jimin boredly scrolling on his phone out of the corner of your eye—and you’re strongly considering calling it quits when Jungkook smashes the ball over the net and into the ground right at Minho’s feet.

“And that’s game,” he declares proudly, raking his sweaty hair off his forehead with a triumphant grin.

“Are you finally done?” Jimin asks, rolling his eyes and pocketing his phone. “Thank god. Can we eat now?”

Jungkook claps him on the back in affirmation, ignoring Minho’s loud, adamant protests that your team still technically won. Together, you head back to where your towels and bags sit in the sand, grabbing bottles of chilled water out of the cooler and fishing for snacks. Jimin pulls a package of hot dogs out while Taehyung rips open a bag of chips, and you follow their lead and grab the hamburger patties and buns. “Huh, I swear I bought ketchup,” you mumble to yourself as you rummage through the half-melted ice in the cooler. “Is it not in here?”

“I have it.” Jungkook materializes at your side, proffering the little red bottle. He’s pulled his white t-shirt back on, the material a stark contrast to his tanned skin, and you silently rise to your feet to take it when a sudden wave of lightheadedness rushes over you and sends the world spinning.

“Whoa,” you gasp, swaying on your feet. “Oh, god.”

Jungkook frowns and drops the ketchup bottle, steadying you until most of your weight is leaned against him. “Noona? Are you okay?”

You swallow, hard, and try to shake the unexpected bout of dizziness away. “I don’t know. Got dizzy, all of a sudden. I think I might have stood up too fast?”

Gently, Jungkook presses the back of his hand against your forehead. “You feel pretty warm,” he murmurs. “Have you had enough water today?”

“I thought I drank plenty, but maybe not,” you admit, and he nods decisively and gestures for you to follow him.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s grab some water and go somewhere quiet so you can rest. Minho isn’t going to shut up about that match anytime soon, and it’s cooler down by the water.”

You laugh weakly. “We did technically win, you know. We had one more point than you guys.”

“God, not you too,” Jungkook sighs, casting you a playful look over his shoulder as he digs two bottles of water out from the cooler. He uncaps one and hands it over before taking a swig out of his, and you take a grateful sip, relishing in the cool liquid that trickles down your throat.

Nearby, your brother and the rest of the boys have commandeered one of several firepits scattered around the edges of the beach. They’re piling up pieces of driftwood and some of the long, tall sea grass that Taehyung has found, and Jungkook waves at them as he slowly guides you toward the ocean with a hand on your back. “We’re gonna go find some more wood!” he calls, and Jimin raises a hand in acknowledgment before turning back to the firepit.

Water laps gently at your toes as you and Jungkook walk along the shore, washing away all traces of your footprints. The sun dips below the horizon at last, illuminating the sky in one last burst of red and orange and gold that slowly fades into deep purples and blues as night falls. The temperature dips as the moon ascends to her lofty throne, accompanied by a smattering of starry pinpricks. Most of the beachgoers have packed up and left by this point, and here, with nothing but Jungkook’s quiet, familiar presence and the lapping waves, you feel more at peace than you have in a long time.

“You know, I’m really glad I came this weekend,” you say softly, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between the two of you. Your gaze drops down to your toes, fixing your attention on a pearly white seashell that’s sticking out from the wet sand. “I think you were right—I really did need a break from everything.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t quite catch that,” Jungkook says, swirling his pinky in his ear. “Could you say it again? Something about me being right?”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

Jungkook casts a quick look over his shoulder, and when you follow the trajectory of his gaze, you notice just how far you’ve gotten from the firepit where the others are sitting. Darkness has settled over the beach, the sand painted a wan silver from the light of the moon, and you flinch when Jungkook’s hand finds its way around yours.

“Jungkook—” you begin, but trail off when he twines your fingers together and gives your hand a squeeze.

“They can’t see us, Noona,” he murmurs. “Relax.”

Easier said than done, you want to say. Nevertheless, you suck in a deep breath and take another sip from your water bottle, trying to ignore the way Jungkook swings your interlocked hands between you as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Shouldn’t—shouldn’t we be trying to find more driftwood?” you ask after several long seconds have dragged by. “We need way more if we’re gonna keep the fire going.”

Jungkook hums softly and veers inland, until the sand beneath your feet is dry and starts sticking to your wet toes. You come across a few scattered pieces of wood, dried out by the sun, and tuck them beneath your arm. Likewise, Jungkook gathers a few pieces of his own, hefting them up before reaching out to take your hand once more. His fingers slot all too comfortably into the spaces between yours, and your heart stutters a few times in your chest before plunking down into your churning stomach.

Nighttime has well and truly settled over the beach by the time you and Jungkook start picking your way back over to rejoin the group around the firepit. You pull your hand out of Jungkook’s well before you reach the ring of orange light that the flames cast across the sand, your arm now swinging free at your side and your fingers cold from the loss of his warmth. Silently, you hasten your pace and plop down onto the towel that Jimin has spread out, stretching out your legs toward the fire and wiggling your toes.

“Where have you guys been?” Jimin asks curiously. “You just kinda wandered off.”

“Getting more driftwood,” you reply, gesturing at the small pile you’ve dropped at the edge of the towel. “We told you that’s where we were going.”

Jimin frowns for a few seconds before the memory resurfaces. “Oh, right. I forgot.”

Jungkook snorts and takes a seat beside you, dropping his stack of driftwood on top of yours. “Dumbass.”

“You’re a dumbass,” Jimin retorts.

“You’re both dumbasses,” you sigh.

The fire crackles merrily, sending orange sparks up into the velvety black sky. There’s a grill situated over the flames, loaded with hamburger patties and hot dogs, and you watch as Jimin tears open a bag of hot dog buns and begins to place them around the edges.

“Hey, can you throw me the hamburger buns?” he asks you. “I wanna try toasting them.”

“You’re gonna burn them,” you tell him flatly. Nonetheless, you locate the second bag and toss it over, watching as he makes more room on the grill.

Dinner is a loud, chaotic affair, filled with laughter and conversation and plenty of booze to go around. Jimin has procured a flask of whiskey from somewhere in his clothing—an impressive feat in and of itself, considering he’s only wearing swim trunks and a thin blue t-shirt. You wave him off when he offers you a sip, and he shrugs and throws back a generous swallow himself. Then he offers it to Jungkook, who shakes his head and raises his water bottle. “Designated driver,” he says. “I’m sticking to water tonight.”

Curiously, you glance over at him. “You don’t have to do that. I wasn’t planning on drinking, so I can drive us back.”

“With the way you were looking earlier?” Jungkook fixes you with a look of pure disbelief. “Not a chance. Besides, we’re going back to the real world tomorrow, and the last thing I need is to be hungover. I have to get us back home in one piece, not to mention the entire menu I still have to memorize for work.”

You hum. Jungkook has mentioned his new job a few times—a summer stint working as a server at a new restaurant opened by a family friend named Seokjin. “Right, I remember you saying that. You start on Monday, don’t you?”

“Dinner shift,” Jungkook confirms. “I stole a whole bunch of pens from Junghyun’s room the other day in preparation. Jin said I’d probably end up losing two-thirds of them by the end of the week.”

“That sounds about right,” you tell him with a laugh. “Some guy stole my favorite pen last summer when I was working at that diner on Main. Lesson learned, forever.”

Jungkook laughs. “Yeah, I bet.”

You grin. “But, hey, seriously. If you need me to quiz you on that menu, I’ve got time to spare.”

“Honestly, I might take you up on that offer. I have flash cards, and everything.” He uncaps his water bottle and takes a long sip, his throat bobbing with each swallow, before glancing back over at you. “What about you? You ready for your internship?”

You sigh and offer him a helpless little shrug. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready, to be honest. I don’t think I’m going to stop stressing about it until I get through my first day. The entire thing still doesn’t feel real.”

“I get that,” Jungkook hums. “Well, I can imagine it, at least. I won’t pretend to know exactly what you’re going through, since I’ve never had an adult job, but—“ He shrugs a shoulder halfheartedly. “I can kind of relate, I guess.”

“All jobs suck a little bit,” you tell him, and Jungkook lets out a derisive huff of agreement.

“I’ll drink to that,” he says, and the two of you tap your water bottles together before rejoining the conversation with the rest of your friends.

///

The drive back to the lake house is shorter than you remember it being—though that might be because you spend most of it watching Jungkook drive. He steers with one hand slung carelessly over the wheel, his expression relaxed as he sings along to whatever pop hit plays on the radio. Unloading the car is a team effort, though you hear no shortage of complaints from Jimin as he heaves the cooler over the threshold of the house before collapsing atop it in a pile of limp limbs.

“Thanks for leaving me to carry this thing by myself,” he snarks, not even bothering to raise his head. “Really appreciate it.”

“Don’t be a baby,” Taehyung scoffs, tossing a game console at him. “Have a beer and pick something to play. We’re waiting on you.”

You watch as your brother immediately hops up and darts over to join the rest of the boys lounging in the living room, fighting back the sudden wave of exhaustion that washes over you. “I think I’m going to head to bed,” you tell them, hiding a yawn behind your hand. “Goodnight, guys.”

A chorus of goodnights and see you in the mornings rings out in response, and you wave before heading down the hall to your room and into the adjoining bathroom. Your hair is crusty from being submerged in the salty water of the ocean, and a shower to rejuvenate your dehydrated skin is just what you need. Turning on the tap, you wait until it’s flowing warm before stripping out of your clothes and tossing them onto your bed to deal with later. Then you step into the shower and tilt your head back, letting the water stream down your face and soak into your hair.

You’re midway through squeezing a generous dollop of shampoo into your palm when there’s a soft knock on the door. “Noona?” Jungkook’s voice filters through the sound of rushing water, low and lilting like a song. “You left kinda fast. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

You cap the shampoo bottle and replace it on the shelf, peering out from behind the shower curtain. “I’m fine,” you call, hesitating before you steel your nerves and continue. “You can come in, if you want. I don’t like yelling through the door.”

Slowly, the bathroom door eases open, revealing Jungkook standing in his and Jimin’s shared bedroom. His brown eyes are wide as he takes in the sight before him, and you have no doubt that he’s thinking about just what the palm tree patterned curtain is hiding from his view. Your lip finds its way between your teeth when you notice him shuffle his feet awkwardly for a moment before stepping a little closer to where you’re standing beneath the spray, his mouth opening to speak.

“Join me?”

The invitation slips past your lips, unbidden, but you have no intention of taking it back. Not when Jungkook’s gaze darkens to obsidian at those two simple words, his mouth snapping shut and his hands already reaching for the hem of his white t-shirt. Not when he strips it off in one smooth motion to reveal all the dips and ridges of his abdomen, his skin golden even under the harsh fluorescent bathroom lights. And certainly not when he pulls aside the shower curtain and joins you beneath the spray, his dark eyes appreciatively raking up and down your bare figure.

“Hey,” he says, his voice a low purr.

“Hi,” you respond, reaching out and trailing a fingertip down his chest.

And then you’re dropping down to your knees, your tongue darting out to tease at the tip of his already rising cock. One hand finds its way to his balls while the other traces the line of his pelvic bone, and you smirk when you feel him let out a shuddery breath.

“Fuck,” he rasps. “Someone’s eager.”

You wrap your lips around the tip of his cock, humming, and Jungkook’s fingers fly into your dampened hair. “Oh, fuck. You’re really trying to kill me, huh, princess?” he asks, and you respond by taking a little more of him into your mouth, laving at the vein running along the underside of his length before hollowing your cheeks. Jungkook throws his head back, a deep groan escaping his parted lips, and you preen under his encouragement as he urges you to take him deeper.

You’ve just begun to settle into a rhythm—figuring out exactly how much pressure he likes and what makes his hips buck—when he suddenly pushes you away. “Jung—” you begin, only to have him silence you with a searing kiss, grabbing you around the waist and hauling you to your feet.

“Wanna fuck you properly,” he rasps. His hand finds its way between your legs, experimental fingers sliding through the wetness that’s gathered there, and your cheeks heat up when he brings them to his mouth and licks them clean. “Just let me go grab a condom,” he whispers urgently. “Don’t move a muscle, okay? I’ll be righ—”

You silence him with a hard kiss. “Don’t,” you mumble. “I’m clean. Are you?”

Jungkook nods slowly, his eyes wide. “Does that mean… I mean, are you…?”

“I’m on the pill,” you murmur. “Fuck me raw, Jungkook.”

A sharp gasp escapes you when Jungkook cages you against the cool tiled wall of the shower, the slick surface dampened by the spray from the showerhead. He grabs ahold of your thigh and hoists it up to wrap around his waist, and you’ve never been more thankful for the ugly fish patterned shower mat that your mom insisted on putting down to prevent slipping. Jungkook nestles into the newly created space between your legs, his cock hot and slick against your center, and you keen when he grinds against you in a slow, deliberate motion.

“You feel that?” he rasps into your ear, his breath hot against your cheek. “Feel how hard you get me, Noona?”

“God, Jungkook,” you breathe back. “Just fuck me already, will you?”

His answering chuckle sends a shiver from your toes to your crown. “So needy,” he murmurs, his hand sliding from your thigh to your hip. His mouth seeks out yours as he positions the head of his cock at your entrance, meeting little resistance as he slowly begins pushing inside. Your walls part willingly for him and your lips do too—his questing tongue slipping inside when you moan and beginning his seemingly endless task of mapping out every corner of your mouth.

“God, I forgot how big you are,” you breathe when he bottoms out—the entirety of his hot, heavy length sheathed within your walls. Your head falls back against the tile as he rolls his hips experimentally, a moan that sounds vaguely like Jungkook’s name escaping your lips. Your arms come up to brace on his shoulders as he picks up his pace, but he intercepts one of your hands and twines your fingers together, settling them onto the wall just to the left of your head. His other hand returns to your thigh to keep you stable and spread out for his increasingly harsh thrusts, and you whimper helplessly in his ironclad grip.

“That’s it,” he whispers, groaning when you clench around him. “God, you’re so fucking tight, princess.”

“Fuck me open, then,” you moan back, squeezing his hand and meeting his next thrust with one of your own. Jungkook’s breathing stutters, and you laugh breathlessly at the way his mouth falls open at the spike of pleasure. Emboldened, you grind against him, the spray from the shower easing the movement. “Jungkook, please.”

He chuckles hoarsely. “Careful what you wish for,” he purrs against the shell of your ear, punctuating the warning with a harsh roll of his hips that sends all remaining thought flying out of your head. In this moment, there’s only Jungkook—his dark hair dampened and dripping, the spray from the showerhead slicking his chest and pooling in his clavicle before trailing down each ridge and dip of his honeyed skin. His lips find yours again, and you sigh into the kiss as he begins to fuck you in earnest.

“Hey, Jungkook! You in there?”

Your eyes fly open at the new voice, your body tensing when there are several loud bangs on the door. Jungkook freezes mid-thrust with an expression that can only be described as a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck, his throat bobbing nervously as he fights to find a response. You can practically see the gears whirring in his brain, and shove uselessly at his chest in an attempt to escape his steely embrace.

“That’s Jimin,” you hiss urgently, turning his face toward yours and prodding his cheek until his gaze refocuses. “What the fuck are we going to do?”

“Dude.” Jimin’s voice is laced with irritation. “I wanna brush my teeth! What the hell are you doing in there?”

Jungkook hesitates, glancing between you and the closed bathroom door. Then he inhales deeply, pressing a light kiss to your furrowed forehead before pulling the shower curtain closed, ensuring there are no gaps. “I got you,” he murmurs softly, his brown eyes boring into yours. “Don’t worry, okay?”

Your eyes flutter shut at the gentle pressure of his lips against your skin, but they fly open again when Jungkook breaks away and yells for Jimin to come in. Warm palms slide soothingly down your sides, but that doesn’t stop you from tensing up when the bathroom door creaks open, your brother’s soft footsteps approaching the flimsy palm tree patterned curtain.

“Have you been showering this whole time? Jeez. Leave some hot water for the rest of us, will you?”

Jungkook chuckles. Ever so slowly, he pushes forward until he’s fully seated inside you again, and you do your best to level a glare at him even as pleasure flares at the base of your spine. “There’s plenty to go around,” he says. “Relax.”

You get the distinct feeling that he’s not just addressing Jimin anymore. Jungkook pulls back until only the top of his cock remains nestled in your folds, and you open your mouth to berate him but all that comes out is a low moan when he sinks back inside you in one swift push.

On the other side of the curtain, you hear the faucet turn on. “Man, I can’t believe we leave tomorrow,” Jimin says over the sound of running water. “The weekend flew by.”

“Mmm,” Jungkook hums, brushing a thumb across your clit. The pace he’s set is slow and deep, and is made all the more sensual by the steam that’s steadily building up in the small room. You try once more to push him away—to quell the growing ache between your legs—but it’s all in vain as he chuckles softly into the crook of your neck, his bare shoulders quaking. “I got you, princess,” he murmurs, his voice a wicked little whisper that’s immediately lost in the spray of water. “Just let me take care of you, yeah?”

You don’t have a chance to answer. Jimin starts speaking again, this time accompanied by the sound of toothbrush bristles scrubbing against his teeth. “I’m starting up at the studio as soon as we get back—isn’t that crazy? I mean, I’ve never taught anyone how to dance before. Not really. Not for real.”

Jungkook snaps his hips up so sharply that you nearly mewl in surprise, forced to bite down into his meaty shoulder to muffle the noises that threaten to escape from your throat. “You’re a great tutor, man,” he says, his voice steady even as he resumes his slow, lazy thrusts, his cock dragging along your fluttering walls. “You’ve been helping people with math for, what, two years? What makes you think it’ll be any different with dancing?”

Jimin spits into the sink and sighs. “I don’t know. It’s scarier because there’ll be more people, I guess. Tutoring is one on one, y’know? And at the studio, I’ll have a full class of people watching me. Every single move I make, they’ll be looking at. That’s fucking terrifying to think about.”

Slowly, Jungkook’s hips still, his cock buried to the hilt in your cunt. Your heartbeat drums in your ears, backed by the relentless spray from the showerhead, and Jungkook leans down to plant a wet kiss on your cheek, his hair dripping.

“You’re a great dancer, Jimin,” he says once he’s pulled back and straightened back up to his full height. “Best one I know. You’re also one of the smartest people I know, but right now, you’re being really fucking dumb.”

There’s a clatter that sounds like a plastic toothbrush being dropped into the sink, and Jimin lets out an affronted squeak. “Hey!”

Jungkook just chuckles, his shoulders quaking. “It’s true,” he says easily. “Seriously, man. You don’t have a thing to worry about. You’re gonna kick ass out there, and your class is gonna be awesome. You’re already, what, almost maxed out on the number of registrants? You’re already killing it.”

Your brother lets out an unintelligible grumble on the other side of the shower curtain, but you can still hear the smile in his voice no matter how hard he tries to mask it. “All right, you fucking sap,” Jimin says at last, his soft footsteps padding toward the door. “Hurry up and get out of there, yeah? You’re really gonna use up all the hot water.”

The door clicks shut behind him, and you immediately smack Jungkook in the middle of his stupidly toned chest. “Oh my god!” you hiss. “Are you kidding me right now, Jeon? We could’ve been caught!”

“But we weren’t,” Jungkook replies easily, shaking his dampened hair out of his face and fixing you with an indolent little smirk. “So why don’t you be a good girl and cum for me now?”

///

The next morning brings with it a whirlwind of frenzied packing, and you mentally congratulate yourself for preemptively gathering all of your belongings together last night. Minho is wandering every last inch of the house with a piece of half-eaten toast dangling from his mouth, and you can hear Taehyung in the distance asking if anyone’s seen his strawberry body wash. Jungkook is seated on the floor near the front door, his brows furrowed and his lower lip jutting out in a pout as he fights to close the zipper of his suitcase.

“Got it!” he exclaims after a few seconds, triumphant. “Where’s your stuff, Noona? I’m gonna load the car.”

You begin to stand up from your spot on the couch. “It’s in my room, let me go get—”

Jungkook is on his feet and halfway down the hall before you can even finish your sentence. He returns a moment later with your luggage in tow, shooting you a grin and a wink as he passes by. “I got you, princess,” he murmurs. “Remember?”

Of course you do. You remember like it was yesterday—because, well, it was yesterday and you haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since. You remember the moment you shared at the beach and the way his hand felt so right wrapped around your own. You remember the way you’d dropped to your knees for him so readily in the shower last night. And you definitely remember the way he’d fucked you afterward—slow and deep in the best possible way, even with your brother’s untimely interruption.

After what feels like an eternity, both cars are finally packed and ready to go. You bid goodbye to the boys who are riding with Jimin, promising to stay in touch, before climbing into the passenger seat of Jungkook’s beat-up sedan. Jungkook himself is already lounging behind the wheel, his sunglasses perched low on his nose as he fiddles with his phone. He looks up at your entrance and flashes you a smile, tapping his screen a few more times before holding it up so you can see.

“I changed your contact photo,” he says. “Like it?”

You peer at his phone, and something in your chest clenches when you see the photo he’s selected. You’re on the beach beside the volleyball net, illuminated by the setting sun. The sky is streaked through with pink and orange behind you, but through some editing magic, Jungkook has made it so that you are glowing even brighter in the foreground—with laughter etched across your face and the wind in your hair. It’s a beautiful photograph, and you tell him so, unable to contain the dangerously warm affection blossoming in your chest.

“I love it,” you say. “I usually don’t like having my photo taken, but wow. You have a talent for this.”

Jungkook’s smile grows. “I have a pretty muse,” he replies, and your cheeks warm.

The door to the backseat opens with a bang, and you nearly jump out of your skin at the sudden sound. “Yo,” Yugyeom says, plopping down and buckling his seatbelt. “We ready to roll?”

Jungkook scowls and puts his phone back into his pocket. “Careful with the door, man. I need this thing to last through the summer.”

Yugyeom puts his hands up in apology, and Jungkook turns back to face the front, starting the ignition with a flick of his wrist. The engine sputters to life, and Jungkook waits for Jimin to pull out first before following after him, tailing the van out of the driveway and onto the winding road that will take you back into the city.

“Music?” you ask, gesturing at the stereo.

“Go for it,” Jungkook replies. “You want my phone so you can put on the roadtrip mix?”

“Sure.”

With the help of the upbeat music and Jungkook’s tendency to drive just a touch over the speed limit, you make it to the winding roads of Yugyeom’s neighborhood in what must be record time. “You missed the turn,” Yugyeom says lazily from where he’s sprawled across the entire backseat. “Turn left here—we can circle around and approach from the other side.”

Two more turns and a descent down a steep hill later, Jungkook manages to successfully drop Yugyeom off at his house. The drive across town takes no time at all, and before long, you’re cruising into your neighborhood, coasting past Jungkook’s driveway and straight into yours.

“Looks like we beat Jimin back,” you remark, looking at the empty spot where the van usually sits.

Jungkook hums. “Makes sense. He has more people to drop off.”

“Mm. Yeah.”

The sudden awkwardness that falls doesn’t go unnoticed by you. Clearing your throat, you reach for your purse, grabbing it from where it’s fallen to the ground near your feet. “I guess I’ll see you around then,” you begin, turning to open the door.

A strong hand wraps around your wrist, forcing you back into your seat. “Is that it?” Jungkook asks, and there’s an edge of something you can’t quite place in his voice. “Are you gonna go back to pretending like there’s nothing between us?”

You shake him free. “There isn’t anything between us,” you whisper. “We’re not on vacation anymore, Jungkook. We’re back home. Back to real life. We can’t do—whatever it is that we’ve been doing.”

“But you’re attracted to me,” Jungkook growls. “You like me. So why do you keep running away?”

A sigh escapes you. “Jungkook, it doesn’t matter if I like you or no—”

He interrupts before you can even finish your sentence. “Yes it does. It’s the only thing that matters.” And then he’s pulling you into his chest, taking advantage of your skewed sense of balance, and crushing his mouth to yours.

This kiss is different from the others you’ve shared so far. It’s hungry and passionate, and yet it’s tinged with something else—something that feels strangely akin to desperation. Jungkook kisses you with urgency, and it’s so raw and unbridled that it steals the very breath from your lungs and leaves you lightheaded.

Jungkook doesn’t say a word when he pulls away. Instead, he reaches down, popping the handle that opens the trunk and stepping out to pull your suitcase from within. Silently, he presses the handle into your hand.

And then he’s turning—climbing back into his car and leaving you with nothing but the memory of his lips and a whirlwind of thoughts in your mind.

[honey-dewey]

Worthless Comforts

Pairing: Din Djarin/Reader

Word Count: 2,146

Warnings: None

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell @star-wars-hell

Reader shows Din the small comforts that make life worthwhile. Like sleeping in a real bed and eating three meals a day. 

Life aboard the Razor Crest was always interesting. Not necessarily bad, but not good either. Interesting. Din had hired you originally as a translator, but that role turned into mechanic and then babysitter as time moved forward. You two were close, close enough for him to share his name with you. He knew your tells and triggers, and you knew most of his. So it was no surprise when you noticed he was stressed before he did.

“You need to relax,” you said offhandedly one day while you two were traveling to Tatooine to hunt a quarry. “How do mandalorians relax?”

“We die.”

You rolled your eyes, flipping another page in your book. “Okay Mr. This is the Way. When did you last eat something?”

Din shrugged. “It was that Bantha meat you gave me.”

“That was yesterday,” you said, sitting up straighter and staring at Din’s helmet. “When are we landing?”

“A few hours.”

You sat back, still eyeing Din’s tightly wound figure. “Okay.”

Tatooine was not your favorite planet. Boba and Fennec made it better, and Cobb was always fun. Peli gave you shit but made you smile, and you did like traveling with the Tuskens. But no amount of decent company changed the dusty atmosphere and the blinding suns. The way the sand dug into your feet and got into every crevasse. By the time you’d reached the old Hutt Palace, you were cursing the sand and the suns and everything in between.

“Finally!” Fennec said, guiding you into the palace. “We expected you last week!”

“Picked up another quarry on the way,” Din explained, nodding to the guards who stood by the doors. “Had the time.”

Fennec rolled her eyes. “Don’t you ever relax?”

“That’s what I said!” You said, nudging Din. He sighed and shrugged you off.

Boba was happy to see you both in one piece, and he was especially eager to see Grogu asleep in the carrier across your front. “Your rooms are open, as always,” he said with a grin when you suppressed a yawn. “Go unwind. The quarry hasn’t moved in three months. You can wait another few days. I know traveling the way you do can be stressful.”

Before Din could open his mouth and ruin it, you spoke. “Thank you so much Boba. We appreciate it.”

As night fell, you ate, drank, and talked. It was fun, and Fennec made for excellent company. When you finally retired, you found Grogu asleep in Din’s room. He must’ve taken the child when you weren’t looking.

“Sneaky bastard,” you said affectionately, shutting yourself in your own room and falling asleep as soon as your head hit the pillows.

You woke to loud thunder and the sound of rainfall. Confused, you rubbed your eyes and got dressed, forgoing your armor and weapons. You barely even put shoes on, sliding into leather flats instead of your supple boots.

Boba was already on the throne when you arrived in the throne room, Fennec on his right. He looked up as you walked in, an easy, relaxed grin on his face. “It seems you and Djarin have found yourselves trapped here,” he said. “Tatooine rarely has rainstorms, but when it does, they are dangerous. You will stay here until the rain passed.”

You noticed the final sentence was a command, and you nodded. “Thank you,” you said. “Din would’ve made me walk in the rain had you not kept us here, I’m sure of it.”

Fennec laughed. “Find him,” she said. “We have water for baths now. He smells like a bantha.”

You laughed. “Thank you again,” you said. “I’ll go find Din and tell him.”

Din’s room was locked, as it usually was at night, but once you knocked, he opened the door within a few minutes. “What?”

“Boba told us to stay until the rain passes,” you said. “King’s orders. Fennec also said there’s water for baths now, and she recommends you take one.”

Din nodded, stretching a tiny bit. You smiled. “Maybe we can take this chance and actually relax,” you said.

“Don’t get your hopes up.”

You rolled your eyes as you and Din walked to the baths. Tatooine was big on communal bath spaces, so bathing was always interesting. But you’d figured it out.

As you walked, you examined Din. He’d done the same as you, forgoing his usual armor in favor of his long sleeved brown undershirt, brown pants with the black patches, and boots. He was still wearing the helmet, but not the head covering that hid his neck. The high collar of his undershirt did conceal most of his skin though. He looked comfortable, especially with Grogu tucked up under his arm.

The bath room was empty when you arrived, and you immediately began to fill two of the dry pools. Each one was small, meant for one person, but all the sunken pools were open to each other. No privacy.

While you filled the tubs, Din found a wooden divider, dragging it over and separating your pools. When you were done, you collected soaps and towels before hopping behind the divider and stripping out of your clothes. You could hear Din doing the same, folding his clothes as he took them off. Finally, you heard the sound of the helmet being removed and set down, and then the ripple of water as Din got into his pool.

You and him soaked, side by side, separated by the divider, for a while. The water was warm, and the smell of rain that filtered through the palace made your eyes heavy. “Din?”

“Hm?”

You sighed, leaning back so you could stretch your legs out. “How long do you think this rain will last?”

“Rain storms on Tatooine are aggressive,” Din said from behind the barrier. “But it should only last a few days.”

A crack of thunder sent a small shock through your body, but you calmed quickly, relaxing into the warmth of the water again. “Okay. I can do a few days.”

An hour later, once the water had gone cold and you’d scrubbed all the grit from your body, you got out and toweled off. Din, judging from the sounds, was doing the same. When you two reunited, you both smelled better, and Din seemed a bit more relaxed. Well, relaxed for him. He was still guarded, but it seemed he was finally starting to realize he was safe.

The palace was mostly empty. The rain seemed to deter most potential guests, so the only people around were Fennec, Boba, Din, and you. You and Din swung by the kitchen to grab some food, you carrying the food while Din held Grogu. It wasn’t an easy task, considering just how much Grogu squirmed. By the time you’d carried the food to Din’s room, Grogu had bitten Din twice in a desperate attempt to reach you.

“Alright you little Womp Rat,” you said, setting Grogu in his cradle with his food. “Stop messing with us!”

Grogu pouted, but let you walk away without crying too much. You sat beside Din, looking over your kitchen raid spoils. “Damn,” you said. “We did good.”

Din snorted, and you scrunched your nose at him. “What do you want?”

“This,” Din said, reaching over you to grab a metal container that was warm to the touch. “Please.”

“Go for it,” you said, taking something you didn’t recognize, but it smelled heavenly. “You have permission to eat as much as you want, and please do, because I know you don’t eat enough on the Crest. Turn around though, I want to be able to eat with you.”

Din turned, and you sat with your back pressing to his. He seemingly got the message and removed his helmet, slowly eating whatever he’d taken.

“Y’know,” you said, stabbing another glazed slice of fruit from your dish. “We actually get three nutritious meals a day while we’re here. No ration blocks twice a day.”

Din hummed, and you could feel him chewing when he put his head back and pressed it to yours. “Those ration blocks really are shit,” he decided softly. “But I can’t cook.”

“I can,” you said. “If we store ingredients on the Crest, we should absolutely be able to have meals like this. And I don’t mind cooking,” you added, knowing Din was likely to protest. “How’d you sleep last night?”

“Decent,” Din said. “Feels good to sleep on a mattress.”

You laughed, reaching to grab a container of cake. “Told you!” You said. “You sleep on that damned rubber pad, I can’t believe it.”

“You sleep on the same kind of rubber pad,” Din pointed out. “Yours is just bigger.”

“Yeah,” you said slowly. “The mattress is really nice here. Why don’t we visit more often?”

Din was quiet for a second while he ate another bite of food. “I don’t like Tatooine,” he finally said.

“Preach,” you said, pulling Grogu’s cradle closer and feeding him some of your cake. “Want dessert?”

You and Din shared food back and forth until you were both full, Din finally relenting and admitting he wanted a nap. At which you closed your eyes so he could get up and get into his bed.

You didn’t open your eyes until you heard the curtains around the bed shut, a feature Boba had put onto the bed specifically for Din. When you opened your eyes, you saw the helmet sitting atop Din’s folded shirt. Oh right, he slept shirtless.

Standing and stretching, you quietly kept Grogu occupied until he fell asleep too, and then you decided to find Fennec and maybe practice sparring.

You scooped Grogu up and set him down on the bed, leaving him to crawl his way to Din’s warm side. As the curtains shifted, you got a tiny peek at Din’s sleeping form.

He slept on his side with his arms up, covering his face. His hands were tangled in his hair, and you stared, entranced by the scar pebbled expanse of Din’s chest. It was the most skin you’d ever seen on him, and you almost wanted to touch it.

“Are you getting in too?” Din asked sleepily, and you yelped, jumping away from the bed like it might hurt you. You heard shuffling from inside, and then the curtain rustled. Before Din could push it open, you slapped your hand over your eyes, determined not to look.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to go spar with Fennec,” you said, trying to sound firm despite the wobble to your voice. “Goodnight.”

Din chuckled softly, and you heard more rustling before strong and very warm arms wrapped around you. “Please come nap with us,” he said, leaning on you. His hand found your wrist and tried to gently tug your hand off your eyes, but you stubbornly refused.

You whimpered, resolve softening at Din’s half asleep voice and almost unfairly warm body. “Din,” you said. “Your face”.

“My Creed has long since been reforged. You can see my face. Fennec and Bona both have.”

When Din pulled against your hand again, he met no resistance. Your eyes met his first, and you swear your breath stopped altogether. “Din.”

“Yes?” Din said, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. “Can we nap please? I’m tired.”

“Of course you’re tired,” you said, your wits finally returning to you. “You haven’t taken a break in a decade.”

Din led you back to the bed, and you discarded your shoes before crawling under the blankets beside him. Grogu cooed when you joined the cuddle pile, and you snuggled up to him and Din, deciding to close your eyes only for a second.

When you opened them again, it was to a loud crack of thunder. The suns had set already, and in the dark, you could barely make out the outline of Din’s face. His curls were unruly, the mess visible even in the darkness. You sighed, resigning yourself to sleeping beside Din, especially because his arm was tossed over your waist. You were a bit surprised to find that Din was big on cuddles.

It wasn’t long before you were drifting off again, absently watching the rise and fall of Din’s chest while he slept. You wondered faintly if this was the longest he’d slept since he’d last been here. He often napped in three hour increments, just for convenience.

“You awake?”

“Well I am now,” you grumbled, watching Din’s eyelashes flutter as he blinked, his silhouette shifting when he rolled to his side. “Why’re you up?”

Din yawned. “Felt you move,” he said softly. “Woke me up.”

“Ah. Sorry,” you said, settling back down and feeling your eyes droop closed. “I’m exhausted.”

“Same,” Din said, pulling you close. “Thank you.”

You smiled against Din’s chest, curving so you were practically molded to his body. “Any time Din. Any time.”

[anneangel]

Tolkien draws a hard line in the sand though. Regardless of how far people are willing to go, no one decent or honourable in the slightest would ever side with orcs. That’s the ultimate sign of who the good guys and the bad guys are.

Forgive me, I know this subject it's already is thin, sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread (if you know what I mean). But I've been thinking about this question almost obsessively for the last... Hours?

If it won't take up too much of your time, I'd like to share my thoughts.

I thought about it: why are orcs abominable to fans and no one wants to be like them? And why are Melkor/Morgoth and Sauron undoubted villains?

Responding:

In my opinion (which may be wrong), in Tolkien's Legendarium there is an absolute entity: Eru Ilúvatar.

The absolute supersedes anything that appears as a counterpoint to he, and such a thing is always less in power, only the absolute really prevails. Therefore, if Eru and his will is absolute, when Melkor/Morgoth opposes there is no equality of power between them.

If this thing that arises as opposition is called "evil", then in Tolkien's (monotheistic) universe the good is always greater than the evil.

Note that in this logic Eru and Melkor are NOT dualities of each other. They are NOT counterpoints of each other, they are NOT two things that are different and opposites that operate on equivalent principles.

There was only the absolute will of Eru Ilúvatar, until Melkor appears as an opponent, and with that (future) battles will be fought against this (and others) who opposes: therefore, Tolkien's universe is monotheistic (absolute) and not Manichean (dual).

Eru Ilúvatar allowed Melkor's rebellious melody to remain in the song, but that does not mean that Eru has become dual with Melkor, Eru remains absolute and unique, he is the entity that is above all other things.

“And thou, Melkor, shalt see that no theme may be played that hath not its uttermost source in me, nor can any alter the music in my despite. For he that attempteth this shall prove but mine instrument in the devising of things more wonderful, which he himself hath not imagined.”

-The Silmarillion, (Ainulindalë).

Melkor can only change the song because so Eru Ilúvatar willed. It is the absolute showing itself to be absolute over/above the will of something less. Because they are not equal in power and will, because they are not dual, the absolute will always prevail, no matter who the opponent is.

Then there was "Arda Unmarred", the perfect Arda before corruption hit it, because in the beginning everything was meant to be this. Until Melkor/Morgoth rebelled against the sovereignty of Eru Ilúvatar.

In a world where there is "absolute right", questioning is opposing, it is corrupting. And is becoming an antagonist.

Melkor/Morgoth and Sauron are always the dreaded villains who have become corrupted and need to be stopped. We don't even need to look at their point of view, as the narrator already puts them on the wrong side. Whoever is with them is automatically part of the villainous team.

In Tolkien's Legendarium I have the feeling that evil is something that tests the moral choices of the characters, in an attempt to make them rebel too or, at the very least, to derail and thwart Eru Ilúvatar's plans (but this will work?).

Melkor came to corrupt, damage and try to spoil creation, Morgoth and then Sauron brought discord, lies, rumours, this is Arda Marred, a sign of evil in Arda is the loss of symmetry and the fact that she was deformed, so Melkor/Morgoth and Sauron are signs of something nefarious and evil given their rebelliousness.

The "shadow" fell on Arda and impregnated it, and such darkness can cause conflicts and misunderstandings to act, the evil has entered in Arda (Arda Marred).

Thus the children of Eru Ilúvatar can be corrupted (here the possibility arises for the characters to act ambiguously).

Thus, the characters not only act as they were idealized, but they can be corrupted by the opposing side, becoming villains, whether human, elves or any other race. Where individual needs, pride, greed, anger, hatred, desire for revenge, obsession with objects, need for power and knowledge, feelings of superiority and rebellion, among others, are feelings that, depending on their intensity, can corrupt.

But even if Melkor/Morgoth and Sauron make their plots and can corrupt creation, will that in the end be insufficient?

We have to consider that the idea of "end of the world" was not clear in Tolkien's mythology, but we can check the imprecise versions of the "end of the world" like Dagor Dagorath and Arda Healed.

(I say imprecise versions because really only The Hobbit and LOTR can be considered completed works within the Legendarium. The rest of the stories feature edits made by third parties, as Tolkien died without unfinished, he was never able to finish and reconcile his creation cohesively, so the current Legendarium presents divergent ideas and inaccuracies. What we have are fragments of various versions of the story, there is not exactly one Canon on everything, as some versions contradict each other).

So will Morgoth return from the void? Will an alleged Second Prophecy of Mandos be fulfilled? Something like Dagor Dagorath (Battle of All Battles/or "The Last Battle") will occur?

Can we hope for some sort of Arda Healed (with a Second Music Of The Ainur, will be sung, forming a new world)? Or can we deny any prophecy concerning the alteration of Arda Marred? What will it be?

There doesn't seem to be a consensus given that there is no precise and cohesive Canonical line in the Legendarium we have.

Only I can see the beauty that would be if everything that happens in Arda is a GIGANTIC, necessary and inevitable Eucatastrophe planned by Eru Ilúvatar from the beginning?? (remembering that this is a term coined by Tolkien which, in short, means "good" catastrophe).

And this snippet here:

"Never since have the Ainur made any music like to this music, though it has been said that a greater still shall be made before Ilúvatar by the choirs of the Ainur and the Children of Ilúvatar after the end of days. Then the themes of Ilúvatar shall be played aright, and take Being in the moment of their utterance, for all shall then understand fully his intent in theeir part, and each shall know the comprehension of each, and Ilúvatar shall give to their thoughts the secret fire, being well pleased"

- The Silmarillion (Ainulindalë)

And act discussion. But I think it's pretty clear why Melkor/Morgoth, Sauron and Orcs in general are so abominable. Because no fan wants to side with them in Tolkien's (somewhat monotheistic) universe.

Bonus: and since we started this conversation through a discussion about the book The Hobbit. See what Thorin says before he dies:

“Farewell, good thief,” he said. “I am now going to the waiting Halls to sit beside of my fathers, until the world is renewed (...)”.

- The Hobbit

It is completely questionable if this will actually happen, because as I said there is no Cohesive Canonical line in Legendarium, there are versions that contradict each other. But this kind of thing is repeated (I remember reading this in other parts of Tolkien's work, I won't look for them to I not expand because this is already too long). But it's as if the hope of an Arda Healed lives in the heart of some like a dream.

I know there are disagreements with this idea, but as there is no "Absolute Canon", there are only non-linear and non-cohesive versions in Legendarium, seeing things that way is what satisfies me the most.

[omgreally]

Sleight of Hand - Chapter Five

Din Djarin/Thief!OFC - M - 9,000+ words  Enemies to Lovers and all the in-between Series Masterlist - Read on AO3

Against efforts to the contrary, Mando begins to get to know his quarry. He probably shouldn't enjoy getting under her skin quite as much as he does. 

 Also, there's only one bed.

The day stretches on. To the thief’s surprise, the Tuskens are surprisingly... civil . After the first conversation - although she wonders if it wasn’t really a negotiation - around the fire, they have been allowed to get up and move around the camp.

To her relief, the Mandalorian doesn’t put the binders back on. He knows as well as she does what will happen to her if she runs.

Instead, she seems content to talk. Constantly. 

“The sandpeople...I was always taught they were monsters,” she muses at one point, looking round at them as they go about their business - cooking, cleaning, even grooming the bantha. She watches a Raider - a sandperson - cleaning the great yellow teeth of one of the beasts with a gaffi stick, and the image makes her smile. It’s so... domestic, so unlike anything she ever could have expected out here in the desert. 

Besides death.

“They’re just people,” the Mandalorian says, surprising her - surprising himself. “Once you learn that, they don’t seem so monstrous.”

She finds herself looking at him a little closer after that.

As for Din, he is nothing short of relieved to still be alive. As soon as he saw the group of Raiders above him he knew they would be all right, that he had a way out. A Mandalorian without a way out is just a dead Mandalorian, and he wasn’t ready to be one of those just yet.

He brings the thief to the well and makes her carry the buckets. A strategic hand on the blaster at his hip quietens most of her grumblings. He helps her fill the buckets, though, turning the heavy crank shoved into the packed sand. It shudders faintly beneath their feet and with a hissing gurgle, a thin trickle of moisture begins to drip from the spigot. The thief sits down as she waits for the first bucket to slowly fill.

“So, you never told me who sent you,” she says.

“No,” Din agrees. “I didn’t.”

She issues a sigh, craning her neck to look back up at him. The robe shades her face, casting her eyes in shadow. “Is the bounty a decent amount, at least?”

Although Mando is silent, she must read something in the angle of his chin, or something. She smirks triumphantly to herself. “Good,” she declares, and turns away.

“Why do you owe so many people so much?” Din asks - he doesn’t realize the words are coming out of his mouth until they pass through his vocal modulator. Because, really, he doesn’t care about the answer, and what’s the point of asking a question without being interested in the answer?

He finds himself listening, regardless, as the thief speaks. “I don’t owe anyone anything,” she sniffs, staring out over the glare of the horizon and the mountains past the tents. “Except money. Yeah, I owe a lot of money. I convinced people to invest, to donate." Her voice becomes...wistful, almost, far-away in memories, and he can tell she is not proud of all of them.

"I took out loans. What I couldn’t beg or borrow, I stole. And I ended up with enough credits to buy a way off this planet. Permanently.”

Mando’s visor is fixed to the back of her head. She can practically feel his gaze nailing her to the sand. She falls silent, and waits.

He takes the bait. “And what’s that?” He sounds disinterested, but the special careful kind of disinterested that tells her he’s feigning it. 

He catches the flash of her teeth as she flicks him a grin over her shoulder. “You think I’m gonna tell you?” she scoffs, and he starts to reconsider putting the binders on her.

“Well,” Din says after a moment with a tilt of his head, determine to needle her right back, “You probably should. We are married after all.”

That shuts her up. Oh, she sputters and turns red, whipping away from him with a huff, but the damage is done. Din can’t help it - he chuckles faintly.

“When do we leave?” she grunts after a moment's surly silence. “I can’t wait to get back to civilization so I can give you the slip.”

“Don’t count on it,” Mando warns. “Those binders go back on as soon as we leave.”

“Maybe we should stay, then.”

He resists the urge to put his helmet in his hands. “I thought you hated this planet.” Why is he even engaging? He much preferred when she was sleeping curled against his chest. She was silent then.

“I do, but I’d rather be here with you than handed over to whoever you’re working for.” Her shoulders lift a fraction, protectively. “You don’t know what they’ll do to me. I do.”

Mando says nothing.

After a while, he checks the bucket - full near the brim. He replaces it with the other. The silence stretches, tense like a bowstring. To his own surprise, Din is the one to break it.

“I want to get off this planet, too.”

The girl's shoulders drop but she doesn’t respond. She lapses into a thoughtful silence until the second bucket fills, and gets to her feet and picks them up in silence. Walking too slow with the weight for Mando’s liking, he takes one from her. Out of impatience, of course. Not out of empathy. At least, that’s what he tells himself.

They bring the water to the campfire, where the Tuskens have set a large pot on the flame. Mando sets down his bucket and takes the girl’s, pouring the water into the cauldron. A nearby sandperson adds some powder from a smoky vial to the cauldron. “To purify it,” Mando explains. “The water here is from so deep it’s saturated with minerals.”

“They’re doing this for us?” she asks as the sandpeople fill leather skins from the cauldron and hand them to the Mandalorian. He stashes them in his shoulder-bag. 

“Yes.”

“You’re a friend to them,” she muses. “How do you get a- Argg-hk! ” She yelps as a weight hits her from behind and bears her to the sand. Her healing cheek stings with the impact and she rolls, finding a slobbering, scaled mass pinning her down, the jaws reaching for her face, teeth like daggers filling her vision-

The massiff’s long, sinuous tongue scrapes the side of her face, leaving slimy saliva in place of sand.

“He likes you,” Din chuckles from above her as the massiff keeps licking her. The sandpeople around them holler their approval with their strange, echoing laughs. Eventually, Din takes pity on the sputtering girl and asks one of the raiders with a gesture to let her up. The raide snaps his fingers at the hound and barks a command, and the great beast leaps away from the prone woman to rejoin its master’s side.

She wipes her face with the arms of her borrowed robes, grimacing. “I think that was my least favourite experience of this whole trip,” 

“I thought you were enjoying it,” Din says, making the mistake of letting humor creep into his tone. She doesn’t seem to notice, too busy being offended by his words.

“Enjoy being slobbered on by a terrifying beast? I don’t think so. I thought it was trying to pre-digest me.”

“Massiff saliva isn’t that acidic,” he purposely fails-to-assure her. Scowling, she moves away and sits down on the opposite side of the fire.

The rest of the afternoon passes quickly, and the Tuskens give Din rations and even a gourd - either a high honor or a grave insult, he’s not sure which.

Dinner, much to the thief-girl’s relief, is a more conservative fare of womp-rat soup. Quite a common dish on the streets of Mos Eisley. The gamy, stringy meet gets stuck in her teeth, but it fills her belly, and that’s not a feeling to go unappreciated. Not for someone like her.

Mando even eats in front of her, his helm lifted to his nose again. She stares unabashedly, figuring the Tuskens will just take it as a wife staring earnestly at her mate, and as a result he can’t do anything about it.

He has a strong jaw, patchy dark stubble, a surprisingly kind mouth. No scars she can see. No pointed teeth. 

Just a man.

As night begins to fall and the temperature drops, a sandperson gives her an armful of fur rugs that smell like wet dog and shoves her towards the tent she woke up in. The thief mutters obscenities but complies, pushing through the flap and dumping the furs on the litter.

When she turns around she almost collides face-first with a wall of Beskar.

Din looks down at her - the graze on her cheek is now little more than a healing scab, her hair plastered back against her scalp with sweat. The indentation of the edges of her teeth cross the thickest part of her lower lip.

She is nervous. 

“We have to share a tent, as mates,” he says, letting the roll of his eyes color his voice. “I’m not happy about it either.”

“Uh-huh,” she says, seeming to relax a little, shifting her weight as she looks him up and down. “Well, I already know you don’t snore. It is what it is.” 

She tosses him a fur and settles on the litter, lying down with her rug-blanket pulled up over her head. It’s dark and warm beneath, insulating her from the cold - and from him. Oddly enough, though, she doesn't feel as worried as she knows she should be around him. 

She feels the litter dip as a weight settles beside her. The woman turns and finds herself face-to-back with the Mandalorian. “What the kriff are you doing?” she demands as she sits up.

“I’m not sleeping on the sand,” Mando says simply, without moving at all. “You’re welcome to.” He tucks the corner of his fur over his pauldron with a sense of finality.

Scoffing, she really does consider it for a second - but the ground is hard enough even with the litter. So she just turns back over, shifts around until she gets comfortable - accidentally bumping the Mandalorian a few times, oops - and tries to sleep.

“You snore, by the way,” he tells her, as the purple glow outside fades to black.

But the thief is already asleep with a soft buzzing noise issuing from the back of her throat.

[fingergunsbidean]

A Journey in Bisexuality

Word Count: 4.3k Pairings: Dean/Castiel (main), Dean/OMC, Dean/Lee, Dean/Garth Warnings: Underage feelings for Harrison Ford, internalized homophobia, mentions of homophobia but no homophobic actions are done towards Dean, drunken kissing, NSFW elements but no smut, alcoholism implied, and mentions of John Winchester’s A+ parenting, but no actual interactions with him. Summary: A character study of Dean and his journey with discovering and accepting his bisexuality.

Note: I was NEVER actually planning on posting this. I’m NOT a fic writer lol. I actually wrote this as a self paragraph in a 1x1 ten months ago, but I thought we could all use some Dean going to therapy and healing after that finale, so here we are. 

Dean is fourteen when he starts looking at Harrison Ford differently. It’s not just him, it’s all his favorites, but right now it’s all about Harrison Ford. 

His dad is on a hunt in the next town over, leaving Sam and Dean in some cheap motel. For once, he’s not itching to join him, because the local cable is having an all day Harrison Ford marathon, starting with Star Wars and ending with Indiana Jones.

He’s always admired the guy. He’s good looking, knows how to handle a gun, wears an awesome hat, and always wins the hot girl in the end. 

The thing is that Dean always wanted to be him, and as he watches Indi somersault out of the way of an oncoming boulder, he still does, but there’s something more there tonight that he hasn’t noticed in the past.

His cheeks feel flushed and there’s heat tickling underneath his skin. At first, he thinks he’s getting a fever or something and moves over to the other bed, just in case he’s contagious. 

The space does nothing to help Dean though, and his pink cheeks grow bright red when Indiana kisses Willie in Temple of Doom. As the music swells, and he lowly says the words “primitive sexual practices,” Dean finds that he’s picturing himself in Willie’s place, with Harrison Ford looming over him and dipping down to kiss him deeply.

The realization of what he’s doing crashes into him, leaving him a little sick to his stomach as he snatches the remote and turns the TV off abruptly. He swallows roughly to chase away the sick feeling and gives Sam a feigned apologetic look. 

“I–uh–think I’m gettin’ sick or something. I’m going to bed,” He says. But hours after the lights are turned off and he’s buried under the covers, he’s still wide awake.

⚤ ⚤ ⚤ ⚤

Dean is seventeen, and this is the longest they’ve stayed in one place since he watched their house in Lawrence disappear from the backseat in the Impala. 

When their dad took on a pretty big case in Florida, he left the Sam and Dean with Bobby, and then…just kind of left them there. It’s been three months. At first he was pissed. He’s old enough to go on hunts with his dad. He’s been on plenty, while Sam was safely hidden away in a motel.

“You gotta watch over Sammy,” John said, like he always does when Dean asks to go.

It felt like a shitty excuse at the time, but now he can’t imagine being away from his little brother this long, and while he’ll never admit it, he’s glad he left them with Bobby.

For the first time, Dean actually knows the names of the other kids in his class. He has decent grades, and he’s even considering trying out for the baseball team. 

Sammy seems happy too. Dean has seen the poor kid get ripped away from school after school, trying to keep his sobs quiet in the backseat as their dad drove away from yet another town. He hates himself for thinking of it, but when he sees how settled Sam is at Bobby’s, he hopes their dad doesn’t come back.

And maybe he’s happy too, and he tries not to feel guilty, but it’s not like his dad will ever know. Whenever he shows up for them, Dean will follow with a “yes, sir,” like he always does. 

Until then, he just lets himself be a normal seventeen year old for once. He even found a group of friends and everything, a few guys from his gym class. There’s Matt, Jordan, and Aaron with the too blue eyes, or at least that’s what he calls him in his head. As if he’d ever have the nerve to call him that aloud.

Thoughts about boys creep up on him like itch, dull at first but the more he ignores it the more insistent it becomes. When he first noticed these…feelings, he told himself, “It’s a celebrity crush, it’s fine. Everyone gets those.” But then it grew into, “It’s just some stranger in a diner, it’s fine. You’ll never see him again,” and now it’s, “It’s just your good looking friend, it’s fine.”

It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine.

It’s not fine, but Dean pushes it down and pretends it’s not there. Besides, he hasn’t stopped noticing girls. If anything, he’s notices them more. As long as that’s the case, there’s no reason to act on these feelings or even acknowledge them. 

His dad doesn’t want a whole lot from him. He wants him to protect Sam and be a good hunter, but Dean sure as hell knows what he doesn’t want for him, and that’s being with another guy like that, especially when he’s still attracted to girls. He’s seen the way his dad looks at gay guys, heard the comments he makes under his breath, and there’s no way that’s the kind of life he wants for his sons.

So, every time Aaron gives him the kind of smile that makes his chest warm or he finds himself staring too long, he reminds himself of all the reasons why this can’t be a thing. And just because Dean is thinking things he shouldn’t be, doesn’t mean Aaron is too.

He needs that reminder right now as the four of them are packed together in a crowded movie theater, seeing Scream. At some point, Aaron scooted closer to Dean’s side, pressing their shoulders together. 

The screams from the crowd sound like a dull roar in his ears when Aaron’s pinky brushes against his, and he holds his breath as he slowly tangles them together, until they’re practically holding pinkies. 

He should rip his hand away, he even stiffens as he prepares himself to, but then his shoulders sag as he leans further into the touch. He doesn’t want to pull away. His eyes burn as he stares fixedly at the screen with how badly he doesn’t want to pull away.

They stay like that for the rest of the movie, sneaking glances at each other, but keeping the touch to just their shoulders and pinkies. When the credits roll, Dean finally pulls away, stretching as he stands to try and come off as casual as possible. 

They toss their popcorn in the trash and talk about the movie as they head out of the theater. Matt and Jordan give them a quick pat on the shoulders before heading off, and before Dean can go searching for Bobby’s truck in the parking lot, Aaron grabs his elbow to keep him from leaving.

“Dean?” His blue eyes flicker from Dean’s face to the ground nervously, “I was wondering if you wanted to hang out sometime. Like without Matt and Jordan.”

Dean feels his throat close as he struggles to get air in his lungs, worried that his popcorn might come back up. He doesn’t know why he’s acting like this. There’s nothing wrong with hanging out just the two of them, but from the way Aaron’s blushing he has a feeling it’s more than that.

“You mean like…” He trails off, unsure if he can even say it, but Aaron beats him to it.

“Like a date, yeah. I don’t know if you–if you’re–well, I thought I’d try, at least,” He gives a nervous look as he braves meeting Dean’s gaze.

His first instinct is to be furious, to fly off the handle at him for even daring to assume that Dean isn’t anything but straight, to tell him he doesn’t swing that way and storm off, maybe even get a punch in, but he’s frozen. 

Despite all his promises to himself that he wouldn’t ever acknowledge this thing that follows him around, he starts entertaining the idea of letting himself have this. His dad is on the other side of the country, he’ll never find out. Nobody has to know if they keep it to themselves. He can just try it this once to get it out of his system and then stick to girls.

“Yeah, okay,” Dean chokes out before he even fully gives himself permission to, and he knows he needs to leave now before he chickens out, “I gotta go. Uh–I’ll call you.” Aaron lets out a huge, relieved breath before giving Dean one of those grins that make his insides squirm with delight, and he smiles back, giving him a playful wink before walking away.

He spends the drive back to Bobby’s going between panic and excitement, planning out potential date ideas but also rehearsing ways to turn Aaron down. As he pulls into the Salvage yard and sees the Impala, he realizes it’s all for nothing and feels strangely numb. It’s time for the next hunt, and he knows with absolute certainty that he’ll never see Aaron again. It’s for the best, he tells himself. 

Who was he fucking kidding anyway?

⚤ ⚤ ⚤ ⚤

Dean is twenty-one and drunk on the beach. His vision is a little fuzzy, and when he looks up at the sheer amount of stars in the pitch black sky, he feels dizzy, causing him to stumble into the body beside him.

“Watch it, brother. You don’t wanna eat sand,” A husky voice laughs as he grips Dean’s shoulders with strong hands to steady him.

Lee can’t fill the hole that Sam left when he went off to Stanford, but having him around helps him feel a little less like he’s suffocating. John swung by Texhoma in hopes to recruit his old buddy for a hunt, but got his son instead. Dean and John were glad for the turn of events for different reasons. His dad admired how strong of a fighter Lee was, his training precise enough for John’s Marine standards.

Dean just admired him, in general. He’s having a hell of a time ignoring it when his dad is always there. Maybe, it’s just his paranoia talking, but it feels like he’s watching Dean too closely, noting how he acts around Lee. Which is what inspires their first escape from John Winchester in a slew of rowdy drunken activities. 

After he caught them wasted in a middle of a hunt, they started being more discreet about it, so while John was dead asleep in his motel room, the two of them snuck off to a bar and then stumbled their way to the closest beach.

Lee’s hands on his shoulders make him feel both grounded but also like he’s teetering over the edge of a cliff. The moon illuminates his face from where it’s hovering near Dean’s, his blue eyes boring into his. 

In his drunken state, he forgets what they were talking about, or if they were even talking at all, and all those walls he’s been building around himself for the past decade feel flimsy, like the slightest nudge will knock them all down.

Dean’s gaze flickers wildly over his face before landing on a piece of hair that fell over his eyes. “You have sand in your hair,” He drunkenly giggles and lifts a hand to pull the sand out before tucking the errant hair behind Lee’s ear. Instead of dropping his hand like he planned to, he cups his friends cheek instead, his thumb absently brushing over his soft skin.

“Dean,” Lee breathes, low and rough, and it sends a tingle down his spine.

“Hey,” He answers, because it feels like the right the thing to say in the moment, or maybe he just doesn’t know what the hell to say when they’re standing this close and he wants nothing more than to just close the remaining distance, give into this want that’s been burning in his chest for years.

Something like recognition shows in Lee’s eyes before he clasps the back of Dean’s neck and draws him down to seal their lips together in a tentative kiss. It’s more gentle and hesitant than his actual first kiss, but it makes his entire body practically sing. 

He hears a desperate noise over the sound of the waves, and he thinks it might’ve come for him, but he doesn’t care. He can beat himself up for that later, but for now, he sighs against Lee’s lips and deepens the kiss, letting himself have this.

⚤ ⚤ ⚤ ⚤

Lee is the longest relationship he’s ever had, which is pretty sad, considering it lasts for about a month. But in that month, they find creative ways to sneak around his dad and even get caught up in some kind of wild orgy with triplets. 

It all crashes and burns when a case in Arizona goes horribly, horribly wrong, and Lee can’t just move past it. He quits hunting and leaves Dean to go back home, giving him one last lingering kiss before he drives away.

With hardly anything more than a dismissive grunt, John leaves shortly after, deciding Dean is finally old enough to hunt on his own, and that they’ll cover more ground to find whatever killed mom if they split up. The fact that his dad trusts him to do this on his own should be enough to fill him with pride, but it feels more like punishment, and for the first time in his life, he’s completely alone.

A week after Lee and his dad left, he’s sitting in the parked Impala, dialing Sam’s number.

“Heya, Sammy,” He greets his brother, trying to keep his voice as nonchalant and cheerful as possible. 

They talk about Sam’s homework and friends, and Dean tells him about some interesting hunts, leaving out the most recent one. He doesn’t tell him about dad leaving, but Lee is on the tip of his tongue. Part of him wants to tell Sam–to get this weight off his shoulders, for one more person to know, so it doesn’t feel like some big fever dream.

“Sam,” He starts, his tone suddenly serious. “I’m…” He stops. He’s what? He’s not gay, but he obviously ain’t straight either. But who says he has to label himself right this second though? He can just tell him about Lee. “I…” He tries again, but the words just don’t come.

That time he agreed to go on a date with Aaron, he told himself it’d be a one time thing to get it out of his system, and while this wasn’t Aaron, that’s what Lee can be. A one time thing. Something that Sam doesn’t need to know about.

“I gotta go. Take care of yourself, okay?”

⚤ ⚤ ⚤ ⚤

Dean is thirty and fucking grateful for it. It’s 2009, and not 2014. He still has time to fix this. When he whips around and sees Cas standing there on the empty street, there’s a look on his face that Dean can only describe as tenderness, and that makes him believe he really can fix this.

“That’s pretty nice timing, Cas,” Dean breathes shakily, overwhelmed by the sheer relief that this Cas is his Cas, not the version he left in 2014.

“We had an appointment,” Cas replies, and there’s so much warmth in his gravely voice that Dean wants to chase it and hold it close to his chest. 

He feels his face do something that’s probably too open and too fond, but he doesn’t do anything to mask it. Instead, he firmly rests a hand on the angel’s shoulder and looks him straight in the eye before saying, “Don’t ever change.”

Dean wouldn’t say Cas has much variety in his facial expressions, so the hint of a smile he gets in return feels huge. It reaches his eyes more than his lips, and something about that makes it more genuine. 

This isn’t the first time Dean felt something after prolonged eye contact with the guy, far from it, but it’s usually a shock of heat or desire–this is something else entirely. He just wants to find more ways to earn looks like this, which seems impossible with the apocalypse around the corner, but he wants to try.

It’s been nearly a decade since he told himself he wouldn’t let himself act on feelings for another man, but shit has changed. His dad is dead, and that’s not enough to erase the shame that still washes over him any time he accidentally checks out another dude, but John Winchester is not an excuse anymore. 

The world is ending, isn’t this the best time to say fuck it and try?

⚤ ⚤ ⚤ ⚤

Dean is thirty-two, and he’s very naked, and very sticky. He curses himself under his breath for not taking the time to clean up before passing out, but he must’ve worn himself out. 

For a second he forgets where he is or who he was with the night before, but when he cracks an eye open, he sees peeling yellow wallpaper from the ugly ass motel room he’s been staying in. He blindly reaches a hand out behind him and makes contact with an equally naked and sticky body.

“Hey, watch the hand,” A very familiar voice laughs from behind him, causing Dean to whip around in surprise, wincing at the soreness that follows.

“Garth?” He asks wearily.

“Yeah, who else? We didn’t even drink last night, don’t pull the forgotten one night stand act with me, Dean Winchester,” Garth chastises him gently, propping himself up on his elbow as he smiles down at him.

Dean blinks a few times to try and wake himself up, and when he’s feeling a little less disoriented, the night before comes back to him–and, oh yeah, he remembers it. Who would’ve thought a little guy like Garth could be such a firecracker in bed? Maybe, he somehow sensed that about him, and that’s why he was so eager to find out.

In the short time he’s known Garth, he wouldn’t say he’s had many dirty thoughts about him. He didn’t have many thoughts about anyone these days, not since Cas…Dean quickly ends that train of thought there. The nightmares are enough. 

The thing with Garth just kind of happened, between the goodbye hugs, and the comments about how good he smells, the little smiles he keeps sending Dean’s way, he figured why the hell not?

He wasn’t disappointed with his choice either. Garth was surprisingly strong and confident, which are all things Dean likes in his partners. He just wouldn’t usually go for someone he sees so often–makes things awkward.

“I remember,” He gives a quiet laugh before clearing his throat awkwardly, looking from Garth’s bare chest to the sheets. “Look, Garth, I–uh–I’m not really looking for a relationship or anything,” He begins, and it feels so overused and rehearsed. 

He hates having this talk, which is why he usually sticks to waitresses or women, and the occasional man that he won’t ever see again. He doesn’t want to shoot Garth down, but after Cas–he just thought things would be different by now. He thought they would be different now, but that hope died when he pulled Cas’s soaking trench coat out of the water.

He doesn’t know what he kind of response he expects, but it’s definitely not for him to throw his head back with a loud laugh. “Oh, Dean, I should’ve known you’d be this funny the morning after. Look at you, trying to give me the it’s not you, it’s me talk. We’re fine, buddy. Just two guys looking for a night of fun,” He shakes his head and gives Dean’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

Dean feels his entire body sag in relief, and now that, that awkwardness is out of the way, he feels his body react to Garth’s close proximity, the memory of the night before has him ready to go all over again. 

Resting a hand on the hunter’s naked hip, he leans in until their noses brush, “In that case, round two?” He asks, his voice practically a quiet purr.

“Round two,” Garth agrees before pulling him in for a heated kiss.

⚤ ⚤ ⚤ ⚤

“I don’t know. I guess that was the first time I did something like that without feeling guilty after. I didn’t really even think about the fact that he was a dude that time,” Dean recounts, picking at a stray thread on his jeans.

He’s forty-one and the world is still turning. Chuck is gone, Jack and Eileen are back, Cas is human, Sam is okay, and everything should be fine. But it turns out that peace on earth doesn’t erase decades worth of repression and trauma.

It took storming out of a few therapist’s office before he found the right one. Dr. Williams, or Charlotte, is pretty nice, so far. She listens to all his stories that would sound absolutely insane to an outsider, and hardly bats an eye. 

Usually, they talk about Hell or Michael, but somehow the subject shifted to his history with men today, starting with him telling her about the ring he got Cas for Christmas. The one he almost didn’t give him–the ring that isn’t an engagement ring despite the looks Sam keeps giving him, but hopefully isn’t just a friendship ring either.

“And how do you feel now? With Castiel? Do you still feel ashamed of your feelings or sexuality?” She asks calmly as she looks up at him over her notebook.

Dean grimaces at that word–sexuality. He’s had so many years to accept the fact that he isn’t straight, that he likes men too, that he more than likes a particular man specifically. 

Still, he can’t get himself to say the actual word, not even in his own head. His old man has been dead for thirteen years, and it still feels like he’s looming over his shoulder whenever he even considers it. 

Sometimes, he wishes he told him when he accidentally wished him back into existence, but he’s glad he didn’t. Of all the people who deserve to hear it first, it’s not his dad. The fact that he even thinks that, tells him these sessions are doing something.

“Sometimes…yeah,” Dean mutters and nervously licks his lower lip, “I know my family won’t care. Hell, they probably already know, but I don’t know. I just can’t shake it, I guess.”

“You don’t have to come out,” Charlotte tells him, and her voice isn’t too gentle like some of the other Therapist’s were, but it’s not too matter-of-fact either, which is why he likes her so much. 

“Not with an official statement, at least. You should do what you’re comfortable with. Like, next time you watch Star Wars, instead of keeping all those thoughts about Harrison Ford to yourself, say them aloud.”

Dean merely raises a brow in response, he’s pretty sure nobody wants to hear what he has to say about Harrison Ford. He’s come up with way too many jerking off fantasies to that guy. Most of his thoughts are something along the lines of, “I’d sell my soul to fuck Harrison Ford.”

Charlotte seems to catch on quick and lets out an amused snort, “The safe for work version.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure there is a safe for work version,” Dean points out and waggles his brows suggestively before dropping the act and sagging a little in his seat, his face going blank in thought.

“I know that uh–that being bisexual is okay,” He stammers out and rubs the back of his neck as it prickles with nerves, “Which is what I am, I mean, bisexual. I’m just trying to believe that it is.” 

It’s the first time he actually said it, and it wasn’t nearly as terrifying as he thought it would be. He still feels sick with anxiety, and like he wants to drink an entire bottle of whiskey when he gets home, but the fact that he did it at all lifts a huge weight from his shoulders.

Charlotte gives him an impressed nod and jots down a few notes, “Well, that’s a good start.”

⚤ ⚤ ⚤ ⚤

After his session, he comes home and gives some flimsy excuse about his whereabouts before pouring himself a drink. Cas isn’t in the kitchen or his room, but it doesn’t take Dean long to track him down. 

The new human spends a lot of time in the same spot these days. Shrugging on a coat, he brings his glass outside and walks to the little area Cas so carefully turned into his garden.

Dean doesn’t announce his presence, just watches from a safe distance as Cas mutters quietly to his plants. The sun occasionally glints off the silver ring on his middle finger, and it brings a fond smile to his lips. 

After everything they’ve been through, after losing him so many times, Dean can’t believe he’s really here. It’s not perfect, Cas is struggling with his new humanity, and the distance between them hasn’t been fixed, but it’s still good.

And Dean loves him.

“I’m in love with Cas,” He mentally tells himself, another thing that he’s known for ages but has been too damn scared to actually put into words. It’s just as nerve-wracking as his confession to Charlotte earlier, but it still brings him peace.

He doesn’t know when he’ll tell Cas, or if he ever will, but right now he’s okay just telling himself. He’s okay just standing here and watching him garden. It’s more than he thought he’d ever have.