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radiocity · 4 months

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honestly, what's your take on the l word? atp i can't tell if it's just shit but i'm too far along to stop. the 5th and 6th seasons seem to be done in a complete different tone too and there's so many problematic aspects just slapped in for unecessary drama. still.. i like the main characters a lot and it is representation at the end of the day. Maybe it would've been cooler if they just did more of a 'slice of life' thing instead of 'drama rama cheating on people is like a slip of the hand thing due to the strong nuclear force'

anyway interested in your take, what do you think are the well- and badly- handled aspects of the show, how do you reflect on the story and character building?

stay cool out there (◕‿◕)♡

MY TAKE ON THE L WORD? getting this ask made me so excited you have no idea how much I love talking about the l word. So excited in fact that I wrote 6165 words about it, sorry, I am so severely unemployed right now. here, I talk about my thoughts, some theory, and then break down some of the intrinsic problems with the show, specifically how it thinks about gender and nonconformity, race, and transgender identities, within the scaffolding of it being a show concerned with women who have relationships with other women, rather than necessarily a truth of lesbianism. i’m citing various linked sources and very loosely using an academic approach, but it’s more like a messy collage of sources than it is a fully fleshed out argument and narrative! if you want the tl;dr, I’d recommend scrolling to the final 3 paragraphs

tbh I haven’t watched it in a while but I really want to rewatch the whole thing and go back to my gif series instead of just making random sets (don’t be put off by my absence its bc I was doing my master’s degree and then I got really sick) and maybe thinking so intensely about tlw these past 3 days will inspire me into it .

I’d be really interested in hearing any thoughts on response to any of this, even though it’s not particularly well written or formulated, so feel free to drop a message/reply/response anywhere if u or anyone else is compelled to. anyway response under the cut ->

so, my opening thoughts on the l word revolve around two things: there is nothing about this show that makes it an inherently lesbian show, and that it functions as a product of its time, not in culture but in Hollywood and show running. the imagined audience of TLW isn’t necessarily the modern ‘sapphic’ audience watching things like First Kill (2022), Do Revenge (2022), or Crush (2022) which are all, generally, pointed towards a younger audience seeking things like validation and romantic projection (from what I understand, and I’ll admit I haven’t watched any of these! But I have read synopsis and seen clips, so I’ll watch soon I promise). I do think this conversation has re-emerged a little in the growing conversations about wanting sexy lesbians having sex, which is a conversation that surrounded Love Lies Bleeding (LLB, 2024) for quite a while, repeating this argument that what lesbians want isn’t romance or tension, but sex, real sex, sex on screen and sex on TV. of course, it’s a little difficult for showrunners to ‘do’ sex or sexual content without it being so brazenly for men – and here I’ll step out and say when, in this context, I discuss women being looked at and ‘male gaze’, it’s more under the original theory of laura mulvey that women are objectified by the camera as men are in control of production, and here I’ll link the article (it’s very short, but I refer largely here to section B) – and to equally appeal to women looking at women but who are, equally not free from patriarchal understandings of the ‘correct’ and ‘incorrect’ ways of being attracted to women. I feel a good example of how we saw this was the big tiktok-wide discussion about sapphic cottage-core as an equally white endeavour, a sort of softcore launching of racist white American ideals of frolicking on a plantation. For showrunners to produce sexual lesbian content now, it needs to contend with who will be doing its marketing for them, i.e. a lot of people on tiktok talking about how LLB is for the ‘lesbian gaze’, whatever that means, or that these things are perhaps attractive to men in general, but are specifically geared to being attractive to lesbians specifically. Actually candace Moore, in a really brilliant article (and if u want access and don’t have it… just let me know) describes, through gaze theory, the notion of the straight viewer as a “tourist” and the “traveller”. Here:

Problematizing a distinction between the tourist, who "gladly or unknowingly accepts Disneyland's versions of the world's wonders," and the traveler, who "seeks and knows how to recognize authenticity," Strain argues that perhaps these archetypes are, if not one and the same, both victims to the notion that there is an "authenticity" available to be misrecognized, or grasped, in the first place. (10) But what of the lesbian viewer? (11) At first glance it would seem that the lesbian viewer falls outside of the already-tenuous tourist and traveler distinction, being a "local" intimately familiar with this culture. However, insofar as lesbian spectators are consuming mediated images of themselves, I argue that not only do straight audiences engage in a form of tourism when viewing the The L Word, but lesbian audiences, even those from Southern California, do too. The distinction between the tourist, the traveler, and, in this case, the local-as-consumer becomes blurred. Locals drawn to the latest "lesbian attraction," lesbians enjoy The L Word's eye candy along with straight "tourists." Like straight "travelers," they seek to identify albeit illusory "authentic" elements of the representation. However, for the queer viewer, the mediated reality of the show will never match up to reality. While the tourist and the traveler of The L Word are at base one and the same, the distinction between them lies not in what they are, but what they think they are; how they conceive of their own intentions, levels of "expertise," relationships to the local culture, and the "gains" that they take away--whether they travel for pleasure or for knowledge. It is through the enticement of lesbian sex (a spectacle of attraction for straight and queer viewers alike) and through the wonderment of either "understanding" the other or "recognizing" oneself (fantasy of authenticity), through both "watching from a remove" and "being there," that The L Word captivates its straight and queer tourists.

Pulling away from the academic angle, I don’t agree with the idea of LLB being for a lesbian gaze, nor do I think that TLW was ‘for’ lesbians more than it was ‘enjoyed’ by lesbians – a show that can hit as many audiences at once is a good thing. dennis cass for the slade in 2004 wrote that the L word “often feels like it’s not about being gay at all” and that a lot of what the show presents is pretty removed from any lesbian experience as we know it, additionally writing on bette and tina’s marriage counselling that they “aren’t merely in couples therapy, they’re seeing one of L.A.’s hottest personal gurus—that you not only forget they’re lesbians, but that they live on Earth.” A pretty accurate read for how removed a lot of TLW is from anything, and, to me, sort of bypasses any notion of ‘representation’ by just how fantastical it is. ginia bellafante also wrote in 2009, after s6 aired, that “’The L Word’ is a Sapphic Playboy fantasia in which women with wrinkles or squishy thighs or an aversion to lingerie appear to have been flagged down on the freeway with urgent instructions to move to Seattle”. basically, yeah

TLW itself is very clearly appealing to its heterosexual audiences at the same time it appeals to lesbians, even through the same mechanisms – the character’s conventional attractiveness, their skinniness, their lack of bras and how you can 9/10 times see their nipples through their shirts, and all the lesbian sex shown in as much detail as they could get away with – and that is the core driving force of the show in a lot of ways. we can’t really have another TLW today for the same reasons that all media from the early 2000s has shifted to give women more complex characters, arcs, appearances, and functions – and that’s a good thing, obviously – which in turn demonstrates the lack of these things the characters in TLW actually had. At its core, it’s sexy and men are the people behind the companies getting it on TV, not necessarily specific men but the shadow of patriarchy and how women exist on the screen. This isn’t to say media creation and output has become a liberal utopia for women’s rights, but rather there has definitely been a shift in how women exist on screen and what roles they were given before – think easy fast and furious, or megan fox in transformers, or even how very popular musicians styled themselves and appeared to the massive; Shakira, Jennifer lopez, Britney spears, etc – which, to me, reflects a way in which TLW capitalises off the straight heteropatriarchy in its desire to show sexy women at all times, always available to be ogled. in a way, this sorta aligns with bellafante’s observation that the show had ‘never aligned itself with the traditionalist ambitions of a large faction of the gay rights movement’ (written in 2009, 6 years before gay marriage was legalised in the us) – the liberator in the l word is sex, and that’s what all the characters are constantly aiming for, nothing else. Similarly, the show gets so obsessed with defining who or what a lesbian is (throughout the whole of s1 as they look for signs of lesbianism in jenny, with jenny at that party, or with dana talking about her ‘gaydar’, and so by doing this it turns lesbianism into a visual brand, something that be hidden in plain sight, appeasing both the hetrosexual viewer and the lesbian seeker - Martina Ladendorf describes a branding of lesbian identities through TLW in a form of “thingification”, and so “the representations of lesbian identities are discursively displaced and the identity position “lesbian” is partially filled with new meanings in the televised text of The L-word.” Ladendorf offers a far more generous reading than I do – to me, a lot of TLW needs to extrapolate lesbians from their womanhood and vice versa, creating a sort of woman who is a lesbian, rather than, simply, a lesbian

naturally, the l word is inherently a misogynist show , and in a lot of ways I think it’s unavoidable to think about when it comes to discussing schematics or opinions of the show, it’s a show full of, in the words of liz feldman in this interview, ‘beautiful lesbians with just nothing but time on their hands… and just somehow also money’. Obviously, the stereotypes the show puts forwards make it feel pretty cheap at time, and when the show ventures out into attempting to either tackle or just include plotlines about poverty, racism, transphobia, infidelity, (or plotlines it totally avoids, like conversations on butchness, gender non-conformity, or transfemininity), it honestly just gets stranger and stranger, not to mention the very active racism present in the show, via how pam grier’s character was written, handled, and expanded upon when she was by far one of the most skilled and seasoned actors on the show. a lot of issues I and other people have are through this lens, and hence why a lot of the pushback focuses on how little was understood about trans people in mainstream media back then, or how the show was just such a landmark moment that it was purely reflective of the times so it’s just nit-picking to be pointing out all its negative parts, which isn’t a sentiment I agree with at all, and instead I think of the l word as being both progressive and problematic for these reasons. Even as an addition, I feel like TLW is why we just don’t really need more tv shows like the L word… because we have the L word, and it’d be nice if we could have something different

so, when I talk about and recommend the l word I usually put it in these terms: season 1 is a phenomenal piece of storytelling and such a compelling way to create and introduce a show all about lesbianism to a world that is not filled with parallel lesbians, but rather is the only show on air in the world doing that exactly, and, following that, season 4 gets a little art deco and experimental as it pushes its characters through new, meaningful struggle, like tasha working in the military under ‘don’t ask don’t tell’ (fuck the army though), max living his new reality as a trans man (yeah it was dealt with horribly), bette dating jodi and this inviting so much conversation about art, disability, and deafness into the mix, and, in other ways, jenny and tina working together on her show, helena’s… gambling addiction or whatever, kit’s nonsense relationship shane’s nonsensical relationship. Imo these two seasons show the best of what the L word has to offer, which is, in S1, a sensitive introduction that pushes jenny through the wringer as she really becomes herself and takes hold of her destiny, and then in S4, these characters all essentially performing at their apex, in love, making mistakes, trying again, to the best of the l word’s ability to show any of this (relatively speaking, it’s the best TLW ever gets)

with all this in mind, I do think the show thrives in really profound ways at times. The real hook of it is, and always has been, season 1, which is just this ferociously strong exploration in television about such a serious sensitive topic, jenny’s coming out. a lot of criticism sort of facetiously responds to jenny’s character by focusing on her writing quality (which I honestly thought was fine lol!), and will ignore sincerely engaging with her in favour of laughing at how bad her character became as the writer’s lost the plot more and more, but I really do think that jenny in the first two seasons was just phenomenal, and mia kirshner’s fantastic meditative performance just stole the entire show for me. In season 1 as we are introduced to the show and their world through jenny’s process of coming out and ripping her life apart at the seams to live her ideal life (even if it was very explosive with marina and didn’t end well), which I just thought was such captivating writing about that moment of choice, where a character has to decide whether or not they’ll live their easy life or do the difficult thing. one of the scenes I have always come back to is in s1 where jenny has sex with tim and cries afterwards because that moment for her is the one where she realises she just can’t do it anymore, and seeing that in the show was just really otherworldly for me, I loved it and I thought it was amazing, and then later on in season 2 where jenny asks shane to cut her hair for her – a real splitting off from her regular, comfortable life, to ‘become’ a lesbian in heart and soul, was again just another moment where the writing and directing teams could really show some muscle in just how good the show could be, before dropping all presences and going back to whatever drivel they’d been doing. As a more technical note on the show, the inconsistent directors and writing is really hilarious, and sometimes the drop in quality between episodes is… staggering, to say the least

tbh s1 functions well as a drama-comedy mix because those scenes, as well as tina and bette’s fertility journey, is spliced within the rest of the nonsense going on, which I felt crafted this really enjoyable diametric swing throughout . arguably more than anything, jenny’s coming out was the best and most meaningful part of the show, and I really haven’t seen much other lesbian media hold a candle to it (though I could name a few). What they did with jenny as the show went on was disappointing to say the least, but s2 had a lot of heart in it as they attempted to have her coming to terms with her abuse (naturally, having finally discovered herself in s1) and focus more on what makes her happy – her writing. As the show continued to develop and jenny’s character just morphed into this unrecognisable thing, I even still think mia kirshner could perform such a charming take on it that I never really aligned myself to a lot of the jenny hate people joke about

other drama aspects in mind, like bette and tina’s marriage falling apart, bette’s other relationships (bette always seems to be the one facing the ‘serious problems), and even dana’s cancer and subsequent death, I thought were generally handled… ‘well’. Dana’s cancer worked interestingly within this as, while it was kind of bizarre, I think the relationship between alice and dana was a real life force on the show for a while, and that whole situation meant that alice could go through some real, meaningful growth in her character which she’d been a little starved of to that point. perhaps my thoughts are that when the show focuses on cheating as the only method of things falling apart, that’s when it really starts to fumble, because cheating at that level is such a sitcom-only esque plotline that removes a lot of reality you might be looking for and finding charming in these shows. Equally, I just think cheating can be quite an alienating plotline!

But, to talk about writing alone, my god it gets shit. Various parts of the writing I remember disliking off the top of my head are dana’s season 2 girlfriend which turns into a weird trope of the pretty girls vs the ‘uglier’ one (her then-gf), when the max arc is in full swing (though I’ll be clear as well and say I loved Daniel Sea’s acting within the role, however bad the writing was), papi and the racism that guided the writers in constructing her character, the random plotline of the guy living with shane and jenny in season 2 (though I thought it could have been really interesting, almost a meta comment on men watching lesbians, men watching the l word, men watching lesbians in media). Helena’s entire character was a little baffling to me, and while I did enjoy her at times and thought she was a hilarious addition to the cast, I just had no clue exactly what she was doing. Parts of the shows ideology itself is equally harmful, like alice and dana shopping for strap-ons (bc alice is bisexual and therefore loves penetrative sex, and dana is a lesbian and therefore doesn’t), or just that the shows ensemble cast reflects the background, and everyone is cis white thin feminine, etc. until they’re not, like ivan or papi, or Dylan..? (or a character’s non-whiteness function as a sort of ethnic flair to them, say papi and carmen being Latina and that being their exciting ‘exotic’ traits), that floods the show with a very recognisable sort of white Hollywood liberalism, and if we can understand and comprehend that, we get a good working frame for the rest of what’s going on. as alice and tasha were arguing about the military it was, of course, them trying to suggest that alice is this very liberal character who disagrees with the war and tasha’s politics, but not enough to…. Break things off with her. Instead (fashion tumblr user steps in) she even joins in this roleplay and dresses more femininely around her, growing out her hair a little and everything – and alice in general usually had a pretty fluid sense of style, so it was an… interesting choice. And then Jamie shows up for some reason (and is similarly one of the very few reoccurring Asian characters on the show – her, Catherine (one of helena’s stupid love interests) and adele (who is not serious); actually to make a side note on how this show was received, there was even a petition to get the character’s from alice wu’s Saving Face (which is a brilliant movie, and you should watch it) to be on the show and bring more Asian representation, from autumn 2008)

One episode I think is pretty good for reading the ethos of how TLW engages with women who aren’t their ‘ideals’ is shown is, imo, episode 3? 4? of season 1, where lacey is harassing shane for moving on from her. Lacey is one of the very few characters who leans a little more into being gender nonconforming, yes still with the full face of makeup, but with heavy punk-ish eye makeup, short hair, leather jacket, a demanding attitude, (and she’s not fat, but definietely has more weight on her than any of the verrrrry skinny main cast), and all-in-all embodies a kind of paltry attempt at TLW at bringing in someone with more of an edge, perhaps a modern day masc we might imagine – she’s really one of the only women I can think of on the show, let alone women that shane gets with, who isn’t an ultra-feminine character with long hair, tall, skinny, petite frame, etc. devoid of reality, the show really pushes on her as this over-demanding woman who reactedly badly to shane using her and moving on, and of course the show is trying to show us that shane uses people without much care for them, but doing so through lacey lets you sympathise more with shane than it would if they’d brought in a far more feminine woman who could play that damsel in distress role through looks alone. Lacey’s problems are like a pet or a child’s wherein you do what they want (in this case, another 1 night stand) to appease them, and then you get them off your back. The writing itself is very bizarre, but the fact that they used a woman who was just a little left of centre from the standard the show had set of these beautiful women in Hollywood, demonstrates enough

likewise, to go from here and talk about gender non-conformity, one of the strangest lines on the show was always kit in season 3 episode 9 saying “It just saddens me to see so many of our strong butch girls giving up their womanhood to be a man” – why she said that, I don’t know, some sort of meditation on her bizarre relationship with ivan perhaps? But that relationship fell apart because ivan was… not a man… and couldn’t be a man… whereas max is a man and could be a man, so I just don’t know.

Kit: Why can't you be the butchest butch in the world... and keep your body? Max: Because I wanna feel whole.

and he is so punished for that split away from butchness into transness, even by the woman who is notably placed outside of the lesbianism of the show – which is arguably worse than having one of the lesbians come at him for it, as kit is more or less representative of “the rest of the world” in these types of conversations, pushing max away from transition while the lesbians of the show, the ones who, you would imagine, have had some sort of intersection with transness once before (again, notably shane, who, as part of her traumatic backstory, was mistaken for a boy when she was a teenager and was paid by men to give them a handjobs) . instead the show curiously places kit there as some voice of reason, and the rest of the lesbian cast are kind of fast and loose with the whole thing. when they do talk about butchness in s3e3, it’s just bizarre. Pre-transition max pulls shane with him to unpack the car as “us butches”, and carmen giggles and jokingly calls shane a “big butch” even though, again, she’s the closest thing the show gets to reoccurring butchism, and is likely seen and imagined as butch by a lot of the people watching . at dinner later on in the episode, they make a joke about him not being “stone butch”… as if that’s a way of measuring masculinity rather than a sexual identity, before shane interrupts the conversation to say “You know what, what difference does it make whether someone is butch or femme?”. again, she is the butchest one at the table, and very notable not butch, but has gone up so close to the border before, you really wonder… why. Why there is such intense resolution to not make her butch, but really it’s because TLW functions in the absence of the butch – alice eler puts it succinctly: “The L-Word asserts that a “femme” lesbian woman is more desirable than a “butch” lesbian.”

In tlw, butch and femme are always roles played rather than realities lived, so it defaults to femininity being ‘standard’ - and this is where, imo, a lot of reaction to max’s transition hinges on. If the show can’t allow any character to firmly be ‘butch’, so when a character takes on butchness as a passage to realising his truth, that he is a trans man, it pulls out all the ugly thoughts and feelings held by certain lesbians about trans men who were, previously, identifying as lesbians/butch lesbians. Here, it really creates a perfect storm for TLW to uphold dangerous ideology (how they showed max’s transition was horrible), and justifying their cis lesbian audience’s response (they got angry that the only character who transgressed gender went ‘too far’ with it, essentially, living his truth in a way they didn’t like). I imagine, if TLW had functioning butch characters on the show, this all might’ve played out differently, but if TLW let go of its standard of femininity, then it… isn’t sexy, becoming too lesbian and too trans and alienates its non-lesbian audience, getting too deeply invested in its lesbianism than it is with its glamour. An interview with Ilene chiaken that gets thrown around a lot is here: on max, “She’s our first real butch on the show — a fabulously attractive butch, but nonetheless a real butch,” Chaiken said. “And we deal with the issue of gender. We wanted to tell that story, a big story in the gay community and, in the last couple years, a huge story in the lesbian community.” it’s an interesting statement for sure– gender transgression has always been a part of lesbianism (read any book ever), and with the advent of the internet and online communities – afterellen being founded in 2002 – more conversations could be had by lesbians from all walks of life, from any economic background or lived reality of race, ability, anything. jack halberstam writes interestingly in Transgender Butch about butch/ftm borders that,

The distinction that some butches need to make between lesbianism and butchness hinges on a distinction between sexual and gender identities. Lesbian, obviously, refers to sexual preference and to some version of the “woman-loving woman.” Butch, on the other hand, bears a complex relation of disidentification with femininity and femaleness and, in terms of sexual orientation, could refer to “woman-loving butch” or “butch-loving butch.

butchness, and max’s ex-butchness, is never truly interacted or responded to in the show – ivan states he doesn’t mind being referred to as a he, shane half-heartedly defends butchism by asking her friends to stop talking about it, and max finds himself as a man through a meaningful identification with butchism and ‘disidentification’ with femininity to then finding a reidentification with not just masculinity, but manhood, which lends way to him truly discovering himself. Curiously, in response to this, this reidentification is one step too far, and suddenly its actually ok to be butch on the l word. The rest of the cast seems to ask him over and over again, why by a man? Why not be butch? But in the world of TLW, to be butch and to be trans are both radical acts of nonconformity, to disidentify is to no longer be the thing that sells, so you very fundamentally cannot do any of it – lisa the male lesbian in s1 is played for laughs as a transmisogynist punchline, and carmen giggling at the idea of shane being butch (and thus disidentifying) demonstrates that this is equally hilarious.

from this angle, i feel that TLW functions primarily as a show about women attracted to women, not lesbians attracted to lesbians (lesbian as gender, as identifier, as being). Immovable womanhood is the centre of everything, constructing familiarity, and to stray is to exit safe perimeters that TLW establishes within unradical, conformist, cisgendered white femininity. candace Moore, again, writes that TLW “positions lesbianism as a sensibility, not a sexuality. This is particularly important because as a sensibility, lesbianism can potentially be co-opted by straight viewers.”

of course, it would be remiss to fail in mentioning that much of this discussion about tlw’s association to butchness is very much within whiteness as well – we can argue that tasha is a stud even if she never says the word herself, her specific attraction being to “girly girls” and her riding a motorbike, always with a more masculine wardrobe, and being in the……. Army………. Really aligns her with this sentiment. I do think she’s a stud, but this being off the back of the show’s depiction of max sits so strangely, and we can’t ignore that her blackness is so instinctually connected to how they wrote her – in a world where no one else can be a butch, why then is the only dark skinned black lesbian more masculine leaning than the rest of them? yes, racism, and all tied in to her nationalism and dedication to the army. It’s certainly an interesting choice for the writers to make and, while she is one of my favourites in the whole show, I definitely have a lot of pause with why she was written and created the way she was, and what she offers the show politically – she holds space as a particularly vulnerable body, a dark skin black stud lesbian, but maintains the status quo of the country and of American imperialism. What’s the message? Even the most unavailable of lesbians can still be patriots??? the individual's physical unfuckable body is still acessible through american aligience?

As later seasons continued to get worse, parts I did really enjoy were tasha’s entire character, molly’s entire character, seeing tina ‘get her life back’ as it were and return to painting, jodi’s entire character, all the music featured, and bette and tina getting back together was really well written and laurel holloman and Jennifer beals are just two very strong actors steering that ship, and random moments throughout I really enjoyed (specifically bette’s professional life gave a lot of breathing room for the show to have other funny little characters, like her office assistants etc) that I’m struggling to remember here rn tbh but generally even as the show was getting bad, the more ridiculous things got the more fun I was having, but the later seasons ‘drama’ was a little painful. If it had started as a drama and then shifted into something more palatable, I think it would’ve been great, but really anything that wasn’t season 6 would have been fine.. just such an unforgiving and cruel way to end the show, and I thought adding jenny to the mix of toxic sad relationships after leaving her straight life and coming to terms with her abuse was such a mean-spirited and cruel way to end it IDK! And this is why the l word FAILS as a sitcom, bc at least usually (to my knowledge) the idea is that at the end… they’re kinda happy and stepping into another new life with some stability and lifelong friends!!! But instead TLW said fuck you and I hate you

anyway yeah closing thoughts… if you watch TLW without even thinking about representation I think it’s an easy watch, bc what I was watching it for is psycho lesbians who don’t act normally and that’s what I got. All caricatures of themselves or whatever they’re performing in the shadows of, and, in a way – and maybe this is a little weird to say – but I think the lesbians in the show are, to me, like watching a species of lesbian that I myself am not. Which is a shame because, if I recall correctly, a lot of those musical performances in the show were about exposing the world to lesbian music that broke the norm and went against the stereotype of music people associated with lesbians at the time, showing them on the cutting edge of new sound, which somehow did not cross into the actual meat of the show at all. And I haven’t spoken at all about it here, but a lot of those musical features are my favourite parts of the show and made some of those scenes just electric, magical parts of storytelling on tv

to address the “you”/I in what “I think”, and this one actually is TMI, when I first watched the L word, it was when I had really just finished coming to terms with my own lesbianism back in late 2021, early 2022 (I was gay and trans before this, but hiding from myself and my sexuality and my gender in complex ways, living a sort of double life online and offline – this was more an unforgiving reckoning with who I was vs what the life I was leading looked like). i was finally letting myself think about it holistically, reflecting on conversion therapy and how I navigated my desires and my identity. I wrote a lot of melodramatic diary entries and was trying to figure out how to handle a 3 year long semi-formed, confusing, and impressively undefined ‘situation’ship I was in with a guy while I was living alone during a gap year. all I really did in this time was go to the gym, go on walks, go to therapy, and think… a lot. by the time I started watching TLW I had come to terms with my lesbianism (and its inextricable relationship to my gender), but watching jenny go through something I had basically been in the thick of myself (just without all the sex and the cheating and the sex and the sex and the sex), and was, at that point, yet to experience the real horror of, meant a lot to me, and, just from some reading online, I’ve understood too how the early seasons of TLW really helped a lot of other lesbians come out to themselves or start thinking about where they might sit in relation to lesbianism. again, TLW fails time and time again at any sort of political radicalism, but when you’re so, so painfully alone and you don’t really have anyone to talk to about these desires, or even have the strength to talk about these things out loud, I do think somehow the unabashed desire flung around the screen of TLW does one thing, and that is to declare that lesbianism doesn’t have to be in your head, and that even good change can be really difficult when it’s something like this, and that, to me, was the best thing TLW added to the conversation about lesbian TV and reflects, for a lot of lesbians who find themselves trying to navigate repression and abuse, the experience that we’re still moving through: taking hold of our lives with our own hands

beyond that, beyond being a story about transformation – which I do think really permeates the first season (dana coming out to the world and to her parents; shane learning how to love or whatever the fuck genuinely; tina and bette trying and failing and trying to live the life they’d always dreamt of; marina navigating her own bad relationship through a sort of uncaring outwards desire; bette ‘choosing’ the wrong path from her married life and cheating; kit re-entering the world of professional music and working hard to get into that music video thing situation – I think s1 is just such a rare gem of tv, that had so many flaws in it and so much was mishandled, but it came to it all with a lot of heart. But still that same angle is what alienates it from reality and sets it up as this fantasy land of woman-who-engage-in-lesbianism and abstractifies lesbian reality to make way for lesbian (or straight) fantasies of standard hegemony with a little zest. As it goes on however, it falls so hard to the more difficult aspects already clear at its start, and dramatizes their sexual escapades and relationships endlessly in a way that gives, says, and does nothing. jill dolan describes it well, albeit more positively than I have here: “part of the fun has become to simply go with it, to enjoy its excesses of character and plot and to tolerate its rather sweetly absurd attempts at relevance and authenticity.” and you really can ‘go with it’ for a while, but to put it shortly, TLW is not a show worth following to the end of the earth

#anonymous #asks #the l word #tlw

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puckpocketed · 5 months

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how do you stay enthusiastic when your basically talking to yourself on here about some teams??

TAKE MY FIN !!! the master plan really was to infiltrate popular hockeyblr tags and then once i got followers/mutuals, to inflict upon them untold amounts of propaganda about my obscure special little guys...! the idea is to drag fandoms around them into wretched existence one shitpost and gif at a time. anyway (with soooo much rizz) is it working is it working is it working ? <3 biting every single person who has ever liked my posts about my players from the juniors/AHL and relatively dead liveblogs ...!

as always because i take some asks too seriously, we are breaking character under the cut <3

this all boils down to the unfortunate fact that someone has to be first lol

and to wit, I don't know if I'm ever talking to myself on here. i think we rarely are, even if it seems like we're alone. is that what you're concerned about? I'm trying to interpret your ask, but of course we can't exactly have a conversation (unless you hop off anon!!). anyway!! often I'll make posts about a new special little guy I've picked up off the ground and it turns out 1-2 other people really love that special little guy as well, and then i get to make a new friend !! I have unearthed some incredible things from old blogs! I imagine someone searching for their guy could stumble on my stuff and find a little connection and kinship knowing someone else loved that guy first, because that's how I feel when I'm the one finding people's posts about my guys. someone has to be first! and someone has to be second. and so on.

most recently, beloved Sharks prospect Luca Cagnoni has let me meet a really cool person (whose gifs and edits are immaculate btw.. meg if u see this i am a big fan as you already know !!!) they are perhaps the only other person on this platform who has gifed him besides me, and that's our common point of interest!! but again, someone had to be first. and then i was second <3

idk. if no one ever posted about their special guys because they thought no one else cared, no fandoms would ever exist. enthusiasm is infectious. I love to listen to my friends talk about their special interests so much. I love to hear propaganda about other people's special little guys. that's half the reason I pick up new guys!!! so deep deeeeeep down, I am hoping just a little bit that my enthusiasm for my guys catches, and someone reading my posts about my guys wanders by and thinks "whats all this??" and is compelled to join in on the fun :3 sometimes i'm the second or third person, sometimes i'm the first. i don't mind either way <3

as for the answer to your actual question... I'm enthusiastic because I'm just posting on my blog, which is the place where I can talk about my interests. that's what tumblr is all about, no?? <3 I stay enthusiastic because it's fun to yell into the void, I wouldn't be doing it if I didn't feel that way!! i get a kind of emotional catharsis venting my affections and thoughts about, say, Brandt Clarke (current mind cow, offensive defenceman who is banished to the AHL... all due respect to that league, I think his development is being hampered by staying there, he does not belong there so PLEASE LET HIM BE ON THE KINGS ROSTER FULL TIME NEXT SEASON @ ROB BLAKE AND UNNAMED HEAD COACH <3) even if like 2 other people on here know who tf he is!! even if 0 people know who tf he is!! also (voice of an only-child who has had to make their own fun) aside from my secret hope that I'm making effective propaganda, i figure that the way i feel about my teams and players exists independent of how others feel about them. why does it matter if im mostly talking to myself?

You ask me how i stay enthusiastic talking to myself, and I'm hearing "isn't it lonely?" and what I'm saying is i wouldn't be posting about anything so enthusiastically in the first place if I didn't love it enough to rant at a wall <3 and truly the answer is get obsessed. get deeply immersed. learn the deep cuts and the lore. develop parasocial beef with your team's GM for not calling up your special guy. rail at the systemic barriers (height discrimination) that keep your guys from being taken at the draft. narrativepost about them. make art and gifs and edits and poetry web weaves. write rpf stories if you are so inclined! enjoy a team or a player for exactly what they are, and do it with sincerity. no irony. no holding back. and because hockeyblr is a big and beautiful place, someone out there probably agrees with you and you'll find each other by way of yelling loud enough!!! if not now, then one day soon. do it because someone has to be first and it might as well be you <3

#asks #anon #random people in my inbox: throwaway question #me: lets take this as a prompt to write a small essay

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breedaboyd · 1 year

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Haiii!! Soooo happy youre writing for cap!! I was thinking 148 with Cap Hatfield and ftm or amab reader?

(Gif by me!)

Prompt: "I'm not jealous! It's just...you're mine."

Pairing: Cap Hatfield × M!OC!Reader.

Word Count: 805.

CW: Jealousy.

A/N: I'm hoping I got the right prompt! I get the feeling that Cap is probably kinda self-conscious because of his appearance so, when he has a partner, he gets overly protective and jealous.

The ride back from the bar is unusually quiet, the sound of hooves against the dirt road the only constant. Cap rides beside you, his usually talkative demeanour replaced by an uncharacteristic silence. You glance at him, his jaw set and his gaze fixed ahead, and a subtle frown creases your brow. His mood is out of character, and while you can't put your finger on the cause, a faint unease settles in the pit of your stomach.

As you guide your horses along the familiar path, your mind replays the events of the evening. You remember the girls at the bar who had been chatting with you, their laughter filling the air. It'd been harmless conversation, just friendly exchanges, but now you wonder if Cap has misunderstood the situation. Could Cap be thinking that those girls were flirting with you? Glancing sideways at him once more, you notice the tight set of his jaw, the way his grip on the reins seems almost white-knuckled. The silence between you is heavy, punctuated only by the rhythmic sound of your horses' hooves. The thought of Cap being jealous is both surprising and intriguing. It's a side of him that you haven't seen before, a vulnerability that he's rarely shown. The ride continues in silence, each passing moment stretching the tension between you.

Finally, as the cabin comes into view, you guide your horse to a stop. Cap follows suit, the animals snorting softly as they come to a halt. You dismount, your feet landing heavily on the ground, and Cap does the same. You both head inside without a word.

As you both settle in the cabin, the crackling fire casting dancing shadows across the room, you can't ignore the distance that's grown between you. Leaning against the wall, you finally break the silence.

"Cap, what's going on?" He starts, as if your voice has pulled him from a reverie, and his gaze meets yours with a mixture of surprise and guilt.

"Nothin'. Just... Just nothin'." He replies, looking down at his hands. Your eyes narrow slightly, a mixture of concern and frustration welling within you.

"It's not nothin', Cap. Somethin's been botherin' you since we left the bar." You say and Cap's jaw clenches.

"It's... It's stupid, really." He mumbles and you step closer to him, your gaze intent on his as you search for the truth in his eyes.

"Cap, we've come too far to let things go unsaid. Talk to me." He hesitates for a moment, his shoulders tense.

"I saw those girls at the bar. I saw how they were talkin' to you and... And I was just..." He says softly. The admission hangs in the air, a raw vulnerability that's exposed in the firelight. You take a step closer to him, your gaze unwavering as you meet his eyes.

"Jealous?" You say, your voice steady. "Cap, you've got nothin' to be jealous about." He scoffs, his expression a mixture of frustration and self-doubt.

"Easy for you to say. You're... Well, you're amazing. And th-those girls, they were all over you." He says, voice shaking. You close the remaining distance between you, your fingers gently tilting his chin up so that his gaze meets yours.

"Cap, listen to me. There's nothin' to be jealous about." You say softly and his eyes widen slightly, as if your words have taken him by surprise.

"I'm not jealous!" He protests, his voice rising slightly as if he's trying to convince himself as much as you. "It's just...you're mine." The words hang in the air, a mixture of possessiveness and insecurity that's carved a path through his thoughts. But you're not about to let him retreat further into his own head.

"That's right." You say, your voice low and filled with conviction. "I'm not anyone else's. I'm yours." With those words, you close the gap between you, your fingers tangling in his hair as your lips meet in a fierce kiss. It's a kiss that's meant to break through the barriers he's built, to remind him of what you have together. His resistance falters, and his lips respond to yours with a hunger that matches your own. Your hands wander, tracing the lines of his body with a possessiveness that mirrors his own. You pull away, but only slightly, your lips lingering near his ear as you whisper. "You're the one I want, Cap. The only man I could ever want." He shudders at your words, his grip on you tightening as if he's afraid to let go.

"I-I just..." He stammers, his voice softer now. "I can't help it. I don't wanna lose you." You brush your lips against his jawline, a gentle kiss that's both a promise and a reassurance.

"You won't lose me, Cap. I'm right here and I'm not goin' anywhere."

#character: cap hatfield #source: hatfields and mccoys #type: reader #misc: ask #misc: chariot writes

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mononijikayu · 2 months

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Hi Kayu~ Just read Bu Wang and first off can I just say, I love the Inuyasha gif 👀 Ive watched Inuyasha like five times so I appreciate the love the anime is given from random corners of the internet

With this newest chapter, I actually never thought of the disagreements of where Hiromi's body was gonna go. In previous chapters, like Night Flower, it was heavily insinuated that the Gojo's had taken back Hiromi's body and put her to rest in the family's tomb, but the fact that her bloody body was incased in ice for DECADES in some crypt in Hida is NUTS. Also RIP the youngest.

I thought the spirit dragon scene was actually really well written, but when I tell you that man introduced himself as kenjaku I GROANED. This MF has got his HANDS IN EVERYTHING

I'm curious on how Hirmoni is gonna show up in the modern day, because everything of the main story is staying the game, so Kenny Boy is in Geto, and as far as we know his technique is to body swap. I swear if Kenny goes in Hirmoni's body and Sukuna literally doesn't give af that it's Kenny and proceeds to live his life with her, bro that'll be actually insane. Love is truly a curse huh?

Look forward to the finale!!! (hope your exams went well too!)- ✈️

hello nonnie!!!

inuyasha is one of my favorite stories of all time!!! im glad that you adore it as much as i do~ i feel like hiromi is inspired a lot by kikyo, but i suppose, in a way more serious because of the burden of powers vested on her by the gods. but i think they'd get along if they met!!! <3

i always wanted that aspect of the story be a mystery. because i mention it once, it has to continue as a plot point. and finally, bu wang answered the question. it was really a sad thing, because i keep imagining what i could do as the aftermath, but having her body be robbed from her kin after years and years with nothing to mourn - that conversation needed to be had. and them stealing it back was really the only way for them to have some sense of closure.

though, hiromi's body was cleaned everyday by uraume. they are the only person sukuna trusts with that if sukuna isnt around to do it. when i was plotting it, i kept imagining how it would go with that. i had that idea with a friend who also beta reads for me and it went from there.

hiromi was in that ice coffin, but people could see her. she never really aged from the time of her death to the moment she was cremated and interred in the family tombs. in that fifty years, sukuna was making sure she was continually cleaned, changed into different fashionable kimonos and etc. she was placed in the middle of his assembly hall as though she was in a throne and when it was time to rest, sukuna would have her coffin be moved to his quarters.

this went on for fifty years, because sukuna was obssessed with having her by his side. and for some time, it made his concubines jealous because he never really returned their affections nor wanted to be around them when he could be around this corpse of the person he actually really truly loved.

i based that off on two stories - the myth of ines de castro and the death of poppaea sabina. ines was the mistress of the king of portugal and poppaea sabina was wife of emperor nero.

according to the myth, he had ines's dead body brought out to the throne room and seated her throne, in all the finery of a queen and made everyone pay homage to her dead corpse. with poppaea sabina, emperor nero was so distraught about her dying that he had her body embalmed to preserve her body and raised her to divinity, to be worshipped.

hiromi ending up as a wandering soul, i really loved writing that. i feel like it fitted that after breaking her soul - it healed itself to give her another chance. but its sad because she can't remember anything and now she's stuck with this kenjaku guy who promised to tell her everything about her, when we know he wont.

i'm in the middle of production for the last chapter of the series right now, but i have to tell you its going to be interesting. because a lot of her return has repercussions, which i cant reveal yet. but im pretty sure i can confirm that kenjaku never body swapped with hiromi - because her body stopped existing when it was burned. so anything he did with her was done as her being a soul.

sukuna cares deeply about hiromi and i think, if he were aware that kenjaku was harboring hiromi's soul - sukuna would kill him. or at the most, make a deal with him to take hiromi's soul back. i dont think he would ever be alright with anyone doing anything to try and use hiromi for gain. he'd rather burn the world than see that happen. as you said, love is truly a curse sukuna bears and he loves and hates it.

thank you for your earnest support as always!!! new chapter should be posted today!!! im honored to have you enjoy it all with me, nonnie!!!

thank you also for wishing me well on my exams - it finished well, but prayers still accepted on passing everything <3

#kayu asks ! ! !

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nervousgardenerkid · 2 years

Note

Hi hi hi,

We love Steve but we also love toxic King Steve 🤰

Would you please write some heart wrenching angst about him making a bet in high school on reader with his friends. They’ve been in a ‘perfect’ relationship for years now he’s ready to propose and everything. Then BOOM on their anniversary they bump into previous friend and he lets the secret out. Hell breaks loose maybe reader packs a bag and leaves but please can you end it happy my heart can’t take Steve being sad for too long 🫶

THANK YOU SO MUCH, I LOVE YOUR WRITING!!!!!!

Truth or Dare?

a/n: oh anon,,,i LOVE the way ur thinking. if there's one thing about me it's that i love to write a good fight scene...the angst,,,the tears,,,UGH it keeps me alive. this doesn't have a specific time setting but i'm gonna say it's somewhere around season 2 till season 3 maybe,,,idk no monsters are mentioned it's just angst😭 i hope you like this anon thank you for the idea! credit to the gif owner <3

Steve and his friends laughed when he saw Tommy coming back with his hand on his now red cheek. You see, Tommy was dared to tell a girl a dirty pickup line and it earned him a hard smack to the face.

“Dude! I had no idea she was gonna slap you like that!” Steve laughed out.

“Whatever, she was a bitch anyways.”

The group all laughed and threw bits and pieces of their food at him while he tried to calm them down.

“Okay, Harrington, truth or dare?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Pft, easy. Hit me with a dare.”

Tommy let out a hum and his eyes scanned the cafeteria carefully picking his next target. He felt a smirk on his face when his eyes landed on you taking notes from your math textbook.

“I dare you to ask her out.”

“Done.”

“Ah, ah, ah!” Tommy said while pointing at Steve. “You have to date her for a month.”

Steve felt his heart drop. He knew he was a dick, but he wouldn't want to string someone along like that.

“Tommy, that's a little-”

“What's wrong king Steve? Scared you might break her wittle heart?” He said with a fake pout.

Yes.

“No, I'm not scared of that. As a matter of fact, I’ll date her for three months.”

Steve didn't bother listening to what the group had to say as he made his way over to you. There was a tiny voice in his head pleading, begging him to stop. To just leave you alone, cause you really are a nice girl who doesn't deserve any of this. Steve has had a conversation with you before and you've touched his heart with how genuine you are. He plops down in the seat in front of you and taps in your textbook gently.

You look up at him and smile, taking off the headphones to your walkman and pressing pause.

“Hi, Steve!”

“Hey, there pretty girl, what are you doing?”

You blushed at the nickname and pushed your notes towards him.

“Just studying, I have a math exam tomorrow so I'm cramming as much as I can.”

Steve hummed and looked over your notes trying his best to avoid eye contact with you.

“So I’m guessing you're studying tonight too?”

You nodded your head and flipped the pencil that was in your hand.

“Why what's up?”

“I wanted to take you on a date.”

You accidentally flung the pencil at him, apologizing multiple times while you scrambled to grab it.

“Like um, like a study date?”

“I was hoping we could go without the books? Just us two.”

You blushed and started biting your lip as you thought about it. Steve wanted to stop and come clean right there. He's never seen you this excited over anything before, and it breaks his heart knowing it's all a bet.

“Sure, I can put off studying tonight and hang out.”

Steve smiled at you. “Great! I'll pick you up at…seven?”

“Perfect! I'll see you then.”

Steve smiled and got up to leave, but not before he gave you a soft kiss on your cheek. He walked back to the lunch table with his chest slightly pumped out as his friends looked at him, their faces asking how it went.

“Sorry I can't hang out tonight boys, I have a date.”

The two-month mark hit before Steve realized that he doesn't want to end the relationship in three months. These past two months have been the best for Steve and he's never been so happy. He began to treat this like it was a real relationship, Tommy and his friends still poke fun at him. They tell him that he can call it off now and Tommy will even pay him cause he's starting to blow them off to spend time with you. Steve just laughs and shakes his head telling him that he's really dedicated to this bet.

Before you know it, months turn into years and Steve drops his shitty friends and loses his king Steve title to Billy. Now, usually, this would've upset Steve but now he has you. He doesn't have to worry about his friends slipping up and saying you're just a bet. He doesn't have to hear the mean and inappropriate things they say about you, and now he can spend all his time with you.

There was a little period where you guys split up. It was six months into the relationship and the guilt started eating Steve away. It never occurred to him that Tommy could ruin the relationship in a split second, they didn't have the most mutual fallout that friends usually had. Steve started feeling like everything was a lie, he felt like loving you was a lie, it was his favorite lie, but a lie nonetheless. He was the one to call it off, it lasted for a month but it was the worst month in Steve's entire life. He couldn't eat, he couldn't sleep, and he missed about a week's worth of school. It wasn't until you knocked on his front door, a stack of school work in your arms that he finally felt complete.

Apologies began spilling from his mouth and tears were falling down his cheeks. You forgave him of course. You always forgive Steve for what he's done. He didn't feel the need to bring up the bet at all once you guys got back together. He figured that since he's the one who broke things and got back together with you, you guys had a clean slate. Sure, you still had the same anniversary date but that's not what mattered! What mattered is that you and Steve were officially back together and nothing could ruin that.

Today was your second anniversary with Steve and you were both so excited. Everything was going perfectly between you two and you felt like nothing could ruin it. You were taking a walk around town after you two had an amazing dinner at Enzo’s. You stopped in your tracks telling Steve you had to use the restroom real quick. You kiss him on his cheek and walk into the nearest store you could find. Steve looks around and sees an old couple holding hands and walking into the movie theatre, he smiles as he starts to think of his future with you.

“Do my eyes deceive me, or is that you Harrington?”

Steve whips his head around and sees Tommy making his way toward him. He gives his old friend a tight-lipped smile and crosses his arms against his chest.

“In the flesh.”

Tommy laughs and stands in front of him. “How have you been, man? It's been a while.”

Steve makes small talk with Tommy, but he can't help but notice that he has this gut feeling that something terribly wrong is going to happen. He feels your hands wrap around his upper arm and he sees the look of shock on Tommy’s face when he realizes it's you.

“You're still with y/n?”

You roll your eyes. “Nice to see you too Tommy.”

Tommy smirks and looks at Steve.

“Does she know?”

You look between the two of them with a confused facial expression.

“Know what?”

“Shut up Tommy.”

“I mean what, how long have you guys even been together? You were supposed to stop at three months, Steve.”

Your heart fell to your stomach and your hands dropped from Steve’s arms. No, there's no way Tommy meant what he was saying. This has to be some kind of sick joke, right? Your eyes drift to Steve and you can see every emotion on his face clear as day.

“Are you fucking serious?”

Tommy chuckles but covers it with a cough. “Guess the cats out of the bag.”

You're not one to turn to violence, if anything you're the last person to throw the first punch, but you've never felt so hurt, so betrayed in your entire life. Before you know it your hand is connected to Tommy’s cheek and a loud smack is heard, people stop and stare at the scene before then mumbling things under their breath. Hot tears are streaming down your face and you snatch your hand away when you feel Steve grab for you.

“Don't!” you shout at him. “Don't touch me. We're done.”

You don't even give Steve a second to explain himself cause you're already walking away from him trying to put as much distance between yourself as possible. You usually love Steve and his stubbornness, but right now you wish he'd stop chasing you.

“Y/n! Wait I can explain-”

“Explain what Steve?! How our relationship started off as a bet? Seems like there's nothing to explain there!”

You feel Steve grab your arm and you try to fight him off but you're just too sad to do anything.

“That's not true-”

“Do you even love me, Steve? Or was that some kind of sick game too?”

Steve’s heart broke when he finally got a good look at you. You had tears streaming down your face and fire behind your eyes.

“Of course I love you-”

“Bullshit!” You shouted while urging your arm away.

Steve flinched at the all too familiar word and shook his head trying to fight back tears.

“It's not. It's not-”

“Yes, it is Steve! This whole relationship is bullshit! I've been living a lie for years by thinking you loved me!”

“I do love you! You think I’d stay with you for that long if I didn't?!”

Both of you were shouting at this point and people were starting to stop and stare. Anger fueled both of you and you both didn't care what was being said to the other person.

“Fuck you, Steve.”

“I should've never taken the god damn bet, it would've saved me a lot of trouble.” he didn't mean that, not one bit.

You let out a bitter laugh and shook your head. “Nancy was right, you're bullshit. I never want to see you again.”

“Fine by me.”

It's been three weeks since you and Steve had your big fight and to say you were both miserable was a massive understatement. Robin and Nancy would drop by to check in on you and bring you some food. They tried their best to cheer you up but weren't successful.

“So is this like a divorced parent situation?”

Nancy smacked her arm and smiled at you. “Don't listen to her.”

“I'm asking the real questions here!”

You dipped your sad, soggy fry into ketchup and ate it.

“If you're asking me if I'm making you choose sides I'm not.”

Robin smiled. “Thanks, mom.”

You let out a giggle and rolled your eyes making robin gasp and coo at you.

“There she is!!” she exclaimed while wrapping her arms around you in a hug. Nancy melted at the sight and joined in on the hug. Tears began to form as you hugged them both tighter.

“Thank you guys, for everything.”

“Y/n you don't have to thank us,” Nancy said while pulling away and fixing your hair. “We'll always be here for you.”

Robin’s watch beeped and let out a sigh. “Except, for now, we have Steve duty, Nance.

You looked down at your now cold food and cleared your throat. “Is he okay?”

Nancy and robin looked at each other before looking back at you. “You can come with us and find out.”

Your heart was pounding as you sat in the backseat of Nancy’s car, you don't know what came over you or what made you want to see Steve. Nancy parked the car and Robin was quick to jump out.

“Nance? Aren't you coming too?” You asked before stepping out of the car.

Nancy shook her head. “Feels a bit awkward helping my ex through a breakup ya know?”

You smiled understanding what she meant and thanked her for the ride. You follow Robin to his front door and you start to feel sick to your stomach. Your hands were getting clammy and if you didn't lean against the other door you're pretty sure you would've fallen by now from how weak your knees felt.

“Crap, I left something in Nance’s car. Stay here real quick I already knocked and everything.” Robin said while running towards the car.

You were too lost in your head to register what she said. You looked up at her and noticed she got back into the car and buckled up. Realization begins to set in and you stand up straight looking at your best friends with wide eyes.

“YOU GOT THIS KID!” Robin shouted.

“I’M SORRY Y/N SHE MADE ME!” Nancy shouted while speeding off.

Bitches, but I love them. You thought to yourself. Time seemed to stop the minute Steve opened his front door.

“Robin, I told you I'm- oh.”

Oh? Oh?? What does he mean by that?!

There was only one thing that was running through Steve’s mind when he saw it was you at the door. You're wearing his yellow sweater.

“I uh, I just wanted to check on you…I guess,” you mumbled while looking down at your feet.

“You still have my sweater?”

Your eyes met his and it took every fiber in your body to not wipe away the stray tears that were stained on his face. You shrugged your shoulders.

“Smells like you.”

He gave you a sad smile. “I use your shirt as a pillowcase.”

“Can I come in?”

Steve didn't waste any time stepping aside and letting you into his family home. You sat on his couch and looked at him, your heart jumping when you saw he was smiling at you.

“Wipe that smile off your face, Harrington I’m still furious with you.”

Steve nodded his head. “Understandably so, but you can't be mad at me for being happy that the girl I love is still wearing my sweater.”

You quickly look down trying to hide the blush that was creeping onto your cheeks. You cleared your throat and fumbled with your fingers.

“I came here to talk. At least I think I did.”

Steve makes his way to the couch, he points to the spot next to you silently asking if he could have a seat there. You nod your head and refuse to make eye contact with him fearing you'll cry on the spot.

“Was everything Tommy said true?”

He nodded his head.

“I need you to be honest with me Steve, were you ever going to tell me?”

Steve sat and thought for a moment. He never really thought about telling you, sure there were moments he wanted to but he could never bring himself to do it.

“I don't know.”

“Is that you broke up with me? Cause of the bet?”

“No! God no, I mean technically yes but it wasn't because the bet was up.”

You tilted your head in confusion.

“Look, I'm going, to be honest with you. I never wanted to ask you out, not like that at least, and I know it's not a good excuse but being the king of Hawkins high I had so much pressure on me. My mom and dad never really cared for me, so I found comfort in assholes like Tommy and Carol but even they didn't care about me.”

You reached out and grabbed his hand, giving it a tight squeeze.

“I never should've asked you out like that,” he whispered. “you didn't deserve that, no one does but especially you y/n. I broke up with you that day because it was getting too much for me. I was tired of living a lie, but god y/n please don't think that for a second I didn't love you. I love you with all my heart and no bet is going to change that.”

Both of you were crying now. You were quick to pull Steve into a hug and cry into his shoulder. You hated this. You absolutely hated Tommy for making Steve take that stupid bet, you hated his parents for not paying enough attention to him, and you hated that Steve surrounded himself with fake friends just so he could feel an ounce of love and affection. Steve was mumbling how sorry he was over and over again. He understands if this is the one time you can't forgive him, but he's praying to whatever greater power is out there that you do.

You pull away from him and wipe his tears away with gentle hands. He leans into your touch trying to savor the moment for as long as he can.

“I'm sorry for what I said to you. I shouldn't have called you bullshit.”

“You had every right to.”

“Doesn't mean I should have.”

Steve’s hands reach up to your face and he gently strokes your cheek.

“I'm so sorry for hurting you.”

You take a deep sigh and lose your eyes trying to figure out what to say next. You still love Steve, and you know you always will but how were you supposed to just openly trust him again? Especially after something like that.

“I think,” you started. “I think we should start over. Brand new clean slate, you know take it slow.”

Steve swears he would've fallen to his knees if he wasn't sitting on the couch with you.

“Really? You mean that?”

“I do, but I’m serious about taking it slow Steve.”

Steve smiles and brings you in for a tight hug. You feel his tears hit the top of your head and you can almost feel his heart beating through his chest.

“I'll go as slow as you want. I don't care, I just want to be with you.”

You let out a giggle and Steve swooned at the sound of it. He swears he's never heard something more beautiful than your giggle.

“This is your last chance, Harrington. Don't mess it up.”

His hold on you tightens, almost as if he's scared you'll disappear any second.

“I wouldn't dream of it,” he said while kissing you on the forehead. For the first time in a long time, Steve finally felt like he could breathe. The weight of the world was off his shoulders and it was all thanks to you.

“Robin is going to be so happy about this,” you said with a chuckle.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Oh god, she told you about the divorce arrangement didn't she?”

#steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #stranger things fluff #stranger things angst #steve harrington angst #stranger things blurb

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bradshawfanclub · 2 years

Text

With You

Made this account because I thought I lost my original, so hop over to @bradshaw-fanclub to read the rest of my works

Pretty much part II of "Thinking of You"

Summary: Reader finally sees Bradley after weeks apart.

Warnings: smutty smut, minors DNI!!, Bradley’s dirty mouth, oral (male receiving), fingering, probably got a seat reserved in hell for this one, minimal editing, gif has no purpose other than to remind you how beautiful he is

You're sitting at Bradley's graduation banquet, he's in the chair next to you at a large, circular dinner table. His hand is on your thigh and he’s running his thumb back and forth across the fabric of your black dress - a stark contrast to his Navy Whites.

There's other graduates and their dates at the table with you and although Bradley had introduced you to them, you can't remember any of their names to save your life, too distracted by how good your boyfriend looks.

He's laughing along to something one of the graduates is saying. There's a slight flush to his face, he's got a few drinks in his system and he's riding the high of graduating the Top Gun program. He looks happy, buzzing with an energy that you haven't seen in a while.

It's been 13 weeks since you saw him last. You had stayed home while he went away for training and, while he tried to call you every day, it was a busy 13 weeks. You're happy to be here for him, to support him, but all you can think about is how long it's been since you've been with the man next to you.

You try to follow along with the conversation, but his hand seems to be burning where it lays on your thigh, a constant reminder that he's so close to where you really want him.

Your need for him isn't a surprise, you'd texted him plenty while he was gone about how much you missed him, needed him and occasionally had time to relieve yourself over the phone; the sound of his voice all that you needed, husky and raw as he guided you through your actions.

But now you're sitting right next to the man who has been on your mind for weeks in less than PG ways and you can't touch him - at least not in the way you want.

He's telling a story, his eyes flicking to you. He catches you staring, the corner of his lips quirking up and he holds your gaze. His story trails off, just for a split second - and the way he's looking at you, it's like he knows what you're thinking.

He lifts his glass of water to his lips, taking a slow sip. He shoots you a knowing wink before clearing his throat and turning back to the group.

And, dammit. You had thought that maybe -

"Well ladies, gentlemen. I think it's time y/n and I call it a night," he says to the table and hold on a minute. Bingo!

He stands, hand held out to you and you take it eagerly. He helps you to your feet, lips ghosting a kiss against your cheek and a chorus of teasing rooster crows breaks out at the table. Rooster rolls his eyes, flipping the table off discreetly before he wraps his arm around your waist. He waves his final goodbye, leading you out of the banquet hall and to his blue Ford truck.

You're pretty sure you're shaking with excitement because finally. You're going to be alone with Rooster after thirteen long weeks.

He opens the passenger side door for you and you move to slip in, but you stop. You turn to face him, hands deftly sliding up around his neck to pull his lips to yours. He lets out a surprised moan, his hands coming to your hips, body pressing yours against the truck, and the corner of the doorway pressing into your back almost hurts, but the feeling of his lips hot and wanting against yours distracts you.

His tongue swipes hotly against your bottom lip and you let him in, his dominating yours. He's balling up the fabric of your dress in his hands, absentmindedly pulling the fabric up and if you weren't on the naval air station, you'd let him take you right then and there.

"Rooster," you gasp, the separation of your lips allowing him to trail hot kisses down your neck. He settles over your pulse point, teeth grazing the skin before his lips sooth over the sting. One of his hands has slid to your thigh, lifting your leg up against his hip and oh-

He starts a slow grind, the crips fabric of his Navy Whites against the flimsy material of your panties is so good.

"Not here," you whine out, voice breathy and high pitched but you can't control it - not when the hard, hot grind of his cock against your sex is so delicious.

"Take me home, Bradley," you all but beg and that gets him going.

And, yes technically home is the wrong term, you're shacked up in a hotel room - but 'take me to the hotel' didn't have the same sexiness to it.

"Fuck yeah," he breaths out, raspy with need. He lifts you into the truck, reaching across you to buckle you in, even though you could totally do it yourself, and you take the opportunity to bite a kiss into his neck. He shudders, body going tense where he's practically stretched out across you and he grunts out a quiet fuck.

But just as fast, he kicks back into gear and hurriedly shuts you door, jogging his way to the driver side. He climbs in, turning the key and high-tailing it out of there.

The press of his cock against the white of his uniform is mesmerizing, long and thick and hard. You're not even ashamed to say that it's mouth-watering and your brain floods with thoughts of getting your lips around him, to feel the hot weight of him on your tongue.

"Don't look at me like that," he says, voice thick with the promise of sex, "I swear I'll pull this fucking truck over if you keep looking at me like that."

And it really isn't such a bad idea.

"I've missed you, Roos," you say, all needy and wantonly and his jaw ticks, knuckles going white where he grips the steering wheel, like it's taking everything in him not to pull over.

And suddenly you want to see just how much it takes.

You start with a teasing touch, your fingertips trailing lightly up his thigh and his eyes flicker down to the contact.

"Y/n." Bradley warns and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to stifle your eager smile.

You trace the outline of his cock, touch feather light before you give in and press the flat of your palm against him, just the way he likes. The friction punches a breath out of Bradley, the muscles in his thighs going tense.

This side of Bradley, the side where he's practically vibrating as he tries to control himself is so hot - and you intend to push your limits.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and Bradley shoots you a warning glare, as if telling you that you know the rules. Bradley's a good driver, observant and quick thinking even if he tends to go at least 10 over the speed limit; but he'll go to his grave telling you that you can't trust other people on the road. You're both stubborn; you about a lot of things, Bradly about your safety. You've sat in a Walmart parking lot for almost a half hour, the truck running idly as you both stared at each other. Bradley had refused to even back out of the parking spot until you put your seatbelt on, and you were feeling a little bratty and wanted to challenge him - you had finally conceded and buckled in.

Not tonight, though. He can give you his angry, broody eyes all he wants - you're winning tonight.

You slide across the cab bench, body pressing right up against his, your palm grinding a steady rhythm against his cock. Maybe it’s the friction or maybe he just thinks better of starting that argument, because he throws his right arm over the seats, making room for you.

That's all the permission you need. You press your face into his neck, kissing and biting at the skin as you work on undoing his belt and the button of his uniform pants.

His breath is coming out uneven and ragged, but he still manages to sound smug when he says, "so fucking needy, hm? Just couldn't wait until we got home?"

You shake your head against his neck, whispering thoughts about how much you need him, how much you missed him and he groans out a curse.

You pull back so you can see what you're doing as you try to work his uniform pants down his legs, just enough so you can get to the main event.

You stroke him in your hand, well aware that he's stealing glances at you from where his gaze is trained on the road ahead as you stare down at his cock in awe. You've told him time and time before that he's got a pretty cock, thick and long and just fucking pretty to look at. He'll deny it, thinks it's weird that you'd choose pretty of all adjectives; but that doesn't stop his dick from jumping when he catches you staring, when he sees how much you love it.

The cab of his truck is big, there's no center console for you to fight for space, so it's easy for you to slip to the floor - not between his legs but close enough to him that it'll be easy to wrap your lips around him.

He must look down at you, because next thing you know he's muttering a string of curses and groaning out an oh, fuck me.

You lick a slow stripe up the length of him, enjoying the jump in his thighs before slipping the tip between your parted lips. You circle the sensitive head with your tongue, wetting the skin so you can bob lower down onto the length of him, hand working in tandem with your mouth.

The hand that was thrown over the seats has settle in your hair, his hold on you keeping your pace nice and slow. You look up at him from beneath your lashes; his face is flushed red, jaw slack, mouth hung open slightly. His eyes are jumping from the road to you, the sight of your lips stretch around his cock too good for him to miss after being gone for so long.

"You're so fucking good for me," he rasps out, chest expanding with every ragged inhale. There's sweat beading up in his hairline, muscles tense and shaking and he looks so fucking good.

"Look so pretty with your lips around my cock," he continues and you hum around him, his hips jerking up at the feeling.

You take him as far as you can, the fat tip of him nudging the back of your throat and that must be all that it takes. You can feel the truck come to a fast stop, feel the bumps of the wheels as he pulls off the road. He puts the truck into park, thighs spreading wide as he gets comfortable and slowly starts fucking up into your mouth.

You moan around the width of him, letting him take over. There's tears sticking to your lashes as he nudges the back of your throat over and over, your nails digging into his thighs and he mutters filthy things about how pretty you look, how pretty your lips look when they're fucked raw.

He pulls your head back, hand still tangled in your hair as he guides you up to his lips; he kisses you hard and deep, teeth plumping your bottom lip further, tongue teasing yours. He gets you into his lap, your dress bunched up around your hips, his hands on your ass, squeezing and pulling, grinding your panty clad sex over his cock.

The material slips, just slightly and you get a tease of his bare cock against your wetness, the hot press of him against where you need him most. He reaches around behind you, fingers moving your panties to the side as he runs the tips across your wet folds.

"S'wet for me," he grunts out, pressing deeper into your heat, but continues his teasing glide up and down your sex.

"Bradley," you beg, hips chasing the dizzying tease of his fingers.

"I got you, baby," he rasps, "M'gonna take care of you."

He dips his middle and ring finger into you, curls them against your fluttering walls and you cry out, hips pressing down against his fingers to get him deeper.

"Look at you," he says, all raw and smug, "look how needy you are, fucking yourself down onto my hand."

And you don't care, because that's exactly what you're doing. You're fucking your hips back into the teasing thrust of his fingers, needing more and more and more.

He pulls his fingers away, the glide of them across the skin of your ass leaves a trail of your wetness and he lifts your hips so he can position himself at your entrance.

He pauses, running the tip along your sex as he grunts out, "I don't have any condoms, baby."

And you don't care, at least not tonight.

You’re kissing him again, whispering please and need you against his lips between kisses.

And truthfully he’s a man of only so many morals; can’t stop himself from guiding your sex down onto the bare length of him, can’t stop himself from telling you how much he loves your sweet pussy, how wet and hot you are for him.

He’s thrusting up into you, your hips chasing the sweet grind as you move in tandem. Your dress sticks to your skin, the air in the truck hot and damp with the smell of sex.

“Missed your pussy, baby,” he grunts out, sweat trailing down his cheek, his jaw, the long planes of his neck, “thought about it every night.”

He grabs handfuls of your ass, guiding your hips up and down his dick as he thrusts up into, his lips and teeth biting a trail along the line of your collar bone.

And it’s perfect, so perfect; the long, thick drag of his cock in your tight heat, his lips whispering filthy things against the shell of your ear.

You must zone out, body focuses on the pleasure, because next thing you know Bradley draws his hand back, smacking your ass before he growls out, “I said tell me how good it feels, tell me you love having my cock buried in your sweet little pussy.”

“Bradley,” you’re breathless, eyes squeezing tight because you’re so close.

His hands still your hips and your eyes fly open, protests already spilling past your lips.

He’s watching you; eyes dangerous, fingers flexing against your hips where he’s holding you so tight, like he’s trying to keep from pulling you into a grind.

“Tell me,” he rasps, grinding up into you with each word, like it’s a reminder of how good it feels.

“So good,” you cry out, “Bradley, it’s so fucking good, I missed you- please, Bradley-“

Words are pouring from your mouth, you’re not even sure if you’re actually saying them - drunk on the pleasure coursing through you, desperate to come.

“Yeah, fuck yeah,” he breaths, “I’ve got you, gonna make you come all over my dick, baby.”

And then he’s moving again. He sinks down into the seat, really getting his feet set under him before he’s fucking up into you like he needs it to live. You collapse against him, back arching just the slightest to give him a better angle, face pressed to his shoulder as you cry out yes and please and Bradley.

Your climax blinds you, body going taut as you fall apart on top of him, eye rolling back into your head, legs shaking, walls fluttering tightly around him, his name falling from your lips like a mantra.

“That’s it,” he’s grunting into your ear, “that’s it baby, come all over my cock.”

He follows behind, mumbles “gonna come in that pretty little pussy, baby,” into your ear before he’s cut off with a groan. He grinds up into you in short thrusts as he comes, dick buried deep in your sex, eyebrows pulled tight together, fingers digging bruises into your hips, lower lip caught tight between his teeth.

You’re panting against each other, clothes damp and sticky with sweat. He doesn’t pull you off of him, both of you basking in the post sex high.

He’s rubbing circles into your lower back, lips pressing kisses onto the crown of your head.

“I missed you,” he says, probably for the hundredth time since he picked you up from the airport that morning and you inhale, refreshing your brain on the scent of him.

“I’m proud of you,” you say, sitting back to look at his face, leaning in to press a kiss high on his cheek bone, “I’m so so proud of you, Roos.”

He’s grinning a cute little boyish grin, looking up at you from your spot in his lap like he’s never seen anything more beautiful; eyes full of soft admiration like he didn’t just fuck you within an inch of your life a minute ago.

He kisses your lips softly before he taps your ass, helping you off his lap and onto the cab bench before tucking himself away. You straighten out your dress, buckling yourself in and he leans over to kiss you; once, twice, a third time, like he can’t get enough of your raw, pouty lips.

His thumb brushes your lower lip and he’s staring at it like he’s thinking the same thing.

“I’m gonna get you home and I’m gonna fuck you on every possible surface,” he decides and a hot flush races up your neck.

Because, yeah, you have a lot of catching up to do.

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw #rooster x reader #rooster #top gun maverick #rooster top gun #top gun

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skiller0dani · 3 years

Text

Old Prison Blues | Spencer Reid

M A S T E R L I S T Criminal Minds Masterlist

smut | dom!spencer x bau!reader requests info w.c | 7.2k summary | when your husband Spencer gets released from Prison, he's much different then you remember.

I have it so bad for this man, enjoy! Also guys this piece made butterflies squirm in my belly lmao this one is so HOT it made me blush. Guys, it made me B L U S H. I need to go dunk myself in holy water to atone for this SIN. (just kidding lmao I'm agnostic).

you can see his bulge in this gif and I can't stop admiring looking at it.

When you were in college you'd been an undergraduate in Criminal Justice, so you were familiar with the effects Prison has on the psyche. In other words, you knew Spencer would come back different. No person could pass through Prison unscathed and frankly you'd be more concerned if he came back and nothing had changed at all. At home, he seemed to be relatively okay, and those 6 mandatory weeks of break had allowed him the rest he deserved. Nothing exciting had happened during those weeks, the only thing you did was curl up on the couch next to him and watch movies. You'd made up for all those weeks in Prison during the evenings when you would cling to him and cry out his name in ecstasy.

Spencer really did seem to be fine, until you returned to work. That's when you started to see all the ways Prison had hardened him.

At first, it wasn't anything out of the ordinary. If you were someone who knew Spencer well then you knew that he wasn't a man who was confident in his looks. When you and Spencer first got married he was insecure, and would be discouraged when you hung out with other guys. You wouldn't say he was jealous because jealously in itself requires a certain amount of anger. But when Spencer saw you around other men he wasn't angry, he was sad. Absolutely convinced you were going to leave him any second, despite you telling him you married him because you love him. Deep down, he always thought somebody would steal you from him even though you consistently reminded him how much you love him. That's just the kind of guy Spencer is.

Or, was.

The darkness that brews in Prison, the violent hatred, the anger seems to have followed Spencer to freedom. It has made a home in his chest, and while you're not worried about Spencer flying off the deep end and shooting an innocent, the anger reveals itself in much more subtle ways. It's in the way he clenches his jaw when he can't figure something out, or the blanching of his knuckles as he grips the steering wheel with a crushing force, it's the agitation in his eyes when he watches Alvez's knuckles brush against your lower back for the 3rd time since you two had arrived at the office this morning. The anger has adapted to civilian life like Spencer has, it's learned. It's subtle. Unfortunately you know Spencer almost better then he knows himself, you can tell when something is bothering him.

You slide your hands over his shoulders, and much to your surprise you feel him tense.

"You okay?" You know it's a stupid question, but you have to ask.

"Yeah, fine." Spencer's tone is clipped, shoulders rigid, back straight. Something is definitely bothering him. You squeeze his shoulders and begin to work at the tightened muscles, slowly easing them to relax. The tension flows out of him as he relaxes back in his desk chair, the frustration ebbing away slightly when his eyes catch your wedding ring. The object that binds you to him.

"Don't shut me out." You whisper, a soft plea in your voice. Spencer's heart wretches when he hears the fear in your tone, and one of his hands comes up to catch yours. He presses a chaste kiss to one of your knuckles before swiveling around to face you. You always find a way to soothe the violent, raging beast inside of him. Spencer's hands find your hips as he turns his gaze up to look at you.

"You're right I'm sorry. Just tense today." He says softly, and while there is a little lie to his words, his statement remains mostly the truth. He just leaves out the part where he pictures enacting varying forms of violence on Luke Alvez. The man who keeps unnecessarily touching his wife. You lean down to press a kiss to his forehead, your head snapping up when Garcia calls from the conference room.

"Got a case folks, and it's an ugly one." Her nose scrunches up into a frown before she turns into the room. You pull away from Spencer, yanking him to his feet by his hand. Luke sends you a playful wink as he trots up the stairs, and while you don't necessarily react to it, it still puts Spencer on edge. Deep down Spencer always knew you were way out of his league, but that never became clearer then when you came to visit him in Prison.

┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

You were trembling as you lowered yourself into the chair. Dried tears were on your cheeks, and you haven't even seen Spencer yet. The last time you saw him was a few weeks prior after he first got back from Mexico. Seeing his wrists bound in those metal handcuffs had broken your heart in a way you never anticipated. You wrung your hands together, luckily when Penelope had made the visitation Chart she scheduled you as the first person to come see him. The plastic chair was uncomfortable, but what was worse was the plastic guard separating you from Spencer. The clock ticked loudly, it was clearly mocking you. Reminding you of the seconds you were losing with Spencer, reminding you of all the seconds he was spending in Prison.

When you hear the buzzer scream loudly, you nearly come out of your seat you're so excited to see him. You and Spencer got married back in 2005, and you've never been separated from him for longer then a week. It's been over a month now, and each day he's not with you leaves a bigger hole in your chest. You watch him follow the other prisoners out, and the handcuffs around his wrists breaks your heart. His eyes light up the second he sees you, he nearly shoves the other guy over to get to you faster. There are tears in your eyes as Spencer's wrists are released from the cuffs from the guard standing nearby.

"Hey baby." Spencer says softly as he takes his seat across from you. All you want is to reach across the stupid barrier and touch him, hold his hand, anything. But you know the guards will punish him if he does, but being this close to him without being able to hold him is absolutely killing you. You try to blink the tears out of your eyes so that Spencer won't see, but it's all too much. Seeing him in a jumpsuit, with cuff bruises around his wrists, having to sleep in the same building as murderers. The first tear falls and you immediately look away from him.

"Please don't cry." Spencer begs softly. "I'm okay, really."

You wipe your tears before you look back up at him, digging around in your bag for a gift from Henry. You smile when you see the happiness cross onto his face as you pull the piece of paper out.

"Henry drew this for you, it's from when you guys went to the park." You hold it up for him to see and you try to fight another onslaught of tears when you see his eyes misting.

"You know, when I get out of here we should have one." Spencer says it so casually, you almost miss it. Your eyes nearly pop out of your head as you carefully lower the drawing.

"You want to try for a baby?" You can't hide the smile, and you see Spencer's eyes shine for the first time since he's been in here.

"Yeah, I want to have a baby with you." You and Spencer had a brief conversation about kids a few years ago, and you knew Spencer wasn't ready for it back then. His Father ran out on him and Diana when Spencer was just a kid, it made Spencer insecure about the type of Father he would end up being. In Spencer's mind, a fatherless man would never make a good Father. But it seems he's changed his mind. You had no issues agreeing to wait before you had kids until he was ready, you always knew Spencer would be a fantastic Father.

Suddenly from Spencer's right you hear a low wolf whistle. The tenderness that was on Spencer's face is instantly wiped away. His expression tenses, his jaw clenching as he turns his gaze to a large burly looking man covered in tattoos. The man sitting across from him, the one who was visiting, looked similar. Both of the biker looking men were eyeing me hungrily, it made my skin crawl.

"Something I can help you with?" Spencer asks, his voice tense. The tension in the room grows tenfold, and you fight the instinct to try and scoot closer to Spencer. The Biker looks Spencer in the eyes, a taunting smile on his face.

"That your sister?"

"Wife." Spencer snaps instantly.

"Your wife?" The Biker says incrediously, Spencer raises a brow, daring him to continue. "There's no way a woman with an ass that tight would marry a man as scrawny as you."

You expected to see insecurity flash in Spencer's eyes, instead all you saw was rage. Unbridled, violent rage.

"Choose your next words carefully." Spencer's voice was low, and as sharp as the edge of a blade. You almost didn't recognize him. The Biker leaned forward, fueled only by the knowledge that he was getting under Spencer's skin.

"She as tight as she looks? If I wasn't locked up, I'd fuck her so good she wouldn't even remember what your little pecker feels like."

Spencer's jaw clenches, and his fists curl tightly. The Biker is about 2 words away from a broken nose.

"Baby just let it go." You plead, and normally you don't really use pet names in public but right now you needed to show him that you're his.

"I'll tell you what Klein, I'll fuck her for you and tell you how it felt." The other man says, the man visiting. Upon hearing the words come out of his mouth, Spencer is shoving up from the chair but almost instantly a guard is tightly gripping Spencer's shirt and shoving him back into the chair. Spencer is fuming, and there's nothing you can do to calm him down.

"If you so much as lay a finger on her, your friend here will be dead before you can have another visit." Spencer hisses, and the two large men chuckle.

Spencer instantly took you off the visitors list, and while that felt like a blow to your heart you understood why. You didn't want to stress him out by visiting him.

┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

So, yeah, Spencer knew you were out of his league and when Luke pulled your chair out for you at the table before he had the chance to, it made his blood boil. Why is Luke trying to take care of you? Doesn't he know that Spencer has been released from Prison? You don't need anybody else to take care of you, your husband is more than capable of doing it himself. When Spencer sat down in the chair next to you, he rested one hand on your thigh. You're only slightly surprised, normally Spencer isn't this 'handsy' in public, but in recent weeks he's been more assertive around other men.

"The body of 23 year old Cassandra Richardson was found 2 weeks ago in Lincoln, Nebraska. Her body was mutilated and showed signs of sexual assault. Yesterday another body, 20 year old Francesca Williams was found around the same warehouse district with similar wounds to the first victim." Penelope rushes the words out, almost as though saying them pains her. Various images show on the screen of the two victims, both bloodied and battered.

"Other than similar injuries, what makes the local police think it's the same unsub?" Luke asks, his eyes flickering towards you for the briefest second. While Spencer was locked away, Luke became a shoulder to cry on. Normally when you were upset and Spencer wasn't around, you'd talk to Derek. But since he's been gone you've felt more isolated then you normally do. Luke had found you crying one morning before you had taken off, and ever since he's had an "older brother" protection over you.

"A tattoo on both of the victims thighs, the words 'temerata virginem' which is Latin for 'desecrated virgin'." With the click of a button on her remote, Penelope pulls up a photo of the tattoos. The lines are shaky, although they stay mostly straight.

"It almost looks professional, except the lines aren't perfectly straight. A professional would make the line work perfect." JJ says, examining the photo closer in the folder each of you received. You turn your gaze to Spencer when you feel his hand leave your thigh to examine the photo closer. You could practically see the gears turning in that beautiful mind of his.

"It's possible an outside source is causing a tremble in the unsubs hands, if he is a professional tattoo artist." Spencer mumbles, almost to himself. Sometimes when he's in deep concentration, he nearly forgets other people are in the room with him.

"Could be drugs-" Luke starts but is sharply cut off.

"Actually it's more likely to be alcohol, withdraw from other drugs would be too severe to operate the tattoo machine." Spencer snaps, causing a few heads to turn and look at him. Maybe under other circumstances someone would say something to him, but since Spencer got released from Prison only a few weeks ago, nobody says anything. Luke's eyebrows furrow together as he shoots Spencer a confused look, one Spencer chooses to ignore as his hand returns to your thigh. Spencer knows he's acting like a jerk but he can't help it, Luke needs to know who you belong to. Spencer had everything taken from him in Prison, he won't let anyone take you from him too.

"We've been personally asked by the local police to assist, so wheels up in 30." Emily concludes, shooting one more look at Spencer before everybody rises.

┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

The tension on the jet is thick, you're absolutely sure everybody can feel it. Hardly anyone has interacted with Spencer, except to ask him a question about the case. You sit back against the couch, Luke sitting in one of the chairs at the table, and Spencer sitting on the arm of the chair next to you. In your hand was a nearly empty cup of coffee, and just as you move to refill, Luke rises with his own empty cup.

"Need a refill?" He asks, offering you a friendly smile.

"Yeah actually-"

"I got it." Spencer says abruptly, standing from where he was sitting. His eyes meet Luke's, silently challenging him. You try to be understanding, but you can't help but feel annoyed at Spencer. If he was acting like this to some random guy then that's one thing, but this is Luke. He's your friend, he's Spencer's friend. Luke, and the rest of the team, put everything on the line to free Spencer from Prison.

"It's cool man, I can do it-" Luke offers again, but Spencer isn't having it.

"I said I got it." Spencer reaches his hand out for your mug, which you instantly give to him. His eyes don't leave Luke's until he turns around and heads to the back of the jet to refill your coffee. Luke pauses for a few seconds, his eyes meeting yours and mirroring the same look of concern before he heads for the coffee pot as well. Luke isn't even upset by how Spencer is treating him, he- like everyone else, is worried about Spencer's psyche.

"What is going on with Spencer?" JJ whispers once she's sure Spencer is out of earshot. You shrug, your worried eyes landing on your husband. His posture is tense, almost defensive.

"Well can you blame him? In Prison, everything that's yours can and will be stolen by the other male inmates. Now that he's free, Spencer is being protective of his wife, someone that is his and can be taken by other men." Rossi says, always naturally a tad protective of Spencer.

"There isn't a man on this planet that would make me leave Spencer." You say defensively, although you know Rossi didn't mean anything by what he said.

"That might be obvious to you, but not to Spencer." JJ says, eyeing Spencer standing back near the coffee machine.

"Doing okay man?" Luke asks hesitantly as he moves to stand next to Spencer.

"Yep." Spencer says shortly, waiting for the pot to brew. Luke feels the tension rolling off Spencer in waves, and it's all being directed at him and he's not sure why.

"Look, if I've done something to upset you, just talk to me about it Reid." Luke's voice is gentle, understanding. Spencer's jaw clenches again as the pot finishes brewing and he refreshes your cup before reaching for the creamer.

"I'm fine Alvez. Really." Spencer says again, but Luke isn't willing to let this go yet.

"No Reid, you're not-"

"Stop flirting with my wife." Spencer's tone is firm, and the look in his eyes tells Luke just how on edge Spencer is.

"You got it." Luke agrees instantly, even though he was never flirting with you. But he knows that right now arguing with Spencer will only make things worse. Seemingly satisfied with Luke's answer, Spencer carries your cup back you, slinging an arm around you.

┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

Spencer twists his wedding ring around his ring finger, something he does when he's stressed out or tense. You're currently sat in the interrogation room with the male suspect, a tattoo artist attending AA meetings, the tattoo on the first victim was the shakiest because he had just quit drinking. The other, more recent, victims tattoo's were more steady. The longer he stayed sober, the more his trembling faded. In Spencer's other palm is your wedding ring, you fit the physical preference of this killer perfectly, but he only went after single women. Emily thought sending somebody in fitting his victimology would throw him off enough to say something incriminating. In order for the rouse to work, you needed to appear single- meaning the wedding ring had to come off. The thought didn't settle well in Spencer's gut.

"You have to relax." JJ said suddenly from Spencer's right. He nearly ignored her but his frayed nerves were beginning to eat at him.

"I can't. Do you see the way he's looking at her?" Spencer was pacing back and forth in front of the one way glass like a caged animal, unable to take his eyes off of the train wreck happening in front of him.

"She can handle herself Spence." JJ insists gently, almost using a motherly tone to talk to him.

"She's mine!" And suddenly the crux of the issue comes to light, and Spencer pinches the bridge of his nose, releasing a heavy breath. JJ thinks about her words carefully, trying to find something to say that will calm him at least a little.

"Yeah, and nothing is going to change that Spencer. You need to relax, and you have to trust her. You're not in Prison anymore, nobody is going to take her from you." JJ says, looking him in the eyes. Suddenly the sound of metal screeching across a concrete floor sounds from behind Spencer and when he turns around, his blood boils hot in his veins. The suspect, Alan Baker, has shoved out of his chair and has started towards you.

"Spencer-" JJ's voice is distant, and comes too late. Spencer isn't listening to her anymore when his fist curls around the door handle and he nearly rips it off its hinges.

"You need to step back." Spencer snaps, reaching for his gun as Alan Baker backs you into the corner of the interrogation room. You weren't ever truly afraid, you could have handled Alan. Slowly, Alan backs away from you and Spencer instantly reaches for you. He leads you out of the room with a gentle but firm hand on your back. Once you're out of the interrogation room you turn to Spencer.

"What the hell? I could have dealt with him!" You insist, frustration laced in your tone. At this point JJ silently slips out of the room, giving you and Spencer some much needed privacy. Spencer crosses his arms as he leans back against the one way mirror.

"You didn't need to, I did." Spencer huffs and you seriously resist the urge to throw something at him.

"What is your problem today? You could have compromised my entire interrogation, he's never going to tell me anything now!" You snap, anger pinching at your features.

"Good! Now you have no reason to talk to him again." Spencer snaps back, can't you see that he's just protecting what's his?

"Spencer we're trying to save somebody! You're being selfish!" You say to him angrily, trying your best not to start yelling at him. Spencer's selfish possessiveness over you could have just ruined your entire investigation.

"This is why the Bureau was hesitant to reinstate you. They were scared you wouldn't be able to control yourself." You snap at him, crossing your arms.

"Are you saying they made a mistake?" Spencer asks incrediously, suddenly becoming defensive.

"Maybe they did. Because you're acting like an asshole right now. You've been a jerk to Luke the entire day when he busted his ass to help get you out of Prison and back to me! Since when have you not trusted me during an interrogation? What did you think was going to happen? That I was going to let him touch me? I thought you trusted me." You cry out, tears filling your eyes now. Spencer didn't say anything as you turned for the door, anger still laced in his features.

"This has nothing to do with me not trusting you-"

"If you don't trust me, then maybe you should just hold onto my wedding ring for a while. I don't want it." You snap quietly, and you regret the words the second they leave your lips. No matter how mad he makes you, you'd never leave Spencer. You watch Spencer's expression shift from anger to...hurt. He watches silently as you slam the door behind you. Prison has turned him into somebody he isn't, and Spencer doesn't know how to turn off this part of his brain. The part telling him that you belong to him, and that he needs to protect what's his.

Rossi catches the sight of your tear stained cheeks as you move back towards the kitchen in the precinct. You wipe your tears as he comes to stand beside you, and the look on his face tells you that he overheard your fight with Spencer. Rossi bumps you with his elbow gently, a small smile on his face.

"You don't look okay." He says softly and you let out a self-depreciating laugh.

"I'm not. I don't know how to help Spencer, he doesn't trust me." You say sadly, your heart breaking in your chest.

"It's not you he doesn't trust, it's other men." Rossi clarifies, although it does little to ease the pain. You reach up to brush your hair behind your ear when Rossi catches your hand, examining your ring finger.

"Where's your wedding ring?"

"Told Spencer I didn't want it." The words are laced with heavy regret, and when you remember the look on his face when you said it you almost start to cry again. Rossi wraps an arm around you, and you lean your head on his shoulder.

"Deep down, he knows you didn't mean it." He tries to reassure you.

"That's the problem, he probably thinks I meant it."

┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

Normally it only takes you and Spencer a few hours to smooth things over after a fight. But this time, it's been nearly 3 hours and you haven't spoken a word to each other. You're both working on searching through Alan Baker's financial records without speaking at all. Neither of you have said anything, and Spencer still has your wedding ring. You desperately want it back, but you don't know how to start that conversation. You're angry about how he's been treating everybody, and you feel like asking for your ring is accepting defeat. You're not ready to accept defeat. When Emily comes into the room, her eyes settle on the two of you.

"Okay, what's going on with you guys?" Her arms are crossed.

"Nothing." The word comes from both yours and Spencer's mouths at the same time, and you say it far too quickly. Emily raises one brow at the two of you before closing the door behind her.

"Alright I'm going to have to be a boss now. We are not going to lock this guy away if the two of you are fighting. We need everybody on their A-game. Fix it. Now, and I mean right now." She says, leaving the room but closing the door behind her. There's a suffocating silence that fills the room, both you and Spencer too stubborn to speak first. But you can't take it, you hate it when he's mad at you. You hate it when you guys fight, which isn't often but it does happen occasionally.

"I didn't mean it." You whisper, leaning on the table, facing away from him. Spencer doesn't say anything but you know he's listening.

"I didn't mean it Spencer, I want my ring." He'd be lying if he said he wasn't relieved to hear you say that, his entire world crashed down around him the second you told him to keep the ring. The irrational part of his brain told him you were going to divorce him.

"Can I please have it back?" You ask, barely turning your head to look at him. With a huff Spencer pushes away from the table to move in front of you. His eyes are focused on your hand, he has yet to look at you. Spencer fishes around in his pocket before he finds your ring and gently slides it onto your ring finger.

"You have to stop glaring at any man that gets to close to me, especially Luke." You tell him, but he continues to look away from you. Spencer pushes past you to stand near the windows, his back facing you. The thing about Spencer is that he's stubborn, really stubborn. You take a few steps towards him, nibbling on your lower lip.

"I love you Spencer, I'm sorry. I was an ass, but you acted like an ass too." You tell him, but Spencer only turns his head further away from you. You move to stand in front of him, but his eyes turn to the ground and his arms are crossed tightly. Seriously?

"Please talk to me Spencer, tell me what's going on." You can see the frustration laced in his features, there's something on the tip of his tongue that he needs to say.

"Spencer."

"After you left from your visit, do you know why I didn't let you come back?" Spencer snaps, his hands finding your shoulders to yank your body against his. Your chest collides with his and suddenly you feel a dampness building between your legs. You instantly turn to putty in his hands.

"I didn't let you come back because that asshole told everybody about you. Told everybody what a tight little body you have. Soon the entire cell block was fantasizing about my 'sexy wife'. Do you have any idea what it's like to listen to men constantly talk about fucking your wife?" Spencer's voice is tense, but you can see it. The lust building behind his eyes, the frustration, and the fear of losing you simmering underneath it all.

"N-No." Your voice is breathy, and your eyes are lidded as Spencer's hands slide up your arms to your shoulders.

"It's fucking hell Y/N. Every time I see any man look at you I want to rip his eyes out, and I can't turn it off. I've tried, and the way that Alvez looks at you- it drives me fucking crazy." Spencer snaps, the anger building by the second. Your entire body begins to hum with an intense need, and Spencer can see it in your eyes. Spencer releases you then and he turns for the door, at first you're afraid he's going to leave but instead he locks the door. Luckily it's late, so the police station is more deserted then it is during the day. Turning back to you, Spencer reaches for the blinds next and you can't help but follow his every movement with your eyes.

"Get on your knees." Spencer says suddenly, and you freeze in shock. Did he just say...?

"Get. On. Your. Knees." Spencer says again through clenched teeth, leaning back against the table, heat simmering in his eyes. His hands grip the edge of the table and you feel a throb from between your legs. Quickly you scramble onto your knees in front of him, your hands reaching up to undo his belt. Once the belt is unfastened, you're quickly unbuttoning his dress slacks, your eagerness making your hands a bit clumsy. Spencer has never been this dominant during sex, but you have no complaints. He has your knees weak and he hasn't even touched you. You quickly dip your hand into his boxers to pull his hardening cock out. As soon as his cock is freed, your lips are wrapping around the head. Spencer's head tosses back in ecstasy.

"Your lips look so pretty stretched around my cock. Those bastards could only imagine having you on your knees for them." Spencer snaps, his hand weaving into the hair at the back of your head. You moan softly around him at his crude words, slowly sliding down his cock. Spencer groans when he feels your tongue laving the underside of his cock, along the vein that runs from base to tip. Apparently feeling impatient, Spencer pushes your head further down his cock. He feels his tip right at the entrance of your throat, and with one gentle thrust he breaches your throat and his cock slides all the way into your mouth.

"Fuck," Spencer hisses, and Spencer does not curse often. So the fact that you have been able to draw curses from his mouth is nothing short of a miracle. Spencer's chest heaves slightly as you gag lightly around him, drawing another deep groan from his chest. You feel nearly desperate to please him, you need to make him cum. You want him to fucking pound you, you want him to use your body for his pleasure. You want him to release all of his frustration out on you, you want to be sore when he's done.

"You're mine. This is my body to touch and admire, my tight pussy to stretch open, mine." Spencer growls, thrusting gently to meet your hasty movements. You whimper around his cock, gagging slightly again as spit dribbles down your chin. Your eyes are wide and watery as you look up at him, and the sight of you nearly causes him to blow his load. You just look so fucking beautiful on your knees in front of him, drool on your chin and your mouth full of cock. It's a sight he will never forget. You move your head faster, keeping your eyes locked on his. Spencer squeezes the edge of the table, his head tossing back when his orgasm hits him. You feel his cum shooting in spurts to the back of your throat and you swallow every drop. Once you pull off him, Spencer is grabbing your elbows to pull you to stand.

Spencer's hands are reaching for the button of your dress slacks as his mouth presses messily to yours. Spencer's tongue pushes into your mouth, his hands pushing your pants down and you kick them off. Instantly, Spencer's fingers are sliding into your panties and through your slick folds. You whine loudly against his mouth, your eyes fluttering shut as his palm roughly cradles the back of your head.

"Need to make sure you know who you belong to." Spencer snaps as he pulls away from you, quickly pushing two long fingers into your dripping hole. You cry out before Spencer is slapping a hand over your mouth, your back pressed against the wall. Spencer's slender frame is leaning against you, effectively trapping you against the wall and his body. Your eyes are rolling when Spencer's finger crook inside of you while roughly thrusting into you.

"Gotta be quiet, wouldn't want Luke to catch us now would we?" Spencer breathes in the shell of your ear, sending goosebumps spreading over your skin. You are completely at Spencer's mercy and you wouldn't have it any other way. The pleasure shooting through you goes rocketing up your spine when Spencer scissors his fingers inside of you. You're mumbling incoherently against his palm, desperate pleas not to stop, to please let you cum. Your entire body is flushed, and you feel sweat on your skin like a sheen layer over you. Spencer feels you begin to squeeze around his fingers and he replaces his palm with his mouth, swallowing all of your moans and desperate cries.

Your back is arching as your high approaches, and you climb higher and higher to meet it. Spencer never lets up, his fingers steadily pumping into you and his lips muffling all of your cries of pleasure. The sounds you make are music to his ears, they tell him that you will always be his, no matter what childish fears he has. Your hands come up to unbutton the buttons on Spencer's dress shirt, you need to feel more of him. Before you can finish undressing your husband, his fingers nudge your cervix and you instantly clamp around his fingers, your body convulsing.

"You look so beautiful when you cum." Spencer praises, his cock rock hard again. He needs to be inside of you as soon as humanely possible. Spencer pulls away from you to grasp the base of his cock, no need to bother with protection. The two of you already agreed that you want to try for a baby anyway.

"Please baby, please get inside me. How could you think I'd ever leave you? I love you, and nobody could make me cum like you can." You moan desperately, turning to bend over the table. Spencer's hand runs up your spine, enjoying the way you wriggle your hips in search of his cock. There are butterflies squirming in your stomach as you spread your legs apart wider for him, but he still doesn't bring his cock closer to you.

"Oh c'mon Spence don't do this please. Baby, fuck me." You plead, nearly sobbing as you shamlessly beg. He presses his tip against your soaked entrance and you whine. You hear fabric rustling around and you turn your head just in time to see him pull his tie from around his neck.

"I needed to hear you beg for me, and this is to keep you quiet. As much as I love the sounds you make when I'm inside you, I can't let anyone else hear you." Spencer says, his voice low and rumbling from his chest. You open your mouth to let him tie the silk fabric in your mouth. You try to whimper but you gag around the tie in your mouth, and you see a pleased smile cross onto Spencer's face. Your fingers grasp at the edge of the table as you impatiently wait for Spencer to push into you. You feel his glorious cock nestled at your entrance, the tip barely nudging in. You feel another wave of slick gush out of you and Spencer is running his tip through your already drenched folds. Such a tease.

You whine softly, trying to push back against him. Spencer chuckles darkly before his hands grasp your hips to hold you steady. With one firm thrust, Spencer is breaching your folds and sliding deep inside you. You feel heat searing through you, your head dropping to the table as you whimper through the burn. The stretch burns more then you anticipated, and you hear Spencer groaning softly, which sends another wave of liquid heat rushing through you.

"God you feel so good baby, you take my cock so fucking well." Spencer praises, gently pulling out to slowly thrust back in. His eyes are locked on the place where you two connect, watching with hooded eyes as his cock disappears inside you.

"I wish you could see this baby, I love watching you take my cock." He praises through a soft moan, and you drink up every sound he makes. Spencer needed this so bad and you love the fact that you can give him a type of relief nobody else on the planet can give him. Spencer steadily thrusts into you when you both hear footsteps slowly passing outside the room. You expect Spencer to stop, to pull out of you and start redressing but he doesn't. He slows his pace considerably, but he still slowly thrusts into you.

"Shh, I would hate for whoever that is to see my cock buried in your pretty pussy." Spencer whispers as he leans forward to whisper in your ear. You struggle to contain the whimpers, but somehow you remain completely silent as Spencer gently thrusts into you. Once whoever it is passes by, Spencer resumes his quicker thrusts. His pelvis hits your ass with enough force to send you lurching across the table and your fingers scramble to find purchase against the smooth surface.

"This is my pussy, you're my wife, you're mine. Not Luke's, not that dick from the Prison. Mine." Spencer says, punctuating the words with a sharp thrust into you. You wished you could answer him, that you could cry to the heavens that you belong to Spencer Reid- that you never want to belong to anybody else. You settle for squeezing his cock whenever it returns to your velvety warmth, chanting the same word in your head over and over.

Yours yours yours yours yours.

Your forehead presses against the table, muffled and strangled cries escaping your lips every time Spencer hits deep inside you. His cock stretches you perfectly, and always hits places deep inside you. Places you didn't know existed. Soon you feel your orgasm creeping up on you, and you feel lightheaded so you reach up to yank the tie away from your mouth.

"Please make me cum Spence, I'm so close baby please don't stop." You beg, muffling your moans with your palm as he drives his cock into you. You feel sweat covering your entire body and Spencer holds your hips with a bruising force. You feel that coil winding tighter and tighter, and you release a high pitched whine when Spencer's hand snakes around your body to thumb your clit.

"Oh Spencer your cock feels so good, soo good baby. Always feels so good, fuck baby I love you," You're not sure what you're saying at this point, an incoherent mess of praises for the man above you. Spencer loves when he reduces you to this, speaking in a jumble of words and disconnected statements because you can't think with his cock inside you.

"I, shit, I love you-" Spencer gasps, slamming his cock inside you and rolling your clit before you're squeezing around him tightly, your mouth falling open in a silent scream. You cum in hot gushes around him and Spencer can only offer a few more stuttering thrusts before he's cumming with a loud growl, coating your walls in his hot cum. Spencer keeps his cock inside you, ensuring his cum stays inside you. He wants to get you pregnant. His palms gently hold your hips, and all the frustration he's felt all day has completely disappeared. His chest is heaving from the exertion but he feels more relaxed then he has all day. There's a smile on your face and your eyes are closed as your legs finally give out and you collapse against the table.

"You okay?" You hear Spencer's voice, and you can't help but smile when you hear that he's panting slightly. You hum with a smile on your face.

"I'm amazing." You mumble back, feeling Spencer begin to gently massage your back. You love enjoying the afterglow with him, even if you're laying on a table. Slowly Spencer pulls out, but he groans softly when he sees his cum inside your pussy. He reaches to the floor to pull your panties and dress slacks back up your legs and he quickly tucks himself back into his pants. He buttons the 4 buttons you managed to open on his shirt before he's gently pulling you to stand.

"You sure you're alright?" Spencer asks, concern in his eyes. You nod with a smile, but when he releases his hold on your shoulders, you feel your legs tremble and give out underneath you. Spencer immediately catches you and sets you down on the table. You laugh softly.

"Guess you fucked me good."

"Sorry." Spencer says sheepishly, but you press a chaste kiss to his lips.

"Don't be, that had to have been the best sex we've had in a long time." You mumble against his lips and Spencer hums in agreement. Reaching for his tie, Spencer shoves it in his pocket before he pokes his head out of the room you guys just defiled.

"Spencer, I'm so sorry about what I said. I love you so much, I didn't mean what I said about my ring-" You blubber suddenly, drawing Spencer's attention to you. He cradles your head against his chest, pressing kisses to your forehead.

"I know baby, it's okay. I love you." Spencer answers quietly, holding you to him tightly.

"I'm sorry I was a jerk today. I'm just so protective of you. I can't let anything steal you from me." Spencer admits softly and you cup his cheeks to make him look at you. There is a sadness in his eyes that you want to obliterate, you can't stand it when he's sad. It breaks your heart.

"Nothing could steal me from you. I only want you Spencer." You say quietly and you see tears misting his eyes. He presses his lips desperately against yours, and you feel tears cascading down yours and his cheeks. The kiss is wet, but it's passionate and you throw every ounce of love you have for this man into it. When you and Spencer part, your foreheads are pressed together.

"Hey Spence? How am I gonna get to the hotel. I can't walk." You say softly with a giggle and Spencer smiles mischievously.

"I guess I'll have to carry you." He scoops you bridal style into his arms then and you blush deeply when he carries you out of the room and towards the front entrance.

"Spencer! Everybody is going to know!" You whisper into his ear and he chuckles.

"Good."

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer x y/n #spencer x you #post prison spencer #jealousy #possessive #criminal minds #smut #spencer reid x you #spencer x reader #jealous smut

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s-brant · 3 years

Text

Angels Roll Their Eyes (2/2)

(gif: @toesure) (PART ONE)

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

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

Word Count: 24k

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

Hurricane Agatha.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What are you smiling about?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Really?" she asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He isn't sure why she buys into it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

JJ misses her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Weird in what way?"

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

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

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

She sighs.

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

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

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

That part is the most fuzzy in her mind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Gotta catch me first!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You okay?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They tried.

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

It was simple in the beginning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What the fuck?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Because what?" he asks.

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

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

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

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

There it is.

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

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

Her heart sinks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

He doesn't miss a beat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Then prove it."

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes."

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

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

"Okay."

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

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

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

"Do I make you nervous?" she asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Internally, JJ is losing his shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"If you tell anyone, I swear I'll—"

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

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

"Promise?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He's the one to break the silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I wasn't staring."

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

"Whatever you say."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you okay?" Y/N asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shakes his head.

"You didn't do anything."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's okay," he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

How could she be so stupid?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She is never skipping this song again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank smut #outer banks #obx s2 #obx #fanfiction

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