#what do you MEAN my skins still mad at me

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Summer (Cregan Stark x Reader)

A/N: I can finally wrap up my romcom! Big romantic gesture ahead. Check the masterlist of this series here, if you are new. And to my lovely, lovely readers, thank you for staying wityh me during this madness.

Warnings: My anxious introverted reader being anxious (Shocker) Cregan has self-doubts. Mature language.

YOU ARE HAVING a terrible day. It surprises you because that doesn’t happen as often any longer. Today, you would rather not talk to anyone, much less Cregan, whose hovering would only serve to make you more anxious. Today, you want to crawl under the covers with your comfort book and pretend to be dead. 

Yet, you cannot. Because you can’t find the damn book anywhere. You are sure the compilation of histories of Old Valyria Daemon had given you has to be in your rooms.

You have pulled open all your desk’s drawers, checked the bedside table twice, checked the bed, even beneath it. Not even your chest with linens was spared. It’s nowhere. 

With little choices left, you have begun searching the nursery too, but haven’t quite mastered the courage to search Cregan’s solar. You remember taking the book alongside you to read as you kept him company sometimes, but do not recall leaving it there. 

You feel torn. Cregan and you are getting along now, but you still hesitate going to him with your troubles. Not only you had leftover guilt even though you have both chosen to move on from your rivalry, you also prided yourself on being independent. 

Asking him or anyone for help always makes you feel uncomfortable. You didn’t want others to perceive you as weak. 

Stop. You are being silly, you tell yourself. It’s not like you are about to ask him to solve your life, you only will inquire if he has seen your book. 

Still. What if he thinks less of you for being careless with your things? Or if he thinks you are being overly sentimental to get this worked up over a book? 

Worse, what if he thinks you are accusing him of stealing? 

You let out a groan. You are overthinking. Your bad days often include a lot of anxiety, and today it is a bad day. A terrible one, that will be worse if you don’t find your beloved book. Determined, you march to Cregan’s solar and knock on his door. 

“Aye?” He calls out, northern accent on full display, and you can’t help that your knees get a little weak.

“Cregan? May I come in?” Suddenly, your bravery and determination have deserted you. Your voice comes out squeaky as a mouse. By the Fourteen Flames, to love is to be humbled, it seems. 

“You always may, wife.” You wince at being addressed as such. You suppose it’s a good thing he isn’t calling you by your full title any longer. 

Pushing open the door, you step inside. Cregan is seated on his desk, a frown on his face. He is squinting at some maps, in the way he sometimes does. His frown softens when he sees you, standing on the door. 

“I enjoy how my colors look on you.” Cregan rumbles, a pleased smile forming on his face. Today, you are wearing one of the warmest dresses you own, in a pale gray. It’s made of velvet, and you enjoy how it feels over your skin. You had commissioned it after you arrived at Winterfell, using the generous pocket money that Cregan allowed you. 

You had to give it to the man. No matter how annoying you had been at first, he had never been tight-fisted with your allowance. 

“Thank you.” You feel your cheeks heating up, and fight the urge to fan your face. What you don’t manage to fight is the urge to preen under his gaze. 

Cregan chuckles. You narrow your eyes at him. Is he mocking you? He lifts his hands in surrender, attuned as he is to your moods. 

“Apologies. It’s cute, that’s all.” 

“The dress?” 

“You.” And it’s said with such disarming honesty, you do not know what to say. You search his face, yet his expression is so open, so fond, no hint of mockery can be found. It’s…  Cregan must be thinking of her, for sure. That expression doesn’t mean anything. “What were you here for?”

You clear your throat. 

“Um. I was… I lost my book.” 

“What book?” Cregan asks, shifting his maps aside. He is clearing his desk, you realize. “The one about the conquest?” 

“No, not that one.” Your voice turns shyer still. Secretly, it pleases you that he remembers what you had been reading last week. “It has a brown leather cover and the title is in gold.” 

“The one in High Valyrian?” And his tone is casual. Far too casual. You begin to worry that your book might have met its end. You look him in the eyes, but find little there. Cregan has an impeccable blank face. He gives nothing away. “Check the selves. Maybe it is there.” 

You turn around and begin doing so. But the more titles you check, the more nervous you become. Cregan is an organized man, his books are carefully separated by subject. The servants know to keep to his order, when he rarely leaves them lying around. 

Your book would stand out. You know it. A tight knot of anxiety begins to settle on your stomach. As you reach the lower shelves, you feel tears gathering in your lash line. You cannot believe you are about to cry over a book. 

Cregan will never love you. He will go right back into thinking you are some soft southron, with no spine. No one cries over books. He will think you are ridiculous. 

Despite your back being to him, he seems to sense something is wrong.

“Love? Is everything alright?” 

“I cannot find it.” You whine, losing your battle with the tears. “My book. It’s really important that I find it.” 

You hear him get up, and walk closer to you. He hugs you from behind, holding you to him. 

“Shh… I know. I have been unkind to you.” You are confused about his words, but not enough that you reject the comfort of his embrace. Cregan is warm against your back, and smells faintly of parchment and leather. There is something herbal clinging to his skin, too. His smell and his size make you feel safe. He is tall enough that his form covers yours completely.“I took your book.” 

You flinch. Your hackles begin to rise. Your sadness leaves, clouded by absolute wrath.  

“What?” 

“I wanted to gift you something. It’s being copied by the Maester as we speak. I wanted it to be a surprise, I know how much you love it.” He nuzzles your neck, and it pacifies you slightly. The prospect of a gift entices you, especially if it is a copy of your favorite book. Perhaps Cregan will have it nicely bound.  “I regret it now. Knowing how much you love it, I should have known it would upset you.”

“I wanted to read it today.” You complain, still sad. It has been an awful day for you. “I do not feel so well.” 

“Of course, sweetling.” Cregan drops a kiss to your crown. “I’ll have it delivered to you. Would you mind lending it to me tomorrow? You can recall it anytime during the day if you need it, like now.” 

“Alright.” You whisper, softly. Cregan gathers you in his arms again, and moves the two of you to the loveseat. There, he settles you in his lap. He takes of his cloak and drapes it over you. This way, you are fully surrounded by his warmth and smell.

He calls a servant. True to his word, the book is back in your hands in less than half an hour. You spend the rest of the afternoon reading in his lap. 

Suddenly, your bad day doesn’t seem so bad. 

WHEN HE FEELS like an inconsiderate brute, Cregan tries to think happier thoughts. While grief and self-doubt do not chase him as much as they chase you, he is still a widower with a wife who despised him at first. 

Often, gazing upon Rickon or you is enough to help him feel more settled. More at peace with himself. His son is well adapted enough, he reasons, as he sees him run around the courtyard. You do not despise him, he thinks, as you curl by his side. 

Today, neither is working. Rickon and you are together, a picture that normally would serve to pull him out from his brooding. Of course, since Rickon is on the floor wailing, it isn’t quite working. 

Cregan has a headache. The pain is spreading from his jaw, towards his cheekbones, and from there turning into sharp icicles that feel like they are being stabbed in his skull. 

The day has been long. He had ridden out at dawn to deal with some wildings near Wintertown, and then had to answer his correspondence. The dammed Greens would not stop pestering him to switch sides and hand you over, alternating between threats and flattery. 

As if the Starks were some miserable turncloaks who betrayed their oaths. As if Cregan would just hand over his wife to some usurping cunts. 

The nerve of those Hightowers knew no bounds. What was next? Demanding a Sept be built in Wintertown for those false gods of theirs? 

And if that wasn’t enough to make his day terrible, during the afternoon Cregan had received an outraged Sara. Apparently, for some unknown reason, she had received an offer to become Lady Cerwin And for another unknown reason, it was the most terrible fate. Ever. 

Rickon keeps screaming. He has been that way for a while. Cregan had been alone with him, watching him play on the rug with his blocks, when he had started crying and wouldn’t stop. 

Cregan had tried picking him up, rocking him, walking him back and forth, but nothing helped. One of the servants must have heard and alerted you because you had appeared looking disgruntled.

You had been in the middle of your quiet time, as Cregan enjoyed calling it. Awkward Princesses who hated socializing needed time to recover from hearing petitions during the day. He had realized so when he started teaching you to pass judgement. 

As the time for Cregan to march south to defend your mother’s claim became more imminent, he was giving you more and more responsibilities in Winterfell. That way, you would be prepared to hold the North when he left. Prepared to protect his Kingdom and his son. 

“Tower! Tower!” Rickon wails, as you pick him. Your face is as tired a Cregan feels. His head is heavy. He cannot stand Rickon screaming any longer. By the gods, Cregan is a terrible father. He cannot even calm his son when he needs him. After his many attempts to calm him down were unsuccessful, he had just set him down. 

“What’s the matter, sweet boy?” You ask, holding Rickon close to your heart. Rickon continues to cry. You meet Cregan’s eyes over his son’s head. 

Cregan shrugs. He is unsure of what triggered the tantrum. 

“Shh, all is well. I get overwhelmed too, sometimes.” You say, and Cregan gets the feeling you are talking to him and not to Rickon. “But we can’t rebuild your tower if you are getting all wiggly.”  

This is about the building blocks, Cregan realizes. He feels like a terrible father. A failure. 

Bennard’s words come to mind once more. How can you govern the North if you can’t govern yourself? You failed.

Your swordsmanship is poor, and you still are a pup crying for your parents. You cannot rule. 

He had heard a variation of those words for years, every time he had tried to push his claim. And look, Cregan knows he is not a poor swordsman, and he has tried his best to rule. Men don’t cry, but he does it occasionally. Rarely. His tears never dry out, no matter how old he grows, but it is the only thing of Bennard’s words that came true. That isn’t so bad, is it? 

You have settled on the floor, Rickon on your lap. He still cries, but he has stopped shrieking. You have started building a tower on your own. 

“I think I will place my princess here. And a dragon here.” You explain, as if you are building some great castle. Rickon stares, transfixed by you. Cregan understands the feeling all too well. He remembers the weight of you in his lap, the warmth of your skin against him, your smell. He has been unable to get the memory out of his mind in days. 

It would be pleasant, a session of cuddling with his wife, were it not for the circumstances that lead up to it. All Cregan’s fault. 

“A shame you want to keep crying and won’t help. I suppose I shall have to ask your father to play with me.” Your eyes are coy. You give Cregan a glance, and his lips form a smile despite himself. Of course you would try bribery. 

Of course, it works. Rickon picks up the first block, still sniffling. 

“No! Father isn't a Princess. You are!” 

“You are right, Rickon.” You agree, as if it were the most natural thing. “Silly me. He is a wolf. We should build him a Wolfswood.” 

And so, Rickon forgets his tantrum, settled by your gentle touch and encouraging words. And Cregan’s heart soars. 

“MILADY, LORD STARK wishes for your company.” One of the serving girls says, eyes downcasted. You pause in your perusal of the granary, making a quick note on your ledger. As the Lady of Winterfell, it falls to you to ensure the castle has supplies enough for winter, or so Cregan says. You find the Northern’s obsession with the season a bit much, but considering little grows here, you too would feel better knowing you have enough grain if something happens. 

“Right now?” Considering he had been the one to send you on this errand, it confuses you a little. He must have known taking stock of the granary would take you all day. 

“As soon as you can come. It’s not urgent, but he wishes to see you soon.” 

You feel nerves creep up on you. Cregan never summons you. When he wants your company, he simply appears near you or waits for a meal to invite you to spend time with him. 

You can’t help it. War and grief had frayed your nerves. These days, you feel like everything could be a sign of bad news. 

It’s not urgent, you repeat to yourself. It’s not urgent, it’s not urgent, you chant in your head, but your steps towards the inside of Winterfell are hurried. 

The castle is unusually quiet. The maid guides you to one of the unused wings of the castle, one near Cregan’s rooms. You have never asked, but you know these were the rooms his uncle used to inhabit when trying to usurp him. The man had never dared taking the lord’s rooms from Cregan, lingering near instead, a feeling you understand too well. 

Your husband is a formidable man. You wouldn’t want to cross him, either. 

The serving girl hesitates when the two of you reach a big oaken door. 

“What is it?” You ask her, with a frown. “Why do you linger?”

She doesn’t answer. She simply shoots you a shy smile. Annoyed at her shyness, you push the door open yourself. Your breath catches. 

When you step inside, it is as if you are stepping inside your storybook. The walls are covered with tapestries depicting some of the prettier illustrations, priestesses wearing amethysts, dragons of shining ivory, lovers holding hands. 

The room is decorated in understated creams and golds, the furniture made of the finest woods. Despite the themes of the decoration, it is clearly meant to be a Lady’s solar, even if not attached to your rooms. 

There is a soft, woven carpet that cushions your every step. It is made of pure white fur, to combine tastefully with the rest of the decoration. You can already tell it will feel like heaven on your bare feet, even through your boots. It must have cost a fortune. 

Near two, giant windows, a low table sits. It holds a vase very familiar to you, shaped in the form of a dragon. It is filled with winter roses, though you had seen it before in Dragonstone, full of your mother’s favorite flowers. 

There is a fireplace, as it is customary in almost all the rooms in Winterfell. On its mantle, small toys and mementos from your childhood sit. Near the fireplace, a small sitting area awaits, with comfortable looking armchairs and loveseats, and a low table in which a tea set, painted with Valyrian motives, rests. 

There is a desk in a corner, much bigger than yours, and a small bookshelf, that resembles the layout Cregan has in his own solar. It has sparse books, but all of them are in High Valyrian. Your favorite book has a place of honor, right in the middle of the highest shelf. 

Yet, the true star of the room lies on the back of it. There is a huge round table, like the one from your stories, made of sturdy wood, that resembles the one from the war room from Dragonstone. Not only are the Seven Kingdoms featured, but also Essos, Sothoryos, the Summer Islands and even Great Moraq. Cregan is in the middle of lighting the table, struggling with how one is supposed to do it. 

“How..?” You babble, astonished. To assemble this… You understand now why he had needed your book so many times. The time and care put into building this room, so delightfully whimsical yet honoring your culture at the same time… Your eyes prickle with tears. 

“We can send it back.” Cregan says, alarmed by your tears. “If you…” 

“No!” You say, with an energy that surprises you. You take the candles from his hands and begin lighting the table the proper way. “This is… My home. And my book.”

Cregan’s face is uncharacteristically unsure.

"I hoped it would remind you of where you came from. Of whom you are. A Princess of Dragonstone. My Princess.” 

“You did this… for me?” Your hands tremble as you set the table alight. All the known world, on display for you. In a war table. It is only then that it registers.  

Cregan is willing to go to war for you. Kill in your name. Lay the whole world at your feet.  You have to grip the back of one of the chairs as to not fall down, knees weak. 

“I know you are far from home. And I haven’t… We haven’t always been on the best terms, but you never shied away from your duties. I wanted to give you something that was about you.” 

“I never thought you saw me.” You whisper. “I… I owe you an apology. For everything. For insulting you, when I arrived, for speaking of Lady Arra, for… For not seeing you either, at first.” 

You have been blind, you realize, as you look at your book come to life in this room. The man who had given it to you had shown you that one could form a family with a widow and cherish their sons as if they were your own.

Daemon wasn't a kind man, but he was loyal to family. You were far kinder. If he could do it, and be happy, so could you.

“There is no need to apologize to me.” Cregan gathers you in his arms, and presses a kiss to your lips. His own are chapped from the cold, yet the only thing you feel is his warmth. And for two people as different as winter and summer, you find that your bodies do understand each other. 

It takes Cregan but a week to convince you after that. The first letter you write in your new desk begins as it follows: 

“Dear Jacaerys, I want you to know that I am completely, perfectly, incandescently happy…”

[pomefioredove]

Hallo, can I order a sugar cookie number 7, with chocolate chips and chestnuts ^^

-chacha

trey fans come get ur dinnerrr

order #7, sugar with chocolate chips and chestnuts

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ would that help?

summary: you get sick while pretending to be trey's partner to his family. he wants to know why tropes: fake dating, sick fic characters: trey additional info: romantic, gender neutral reader, reader is yuu

"You look awful. Now, eat,"

You respond to Trey with nothing but a glare. If you open your mouth for more than a second, he'll force another spoonful of broth in it.

He's been doing that all night.

"Come on. It's an old family recipe~" he says in sing-song, waving the silver spoon around.

You shake your head.

Trey sighs and slumps against the armchair he'd dragged over to the bedside some hours ago.

"Will you at least tell me what's wrong?"

Nothing.

"Are you mad at me?"

Nothing, still.

"Here," he says, dropping the spoon back into the bowl of (now cold) soup with a clink. "No soup. I promise. Everyone's really worried about you, Prefect."

Everyone. The word makes you shudder.

"Are you cold? I can ask my mom to turn on the heat,"

"I'm not- damn it," you break your vow of silence with a sigh, and you hide yourself under the blankets on Trey's bed. They smell like him, but warmer, not as flowery as he does at NRC. "Go away."

"Prefect, you're acting like a child,"

"I don't care,"

He nudges you through the blanket, as if you were some strange thing he found washed up on the beach.

"Hm. What would the others say if they could see their responsible, mature Prefect like this, hmm?"

You can hear the smirk in his voice. He's trying to coax you out of your cozy hideaway.

"To see you acting like a toddler... or, worse, like Grim. Oh, Ace would laugh. And the lecture that Riddle would give you... should I call him right now? He's only a few minutes away, I'm sure he'd hate to see you like this. I'm taking my phone out now-"

"Alright!" you say, throwing the blankets off. "Fine, okay?"

Trey bursts into laughter, nearly falling out of the armchair. "I can't believe that worked on you!"

You glare, and he rights himself, pushing up his glasses to wipe away his tears.

"I used that on my siblings when they wouldn't eat their vegetables. I'd say I was going to call the Queen herself... heh,"

"Not funny,"

"A little funny," he compromises, giving you another nudge. "Tell me what's wrong. You haven't left my room all day. My parents have been asking about you."

You sigh, the guilt prickling your skin like the quills of a hedgehog.

"I feel bad about lying,"

Trey blinks, his smile suddenly gone, and he leans back in the mishappen armchair.

"So... you've stressed yourself to the point of sickness because... you feel bad that we're lying to my parents about dating,"

"To everyone!" you exclaim. "Your parents, your siblings, your cousins, your customers- it... it's just not me."

He cradles his chin in his palm, looking towards the window. Whatever he's thinking, he doesn't share with you.

"I guess that makes sense. I keep forgetting you're not really a Night Raven College student,"

"Exactly," you mutter, hiding under the blankets again. It's quiet for a minute or two. Has he left?

The thought makes you feel even worse.

But then there's a nudge at your shoulder, and a flower from the vase on the nightstand in your face.

You blink. "What's this?"

"You said lying about us being together makes you feel bad," Trey says, nervously adjusting his glasses with his other hand.

"So date me."

"What?"

"Date me. It won't be a lie, then," he mutters, his cheeks a rosy red. "Would that... help?"

You sit up, letting the blankets fall at your waist, and you stare.

You take the flower, a beautiful white rose with no thorns, and, somehow, you find it within yourself to smile.

"It would help. Would that help you?"

It takes a moment for Trey to understand what you mean, but when he does, he smiles. "It... would help me. A lot,"

"Good," you sniffle, and he hands you a tissue, as white and delicate as the rose in your other hand.

"Now... could you... reheat that soup, please? I'm starving."

[glamourscat]

SUMMER MADNESS | SUGURU GETO X READER

obligatory post for my wifey’s bday | what if geto never went down the path he did? | what if you, his friend, had an embarrassing crush on him and during a hot summer day of your guys 3rd year you confess by accident?

The heat is unbearable.

Suguru is sprawled out beside you, his hair a tangled mess against your pillow, an arm flung dramatically over his face like he’s shielding himself from death itself. A few feet away, a tiny desk fan works over time, doing absolutely nothing to combat the exhausting Japanese summer heat.

“We should be outside,” Suguru says, voice muffled by his arm. “Get ice cream, jump into a lake, something.”

You groan. “That sounds like effort.”

He laughs, a low, easy sound that makes your stomach do flips. You dare take a peek, let your eyes linger on his figure a bit longer than you should. His skin glistens with sweat, his tank top clings to his chest and you hate how much you notice. How much you want him.

Maybe it’s the heat. Maybe it’s the fact that graduation is looming closer with each day and after this summer nothing will be the same. Maybe you’re just tired of keeping it inside. So you blurt it out.

“I like you.”

Suguru doesn’t react at first. He’s still dramatically posed, still half-dead from the heat and you think, for one terrifying second, that he didn’t hear you.

So you ramble.

“I mean—obviously, I like you, we’re friends, but I mean I like like you. Like, the kind that makes it hard to look at you sometimes because you’re stupidly handsome, and I hate that, by the way. The kind that makes me overthink everything and—oh my god, why am I doing this now? We’re literally dying of heatstroke—”

A hand slides over your mouth.

Suguru is looking at you now, eyes half-lidded, amused. “You’re ridiculous,” he murmurs, but his voice is softer than usual.

You huff against his palm, feeling your entire soul leave your body.

Then, without warning, he leans in and kisses you.

It’s lazy, a bit slow and gentle but with a hidden hunger behind it. Months, if not years, of pent up emotions. His lips are soft, so damned soft and he tastes like the lemon popsicle you split earlier. When he pulls back, he grins, thumb brushing your cheek.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

You look at him flabbergasted. “Did you know?”

“Of course not.” He flicks your forehead. “But I would’ve liked to.”

You bury your face in your pillow with a groan. “This is the worst confession ever.”

Suguru just laughs, warm and fond. “I dunno. It’s pretty unforgettable.”

The fan creaks, the cicadas scream outside, and Suguru reaches for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

And maybe it is.

[grapejuicestyless]

Seven(ways to Neverland)

JJ Maybank x fem!reader

Summery: “And I’ve been meaning to tell you, I think your house is haunted. Your dad is always mad, and that must be why.” Y/n and JJ grew up together, and while it was inevitable, Y/n and JJ swore they’d never grow up. Not even when life told them it wasn’t possible to be young forever.

“My Ma is always saying dad left because he was a piece of work.” The girl said softly into the cold silence. Waves lapped at the shore calmly, and wind blew through her wild hair. She twisted the loose ring on her middle finger, a hollowed out and ground down acorn that was more brown than green nowadays. She spun the slightly wet ring around on her skin. “But I don’t believe her.”

The girl tucked her chin into her knees, curling up like a turtle in a shell. Her eyes glistened in the pale moonlight.

“Why?” The tow head blonde boy asked, curiosity in his defeated gaze.

“She drinks a lot.” The girl shrugged like it was normal. “She always did, but more now that dad is gone. Her friends do too. They talk about how their ‘glory days’ are behind them…or something like that.” She overshared her mother’s secrets, her young mind not comprehending the idea of dirty laundry and why you don’t air it out.

“Oh.” The boy looked down at the sand. “My dad drinks too.” He looked to the girl, who was now drawing circles in the sand mindlessly.

“Maybe it’s a grown up thing, and we don’t understand it yet.” She said hopefully, but her voice was low and quiet, and she looked awfully sad when saying it.

“Maybe.” The boy responded just as quietly.

“Wouldn’t it be cool if my mom married your dad?” The girl suddenly questioned. “Then maybe they wouldn’t drink as much. They wouldn’t need to, and my Ma’s friends wouldn’t have to sleepover in my bed.”

The boy nodded slowly, considering the idea before tossing it out the window.

“You wouldn’t want my dad to marry your mom.”

Silence filled the beach again, and the boy took some sand in his hand and watched it drain out slowly back onto the ground.

“He’s always angry. Sometimes he’s not, but it feels like he is.” It was the girls turn to look down and try to find some words of sympathy.

“Yeah. Parents suck.” The girl smiled, knowing the feeling of helplessness all too well.

They were only seven, but they knew a whole lot about things they shouldn’t, and they understood that just because the world worked that way for them, that didn’t mean it worked the same for everyone.

“Does he hit?” The girl asked curiously, her smile fading. The conversation seemed so casual, calm. Little children who should have been cowering, already accustomed to the treatment.

“Sometimes.” The boy answered truthfully, and the girl nodded.

“So does my mom.” The girl said quietly, still doodling in the sand beside her feet.

“Do you hate her?” The blonde boy asked after a beat passed, looking to see what the girl would say.

She thought about it for a moment, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth and twisting and pushing against the acorn on her finger.

She shook her head.

“No.”

That was her answer. Plain and simple like there was no other reason for it. She was her mother after all, and she was a kid. She would cling to her and try her best to be great for her, and when her mom would hit, she would try even harder to be great because even if her mom was a bad person, she was a bad person that the girl wanted to love her so badly.

The innocent and the good look up to the horrible and the ugly.

“Would you run away?” The boy pressed further, maybe because he was curious of what the girl would say, but maybe also because he was curious if anyone else shared the same thoughts.

“Would you come with me?” She asked.

“Why?” The boy questioned with his brow raised, his head cocked to the side.

“I don’t like being alone. I don’t like the dark.” She hugged her knees even tighter.

As the wind blew warm salty air onto the shore, waves crashed more violently against the sand, the tide rolling in quickly.

“You’d hate my house then.” The boy joked with a chuckle. It sounded almost bitter. “Dark, quiet, scary.”

“Sounds haunted.” The girl looked back into the boys blue eyes.

“Maybe. But ghosts aren’t real.” The boy shut down the girls observation quickly, picking at the loose threads at the ends of his board shorts.

The girl hummed and silence fell over the two kids again. Messy blonde hair and two tangles braids with dead ends fraying in the wind. A faded pink shirt with cursive writing and a dusty white tank top. They were so young.

“Well, I think your house is haunted. Your dad is always mad, and that must be why.” She spoke up suddenly, kicking the sand and standing up.

“My dad isn’t afraid of any ghosts.” The boy stood up quickly, looking straight back at the girl. They were at the age where he could still stand eye level with her, but he figured in a few years he’d have a few inches on her.

“But he must be afraid of you.” The girl reasoned.

“My dad isn’t afraid of any seven year olds either.” The boy argued a little more firmly, feeling protective of his father, or his lack of, despite all the cruelty he was shown from such a young age.

“Well then, why does he hit you? He has to be afraid of something if he’s hitting you. My mom says it’s because I look so much like my dad. Like I could be the ghost of him and she hates it.”

The boy fell quiet, which was unusual. Everything about the way he acted around her was odd. He wasn’t a quiet boy, wasn’t one to just sit and talk, he’d rather pace around and pick at his nails.

“I didn’t think of it like that.” The boy said softly, looking down at his dusty boots. “Maybe I look like my mom…” He agreed, but he didn’t really know what his mom looked like.

“Well, I bet she was really pretty.” The girl said, her eyes shining despite her lack of a smile. Like she was calm on the inside despite the outer furrowing of her brows.

“You think?” The boy asked, raising a brow and his head.

“I know.”

She was looking right at him, his blonde hair and his blue eyes. His skin was tan, soft looking. He had sun kissed freckles on his nose and pink lips. Anyone that pretty had to have a pretty mom, she thought. But they would never know.

The boy blushed, and he held out his dusty hand until she took it in a loose handshake.

“JJ. JJ Maybank.” He smiled, looking back into her eyes. He was only seven, and he wasn’t like his friend Pope. He wasn’t the kid who read in his free time or who practiced spelling on his weekends. He was out between the sand and the weeds, picking at the dirt and getting his knees muddy. But even he could see the wild look she had, untamed but gentle.

“Y/n. Y/n Y/l/n.” She smiled in return. She had a sweet smile, JJ thought. He’d never thought that before, or if he had he hadn’t thought about him thinking that. She had a really sweet smile. She was sweet. Blush from the wind on her cheeks and coloring the tip of her nose. A missing front tooth, which, by the cut in her bottom lip right where it should have been, JJ figured she’d knocked it out herself.

“Y/l/n.” JJ hummed, putting it to memory.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you.” Y/n hummed, her hair pulled back into two uneven braids, the part in the back a mess. JJ had done them for her today.

“Shoot away.” He replied calmly, smiling and tugging at the end of one braid, watching the girl’s head tilt closer, her feet crossing in an unbalanced step. She slapped his bicep weakly.

“JJ!” She laughed through her annoyance. She could never really be annoyed with him, she believed. She hoped JJ didn’t know it because Y/n figured if he did, he’d push through every fragment of tranquility they shared. He’d find a way to bring her right to the brink of frustration and then make her laugh it all off over and over again.

“What does JJ even stand for anyway.” Y/n huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, wrinkling her waffled shirt. “Probably something stupid.” She smirked, unraveling her hands to tuck them into the pockets of her hand-me-down overalls.

JJ punched her, his lips drawn in a thin line. Y/n rubbed her arm quickly to soothe the sting, her brows kissing at the center of her forehead. “Ow!” She yelped.

That was the thing with growing up, some get stronger, and others get left behind. Not to say Y/n was weak, the bruises on JJ’s arms from her little shoves and playful punches were proof enough, but they were nearly twelve now, and JJ figured he could probably bench her by this point.

“You started it!” He argued, though his palm still smoothed over where he hit her maybe just a but too hard. He’d check to make sure he didn’t leave a mark later.

“Did not!” They fought like children, and smiled freely like they did when they were seven, like they didn’t have all the reason to frown, to cry. To let genetics be hereditary and become the punishers. But instead they swung weakly at each other and laughed everything off until nothing really mattered anymore.

A silence fell between their giggles, a silence only broken my JJ’s pointer finger and thumb playing with the little tail tied off at the end of the braid.

“I don’t know. I never asked, I figured it was just my name. JJ.” He shrugged. “Simple. Like me.”

Y/n nearly snorted.

“You might be a simple boy, JJ, but you are not simple.” She smiled, eyes flickering down to her muddy shoes, bright red converse with holes in the sides so wide, ants found refuge in the warm shelter.

“John?” Y/n threw out an idea. JJ shook his head.

“Nah, we already got a John.” He pointed out, stuffing his own hands into his pockets.

“Well, your dad didn’t know that at the time.” She argued, and still, JJ couldn’t get on board.

“Okay.” Y/n thought, humming and biting her bottom lip, sucking it between her teeth, and swiping her tongue over the faded scar where, she had in fact, lost her front tooth all those years ago. An adult tooth had grown in since, but the scar, now pink instead of bloody, lingered like a faded memory.

“Jackson?” She looked at him, and for a moment, he thought about it. Then, he hummed, pulling his own lip between his teeth.

“Nope, too fancy. Maybe if I was Kook royalty.” He joked.

“So maybe one day?” Y/n teased back, wiggling her brows. JJ gave her an amused look as if to say, yeah right.

They went back to listing names, stumbling down the list until random names became those that started with a J. She tried out George with a J, followed by Jerry, and Jeremy. But all fell flat. It seemed to look as though the boys name was nothing more than two letters squished together.

Then, with a click of her tongue to the roof of her mouth, and a sparkle in her eye, she looked up at the blonde with wonder, the start of an idea.

“Jesse James.” She spoke matter-of-factly, her hands cupping her hips confidently.

“Who now?” He raised a brow.

“The outlaw?” She said in return, like it was common knowledge. Like her and Pope didn’t stick their noses deep into western books all summer much to JJ’s dismay. Not that he hadn’t know she was a bookworm, as if she hadn’t lugged around whatever second hand book she could snatch without the librarian noticing, but the summertime was time for the water, the waves, the tide. Not dusty pages written in small cursive letters with stupid plots less lively than any adventure JJ could drag her on.

And, no, he wasn’t jealous. That’s not why he went on a long list of reasons why he didn’t recognize the name, how it evolved into a complaint of her time spent glued to Pope instead of him, because JJ was surely not jealous.

“He was an outlaw back in the 1800’s. He robbed, killed, fought. Ran a gang with other outlaws.” She explained with a plain expression.

“Oh, so an asshole?” JJ shorted, and the sound made Y/n laugh.

“No. Well—yes, but that’s not why I think it’s so fitting. It’s adventurous, fun. Risky, you know?” She gushed over old literature, and god, if it had been Pope or anyone else, JJ swore he would’ve rung their neck by now, or at the very least ran as far away as possible. But Y/n explained it with a giggle, and JJ simply couldn’t resist listening to each word pouring from her mouth.

“Anyway, I think it’s fitting on a surface level.” She shrugged finally, and then, her eyes flickered over to his. “But I think I like plain old JJ the best.” She smiled sweetly, and then, she licked her chapped lips.

JJ figured if she liked it, he liked it too. He never really longed to know what his name stood for, if it meant anything, but her questions always raised his own. He thought a bit more as they walked between the broken branches and thick grass. He felt bugs on his shins and sweat beading down the back of his neck. He adjusted the old, beat up hat that flattened out his messy blonde hair against his forehead.

“Well, what about you?” JJ finally questioned, itching to hear her philosophies some more.

“What about me?” She continued walking, the sound of running water nearby tumbling down smooth rocks.

“Well, if I’m some outlaw, what does that make you? The damsel?” He smirked, and Y/n couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

Could he really picture her in a corset? A layer over another until she was all fabric and barely any skin and bones. A big skirt hiding the frame of her hips and the sweet curls of her hair. She laughed at the image she painted for herself.

“If anything, you’d be the damsel.” She pointed her finger into his arm, looking up at the ground ahead now, and then let out a peaceful sigh.

“The accomplice.” She smiled, hooking her arm in mine. I let my hand slip out of my pocket so she could pull me closer. “But never the follower.” She raised her brows, a serious gleam in her lively eyes through her long lashes.

“Anyway, crime isn’t for me and it isn’t for you either, blondie. You’d end up in jail, and I’d have to bail you out. Hell, I’d probably be behind bars with you too.” She dreamed up the image, already seeing the way JJ would be leaned back, laughing at her stressed out expression. Cool and unbothered, the way he always seemed to be.

“And I don’t know about you, but I don’t just wanna be the kid from the cut who ended up as just another sheriffs little pet. I wanna be something. Someone.” She clenched her fist in determination.

“I wanna be that girl even in my eighties, dancing in the rain and running up and down the beach like my bones can’t flake away.” She smiled brightly. “And I want to scream, I want to yell! I’d scream ferociously, leaping between the waves like we do now, and I’d finally jump from the rocks, and I won’t be scared because I’ll have done it thousands of times.” She painted her future, her desire.

There was no money, no big house with a picket fence and an army of children. Just the ocean, some laughter, and enough fearless ambition to spill into the next lifetime.

“Sounds nice.” JJ agreed, but he didn’t have the same imagination as she did, he didn’t have it in him to dream a dream as pure and grand. So what, he wished for a little money, it didn’t make him any less noble. He didn’t need to live on figure eight, he just didn’t want to be stuck with three jobs until he turned to dirt.

“It will be. And you’ll know it because you’ll be there with me, and we’ll be the same pirates we are now. We’ll smoke on the roof and wear fancy clothing that we made ourselves. We’ll ride the waves and make lemonade and sweet tea like John B’s dad does. We’ll have mustaches from the sugar, and we’ll be young forever with the grass between our toes!”

She stopped, suddenly grabbing his shoulders at the opening of the thick greenery, the sandy beach an open land that laid out for miles around them. The waves hit the smooth rocks, the rougher ones that stood tall thrashing with the heavy water. Sea salt coated their glistening skin.

“We will be interesting forever.” She promised with a serious smile, like she knew there was no other fate for people like them. “And nobody will ever forget how we lived like real people should and how we never let the temptation of a corporate paycheck take away the big picture.”

Her hands wrinkled the shoulders of JJ’s old tank top, the sides cut so far down, it was nearly just a napkin with a hole for his head. Everything about their attire screamed kids from the cut, there was no fooling anyone, yet they carried themselves with pride, like the lack of civility in their lives was a thrill, the dirt and the worms and the bees and sweltering sunburns were all a gift to have been rubbed across them on their walks in the rain, in their summer time hikes to the secret beaches they weren’t supposed to venture on.

The Kooks had it good, an easy life, but Y/n declared that they were the only ones living.

“Well, we can start on that dream now.” JJ declared hopefully, looking out to where the waved lapped at the shore. His ringed fingers pointed out at the rigid rocks that overhung the deep waters.

“If we’ve got a thousand of leaps to take, you have to start with one.” He looked back at the girl, the way she nervously fidgeted before setting her hands stiffly by her sides.

“And then we won’t be scared.” She repeated to herself, but more to him.

“No, we won’t ever be scared again.” And there was a shared understanding, an understanding that dreams are just dreams until they make them more. If she could do this terrifying thing, all for the rest of her deepest wishes to come true, there was a new found certainty that anything scary could be done.

That she and JJ could do all the scary things the world could offer, even just as the awkward children they felt they had grown into. It was possible.

JJ sat in jail for the first time when he turned sixteen. He hated it. His head hung heavily in the palms of his hands, elbows pressed sharply against his thighs, eyes focused on the dirty floor between his old boots.

It wasn’t his fault—not fully at least. Yes, he agreed he had instigated Popes anger, but to JJ he saw everything they had done as self defense. Pope was a good kid, a smart kid, second in the class—no. First. He was first now. She was first, but now she wasn’t. Funny how things can change so quickly, rearrange to make it seem like nothing changed at all.

The point was, Pope had a future, and JJ sure as hell didn’t. Any dreams he had were replaced when she had shared hers, because he decided then that he wanted those things too. But that hope had long vanished, and now Pope had a real chance to chase his dreams, so JJ took the fall. He sunk to a new low just like the boat, sitting alone in the cell she had once warned him about. Only now, she wasn’t there to share it with him.

He thought about that day a lot. Just a year after they’d taken the leap, started the path to their future filled with laughter and whispered secrets, meticulously planned schemes and toothy grins. JJ woke up early, ready to sneak around the back of her house that sat beside John B’s and knock three times on her window. He’d beg her to go sneak away and let loose with him, and of course, she’d agree.

He biked the short distance, ignoring the storm clouds, ignoring all the signs that led straight to the forming pit in his stomach. The worry, the dread. He hadn’t felt it yet. He only felt the dust clouds kicked up by his feet and the rust scratching his shins from his old bike chain.

The police lined her driveway. Sheriff Peterkin stood with her hands in the loops of her belt. Men stood with their weapons drawn, her mother sat on the gravel, handcuffs binding her violent hands. She looked angry, but her eyes were dark with the evidence of liquor. She looked well-rounded from a far, but JJ knew the truth, and the dirt under her nails made his stomach flip.

In the line up of tin and metal, a van with a label he’d known so well from watching his old classmates getting whisked away. Child Protective Services.

“Y/n!” He’d nearly fallen to the ground at how fast he jumped from his bike, the petals grinding against the gravel. He ran the rest of the way, desperate to know what had happened. He had seen her yesterday, she was happy yesterday, what happened? Why were the authorities at her front door?

“Y/n/n! Where are you?” He reached the back window, only to find the emptiness of the bedroom through the cracks in the glass. It was messy, but untouched at the same time. Every single item thrown around left where it had been yesterday. Her pajamas she had laid out, still thrown over her flattened pillows. Untouched.

He hadn’t seen her leave, didn’t hear her cry. The van was empty, he’d caught a glimpse through the tinted windows. They hadn’t snatched her away yet, so where could she have gone?

“Come on!” He grunted, his palms pressing underneath the stubborn window, the wood groaning as the glass slide against itself. His thirteen year old arms bent under the weight, and he cursed his scrawny limbs. The glass only cracked more as it finally shot up enough for the blonde to wiggle himself into the room, soft thuds and gasps escaping his lips as skin pressed between wood and plastic.

“Y/n!” He pleaded more softly, weary of the fact that he was sure the entirety of the Kildare Police Department was lined up outside, and the breathlessness that came with the pressure on his lungs.

He earned no response, and in a desperate effort to trace some clues back to her, he began further ripping the room apart, spinning in circles for some sort of clue, evidence she still existed, that she wasn’t just some name in the wind, another urban legend spread around Kildare for the tourists to gawk at. Underneath her bed, behind the small table she’d made herself with rotting wood and hot glue, in the piles of clothes thrown around. He spun around and bent over until everything ached and he grew dizzy.

His eyes found the crooked clothing rack, a cheep bar of metal she had found with him in a ditch beside an old thrift store. She had painted it teal in the fifth grade and carved her initials into the posts. Her favorite pair of overalls hung limply from where they were draped over the bar, swaying in the wind with a crinkling sound in the front pocket laid flat out in the center of the chest, still covered in mud from their last adventure.

He investigated curiously, and in his best attempt to slow down in his desperate hurry, he pulled out a small slip of paper with his name scribbled on the front.

“Jesse James.” It read just beneath his real name, though it seemed now that she had become the true outlaw.

He opened it with shaking hands, his brows furrowing. When he saw the familiar scratchy handwriting, he internally let out a sigh of relief. Thankfully, this wasn’t another one of her failed cursive lessons he always failed.

“JJ,” The note began, “The rich are the bane of my existence. I hope one day, when we are older, we are rich in all aspects of life but the literal sense. Maybe it’s just Kildare, but the more money that lines their pockets, the more cruel people seem to get. But we will be kind forever, and we will continue to swing from tree branches and work long and hard for the simple pleasures. I’ve been ratted out; or—my mom has. Ward Cameron passed by earlier to return a shirt I left at their house at the end of the year party. It was one of her bad nights, you know how she gets. Anyways, he must have heard her, seen it. I didn’t even get the chance to wipe my blood off of the window before the cops started pulling into the driveway. I’m running. I’m running far away into the trees where nobody without a heart will be able to trace me. I promise to come back. After all, what is an accomplice without her influence? But I cannot keep our dream safe in a faraway place where they want to take me. If you need me, picture me in the weeds and you’ll hear me in the folk songs at the Chateau. Until we dance again, Y/n/n.”

JJ stood there in the silence, the banging from outside the house leaking indoors, and soon, he had no choice but to slip out of the familiar sanctuary that was her bedroom, the paper hidden in his blistering palms, damp with the sweat the coated his now clammy skin.

They were thirteen then, freshly graduated from middle school and ready to take on high school. She had been leading the class in all ways, kindness, brains, bravery, and now, there was nothing left but the crumpled note JJ had thrown in the fire out of bitterness towards the Kooks and whispers about the girl who disappeared.

To Narnia, they said. The ball of sunshine and endless life had slipped away to a place where only the creative are let in. She would be a pirate there, she wouldn’t have to hide in the closet on beneath the sheets in fear. She was as free as the August breeze, and JJ was as lost as a drunken sailor.

JJ decided he didn’t want to be an outlaw anymore after his first time behind bars. It wasn’t as fun as she had pictured it. Maybe if the trouble was something interesting, a scheme they could have conjured up together, but it wasn’t a sadder reality. Pirates weren’t on peg legs with eye patches and parrots anymore, and the good and interesting were more boring as they tried to come up with philosophies that could never measure up to the youthful spirit she once had.

He wished for all the beautiful things he once had, and often he found himself wondering if they even still existed. His friends were his life, his soul. But he could still see her braids in woven patterns, hear her feet hitting the concrete and whipping in the tall grass in the breeze, and her laughter in those old cheesy folk songs John B’s dad used to play.

JJ found bliss in recklessness. Partially for himself, but also for her. He always believed in the idea that no matter how far he strayed away, pieces of him would always reflect his father whether he liked it or not. So, when presented with the possibility of a gold hunt that led him right into his jail cell, he took the chance, gambling away his safety for the thrill of the chase.

They had gotten so close too, the heavy metal sitting pretty and shiny in his hand. But he never won, no matter how hard he tried or how much he gambled and chanced and risked, he always came up short, the small half of a wishbone, the edge of the party crackers. He felt like an outlaw now, and it wasn’t nearly as fun as it should have been.

How they all ended up on some boat, JJ had no clue. Well, he had some hints, another forbidden treasure stolen just when he thought they finally won, and now, nothing but heavy breathing in a heated storage container that had no food, no water, nothing but pointless rope and endless trash.

The B team, is what he referred to himself as, which Kiara had taken offense to. Sure, it was low of him to refer to her like she was a worse option, but the blonde was itching for some action.

But he was benched. Benched because he was everything she loved. Reckless, unpredictable, free. He protected that sweet sliver of childhood beauty he found when he thought of her memory. Her sweet eyes, her sweet smile. He had never thought about anyone like that before, and not ever since. He hated braids, hated the way they reminded him of her, how Sarah and Kiara would slap his hands away and grumble about how childish he could be. She wouldn’t have gotten angry, she would have laughed. Or maybe she wouldn’t, he didn’t really know anymore and that killed him.

It killed him that he couldn’t know because he didn’t even know if she made it, if the trees were kind to her or if she had swung herself over the edge on a vine stretched too thin.

She would be eighteen now, just like him, though he was a little older. He wondered if she still wore the two loose braids down over her shoulders, taming her wild hair and tucking her curly strands behind her ears. Did she still swear by overalls? Dare to run barefoot over the hard cement and dive head first into thrashing water? Were there still beautiful things to her, or had life finally caught up to her?

JJ didn’t know her face, and he was sure if it weren’t for the hours he spent trying to find her, trying to trace her cheeks even in photographs, he wouldn’t recall it at all. She was five years older, and so was he. He wasn’t scrawny, he’d swore to get strong so that the day she would finally return, he could slam the windows open and keep her tucked safely behind him.

“What are you thinking about?” Kiara spoke up, legs swinging softly from where she sat on top of piles of plastic and wooden crates. JJ sat curled up in the corner, his elbows resting heavily on his knees. He’d never been so sweaty.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged plainly, focusing on the small circles on the floor made of rubber. They weren’t very comfortable.

“You gonna tell me, or should I guess?” She smiled, tucking her hair behind her ears. He saw a flash of someone he once knew sometimes in her. Sometimes it was nice, other times it made him angry. It wasn’t Kiara’s fault though, not her fault she had spent so much time around the lively firecracker of a girl that she had also become another version of Y/n.

“I know I said a surf trip would be good. I mean it would, but do you ever think about what you might do with all that money?” JJ furrowed his brows, licking over his lip, the split in the corner of the bottom lip stinging at the sensation.

Kiara hummed, leaning back and stretching her neck to catch the passing breeze through the small opening in the top corner of the metal container covered by a vent.

“I mean, yeah. A stable home life would be nice. Then, I’d probably do something with turtles. It’s a lot of money so, could probably do a lot with it.” She reasoned, wiping her skin with her palms and blinking the salty liquid away from her eyes.

JJ hummed. She had it all figured out, her real, serious dream that had stability and certainty. All the things Y/n’s dream never had, the very dreams she made JJ want just as bad.

“You know what Y/n would do with all this money?” JJ snorted at his own thoughts, practically hearing her voice ringing through his head. He heard Kiara hum, waiting for him to continue, and he simply smiled wider. “Absolutely nothing.” He laughed to himself.

Kiara laughed too, knowing deep down he was right. Maybe a tree house, or a small plot of land on the outskirts of society where all good things green can grow and only the wild folk dare to stumble, but nothing more than that. A few thousand, if it even were to cost that much, and the rest pocketed, maybe donated. Maybe just enough left over to buy some new shoes, some good shoes for dancing.

“A lifetime supply of overalls and red converse. Maybe even some nicer scarves to tie in her hair.” Kiara entertained JJ’s thoughts. She still thought of the girl every so often too, they all did, but no one more than JJ. After all, nobody had known her nearly as closely as JJ had. A bond that only comes once every few lifetimes, that’s what they had, Kiara was sure.

“She’s probably outgrown the overalls.” JJ added, and silence fell over them. Then, in the still air that coated the small space in a thick layer, laughter bounced between the pair.

Such a funny thought, to think Y/n could ever change. She had been a lot of things, but she was always herself. She found what she loved, and she loved them dearly. There was no changing her free spirit and old habits, it was who she had grown to be, through and through.

“What do you think she looks like now?” Kiara wondered out loud, looking down at JJ to see the way his brows furrowed and he pulled at the corners of his lips.

JJ thought for some time, because though at first he had tried to piece together and image of Y/n all grown up in his head, he’d long given up on those fantasies because they were never her. Only bits and pieces of the girl he could never forget.

“Bangs.” JJ said suddenly, followed by nothing else. He could picture them, hair sun kissed and twisting up in wild curls that were swept to the side. Not full, choppy bangs, but those cut with rusty scissors in the early morning, just framing bits to tug out when she put her hair up.

“Bangs?” Kiara chuckled, her hands subconsciously slipping over her stomach, and her arms tucking into a firm grasp, a hug she was giving herself. “Nothing else?” She smiled, curious because she had thought about it a lot.

Her hair would no longer be in braids, and those sun kiss freckles would have multiplied like the sparkles in her eyes did. She would have an eyebrow slit, or a piercing, maybe even a stick and poke, all of which she would have done herself to make herself stand out. Maybe she would have finally grown out of her nail biting, but Kiara doubted that part.

“Nope.” JJ said wetly, leaning back further and letting out a deep sigh. “Just like she was, only taller and older.”

Part of JJ wondered if it was his heart forcing him to believe Y/n would never change, and then the other part of his would remind his aching heart that it didn’t matter, because he would never know. All he could do was do as she asked so nicely before she left, picture her in the trees, jumping wildly from stone to stone and dancing in the breeze.

“Do you think she made it?” Kiara wondered out loud, her temple now pressed against the metal confines of the container. The breeze soothed her burning skin, and her sweaty palms threaded through her tight waves.

“Y/n?” JJ asked like it was even a question. It wasn’t even a question to him, wasn’t even an occurring thought, not after the first time he really sat down and thought it over.

“She made it.” He said confidently, because he knew the girl, and even if she had lived in the mud amongst the bugs and the thick vines that attempted to grow over her tired body in the night, she would do it happily because she was living.

“Without a doubt?” Kiara shut her tired eyes, her chest deflating with every labored breath. Sweat glistened as it rolled down the slope of her nose, sparkling on the slivers of sunlight.

“Without a doubt.”

When she said she wanted to be a pirate, she had envisioned a life close to home, lounging around on John B’s old boat with her best friends, drinking from coconuts and ripping the skin off of mangoes with her teeth until the juice stained everything she touched. She imagined a life of pure peace, where the little things were enough and money was an afterthought.

But here she was, skin slick with sweat, hair stuck down to her forehead in damp curls, and her shirt clinging to the denim that covered her. The deck was cooler, a free space for her to stretch her eager legs, and though it was confined, she found peace in the open ocean, a vast space of blue expanding as far as her eyes could see.

Now, her back ached, her wrists just as damp as her face, and with each swipe of the backs of her hands against her temples, she simply spread the wetness across her forehead in a streaking mess.

She fed the flames, shoveling coal and other waste into the small opening, trying to fuel the large ship with what little energy she had left to offer.

Her back ached, and her knees were sore. She loved a challenge, yearned for the work because at least it gave her something to do, something to stick her needy palms into, but she was too worn thin to carry multiple jobs all at once. She desperately waited for the girl she had come to call her close friend to return, shovel in hand and thick gloves covering her relatively well-manicured hands. Cleo, she learned to call the girl over her few months spent on board, had abandoned ship, split when she needed her most. Nobody had said anything about her absence, so Y/n was led to believe she had left without warning.

It was hell below deck, a new low, and Y/n knew low. She could list a few things just from the past couple days if she wanted to scrape the surface, but most memories came from her earlier years, when college still seemed so far away, and she swore she would never grow old. She missed when her joints didn’t ache with even the smallest movements. She missed jumping from branch to branch and swinging herself into the depths of the ocean with reckless abandon.

More than that she missed him. Her best friend, and the only person who had ever believed her when she swore to live out her most childish fantasies. Anyone else always looked at her like she had dreamed of being a fairy, a mermaid, a princess. All things unrealistic and unreachable in her living situation and the rules of the world, yet JJ had always seen it as completely plausible.

If she said she wanted to jump to conquer a fear, there he was tugging her along and laughing the whole way down. If she wanted to dance, he would learn the steps, and fall into line with her, spinning and dipping her in the wet pavement that scraped against their bare feet.

So, as she shouted for some sort of assistance in the basement, she couldn’t help but wonder if she should have let them take her away that day. If she hadn’t been so set on remaining untouched, unfiltered, wild and free, if she had let the warmth of a calm, civilized home find her, would things have ended differently? Was it her mistake for chasing after a feeling of childish wonder that had been stripped of her? Was it wrong to want something so badly simply because her own life had been too hard to ever enjoy at a normal pace?

She hadn’t seen the thick greenery in years, the daffodils snd the daisies only vibrant sights when their stems were sliced and their leafs were wilting. She missed the mud between her toes, the summer air lifting her up. When she wore braids not because they kept her thick hair off of her neck, but because she liked the way they looked. When her overalls were a fashion statement, not because they shielded her from the dangers of her work. She missed the bright red fabric on her converse, and the old doodles from her friends on the soles when they got bored. They were caked in oil, and grime, and sludge. Dimmed by the struggles of her reality. She wondered internally if there were still beautiful things.

Then, like her prayer had been caught in the wind by her savior, there was some scrambling that echoed across the floorboards, followed by distant shouting and metal hitting metal.

Mumbling and chaos shook the frame where she stood, distant cries and grunts as bodies slammed together leaving her torn in a moment of desperation. Her heart ached to go, to run and finally catch her breath, to see what disaster had swept over the ship in such a short moment of time, but her brain thought logically, told her to feed the flames to keep everyone afloat. It was a split second decision, the divide between rational and reasonable.

And then she thought about all the good in the past few days. She thought of the glimpses of the world she’d stolen between the bustling mornings and the restless nights, of the small treats she stuffed in her pockets and the beautiful sunsets and clear constellations in the center of a world untouched by light pollution. She thought of Cleo, her only friend she’d found in a life where she only knew abandonment and fear. Where the only affection she had ever accepted had hurt her, and the only good and gentle people in her life had fled, Cleo had appeared like an angel, a thick accent and a toothy grin. Born and raised as a thief, and trained as a fighter. She was smart, and kind beneath her rough edges, and Y/n thought of the sadness in her eyes each time she worked until her bones stung. She thought of how badly she wanted to dive into the waves below them and pull the girl with her to show her how freeing running can be.

Faced with fear, she could not save either of them if she waited for another miracle, another moment to excuse her actions, to make her breaking loose seem justified if it were to all go wrong. If they’d have her head for betrayal, the ocean waited for her on all ends, and she believed in her ability to survive confidently enough to take the risk presented to her.

She took the stairs two at a time, and the door to the outside air swung open with such force, it echoed like a gunshot when metal connected with metal, bolts grinding together angrily, her soot covered hands staining the rusting exterior, the cheap white paint flaking off where her hand had pressed firmly against the door.

“Cleo!” She shouted in the wind, her arms covered in goosebumps as the slick sweat became a layer of gel that turned her warmth into an uncomfortable chill.

She looked frantically, turning corners and sprinting over ramps and down steep stairwells. She hopped over ropes and swung from bars, her dirty sneakers slapping against the floors in heavy steps, and her breathing coming out in short pants through her nose.

“John B!” A quiet shout rattled down the thin hall that lined the perimeter of the deck, bouncing off of the thick walls and hollow railings. It was a name she hadn’t heard in a while. For a moment, she thought she had imagined it, that in her moment of desperation to grasp onto the bits and pieces of bliss in her hellish life, her mind had reeled and found a temporary way to cope. But then it came again.

“Where is he? John B!” The voice called out again, whiny and pleading, and much too loud on a ship crawling with people who were indescribably more dangerous and destructive than the cruel people who lingered in her hometown.

Then came the struggle, more grunting, and the sound of shoes scraping against the floor in a slippery mess. She could hear faint taunts, familiar names of people she longed to see again ever since the day she had left, and the sounds of exasperation over the loud lapping of waves against the side of the ship.

“Kie, now!” She heard suddenly, a deafening shout that silenced all other chaos around her, her breathing slowing in her ears and her heartbeat pounding against her temples.

It was as if time slowed, and all things far away rushed at her in a blink of her eyes. It was slow, yet so fast, her vision blurring into a jumbled mess to the rhythm of her unsteady heartbeat drumming against her ribs, begging to get out.

It was a voice she prayed to hear again, only deeper and raspier, but still the same. A voice that called to her in her darkest moments and pulled her from her slumps, reminded her of all the beauty of instability, of pure trust in luck and intuition. A voice that she had grown to love and hold dear to her, one so precious she found herself covering her ears so that she would never forget the sweet sound of it.

“JJ?” She pivoted quickly, her hip slamming harshly into the metal railing and her shoulder making contact with the opposing wall as she used the accidental thrashing as momentum down the long, swaying strip of flooring she ran on.

She felt crazy, delusional chasing after a sound she wasn’t even entirely sure was real. She had been dehydrated, overworked, underpaid, forgotten about and thrown to the side amongst all the other treasures that laid untouched beneath the deck. She used to scream ferociously anytime she wanted, and now it felt more like her life had become an exhibit at the zoo, a cage for her bosses to look down on, tossing fish to keep her from starving. What had happened to her freedom, her love for recklessness? She decided to hold onto her delusion, to chase it because to be wrong was better than to be certain in her correctness and abandon her love for the chase.

“JJ? JJ!” She shouted, her voice coming out in broken cries, knuckles whitening with how hard they gripped anything with a corner or a curve. Anything that could keep her afloat as she dove into waters so deep, she couldn’t touch anymore.

“Cleo!” Her cries echoed through the tense air, carrying over the grunts and slamming and shouting that passed through coworkers, some she knew, and others she didn’t. If she couldn’t be given the life long dream to reunite with her drive, her motivation to keep going, she prayed to whoever was listening to her that at least her friend would be waiting for her at the end of the hall.

The boat rocked with a shift of weight, a crane groaning under the intense pressure of something indestructible, and in the glistening sunlight, Y/n caught sight of something truly magnificent. A golden cross shining in the halo of sunlight that surrounded it in all of its glory, a true treasure that had been, unbeknownst to her, been stuffed away just mere feet away from where she had been working until not a single inch of her body didn’t know pain.

She stumbled back at the sight, the jewels imbedded into the holy fortune sparkling with a beauty Y/n had never seen in person. It took her back to her days at Sunday school sat right beside JJ. Her mother wasn’t a religious woman, but JJ’s father was, and so with an excuse to be cut loose from the torture of her house—because she refused to call it a home; she too began to believe in something greater than what she was supposed to believe in.

For the first time in her life, her neck craned up to look at the artifact which swung ferociously in the wind, the groaning crane whipping it around erratically, Y/n closed her eyes, and she prayed.

She didn’t ache for the chase, for uncertainty in this moment. She was unchanging in all her beliefs, but for one singular second, she prayed and pleaded that for once, there would be certainty in who she would stumble across.

Then, with a sudden feeling of calamity in the midst of reigning chaos burning over the life she had grown accustomed to, Y/n rounded the corner, stepping down the last bit of the hall into the thicker opening of the side of the deck, lined with a few stray crates to block off broken pieces of the rusted railings.

And there it was, the sudden loss for breath, the heavy feeling that weighed down everything she could once do without even thinking. Her feet refused to move, and her nails dug into the ragged shorts of her overalls. The wind blew her curly, sweaty bangs across her face, tickling her nose. Her entire world shattered and then became rebuilt at the relieving sight.

It was a man she did not know, someone who had joined the expedition under the employment of someone Y/n wasn’t allowed to know. A man who simply worked for another man much wealthier than she was, erratically swinging his curved machete around in an act of violence against two people she recognized clear as day as if time had never passed them by.

Kiara sat bent over, the wind knocked out of her as her cheeks puffed up to try and keep what little air she had left inside of her. Her hair hung over her bright eyes, her pink lips bitten raw, Y/n could make out that detail even from a distance. But there, just s few feet away, stood JJ backed up against the railing, leaning dangerously close to the edge, his hair wild and untamed like the rest of his appearance.

He wasn’t the boy Y/n had left behind. He wasn’t the scrawny tow headed blonde who liked to tease and run, but rather a more muscular blonde with a fire in his eyes, passion that couldn’t be manufactured, but found through growing up. He was just as beautiful as she remembered, just as dear, just as lovable. Even without a single bit of insight on what he had been up to, how he could have changed, Y/n’s feelings for her best friend had been long cemented within her heart. She loved him like no other, to the moon and to Saturn.

She was only broken out of her lovesick visions by the sight of the unfamiliar man growing closer to her friends, his grip tightening around his weapon like a threat, and Y/n feared the worst.

“JJ!” Y/n found her tongue, which had previously gone numb at the sight in front of her. She had shouted out for the boy to warn him, to try and get him to recognize the mans posture, how he stalked over Kiara like a looming threat, but she was foolish to believe that the sight of her, even so many years later when she was sure he would have learned to forget her, wouldn’t stop him in his tracks.

His blue eyes found hers, and she could see how his body seemed to tense, and then very quickly, slump in shock. His jaw fell slack, eyes widening and brows furrowing, almost as if he was in pain, in some sort of conflict. To run into her arms, or to focus on why her shouting was so desperate, so raw and broken.

He wanted to speak, to beg her to tell him if this was all real, or if the heat from the container had caused some sort of heat stroke and he was hallucinating her up to comfort him in a time of crisis. But his breath refused to come out, and in a blur, the blunt end of a blade struck his head, and his feet swept over the edge of the boat, plummeting him into the depths of the sea below.

In that moment, Y/n realized three things. One; she had spent so much of her life dreaming, she had left so little time to go and live those dreams. Two; in every single thing she had ever wanted so badly it had become a part of her dreams, JJ had always been there right alongside her. In most, he even led her confidently, and three; that very same boy she had been dreaming of for endless nights, until her entire youth was filled with only dreams of him, had just gone overboard, and now, so was she.

Her dirty shoes scraped the edge of the railing. Part of her felt like spreading her arms out wide to welcome the wind, but as her wide eyes flickered from the golden hues of the sky to the deep blue that seemed miles away, fear struck her body.

It was a long drop. Much farther down than the rocks she had learned to leap from effortlessly, hand in and with her best friend to guide her. Water thrashed below her then, and it did so now too.

He floated below her, face down and limp and she felt her blood pumping. Back then, he had held her hand firmly and whispered out promises into her ear with each doubt she had. Back then, she believed every word he said when he promised there wasn’t a single possibility she would get hurt because he was right there. And when she leaped with him, he had been right.

“Wasn’t it fun?” He had laughed back then, so excited to have been right. Her face was unreadable, her lip trembling and eyes wide. For a moment, he had panicked, even at twelve years old he understood what it felt like to want to keep something so special safe. He held her face, cradled it in his wet palms until her cheeks lifted into a smile.

“Can we go again?” She had giggled, feeling a familiar warmth in the pit of her stomach spreading.

“Yeah. Yes!” He encouraged, proud of her bravery and her ability to find pleasure in things that once scared her.

He was always more brave than her in her eyes. She imagined if it were her down there, he would have already jumped in no hesitation.

Y/n looked down again, and then back at Kiara, who was back up on her feet, limbs tangled with the man she still didn’t know the name of. She was struggling to a degree, but quickly got some ground to push off of.

“Y/n!” Kiara called out from over the mans broad shoulder, eyes frantic and her skin dusty from the mans shirt and the wooden deck.

She could see her internal debate, both people who were so special to her put in situations where they were nearly helpless. To leave JJ meant he would be on his own, but to leave Kiara opened up so many more possibilities.

“Go! I’m okay!” Kiara promised as he pushed the man away, getting some leverage, and at the desperation in her voice, something inside clicked within Y/n.

The bottom of her worn out shoes scraped against the old metal, and for a moment the wind felt freeing as she leaped out, the warmth from the sun made it feel like flying, like by some miracle she could never fall. But the cool water below crushed her imagination as it wrapped around her body like a cold blanket.

When she surfaced, the world around her spun, echoes of her old pleas to go again ringing through her ears as her limbs cut through the waves desperately, goosebumps pebbling down her arms almost instantly.

“JJ!” She shouted, her voice raw and ripped from all the desperation she felt, how vulnerable and helpless she felt.

He laid on his stomach, submerged with no air like a starfish, only bobbing with the current. He seemed completely washed of all life.

She felt weak splashing over to him. She kicked and cut through the waves like she needed it to survive, and yet her malnourished bones only let her go so far so fast. It felt taunting to her, having to watch him get closer at a snails pace.

Y/n’s arms wrapped around him feebly, his larger body resting heavily on her shoulder. He was broader now, no longer the small boy she had to leave behind. If only he knew how quickly her dreams were crushed in order to survive, if only she’d been more careful, if she hadn’t left her shirt. If only she’d didn’t look like her father, if only her mother was a good woman.

“JJ hey, I’m back, wake up okay?” She smiled weakly, like her presence could shake him. He swallowed so much water, she knew it. If only she wasn’t so scared. If only she hadn’t been stripped of all the bravery she had learned from him.

The boy’s head rolled to the side with each tap of her wrinkled fingers, the cold biting their limbs with each lap of the waves crashing into them.

“JJ, come on wake up please!” She grew frantic as the water seemed to only grow rougher, a vision of the thrashing water between the jagged rocks clouding her reality and his weight sinking them down below the surface.

“JJ!” She cried out, her voice ripping through the heavy pants and her nails digging into his body. Blood stained his hairline, his blonde hair now darkened from the water and strawberry at the roots from his wound.

She knew it better than she ever had. He had grown stronger while she had been whittled down into only a shell of who she had once been. He was taller, faster, braver than she ever was, and as hard as she kicked her legs and splashed around, it felt like more and more waves seemed to pull them under momentarily.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She apologized towards the sky, guilty for not being able to keep them afloat in the choppy waters. “I’m sorry, I love you.” She promised, and she held onto him tighter with each passing second, even as her vision started to blur.

After all, he always loved the company and she was afraid of loneliness and the dark.

“I love you, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m trying J, I really am!” She promised through gasps of air, water falling from her lips more rapidly now.

“John B!” She screamed, her voice piercing through the empty space. “Pope!” She called out again, hoping that just one of her friends might hear her. Would they recognize her voice, she wondered, or had growing up changed everything about her? Had she become unrecognizable?

She surely didn’t recognize herself anymore. She avoided mirrors, and parties, and small talk often. She hated the sound of her voice and how it had changed and how she’d grown taller and how her freckles seemed to dot her face more messily. How she had to live with the changes that would make her harder to recognize if she would ever get to meet her friends again.

“JJ, please wake up.” She pleaded again, all other sounds beyond her heavy breathing and the faint ringing in her ears falling deaf.

She recalled the last time she heard him laugh. She heard it in her sleep, covered her ears to drown out anyone else’s late at night to savor the sound. She recalled running her fingers through his hair under the stars, promising him one day everything would be okay. It would be okay, right? One day it would be okay?

“Kiara!” Her throat felt raw now, the salt water tearing apart her dry lips and stinging the scrapes on her palms and knees. Everything hurt, the more and more she begged and cried for help, the longer time seemed to stretch. The heavier he grew in her arms.

There was nothing she could do to change what was happening to them, no plywood or branch to grab onto, no ladder or savior to come and save them. Her heart felt empty, her chest closing in. If she had a mirror, she would’ve seen the loss of color fading from her skin. She missed the certainty she once hated. She missed everything about knowing what tomorrow brought, when she knew JJ would still be tapping at her window, when he wasn’t lying limp in her arms.

She hated it and cried about it, though it was pointless. She cried out for help but her voice was muted with bubbling water, her head bobbing below the surface. For a moment, her vision cleared as the waves dipped, and she swore she saw the outline of a figure in the distance, but she couldn’t be sure. The waters rose just as quickly as they fell, and with a deadly grip, her arms wrapped around JJ to ensure not even the strongest currents could pull them apart as her body gave out. And in a sudden moment of weakness and a final soft apology and a kiss to the blondes cheek, the feeling of sinking was a gift.

Then, the tugging. It was desperate, nails drawing blood by her neck, three or four pairs of hands pressing their palms deep into her raw skin, fingers all wrapping around her before the depths could take her. She felt the rough material before she saw it, the dark grey fabric lining the outside of the small boat, a large motor in the back and each empty space filled with a familiar face, all of their legs bent upwards in an impossibly uncomfortable position to save space.

Her breaths came out ragged, heavy dry heaves leaving drops of water heavy with saliva stringing from her mouth. Blood trickled down the bridge of her nose, a new, burning scratch earned in the messy tug-o-war to save her from sinking.

Y/n swore she felt her heart stop with each cough, eyes squeezed shut and her back hunched over in pain. Her palms pressed into the bottom of the boat until her body found the floor, and her knees slide beneath her.

Still, she recognized two things; one, the air sent pins and needles down every bump that had spread over her skin, her joints screaming with each small bend; and two, JJ was laying lifeless just a few inches away.

His head was propped up against the side of the boat, the fabric wrapped around what Y/n assumed was an inflated portion of the body. His face was tiled away from her, having lolled to the side as the boy Y/n recognized as John B through her blurry vision frantically steered the boat.

The blood had stopped trickling down JJ’s forehead, but the sight of his breathing so shallow and uneven, as if he was fighting each time to get another chance to breathe, sent an uneasy feeling through Y/n’s body, and panic shot straight into her brain.

“JJ!” Her voice came out rough, stripped from all her panic alongside the copious amounts of water that nearly filled her lungs. But despite her obvious aching and tender pain, her hands grasped the boy with a new found determination, her knuckles shaking with the intensity of her grip on his skin.

JJ’s head rested against the boat, but his back no longer pressed at an awkward angle between the elevated sides and the hollow floors, but rather laid tucked against Y/n’s lap, her left hand pulling him close, even as her arm shook with his weight mixed with her weakness all while her right ran affectionately through his wet hair, trying to rouse him from his unconscious state.

“No, no, no, no. Please, please I just got you back please.” She begged, her trembling hand connected against his cheek in quick, soft taps.

Her eyes filled with tears immediately at the horrific sight, her lip trembling all the way down through her chin. She breathed deeply, but choked it all the way down. She could barely swallow, her saliva and her pride stuck between her teeth. Guilt consumed her.

“JJ!” She shouted, nearly demanding that he wake up like a distraught child. Her voice was laced with a whiny tone, each plea falling from her mouth more broken than the previous.

Y/n’s hands connected with JJ’s chest, no longer providing that warm comfort that her delicate palms had as her fingers ran through his hair and cradled his wet face, but rather quick jabs at his firm body, just below his heart.

Her curtain-like bangs hung in curls over her face, dripping onto JJ’s chin and neck and reflecting small images of the girls distraught expression. With each shake, another droplet rolled off of his skin, and with each push she felt his back dig into her knee.

Y/n felt hands on her back, soft, smaller hands gently pressed against her shoulder blades, right between the crevice between the bones. The fingers were adorned with rings, the delicate hands rubbing soothing circles as her back shook with suppressed sobs.

“It’s all my fault.” Y/n’s voice broke, her lips trembling and her words nothing more than a shattered whisper. She stopped hitting the blonde boy, and instead covered her mouth to contain her cries of guilt, and grief. “If I had been braver I could have gotten to him sooner.” She tried to reason, needing something to blame to give her some form of organization, even if the blame was inflicted onto herself.

“Y/n.” The girl who kneeled closely murmured, her hand a point of stability as Y/n watched the sky fall. “It’s not your fault.” She tried to provide comfort, but her attempts fell short.

“But it is!” Y/n nearly snapped, but not out of anger, of something else.

Everyone was looking at her, she had caught it the second they had pulled her from the sea. She was a spectacle, a great vision of the past, a figure that had slipped from the lives they had grown attached to long ago. Someone they had all missed and grieved in their own time. And so they stared at her and drank up the changes they had missed.

She was pretty. Y/n was always pretty, but now she was especially pretty. She grown up to be taller than she was when she left, her hair curls twisting all the way down her back, the short hair now a distant memory, and her body curving in ways that gave proof of her aging. She was the more mature version of the firecracker that had been shot too close to the sun too soon. Their light that had burnt out prematurely.

And so they all looked at her, ogling like she was something out of a fantasy film instead of looking at him.

“No, no, no! You don’t get it!” She threw her arm up in frustration, tilting her head back to force the building bile in the back of her mouth to go down. Why couldn’t it just all go down? Push it down, that’s what she needed to do. Push it down. Forget it, and push it down. “I’ve ruined everything. A-and I’m no good and I’ve fucked it all up!” Y/n sobbed, her head hanging forward now, shoulder slumped and her hands now gripping the wet shirt that clung to JJ’s body so tightly, her knuckles turned white.

“I should’ve jumped, I should’ve jumped in but I was too scared and he was there, he was there and if he hadn’t and it had been me he would’ve. He would’ve jumped in because he’s not afraid of anything. He would’ve have held my hand and he would have told me it would all be okay because he’s braver than me and he’s a whole lot better than me.” She rambled, and the wording of her breathless explanation made little sense to those who crowded around her, those who hadn’t experienced the moments Y/n and JJ were free of civility.

“Y/n.” Pope, the smartest of them all, spoke up, his voice emerging from behind a blonde girl she recognized as Sarah Cameron even all these years later and the familiar, yet somehow, not comforting face of her newer companion, Cleo.

Y/n didn’t listen, she refused to, too overpowered by her self blame, pointing her fingers at herself before anyone else got the chance. Why wasn’t anyone else freaking out? Did the loss of their friend not rip them completely open like it had her? Or had her best friend she had kept as a fond memory, completely kind and loving grown bitter and cold over the years? Was he not the JJ she knew?

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.” Her eye contact was fleeting, and in a final attempt to cling onto what she could before all was lost, her head fell to JJ’s chest, her forehead pressed against his shirt, listening to the fading beating of his heart.

Then, a cough, then another and another until a loud heave tore open JJ’s lips, a thick mixture of warm salt water and stringy spit drooling down his clammy skin, splatters of the mixture falling into Y/n’s salt-soaked hair.

She didn’t care, of course she wouldn’t, not even if it were blood and vomit, she swore she wouldn’t as she raised her head, her eyes flickering to where JJ’s brows furrowed, his shoulders drawing forward.

Y/n rested her hand in the dip on the center of his chest, applying soft pressure to ease his wheezing.

“JJ.” She breathed out, relieved and yet completely broken from the near loss, one she couldn’t handle again.

The thought alone shook her. He would never know how hard it was for her to leave, how badly she wished she had just hidden in the closet. But she knew her hiding could only do so much, the evil would find her and she had to go, she had to go to save them both.

"Yeah, yeah! Cough it out, cough it out baby!" John B encouraged, a sea of instructions following from the others in a desperate hurry, all reaching over to simply feel for a steady thumping of a pulse, all while the deafening ringing filled Y/n’s ears, her eyes stuck to the pretty sight of JJ’s face.

Y/n sat back on her heels, but her body fell forward in a deeper slump to protect the boy from the burning sun. She felt sick, and crazy, and confused. She wanted to throw up, scared of how fragile the boy might have become.

"Welcome to the land of the living, dude." Popes voice cut through the distant bells, the busy streets, all the background noise that flickered in short fragments through her head.

At her realization of his return, as it really sunk in, Y/n’s touch became a hovering sensation over his body, fingers shaking over his chest like she believed she had the power to only cause harm to what was already hurt, like she could fracture what had been a small crack.

Her chest felt like it was closing in, her ribs clenching around her heart tightly, and she wondered if it was what dying felt like, if JJ had felt something similar while each breath became less full.

Her mind spun like a broken clock, thoughts of self deprecation running in a constant loop, leading back to the same problems in similar processes with no end in sight. How beautiful was the feeling to be pulled from her spiral by the sight of his blue eyes focused on her face, tracing the curve of her nose down to the cupids bow on top of her lip.

She waited for him to speak, to say anything to her. Her heart pounded waiting to hear his voice, how lovely each syllable rolled off of his tongue. But the silence stretched on, just heavy breaths and tight grip that kept them connected.

His arm raised from where it lay limply by his side, his index and his thumb reaching by her arm to twirl the end of one of her braids between his fingers. In a swift motion, the pads of his fingers pinched the loose strands, and tugged for a short moment hard enough to tilt her head to the side.

She let out a soft gasp, only in reverse. All her air had deflated out of her chest, spreading a soothing sensation through her tightly wound bones just like the warm smile that expanded across her flushed cheeks.

Her laughter was a work of art, the most beautiful music JJ had ever heard, just as light and sweet as he remembered it. She hadn’t changed much, yet she had. She had more freckles now, and he found Kiara was right about the bangs. Yet her hair was still woven into the familiar pattern of two braids that now hung loosely at the bottom of her head, twisting and falling over her shoulders perfectly. She was taller, older, but he felt the shortness of her nails against his skin, and he couldn’t help but smile to himself knowing old habits die hard.

“There’s my favorite pirate.” JJ finally spoke, his voice gravely from the exhaustion that traveled through him, leaving his body heavy and soft in Y/n’s arms.

“Theres my favorite outlaw.” Y/n joked back, her voice just as soft as it was the first time he heard it that day on the beach. Just like it had been when he heard it even when she was gone, in the trees, and floating through the folk songs that spread throughout the old Chateau.

“Welcome back to the good life.” JJ laughed, and the sparkles in his eyes as he said it held every bit of truth within that statement.

It was a life that promised all she ever wanted to be. One where they could be interesting forever, where they would be kind forever.

This was the best life, the most freeing one she could ever dream of. It wasn’t about swinging from the vines or leaping from the ledges anymore, but rather the guiding hand on her back as she scraped her knees and chipped her baby teeth. It was always him, the influence to her accomplice.

She had promised to run freely with him again, to dance with him just like they used to and lucky enough, Y/n’s shoes were good for dancing.

“I claim thee, Poguelandia.” JJ’s foot propped up against the old tree that hung low over the sand. It’s tilted stump holding firm in the breeze, and its ancient branches shaking from the way John B’s hands gripped the leaves.

“Do we get a vote?” Sarah complained, rolling her eyes at the uncreative name JJ had thought of on the fly.

“Nope.” JJ smiled, pointing a finger at the blonde girl. “It’s already patented and pending.” JJ spoke confidently.

“Define that.” Pope sassed, crossing his arms and lying back against the old bark. Silence filled the sandy space, soft laughter echoing around the small circle everyone had created, sitting as comfortably as possible of the dying drift wood.

JJ shook off the comment, a smile forever present on his face despite the pounding headache and small bump forming on his temple.

“I like the ring of it.” JJ ignored Pope, pressing his palm against the large tree everyone gathered around and leaning into his hip until his shirt hung just above where Y/n’s body sat slumped in the sand.

She let out a soft laugh, if it could eve be considered that. More of a huff of air escaping her nose, a smile slowly spreading across her cheeks. Despite the quietness of her amusement, it seemed to only push JJ on, his eyes sparkling at the familiar sound he had gone without.

“I’m gonna make a flag. It’s gonna have a chicken on it. With a coconut bra smoking a ‘j’ in crocs.” He continued with his wild fantasy, watching how the girl beneath him hunched over with laughter and brought her hands to cover her toothy grin. “Y/n likes it.” He pointed out proudly.

“Yeah, I didn’t say that.” The girl quickly argued, tossing her head back and stretching her neck to catch his eyes. Though she tried to keep that same fight she once had with him, that natural bickering that made their relationship so beautifully complex, the reality that she finally had him again set in swiftly, and her serious expression failed to mask her excitement.

“Whatever, she totally does.” The boy swatted his hand, playfully pushing the girls head forward until she nearly bent in half. Just where they had left off, completely comfortable in each others touch and always ready to give back what they took.

“We were feeding a broken engine for hours, I think we’d both take anything over that.” Cleo pointed out, bumping her shoulder against the flustered girl beside her. Y/n couldn’t help but give Cleo a soft shove. An old habit she never really squashed.

“We? You bailed ship Cleo, don’t think I forgot.” Y/n said, pointing a finger at the sweaty girl who seemed uncomfortably close even with the endless amount of space around them. A whole island to themselves.

Then, with a careful glance to make sure JJ had leaned away from her, she stood up quickly, wiping sand off of the wet denim that clung to her skin, each cuffed leg weighing her down just a little more.

“Why don’t we leave the naming stuff to Kiara or Pope. Or you know…not you.” She twisted her braids between her hands, tugging the stretched bands out from the ends to free her now nearly dry hair from the patterns woven throughout. As she ran her knuckles through the tangles, her hands clasped around the legs of her overalls, her hands unrolling the pants until they sat just above her ankles.

“Where are you going?” JJ called out for her, not used to the proximity of her now that he had grown used to the distance. He chased after her as quickly as she began to walk away, chasing after the rush just the faint smell of her gave him.

“It’s gonna get dark soon, right? Can’t live off of salt water, J.” She teased, her feet leaving wet prints across the sand, kicking up the dirt in clumps that stuck to the backs of her heals.

He followed like a dog, practically weaving between her legs with his tail wagging in excitement, a familiar rush that was only brought out in the forever thrilling presence of her.

She took the pocket knife from the ripping pocket in the center of her chest, dark denim carrying puddles of the ocean in the stitching. With a bend of her knees, he watched as she dug the blade into the fabric that dripped around her feet, slicing the legs with a tearing sound just above her knee. With her other hand, she rolled the overalls higher, and stuck the closed knife back into its home. She left the cut pants in the sand where they had pooled by her ankles, walking by like it had been nothing. JJ figured she had done it before, probably when she was younger and on the run.

“I don’t remember you being so quick around a blade.” JJ teased, bumping his elbow against hers. He wanted to tug at her hair again, but his fingers curled around nothing by his sides as he decided on admiring the slope of her nose down to her pretty smile instead.

“Bull—shit, yes you do.” She laughed, turning to him with a sense of wonder in her curious gaze. “I used to cut you out of shit all the time!”

“Nah.” JJ played it off, but the blush on his cheeks betrayed him. “I let you. So we could play pirates and all that.” He lied through his teeth, recalling all the times he stumbled through the thick bushes just a little too carelessly and how Y/n’s rusting knife had cut his laces just a little shorter each time he lost a boot in the entanglement of twigs.

“Oh is that what we’re calling it now?” She bickered back, biting back a large smile in exchange for a playful grin. If she had access to the dusty space that she had once called home, she would have hung up the dusty laces that had been stored away in some box shoved beneath her bed.

“Yup.” He popped the p, licking over his dry lips with his tongue swiftly, tasting the salt on his skin.

A comfortable silence fell over the pair, her steps falling into line with his, and their hands shoved deeply into the depths of their pockets, fingers poking through the holes at the bottom from rough knuckles and heavy rocks.

With a heavy sigh, JJ tried to catch her eye, yet it remained trained on the sky like it was the most perfect thing she’d ever seen. He wondered silently if she’d seen the hues they once adored so much as kids recently, or if the thrilling life on deck had swept away her favorite thing, stargazing and watching the sky change as if she needed to put it to memory.

“So.” He finally broke the silence, her breathing hitching only to relax once her eyes found his, a gentle reassurance that everything would be as it once was, that the chase was finally over. “Was it as cool as it was promised?” He couldn’t help but ask, the same childlike wonder sparkling in his eyes.

“What?” Y/n let out a breathy laugh, wiping her hands on her tanned thighs.

“The pirate life. Where civility doesn’t exist and dreams can come true.” He clarified.

To anyone else, they might have believed it was condescending, a taunting question to shame her for her deathly grasp on all the childhood promises nobody ever kept for her. But to Y/n, she knew he really meant it when he asked, that he wanted to know if what they dreamed up was really as good as they pictured it on paper.

“It’s no Peter Pan story.” She breathed through her nose, eyes flickering down at the way her body was blossoming with bruises from her restless work, her dreams all crushed within the first week spent on the sea.

“I tried to make it Neverland, I really did. But you can’t change what happens to you, no matter how far you run. It’s like running in a circle. You go so far, yet nowhere at all.” Y/n knew she would never enjoy the pirate life she once dreamed of. In her dreams, JJ and her were co-captains, sailors with fancy white hats and no hooks for hands.

Now she felt like she should be fearing the ticking of the clocks, and running from the danger that once excited her.

“Did you believe it?” She couldn’t help but ask, wondering if her JJ had really waited to hear all the stories she promised to share with him, all the hustle and bustle of her fantasies.

JJ paused, then, looked at his sad friend’s face, and gave her a sympathetic nod. It wasn’t completely truthful, but that’s what happens naturally. He always believed in her and her curiosity towards the simple things in life. He believed that all the times he felt he had an ounce of childhood to hold onto were only beliefs because she had made them so. And when she had to go, so did the nice things he saw in nothing at all.

“I won’t confess that I believed it, that I didn’t have my doubts, but I always figured you’d be okay. That you’d find your way and maybe even come home.” What he didn’t say is all the times he’d left the lamp on, kept it burning on the porch so she’d know someone was home if she were to return.

He didn’t tell her that he had only gone on the wild gold hunt because part of him believed if he had the money to back it up, he could search every part of the earth to find her. Because it wouldn’t matter if he had or hadn’t told her, it wouldn’t make a difference and it wouldn’t change a thing.

They both made promises they couldn’t keep, and that was just the way life seemed to go. So she didn’t ask where he had been all these years, and he never asked about where she had gone. The timing would come to them eventually, and it would all work out. There was no point in catching up for two souls that had never been truly apart.

JJ and and Y/n had walked themselves to a ledge by the end of their conversation, nothing but soft breathing and the comfort of the wet, warm winds to wrap around them like a soothing blanket of serenity.

Y/n would be lying if she said the height didn’t scare her, if the wild waves below didn’t cause a crisp trepidation to shoot through her limbs. It was a big jump, the final leap she had always dreamed of.

The waves hit the smooth rocks, the rougher ones that stood tall thrashing with the heavy water. Sea salt coated their glistening skin, and as the wind blew through her hair, she came to a realization she had never considered before.

All this time she believed she had been something like Peter Pan. She joked about pirates, and running free, and all things children should know and love, and she acted fearlessly like she would forever be that version of herself. Yet, as time closed in on her and she grew taller, maturity had grown into her bones with each added inch. She was no Peter, she was more of a Wendy, and at first it had killed her, but only for a moment.

When she looked over to her side, she saw the blonde she had fallen in love with when she was still so little. They were young, and with their spirits, she was sure part of them would always be. And she knew then, if she was Wendy, he was her Peter.

“What?” JJ smiled, catching her glances. Standing proudly beside him, only older than the last time they’d met up. She had promised to grow up and come find him. She guessed she wasn’t lying about that.

"We will be interesting forever." She recited her promises from their youth, promises that were oceans deep with a serious smile, like she knew there was no other fate for people like them. "And nobody will ever forget how we lived like real people should and how we never let the temptation of a corporate paycheck take away the big picture."

Her hands reached up to hold JJ like she had when they stood only five feet tall. Now here he was, towering over her like he always promised he would. She wrinkled the shoulders of JJ's old tank top, the sides cut so far down, it was nearly just a napkin with a hole for his head. Everything about their attire screamed outlaws, pirates, lost boys, fighters, and believers. There was no fooling anyone, yet they carried themselves with pride, like the lack of civility in their lives was a thrill, the dirt and the worms and the bees and sweltering sunburns were all a gift to have been rubbed across them on their walks in the rain, in their summer time hikes to the secret beaches they weren't supposed to venture on.

The Kooks had it good, an easy life, but Y/n declared that they were the only ones living.

“Do you still dream the same dreams?” JJ asked softly, the wind blowing through his messy blonde hair, and the ocean rolling calmly below them now.

She nodded, letting her hands fall into his, and tugging at the loose threads that fell from his worn out friendship bracelets. Just fractions of the ones she had littering her own wrists.

"I still wanna be that girl in my eighties, dancing in the rain and running up and down the beach like my bones can't break away." She smiled, and he noticed how much more sincere it felt now. "And I want to scream, I want to yell. I'd scream ferociously, leaping between the waves like we did now, and I'd finally jump from the rocks, and I won't be scared because l'll have done it thousands of times." She painted her future, her desire with a loving glance into JJ’s blue eyes.

There was no money, no big house with a picket fence and an army of children. Just the ocean, some laughter, and enough fearless ambition to spill into the next lifetime.

"Sounds nice." JJ agreed, only now he had grown to have the same imagination as she did, he had it in him to dream a dream as pure and grand. He didn't need to live on figure eight, he didn't even mind being stuck with three jobs until he turned to dirt of it meant they would be dancing together forever.

"It will be. And you'll know it because you'll be there with me, and we'll be the same pirates we are now. We'll smoke on the roof and wear fancy clothing that we made ourselves. We'll ride the waves and make lemonade and sweet tea like John B's dad did when we were kids. We'll have mustaches from the sugar, and we'll be young forever with the grass between our toes.” She kept her word, because there it was, the same sparkle in her eyes. The same sweet, delicate wonder.

"Well,” JJ began, his eyes leading hers to where the grass overhung the large fall into the deep blue below. “we can start on that dream now." JJ declared hopefully, looking out to where the waved lapped at the shore. His ringed fingers pointed out at the rigid rocks that overhung the deep waters.

"If we've got a thousand of leaps to take, you have to start with one." He looked back at the girl, the way she didn’t seem to be nervously fidgeting like she had when he first promised everything would be okay.

"And then we won't be scared." She repeated to herself, but more to him, more for the memory of the first time she felt like flying.

"No, we won't ever be scared again." And there was a shared understanding, an understanding that dreams are just dreams until they make them more. If she could do this terrifying thing, all for the rest of her deepest wishes to come true, there was a new found certainty that anything scary could be done.

That she and JJ could do all the scary things the world could offer, even just as the awkward young adults they felt they had grown into. It was possible.

He took her hand more firmly in his, and counted down under his breath. There were hoots and hollers from the excited audience that had gathered below. Their friends filled with fear but also the fiercely spreading feeling of wonder and happiness that JJ and Y/n had found in one another.

With a deep breath, he led her off the edge, and in the moments that came before the cool water surrounded them, they swore they were flying. That they were living like nobody had ever lived before. They were seven again, then thirteen, and then back to where they found themselves now, flickering through the past as they came down.

It was only one of a thousand promised leaps, and Y/n didn’t feel any fear as the water poured into her ears.

Because when they surfaced, there he was, his hair wet and his smile wide. His hands clasped in hers, holding her arms over her head so high, her legs had to wrap around his waist.

“Again!” He shouted excitedly.

One promise kept, nine hundred ninety nine left to live.

[alpinezro]

cant wait 2 get past the awkward patchy facial hair stage and into the ebautiful full thick beard stage so i can stop shaving because it is fucking with my skin omg

[skrunksthatwunk]

eughhh i feel dumb

[tevatron]

i'm so glad i won't be working with my pi after this month. i think i've reached my limit. i just can't deal with her anymore

[queenlucythevaliant]

Why did God harden the Pharaoh’s? I’m in a Bible as Lit class and someone brought up “wouldn’t that be against free will,” and why did God let the Israelites stay it in slavery for so long. Why is God different in the Old Testament to the New Testament? I hope this doesn’t bother you, with all these questions

Okay, so there are several different questions here and I'm going to try to address them all. I'm sure I'll miss something somewhere, so other more knowledgeable friends feel free to add on. Follow-ups are also very much welcome.

First off, Bible as literature class! Yikes. I took a Bible as lit class for my English minor years ago and my experience was pretty much wall-to-wall frustration. It was mostly an exercise in coming up with the most transgressive reads on Scripture possible and that really upset me.

I hope that your experience is better than mine. However, assuming that the class is at a secular university, I'd still encourage you to be intentional about talking the things you cover in class over with knowledgeable Christians in your life. I certainly benefitted a lot from doing so, both in the sense that I got to vent a whole bunch and in that I got help contextualizing the secular perspectives within Christian scholarship.

That out of the way: The God of the Bible is the same in both the Old and New Testaments.

I do understand where you’re coming from. It’s not uncommon for people to find God kind of inscrutable in the OT when they're more used to reading the NT. I actually think that's a failure on the part of the contemporary church in the West; large swaths of the OT tend to be understudied among lay-Christians.

Systematic theology can help a lot here. I'm just going to hit a few really broad highlights, but I really can't recommend Wayne Grudem highly enough if you're interested in more in-depth reading. Lots of people start with Bible Doctrine, but my family happened to have a copy of his enormous Systematic Theology tome in the basement when I was in high school and I got a lot out of just poking through that a little at a time too. A few quick bullets though:

Across all the Biblical texts, God is love. He glories in kindness to his people, whether it's in the covenant with Abraham, the Exodus, the faithful ministry of the prophets, Christ's ministry/death/resurrection, or the promised coming of his kingdom.

God is holy; he gives the Law to the Israelites so that they can approach his holiness without fearing for their lives and he sent Jesus so that we can do the same. Both Isaiah and Peter react with fear and awe in the face of God's holiness.

God is just. By virtue of his holiness, he cannot allow sin to go unpunished. As modern westerners, we often chafe against this but has any of us experienced justice that was actually pure? Justice is a form of faithfulness, and the same God who sent his people into exile poured out his wrath on his own son in our place. He has promised that one day, every evil will face his perfect justice.

God is faithful. He keeps his Covenant with Abraham even unto the cross. In the OT he is faithful husband to an adulterous people. In the NT he tells us that when we are faithless, he remains faithful, for he cannot deny himself.

Lots of other characteristics but this answer is going to be long enough as it is. The only way to get a real sense for the continuity within the Bible is to read the whole Bible with an eye towards the continuity.

The reason that God is more approachable in the NT than the Old is that he became human. In the Incarnation, all of that holiness and justice and faithfulness and love that was God came to earth in our perfect likeness so that he could live beside us and die for us. God is certainly easier to approach in light of Christ's work, but he is utterly the same as he ever was. Read the Transfiguration and tell me that isn’t the God of Mount Sinai. Read John 1 and tell me it doesn’t remind you of the end of Job. Read the Gospels, Hebrews, and Revelation and play spot-the-OT-parallel. It's beautiful.

Why did God leave his people in slavery for so long? You could ask the same question about the Babylonian captivity and even about why Jesus waits to return and finally defeat Death. Why does he wait? Why let his people suffer?

Well. God is sovereign and he only permits evil to the extent that it ultimately accomplishes the very opposite of what it intends. Because the Israelites were slaves in Egypt, the Exodus was able to occur. The Exodus glorified God in extraordinary fashion, both among his own people and to the peoples of the ancient world. It was also a necessary type and precursor to Jesus's work on the cross. I don't think it's an overstatement to say that redemptive history rests on God's work in the Exodus, which is itself contingent on a period of slavery in Egypt.

“How long, O Lord” and “Come Lord Jesus” are the same sentiment in different words. We are still in exile, even now. We are chronologically exiled from the place where we belong, the New Jerusalem, and we mourn because we live in a fallen world in which sin and death can still hurt us. We can ask, just as the Prophets once asked, why God waits to vanquish the Enemy, extract suffering from the world, and restore our years that the locusts have eaten. And in each case (the slaves in Egypt, the Babylonian captivity, and the period of waiting for Jesus to return), the answer is that God does not fix it yet because He is doing something bigger!

Regarding Pharaoh's heart: this is basically a question of human nature. The easiest way that I can articulate it off the top of my head is using Augustine's fourfold state of man:

Prior to the fall, man was able either to sin or not to sin (posse peccare, posse non peccare)

The natural state of man after the fall is one in which he is unable not to sin (non posse non peccare). This was Pharaoh's state.

Following the work of Christ, regenerate man is able not to sin (posse non peccare)

In eternity, glorified man will be unable to sin (non posse peccare)

When we talk about man's will, we must acknowledge that our wills are subject to our nature. In other words, Pharaoh was a natural, fallen man. His nature was inherently sinful and his heart inherently hard.

What we've got here is sort of a "Jacob I have loved but Esau I have hated" situation. Pharaoh, in his natural state, had a hard heart and a natural enmity with God. God did not intervene to give him a heart of flesh. My people I have loved, but Pharaoh I have hated.

Not a perfect parallel, but I think it serves its purpose. The point is that God's sovereignty isn't in conflict with man's will, since our wills are a function of our natures. Man behaves however his nature inclines him to behave at any given time. We call this free will; however, God is entirely sovereign over all of it.

This is definitely a long, messy answer, but like I said, feel free to continue the conversation. I've got some biochem to work on, but I'm always happy to talk theology :)

[bagofshinyrocks]

Government name vs Military callsign

Prompt: What scares them worse? Addressing them by their full government name, or addressing them by their military callsign?

Featuring: Task Force 141 (CoD: MW2) - John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish (separately) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 0.9k

Warnings: none

John Price

Government name.

Calling him Captain or Skipper just ends with him sauntering to where ever you are and ask (in an obnoxiously self-satisfied voice) what you wanted. Like a cat pretending it can’t hear the urgency in your tone when you say to get off the counter.

“If you want me to ‘shake a leg’, call my name, luvie.”

Now if you holler “Jonathan Price”, he’ll drop something. Either the newspaper in his hands, or his heart into his stomach. He sure as hell moves his ass with a purpose, and he’s peering into the room with an apology on his lips.

“Yes, luv? What’s wrong, poppet?”

“Lift the other end of the couch, would you?”

He does, and you shimmy it further back in the room. “Anything else I can do, love o’ my life?” He’s hovering, and gently coaxing you into his arms. Gauging how mad you were at him. You curled into him and kissed his chin. Then stepped away with a pat to his chest.

“No, sweetheart, just wanted you to shake a leg is all.”

When he remembers your previous conversation, he groans and tells you to fuck off.

Simon Riley

Military callsign.

When you two are alone, and he’s already given you permission to call him Simon, don’t call him Ghost. When you say that word, he assumes one of his mates are at the door or on the phone, and goes from Simon to Ghost. Stalks into the room with narrowed eyes, only to find you in the kitchen. By yourself.

“Ghost, you want a sandwich too? Turkey and cheese.”

“Fuck you callin’ me that for?” 

Once he sees you’re alone, he swoops in and wraps around you like a hoodie. A firm kiss to your ear, then your cheek, then spun you around. Back pressed to the counter top. Settles his face right close to yours.

“We playin’ games now?” You didn’t want to upset him, so you pressed a kiss to his nose. His grumpy look faded a bit.

“Sorry, baby.” Arms wrapped carefully around his shoulders. And your fingers scratch his scalp. Another kiss to his nose. “I’m sorry for playing games with you. Simon Riley.”

Hearing his name on your lips finally cracked, and he gave you a smile. A little scar on the upper lip. You gave it a kiss, and then pressed a kiss to his lips. 

A quick surge forward, and you only just had time to shove aside the things behind you before you found yourself on the countertop.

Kyle Garrick

Government name.

He doesn’t mind being called Gaz, and you’ll use Kyle and Gaz interchangeably. Doesn’t even mind if you use “Kyle” or “honey” in front of his squadmates. Though “Kylie” he does have some displeasure with.

“I’ll have you know, Soap is still calling me Kylie, you asshole.”

Call him ‘Garrick’, and he knows that you are pretending to be mad at him. He slinks over and rubs his face against your cheek. He’s too cute for you to stay mad.

If you shout “Kyle Garrick”, he comes running. He could have sworn that he put his clothes in the hamper. And did the dishes. And taken out the recycling. Damn, what was it that he forgot?

“Kyle Ga-”

“Yes, dear!” Shit, he didn’t mean to ‘yes, dear’ you. “Yes, my dear, I’m right here.”

You pause your laundry folding and summon him with a crook of your finger. Once he’s close enough, you tap your lip with the same finger. “I need a kiss.”

He blinked once. Then twice. “God damn you.” He squishes your face in his hands and gave you a quick, firm kiss. “Don’t stress me out like that. Thought you were mad.”

“Give me another kiss, or I will be.”

He rapid fire kissed your mouth, chin, and cheeks, then gave you a smack on the ass before returning to the living room. 

“In my own fucking home,” he muttered.

John MacTavish

Military callsign.

He’s got some thick skin. And he’s had his name shouted angrily many a time. He would all but skip into the room with a big smile on his face. The only people who shouted that name (and wore out the scare-factor on it) were his family members. Shouting “John MacTavish” meant you loved him. You were also mad at him, but you loved him. That was more important. Even with your scowl and the gross pile of garbage he kept forgetting to take out. You loved him.

Now shouting his callsign reminded him of his superior officers.

“SOAP!”

Shit shit shit. He put down his beer and ran from the garage to the backyard. Leg brace over his sweats, low cut muscle shirt that you also wolf-whistle at when he wears. You were only weeding the garden boxes.

“JOHNNY!”

“I’m here, bonnie,” he hollered, rounding the corner. You were sitting in the dirt, a tidy pile of weeds and dead plant bits next to you.

“C’mere, c’mere.”

He leaned down next to you, hand on your shoulder and good knee on the ground. “Wassit?”

You pointed to the leaf in your hand. “A caterpillar, Johnny. An itsy-bitsy caterpillar.”

He sighed heavily and kissed your shoulder. “Bonnie, I thought something was wrong.”

“Hm?” You spared him a glance. “What are you talking about, bubba?”

“You called me Soap.”

“Did I? Didn’t mean to spook you, loverboy.” You gave him an apologetic kiss on the lips. “Just wanted you to see the caterpillar before he wiggled off.”

Posted: 2023 Dec 10

[sttoru]

.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. toji can’t get his deserved rest due to his baby boy keeping him awake.

wc. 707

tags. dad!toji x female reader. nothing else to add; just pure fluff.

“he’s kickin’ me again,” toji complains with a deep sigh. tiny feet keep patting his back, not allowing the man to sleep at all. the culprit is none other than megumi—his beloved, yet bratty, son.

the little boy lays between you and your husband. you figured that this was best since megumi kept wailing each time you put him back in his crib.

you chuckle at toji’s groans of annoyance. your son is still full of energy, even if it’s already super late at night. your hand brushes against megumi’s chubby cheek and you can’t help but squeeze it lightly.

that action gains you a high-pitched squeak. you sigh and keep your child occupied with the movement of your finger against his face, “it’s his way of asking for attention, honey.”

toji grumbles something under his breath and scoots away from the both of you. megumi’s head turns towards his dad, his attention caught by the rustling of the sheets. you raise an eyebrow in response to toji putting distance between you both.

“papa’s mean,” you huff, talking to your baby. you can’t see toji’s face since his broad back is obstructing the view, though you can easily guess that he’s frowning.

maybe even secretly sulking about the lack of sleep. you do understand, however. he’s worked hard all day to provide for both megumi and you.

“papa,” megumi speaks up with an adorable pout on his lips. he crawls over to toji before you can stop him. the little boy taps at toji’s back again, tugging at the fabric of his shirt.

megumi’s need for attention and affection from his father is heartwarming to see. you reach out towards your son in hopes of picking him back up. toji needs his rest after all.

a deep sigh escapes toji’s lips. not one of frustration this time, but rather one of defeat. he opens his eyes and turns around to face megumi. the man’s stoic face softens the moment he sees those cute doe eyes staring up at him.

“c’mere,” toji grumbles and lifts his child’s tiny body up without any effort. megumi giggles instantly and reaches his hands out to hold his dad’s face. your husband playfully bites your son’s tiny fingers instead, “not gonna allow y’r dad to sleep, huh? tsk tsk.”

you watch the scene unfold with a tender smile. toji lowers his head and starts blowing raspberries against megumi’s tummy. the baby squeals and giggles uncontrollably, writhing around in toji’s embrace.

“this is what ya get for being a brat,” toji mumbles and switches to leaving kisses along the little boy’s belly. that makes megumi laugh as well due to the ticklishness.

toji grins. his earlier drowsiness and annoyance have vanished into thin air. he can’t possibly stay mad at his son. not after seeing megumi happy. and especially not after seeing your content smile too.

“mama! mama!” megumi laughs between cries of help. his tiny hand reaches out to you whilst toji continues the little attack on his tummy. you chuckle and decide to intervene.

you scoot over to the other side and shield megumi’s tiny body from your husband’s tickles. you frown and playfully scold him, “stay away from my baby, you big bad guy.”

toji raises an eyebrow in amusement. he bites back a laugh before cocking his head to the side, that familiar smug expression appearing on his face.

“oh yeah? ‘m the bad guy now, eh?” the dark-haired man rolls his eyes. he towers over both you and your son - who’s giggling and still holding tightly onto you, “all right. i’ll show you just how bad i can be then.”

your eyes widen the moment you feel toji’s fingers land underneath your shirt, touching your bare skin. not a second passes by and he’s already tickling you. his other hand reaches for megumi’s tummy again—now making the both of you squirm and giggle loudly.

the happy sounds echo throughout the room. perhaps even loud enough for your neighbours to hear at four in the morning. but, you don’t care about any possible noise complaints. not during this cozy family moment.

plus toji’s fond smile as he continues torturing you and your son is definitely worth all of it.

[streetlamp-amber]

never ending night

bruce wayne x femwife!reader

word count: 1.7k | divider by @saradika | requests are open!

CW: pregnancy, pure fluff NOTES: hello hi i’m ailís and i’ve been meaning to start a blog where i can post some one shots that i’ve been thinking of as a way to motivate myself to finally write down my ideas so this is it. i’ll be double posting my stuff on ao3 (which you can find in my bio) and will eventually make a masterlist as well as a navigation post with a list of fandoms/characters i write for. also, english isn’t my first language.

It was close to three in the morning when Bruce finally joined you in bed after a long night of patrolling and fighting bottom of the barrel criminals all night. He showered in the bathroom on the first floor of the manor to avoid making too much noise and waking you up, but when he finally walked in your shared bedroom, you were already awake, sitting up against the headboard.

“Darling, what are you doing still up?” Bruce asked you as he reached his side of the bed.

The room was dark par for the moonlight filtering through the gap between the curtains, meaning your husband had yet to notice the state you were in.

“Dick had a nightmare,” you answered, voice barely above a whisper due to how tired you were. “It took me two hours to get him to fall back asleep and when I finally came back here, this little one started kickboxing me and keeping me awake for another hour,” you continued rubbing your round belly in hopes of soothing your baby to finally catch some sleep.

“I’m sorry I wasn't here to help,” Bruce apologised, planting a kiss on your temple as he held you close to his body.

“It’s alright, Gotham needs you,” you dismissed, not at all angry.

“Still, you’re six months pregnant. You’re growing our child inside your body, you need all the rest you can get,” he softly argued. “I would've come home earlier but all the amateur criminals came out tonight.”

“Bruce, it’s fine,” you brought your hand up to his cheek and he leaned his head into your touch. “You’ve already been cutting your patrols shorter since we found out about the baby. As long as you keep coming back home to us, alive, then I’m not mad.”

Not knowing what to say – his gratefulness for having someone so accepting of his duty as Batman was almost overwhelming, even after all those years – Bruce kissed your palm while staring at you with the same look full of love that he has been sporting since the first time he met you six years ago.

“How’d I get so lucky to fall in love with the most understanding and selfless person I know?” He asked while grabbing your hand on his cheek, wrapping his fingers around yours and squeezing them gently.

“Now that’s a lie,” you rebutted, a loving smile on your lips, lowering your joined hands on the bed. “You’re more selfless than I am. You’re the most selfless man in the world.”

“Let’s not start this never ending argument again,” Bruce chuckled, now his turn to hold your face as he brought you in for a kiss.

You happily sighed against his lips, the feeling of home that overtook you every time you tasted them was a nice welcome in this interminable night. But the kiss was cut short as you felt your baby kick again and you let your head fall back as you groaned.

“She’s still kicking?” Bruce asked you, he couldn't see the movements under your skin due to the darkness of the room and your hand on your belly.

“We don't know it's a she,” you reminded him instead of answering. You had both decided to wait until the birth to know the gender.

“And I’m telling you, I know it's a girl,” your husband repeated for what could be the hundredth time.

You also secretly hoped it was a girl, but Dick really wanted a little brother. Bruce and you were still in the process of warming him up to the idea of a little sister and it was slowly starting to work.

“As long as she doesn't come in my room,” your eight year old son had said last week, with his arms crossed over his chest and a pout on his lips.

“I doubt she’ll be doing that for the first few years, chum,” Bruce reassured him, fighting off a slightly amused grin.

“And the baby will have its own room with its own toys,” you added.

“Will I still be able to play with the baby?” Dick asked after a moment, uncrossing his arms and a hopeful look filling up his blue eyes.

“Of course you will, bubs,” you said, your fingers threading through his black hair that fell over his forehead.

“But only with her toys at first, some of yours are not suited for a baby,” Bruce pointed out, ever the overprotective father.

Bruce had lowered himself down under the blanket so he could be laying head levelled with your belly, his hand now replacing yours over the bump.

“Hey trouble,” he whispered to your child and the baby kicked again, making him smile lovingly at the movement he felt under his hand. “You shouldn't be awake this late at night, you know.”

“You're one to talk,” you commented, tone almost reprimanding.

“She doesn't know that,” Bruce looked up at you as he defended himself before his gaze fell back on your belly. “Mommy is really tired,” he continued talking to your baby, his hand now rubbing soothingly over your round stomach, “and she needs her rest to do all the work so you can come out all healthy and beautiful. Well, you're definitely gonna be the most beautiful baby if you end up looking like your mother, but that's not the point.”

You smiled at the cheesy comment and your fingers found their place in Bruce’s hair, brushing through it and nails occasionally scratching his scalp.

“Your brother Dick can't wait for you to come around,” he carried on. “Said he will teach you all sorts of acrobatic tricks once you know how to walk. And he asked Alfred if he could help paint the nursery when we finally decide on a colour.”

“And I keep telling you we should do soft green,” you argued.

“I’m not changing my mind from primrose pink,” he told you with a sly grin.

“The room won’t be pink, even if it’s a girl. And that’s final,” you firmly said. Your husband will not be winning this one argument, no sir.

Bruce sighed, rolling his eyes before focusing back on your belly. “I hope you’re not as stubborn as your mother,” he whispered to the baby, as if he was having a private conversation with them and that you weren’t there. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s one of the many reasons why I fell in love with her, but I won’t be able to say no to you even when I have to, so it would save me a lot of reprimanding from Mommy if you’re not as tenacious as her.”

You smiled to yourself as you continued listening to your husband talk to your unborn child as you threaded your fingers through his hair, enjoying the softness it had after a shower. Bruce usually gelled his hair to appear more professional when he was working in the day, and then it would get all mixed up with his sweat under his cowl when he was working as Batman. When he would come back to you after the day was over, you would refuse to touch his hair until he had showered, the texture of the gel and sweat too gross on your fingers for you to ignore.

As Bruce continued talking to your baby, his voice started lulling the two of you to sleep. The baby hadn’t kicked in over almost ten minutes now, and the peace you had waited for so long to arrive made you aware of how heavy your eyelids were. You slowly lowered yourself down the bed, getting in a comfortable position with Bruce’s help where you could finally lay your head on your pillow and it didn’t take long for sleep to catch up on you.

At the sound of your soft, barely audible snores, Bruce turned his head away from your bump to find you asleep with your free hand raised next to your head on your pillow, the other one still tangled in his hair.

He planted a soft kiss on the exposed skin of your belly, eyes closed as he took a moment to absorb the fact that a baby that was half you and half him would be joining your world in a little more than three months. Bruce wasn't known to cry, the only time you ever saw him cry was as you walked down the aisle at your wedding, but tonight, a lonesome tear rolled down his cheek and fell on your stomach, where your child was growing, because Bruce never believed he would ever get to experience again the amount of love he hadn't felt since he was eight years old.

As he observed you, sleeping soundly with his child coming to life inside you, after you comforted Dick back to sleep, Bruce, for a moment, felt overwhelmed by all the love in his life. When he became Batman, he crossed out the idea of ever having a family (other than Alfred), of settling down with someone he loved and who loved him back.

But somehow, the universe put you on his path, as a miracle or a guardian angel or simply as an anchor to life outside of Batman, he didn't know. You walked into his home, into his life, to remind him that he, Bruce Wayne, was also deserving of love, of family, of happiness. Then Dick came along, rather unexpectedly but still no less welcomed, and Bruce started entertaining the idea of having children with you. He definitely wasn't opposed to it, but it wasn't something he wanted to jump right into, especially with Dick having just entered your lives. You were both young, he in his early thirties and you in your late twenties, you could allow yourselves a couple of years just the three of you (four with Alfred) before expanding the family.

So it was rather shocking when two months after you and Bruce had officially adopted Dick that you found out you were pregnant. It both took you by surprise but after talking through it together, you couldn't be happier. And the two of you haven't stopped being happy about this new little addition ever since.

Bruce rose up from his position next to your belly, your limp hand fell from his head as he did so, and he laid on the bed next to you. He delicately kissed your forehead, then your nose before falling back on his pillow and whispered “I love you” as he curled around your body, his hand resting on your belly as he fell asleep.

[gojosprettyprincess]

Tw - Katsuki is soo mean, rough sex, degradation n manhandling. Not proofread!

One thing about Katsuki, he's an impatient man, that's for sure. There wasn’t any “Katsuki can i try to ride you” or “pleaseee just let me do it by myself” none of that. He had enough of your shit.

He tsks mockingly, a derisive sound escaping his lips the moment his keen eyes detect that the rhythm of your alluring ass that’s bouncing on his cock becoming duller and slower. He's so fucking disappointed in himself for even giving you the chance to try and ride him.

How dumb.

What a waste of time.

He quickly grabs both of your supple asscheeks, his strong hands creating a sense of urgency as he firmly squeezes them, preventing you from moving away. He impatiently starts thrusting his hips up into you, entering you in one complete motion. The sudden force of his entire length, which you weren't even able to fit by yourself, invading your little pussy so easily made you squirm to quickly get a hold of his broad shoulders to steady yourself because you knew how fucking crazy he was when it came to with manhandling.

His crimson-red eyes locked onto your contouring features, swallowing up your adorable reactions with pure joy. He just loves bullying you like this. Katsuki was a wonderful partner, devoted, wealthy, and maybe not the most mature, but he was unquestionably aware of right from wrong when it comes to relationships. The only thing is, he’s just so so cruel and vulgar to you sometimes, especially during sex. Bakugou always had a huge ego and prideful personality so you can't say you were surprised before tangling yourself up with him.

When the early morning light streamed through the window, his routine began before even taking a bite of the breakfast you made, pumping your warm cunny full of cum before heading off to fulfill his manly responsibilities as a pro-hero. "Better keep my cum buried in this pussy, you got it?" he commanded sternly, his warm breath fanning against the delicate skin of your neck as you mewled at the harsh way the edge of the dinner table was digging into your poor abdomen. Crossing your thighs together so you could avoid any spillage of his sperm because you know he’d check when you go deliver his home-cooked lunch at his agency later in the day. And if you make one wrong move, you’ll be limping your way out of his agency.

Whether you like it or not, katsuki will always be mean when he’s fucking you. It’s a part of him, you’ve known that just by the way he acted. Always had an feisty attitude and angry issues with everyone around him but the difference is you fucking loved it, and of course he knew that, that’s why he indulges in it and constantly reminds you every single time how much of a horny little cock-whore you are, pussy slobbering uncontrollably all over his pretty cock like a nasty slut. The rim of your hole clinging onto his dick as if your life depended on it. It hasn’t even been five second since he walked through the door from work, still clad in his hero costume before his hard dick is nestled in his housewife's warm, runny sex.

Your pink panties slackly pulled to the side, revealing your tight hole for his vicious assault as he ruthlessly positioned himself to take advantage of your vulnerable state.

His gears and pants rubbing against the smooth flesh of your thighs, harshly marking it red. Poor Katsuki he couldn’t save a civilian from a villain attack today and now he’s so frustrated and mad so what better way to vent than abusing his pretty housewife’s comforting cunt? :(

“Tight fucking pussy, yer creaming all over me already. Bet you were thinking about my cock splitting you open the entire day, weren’t you princess?” He laughed tauntingly, his angry cock curving right into your g-spot making your toes curl in the air as his strong, big hands held an astonishingly tight grip on your waist to keep you off the floor while you bent over his marble counter. You always found it so sexy when Katsuki showed off his strength to you, after all, he’s one of the most strongest pro-heroes so of course he’d be unbelievably strong. You went crazy over it.

“Sukii– m’gonna fuck! Cum” you cried out, tears streaming down your eyes as his fat cock delved deeper into your core, repeatedly hitting your sweet spot over and over again, sending you into a daze as you lose your mind. “No, you fucking slut— always being such a greedy bitch. You’re not cumming until I’m ready to fill you up, ya hear me?” his tone was so serious, it sent shivers down your spine.

You quickly gripped the edge of the counter. Your soft, plush ass bouncing back against his hard pelvis with each forceful thrust. God, he loved the sight so much, he licked his lips at the delicious sight of the creamy mess you were creating, completely coating him and his balls with your juices. It made his cock throb against your walls at the lewd way your quirkless pussy was rightfully swallowing him in.

“Katsuki I–“ you stammered, struggling to find your words as fear washed over you. Your hole fluttered around him, you were seeing white at this point. Your inner muscles involuntarily clasped tightly around his length. You couldn’t help it, his cock was just so fucking long and thick, and well he knew how to skillfully use it that it made you become undone within five minutes. Your eyes bulged open with fear as the streaming white liquid from your cunt spattered onto his cock and thighs and onto his expensive marble floor. The action didn’t go unnoticed by him resulting in him quickly placing you down on the slick floor and violently smacking your fleshy ass, making it recoil against his touch as he groaned. “God, you’re such a dumb fucking slut, what did I tell you? Can’t even understand simple instructions that I give you”.

He swiftly extracted his cock from your soaked pussy and hoisted you over his huge shoulder before making his way to your shared bedroom. You cried out as your cunt twitched in anticipation as echoes of his firm, resounding spanks on your bruised ass reverberated through the room with each step he took, “M’gonna teach you a fucking lesson, better make sure this is the last time you fucking disobey me”.

[14dayswithyou]

Some long-term followers may have noticed this subtle shift already (especially those who are in the 14DWY Discord server or have read this post), but I figured I'd make it official.

I'm no longer associating myself with the yandere VN community.

The TLDR is that the energy here really fuckin SUCKS!! And I don't want to be part of something so hostile and needlessly competitive.

The constant infighting and epicaricacy between communities is deeply upsetting, and it's very disheartening to see aspiring developers cancel their projects because of the unwarranted backlash and harassment they face.

Some entitled folks on here reeeeally need to understand that constantly harassing others for updates, encouraging developers to belittle others to make themselves/their project look better, complaining about a project not meeting the expectations you specifically put in place, attacking other communities because of the parasocial relationship you share with another developer, getting mad that you chose to ignore important PSAs or warnings and faced the repercussions, or even sending in hate messages on anon because you're bored are not things you should be doing — let alone be proud of.

I try to avoid bringing up these topics as it's not the vibe I want to have on this blog (nor do I want to negatively contribute to the Streisand Effect and blow things out of proportion), but I'm genuinely getting tired of being on the receiving end of all this harassment and negativity, seeing it happen to others, and watching other indie developers encourage such vile behaviour. I'm done.

For those wondering what this means for "14 Days With You": for the most part, everything will still continue like usual. I've said this from the very beginning, but 14DWY is just a passion project I pursue whenever I feel like it. It's something I do for fun as a hobby — not because I want to publish a well-known game or turn it into a career. I've been on Tumblr for over thirteen years now, and it's taught me how to grow thick skin, so everything that I'm yapping and yammering about won't stop me from working on 14DWY.

However, this does mean that I won't be as interactive with other developers or their communities anymore; many ill-natured people have ruined this for me.

Because of them, I'm no longer able to voice my opinion on other games without some opinionated rat whispering in my ear about how the developer is "problematic" or that I could get cancelled for simply following them on Twitter. I can't interact with certain games without its parasocial community becoming hostile or gatekeepy towards anyone they don't like. I've seen communities belittle and devalue promising demos because in their eyes, nothing can compare to their favourite game (or their favourite developer). I have been harassed, bullied, and doxxed by other communities and have seen the same thing happen to others as well. I've heard about the developers who weaponise their community's loyalty to attack and drive out their competition. And I've witnessed more than enough developers expressing how badly they want to take a hiatus due to how much unwarranted negativity they receive, but don't want to disappoint their community by doing so.

By saying all of this, you can understand why I dislike being here so much, as well as why I no longer find any enjoyment in interacting with the yandere VN community.

Many people here — fans and developers alike — are so needlessly pushy about their standards and personal opinions being the norm, and if anyone else goes against them, they'll purposefully try to ostracise and bully them out of the community. This place isn't as laid-back or inclusive as it used to be, and I don't want to be associated with a community that acts so hostile and aggressive towards anyone who shares a differing opinion — nor do I want to be part of a space that caters towards developers who'll tear down others in order to have a moment of relevancy.

We're all doing our own thing and making our own games; it shouldn't be a competition. But if you see it as such, then I urge you to take a moment to stop and rethink your actions — or, at the very least, understand how it's affecting you and others around you.

So until there's a reasonable change and people can go back to being less... demanding, hypercritical, and gatekeepy about who interacts with what, I'll be stepping away and continuing to stay in my own bubble, as I have for the past two years now. I've already unfollowed everyone associated with the yandere community many months ago, but I think I'll just unfollow everyone entirely now for my own peace of mind. I will also no longer be interacting with any yandere VN communities (aside from close friends), nor will I be as public with my interests from this moment on. Everything on this blog will be strictly related to 14DWY like usual, and I will continue to block and report any spiteful "anons"/burner accounts sent my way and delete their messages.

Again, this isn't really much of an announcement — it's more so just paragraphs of me bitchin and moanin 🫶 — but I wanted to get this all out there instead of leaving things unsaid and having people come to their own conclusions as to why I've suddenly become less active, less optimistic, and why I've stopped engaging with a majority of the yandere community in the last two years.

So, yeah... ^^; If there's anything I want y'all to take away from this entire post, it's to be kind, open, and understanding towards everyone — developers and communities alike — and to spread support rather than negativity. It's what I want my own community to be known for, so please be mindful of how you treat others online.

And if you find yourself being surrounded by constant toxicity and negativity (be it from friends, mutuals, or even other developers or communities), please don't feel ashamed to step away or cut them off entirely. Put yourself and your mental health first. I also think it'll be good for me to leave all this negative energy behind and continue to kick off 2025 in a better light, so if y'all need to let out any frustrations of your own, feel free to go ham in the replies (obviously, be kind and civil though jghsjg T_T)

[thargelalia]

Comrade Red Hood

jason todd x fem!reader

patriarchy sucks, thankfully your doting nerdy boyfriend is there to show you support

-> 3k words

-> fluff, hurt/comfort, tiniest bit suggestive

-> warnings: talks of v!olence and crime (c'mon, guys, it's Gotham); mansplaining (not by Jason); reader is a little mean, but she's only human; Jason is a serial kisser and we love that for him

“Are you upset?” 

“Yes.” 

“…is it something I did?” 

“Not everything’s about you.”

Jason’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline as he lets out a low whistle at your sharp words. “Damn. I thought I was supposed to be the broody one here.”

“Getting a taste of your own medicine sometimes is good.”

Silence.

“Sure you’re not mad at me?”

“I’m beginning to.” You let out a deep frustrated sigh, massaging your temples in a futile attempt to stop the incessant throbbing headache. “What do you want, Jason?” 

“I was just—is there anything I can do for you?” He asks, shifting weight between his legs. “You seemed a bit off over the phone earlier, so I decided to drop by.”

“I just want to be alone.” You sound less passive aggressive this time as exhaustion seeps into your words. ”My head is killing me right now, so I just had an aspirin. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. I’ll be in the living room if you need me.” Since it’s dark and your eyes are glued to the ceiling, you’re unable to take in the dejected look on his face. 

Seeing you’ve got no objections — he kind of hoped you’d change your mind and ask for cuddles — Jason leaves the room wordlessly. It’s almost like he vanishes into thin air. A well-known skill amongst all bat-family members.

Even so, he’s surprisingly light on his feet for a big guy. But then again, we’re talking about a walking deadly weapon. A vicious vigilante. The prince of Gotham. Red Hood.

Or at least that’s what he usually is when he’s not sulking in the living room for being a victim of his girlfriend’s sour mood. 

Aside from the sound of a car or two passing by down below, and police sirens echoing distantly on occasion, your place is engulfed in a comfortable silence — this a relatively quiet neighborhood. Moonlight filters through your half-open curtains, a soft welcoming breeze swaying them gently to the side. 

At some point, your eyes flutter open. You don’t even remember falling asleep. There’s a dryness to your throat, prompting you to move around and reach for a slim water bottle on the nightstand. Next to it, the digital clock reads 2:17 AM. 

A five hour nap. Nice. 

Fortunately, the pounding inside your head has subsided.

Tsking in disappointment, seeing the bottle is empty, you detangle your legs from the sheets, begrudgingly getting up and dragging yourself to the kitchen. 

The lights in the living room are still on, making your eyes squint when you approach the entrance. You’re confused to discover Jason still lounging on the couch with a book in his hands, legs spread deliciously wide. One of his feet is propped against the edge of the coffee table.

“Thought you were still out on patrol.” 

He looks up, and blinks, not expecting to see you up. “Just got back, actually. About fifteen minutes ago or so, I think.”

You hum in response and take a moment to really observe him. 

His hair is still indeed damp as it falls over his forehead. He’s also shirtless, only dressed in gray sweatpants. Took him quite a long time to feel comfortable enough to show skin like this around you. Likewise, despite the smile that your reassurances bring to his face whenever you thank him for ‘blessing your eyes with such a delectable sight’, sometimes he still gets antsy if they linger too long on his scars. So, you try to respect his limits while also making sure he knows he’s incredible and beautiful. 

There are also beads of sweat accumulated on his bare chest and neck. Despite having just showered, his body is still overheated from Red Hood’s intense activities, you notice. 

No injuries in sight tonight, thank goodness. But if there were, though, he probably wouldn’t be here. He’d still rather agonize in pain alone in his apartment than letting his medical resident girlfriend tend to him. You’re still trying to ingrain into his stubborn mind that his health will never be a disturbance to you. He will never be a disturbance to you.

Hm, though he kinda was a little bit earlier before. However, that wasn’t his fault. Nor yours, for that matter.

As if on cue, his question breaks you out of your reverie.

“Feeling better?” You nod in affirmation and he gives a sweet smile. “Good. You should eat, baby. I got you something on my way back. It’s in the kitchen.”

You mirror his smile and resume your steps to the kitchen where there’s a white medium-sized paper bag sitting on the counter. 

Dismantling crime and wreaking havoc around Gotham, just to later on pick up food to appease his moody girlfriend back home. 

Isn’t that so cute? 

After drinking your fill of cool water, you grab the food bag, a plate – to avoid crumbs dirtying the floor – and return to the living room to eat in Jason’s company. He’s still engrossed in his book. Or rather, yours. Your small library is now his, but so is his yours. It’s an unspoken agreement.

“I didn’t know Mr. Abdul’s place stays open so late.” You say thoughtfully, munching on a falafel. Jason also got you a fattoush salad, hummus, and some pita bread. Yummy. 

You’re sitting on opposite ends of the couch, legs on a pillow in his lap, while his forearms rests on top of them. He’s hunched forward in concentration on the pages in front of him.

“It doesn’t.” Without looking, Jason steals one falafel from the bag and pops it into his mouth. “I broke into his kitchen.“

You choke on a piece of pita bread. “What the f-”

“Relax. I left the money on the counter.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me??” He talks about it so casually. Almost like he’s done this before. “Wait. So, the cookies from Elena’s last time…”

“Well, that one’s obvious.” Successfully blocking a pillow chucked at his face, he rushes to defend himself, “BUT I never forget to pay, so technically I’m not stealing! Only billionaires are harmed here, I swear.”

You both know which particular billionaire he has in mind.

“Right. Keep telling yourself that, Robin. Hood.” You scoff, picking up the fattoush salad box, opening its lid and picking through vegetables with a plastic fork. Jason’s mouth opens in surprise. “Pun intended, by the way.” 

“Whatever.” He huffs with an eye roll, trying to conceal his amusement. To make a point, he raises the open book to his face and blocks your view of him, ignoring you completely. 

As you silently chew on radishes and lettuce, you take a minute to inspect what he’s reading. It’s a considerably thick book. Zeroing in the letters of the cover, your eyes widen in shock as you swallow. 

“Jason, is that—you’re reading The Capital?”

“Yeah, why?” He questions back, nonchalantly, lowering the book just past his eyes.  “You think I only read fiction?” 

“I guess… but I only asked because I think it’s an odd choice of reading given your night.” You explain, gathering the empty food containers, placing them inside the paper bag and setting it aside on the coffee table. “Aren’t you supposed to be tired?” 

“Of fighting against oppressive systems? Absolutely.” He quips, a playful smirk on his face. “This guy just gets me, you know?” 

Seeing the unimpressed look on your face, his smile dies down and he places the book down on the armrest. “I got an extra adrenaline rush while chasing Penguin’s goons this time. There were dozens of them ‘cause he was closing an important arms deal at a warehouse tonight.. Remember that time when we were watching a documentary about wolves, and it was showing how packs tend to slaughter entire flocks of sheep when they’re unable to escape from a confined space?”

“Is that your way of telling me you were in a… kill frenzy?” You swallow hard, trying not to sound too alarmed, but the distant look in his eyes accompanied by his eerie tone and word choice is unsettling. Even though you're well aware he doesn’t pose a danger to you.

Jason seldom shares the details about his gruesome Red Hood business with you. One, because he knows you already see too much violent shit while working at the hospital. 

Two, he knows you worry about his safety. 

Three, there’s also the fact that he’d like to keep a sense of normalcy at home. 

Four, and most importantly, he believes it’s best if you don’t access his dark side, but sometimes – like right now – he’s unable to conceal it. At the end of the day, he’s only someone fighting their shadows like any other. 

Although, his are evidently a bit more obscure and jarring. 

There’s a pregnant pause before he finally breaks out of his trance with a shake of his head. Taking in your tense posture and concerned face, he softens his demeanor, reaching for one of your hands. One, two, three kisses delivered to the tip of your fingers and he’s pulling you to sit straddling his legs. Calloused palms start rubbing the top of your thighs in reassurance back and forth. 

“Don’t worry, baby. I didn’t shoot to kill..uh, mostly.” There’s no way of telling if he’s being sincere, and, frankly, you’d rather not think about this. As usual, he’s attuned to your senses, and tries to lighten the conversation up. “Anyways, I was still feeling charged when I got back. That’s why I picked one of your brainy books to help me wind down. Since your Sociology shelf was right in my line of sight, I decided to give it a try… Oh, I just remembered I forgot to bring you my French copy of Madame Bovary again.” 

“Hm, it’s fine. I’ll borrow it next time I’m at your place. But, back to my books. Why do I feel like this isn’t a first time thing? I did find some of my Sociology books misplaced a couple of weeks ago,” you complain. “Glad you’re having fun tackling dialectical materialism as a post-vigilante workout, but please make sure you put my books in order once you’re done.” 

“So bossy.” He playfully tuts, adding a nip to your shoulder. Then you feel his lips trace a slow path up to your neck, leaving a slow deliberate kiss there. “And so pretty, too.”

He smiles mischievously, lips still attached to your skin, as you shudder. 

Devious bastard.

Crossing your arms, you try not to blush and keep your voice steady. “I mean it, Jason.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll mind your precious organization.” He follows his promise with a chaste kiss, this time to your lips. “But seriously, you do look pretty.” 

“What, out of a sudden?” You raise your eyebrows in amusement. 

Jason prides himself in being a skillful liar. It often comes in handy. 

But he most definitely is not the type to give empty compliments. 

Especially not to the most precious person of his life. 

And you’re aware of that. His eyes don’t lie.

There’s that deep candid warmth swirling within those mesmerizing irises that just captures you whole. They remind you of the ocean, colors of a fine line between blue and green, like teal. Sometimes calm and serene, sometimes agitated and raging. 

One thing is sure. You’re the only person who gets to soak into the tranquil waters hidden amidst the windows of his soul. 

Because you’re the only one capable of bringing them out. 

“Nah, I always think that when I see your face.” Comes his reply.

At that, more kisses ensue. Obviously.

First one is yours, molding your lips to his in an instant as you try to return his incessant devotion with eagerness. He wastes no time in reciprocating, mouth slightly parting to welcome your tongue inside. It makes your head fuzzy all over. Every single fucking time. This type of intimacy took almost as long to construct as the display of his body. You’re never taking his trust for granted. Never. Soon enough, Jason discovered himself to be a great fan of kissing. You. He’s done it before with other people, sure, but it didn’t make him feel like this. Yearn like this. As if he depended on it to survive. And he might as well do. Your fingers find their way to his scalp, tangling in silky locks and pulling while trapping his lower lip between your teeth, eliciting a soft groan from him. As a result, he grips your hips harder, drawing you impossibly closer. The heat from his bare muscular chest is scorching, almost too much to bear as it seeps through your shirt – his shirt. 

You two only break apart because he decides to now trail his lips downward, leaving you panting, eyes sealed shut in pleasure, as he works his mouth across every other available patch of your skin. From jaw to neck, and shoulder. And back up.

This time his ministrations are sweeter and more tender, making you melt completely into his embrace. 

Finally sated, after delivering a last kiss behind your ear, he whispers softly and a little breathless, “Wanna share now why you almost bit my head off a few hours ago, hm?” 

Watching your face fall when he pulls back, his heart equally drops, causing him to backtrack, “S’okay, baby. You don’t have to tell me. I’m sorry.”

You exhale shakily, glancing down to fiddle with the hems of your – his – shirt. A hand cups your cheek, and tilts your head upwards carefully, thumb brushing the soft skin back and forth. Molten blue-green irises coaxing you to relax like the gentle sway of the sea. Telling he’s trusty and willing to listen.

“No, it’s just… ugh…” He waits patiently as you gather your thoughts. “I had to deal with one of my stupid professors mansplaining to me during my presentation today. A subject that I’ve been studying for years now. I knew what I was talking about and he acted as if I didn’t, saying that I didn’t use the concepts correctly like I was a child. Some of my colleagues told me I shouldn’t take his words personally, but it fucking sucked. Still does. I hate it when people, especially men, undermine my intelligence. I just felt so frustrated, I went to the bathroom and cried when the presentation ended. And to top it off, I got a miserable headache on the way home. So yeah, that’s why I was in such a shitty mood tonight. I’m sorry I took it out on you…” 

While describing what happened and venting about your feelings, you barely registered the way his arms tensed around you or how a muscle in his jaw ticked. There’s really no mistaking the look on his face now. The dark stormy blue that has replaced the soothing sea green. “Jason, no. Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

“He upset you.” Your boyfriend states in a clipped tone. “He made you cry.” 

“No matter how tempting, you can’t just fuck up every single guy that gets on my nerves.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Jace.” You beg, exasperated. “Please. That’s not what I need right now, okay? He was being an asshole, yes, but the academy, and the whole world, is crowded with them unfortunately. Most of the time, I can handle it just fine. But, today was different. I’ve been preparing for my presentation for days, so he caught me by surprise with his arrogance and my anxiety kinda escalated, I guess. What I mean is I didn’t tell you this because I wanted you to avenge me. I just want to be understood. Can’t you do that for me?” The sight of tears filling your wide eyes dilute his outrage instantly. You’re engulfed in a tight comforting hug.

“Of course, baby. I’ll never feel the same as you ‘cause I’m not a woman, but you must know I’m here for you and I’m sorry you had to deal with this.” He offers, sympathetically, before something darker twists his features again. “I won’t lie to you, though. It’d be easy for me to rip that fucking bastard’s tongue—”

“Jason.”

“—and feed it to his mouth until he chokes—”

“Jason.” 

He puts a finger to your mouth to silence you, just to pull back immediately before it gets bitten off.

“—but I won’t do that.” Not today at least, he keeps this last part to himself. “My point is a brilliant woman like you will always be a threat to insecure fuckers like him. Bet he’s just jealous he’ll never shine as bright as you do.”

You throw your arms around his neck, burying your face in it with a sniffle. “I love you.”

“I love you too. A lot.” Nuzzling into your hair, he inhales the soft scent of jasmine shampoo. “Feeling okay?”

“Yes. Thank you.” You really are. But, then, you sigh wistfully. “I’m thinking if I were an Amazon, it’d probably be easier to deal with this type of situation.”

“How so?” He tilts his head, confused.

“You know… I’d be strong, powerful... intimidating. Stuff like that.” 

“You already wield your intellect like the sharpest blade I’ve ever seen. Your words are eloquent and sharp when you stick up for what you believe. Not to mention the way you carry yourself with confidence even when you’re in a room filled with strangers.” He tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, speaking earnestly. “Trust me, sweetheart. You don’t need to be an Amazon when you’re already a goddess.” 

“That’s… wow… I wasn’t expecting that.” The butterflies are throwing a fucking rave in your stomach. You just can’t stop grinning, so you playfully hit his shoulder. “Never knew you could be so sappy.” 

He catches your wrist delicately, not missing the opportunity to turn it and plant his lips on your knuckles.

“That’s all on you. You turned me into this.” He claims, placing your open palm over his heart, and holding it there. It’s beating quite rapidly. Like yours is. “Take responsibility, woman.” 

“Fine,” you concede with a playful eye roll. Guilty as charged, your honor. “But, seriously, thank you. Your words mean a lot.”

“You mean a lot to me. Don’t ever forget that.” One, two, three pecks to his lips. You discover you really love kissing him as well. 

Suddenly, he’s covering his mouth with a yawn. Outside, Gotham’s black heaven is starting to get tinged with pink and yellow, announcing the sun’s impending arrival. Soon the streets around your building will have people going out about their day. Unbeknownst to them, one of the guys responsible for their safety sleeps tucked in your bed right around the corner. 

“We should probably sleep.” Jason begins, effortlessly getting up in a swift motion while still holding onto you. Your legs wrap around his waist as he walks you two to the bedroom. “I already lost way more brain cells than intended. Gotta save some for Mary Wollstonecraft tomorrow.”

“You’re such a dork.”

“And you need to get woke,” he taunts.

“These are my books!” You counter, indignantly. 

“Ours. Don’t be so individualistic, baby. That’s why capitalism—” Not letting him finish, you jump off his arms and go into the bathroom as he trails behind like a lost puppy.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, comrade Red Hood. Now shut your revolutionary mouth, and let’s get ready for bed.”

thanks for reading, and please reblog if you enjoyed it <33

feel free to share your thoughts, i'd love to hear them!

this is where i got the dividers

[r1elle]

desperate male lead syndrome is making a strong comeback in 2024 and i’m here for it!! so i wrote about this annoying loser (your honour i love him so much)

husband atsumu drabble because this is what the people want ^^ (i’m people)

“baby, don’t go looking at yer’ poor husband like that..” atsumu pouts, poking your cheeks at the sight of your evidently disdained face.

okay. you could go do that. you could also just forget the broken ceramic on the floor, still not cleaned up because atsumu would rather make amends with you first than cleaning up the potential risk that was right infront of you both.

honestly, you couldn’t tell whether you should be glad, or concerned.

“i’m not mad at you,’ you say, the expression on your face clearly betraying your words. “don’t worry about it, atsumu.”

you thought that maybe your words would ease the blonde man’s resolve, however it seemed to have only made it worse for him.

“atsumu?! no baby, no love, no ‘tsumu?!” he stresses, hands going up to his mouth.

you stare at his rather dramatic delivery,—and was that the life in his eyes flying away?? he looks like a modern rendition of casper the ghost.

“i’ll do the dishes for a week, no,—a month! i’ll buy ya’ those heels ya’ told me not to buy at the mall!!” atsumu frantically spouts, saying anything he could think of as he continues to cling onto your figure, his face mushing onto your neck and shoulder area.

you shut your eyes. just.. how could you stay annoyed? look at his pouty face, how his ears seemed to be more red than the rest of his skins current complexion. he practically made it impossible for you to even be the least bit mad, and you would’ve felt as guilty as a convict for even attempting to do so. that’s the kind of effect he had on you.

in response, you merely sigh. but there wasn’t any bark to it. “or, you could clean up the shattered pot on the floor.” you say, making sure to bring your tone to a more gentle and reassuring one.

atsumu turns to at you once again, his blonde locks tickling your skin as he moves.

“yer’ not mad anymore?” he beams. “i mean, we could always make another pot, right? how ‘bout it?” he says, hopeful eyes staring directly to your orbs.

in all realness, you genuinely weren’t mad at him, —(as much as he would sulk and say you definitely were), no. you were just sad at the fact that you and atsumu’s ceramic that you both had worked so hard to sculpt and paint on your first date was now shattered on the floor, all but beyond repair.

“i was never mad at you, promise.” you say. “just a bit disappointed. i liked that pot a lot, you know.” your hand reaches for atsumu’s cheek, pinching it slightly. physical touch always seemed to reassure him more than anything else.

atsumu mentally notes that he should make you breakfast in bed the following morning as he stares at your affirming expression. he plants various of pecks on your face after doing so.

“i’m sorry, princess.” atsumu coo’s, his hand pushing away the little hairs on your forehead as he plants a kiss on it.

“i’ll make it up to ya’, i promise.”

— • —

now, you know that you most definitely shouldn’t be all too surprised, considering that, well, —this was miya atsumu we were talking about,

but seriously….

you stare at the little bundle of fur politely sitting on your lap as you rub your eyes, just having come out of your nights sleep. you also happen to notice the smell of pancakes and hot chocolate coming from the bedside table.

“ ‘tsumu, where—?..no, when did you get this dog?”

“i have my ways.” he proudly grins. “but look, it’s yer’ favourite breed!”

“….yes, i know. but where did you—“

“we have a daughter now, hehe.”

“since when did i agre—“

“so adorable, definitely takes after her mommy and daddy. look at the bow on her head!”

“ ‘tsum-“

“i love you.”

“dont change the subject!”

——————————————————————————

atsumu brainrot is real and clocking me out (kageyama i can explain)

update: TYSM for 1k+ notes omg ??!! thank u all for loving this loserboy with me i feel so heard 😢😢🙏🏽

[sexy-monster-fucker]

Crazy, What You’ll Do for a Friend

Aaron Hotchner x BAU!Reader

Summary: After Hotch gets hurt out in the field, you and the other members of the BAU take turns taking care of Hotch at his home. Reader want to make sure she can help Hotch in whatever way she can.

CW: Hotch having an attitude bc of course he does, sex fantasy, needy!Hotch, oral m!receiving, fingering

a/n: Hotch is literally the master of flirting when he isn’t at work I cannot with him, this is more short and sweet than most my stories

This is the other Fanfic from the poll!

READ PART 2

~~~

Reid answered the door. Bright smile on his face greeting you, “Hey.”

“Hey,” you smiled back at him.

“Come on in,” Reid moved out of the doorway allowing you to pass by him. You waited in the entry way for Reid to close the door.

“How is he?”

“Uhm— good. Mad that we’re here,” he laughed awkwardly.

You cocked an eyebrow, silently. A few weeks ago, Hotch had gotten caught up in the line of fire. Getting struck in his thigh and stomach. Lucky to not have bled out on the field. The day was a harsh memory that you refused to let go. Making sure to never let anyone else make the same mistakes as him again. Never feeling weaker than seeing him in the hospital bed. The Team had all agreed to take care of Hotch while he was on home rest. Taking shifts throughout the weeks.

You followed behind Reid into the living room.

“What are you doing here?” Hotch gritted through his teeth. Only wearing some loose fitting sweat pants and a tight white t-shirt. A strong contrast from his usual suit and tie. Straining as he attempted to get off the couch by himself. Reid rushed over to him, lifting him by his shoulder. Hotch swatted at the Doctor, attempting to jerk away.

“We’re all taking turns helping you. Guess I’m on Hotch Duty for tonight,” you shrugged your shoulders, giving him a closed mouth smile.

Hotch’s brows furrowed tightly, vein on his neck popping. “I don’t need help. What I need is to get back to work,” Hotch pushed Reid away as he finally got to his feet. Reid threw his hands up in a defensive position still close behind your boss.

“Yeah, it really looks like it,” you rolled your eyes as you folded your arms over your chest.

Hotch shot a chilling look your way, but you were unwavering. “I’m still your superior—“

“And right now I’m your caretaker. I’m sure Reid has been letting you boss him around, but I’m not going to let that happen. No offense, Spence,” you stated. Spencer waved his hand up to let you know he was not offended.

Hotch’s hand gripped the arm of the couch with a bruising strength. Barely able to hold himself up properly. A slight shake to his body. Angry that you, of all people, were talking to him this way. Fighting the way his heart swelled as soon as his eyes laid upon you in his living room today.

You and Hotch had grown close in the last few years. Growing into a mutual unspoken want for one another. Casually flirting when you were alone or not at work. Keeping each other company on extremely late nights at the office. Getting closer than you realistically should, given the field you worked in.

“Reid, you can go,” Hotch did not break eye contact with you.

“A-Are you sure—“

“We’ll be fine, Spence,” you smiled eyes locked in on Hotch’s.

Reid grabbed his bag and headed for the door, “If you guys need anything I’m only a text away.”

“Thank you,” you said still not breaking with Hotch. His deep brown eyes made your heart skip a beat. The wrinkles on his face as he attempted to intimidate made you blush. Not speaking until the door closed behind Reid.

“Are you gonna have an attitude with me all night?” You teased, cheeks beaming with heat. Hotch blew air out of his nose. Skin tightly pinched between his eyebrows. Refusing to speak to you. “Oh, come on. Your favorite boy is gone, you don’t have to keep up the mean-mug,” you walked over closing the space between you. Extending your arm out to him so that he could brace himself to walk.

His jaw clenched. Stubbornness being a strong suit of his. Hesitantly taking your offer of help. “Where are we heading?”

“I need to use the bathroom,” Hotch grumbled.

Slowly, you assisted him to the bathroom tucked away next to his living room. Standing in the doorway as you allowed him to shimmy himself over to the toilet. Not even thinking of what you were doing, until Hotch gave you a strange look.

“Are you wanting to watch?”

Your face flooded. Stammering as you cupped your own cheek. Shaking your head with closed eyes. Smiling awkwardly, “Sorry—“

Hotch had to fight the smile that dared creep across his face. Enjoying how flustered you were. You reached in to pull the door shut. Leaning against the wall directly next to the bathroom. Hands gripping your hair in embarrassment as you replayed the moment over and over. Trying to cool the heat in your cheeks.

Straightening your posture when you heard the door click open. Greeting him with a soft smile and your arm extended. His brows were still pressed together. Lips in a thin line as he hooked his arm around yours. Leading him back into the living room so that he could get comfortable.

The night slipped away. Preparing dinner for your boss as he sat at the counter. Dying to get up. Hating to be taken care of. Denying the comfort he felt with you nestled in his home.

“Hotch, I can hear you bouncing your leg, cut it out,” you did not even look over your shoulder to give him eye contact. He scoffed, the sound of his leg subsiding.

“I know you hate all this. Really I do,” you softly spoke to him as you plated the food, “But all of us just want to see you get better. We want our leader back in his best shape. I want you to relax and let me take care of you.”

Hotch’s eyes watched every move you made. Stalking you like his prey as you brought the plate over to him. Expression unchanging, “How am I supposed to relax? There’s cases and I’ve been away so long already. I can’t stay cooped up here forever.”

“And you won’t. The sooner you take it easy, the sooner you can come back,” you flattened your hand against his shoulder. Hotch’s expression softened with your gesture. Swiftly directing his attention onto the food in front of him. Something about the interaction caused your cheeks to warm up. Unsure what that was about. Walking over to his fridge.

“What can I get you to drink?”

“Just water,” Hotch took a bite of food.

“Aw, you don’t wanna crack open a bottle of wine and reveal our darkest secrets to each other?” You teased, looking over your shoulder at him. Seeing his brows pushed together. Lips in a strong, straight line.

“Okay— tough crowd,” you widened your eyes as you closed the fridge. Going to grab a cup out of the cabinet to fill it for him. Walking over and taking the seat beside him. Silently eating dinner together. Guess you did not have much to talk about. And he was clearly in no mood to chit-chat.

“You’re a good cook,” Hotch broke the silence with a compliment.

“You’re telling me Reid didn’t prepare you a four coarse, perfectly diet-balanced meal while he was here?” You teased. Finally, breaking away Hotch’s hard shell. A soft chuckle coming from him. “I’m sure he would’ve had a slideshow to explain it all too,” you grinned.

“He wouldn’t need the slideshow, he could explain it all to me himself,” Hotch joked as he pulled the food from his fork. Feeling comfortable for the first time together. Allowing both your walls down. Sharing in your laughter.

You both finished your dinner. Taking the plates and putting them in the sink. Allowing Hotch to walk on his own to put his away. Standing beside him the entire time. You interlocked arms with him to lead him into the living room. Grunting as he sat down, eyes closing as he rested his head against the back.

“Is there anything I can do for you? I’ll do whatever you need to relax,” you smiled, standing in front of him.

Something about that seeped into his imagination. Feeling his cock jump when an imagine of you kneeled between his legs popped into his mind. With everyone here, he had not had any alone time. Needing to let out some of the things pent up inside him. Your lips wrapped perfectly around his cock—

“No,” Hotch blurted out. Aggression returning to him. Catching you off guard and causing a bit of frustration to bubble up inside you. You scoffed and headed into the kitchen to do the dishes, “Don’t try anything while I’m in there.”

Once you disappeared around the corner, he relaxed again. Clicking mindlessly through the channels on the TV. Trying to distract himself. Looking down at his half-hard cock. Embarrassed that he was thinking of one of his subordinates in the way he was. Still he allowed himself to fantasize.

Imagining how beautiful you would look sat upon his lap. Straddling his waist as you sunk down onto him. Thinking about how you would sound moaning his name when the head would hit somewhere just right inside you. Dying to know how perfectly he would fill you up. He needed something— anything from you.

Allowing his hand to softly touch his aching member. Only making things worse for him. His face contorted as he squinted his eyes shut. Mouth hanging open slightly.

God, he was such a pervert.

Jumping when he heard the water stop in the sink. Footsteps enclosing on the room. In the time you had done the dishes, you had calmed down from Hotch’s outburst. Knowing and rationalizing that he was going through a lot and sometimes he would be more vulnerable than others. Greeting him with a bright smile. Grabbing your bag off the kitchen chair, “Do you mind if I go change?”

“Of course not,” Hotch breathed out.

“I’ll know if you strain while I’m gone,” you smirked.

Hotch grinned back at you. Watching you until you faded away into the bathroom, door clicking behind you. Thank God he had one of the best poker face’s around. Finally allowing himself to breathe.

His erection pressed against the soft fabric of his sweats. Driving him absolutely insane. He pondered if he would have time to rub it out before you got back from changing. Softly playing with himself as he thought. Groaning at the feeling of his fingers trailing his length. Trying to control his breathing as to not make any overtly sexual sounds.

Oh, God, how he needed it. His cock pulsed with pure desire. Something he did not think his hand alone could fill. He felt pathetic. Preparing to ask you what he was going to.

The door creaked open. You came back to see him still in the same spot as before. He looked over his shoulder, eyes widening when he saw you. Wearing a loose fit t-shirt and some sporty shorts. Hair relaxed and quite a bit of skin showing.

“Hope you don’t mind, your house kinda runs hot,” you smiled, suddenly aware of his eyes on your body. Loving the attention he was giving. Blushing as his jaw hung open softly.

There were not many occasions where members of the BAU saw each other outside of work. Normally dressed in business attire, making sure to look extremely respectable and professional. Used to the button-ups and slacks. Not a shirt that perfectly hugged your chest and some shorts that were barely revealed under the length of your top.

As if he wasn’t hard enough already.

You sat on the other end of the couch beside him. Only a small pillow between your bodies. Legs crossing, causing your shorts to hike further up your thighs. Revealing the extra soft spots closer to your core.

“Anything good on?”

Hotch hesitated, “No.”

You widened your eyes at his short answer. Not sure what had gotten him so irritable in the last bit. Not wanting to push him. Choosing to stay quiet as you leaned against the arm of the couch. Watching some old sci-fi movie he had landed on. They were shooting out with some aliens. No telling what over, the movie was half way over by the time Hotch got to it.

The glow of the TV was all that illuminated the room. Flashes of colors dancing across your skin. Silently staring at the flat screen. Thinking about nonsense, just trying to feed your mind.

“Y/N,” Hotch began, hint of a break in his voice. You looked over at him. He had sweat beaming on his forehead. “You… you said earlier that you would help me in whatever way you could?”

You nodded, “Of course, Hotch. I’m here to please.”

His skin tingled. The innocent look behind your eyes pushing him even more on edge. He was silently opening and closing his mouth. Brows netted together as he breathed heavy. Tension so thick in the room neither of you could catch your breath.

“This is so inappropriate,” he softly chuckled to himself, stretching his neck, voice not above a whisper. Feeling your own heartbeat pound out of your chest. Hotch sighed, “I need to cum.”

Your eyes flew harshly open. Lips parting as you attempting to respond to him. Face immediately flushing with arousal as you clinched around nothing. Eyes shooting down to his crotch. Surprised to see the outline of his cock pressing against his pants. Thin, soft material not hiding his length.

“Either you can help me, or I need you to leave the room so I can handle it myself,” Hotch quickly said, desperation on his tone.

“Do you… want… me to-to help?” You shyly questioned.

Hotch smiled with an exhale. Perfect teeth on display for the first time tonight as he closed his eyes and leaned against the back of the couch. Blinking open to lock into you, “Yes.”

Such a simple statement. Causing so much confusion inside you. Of course, you had been flirting back and forth for some time now. And yes the idea of seeing Hotch’s cock, especially how it fit in your hand, had your body tingling.

But what about work?

What would your coworkers say? What would your superiors say? What if this was only for tonight?

You threw caution to the wind. Choosing to have some fun with him, even if you never spoke of this again.

You crawled closer to him on the couch, Hotch’s arm wrapping around your back when you sat on your knees. One of his hands coming up to grip at your t-shirt. Pulling the collar down with his finger and looking down it. Smiling at the sight of your lightly covered breasts. Blushing at how natural his hands felt on you. Leaning in to place your lips on his neck. Breath hitching in his throat at the soft feeling.

“Did you do this with all the other girls?” You asked between kisses, genuine curiosity and a bit of shame taking over your senses.

“Of course not,” Hotch exhaled, “You know it’s only you.”

You kissed up his jugular, resting along his jawline. Hotch’s smile never left his face as you feathered your lips along his skin. Hand running strong fingers up and down your back. Your own hand gently ghosting down his front to rest on his hard cock.

Hotch’s body twitched, causing him a small amount of pain. Wincing as he squinted his eyes. “I’m so sorry—“

“Don’t be,” Hotch’s hand came up to cup your cheek. Pulling you into a passionate kiss. Lightning stimulated your nerves at his taste and feeling. Both of you humming together. Tongue slipping past your lips as it grazed your teeth. Hunger apparent by the way he held onto you. Smiling as you became overwhelmed with emotions.

“What?” Hotch asked, unable to stop himself from returning your expression. Cheeks glowing.

“I just… just wanna know what’s got you all worked up?” pressing your lips back to his as your hand outlines his shaft. Hotch’s throat tightened at your touch. Breathy and clingy.

“I’ve been locked up here, not even a second of alone time, for weeks. And when you have nothing else to do, your mind wanders. And mine kept going to the same place time and time again,” toothy grin taking over his expression as he continuing caressing your face.

You cocked an eyebrow at him, not saying anything back.

“You’re going to tell me you don’t masturbate?” Hotch chuckled, an offensive hint on his tone.

Your face flooded red as you remembered the last time you had. Remembering the image of Hotch’s body above yours, strong arms flexing on either side of your head, hips pumping into yours as he held eye contact.

“I… um— yeah, I do. I have a vibrator in my night stand,” you kissed him again. Loving how his shaft hardened against your touch.

“Hmm,” he hummed against your lips, “Wish you’d brought it with you.”

“Hotch,” you giggled, playful embarrassment in your voice.

“I know you look so pretty when you orgasm,” Hotch smiled between kisses. Your heart thumped in your chest. Overwhelmed in the best way possible. Fingers continuing to lightly rub against his length.

“Probably really pretty with your mouth around my cock too,” Hotch’s hand held onto the back of your head. Keeping your mouth against his.

“God- you are needing aren’t you?” You chuckled into his mouth. The two of you shared in making flirtatious noises. Continuing to latch onto one another’s mouths. Slowly sliding into the floor between his legs. Fluttering your lashes up at him as you leaned forward to play with his waistband.

“Please,” Hotch squinted his eyes closed. Jaw tensed and Adam’s apple bobbing.

Slowly, you helped raise his hips so that you could pull his sweatpants down his legs. Taking your time to make sure he did not have to overwork his body. Mouth watering when you saw the tent pitched in his boxer-briefs. Flattening your hands against his thighs, framing his cock.

Hotch’s hand tethered in your hair, lust blown eyes admiring you below him. Moaning when your lips pressed a kiss against his clothed member. Freeing his cock from its confides. Taking in all the details. Thick and swollen, vein running over the top side as his head leaked. Tongue licking a stripe up the underside.

Hotch rutted forward, moaning loudly as he gripped the couch for stability. Head leaned forward to watch you. Your hand gripped him at the base. Stroking upward with a twist of your wrist. Thumb swiping over the slit to collect the precum. Loving how his velvety skin felt in your palm.

Tender lips kissed along his shaft before sucking on the head.

“Oh my God,” Hotch groaned. Trying his hardest to not move. Not wanting to take away from the pleasure by causing himself pain. His brows upturned and jaw hung open as he watched you go lower onto him.

Stopping when your nose met the soft hair at his base. Gagging around him momentarily. Taste of him overwhelming any other sense you had. Your tongue flattened underneath him as you began to bob. Almost completely coming off him before going down again.

“So good,” Hotch praised breathlessly. Causing your own arousal to pool inside you. Wishing you could crawling into his lap and take his cock inside you. Knowing his body was in no shape for that kind of physical activity.

Having him squirm from your mouth would have to do for now.

Hotch looked so beautiful with his face all flushed and shoulders heaving. Chest rapidly rising and falling as he audibly breathed. Your hand came up to wrap around his base once more, allowing your lips to meet your fingers with each movement. Causing you to move much faster than before.

“Y/N,” Hotch moaned.

Feeling his cock twitch between your lips. His end was nearing. Continuing at the pace you had given him. Sloppy sounds coming from your mouth as your tongue swirled around his length.

“I’m close,” Hotch breathed out. His veins on his neck poking out as he strained back. Sounds of him whimpering and grunting was like music to your ears. Salty taste filling your mouth as he approached his finish. Twisting your wrist and going down further on him. Coaxing him to his end.

Hotch’s hand gripped the back of your hand with strong fingers as he came. Breath hitching in his throat as his jaw hung open. Looking down to watch you swallow the ropes of cum he shot into your mouth. Hand traveling down to caress your cheek when he was done. Thumb rubbing circles into your flushed cheeks.

You caught your breath as you doed your eyes up at him. Smiling as you rested your head into his hand. Licking your lips to get any remnants of him off your face.

Hotch patted the seat beside him. Instructing you to come sit with him once more. You rested your head on his shoulder as his arm wrapped around your lower back. Grateful lips kissing your head.

Finding a position that was comfortable for you both as you rested your eyes. Engulfed by his body heat and musk. His heartbeat thumped against your ear. The day catching up with you as you relaxed.

“We can go lay in bed,” Hotch softly suggested.

You nodded. Standing to your feet to help him up. Shuffling down the hallway as Hotch limped holding onto you. Walking him over to his large mattress. Hotch smiled up at you, fingers holding onto your hand as you stood in front of him. Looking like a lovesick fool before you. Causing you to blush because it was you that had him looking like that. Smiling wider than you had ever seen him.

“Are you sure… that you want me in here? If you’d rest better, I can go—“

“Don’t even try,” Hotch grinned, pulling your hand to his lips and gently kissing. Tugging you into the bed with him. Landing directly beside him. Giggling as you snuggled under the blanket with him. Hotch’s lips kissed every piece of skin he could. Coating you in his love.

“That was the best blowjob I’ve ever gotten,” Hotch’s lips finally found yours. Smiling with a soft chuckle ending his sentence.

“Glad I could help,” you scrunched your nose up with a smile. His hand caressed your cheek again, dark eyes scanning your entire face. Seeing you this close for one of the first times. Finally taking the time to look at every freckle, blemish, scar, or any other beauty mark you had. Never having had someone look at you the way he was now.

Your eyes were growing heavy. Blinking slowly until a yawn came over you. Rolling over to allow Hotch to hold you from behind. Closing your eyes as the plush of his pillows captured you.

His hand snaked around your front. Causing your chest to tighten when you felt him prying at your shorts. His nose trailed the valley of your neck and shoulder. Fingers going down the front of your panties.

“Aaron…?“

“Let me repay you,” Hotch whispered into your ear.

“You don’t owe me anything,” you sighed when his fingertips swiped over your sensitive bud.

“If I can’t fuck you, let me make you cum around my fingers,” Hotch’s deep voice vibrated into your skin. Fingers finding their way into your soaked folds. Circling them before inserting one. Causing you to arch into him and moan. A hum of approval came from him.

Curling his finger inside you as he massaged your insides. Thumb pressing into your clit. Shooting electricity through your veins. Your hand coming up to tangle in his hair. Locks lacing through your fingers. Your jaw hung open at the feeling of him adding an additional digit. Stretching you perfectly.

“Aaron,” you moaned, Hotch held your hand above your head. Fingers gently interlocking with yours while the air from his lips casted across your skin.

“Go ahead, I want to hear you,” Hotch kissed your shoulder.

You moaned at his words.

“Oh, pretty girl,” he cooed.

That familiar knot was tightening in your lower half. Hotch knew how to use his fingers. Causing your thighs to quiver and body to jolt. Sounds of him breathing filling your ears, sounding intoxicated by you. Never wanting you to leave his side.

You felt your pussy clench around his fingers. Insides growing more and more sensitive when he would hit the spongy spots.

“Are you gonna cum for me?”

You nodded aggressively. Whining as you rolled your hips against his fingers. Feeling his semi-hard cock press into your ass. Sweat dripped down your skin. Your heartbeat was in your ears as you felt your orgasm washing over you. Walls fluttering around Hotch’s fingers. Moaning his name like a mantra. Grinding down on his hand as your thighs shook.

Hotch smiled against your skin. Loving how you sounded begging and calling out to him. Wishing he could fuck you senseless. Wanting nothing more than to fill you up.

“I knew you’d look pretty orgasming,” lips kissed your cheek. You breathed heavily, grinning at his cocky voice. Rolling over to press your lips into his. Arms wrapping around his neck. Finally finding yourself the most comfortable you had been yet.

Drifting to sleep in his arms.

~~~

[END]

// Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate all the love I’ve gotten since writing for Hotch and love seeing everyone reply and comment and everything! As always, my requests are open! I have a Rossi x Reader planned in the next few days that was requested so keep an eye out for that! //

{tags}

@bondwithme-murderstyle ~ @mrs-ssa-hotch ~ @cherriready ~ @khxna ~ @justyourusualash ~ @boybandbaby ~ @hoffmanfan13 ~ @megangovier