#but I'll just let the words and visuals speak for themselves
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➳ Mutuals as Oracle Cards
Happy Palentine's Day to some of my favourite people! The Transcendent @villainsnest, the Amaranthine @everfairestar, the Seraphic @telli1206, and the Empyreal @infiniteecosmos! 💕
Stock: Unsplash, Pixabay. Please don't use or edit my work without permission.
#villainsnest#everfairestar#telli1206#infiniteecosmos#<3#my edits#oracle cards#I wanted to add more frens but I just don't have time tonight#alas still wanted to do something for the occasion <3#someone should pay me to design an oracle card deck#I am normal and can be trusted with this incredible power#djakgjdskgjkd#anyway if I had more time#I would write little descriptions for these cards#but I'll just let the words and visuals speak for themselves#xoxo my dear frens <3
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I've wrote this in Vietnamese for my friend before and now I'll do it again in English.
Those two are people with super conflicting backgrounds, from their colors to their body shapes and personalities.
Ryoshu has black hair - Faust has white hair. Ryoshu has red eyes - Faust has blue eyes. Ryoshu dresses extravagantly, while Faust dresses neatly.
Add more in visually, Ryoshu has a small chest, almost invisible (i love this--), she quite skinny also. Faust, on the other hand, is the opposite. She also like 2-3cm shorter than Faust
Ryoshu usually doesn't speak much, but when she does, few can understand her immediately, or they can't understand what he's saying without Sinclair translating.
Faust, on the other hand, talks a lot, to the point where nobody understands what she's saying unless the topic is within their field because Faust knows too much. Their skill sets in the game are also against each other if they ever get into a fight face to face.
( LCB Faust weak to slash , LCB Ryoshu is weak to Blunt )
However, these two women complement each other's weakness in combat very well and don't always argue (they do but not much, they also have moment of agreement).
Their personalities are also far from ordinary; each one is eccentric and quirky in their own way. Both of them are beautiful in my eyes... I could say perfect, too.
Artist who into them can freely draw these two with many themes that would be difficult to draw with other pairs. From violent interactions to humor and gentleness, these two are the kind of people who will follow each other's words as long as it sounds intriguing to their curiosity.
They are not the type to express affection normally; they may even deny it to maintain this abnormal relationship.
They are the type who will hate each other, but can't separate.
Ryoshu might even take out Faust's organs for fun, or use them as ink for drawing, or handle that mess to see how it unfolds, satisfying each other's desires and curiosity, and Faust won't even complain, letting her do whatever she wants until she runs out of blood and dies, then Ryoshu would just call Dante to turn back the clock and revive Faust after that. ( they might do it again-)
These two might even argue with each other. But never need to say a word if they need from each other something. They are the type to act more than use words to express themselves.
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milo and sweetheart stans, come out pls. i got yalls bread crumbs ✨️
this fic takes place shortly after the inversion, around the time milo got his ability to shift back. at a security team meetup, sweetheart overhears christian gossiping about milos actions during the inversion and decides to take measures into their own hands. it features swearing, a mild threat, and fade to black content where nothing 18+ is seen, but is implied.
word count is 1.3k!
tags: @no-see-um-incorrect @mrsmiagreer
David kept his conversations about Milo's actions during the inversions quiet around prying ears, he knew he couldn't let that information fall into the wrong lap.
However, he didn't shy away from taking a... closer, friendly interest in Milo's (and his mates') wellbeing since that night.
Most people understood, the inversion took a huge mental, and physical, toll on everyone at the games that night. The scars speak for themselves, but that only counted for the visual, bodily damage.
"We all faced death that night, and some of us didn't think we'd see the light of day again," David spoke, glancing towards Asher, "and some of us watched others make choices that nearly sealed that fate." He spoke and looked between Sweetheart and Milo, the look lasting just a second too long.
Christian didn't understand what was happening. Something was being hidden from the rest of the security team, he just didn't know why. Milo and his mate weren't inside the ward, they were safe.
David wasn't one for close affection, especially amongst his pack mates. He couldn't show that type of care with them, instead he concluded his speech with a cheers, a celebration of everyone who put up the tough fight that night.
The pack mates spent the rest of the night mingling amongst each other. Most spent time with their mates like David and his, Asher with his, etc. Christian and Amanda were huddled in a corner, as usual. No one really batted an eye at it, this was normal by this point.
Milo and Sweetheart had spent the night chitchatting with Asher and his mate, talking about anything and everything, real life shit and banter included.
"I'll be right back, Miles." Sweetheart tapped his shoulder, pecking his cheek as they got up to leave for the bathroom.
They wandered the large place, walking down one hallway when they overheard a familiar voice.
"I just don't understand what David's playing at. Milo wasn't even inside the ward, what did he of all people do that was so dangerous that he risked his life for it?" Christian spoke. He kept his voice low, he wasn't trying to get reamed by David or Asher for talking shit about Milo. Again. What he didn't expect was Milo's mate overhearing the two shifters gossip.
Sweetheart took a moment to think about how they could handle Christian's comments. They didn't want to act on a whim. They could get angry and make a scene in front of everyone, but that would just make things worse. With a quick wave of their hand, they were cloaked and walking towards the Australian shifter.
"I mean, Asher nearly died in David's arms, I just-" His words cut off. His mouth was moving, but nothing could come out, no matter how hard he strained for sound.
Sweetheart had taken his ability to speak, momentarily, as they decloaked in front of the totally-not-couple with a devious smile. The sudden appearance made both him and Amanda jump.
"If you speak about my mate again tonight, I will break your fragile ego down to dust, Chrissy. With a lovely, sizeable audience to watch. Am I understood?" They asked, his ability to talk had been returned to him.
"Y-yes." He answered, relieved that his voice was back. Trying to speak while being unable to was a straining, painful feeling. His face was drained of color, as if he had seen the devil before him.
Sweetheart nodded with a death glare, stepping away to return to what they were doing previously. "You two really do smell like each other, by the way." They rubbed it in as they pranced away, a shit eating grin across their face as they walked.
The night grew old as the pack mingled about, and pack members slowly dwindled, heading home for the night.
Christian and Amanda tried to not make it look obvious that they were leaving together, but their efforts continued to fail. They said their goodbyes, and Chris even attempted to make a nice gesture towards Milo as they left the building.
"Hey, uh... 'm glad you're alright, y'know. After the... that night." He stammered out, reaching his fist out to Milo. What can he say? He's trying to be nice (even if it's more of an attempt to stay on the stealth's good side).
Miles couldn't help but also be caught off guard by this behavior, but he returned the fist bump with a half smile.
"You too, man. I mean- I'm glad you're okay too." The interaction was concluded with a couple of nods between them and the stealth, who made no effort to hide the shit eating grin on their face from either shifter.
Milo and Sweetheart were next to head out, both mates had work in the morning. Once they reached the car, Milo looked over at his mate curiously.
"Now what the hell was that? Christian doesn't... do all that. I mean, he's a cool guy, but that's just... so outta character for him." He stated, tilting his head as he began trying to put the puzzle pieces together. "And you... You had somethin' to do with it."
Sweetheart smiled wide and shrugged, playing innocent.
"Dunno what you mean." They said simply, climbing into the passenger seat with a soft laugh. They knew Milo could see through their bullshit, but they enjoyed the banter.
"Oh, is that so?" He returned, fully playing into the joke now as well.
Sweetheart shrugged again, the smile never leaving their face.
"You know, when I'm working cases with the department, the people I'm after like to play up a big game. And sometimes, you have to remind them that you're playing chess, not checkers, and that you're not the pawn in the game. You hold the power, like the queen does." They sat up, checking their reflection in the visor mirror.
"And maybe you have to rub it in when one dog smells like another." They added with a chuckle, which earned them a laugh from their mate.
Milo didn't even know what to do with all this information. He was entertained by the idea of their mate teasing the Aussie shifter and his totally-not-girlfriend, but was also very attracted to this protective side displayed by his mate. He didn't know what went down that earned Christian that unfortunate wake up call, but he almost wished he could have witnessed it.
"So uh... you gonna tell me what he did to earn an assumedly earned rude awakening?" He asked as he put the car in drive, his free hand still tangled up with his mates.
"I'll put it like this. No one, and I really mean no one, gets to talk down about the people I love. 'Specially my mate." They affirmed with certainty, feeling the tingle of magic surging through their core, smiling when they felt Milo's core answer theirs.
Milo nearly growled at how they described their protective behavior to him. He couldn't help it, he found it SO attractive. He loved when they were like this. His mate had a confidence about them when they'd done something they felt strongly about, and he found it both hot and well deserved.
"My god, sweetheart... you are somethin' else, you know that?" He smiled with a shake of his head and a gentle but firm squeeze of their hand. He mumbled something against the back of their hand like 'My fuckin' mate,' and 'all mine,' between kisses, taking in how the magic swirled around in each of their cores.
"I love you, Sweetheart." He turned to them as he put the car in park, holding back from nearly tackling them right there in the passenger seat. He did pepper kisses all over their face, though.
"I love you too, Milo." They giggled, leaning into each kiss. "Let's get inside?" They asked, pulling away just a touch, earning them a small head tilt from Milo. They smiled, reaching their hands around his neck as they leaned in to whisper just amongst them.
"Wanna show you how much I love you."
#redacted audio#redacted asmr#redactedverse#zeeroh writes!#redacted milo#redacted sweetheart#redacted christian#redacted chrissy#redacted amanda#redacted david#redacted asher#redacted fanfic#fanfic
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Book spoilers & theories about the show
It's probably the silliest thing I'll ever write, but it's simply about the four characters I love most in these books, Daniel, Louis, Armand and now Fareed. And they're all here in the same scene.
The episode 6 starts with Louis talking about the Cloud Gift, something that for Daniel shouldn't be surprising since he's there talking to a creature that probably 99% of the planet's population believes doesn't exist. Vampires don't exist, right?
Daniel seems to be making fun of Louis and is obviously going to use this to annoy him later in the conversation.
And then who do we find there sharing this surprising discovery with them? A scientist. A brilliant, charming, charismatic, friendly, intelligent and beautiful scientist.
"Hey, Doc, did you know there's a flying vampire apocalypse coming your way?" Daniel speaks while analyzing Fareed's movements.
And then there's Fareed, for those who don't know him, he's just a handsome guy. But he's so covered up, the audacity of putting him in the first season is tasty. His movements are shy and a bit clumsy, and yet he's well hidden among the loose hair that casts a shadow on his face.
But this son of a bitch smiles at Daniel's words! [I love you, Fareed!!!] He looks at Louis in front of him and then smiles, containing his fucking smile. He's so brilliant!
We're going to put humanity [Daniel] who wouldn't believe in these things about vampires or flying vampires (and Superman) because they're fictional and we're going to put that to the test. That proof is Louis who, no matter how much he talks or reports, doesn't make humanity [Daniel] believe. It's not convincing. And then we're going to form a triangle with a third creature that represents science [Fareed] and therefore represents regular knowledge that can be visualized through facts that can be observed. But in addition, we're also going to say that Daniel stands for humanity that wouldn't believe in vampires, but does believe in a god. This is where the book spoilers come in.
Fareed in the books doesn't believe in spiritual matters, he doesn't believe in god and all that, he's a fucking scientist. A fucking vampire scientist!
"You know he's a vampire, right?" Daniel says again.
"I do not discuss my patients with anyone but the patients themselves." Fareed replies.
He again looks forward in what we might say is the direction where Louis is sitting. And only answers what should be the most obvious thing after that and then "you can't be human if your patient is a vampire, Doc". But I know Daniel just thought of it and typed it somewhere obscure in his notebook, probably under the "Rashid" topic he loves so much.
"That's the voice of Dr. Fareed Bhansali."
"That is not my voice."
"He's the personal physician to the deputy prime minister and..."
"I am not here..."
"... the vampire Louis de Pointe du Lac."
How can you be so relaxed being a human [scientist], knowing that your patient is a vampire [an inexplicable thing]. To be here taking care of another human [who is so fucking real] who will probably be made into food by the end of the week [we're not so sure how they're going to devour danny] while this vampire monster talks about an apocalypse? [so crazy].
How do you say that this voice of reason, which is also being recorded, is out of the question when you have to prove so much to the rest of humanity?
But this certainly becomes a fact for Daniel after Armand's final sentence, because the only doubt that would remain for Daniel is "he's human because he tolerates the sun" and with Armand's speech he then decides that Fareed could also be a vampire. And it's very funny because in the books Fareed hates the fact that vampires fall asleep with the sunrise, he even has a bit of anxiety and panic about it and wants to discover something in the future that will free them of this misfortune.
BUT
...let's get back to: "He's officially off the record."
"He's officially off the record."
Damn, we forgot the demonic gremlin in the other corner of the room!
The boss is watching! Any possibility of proving the improbable is off the record. Fareed even looks after a prime minister and that's a high position in some government. The fact that Louis and Armand simply accept Fareed going there (to look after their precious boy Daniel Molloy) at the risk of saying that perhaps there are even vampires in political office, is simply terrifying! Why would Fareed as a vampire look after human beings? It's exposing too much, it's exposing INNOCENT human beings to the dangers of living with and bumping into vampires! And why would Fareed as a human take care of vampires? Vampires would never expose themselves to humans like that! Scientists?!?!?!?!?! Never!
IT'S OFF THE RECORD!
They fail so hard to hide it, they try so hard to lie and it's so in your face…
"NDAs signed by any and all who cross the threshold, eh?"
Those who cross the threshold… Armand knows very well who always crosses the threshold...~
But what am I getting at? It's interesting to see how they seem to have built this parallel between the side that wants to believe, has the proof in front of it, but still doubts vs the proof for itself vs the thing that could (and will) prove that all this that seems like fiction is actually very real and palpable.
And of course there's another point.
We have a triangle in relation to what I said: Daniel, Louis and Fareed.
But at the same time we have Fareed who perhaps stares at Louis all the time in the sense that they are the naked truth that Daniel avoids looking at and that's why he's on the sidelines while in front of him we have Armanshid...
... who says "off the record", "forget it", "this truth can't be told" and he's right in front of Daniel, staring at him with those eyes that seem to plead as he dies longing for what seems untouchable. A puppy begging for food.
In short, I think Fareed here already knows what's going on and has been studying vampires and their issues for many years. He contains a smile when Daniel talks about the apocalypse because I know he feels proud in a sense of "I'm glad the apocalypse will be about something real, since it will be vampires" because that's what he studies, sees and touches every day and not this religious shit with god and hellfire. But there's Daniel who still wouldn't believe all this vampire and apocalypse shit, he's at the end of his life, isn't he? He doesn't even believe that the medicine can be effective…
#fareed bhansali#armand#louis#daniel molloy#iwtv#interview with the vampire#dubai trio#amc iwtv#about-iwtv
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ok i need to talk about my dp au or i'll explode. specifically details about vlad and danny's powered up forms. these guys
danny first though
danny, being a banshee, has a lot of different scream-based projectiles. the ghostly wail comes from using his chest voice and is more AOE, and the higher he screams the more narrow the resulting beam is. (those are the rules with his powers in general, not just powered up!) when he's like this, most of what he can vocalize is whimpers, stereotypical echoey ghost ooos and aaas, squeaks, squeals, and screams. he can speak words/sentences if he is laser focused on one person or conversation, but otherwise he does not.
vlad is in the same camp with the rules on the noises he can make. while danny is shrill, vlad roars and growls deeply. he doesn't have any powers related to his voice so it's mostly for show. he IS really fucking loud when he wants to be though
danny is usually very close to vlad when they are both in this state, wrapping his tail around his waist and putting his hands on his shoulders like this
part of this is their attachment to each other, and part of it is so that danny can quickly move to cover vlad's ears if they're in a fight:
vlad CAN stand out of the way to be able to withstand a Wail in this state, but it isn't ideal lol
vlad has a sense of physicality in this form and doesn't float unless necessary, preferring to trundle around on floors or stand on walls/ceilings like spiderman or perhaps zonic the zone cop. he and danny are both barely conscious, too overcome with rage and/or paranoia to do much else other than violence or searching for potential threats
a neat design note i thought i'd share is that i wanted vlad to look like he was bursting out of a cocoon or something w/ his black and white clothes contrasting his harsh hot pink colors. to really visually say that he's Letting Loose. saying that makes me feel silly but it really was the intention
danny's tail is long enough to make him as tall as vlad when it's fully stretched out (with the same proportioned upper half as his normal self), and when it's not wrapped around vlad protectively/possessively, he uses it as a weapon. his tail is deceptively strong and he can crush people to death with it if he so wishes, coiling around them like a snake. he thrashes and whips his tail when unhappy much like an unhappy cat. the difference is that it's strong enough to snap trees in half so if he starts thrashing it quickly turns destructive.
vlad is the melee fighter of the two. if anyone gets too close to the both of them, he's grappling and throwing punches. he's strong enough to punch through concrete and he does NOT care about property damage. vlad is usually much more of a projectiles and shields kind of guy, but it takes too much brain power for angy vlad.
usually they aren't in these forms at the same time though! the primary trigger for these forms is the other getting hurt or threatened, ESPECIALLY if they are defeated in a fight / knocked unconscious and revert back to human form. these forms are a maladaptive traumatic defense mechanism. they are so afraid of losing each other and/or being sent back to where they came from that they lose themselves if they feel as though that may happen or if they feel as though someone else wants to make that happen. skulker gets thrashed after he successfully captures danny to the point that he just doesn't fuck with them again
danny had never gotten like this before they escaped, but his fear of getting forcibly taken back or losing the one family member he has is enough to bring him into hysterics in the outside world. vlad DID enter this state before, but only once. danny was 4 years old and was about to go through his first comprehensive vivisection. he ended up killing two scientists and taking off the fingers of a third with his teeth before being subdued. after danny ends up going through the vivisection anyway, his learned helplessness was cemented and he never tried something like that again until the day of their escape a decade later
#exoticbutterstxt#biscuit's special danny phantom au#the only thing that reliably calms them down is when the other one tells them to stop#so when theyre both like this at the same time its Bad
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Angel of God, My Guardian Dear Chapter 5: Matt
Rating: Explicit (18+, MINORS DNI)
Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader
Story Summary: While speaking at a local school for visually impaired youth, Matt runs into his childhood best friend, with whom he lost touch almost 20 years prior.
Warnings/Tags: None.
Word Count: ~3,400
A/N: None.
Matt whistled cheerfully as he walked to the office the next morning, unable to fight back a pleased grin at the memory of his and Y/N's activities from the previous evening.
After he and Y/N had made love for the first time they had gone for a second round, then while in the shower together Y/N had given Matt the best blowjob he had ever received in his life before they had returned to bed for a third round of lovemaking, after which they had fallen asleep in each other's arms.
Matt had always slept better with Y/N in his bed, and getting to wake up next to her after making love had been even better. He had wanted nothing more than to just stay in bed together all day, but since they'd unfortunately both had to work Matt had gently extracted himself from Y/N's embrace and gone to shower and make breakfast while Y/N had peacefully slumbered on.
Normally he just had a cup of coffee and a piece of toast or grabbed something on the way to the office, but since he had woken up early (and surprisingly well-rested considering the fact that it had been rather late when he and Y/N had finally exhausted themselves) he'd had the time to make breakfast for the both of them.
Y/N had come out of Matt's bedroom right as he had finished preparing everything, and it had taken every ounce of his self-control to not pick her up and carry her back to bed, work be damned. He had known that Y/N wearing his clothes would be a turn-on, but he'd had no idea exactly how much hearing the shift of fabric across Y/N's skin and smelling his laundry detergent on her would be.
They'd had a quick breakfast together then Y/N had changed back into her dress from the evening before and gathered the rest of her belongings.
She had given Matt a soft, slow kiss before leaving. "I had a great time last night."
Matt had wrapped his arms around her waist and smirked, his thumb gently brushing against one of several marks he had left on her over the course of the night. "Oh believe me, angel, it was my pleasure."
Y/N had shivered. "I'll see you later?"
Matt had nodded. "I'll let you know if anything comes up, but otherwise I'll be by right before noon."
"Okay."
Matt had kissed her again. "Love you."
"Love you too."
"I take it you had a good night," Foggy's voice said as Matt reached Nelson and Murdock.
Matt grinned, turning towards his friend coming towards him from the opposite direction. "Very."
Foggy unlocked the outer door. "Let's head up and you can tell me all about it. I'm sure random strangers on the street don't want to hear about your sexcapades."
Matt chuckled and followed Foggy upstairs. "What makes you so sure it was that kind of night?"
Foggy huffed out a laugh. "Please. We've been friends since college, I know what your 'I got laid last night' face looks like."
Matt shook his head with a grin. "Yeah, okay, good point."
"I knew it." Foggy unlocked the inner door and they headed inside. "So did you talk to Y/N about Josie's on Tuesday?"
Matt nodded. "Yeah, she's in. We're also going to go talk to my mother after Mass on Sunday, as well as Zoom with Y/N's aunt Sunday afternoon so I can meet her."
"Wait, you didn't meet her when she came to pick Y/N up?"
Matt shook his head. "She wasn't exactly interested in meeting me at the time. Actually I'm surprised she even let Y/N tell me goodbye."
He chuckled. "I at least know for sure that Y/N and my mother will be happy to see each other again. Those two always had a soft spot for each other -- in fact I'm pretty sure the reason Y/N and I got away with as much as we did was because Y/N had always been my mother's favorite."
"So, what else happened last night -- besides sex, obviously. Any other big revelations?"
Matt smiled to himself. He kind of liked the idea of keeping the fact that Y/N considered him the answer to her prayers just between the two of them, at least for a while. "No, not really. Although Y/N and I did go ahead and decide to label our relationship since we're both sure of what we want. Oh, and by the way, I'll be out of the office for a couple of hours around lunchtime unless something comes up."
"You're not getting hitched without me there, are you?"
Matt huffed out a laugh. "What? No, I'm just having lunch with Y/N and getting signed up for library service. Besides, it's a bit soon for that, isn't it?"
Foggy chuckled. "Honestly, buddy, I'm surprised you two haven't run off to Vegas already."
Matt grinned. "To be honest I probably am going to propose sooner rather than later, especially if everything goes well with Y/N's aunt since I want to get her blessing, but I'll also need to find a ring and actually plan a proposal."
"Well just let me know when the time comes and I'll help out however I can."
"Thanks, Fog."
"Anyway, that's fine. We're expecting a courier delivery from Marlowe, Reynolds, and Coleman but I can receive it."
"Want me to bring something back for you?"
"Nah, I'm good."
"You sure?"
"Yeah, I've got leftover pizza in the fridge. Beer after work though?"
Matt nodded. "Yeah, that sounds good."
He retreated to his office and got started on the day, reviewing a case briefing for a(n innocent) client being accused of armed robbery, his notes from another client who was being (wrongfully) evicted from their apartment by a greedy landlord and was going to court the following week, and did some research in order to find a precedent that would help a third (paying) client who was being accused of the theft of high-tech equipment (technically guilty, but since there were extenuating circumstances regarding the fact that Matt's client didn't actually steal the equipment, he had just never turned it over to the government while his employer was being investigated -- Matt felt morally okay with representing him).
About 11:30 he got up from his desk and grabbed his cane. "Foggy, I'm leaving!" he called out.
"Okay, see you later!" Foggy's voice replied.
Matt headed downstairs and caught a cab.
"Mornin'," Matt's cabbie said in a thick Brooklyn accent. "Where we headed?"
"Andrew Heiskell Library, please," Matt replied.
"Alright, we'll have you there in just a bit."
He spent the ride making small talk with his cabbie and by the time they had arrived Matt had slipped him his business card along with his payment.
He grinned as he got out of the cab. He still couldn't believe how lucky he was that he had Y/N back in his life.
He headed inside.
"Hi, may I help you?" A voice said ahead of him.
"Yes, hi, I'm here to see Y/F/N Y/L/N," Matt replied.
"Ah, yes, she's on the 4th floor. Here, let me direct you to the elevator."
Matt let the receptionist lead him to the elevator. "Thank you."
"As soon as you get off the elevator the Talking Book Library is straight ahead."
"Okay. Thanks again."
Matt stepped into the elevator and found the button for the 4th floor, pressing it and waiting for the elevator to ascend.
Once it had arrived he stepped out and headed straight until his cane bumped into a door, then reached for the knob and opened it before stepping inside.
"Good morning, may I help you?" A different woman's voice said from his right.
Matt turned towards the voice. "Ah, yes, I'm here to see Y/F/N Y/L/N?"
"Oh yeah, one second. I'll get her for you."
Matt waited as the woman picked up a phone and pressed a few buttons, smiling softly to himself as he heard Y/N's voice on the other end. "Yes?"
"Y/N, there's a gentleman here asking for you," the woman replied.
"Okay, tell him I'll be right there. Thanks, Jess."
The woman hung up the phone. "She'll be right with you, sir."
Matt nodded. "Thanks."
A few moments later he heard Y/N's voice. "Hi, sweetheart."
Matt grinned, turning towards her. "Hi, angel."
Y/N gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Matt, this is my co-worker, Jessica. Jess, I'd like you to meet my boyfriend, Matt."
Matt smiled and nodded at Jessica. "Nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you too," Jessica said in surprise.
Y/N shifted her purse on her arm. "I'm heading out to lunch."
"Okay, have a good one."
Matt placed a hand on Y/N's arm so she could lead him out of the office.
He waited until they had gotten on the elevator and were headed back down before turning and giving Y/N a soft kiss on the lips. "Hi."
Y/N smiled against his mouth. "Hi."
They stepped out of the elevator together and headed outside. "Did you have anything in particular in mind to eat?" Y/N asked.
Matt shook his head. "I know you only have an hour and have to be quick, so is there anywhere nearby that you like?"
"Actually, yeah. There's a really great diner right around the corner that does quick lunches."
Matt grinned and took Y/N's hand. "Lead the way then."
They walked down the street hand in hand. "So how's your day going?" Matt asked.
"It's been good. How about yours?"
"Busy, but good. Have a couple of cases I'm trying to determine how best to proceed with."
Y/N gave his hand a squeeze. "I know you'll figure it out."
As they rounded the corner, Matt could smell freshly-baked bread.
Y/N slowed down to a stop. "We're here."
"Hi Y/N," a woman with a strong Southern accent greeted them as they entered. "Sit anywhere you like and I'll be right with you."
"Thanks, Charlotte," Y/N replied. "Can we get a Braille menu?"
"Absolutely."
Y/N led Matt over to a booth. "This good?"
Matt nodded. "Yeah, anywhere is fine with me. So I take it you come here often?"
Y/N laughed lightly as they sat. "Charlotte's daughter is one of my juvenile patrons, but yeah, actually, I usually get lunch here once a week or so."
Matt smiled. "How old is your patron?"
"She's six."
As if on cue, a little voice cried out, "Miss Y/N!"
Matt turned as the sound of little footsteps pitter-patter ed towards them.
"Hi, Sophie!" Y/N said. "How are you today?"
"Good. Are you at the library today?"
"I am, but I decided to come spend my lunch break here with my friend, Matt."
"Hi," Matt said.
"Is he your boy friend?" Sophie asked.
Matt grinned as Y/N huffed out a laugh. "Yes, actually, he is. Matt, I'd like you to meet Sophie. She's one of my special friends. Isn't that right, Soph?"
"Uh huh!" Sophie replied. "Miss Y/N brings me books from the library, and sometimes she'll stay and read to me!"
Matt smiled at Sophie's enthusiasm. "Wow, that's exciting. You know, Miss Y/N used to read to me back when we were growing up."
Sophie gasped in childlike wonder. "Really?"
Y/N chuckled. "I did. And remember when you asked how I learned Braille and I told you my friend taught me? Matt was that friend."
"Wow. So you've known each other forever, huh?"
Matt laughed. "Pretty much."
"Do you need some more books?" Y/N asked. "I can choose some for you when I get back to work and come drop them off here on my way home."
"That would be great," the woman who had spoken when they had first walked in -- Charlotte, Y/N had said her name was -- interjected as she walked up. "Thanks so much."
"It's no problem. Just twin-vision or audiobooks too?"
"Both would be good."
"Okay. I'll stop back by after work."
"Have fun with your boyfriend!" Sophie said before running back off.
"Sorry about that wait," Charlotte said as she set their menus down. "Bethany called in sick so it's just me today."
"It's fine," Y/N replied. "Matt, this is Charlotte, Sophie's mom and the owner of Southern Grace. Char, this is my boyfriend, Matt."
Matt nodded in Charlotte's direction. "Nice to meet you."
"Pleasure's all mine." Charlotte clicked a pen. "Now, can I get you two something to drink?"
"Just water for me today, thanks, Char," Y/N replied.
"I'll take water as well," Matt added.
"Okay, two waters coming right up. I'll give you a minute to go over the menu in the meantime."
"So what's good here?" Matt said as Charlotte left.
"Honestly, everything," Y/N replied. "I'll usually do soup and a sandwich though for a quick lunch, or sometimes I'll call in a to-go order for breakfast if I don't have time for breakfast at home before work."
Matt began to read over the menu. "Maybe we can have breakfast here one day then. Or brunch."
"Yeah, that would be nice."
"So what kind of soup and sandwich do you usually get?"
"Depending on what the soup of the day is I'll get that and a grilled cheese sandwich, or if the soup is something I don't really care for I'll sometimes get a burger and fries… unless the lunch special happens to be lasagna or meatloaf, both of which are amazing here. I don't think it's either today though."
Matt nodded. "Noted."
"Okay, here are those waters," Charlotte said as she returned. "Do you need a few more minutes to go over the menu?"
"What's the soup today?" Y/N asked. "I forgot to look at the board when we came in."
"Loaded potato," Charlotte replied.
"Okay, then I'll have that with the grown-up grilled cheese."
"Actually, make that two," Matt added, closing the menu.
"Okay, those'll be right out."
Y/N rummaged around in her purse and pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen. "Oh, hey, I figured we can fill out your application for service while we're here in order to save you some time, if you're still interested in signing up."
"Yeah, that sounds great. What information do you need from me?"
"Well I already filled in your basic info -- name, address, phone number, date of birth and the like, so we just need to go over what types of service you want and subject preferences and such."
Matt nodded. "Okay."
They filled out the form together, then Y/N slid it over to him and handed him the pen. "Sign by the sticky flag."
Matt signed his name with a flourish. "Kinda feels like I'm signing my life away," he joked as he slid the paperwork back over to Y/N.
"Oh yes," Y/N deadpanned with a giggle as she put the papers back in her purse. "You're mine now, Murdock."
Matt grinned. "Considering I've been yours since pretty much the moment we met, I'm okay with that."
Y/N reached out and gave his hand a squeeze. "Me too."
She let go as Charlotte returned once again.
"Okay, here are those soup and sandwich combos. Need anything else?"
"We're good, thanks, Char," Y/N replied.
Matt quickly dug his wallet out of his pocket. "We can go ahead and take care of the check now since it's busy," he said, handing Charlotte his credit card. "No rush, just whenever you get a second."
"Okay, no problem. You two enjoy."
"Thanks."
"Oh, before I forget," Y/N said as Charlotte left again, "what time is Mass on Sunday and do you want me to come over and we'll go together, or do you just want to meet at the church?"
Matt bit his lip. "I usually go to the 11 o'clock Mass, but, um… What do you think about staying over at my place tomorrow night? I'll cook again."
"I'd love to, but how about you let me make you dinner instead? I feel bad about you having to cook for me twice in a row."
"How about we make dinner together then?"
Y/N hummed as she pretended to think. "You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Murdock, but okay."
Matt grinned. "Part of what makes me such a good lawyer is my ability to come up with a compromise that's satisfactory for all parties, angel."
Y/N huffed out a laugh. "What time do you want me over?"
"Four? We can go to the market together to get ingredients for whatever we decide to make."
"Okay."
They finished their lunch, only being interrupted once more by Charlotte dropping off the receipt, and headed back towards the library.
"Okay," Y/N said as they arrived on her floor and headed back into her office. "Let me go get your application certified and I'll be right back. You can have a seat if you want."
Matt nodded. "Okay."
As soon as Y/N had walked off he could hear the co-worker he had met earlier say, "So that's why you wouldn't let me set you up on a date with Eric's friend last week!"
Matt grinned to himself. He figured Y/N's co-worker had been waiting for her to return so she could grill her about Matt.
"No-- well, yes, but no," Y/N replied with a laugh. "It's kind of a long story, so how about I explain it to you later? Matt's actually in the lobby. We're getting him signed up for service and I was coming to see if Will would certify his application for me."
"Oh, okay. Drinks after work, then?"
"Yeah, I just need to run by Southern Grace to drop off some books for a patron, but we can do that on the way."
"Okay, sounds good."
Matt waited until Y/N had returned. "Okay, you're all set," she said, sitting behind the reception desk. "Let me just get you put into the system…"
Matt waited as she began typing and clicking away. A few minutes later she paused. "Okay, I can finish inputting your preferences and stuff later, but let me go ahead and get you a player and pull a couple of audiobooks for you. Anything in particular?"
Matt shook his head. "Nah, whatever you choose will be fine."
"Ok, so the spiciest erotica we have, then. Got it."
Matt huffed out a laugh even as his face heated. "Really?"
Y/N giggled. "Only if you actually want it, honey. We don't judge. How about a few childhood favorites?"
Matt nodded. "Yeah, that'll work."
"Okay, one second."
Y/N clicked and typed some more, then stood. "Okay, be right back."
Matt waited as Y/N walked through another doorway.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and turned the ringer back on, then checked to make sure he didn't have any missed calls.
A few minutes later, he heard Y/N's voice growing closer as she spoke to someone. "Great. Thanks, Jordan!"
The door opened once again. "Alright, sweetheart, you're all set."
Matt stood as Y/N handed him a bag. "Thanks, angel."
"The player's pretty easy to figure out, but I can help you with it tomorrow if you have any questions. And we can get the online downloading service set up on your phone too so you can download Braille books to your e-reader."
"Great. Thanks again."
"Here's my card if you need to reach me at the office."
Matt grinned as Y/N handed him an oversized business card printed in Braille.
Y/F/N Y/L/N
Youth Services Librarian
NYPL, Heiskell Library
40 W. 20th St., #1
NY, NY 10011
212-555-6473
"Thanks for lunch, Matty." Y/N gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Love you."
"Love you too. I'll see you tomorrow."
"See ya."
Matt smiled to himself as he left Y/N's office. Thank you, Lord, for bringing Y/N back to me.
#lotmf writes#AoG Masterlist#matt murdock x female reader#matt murdock x fem!reader#matt murdock x reader#matt murdock fanfiction#matt murdock fluff#matt murdock smut#matt murdock x yn
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Hi, i read your analyseses religiously and i love all of them and this question is probably dumb but you keep mentioning "survival mode" whenever astarion is mentioned. I don't really get what that is though, can you explain? Sorry if it's super dumb and it feels like i should understand but I really don't
Hello dearest!
Please don't worry, that question is not dumb at all - survival mode can be really hard to understand if you've never experienced it yourself and/or don't know your way around mental health, trauma, coping etc as such. So I'm super happy to explain, don't worry!
"Survival Mode" as such is more of a casual term for what is, essentially, chronic stress. As with anything "chronic" we're speaking of chronic stress when stress has been prolonged to such an extent, that a person finds themselves unable to relax.
Now, I know my hypochondriacs out there - I'm one of you, you can't fool me - who now grab at their chest and go "Omfg, I'm constantly stressed, I must have that!" So I'll add: Please don't worry. Even if you're stressed a lot, it doesn't necessarily mean you're dealing with chronic stress.
Everybody and their mothers prostitute has been stressed at one point in their life, and some people have been stressed more often than others - that's entirely normal and can even be slightly beneficial. Stress is meant to help and protect us - it makes us more aware of our surroundings, it makes us faster, and it makes us stronger for a short time by essentially burning more of our energy to help us push past our limits.
But normal stress will eventually subside once the thing that stresses you out - the stressor - is gone.
A tight deadline is stressing you out? You'll return to a calm state once it's met.
You're understaffed at work and there's a lot to do? The stress will likely already start to subside once you clock out.
If we take out the stressor, our body is supposed to return to its normal state.
People with chronic stress, so those who are constantly in survival mode, don't get those breaks in between. Their body is never returning to normal because being stressed IS their normal. Due to the extreme stress and duress they were under for a prolonged time, their body has now been taught that in order to be safe, in order to survive, they need to be hyperaware of everything at all times.
Ever been around someone who out of nowhere suddenly jumps up and goes: "My mum is coming home, she's in a bad mood, be quiet and don't say anything, okay?"
And the the door actually slams open and it actually is their mother and you're like: ??? How the fuck did you know??? And how can you tell she's in a bad mood, she looks normal?
One word: Steps.
It almost sounds like magic or a straight up lie, but that poor thing is probably in survival mode and her survival is linked to whether her mother is a) home and b) in a good mood, so she's learned to discern her mothers presence and mood solely by her steps while coming up the stairs.
People who are under chronic stress can often be described as hypervigilent but extremely forgetful at the same time. They are painfully aware of everything, but they can't focus long enough on most things to actually remember them, especially those that aren't deemed important to their survival. They also tend to be constantly tired, moody, indecisive, and quick to frustration and despair when faced by even a tiny inconvenience.
So, in the end, being in "survival mode" essentially just means that a person has been put under stress for so long, that they've forgotten how to rest and are now stuck in an endless cycle of high vigilance, low energy until they're taught how to rest once more.
Phew! I know those are a lot of facts and those can be hard to really understand, so let me know if you'd like me to be a bit more clearer or more visual in my explanation! I'm sure I can come up with something in that case ❤️
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Enhypen as Taylor Swift Songs...
So @anotherimaginesaccount did something similar and gave a wonderful shoutout to my smau You Belong With Me. And so I have given myself this challenge. Let's go 😊.
Done this on my phone so no word count 😂, I'll get round to putting this through word and grammarly at some point.
Lee Heeseung as Begin Again from Red.
Hear me out on this. So begin again is all about starting again with someone new right.
This fits to Heeseung cause he had to watch TXT, ppl he trained with debut and then started again with i-land, that to with the chance that he still might not debut thru this survival show.
Literally he's had to begin again but finding the members became the people he believed he could begin again with.
Not just that, in the song there's a big emphasis on Blondies previous partner *cough Jake gynaecologist cough* being the worst and how this new person is the opposite.
To me Heeseung is the new person to each member.
He was the legendary trainee but he showed everyone thru the show how much of a wonderful guy he was.
His dynamics with each member is just so sweet and heartwarming. He's everyone's safe space and I love that for him 😭😭😭.
He's just amazing and Begin Again fits so well fight me on this.
I refuse to believe that someone hasn't had a crush on Jay atleast once.
Park Jay as gold rush from evermore:
He just has that look about him. The high school crush, everyone's friend. The happy guy in class.
But only those closest know him well and that's the members.
He's the mood maker of the group and he really does that so well.
Not just that but he's out here being the one to make sure all his 6 children are fed. (Jay in so so fun comparing himself to his mother who only had to deal with him while he's a mother to 6 kids 😂😂😂)
The lyric everybody wants you is Jay. Fight me on that.
His love for the member is so pure and true, they really are his family and it shows in how he treats them.
Literally all us engenes are the line everybody wonders what it would be like to love you 😭😭.
He's literally the thing that brings us out of our sadness.
Sim Jake as Enchanted from Speak Now:
You can't not just smile looking at Jake.
We're all wishing he isn't in love with someone else 😂😭.
Like Heeseung he has different dynamics with each member.
He literally plays with Niki and tries to make sure Niki doesn't miss out on his childhood. He's such a good person I can't.
Seeing Jake interact with members and fans is so heartwarming.
He's just a bright light in the group and deserves so much more love.
The embodiment of it was enchanting to meet you.
Man is boyfriend material to the T.
Park Sunghoon as Our Song from Taylor Swift:
He is out here making sure that the members are taking care of themselves and just being a sweetheart.
He seems like he doesnt care but he's just shy and those visuals are out of the world obviously.
I definitely feel like he would be doing everything to take care of the things he cares for.
The loudest introvert ever but that's just another one of his many sides.
Definitely think he would be the one to call a significant other baby 😂. Don't ask why cause honestly I don't know.
He gives off first love vibes and that's literally our song.
Being so in love that you don't think any song out there can measure up to your feelings.
That's how I think he feels about the members, he teases and messes with them but that's just his way of showing them he cares and loves them.
And now I want to write a first love Sunghoon fic... Great 😂😭.
The lyric the best people in life are free. That sums up Sunoo.
Kim Sunoo as New Romantics from 1989:
He is sassy and carefree, he does what he wants and doesn't care about others opinions. As he should.
I didn't even have to think about this one. That lyric just sums up Sunoo so well I can't even explain it 😂.
No matter what happens, he never gives up.
He's always smiling and he's unapologetic in what he likes which is such a breath of fresh air.
He doesn't let anything define him, he's always surprising everyone.
Sure he's known for being the cute one but that's just one side and I can't wait to see more sides of Sunoo as he grows and evolves as an idol.
He's got a lot of responsibility on his shoulders but he handles it so well.
Yang Jungwon as Delicate from reputation:
He knows his hyungs and engenes are there for him but it's still all about finding that balance.
He's made his mark as the youngest leader of a group and enha themselves have a building reputation in the industry.
He knows how important keeping up the reputation for the group is but he's out here being himself.
Loving the members, taking care of them and being taken cared of by them.
He's delicate in the sense that he has so much to learn and he's already making us all so proud of him.
But the members are here for when he needs a break, when it all gets too much.
The media and gp wouldn't wait a second to turn on the group and he knows it's a delicate line of being loved rn but then being torn down just as viciously.
But he knows that no matter how delicate the situation is, he's got the members and engenes on his side.
He is who he is and doesn't care what others think of him.
Nishimura Niki as ME! from Lover:
He's already got the accolades of being one of the best 4th gen dancers or atleast he could get to that level.
He may be the maknae but he has shown so much maturity and growth in only the last 2 years of the group.
The lyric Troubles gonna follow where I go is literally a description of Niki 😂.
For being a teenager, he is savage and still hilarious but that doesn't stop him from overanalyzing and being critical of himself.
In those moments the members are there to let him know it's okay to make mistakes. They all still love him. The fandom still loves him.
The staff and members let him do whatever he wants and that is how it should be.
Though he acts like a troll, he cares in the most basic ways and goes out of his way to show his love for the members.
His dynamics with the members vary but they all love him so much and he loves them just as much.
His self confidence is through the roof as it should be and he deserves the praise he gets.
Hed be the type to fight but then immediately make up cause he doesn't want anyone angry at him or to be angry at anyone himself.
Tagging the permanent taglist cause I did this for fun but I am kinda proud of it (took a day or 2 but I did tag y'all eventually 😂) so would love to know any differing opinions or just thoughts on this please 🥺.
And that's it. Thoughts and opinions if anyone has any.
Permanent Taglist: @doodlewon @chirokookie @yjwnoot @clar-iii @centheodd @prdxinvade @hiqhkey @junnniiieee07 @love-4-keum @acciomylove @sproutswonies @youkwim @kpoplover718
#enhypen#enhypen reactions#enhypen imagines#enha#enhyphen imagines#enhypen scenarios#ni-ki#enhypen niki#ni ki enhypen#yang jungwon#enhypen jungwon#jungwon enhypen#kim sunoo#enhypen sunoo#sunoo enhypen#park sunghoon#enhypen sunghoon#sunghoon enhypen#sim jake#enhypen jake#jake sim#park jongseong#park jay#enhypen jay#lee heeseung#enhypen heeseung#heesung enhypen#taylor swift#taylor swift songs
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My theories so far for "Generation One: The Social Experiments" of Generation Loss. (And also just a bit of a recap of all the confirmed things I'm aware about Gen 1)
(This is so long. If you read all of this I love you.)
Also, I wrote this May 1st/2nd, before the keynote. I will likely be adding stuff about the keynote either in a reblog to this post or a completely new post which I'll edit a link to or something)
So ever since the name "The Social Experiments" was announced, it became clear to me this was going to be something that we the audience, would be able to have influence on. To some extent.
This was then further solidified by things like Ranboo mentioning that Gen 1 would take place on his Twitch channel, talking about how important it would be to be there when it happened live, and during his Cult of the Lamb stream, mentioning how chat should familiarize themselves with using Twitch extensions to vote.
And of course, T_2: The Inauguration being a short "choose your own adventure" thing also made this pretty clear. Like a test run for the full event. And speaking of T_2, a quick run-through of that. (Because I finished summarizing the new stuff before I realized, shit that video is also probably still important, but the post is already so fucking long)
All of the videos take place on an old TV with static heavily in the background and white text appearing on the screen, "Welcome. You have our attention. Please ensure you are alone. There are precautions in place. The inauguration is necessary. Prove your worth. Please remain emotional. Act upon first impulse."
And then you are asked "Cats or Dogs?", this question doesn't matter. The result is the same, "Now you understand what this is. Next evaluation. Which is best. Power or Wisdom?"
"Power" leads to a failure, reading "Wisdom becomes power. Your input is no longer wanted. Then the camera backs away from the TV, before it vanishes and the words "Try again" appear on screen, before a bombardment of text appears on screen.
"Wisdom" leads to "Impressive. Wisdom is vital. Which will prevail. Life or death?"
"Life" is another fail, "Optimism makes one naive", before going into the same failure screen as before.
"Death" leads to "Intresting. Let's test that." Before cutting to a screen of a person who's face is obscured with a box of static struggling tied to a chair
"You or them?"
You, "Noble yet foolish." Before failure clip.
Them, the person struggles for a bit before going limp, the censor changing to just black, "Did you make sure you were alone? Yes or No?"
No, "You should have." Fail.
Yes, "Good. One final request. Don't Look away." Then the GenLoss logo as it's pictured above slowly fades in, before vanishing and the text reading "Congratulations." appears. There's a few more seconds of just a blank static screen before in red text in the bottom corner pops up reading "Your failures have not forgotten"
So, at this point, all I really had for theorizing was: Somehow the audience will be able to influence the events that happen. And that's about it.
But luckily, the "Connecting..." teasers came out and there was finally more to work with! Yippee!
So the first one Connecting... is a 30 second video of a cassette tape with the letters "TSE" written on it, heavy visual static over it, with some bopping kinda ominous music over it, before a short jingle plays and we hear "If you have any information on these individuals, don't hesitate to call. We thank you for your cooperation during these times" followed by a sound that reminds me of someone turning off some kind of old tech, or hanging up a corded phone.
Not that much to work with other than that there's a group of people who are being looked for, for some reason. Also the "TSE" is likely short for "The Social Experiments" aka, the name of Gen 1.
Also, in the description, there's binary that when translated reads "From one to another", not really sure what to do with this bit of info yet.
Then we get the second Connecting... teaser, which was just this image.
My initial thoughts on this, ripped straight from my Twitter are: "I think what's happening in-universe is that whatever audience roll we'll be playing, will think what's happening is just a show with no serious consequences. But what we influence will have real serious impacts on the safety and life(s?) of the participant(s).
And the crossed-out thing makes me think of like. An office building. So maybe that's whatever organization is behind this broadcast, and they're lying to their viewers about what's really happening.
And who's made these sticky notes? They obviously know more than they probably should. And are going to somehow try to stop whatever is happening. From happening. Did they used to be a part of this group? Are they someone who was supposed to be a victim but escaped?"
And at least one part of this got answers in the currently most recent video, Connected.
The first chunk of the video is red and black static with the word "Connecting..." before cutting to a black screen reading "Welcome" before some more bopping but ominous music kicks in and the screen changes to some sort of infinite tunnel filled with red light.
A bunch of text flashes on screen, in order it reads: "Look into infinity. You are now worthy. One of many." this order repeats 3 more times before more is added after One of many. "One of millions. One to another. One to yours. One to another."
After this text vanishes, The image I put at the top of this section fades in, before cutting to a bright red screen with white text in the corner reading "GEN 1"
Then fades in the image from the Twitter "Connecting..." teaser, the static from the image slowly fading. We get a brief flash to this screen:
Before it cuts to the images from before, but now with missing posters taped up for a currently unnamed character (I'm not calling him Ranboo until it's confirmed the character is called Ranboo.)
There's also tape connecting the posters in the "GenLoss 4 Logo" shape, unsure if that means anything or is just a wink nudge nudge to the audience.
The missing posters feature Ranboo's character, what vaguely resembles the logo that was crossed out with "LIES" written under it next to the word "MISSING", and a phone number to call if you have any information.
According to @/alphiebeet in the replies to the video's link on Twitter, calling the number on the missing posters gives you this message:
"Hello. thank you for calling the Showfall missing person's hotline. We appreciate your call, but you are not able to help us. Please hang up immediately."
The audio in this section sounds like nearby a relatively active street, including a car honking and some birds.
The video cuts to this image for a split second
A much clearer look at what this office-building esc logo looks like, along with 05 03 23 written near it. It looks like the same wall as the other images and even uses the same type of black tape, even though it doesn't seem to be close to the other images and the missing poster.
The screen fades into white, before the same jingle from "Connecting..." the video is heard and this full logo, now with the company name, Showfall Media, appears;
"We are happy to welcome you to the Showfall Media family. Please join us for our special keynote on May 3rd of your time" is said by the same voice from the "Connecting..." video. But before the video ends, a voice that I'm pretty sure is Ranboo says "There's something going on here."
Wow, okay that was. a lot. And oh goddamn it one second, Ranboo posted on the Behind The Scenes account. It's a clearer photo of the images taped to the wall.
Note: The number is scribbled out because it is no longer the accurate number seen in the video.
For some reason, the one farther right and at the end/start of the GenLoss 4 logo has a black censor over their face instead of just a mask.
Now, onto what I think is going on here. Finally (Ranboo better not post more while I'm working on this I STG. Or say anything while streaming.)
Obviously, Showfall Media is behind whatever The Social Experiments are. Or at least the broadcast which will be whatever is going to be Gen 1. They also for some reason have their own missing person's phone line, and will even put their own logo on missing posters. For some reason.
I think I was right about the person who originally wrote the notes the missing posters were over being an employee of Showfall, who realized what was happening/going to happen is wrong, and decided to try and stop it. And I don't think they're actually missing, I think perhaps they realized Showfall was onto them and went into hiding, and the missing posters are a way for Showfall to try and find them.
Though, I wonder if more people are also trying to stop Showfall, as the call said "Individuals", plural. But that's more something we'll just have to wait and see.
One thing that interests me, is the text in T_2, the binary in the descrip of Connecting, and the text in Connected.
From T_2 the intro text: "Welcome. You have our attention. Please ensure you are alone. There are precautions in place. The inauguration is necessary. Prove your worth. Please remain emotional. Act upon first impulse."
and some of the messages on the failure state: "You were not supposed to fail. Think Different. Try Again. Think harder. Keep going. Do you not understand? Who even are you? Do you think this is just a game? Go back. You are NEVER alone. Do not hesitate."
and of course the end screen: "Your failures have not forgotten"
the binary in the Connecting description: "From one to another"
and the Connected text: "Look into infinity. You are now worthy. One of many." this order repeats 3 more times before more is added after One of many. "One of millions. One to another. One to yours. One to another."
it seems like somehow, people need to prove their worth before... something. Currently I'm thinking it's joining Showfall Media, specifically whatever elite group is the one actually behind the shady shit.
And obviously this group probably isnt small, "one of many" and "one of millions" and an important part of this is connecting to the other members "one to another" "one to yours".
I also think the failure messages and the "Your failures have not forgotten" might hint to some level of time shenanigans, and i think whoever this is might also be Ranboo's character trying to get in with Showfall Media to better be able to stop this broadcast. Possibly this backfired and that's why he went into hiding.
And that's kinda all I really got for now, can't wait for the keynote on the 3rd, cuz I imagine it will be what finally gives us a good grasp on what to expect from the actual stream.
#Generation Loss#Genloss#The Social Experiments#Generation 1: The Social Experiments#Ranboo#Genloss TSE#spud originals#sorry it kinda tripped at the end its cuz my wifi died so i then spent hours away from it (because it was late so i jsut went to bed)#lost my steam :(
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An Origin Story pt. 3
The rhythmic thumping of gloves against bags filled the WVBA gym, along with the shouts of coaches and the grunts of boxers pushing themselves. Glass Joe was at the speed bag, his fists dancing in time with a French song he hummed to himself. Cutie Hondo, her fists wrapped and gloved, was engrossed in her heavy bag workout.
Keep your guard up, always. Remember, it's not just about power; it's about precision, Cutie thought, visualizing her next opponent, whoever she may be. Come on, girl. Pop that jab.
Across the gym, Viktor Von Kaiser was instructing a kids' beginners class in one of the boxing rings. "Remember, kleine Kämpfer, always keep your hands up. Like this," he demonstrated, his thick German accent filling the air.
The whole atmosphere changed when the gym doors flew open and a flurry of camera flashes filled the room. A small group of press photographers backed into the gym as an entourage accompanied a woman into the room. She wasn’t physically imposing, but her stylish suit and turtleneck, along with a luchadora mask and posture, radiated confidence.
A young trainee, barely a teenager, curious and eager to help, started to approach the group. "Excuse me, is there anything I can—"
Before he could finish, one of the entourage members shoved him aside. "Out of the shot, kid."
Cutie paused her workout, her eyes narrowing. She walked over to the group, her gloved hands still clenched. "Hey, what's the big idea? This is a gym, not a red carpet."
As she spoke, another member of the entourage moved to shove her aside. But Cutie was quicker; she sidestepped and pushed him away with her gloved fist. “Bad idea, buddy.”
Before the man could retaliate, the masked woman raised a hand to stop him. She looked Cutie up and down, her gaze lingering on the gloves. "¿Quién eres tú?" she asked, her voice tinged with a Mexican accent.
"Cutie Hondo. I’m a fighter in the WVBA Women’s Circuit. And who might you be?" Cutie retorted, her eyes meeting the masked woman's icy gaze.
The man Cutie had shoved earlier answered indignantly, "You're speaking to the former 4-time Campeona Mexicana de Lucha Libre Femenil, undefeated MMA fighter, and soon-to-be WVBA Women's Champion—'La Realeza del Anillo,' Reina Adora."
Glass Joe, who had stopped his speed bag workout to see what the commotion was about, approached the group. "Ah, 'The Royalty of the Ring,' is it? Seems a bit presumptuous, non?"
Reina turned her attention to Glass Joe. "Is that a challenge, Francés?" she inquired, her tone cold.
Glass Joe straightened his posture, but met her gaze. "Non, mademoiselle. Just an observation. One must earn their titles here."
Cutie chimed in, "He's right. Your past accomplishments won't mean much in the WVBA. But you're welcome to put in the work, join us in the gym, and prove yourself in the ring."
The man Cutie had shoved earlier opened his mouth, as if offended, but Reina cut him off. "I'm here to see the competition, not to join it. I have a private gym. No need to associate with those I'll be defeating soon enough."
Cutie clenched her fists, her eyes narrowing. "Then maybe you should leave. This is a place to train and hone the art of boxing, not a studio for a photoshoot."
Reina smiled at Cutie, her eyes twinkling behind her mask. "I hope I face you soon, Señorita Hondo. Me encantaría noquearte," she said, her words dripping with anticipation.
“There’s a ring right there, kamen no josei,” Cutie replied, “Kite. Kite. Makeru no ga kowaidesu ka?”
Glass Joe stepped beside Cutie and put his hand on her shoulder, sensing her rising tension. "Let it go, Cutie. She'll learn soon enough."
With that, Reina smiled at Cutie, then she and her entourage turned on their heels and exited the gym, the door closing behind them with a resounding thud. The camera flashes ceased, but the tension they'd left in their wake remained.
#punch out#punch-out#punch-out!!#super punch out#super punch-out#super punch-out!!#punch out wii#punch-out wii#punch-out!! wii#punch out oc#punch-out oc#punch-out!! oc#punchout#superpunchout#punch out fanfic#punch-out fanfic#punch-out!! fanfic#wvba#cutie hondo#reina adora#von kaiser#glass joe
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"Imagine that. People who write for TV showing their passion for TV like any other fan hahaha :P My fics are nothing to be intimidated by, so at least there's that."
Long-form fiction is a completely different way of thinking about story from dialogue and character/camera cues. There's all that exposition and introspection, so fandom writers are way ahead of us :) Plus, there are other occupational hazards: I keep thinking, "We'll have to hire a snake handler/stunt specialist/intimacy coordinator," or "Do I really want to shoot where there are centipedes and scorpions?" and "What are the tax incentives of [insert state]?" Production costs and logistics are always at the back of my mind when I write.
MT doesn't want me to read her fic, but I did comment on one of her scenes, so my thoughts on that should be somewhere further back on the blog. I've read one story, which was beautifully evocative (and I'd love to see how that writer's skill set would translate to scriptwriting). There's definitely talent in the fandom regardless of what your day job entails :D
"Writers with a lot more power like LaToya or SF, I don't know. I'd have to read something of theirs to find out :P"
I just grope around in the dark until something takes shape :P I'm a decent plotter and that's pretty much all there is to my supposed superpower. (I need to visualize that one scene in my mind, which will set the tone for the project, before I can break a plot.) Finding time for extracurricular writing is the problem, but you could've already read something of mine and not noticed because it was unremarkable. Online comments on my work tend to run the full spectrum—you can't have an ego in this business or it'll be a one giant bruise lol
[SF]
Makes sense you'd have to remember to take your production hat off. Occasionally I'll find myself wondering if something I write is going to clear, but for the most part it's the exposition, introspection, and oh god sensory detail I struggle with. While I do like some extra emotional language in my scripts if possible, I'm used to having to be concise, letting the scenes speak for themselves, and relying on others to help me fill in the details. I get overwhelmed at the prospect of having an unlimited amount of space to describe where someone is, what they're thinking, what they're hearing, tasting, smelling, etc. So yes, lots of respect for the amazing fic writers out there who have all of that down. I will probably stick to writing scenes from now on (you're allowed to read those lol). Unless I get an idea in my head that I can't fight no matter how hard I try. We all know how that goes.
Hear you on the time constraints for sure. It's also possible we've read something of yours, thought it was spectacular, and just don't know to connect it to you. I completely agree being a professional writer doesn't make someone more qualified to contribute to fandom. But I also like to think that most women don't get to your position without having a modicum of talent that can still translate to different mediums. Which is just to say, I'm confident there's room at the table for you among the greats. Including but not limited to @silversundown2 @waynedunlaptheorgandonor @spanishrose2002 @gunmetal-ring @lighteneverything @rubberchickeny, @sienna27, fairiesmasquerade (I still need to check out sienna's and fairies' work, but I take everyone's word for it), and if she doesn't mind, I'd also like to give a special shoutout to TheWrotetoFreedom on 9L. Friends, if you haven't read her stories, please do, especially if you're looking to fill the spinoff void. By the end, you'll be dying for more just like I am 0.o
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Fic: Righteous Anger
Klaine Spring Fling: regular
Words: ~1400 words
Rating: Teen and up
Summary: Our favorite missionaries brace themselves for an encounter with Elder Clarington.
This is part of my Mormon!Klaine universe. It takes place a few days after the scene I posted yesterday,Look Once.
My Mormon!Klaine Masterpost. (More recent posts are in bold.)
Notes: Elder Nixon is Warbler Trent. Elder Clarington, like his canon counterpart, is a douche bag. As such, expect incidental anti-Catholic sentiment, gender role ridiculousness, and homophobia.
––––
The day’s weather forecast predicted unseasonable warmth. Kurt broke out his short-sleeved button-ups from where they were stored in his suitcase, sliding them neatly into the drawer next to the long-sleeved ones—short-sleeved on the right, long-sleeved on the left, because otherwise they looked exactly the same and he would never be able to tell which was which without unfolding them.
He would be so glad when he returned home and could have a regular wardrobe with anything-but-regular shirts, each one different from the next. He wasn't going to keep a single white button-down from his mission, not even for sacrament meeting. He wouldn't be involved in blessing or distributing the sacrament anymore, so no one could make him. The new bishop would just have to put up with him wearing what he wanted.
“Whoa. That’s … fitted.” Elder Anderson’s eyes went wide when Kurt entered the kitchen. He was also wearing short sleeves, but they were normal missionary fit, with an inch or two of give around the bicep. Kurt’s, on the other hand, came close to cutting off his circulation when he lifted his hands above his head. He knew he’d grown since last summer—he’d let both of his winter suits out twice—but he hadn't bothered checking his summer shirts in that time. He hadn't expected to need to wear any until June, maybe even July.
“I was worried about that,” Kurt grumbled. He started to turn around. “I'll change.”
“No. You don't have to do that. It looks fine. It's not like your buttons are popping off or anything. And it's going to be really warm today.”
“I don't want to get in trouble with Elder Clarington.”
“Elder Clarington can take a long walk off a short pier.”
Kurt felt himself smirk. "Is my sass rubbing off on you?”
“I've always had sass. It's not my fault if you haven't noticed.” Elder Anderson winked. “Anyway, you could always wear your jacket around him. We won't be hanging out with him that long, and you shouldn't have to suffer through a hot day just for a few minutes with him. Besides, he might not notice.”
“Elder Clarington notices everything.”
“Well, if he notices, I'll ask him why he's staring at your hot body. That'll shut him up, right?”
Kurt snickered. “Ooh. Good way to use his homophobia against him. I like the way you think.” And, yup, Elder Anderson was definitely straight. No Mormon guy who had any inkling of same-sex attraction would be so bold in declaring his objective assessments about the visual appeal of other men. Though Kurt shouldn't let himself believe that Elder Anderson appreciated his body even on an objective level. He was just brainstorming ways to needle Elder Clarington.
They met Elder Clarington and his companion, Elder Nixon, at the bus stop near the branch building after lunch. It was already creeping toward the mid-twenty degrees Celsius by the time they arrived; Kurt had made the right choice to stick with his snug short sleeve shirt, otherwise he would've been sweating like a pig from biking the five kilometers from their previous appointment. As it was, he regretted that he had to roll down his pant legs now that he was off his bike. His calves would have appreciated the breeze.
It was good to see Elder Nixon, if not Elder Clarington. Kurt had been companions with him many transfers ago. He was unassuming and gentle, rarely speaking up unless something really irritated him. Predictably, he could hardly get in a word edgewise next to Elder Clarington. They had barely exchanged guten Tags when Elder Clarington launched into, “So how did your Catholic mass go down on Sunday, elders?”
“Ha, ha,” said Kurt. “You do know that George Frideric Handel was a Protestant, don't you?”
“Of course I knew that.” Elder Clarington’s tone belied his assertion. He didn’t know jack about Handel, or music, or what made worship ‘Catholic.’ Rumor was he had never stepped into a single historical cathedral during his entire time in Germany, because he would have no part of ‘the great and abominable church’ and ‘whore of Babylon,’ even though it was no longer official Mormon doctrine to attach those appellations to Roman Catholicism. “You still didn't answer my question.”
“We have no answer for your question,” Kurt said, trying to keep his voice even. “We didn't attend a Catholic mass on Easter.”
“But we did attend sacrament meeting. And it was wonderful,” interjected Elder Anderson. “We had so many investigators—Doro and Stefan included, of course. But also some students from our English group, and a woman we helped with moving, and—"
Elder Clarington didn't seem to be listening. His eyes passed over Kurt’s arms, but didn't linger there. They wandered up to his hair, assessing its length, then over to Elder Anderson’s hair, before finally landing on Elder Anderson’s chest. “What's up with that tie, Elder Anderson?”
Elder Nixon frowned apologetically.
“It’s a … tie?” Elder Anderson said.
“It has pink in it." Elder Clarington said this like it was a significant fact. "Pink is a girl’s color.”
It barely had pink in it. Just thin pink pinstripes against a light blue background. Besides— “Pink isn't a girl’s color,” said Elder Anderson. “Colors don't have gender. And it's perfectly acceptable under the dress code.”
“No, it's not. You're not supposed to wear anything that would distract from the message. Wearing pink is like announcing you're gay, and I don't know why you would want to confuse people like that when you’re not and the church doesn't condone that behavior. Just ask your companion. He struggles with same-sex attraction and, while don’t completely understand why the prophet would send someone like that on a mission, I find comfort in the fact that at least he dresses appropriately. I have never seen him wear pink, because he knows this is a mission and we are representatives of the Church of Jesus Christ. You are going to confuse investigators.”
Elder Anderson looked like he’d forgotten how to exhale. His lips were pursed and the edges of the ears were as red as lava. “With all due respect, Elder Clarington, keep Elder Hummel and your thinly veiled homophobia out of this. If you don't like my tie, fine. But you have no valid reason in your role as zone leader to criticize it—or Elder Hummel.”
Elder Nixon flashed a secretive smile at Kurt. I like him, he mouthed.
Kurt’s heart pitter-pattered. It always thought of his companion as … not exactly a pushover. More like, accommodating to a fault. This side of Blaine? Direct and full of righteous anger? Kurt liked it.
“And,” Elder Anderson continued, “I would appreciate if you don't bring that hostile attitude of yours into your baptismal interview with our investigators. They are very nice people and deserve to be treated with respect.”
“Hey," Elder Clarington said, holding his hands up like he was trying to wave back a barking dog. "I respect investigators. I respect you. I just want to make sure that you are respectful of your role as a missionary, Elder Anderson. Clearly, we have a different understanding of what that means. But since it's just a tie, I won't report it to President Steele.”
Elder Nixon finally spoke up. “Oh, come on, Elder Clarington. You know President Steele would give you the biggest, longest lecture of your life if you wasted his time with that. We both know the real reason he named you a district leader is because you complained about everybody else’s leadership so much, he wanted you to learn the hard way how difficult it is to do the job.”
“That's not true!” Elder Clarington’s cheeks flamed red. “He was inspired. Leaders make their decisions by inspiration.”
"And you don't think God could inspire President Steele to put you in your place?” Elder Nixon was on fire. It was beautiful to see. Elder Anderson was right. There really was a difference between self-centered anger and righteous anger. “Now, can you stop berating our fellow missionaries so we can get on with what we're here to do, which is to help their baptismal candidates move closer to the covenant path?”
“Ugh. The three of you. You’re, like, the kumbaya choir, aren't you? Whatever. You all are boring me." And then, as if it had been his idea all along, Elder Clarington added, “Let's stop wasting time and go do God’s work.”
#mormon!klaine#wowbright writes fic#klaine spring fling#Spring fling 2: Electric Boogaloo#klaine fanfiction#my klaine spring fling
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Hi Luta!
In one of your recently answered asks you mentioned the popularity of vampire books. I'd love to hear your thoughts on why you think people like them so much!
(no pressure, though! if you don't feel like replying, then don't!)
Hey Hey Bestie!
I warned in the last Ask that this would be long but here ya go.
Before starting let me explain a little bit about Blood Kink. Blood fetishes are a form of edge play (Any sexual activity involving the risk of physical harm), or extreme BDSM sexual behavior that’s more dangerous than other kinds of fetishes. This particular kink can cover many different aspects such as cutting one another with knives, needles, surgical instruments, and or smearing blood across a lover’s body or on objects, participating in vampirism, or just enjoying the sensation and visual image of bloodletting. I'll only explain enough to fit the context of the above question. Otherwise, we would be here all day with all the subcategories. Honestly, we might still be here all day because I’m still covering a lot.
We often encounter Vampires in horror movies or Gothic/Romance fiction. Many people across the world have a fascination or fantasy involving Vampires. More still there are those that practice it in real life. Vampirism is the desire to see, feel, and taste blood. What is the fascination with Vampires and Vampirism? Let’s first talk about blood so we can then understand the vampire aspect. Blood is our life force, yet it's something that many people fear. Blood is also one of the most sensual and intimate fluids we can share outside of sex. A way of connecting two people forever.
What’s the psychology of it? A vampire derives intense pleasure, bordering on sexual excitement, from the sight, feel, and taste of blood. The vampire responds positively to the sight of blood and is driven to be covered in it and taste it. Some would consider this a disorder to which I disagree. If this is indeed an impulse-control disorder, it exists in many so-called normal people.
Most of the literature on vampirism comes from societies with strict governments and a need for violence. This could include war or just plain survival of the fittest. Where a male and in some cases female, is expected to use violence to defend themselves or families against threats. Where it wasn’t unusual to expect to spill another man’s blood during one’s life. Such action would result in the sight, feel, and taste of blood. In which case, it would be unhelpful to feel nauseated. In fact, one should feel excited. To feel exhilarated over beating one's enemy, further cementing the positive feelings associated with blood.
We still have a word for that: “bloodlust” or “bloodthirsty.” Today, we hear and say those words without fully understanding their original meaning. They refer to a mental state that used to be common in another time and is still prevalent in some areas of the world. Though for the civilized parts of the world we’ve now gotten to the point in which many don’t understand it. To the point that we now see it as weird and mental.
So now that we’ve talked about the fascination or attraction of blood. What’s the attraction of vampires? The one who participates in blood play. Vampires have held our fascination for hundreds of years. They have gone from something people believed were real, to a fictional creature but none the less something you should fear in the night, to lost souls, and then to lovers.
Vampires are predators above anything else. They are often attributed to having lightning speed, supernatural strength and agility, and abnormal night vision. I mean what chance does anyone have against such a hunter. Therefore, Vampires equal protection and that speaks to a large portion of us that have felt unsafe. Vampires can live forever so in essence, never leave you. They are bad boys so not only is there an innate draw to the darkness in us but also the fact that they will destroy the world for you. Add the blood appeal to this and you’ve got a tantalizing combination. I’m more likely to ask, who wouldn’t be fascinated but them? If you’ve read close enough though, you should be able to answer that question as well.
Hope this answered your question and you found it interesting.
Now for the disclaimer. For the love of all that is unholy do not fucking steal this. I’m looking at you TikTok and Twitter. Normally I would ignore you, but this is a dangerous kink. If I see this on any other social media sites without a clear indicator on how to reach me, I will go after you in such a way that you will not recoup. Test me. I will find your ass and your parents because this is not for you to use to gain popularity. You are not able to, nor should you be answering the type of DMs that this type of post can bring. Someone who went to an amateur vampire party to only find out that not everyone showed their std card and what should they do? Posting BDSM is all fun and games until you realize there are real responsibilities involved.
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totally not trying to be rude i promise i'm just curious and nosy. you identify as pagan but i see you talk a lot about god and the bible, you post some religious imagery aesthetics, can i ask why that. like do you still believe in god or is it a religious trauma reclaiming thing?
Oh now here's an interesting question. No worries, I don't find it rude! Hope you enjoy my inability to give a short answer.
TLDR: Yes, I have religious trauma that affects my engagement with media and no, I don't believe in God and I *definitely* have no desire to worship him. Hypothetically, if he does exist, I intend to bite him. The majority of my deities are from the Greek pantheon and that's where my rather eclectic faith lies. I have an appreciation for the bible as a work of fiction and enjoy certain kinds of biblical themes/imagery in visual, literary, and narrative media. I don't generally think of that as "reclaiming," rather, it's my unique way of engaging with it in a form that benefits my mental health and sense of self. I'm mindful of engaging with Abrahamic religion in a culturally respectful manner (i.e., I'm pro-Jewish) and I have zero ill intent towards Christians that respect other people's rights and don't wield their religion as a political weapon. I also have a great deal of compassion for people who are victims of religious abuse/manipulation/exploitation, such as individual Jehovah's Witnesses.
Now, let's get into the long version under the cut! Naturally, I'm gonna bring up Hannibal Lecter, but did you really expect any different?
First, context. Something I talk about a lot is being an ex-Jehovah's Witness. Now, an important detail is that I was born into the religion. As soon as I could speak, my parents taught me to say "Jehovah," because that was God's name. As soon as I could read, they gave me a picture book with bible stories in it. By the time I hit 14, I was baptized. It's a dedication thing for JWs, so you have to have some level of maturity for baptism, (take that with a grain of salt since I've seen a lot of little kids get baptized and *I* certainly wasn't ready to make that kind of commitment and would 100% go back and change it if I could) and be able to explain the doctrine in detail. In their words, it's like marrying your faith. I got involved in full-time door to door ministry after that. De-indoctrination wasn't an easy process--perhaps I'll tell that story in another post sometime--and concepts of God and the bible are imprinted deep into my mind as a result of religion ruling the first 17 years of my life. I've had more time as a JW than I've had outside of it and it'll be a happy day when I've aged enough for that to stop being true. So, as you can imagine, that knowledge and attachment doesn't just disappear. Some people distance themselves far enough that it ceases to matter but that hasn't really worked for me personally.
So, where does that leave me? Well... Really, really weird about God. See, I put my faith largely into the Greek pantheon and worship my deities through witchcraft and cooking. Capital-G God has become more of a loose concept for me. Objectively, no, I don't believe he exists. On a more abstract level, on the tiny off chance I'm wrong, I am pissed at that guy. I'll raise hell at the pearly gates cuz I got words for the big man. If he's real, I find him unworthy of worship. Which is why Hannibal Lecter's concept of God as a killer intrigues me. It makes the whole notion easier to digest. (hah, see what I did there?) Hannibal doesn't worship God, doesn't pray, but does believe on some level--the depth of which depends on interpretation and the specific adaption--and is interested in God. Even though my feelings aren't exactly the same, oh man I get that. If God is not love, but power and wrath, then my whole story makes more sense to me. I find it quite poetic and oddly comforting, actually.
The point is, examining the bible as a work of fiction has made my religious trauma easier to confront. Seeing the bible not as something to live by, not the inspired word, just a book of stories. In that perspective, the bible offers some really fascinating themes and imagery. It's been woven into so many creative works since. We've all seen the jokes about The Inferno being a self-insert fic or Supernatural being bible fanfiction (though, another grain of salt and some awareness there as Eric Kripke is Jewish) and those are just two examples of the myriad body of art that's drawn inspiration from it. Regardless of your feelings on Abrahamic religion, its cultural impact has been enormous, even if it is important to acknowledge the measurable societal harm it's caused. These two truths can coexist.
I've yet to take any religious studies classes, so what I know about these texts is based in my childhood religion and subsequent independent study/discussion. My personal frame of reference is largely exclusive to Christianity but I'm always seeking to learn new things. I welcome diverse perspectives in any matter. When discussing antifascism and its history, I often repeat the sentiment that it's not enough to be anti-Nazi, you also need to be pro-Jewish. When fighting against something, you must also fight for something. I fully support religious freedom as a fundamental right. My beliefs and opinions are my own. It's not my place to disrespect someone's faith, so long as that faith doesn't result in objectively harmful actions or negatively affect larger-scale politics. It's simply not my business. Fundamentalist Christians that raise children with severe trauma and use it as an excuse to restrict reproductive care or oppress minorities? That is my business and fair game for criticism.
In conclusion, I don't think of my engagement with Christian religious text and concepts as "reclaiming" anything other than my own spiritual agency. Doing so has been good for my sense of identity and it's benefited my mental health. Hence one reason I'm pro-ship: I know fiction and art can soothe the tough process of addressing trauma. Just because my choice of content isn't Dead Dove-related doesn't undermine the overall idea that fiction is a vessel for people to take their power back. So yeah, my relationship with the concept of God is complicated. I love biblical themes and I almost always pull that thread when it's presented to me. Food for thought :)
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Okay now I'm determined to get this ball scene done idk why my brain won't let me type it's not even a hyper detailed scene or anything wtf pls brain I'm begging u let me type this shit out
The party's in full swing almost immediately, once cas and luca took the floor others followed their example, the ballroom was full of laughs and loud conversations, gossip and information being spread amongst the staff and guests. The atmosphere was fantastic and bright
When luca finally managed to slip away from the King and cas, he found raf in a further corner of the room drinking with some of his friends from around the castle, singing and laughing while, to lucas chagrin, women were flocked around the man, hanging on his words and arms, practically throwing themselves at him. Lucas eye twitched at the sight.
The gaggle of giggles and swoons were pretty much silenced as he approached the group. All of the guests turned toward him with birthday wishes and compliments on his attire, all except the one woman who clung to rafs bicep as she spoke, not noticing raf wasn't paying attention to her any longer, his attention focused solely on his prince, as it should be. Luca practically preened under his gaze as he came to stand next to the taller, taking rafs hand in his own before turning to the lady still latched onto him.
"My apologies, Miss, but Mr Marcello is actually my personal guest this evening, so I'll have to steal him away from you."
Luca lays his hand over her own as he pries raf away from her claws, voice like honey as he speaks, but raf can see the sharpness in his stare, they need to move before luca says something less polite
"Sorry about this, Miss, I can't be disappointing my- our prince on his birthday though, can I?"
She reluctantly let's go as he moves over to luca, placing his hand on the shorters lower back, which earns a glance from the woman, colour filling her cheeks and eyes widening with realisation as she bows to the pair
"O-Of course, your highness, I'm terribly sorry. I had no idea that he was your guest, I hope you both enjoy your evening, now, if you'll please excuse me"
Raf watches he scurry off with a raised brow as he's led away from the table by luca, he turns to the other
"Mr Marcello? Really? If I had known you get jealous so easily, I'd flirt more often~"
Luca shoots him a glare
"I'm kidding! Come on birthday boy~ You know you're the only one for me"
He says this as he squeezes lucas hand lightly
"I know, I just like hearing you say it~"
Luca replies with a teasing smile on his lips, raf scoffs in return
"Touché"
Luca laughs as he leads them both into the middle of the floor, heads turn to watch and see who the Prince has chosen to bring with him tonight. Whispers fill the crowd as they speculate about who this man is, a lover, perhaps? A fiancé? Raf sweats a little under their stares
The king overhears and clears up with a few people that Rafael is lucas personal gaurd, a close friend. They take the information but all of them don't buy it
"Are you sure you want to do this with me? Everyone's already talking. " Raf asks with a wary smile as he moves his hands to lucas hand and waist
"Oh, let them talk. I'm getting at least one dance with you tonight. Now stop thinking and just be with me here, right now, it's just us."
I'm of course not writing this bit in detail I'm genuinely not arsed to rn like idk the ins and outs of dance I just enjoy the visual and those two just being together laughing and dancing and aaaaa. Here's the song they're dancing to BTW I adore it
The dance comes to an end, and the pair stand together for a minute, sharing breaths and a loving look as the small crowd that had formed cheers the performance
"I need you" luca says softly, eyes not leaving rafs as his hands fist into the older sleeves
"You have me."
His eyes dart away, smile turning bashful as he moves to tug raf away from the crowd
"No, Rafael. I need you, now."
Raf clears his throat, tugging at his collar, suddenly feeling like he's wearing far too many layers as they slip out of the ballroom and down one of the many empty hallways. Once they're far from prying eyes, luca stops, turning to face the other
"I want to run away with you. I want to do everything we've talked about. I want to sail, I want to visit new places, I want to live my life with you, if you'll have me."
His eyes are welled with emotion as he speaks, rafs own heart hammering in his chest as he takes lucas face in his hands, leaning down to press their foreheads together
"I wouldn't be able to go on without you. You make me feel ways I've never felt, that I couldn't even begin to try and explain. We were meant to be Luca. It wasn't an accident or coincidence. It was fate, and we both know it. We complete each other. I want you beside me."
Lucas tears slip as he looks at Raf, eyes hopeful as he speaks quietly between them.
"Forever?"
"Always."
This wasn't even well written and I'm getting emo wtf I love these two so much god think about how good this will be when I'm actually capable and not cringe in how I say things I'll be unstoppable.
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Angels Roll Their Eyes (2/2)
(gif: @toesure) (PART ONE)
Summary: Hurricane Agatha approaches Kildare Island during the aftermath of the eventful Fourth of July party. JJ and Y/N are determined to continue avoiding each other after what happened at the party, but John B has other plans for them.
Warnings: Smut, strong language, angst, implied physical abuse, depictions of anxiety/panic attacks, and sickeningly sweet fluff.
Word Count: 24k
A/N: Here we goooo! To celebrate the trailer dropping today, here’s part two to Devils Roll The Dice. If you haven’t read the first part, I suggest you read it and come back so this makes sense. This one has all the drama and spice, so buckle up! Thank you for the love and support on the first part. Let me know if you enjoyed this and have fun, cause I had a blast writing it.
Hurricane Agatha.
It was the first thing she heard about as soon as she woke up yesterday to the sound of her phone blaring with an obnoxious tone that reminds her of waking up too early in the morning for work or school.
Her sleepy eyes couldn't make out who was calling, so she pressed the button to answer and lifted the phone to hear her mom's voice squawking through the speaker at her about the hurricane projected to hit the island in the middle of the night tonight.
The problem is, her parents are out of town this week, leaving her all alone to prep the house and endure the storm alone. And for someone who flinches whenever she thinks she hears the sound of thunder in the sky, that is the worst it can get.
It's a fear her friends are conscious of. One time when they were out on the HMS Pogue, a quick summer storm started to drift overhead and it took all of her self control to not fall into a blind panic when thunder began to rumble above. John B was already steering them back in the direction of the Chateau but she knew it would do nothing to calm her nerves until she was back inside of the house.
The anxiety was starting to become too overwhelming when JJ sat down beside her and threw his arm over her shoulder. It was their first month of knowing one another, so the casual friendly gesture made her jump at first and turn her head to look at him, but he acted like everything was normal.
The next person to notice was John B. With JJ currently out of commission, the only person she thought to call to help her prep the house for the incoming storm was him. Since they never got hurricanes up where she used to live her whole life, she needed someone who's been through a couple to help her while her parents weren't home.
That's how she ended up here. Sweating bullets in the front yard of her house as she unloads the contents of the van with John B was not how she envisioned her Saturday night to go, but she's glad she has someone who's willing to help.
In the past five months of being with the Pogues, she's learned that it's lovely to have friends. She never used to have any before she moved, so in situations like this or when she got so drunk at the party, she never would've had anyone to be there for her. It's quiet moments of kindness and companionship like this that make her realize how much better life has been on the other side of uprooting everything to move here—self-inflicted boy drama and all.
The sandbag on her shoulder sends a growing ache through her back muscles with every step she takes to follow him up the length of unpaved dirt path up to her front door. As usual, he makes it look way easier than it is, and it almost makes her want to laugh at how different they are.
Most of her new friends are effortless, naturally picking up anything they decide to try at while she is inept by comparison. It's part of what attracted her to JJ in the first place. He may have his insecurities the same way every other individual does, but in her eyes, he has nothing to be insecure of. Even when he wipes out on a wave and appears out of the water with sand clumped in his salt-kissed strands of blonde hair, he manages to make it look cool.
"What are you smiling about?"
John B's laughter makes her look up from where she concentrated on the dirt path to see him looking back at her. He stands at the entrance to her house with the rest of the sandbags they carried up placed meticulously in front of the door to prevent water from entering the house. They did the same thing with the back door an hour ago.
Is she smiling? She hadn't even realized her expression changed from one of exhaustion and fear at the dark clouds closing in above to a grin, so her face instantly drops in guilt. After running out on JJ for the second time two days ago to go to work, any mention of him from their friends has left her drowning in shame.
She can't recall the bulk of her memories from the night of the Fourth of July party, but she fills in the gaps between those flashes of memory with what their friends told her about it.
Thanks to her overindulgence, there are holes poked in the fabric of her memory.
It jumps from her last fully sober moment of seeing JJ across the room with the kook girl to dancing clumsily with Kie to the floral scent of her makeup wipes that she can't attach a specific visual image to.
Then, she can remember waking up with a start in the middle of the night to throw up in a pot beside the bed while he held back her hair. Before John B explained it, she was quite confused after waking up about how she somehow got from being jealous over JJ flirting with another girl to waking up in the same bed as him.
She grunts as she plops the last sandbag down into place and decides to take a seat on the steps leading up to the door.
"It wasn't anything special," Y/N says and watches him come down to sit next to her, "I was just thinking about taking something so I can pass out and avoid having a panic attack over this stupid storm."
Unlike JJ, she isn't that skilled of a liar. It's obvious to anyone who knows her well when she does it based on the way her eye contact begins to drift away and her voice raises in pitch when she speaks. She's too honest with her friends to handle keeping secrets from them, which is why it's been so difficult for her with everything that has happened recently. Not only does she lie to the Pogues, she also avoids them by association in the process of trying to avoid JJ.
Regardless of how obvious her bluffing is, John B doesn't call her out on it. Instead, he focuses on a different part of what she said.
"Are you sure you're gonna be okay alone? I know your parents are out of town till next week..." he trails off into concerned silence.
The tip of her sneaker hangs off of the edge of the bottom step and absentmindedly digs a line into the dirt as she takes in his question.
Being alone when she's prone to panicking is a recipe for disaster. Anxiety and loneliness have a relationship similar to that of a weapon and ammunition. It takes very little for her to fall down the rabbit hole of obsessive thinking and break down into a hyperventilating, fearful mess, especially when no one else is there to tug her out of those dark thoughts.
Most of the time, the people who help her with that are her parents. If they're home during one of these episodes, she'll come stumbling downstairs to them from her room for help, and they'll do everything they can to bring her down from hysterics. Her friends, on the other hand, have yet to witness her have one of those moments.
"Having people with me helps, you know? But it is what it is, I'll just try to cope the best I can and hope for the best."
He nods, and though he's a portrait of understanding, she wonders if he finds it as juvenile and stupid as she does.
Logically, she knows that this anxiety is something many people experience. She understands that it's something that is mostly out of her control but can't help but tear herself apart over it.
She thinks to herself, What kind of weirdo can't sit inside during a thunderstorm or hurricane without losing their shit? Why am I not the one in control of my own mind when this happens?
Do her friends think similar things? Do they think it's as pathetic as she does, or is she just paranoid that they pick her flaws apart as much as she does? And, of course, she wonders what JJ would think if he saw her panic like that. He may have seen her start to become anxious on the HMS Pogue, but he hasn't seen her panic panic before, not in the way that her parents have, and she wonders if he'd think less of her for it.
Right when she's about to change the topic and steer him away from a chance to think of how ridiculous she's being about the approaching hurricane, he says something that makes her look back over at him.
"Then come spend the night at the Chateau. I can distract you. We can play board games and shit."
"Really?" she asks.
The idea of anyone wanting to waste an entire night playing board games and possibly signing themselves up for having to talk her down from a panic attack makes her heart melt.
"Yeah, why not? You need a friend tonight. You know any of us would do anything for you. You're like my little sister, dude, we'd all probably hack off a limb if we thought it'd help you. Especially JJ."
John B's last second name-drop is designed specifically for where he wants this conversation to go. Underneath the need to get his friends back to normal, he does feel a little guilty for having to do this. She thinks he's only offering to let her stay with him to help her—and he is, even if there weren't a rift between her and JJ, he'd still offer—but he has a different reason.
"Right," she says softly. "Speaking of which...is he gonna be there tonight?"
With how often he escapes his house to spend a night or two in temporary safety at the Chateau, it's not an unfounded assumption. He and John B spend more time together than any of them because of this, and when she goes over to hang out, she knows that he and JJ often come as a package deal.
He tries to play it cool and not give up anything that could make her suspicious of him, looking off at the van parked in the driveway as he takes a second to collect his thoughts. It's never easy for him to deceive people he cares about, even if it's for their own good. It wasn't easy when he invited JJ to spend the night a few hours ago with the knowledge that he'd soon invite Y/N too either, but he managed.
As always, Pope is the brains behind this operation. He was the one to suggest inviting them both over to wait out Agatha together when the three of them put their heads together to come up with a solution to their oblivious friends' drama. After JJ stormed out of the house the morning after the party, they knew they had to do something about it. This was what it came to.
"Nah. I offered but he said he's staying at home until this whole thing blows over."
He isn't sure why she buys into it.
She knows JJ well enough to know that he would literally rather eat glass than be trapped in a confined space with his dad for an entire day. Perhaps it's only because it's what she wants to believe. She wants to believe that she won't have to see him again tonight after everything that happened. How can she handle having to tell him why got so drunk that night and made an ass of herself? She can't bear to tell him all of that unnecessary drama started because she was jealous.
What right does she have to feel that way? He isn't hers. They aren't together, and she thinks it's quite obvious that he doesn't want a relationship out of whatever it is they have together. It was one night. She has no right to be mad at him for flirting with other girls because of it.
"Then I'll definitely be taking you up on that offer. Thank you," she says.
The old wooden stairs make a squealing sound when she stands to make her way inside to gather her things for the night, but the feeling of a warm hand gripping her forearm stops her mid-step. Her eyes follow down the length of her arm back to where he sits, glancing at her with this knowing look in his eyes that makes her want to turn and hide.
"When are you gonna talk things out with him, Y/N?" he asks. "He misses you."
Since the party, no one has had the courage to burst her bubble of pretending not to care until now, but now that someone has, all of her bottled up emotions stir inside of her at a simple concept she hadn't considered yet.
JJ misses her.
For the first time since they began this stupid game of cat and mouse, she is confronted with how desperately she misses him back. So consumed with the task of concealing everything that happened and trying to avoid him, she hadn't acknowledged that all she ever really wants is to be with him lately.
She misses his jokes and the way he looks at her when she giggles at them. She misses his smile when they play fight on the HMS Pogue. She even misses when he dangles her over the edge of the boat as a means to end the wrestling match, making her squirm in his strong hold as he threatens to toss her overboard.
But what she misses most of all is how he never lets her fall in. It's something about the way he looks at her as he pulls her back onboard, how time itself seems to stop in the moment between when he's still holding her and when she feels her feet touch the deck again.
Then, they'll suddenly want nothing to do with each other for the next half hour.
JJ will make himself busy forgetting the way her hands felt holding onto his shoulders for dear life, burning the memory of her palm prints into his skin for the next few hours. And she'll try her hardest to forget that charming smile and the feeling of his arms around her. But it won't work, not really, and when they're both laying down to sleep at night, they'll have one thing keeping them awake.
She takes a second to internalize what he said and avoid exposing the effect it has on her to hear it before asking, "Did he tell you that?"
The sky overhead grows darker and darker by the second, but she has yet to notice it due to the topic of their conversation. With JJ involved, her attention shrinks to a tunnel leading only to him. There's no room for anything else but the audacious idea planted in the back of her mind that he might miss her as much as she misses him.
"No, he didn't," John B admits, and right when she's about to say more in response, he cuts her off, "but hear me out. I've known him since we were kids, so I can tell when things aren't right with him, and ever since your relationship with him got complicated, I picked up on some weird vibes."
Y/N doesn't give anything away with how she reacts. He can't tell if she's about to bolt like JJ did or stay to talk and open up to him. All she does is cross her arms over her chest and lean back against the railing.
"Weird in what way?"
"Weird in a way that makes me think you two have to talk it out before you ruin your friendship. I've never seen him act this way over a girl."
That doesn't surprise her. He has a reputation for chasing after any girl available to him, something the Pogues have gently teased him about, and it factors into why she doesn't want to have this dreaded conversation with him. She doesn't want to sit there and listen to him tell her that she was just another one of those girls to him.
Going for broke and being honest about what he thinks of their situation is a better strategy for trying to get her to talk to JJ than the other way around. John B can look back on what happened the morning after the party and see where they went wrong in their approach of trying to get him to talk, but she's less unpredictable and turbulent than he is. The fact that she's hearing him out is enough proof of their differences.
She sighs.
"I know we need to talk sooner or later, but it's hard, you know? I'm so embarrassed of how everything went down at the party, even though I was too fucked up to remember most of it, and I just—" There's a brief second that lapses between when she stops and when she starts again where he can almost see her working through it in her head. "I don't wanna get hurt."
John B's face falls at the mention of the party and her feelings surrounding it.
"You have nothing to be embarrassed of. You drank too much but who cares? The only person who should be embarrassed about that night is the guy that tried to take advantage of you."
That part is the most fuzzy in her mind.
She can remember what led up to it and the moment she saw JJ pull him away from her, but she can't remember anything about the interaction itself. It wasn't as if he did anything to her—not yet—but the thought of it alone makes her skin crawl because she's seen that before. She's been the JJ in that situation, pulling a wasted Touron away from someone who thought nobody would be looking out for other people at the party, and she knows how quickly those situations can escalate past "harmless" flirting.
The sound of JJ shouting at Tyler echoes in her mind as she reaches for any remaining memories left from the party. He said it right after he punched him, when he was starting to rush forward to follow him onto the ground and pin him there.
"If I see you near my girl again, you're fucking dead! You got that?"
She doesn't remember realizing that he called her that at the moment. She was confused and upset and all she wanted to do was stop him from getting himself in trouble, so she pulled him away from hitting Tyler again without realizing what he said. And even now, she tries to avoid acknowledging it. She reasons with herself, telling herself that he was pissed off and didn't mean it, because if he did, why hasn't he told her how he feels yet?
Y/N looks up and sees how dark the converging clouds have gotten in the time since they began working on prepping the house for the hurricane, so her next words are shakier than usual.
"I guess you're right." She pushes off of her spot against the railing. "But can we not talk about JJ tonight? I kind of wanna hang out and forget about the rest of the stuff I've got going on right now."
This makes him feel a pang of guilt inside of him for the ulterior motive he's kept hidden from her for the duration of the conversation, but he knows it's for the best. Even if her and JJ's inevitable conversation goes in the wrong direction and they don't end up mending fences, it's better that they let it out sooner than later. If they wait any longer, it'll make it worse, and he knows that they're stubborn enough to keep this childish game going for another week or so.
So, he keeps her in the dark for now and offers a kind, "Sure, that's cool with me," despite knowing how messy the night will soon become.
A smile pokes at the edges of her mouth, making the sides of her eyes crinkle, and she extends a hand to help him up from where he sits.
"Now," she says as they make their way inside the house for her to pack a bag, "are you ready to get absolutely crushed in Monopoly?"
It started to rain before they left her house, and by the time they pull into the driveway of the Chateau, it's pouring down on them with violent winds whipping droplets at their faces hard enough to hurt.
The rapid pace of her pulse beats with such an intensity, she can feel it in her head. They shouldn't have taken so much time at her place before heading over here. While she was packing, they talked and dilly-dallied the whole time, and now they pay the price for it.
If she knew that it would start this soon into the night, she probably would've hurried things along sooner, but it's too late. She's already starting to feel that tightness in her chest and each breath of air feels less satisfying with every inhale. It's not so bad that she loses complete control of herself, but it's getting there, and she can't express how badly she doesn't want to lose her shit in front of John B.
The passenger side door is slammed shut by the force of the wind behind her, the noise becoming swallowed up in the rest of the budding storm, and she stifles a sound of surprise that escapes her in reaction to it. They're lucky they made it here in the first place. Any later in the night and they probably would've had to take refuge at her place until it blew over.
She decides to focus on how the edges of her white sneakers are swallowed up by the muddy earth on her way through the front yard to distract herself. It stains them a deep brown color and simultaneously washes them clean from the rain coming down from above, which she'd probably be annoyed about if she weren't such a nervous wreck. But, because she's too busy keeping her backpack raised over her head to shield herself from the rain on her way up to the front door, it's not high up on her list of priorities.
Since both the screen door and the door behind it are unlocked, she doesn't hesitate to come bursting into the house as she usually does.
Y/N lets out a deep breath, feeling that telltale tension in her chest and shoulders, and laughs at the sight of John B running in as she kicks off her shoes. His t-shirt is speckled with rainwater, and his hair is saturated enough with it to stick to the sides of his face after he crosses the threshold into the Chateau.
The sound of her laughter makes JJ's heart stop from where he stands in the kitchen.
"There was an umbrella right on the dashboard, why didn't you take—"
Her heart might as well have stopped just as abruptly as the sentence she was in the middle of saying when she turned and saw him standing there.
Maybe they're both a tad too dramatic, but it takes a full few seconds for them to stop staring at each other in surprise. He looks like a deer in the headlights, eyes wide with surprise like he was caught doing something he shouldn't even though all he was doing was grabbing a beer from the fridge.
It's been two days since they last saw each other. For him, the last glimpse he got of her was when he peeked through the blinds to see her pedaling away on her bike to go to work, but hers was somewhat different.
The last time she saw him, he was asleep. Their legs were tangled together underneath the sheets and his face was smushed against her chest, allowing her to feel the soft puffs of his exhales on her skin every few seconds. It's a wonder that she managed to slip away unnoticed once she remembered she had work that morning. He was holding her closely, so closely that she found it hard to discern where she ended and he began in the dazed, hungover headspace she woke up in.
It's when the conversation she had with John B on the front steps of her house comes back to the forefront of her mind that she puts together what's happening right now. Now that they're here, it's far too late to leave. With how aggressively the wind and rain batter the area surrounding the house, it's obvious that they're not going anywhere.
It seems to click with them at the same time, because JJ turns to look at him only a half second after she does.
Y/N says, completely serious, "If you did what I think you did, I'm gonna kill you."
Before either of them can think of doing anything, John B shoots out from the doorway and runs past her in the direction of the hallway where his bedroom is.
"Gotta catch me first!"
They both chase him, JJ hopping over the back of the couch to run after him, but they end up coming to a screeching halt at the shut door right when they hear the lock turn and click.
Neither of them knows what they were planning to do when they caught him, cause it isn't like they'd hurt him, but they bang on the door nonetheless. The sound is drowned out by the sound of the wind and rain pounding the outside walls of the house, picking up speed, and for a second she wants to kick the door open.
She shouts, "John B! Open this door!"
The last thing she wanted tonight was to be trapped in a house with the one person she didn't want to see. Doesn't John B realize how embarrassing it is for her to be around him when she knows that he's gonna reject her? He may have said something about JJ never acting so weird over a girl before, but he's wrong. There's no way JJ actually wants her...right?
"I can't hear you, this storm's kinda loud!" he yells back at them through the locked door. "Maybe try again later!"
Neither of them wants to acknowledge the other. In fact, they don't even want to look at each other right now, so all they can do to stop themselves from acknowledging the elephant in the room is continue trying to get answers out of John B. What does he think that locking them together in the Chateau for the night will accomplish other than make them ignore their own drama and team up to plot their revenge on him?
Though he's significantly less angry than she is, JJ pulls the doorknob enough to make the door whine on its hinges and pleads with their friend, "This isn't funny, John B. Open the door."
"Not until you guys stop being immature and talk to each other."
She furrows her brows at him even though he can't see her, saying, "It's none of your business. You can't just trap us here cause you think you know what's best for us."
The sound of thunder rumbling above the house makes her flinch, hand shooting out to latch onto JJ's arm on an instinct she couldn't consciously resist. Feeling the warmth of his skin beneath her palm and the fingers clutched around his wrist sends shocks of familiar electricity up her body. Touching him always makes her feel hyperaware of herself, leaving her to wonder if he can sense her pulse picking up or notice how her breathing pattern turns uneven.
With that being said, it's safe to say that the night they spent together took that sensation of electricity and hyperawareness to a height it hadn't reached before.
That time, it wasn't a brush of their hands or an arm over her shoulder, it was the epitome of physical closeness. She couldn't handle it. He was so sickeningly sweet with her, yet, at the same time, he knew all of the right times to be commanding and in control too. There were awkward moments at first, sure, but once they became comfortable with each other, it was game over.
And whenever they've touched since, she hasn't been able to get those memories off of her mind. It's less prevalent now, since she's only holding onto him out of fear, but it's still there underneath it all—the unfiltered desperation of the lust in his eyes, the low noises that escaped his parted lips, and the strong pair of hands that pinned her hips down on the mattress to give him the leverage to really give it to her at the intensity she begged for.
It's pathetically easy for her to be sucked right back into the vortex of emotions, memories, and fears that haunt her whenever they touch, but he brings her back out of it just as easily when he speaks.
"You okay?"
John B was as good as forgotten by him as soon as he felt her jolt next to him and grab onto his wrist like she was hanging from a ravine and he was the only thing preventing her from falling. It makes him feel like a fool, but even when they're ignoring each other, the urge to comfort and protect her from anything that displeases her never disappears. He'd literally fistfight Zeus if it meant there'd be less thunder to scare her.
If he weren't hiding behind a locked door to avoid their wrath, JB would probably be calling him a simp right about now.
The concern on his face is so pure and unaffected by any of the chaos that surrounds them, both physical and emotional, that it makes her stomach turn with a sick feeling. God, he really does care about her. Why does that scare her? Why doesn't she want to believe that he cares? Why is she so set on believing that he wanted nothing more than a quick fuck from her?
Her eyes turn down to see their connected hands, realizing all in one moment what she did and pulling her hand away as if she were burned.
"I—Yeah," she stops, looking up at him, then back to the closed bedroom door, "I'm fine. You know how it is, it's just the storm."
They're both left with no choice but to face the music after days of avoidance that had no good reason behind it other than the respective doubts and fears they have. Yet even now that they're standing here, unsure of what comes next, they're hesitant to say or do anything that might disrupt the illusion they've created in the week and a half since they first ruined their friendship for good.
It feels as though the tension that has been boiling between them is coming close to turning explosive and all it will take is one tremor of their self-control for it to spill over.
Every feeling they have feels so contradictory. They want to but they also don't. They almost do it, then hesitate and decide to ignore each other for days. At the party, this tug of war game was at its peak for JJ when she was telling him about her jealousy and cuddling up to him, but he couldn't do it then, not when she was drunk. And by the time he had a whole night to think it over and see her biking away, he didn't want to risk it.
She looks away from him, hoping that "out of sight, out of mind" may ring true for once, and says to John B through the door, "Whatever, have fun. I won't hold JJ back when you finally come out of there though."
He won't actually do anything to him, maybe just a non-serious fight that'll end with her walking in on them rolling around on the floor trying to wrestle each other, but she likes to fuck with him anyway. For the dick move he just pulled, she thinks he can withstand a little teasing.
Without anything else to say, Y/N turns and walks off to make herself useful elsewhere—anything to distract from the buzzing, anxious energy that surrounds her from both the hurricane and being forced to confront JJ. She tries to play it cool though she is anything but at the moment, allowing herself to grimace once her back is turned to the blonde boy still standing against the wall in the hallway.
Maybe if she keeps pushing this false sense of normalcy, it'll work. It worked when they both started pretending things never happened between them initially after they had sex, so who's to say it can't work now?
All they have to do is get through the next 12-24 hours without talking and all will be well. Right?
They tried.
They truly tried to get through the night without inciting chaos within the Chateau, but, for these two idiots, not inciting chaos is a task easier said than done. Not only was John B much more stubborn with staying in his room than either of them bargained for, he didn't even attempt to speak to them for the first five hours and they were left with nothing to do but find new ways to avoid talking to each other.
It was simple in the beginning.
She went off on her own and sat with her headphones in to drown out the sounds of the storm.
With her eyes fluttered shut to block out anything but the sound of The Cure blasting into her ears, there was no reason for her to have to worry about anything once her nerves began to settle. Since the songs drowned out any sound and all she could see was darkness behind her closed eyelids, she was able to drift away with the distraction of the music.
The thing is, after a while, she started to see pieces of him in every song she skipped to. She made it a full minute into Just Like Heaven before a supercut of her most treasured memories of him began appearing in her head. Fade Into You? Skipped as soon as the first dreamy lyric flooded in through the tangled cords of the headphones. Cloud 9? Forty seconds in. By the time Dirty Little Secret came on, she decided that her playlist was mocking her.
The headphones were out of her ears, hastily wrapped up, and stowed away in the small pocket of her overnight bag before the chorus of the song could hit. Thankfully for her, JJ wasn't looking when she ripped the headphones out and put them away in a huff, so by the time he turned to see her again, she was laying down on the couch to "nap"—meaning she laid awake for another hour and cursed John B for making her endure this.
While she was daydreaming of a John B voodoo doll, JJ was worried about her.
Yes, the topic of their relationship/friendship/situationship/whatever-the-fuck-it-is was bombarding him against his will every five seconds, but not without him coming back to his concern for her. A small sound of thunder on an otherwise perfect day was enough to make her zone out and start getting antsy that day on the boat, so he didn't want to know how bad it could get during a time like this.
He tried to play it cool, and, in all honesty, his remaining scraps of sanity lasted a lot longer than hers. Four and a half hours passed, then, as the storm began to do its worst on their town, the power flickered out and left them in complete darkness. At that point, John B was passed out in his bedroom, so he didn't care nor notice when they had to find a few candles and stumble through the dark.
Somewhere along the way, having to search through the dark house for candles to light and place around the living room led them here...he isn't quite sure how.
JJ can hardly open his eyes enough to see through the rain that pounds against him the second he runs after her through the back door. The wind is so aggressive and unrelenting, it almost sends him stumbling a few steps when he follows her blurry figure a few paces behind where she tries to flee the house in a panic.
"Get back inside!" he shouts as he picks up his speed to catch up, "Y/N!"
The part of him that isn't focused on the pure physicality of trying to see and move through the stormy weather is utterly overwhelmed with fear. Not for himself but for her. She's deathly afraid of mild storms, let alone hurricanes, and yet she ran through the back door when he tried comforting her through an anxiety attack. One would think that she wouldn't want to go directly into the thing she fears the most, but what sent her running for the hills wasn't the panic itself, it was him.
It's hard for her to think rationally in this state, but all she knows is that he was there, he was saying all the right things and holding her, and she couldn't do it. The fear began to blend to one centered around both him and the storm. The hours of useless distractions and ruminating in her thoughts built up to this point of contention, then it snapped.
Between the thunder, his voice, and the voice in the back of her head that was urging her to confess her feelings and do as John B advised them to, it became too much. Maybe it was the most idiotic split-second decision she made without any regard for logic or reason or her safety, but she bailed. For the third time, she couldn't handle the pressure and ran from him.
The only difference is that he couldn't let her leave this time.
He gasps for air against the streams of water flowing down his face, soaking his hair and making it hang in his eyes to obstruct his view more than the weather already has. It happened so fast, neither of them are wearing shoes. His feet sink into the muddy yard with every stride he takes in his frantic pursuit of her and it frustrates him no end because of how it slows him down.
There's endless dangerous possibilities with her being out here. She could be knocked over into the marsh by the wind, or stuck and hurt by a piece of debris—merely thinking about it makes him call out her name louder in the hopes that it'll wake her from her panicked trance.
After trudging through the mud all the way to the edge of the yard, he finally manages to get to her.
"What are you doing?" JJ shouts, turning her around and grabbing onto both of her arms as if one gust of wind would sweep her away if he didn't, "You're gonna get hurt!"
Stumbling backwards in the direction of the screened-in porch that surrounds the back door, he uses their difference in strength to tug her away in the direction she came out in. The rain makes it difficult to keep a firm grasp on her, and she almost slips away a couple of times when the wind picks up enough to make him too unsteady to hold on.
His arms slip around her waist for a better grasp on her the closer they come to reaching the house. The last thing he wants is to almost get her back inside and lose her at the last second. She isn't thinking rationally right now with the panic she feels taking full control of her responses. He knows firsthand how it feels to be thrown headfirst into a panic attack, he's been in her shoes before and knows better than anyone the lengths your irrational mind will go to if it means survival. And for whatever reason, her response is flight, not fight.
The door to the screen porch takes all of his effort to open against the power of the wind blowing it back against the house.
He grits his teeth as he forces it open, one arm secured around her midsection, and helps her in before he slips inside too. The second he lets go of the door, it's sent slamming back into place and rattling in the frame behind them, but he doesn't spend anymore time on it other than the few seconds it takes to lock it. As soon as it clicks with him that they're safe—most importantly, that she's safe—he whips around to face her with a cold rage flowing through his veins.
"What the fuck?"
She stands in front of him with water pouring off of her in rapid drops onto the rug, and there are no thoughts in her head outside of the ones telling her to leave. Her tears blend in with the droplets of rain so seamlessly that he wouldn't know she's crying if not for the sound of it.
In between her rapid breaths and sobs, she yells back at him, "I was scared, okay?"
"Why'd you run out into the storm if you—"
"I wasn't afraid of the storm, I was afraid of you!"
The silence that follows is louder than anything they've experienced. Nothing can rival it, not the thunder, the rain, or anything can drown it out while he stares at her in shock. His eyes are wide, lips slightly parted as he reaches for something, anything, he can say in response to that, but there's nothing. For once, he is absolutely speechless.
Things got awkward between them in the initial aftermath of last week, but not like this. There was never an instance where he felt like there was nothing left for him to say to her to fill the uncomfortable silence that always brought forth memories of them together until now. Until she said the last thing he wanted or expected to hear.
His anger subsides as he picks over what he did in his head for anything that could've made her feel unsafe.
Before it evolved into him chasing after her through the hurricane, he noticed how terrible it had gotten for her when he lit the first candle. Her cheeks were streaked with tears and her chest began to rise and fall faster with each second that passed. He could see it on her face that things were getting worse, but, now that he thinks of it, it got worse once he reached out to put his hand on her shoulder.
It felt like a dream sequence in his head, so hazy and faraway now that it's over, and he was so stunned by what she was doing, he didn't run after her until a few seconds later. There was a delay in which he stood there in surprise and tried to process what the hell just happened to no avail. Though it wasn't very long, he remembers it feeling like eternity tucked into the cramped space of four seconds.
JJ's voice is softer than she's ever heard it, asking into the void of the near-darkness that encloses them, "What'd I do?" And it breaks her heart in half to hear him sound so concerned, so terrified of the idea that he did something to hurt her when all he did was try to help. "I never meant to scare you, I swear. I know how bad it can get sometimes, and I know we haven't been talking but I'd never try to hurt you if that's what you thought..."
His thoughts run rampant with the possibilities of what she was thinking at the time, and he realizes that he can't stand the idea of her thinking anything badly of him. He never cares about what people think, but, fuck, he loathes the idea of her having any ill feelings toward him.
Y/N immediately starts shaking her head, her face scrunching with the emotion and incessant tears.
"I know you'd never hurt me. I was scared because..." she stops herself mid sentence, catching it right when she was about to admit the one thing she promised herself she wouldn't.
But the need to say it doesn't go away this time. Usually, once she catches herself she comes to her senses and realizes how foolish it would've been to confess, but this time is different. This time, the urge to speak her mind and tell him everything sticks around. The words left unsaid creep up her throat, thrashing and begging to let out after months of being pushed aside.
The look in her eyes is strangely reminiscent of the way she looked at him the night they hooked up, almost yearning in its nature, and he couldn't be more confused. She's scared of him, but she's looking at him like she did when she was two seconds away from jumping his bones. And if he didn't do anything wrong, why was she afraid enough to face her worst fear in order to avoid him?
"Because what?" he asks.
That frustration from when they first stepped into the porch hasn't vanished, it only took a backseat once she said she was afraid of him, not the storm, and he can feel it stirring up again. He's tired of not having answers. He's tired of mixed signals and loneliness and unrequited love. Most of all, he's tired of her running away all the time. At this point, he questions whether or not it's worth it to expose his feelings to her and suffer the consequences.
John B was right. This isn't healthy for them, nor is it healthy for them to put their friends through this along with them, and it might be better to not be friends than to stay this way forever. At least that way they wouldn't be wishing for answers that would never come for the rest of their time together.
She decides at this moment that this has to be said before it gets worse, before she runs away again like a scared, immature child and ruins everything.
"Because," she has to shout over the lightning that cracks down on the earth down the street, something she would be trembling in fear over if she weren't so focused on him, "I've been in love with you for a couple months and it scares me more than anything, even this stupid fucking storm! And I've tried so hard to ignore it because I know you don't feel the same way, but you touched me and I just"—a soft cry escapes her—"I couldn't do it anymore."
There it is.
After months of ruminating over it and hiding everything, he knows, and her immediate feeling after she says it isn't what she thought it would be. She expected trepidation and regret, but what she finds on the other side isn't either of those, it's relief. Her dad often tells her when she's nervous about something that the anticipation is worse than the thing itself, and that has never been as true her as it is now.
However, some of the nerves return with the time that passes after she spoke in complete silence. Much like the delayed reaction he had to her running out of the house, it isn't as long as it feels to her. It's a short span of time that it takes for her words to process with him, but it feels like an eternity that he stands there with his head facing the floor in quiet contemplation.
Her heart sinks.
This means he doesn't feel the same way, doesn't it? If he were the one telling her he loved her, she likely would've leaped into his arms and said it back, but he stays where he is.
Then, after what feels like forever, she thinks she sees him start to smile and feels like she's losing her mind. It's quite dark out here, so there's only a limited amount of light to allow her to see his features, but there's no doubting it when a flash of lightning floods the porch with a split-second of harsh light.
Oh God, why is he smiling? What does it mean?
Much to her frustration, the first thing he says after her confession isn't much help in making her understand his feelings either.
"Why didn't you just talk to me?"
Why? The voice in the back of her mind asks incredulously. Is he seriously asking why? He ignored me too. He didn't want to talk about it either, so what else was I supposed to do?
Maybe she was undeniably worse when it came to the avoidance and lack of communication, but he could've reached out to her too. They both could've. Instead, they spent day after day waiting for the other to make the move and pushed the tension further and further until it finally broke. Now she's waiting for him to hurry up and reject her so she can move on with her life.
She shivers from the wind blowing at her wet skin through the screens separating them from the outside world, crossing her arms over her body to hug herself. His eyes follow her movements down to the breaths that are slowly evening out without her realizing it. It turns out that confessing your love for the guy you've been crushing on since the day you met him is a hell of a distraction.
"I thought you wouldn't wanna hear me being all emotional and shit over a one time thing. You've literally never had an actual relationship before. And that's fine," she rambles, "I'll be okay eventually, but that's not who you are and there isn't a problem with that. I just caught feelings when I shouldn't have."
In her defense, she isn't making baseless assumptions about him, he hasn't had a relationship before. His love life hasn't ever really revolved around love itself, it was mostly comprised of random chicks he'd meet at parties or at the beach during the summertime when tourists come to visit the island. Out of all of them, he's the last one the Pogues would expect to fall in love with someone and commit to a relationship, but then...
He looks over at her with a swell of emotion within him that he's never felt before. It wasn't like he hadn't known before now. He did. He even said it out loud to himself that morning after the party, but this is when it feels the most real. Now that she's said it to him, he doesn't feel so stupid for toying with the four letter word in the back of his mind for the entirety of the past week.
In all honesty, he was the last person he would've expected to fall in love with someone this quickly too. He thought he knew himself better than this. He thought he could keep himself hidden away and not let anyone close enough to see him—the real him, faults and feelings and vulnerability included—but she proved him wrong. In walked Y/N with her pretty smile, teeny bikini bottoms, and oddly strong opinions on Ratatouille, and he stood no chance.
This sudden crescendo of emotion only continues to grow when he watches her shiver, soaked to the skin, across from him and decides that he never wants to deny himself of her again. Those feelings of inadequacy that forced him to question his relationship with her may not have gone away, not by a long shot, but they can't stop him anymore. Nothing can.
Like a light flickering to life in this swirling, stormy darkness, she hears JJ's voice asking her, "What if it is who I am?"
It was said so softly, she nearly lost it beneath the rain and wind. But it was not said with a lack of certainty, which is why she questions if she heard him correctly. He sounded so sure of himself that it feels too good to be true. After his reaction, or lack thereof, to her telling him she loved him, she accepted what was coming and this was not it.
"What?"
He doesn't miss a beat.
"You heard me." There's a pause. "Maybe I needed to meet the right girl."
There is no way he's saying what she thinks he's saying because if he is...if he is then that means the tears and frustration have all been for nothing because he loves her back. But if he loves her, then what was with the kook girl? Was it to make her jealous, or is she misinterpreting him right now and he was flirting with that girl because he doesn't have real feelings for her?
"JJ..." she trails off, looking down and thinking to herself how thankful she is that it's too dark for him to fully see how nervous he made her, "don't do that."
Partly, he should feel offended that she'd think he'd toy with her feelings like that, but he isn't. He's too busy wondering what on earth made this poor girl so insecure to think that someone has to be joking to confess their love to her. It makes him wonder if anyone wronged her before she moved here, and he feels that switch of impulsive anger inside of him flip at the thought.
But that anger has nowhere to go, so it shifts into something different—a need to spend every waking moment of the rest of their time together proving to her that she doesn't have to be so afraid. Does it make him a hypocrite? Probably. It wasn't too long ago that he was telling the Pogues how much he didn't deserve to be with her, but he doesn't see himself the same way he sees her. In his head, he has reasons to believe he doesn't deserve her love, but how could she ever think that herself?
He steps closer to her, the movement something so natural and unconscious to him that he doesn't recognize he does it until he hears her breath hitch in the back of her throat. They were already close enough to reach out and touch each other if they wanted to, yet now it's the kind of closeness that wipes the slate of her mind clean with nothing else but the thought of him there to stay.
He starts to say, "I'm not fucking with you, dude, I'm being serious—"
"Then prove it."
Oh.
The sound of his unfinished sentence lingers on the tip of his tongue as he blinks away his surprise at what she said, though it was less of a statement and more of a challenge. What the challenge is, he isn't too sure, but he thinks there could be a couple of meanings there.
The fire in her eyes when she looked up at him is one he recognizes very well, it stars in one too many of his daydreams that center around their secret night together. She rose to the occasion without fail and matched his chaos every time, and that steely-eyed stare is reminiscent of it.
Yet, the sexual undertone isn't the only part of it to be discovered. There's a clear meaning there for him to actually prove it, to put his money where his mouth is, grow a pair, and tell her how he feels with no room for confusion. No more miscommunication, running away, or insecurity getting between them, just a clear cut confession like hers.
His hand runs through his hair to sweep it out of his eyes and keep the wet strands from dripping down his face. It helps him see her a little better too, grounding him to the moment and calming him at the dimmed sight of her expectant, wide eyed gaze.
There were a million versions of this whenever he let himself imagine admitting it. He only let himself picture it on the worst days, days like the one two days ago when he went home to his dad, ending the night by cleaning his own cuts and inspecting his own bruises in his locked bedroom. He did it to distract himself from wanting to storm out of the room and finally kill the son of a bitch after years of suffering in silence.
JJ closed his eyes, shaking with anger, and dreamed of how he'd tell her. There were versions with long speeches that were far too sappy to exist outside of the realm of his imagination. There were versions with him burying the words between friendly jokes to play down the extent of his feelings too, but he thought it worked best in its simplest form.
So he puts it as simply as it gets, lips fighting a soft smile as he crosses the space between them and rushes in to kiss her. It's charged with an accumulation of the pent up love, anger, and sexual desire that has been repressed until now, resulting in something utterly explosive.
He stops for a second to whisper, "I love you too," into her parted lips, and she finally lets herself go at the sound of those words.
Forget that they've only known each other for five months, when you know you know. This is the real deal. This is the kind of feeling that possesses every accessible inch of her heart and she'd never be open enough to admit that to anyone but him at the moment, but neither of them minds that. It's such a new, rapidly developing feeling that they want to protect it and keep it close to them for the time being.
His arms twine around her waist, tugging her the last bit forward and leaving no space between their bodies this time. The sudden movement draws a sharp gasp from the back of her throat and sends her hands out to brace themselves on his shoulders. The sound of the gasp that disappears into their connected mouths only fuels him on more. It makes him more eager with how he touches her with his hands drifting down the plane of her back, one of which playfully slipping beneath the hem of her soaked shirt in a way that makes her smile into the kiss.
He knows exactly what he does to her. He can sense it in the small reactions that would often go overlooked if it were someone less familiar with her.
It's easy to tell by the way she completely surrenders herself to him, letting out these soft little noises she doesn't even realize she's making when he takes control of the interaction and kisses her like he's starved for it. In a way, he is starving for affection and attention from her. He never knew it was something he needed so badly until he got it, and now he never wants to go without having her again.
That's why it doesn't surprise him when she starts getting antsy after a moment or two, especially after keeping away from him for days.
Her hands run down the length of his chest over the soaked t-shirt, taking a quiet victory in how his stomach flinches inward in response to her exploring touch, and she could swear his next exhale trembles as she continues lower. Never once does she break the kiss, which, by the way, has gone past the point of being passionate and straight to downright needy, but her concentration does falter. The perfectly paced rhythm of her mouth moving with his is interrupted when she touches him over the fabric of his shorts.
Those plushy soft lips go on an exploration of their own too. Leaving him with the first opportunity to catch his breath in minutes, she dips her head beneath the sharp edge of jaw in pursuit of the sweet spot she remembers reducing him to a grabby, moaning mess the last time they did this. It doesn't take her long, not if the tightening of his arms around her and the satisfied hum of a moan she feels vibrate beneath her mouth has anything to say for it.
He loses himself in it for a second or two...okay, fine, maybe ten.
The separate sensations combined spark a flame inside of him that burns so hopelessly for whatever she'll give him. His mind sends him images of them together, both real memories from their first time together and imagined fantasies he only let himself visit in his dreams, and he realizes how thinly spread his self control has become lately.
First, it's the thought of her from last week, thoughts of her gasping, writhing, and begging beneath him that makes his cock throb under the teasing contact of her hand through his shorts. But then he's brought elsewhere. Then, though he hasn't thought of it since the day after the party, he thinks of the mix of jealousy and anger he felt when he saw Tyler with her.
He remembers being sane one moment and charging across the room like a madman the next. He remembers how it felt to watch another person's hands slip under her dress, how it felt to see someone else try to kiss her the way he had, and this raw wound of a memory is all it takes to spur him into action.
It happens so quickly, she doesn't even notice what's happening until he has her scooped up in his arms with her legs around his waist. She doesn't even have the chance to voice her surprise or crack a joke at the expense of his neediness before he reconnects their paused kiss with enough force to make her teeth ache in the collision.
JJ's rings are colder than ice, digging into the flesh of her thighs as he holds them with a tight grip and blindly takes the few steps necessary to reach the back entrance of the house. His wet handprint smudges on one of the cracked-open glass doors and sends droplets of water dribbling down the surface. The teardrop of rain zig-zags at the swinging motion of the door on their way in, only changing course again when he nudges it shut behind him a little too loudly.
"Wh"—her question is cut off by him laying her down on the rug-covered floor in between the couch and coffee table—"What if John B wakes up?"
His first thought was to bring her into the spare bedroom, but then he realized that it shares a wall with John B. Then, he considered the pull out couch but realized that would be louder than the room adjacent to their friend's. His only conclusion was this.
It isn't nearly as romantic as either of them would've pictured, but they're not exactly picky either. They're so desperate for it, they'd likely do it on the porch in the middle of a hurricane if there weren't another option. And in their own weird way, they make it romantic.
There's no one else she'd rather risk rug burn for, and that is the peak of romance.
"John B sleeps like a fuckin' rock," JJ says, "and it's own his fault for trapping us here anyway."
He follows her down onto the floor without a second thought, not even looking up to see if they woke their friend with the sound of the door shutting behind them.
Hovered above her, he looks particularly captivating in the flickering candlelight. The fire burning in one of the three-wick candles they scoured the bathroom cabinets for brings out the warm hues in his blonde hair and highlights every edge of the angular face that looks down at her. The porch was far too dark for her to see him in all of his near-perfection, but this is enough for her to notice a multitude of things.
His slicked back, wet hair allows her to see his features better and the way he looks at her...it's enough to make anyone feel red in the face. How hadn't she see it before? She knows it was denial, but, somehow, she used to overlook the small hints along the way like how he looks at her like she's the only thing that makes sense to him. For the first time in a while, she allows herself to embrace the idea of being loved without looking for something to justify her fears surrounding it.
The sound of her voice brings him out of the mesmerized trance he fell under at the sight of her.
"I've missed you," she says softly, "like a lot."
The sweet admission slows him down for a second, making him stop to ignore the distracting desire that she sparked to life a moment ago and take the time to cherish this moment of rare serenity with her.
It's a wonder that she hasn't even acknowledged the storm raging on outside since they've come back in. It's all thanks to him, of course, since she's been too focused on everything happening between them, but it surprises him. It makes a sense of pride flare up in him on her behalf for being capable of forgetting something she fears so much.
But, on the other hand, it reminds him of how distraught she was right before their conversation/argument on the porch shifted from her panic to the topic of their relationship, and he can't help but hesitate a little.
"I missed you too." The hand he isn't using to support himself above her cups her face, his thumb tracing the line of her cheekbone. "Are you okay though? You were just crying and I don't wanna make you—"
"Yes."
It was so said so quickly, there was zero hesitation. It's not that it doesn't surprise him that she's as eager as he is after what started to happen out on the porch, but it does make his eyes widen a little. His mouth curls with a slight grin. It's the kind that never fails to make her stomach fluttering and light with butterflies.
"You don't have to worry about me. I'm okay, and I promise I'll let you know if I'm not," Y/N clarifies.
"Okay."
There's a short moment where all they do is look at each other with a complete loss for words to convey what they feel right now. It isn't as awkward as it would've been prior to tonight. Before they confessed their feelings, they wouldn't have been able to look at one another for any longer than a few seconds without needing to walk away to break the tension. Now, things have changed. They don't feel the need to conceal how much they care anymore.
They're still the same bickering duo they've always been with the added fun of being head over heels. She never used to understand how some people could let their feelings for another person drive them crazy, but it's done more than make her crazy this past week. It made her jealous, obsessive, and somehow happy too, and no one has ever made her feel so many varying emotions in her life.
Her fingertips graze the stretch of skin between where his cargo shorts sit on his hips and his shirt rides up the side of his torso, and he swallows thickly at the feeling.
"Do I make you nervous?" she asks.
Her lilting, smooth voice is enough to soothe any nerves he could possibly have. It's as if hearing her ask that paired with the hand teasing the waistband of his shorts pulled him back to the place he'd been before when she was teasing him over his clothes.
He answers honestly, his head going fuzzy with the crushing desire that courses through him, "Not as nervous as I make you," and closes the space between them again.
The cheeky comment doesn't go unnoticed by her, not one bit. It makes her face heat up in embarrassment that is purely instinct after having to hide her feelings from her for so long. Maybe after they've been together for longer, it won't make her blush every time he acknowledges the effect he has on her out loud, but that day isn't today. Today, she goes hot in the face from a sole second of his attention, let alone this.
JJ lets his hand climb up the length of her torso as they kiss as if they have all the time in the world, as if their best friend isn't sleeping less than twenty feet away from them, until it flattens at the base of her neck. It doesn't curl around her neck and squeeze, nor does it do anything but remind her how much she loves the feeling of him touching her, the large palm of his hand simply stays draped over her throat to flaunt his ability to sway her nerves.
She's pretty sure if it were anyone else, it wouldn't work, but he's JJ for fuck's sake, and the quiet display of dominance sends an exhilarating little thrill rumbling through her. It isn't anything over the top or exaggerated like some people would do in an attempt to stake a claim over the person they love, just a simple gesture that they both know the meaning of.
She's his. After five months of friendship, two months of silent pining, and a week of sexually confused hell, she's his, and he'll never let her forget it.
The wind rattles the windows over the couch with its force and she notices that his hips grind into hers at the sudden sound. Even in the midst of such a heated moment, it's downright cute how he still makes an effort to distract her from what she fears. And, boy, does it work.
Their panting breaths in the brief seconds they allow themselves to break away from each other are the only sounds audible in the small living room. The storm drowns it all out for now, including the noises that start to leave them from the steadily building pleasure of their bodies moving together.
She can feel how hard he is through the layers that separate them with every absentminded thrust that brushes the fabric of her panties up against her clit each time. It leaves her breathless and wondering, despite already knowing, what it'll feel like when he finally slips inside of her again.
They both fantasized about it in the time they spent apart. Neither of them would dare deny it, least of all JJ. It actually became frustrating after a while because she started to become the only scenario he could conjure to get himself off when he had a rare moment of privacy. His fantasies, all stemming from the night that was so perfect, he began to question the reality of it, linger in his head.
The best part of his fantasies were the parts of them based in truth, and if he knows anything about her when she's in this state, it's that she's needy. Her tongue swipes along his bottom lip in a silent urging to let her deepen the kiss, and he complies without a second to spare, willing to entertain her every whim so long as she keeps being so good for him.
He revels in her muffled squeak of a moan when he presses down on the sides of her throat at the precise moment his hips grind down to meet hers. She can't keep herself still for any longer than a half-second, always meeting his movements halfway and unknowingly doing another thing that will be the death of him.
She leads his shirt up his body without having to second guess herself, knowing that he's always on the same wavelength as her no matter what. This was how it was the last time too. Anything she did, he was already one step ahead, and tonight isn't much different. By the time her hands ball up the dripping cotton fabric, JJ is lifting the hand off of her neck to reach for the neckline of the shirt and help tug it off.
There's a sense of urgency in everything they do. Charged up with frustration and jealousy that brewed within the days they spent apart, there's nothing to stop them from reducing themselves to a pair of panting, impatient lovers too consumed in each other to care about the outside world.
The sopping wet fabric is thrown beyond her line of sight and lands on the hardwood floor with a 'thwack' that accompanies their cacophony of moans and gasps, and she whimpers at the sight of him. It may have to do with the fact that he's guiding their bodies together at a cadence and pressure perfect enough to make her legs tremble, but seeing him like this does nothing but aid the sensation.
Golden skin glistening under the candlelight, tendrils of half-dry blonde hair falling into his face with the lazy effort of his movements, and a stray raindrop that squeezed from the wet shirt dripping down his chest...she's not gonna make it out of tonight alive, is she? In her memory, she knew he was a sight to see in the midst of a heated moment, but, fuck, memories do not hold up beside the real experience of it.
Y/N is so caught up in his seemingly endless beauty, she doesn't notice him peeling her damp denim shorts off of her hips until they're halfway down her legs, and the only reason she does notice is because he must shift his position to do it. Suddenly, the budding feeling that stirred from their needy antics is plucked away and left to ache for more in the absence of him between her thighs.
Her middle and index fingers hook around the front of his necklace to pull him back down to her, but he doesn't budge at first. He's too busy trying to rid her of her shirt to care.
It was too much of a distraction while they kissed for him to resist slipping it off of her when he got the chance to. Much to his frustration when he first realized they were trapped with each other, she's braless underneath, and it's only worse now that the t-shirt is soaked to her skin and clinging to every delicate curve.
Once the clothing gives way to the canvas of her bare skin, he submits to her urgency and follows her down by the fingers hooked around his necklace without any qualms.
As soon as they resume, it's as if they never stopped to begin with, and they start to realize how seamlessly they fit together as the seconds elapse. Neither of them are actively thinking about it while he dips his hand into the front of her panties, but it is in their subconscious.
It's a revelation of sorts, an ah-ha moment where it hits them both in a sweeping realization that it was obvious from the day they met. They should've known sooner, they should've dropped their pride and admitted it as soon as the first inklings of desire began to pop up, but they didn't. Instead, it washes over them now and they let the current take them away together.
Her mouth falls open against his cheek at the feeling of his fingers swiping through the arousal that pools in her underwear for him, dragging the wetness over his fingertips and spreading it up to brush fleetingly against her clit. It's a split-second of a touch that it makes her hips lift up off the floor on their own accord to seek out more. It makes her dig her nails into the skin stretching over his taut shoulder muscles in a wordless plea for more that he doesn't indulge her in at first.
He makes her earn it from him without having to say a single word. He touches her, but he doesn't touch where she wants or ease his fingers into her to satisfy the need she feels yet. It's a blessing and a curse that he manages to turn her on to such an extent. He does it for her like nothing else can, so much so that she's noticed a distinct difference in how it feels when she's alone versus when they're together. When she's alone, it can tend to feel like active effort, but when she's with him, it's as natural as the urge to breathe.
His smirk is felt against her skin the entire time she begs for it through the revealing actions of her body—her hips jerking up toward him, her chest pressing tightly to his, and the sound of her murmuring, "Please," in a breathy tone that could stop his heart.
"Tell me what you want," JJ says, every word constrained and tight in a way that tells her he's a lot less composed than he lets on, and "accidentally" swipes his thumb over her clit again. "Talk to me, baby."
She almost forgot in their time apart how much of an effect he has on her, but this is the best reminder of that she could possibly imagine. If she could, she would find a way to bottle the feeling he gives her and keep it with her forever so that, no matter what happens between them, she'll never have the misfortune of forgetting him.
What he said simultaneously melts her heart and frustrates her to no end because he knows! He knows damn well what she wants from him and won't give it to her unless she asks for it, and she hates herself for loving it. She hates herself for enjoying the flushed-face embarrassment it brings to her cheeks to be so open with him about what she needs.
She swallows the lump in her throat and tries to focus through the clouded landscape of her head to speak to him. It's hard to concentrate when he's above her like this, touching her, calling her pet names, and looking at her like that.
With his lips worshiping the sensitive skin along her neck, she finds it hard to choke out the words, "I want you," into the humid air that has infiltrated the house.
It's not a lie. Anything regarding her wanting him or any related feeling is no longer something she can hide anymore, but they both know it isn't exactly what he wanted. No matter how it took his breath away to hear her say it, he was seeking something more specific. He was aiming to make her ask, maybe even beg, for it. They're both too impatient to wait and based on how wet his fingertips are from barely dipping into her, he can tell she's as eager as he is.
It's been thirteen days too long since the last time they allowed themselves to meet this way, and neither of them wants to let it happen again.
She was nearly trembling with the urge to go to him whenever they were together in the company of their friends, unable to think about anything except for how badly she wanted him. All the while, he appeared so unbothered, especially on the night of the party when he flirted with someone else, that she didn't even believe he felt the same way back. Thankfully for her, she couldn't have been more wrong.
He clicks his tongue and says, still teasing her with light touches that never linger in one place for too long, "That wasn't very specific."
Part of her should know that he's about to do something based on how he withdraws his head from its cherished place in the crook of her neck, but she's too caught up in the anticipation and seeing his face for the first time in a minute to think about it. How dare he look so good? She could cry in frustration, although she might actually already be tearing up a little with the rush of neediness hitting her in its full force.
Never has she felt so turned on by so little physical contact before. It usually takes longer for her to get to this point, whether it be alone or in the past with previous partners, yet all it took was being kissed, touched, and being given his undivided attention and now...She realizes she's in trouble. He has her in an emotional and sexual chokehold at this point, and she fears that no one can compare.
"I want—" her voice is snuffed out in an instant when he eases two fingers into her, "Oh!"
So that's why he pulled away from her neck to look at her.
It was worth abandoning the mark forming on her neck just to see the expression on her face shift. She gets this cute look when anything overwhelming starts to happen where her brows scrunch a little to create a soft wrinkle between them as her mouth drops open in a moan. And after ten steady minutes of doing nothing but some over the clothes action and painstaking teasing, this is as overwhelming as it gets without it crossing the line to being too much.
It never occurred to her how much larger his fingers are compared to hers until now. This type of pleasure is like an itch only someone else can scratch to her, she feels virtually nothing when she does it to herself, but when he does it, it's like an explosive being set off inside of her. Especially with the thumb that sneaks up to circle her clit without stopping to tease her again, she is putty in his hands at this point.
Every smooth stroke of his fingers into her reaches a spot she can never quite find on her own, and she can feel the cold bite of rings when they're buried into her to the knuckle.
It's a surprise every time, even when she knows to expect it. Like a delightful chill running up through her body and down her spine exactly how it's intended to. It strikes an idea in her head for when he eventually pulls them out of her, conjuring the image of her sucking them clean for him just for the sake of imagining what it'll do to him.
With that idea tucked away in the back of her mind, he's the center of her world right now. All she breathes, thinks, and feels is him. Whether it be the sight of him, or the feelings he's giving her, or even the taste of his kiss that still lingers on her tongue, it connects to one common thread.
"What were you saying?" JJ asks, and she wants to wipe that smirk right off his face.
It's virtually impossible for her to piece together a coherent thought, let alone a sentence detailing every filthy idea she has for him, but she tries. It takes another moment or two of her succumbing to the rapid incline of pleasure that he gives her, watching her in wonder through any greedy buck of her hips or gasping inhale that makes her head loll back onto the floor.
At first, what she wanted to say was that she wanted him to touch her, to do anything more than the fleeting touches he gave before. Now, she wants more than that. Now that she's drawn in closer to the eventual high that's to come, she doesn't want it to happen like this. She wants to feel closer to him than this, wants to feel him throb inside of her and fuck her with all of the urgency and desperation that has accumulated in their time apart.
That's why her hands start to grab at the belt loops of his shorts to tug him closer by them, meeting his gaze through the hazy bliss of his fingers pumping into her. It's not enough.
"Please"—she keeps pulling him closer to her, so close that there's hardly any space left to cross, and he revels in her desperation—"just fuck me already..."
Internally, JJ is losing his shit.
Though this was what he wanted, what he coaxed out of her with the teasing and the pretend sense of a nonchalant attitude on his part, it hits him harder than he expected it to to hear her say it. It's not necessarily the act of begging itself either, it's the fact that she's the one doing it. She may have been jealous of the girl at the party, but she had nothing to worry about. Not in the slightest.
Before her, he never thought he'd fall for someone this way. It's not like he had a hatred for love or anything, he understood the appeal, it simply wasn't his thing.
He was perfectly content with his only form of companionship being his friends. Then, she came along and changed it. So to hear her say something like that isn't just breathtaking, it's the kind of thing that makes his heart ache for her. It hits him precisely where she wanted it to, and he has never felt as consumed with love the way he does now.
JJ can do nothing to stop himself from pouncing on her at this point, like some animalistic form of himself has worn down the restraint he used to keep himself at bay.
The loss she feels when his fingers slip away from her is an emptiness she mourns at first before she realizes what's happening. He pulls away slightly to reach down between them for the front of his shorts, and their hands clash as they both frantically try to undo them together. The rings adorning his fingers glisten when they catch the light and remind her of the thought that popped into her head when she first felt their coldness against her skin.
That idea paired with the promise of what they're trying to accomplish in their uncoordinated attempt to get the rest of their clothes off makes her want to press her thighs together. Her hands abandon the task of undoing his shorts for the sake of ridding herself of the last layer that separates her from him.
Her most embarrassing old pair of brightly colored panties, courtesy of past Y/N's questionable decision to trust her mom to buy some on her behalf, are hardly a sight to behold. They're the kind that come in a value pack from Walmart, vibrant blue with the word, "Tuesday," printed on the front of them, and she could hide her face into the rug in shame if she weren't so determined to get them off. Of all the days to wear the day of the week undies her mom accidentally got her, of course she chose today.
By the time she reaches for the waistband, he has pushed his shorts and underwear down his thighs and comes back to her with just as much excitement as he left with, but when he helps her tug her panties down her legs, he laughs. Apparently, he had also been too eager to touch her to notice what was written on them before.
"Cute," he breathes out through a laugh, then adds as the cotton fabric slips over her knees, "Pretty sure it's not Tuesday though."
"If you tell anyone, I swear I'll—"
He cuts her off, "Whatever you wanna threaten me with won't work, chances are I'm gonna be into it."
Her eyes are alight with a certain fire he's had yet to fully lure out of her. Even her voice is slightly more airy and seductive as a result of it.
"Promise?"
JJ grins down at her as he finally tosses her panties aside with the rest of their clothes, "Cross my heart, pretty girl."
His hands grip her thighs and tug her down the rug to him with a quick jolt that snaps them out of the playful nature of their back and forth teasing. No matter how lighthearted of an interruption it was, the mini-conversation might as well have never existed for how easily they fall back into it again.
She watches with her forehead pressed against his as he strokes himself a few times, then drags his tip, messy with precome, through her wet heat. And though she watches it happen, her body still arches into his when he lines up with her and sinks his hips forward.
She anticipated it, but she still gasps and digs her nails into his biceps at the sensation of him pushing into her. Neither of them bothers to worry about the obvious lack of a condom—it was discussed the first time around when he offered and she told him it was okay. He's often the one to silence the alarm on her phone warning her in its title to, "Take your birth control or else, bitch," while she searches her bag for it anyway, so he trusts her.
Both of them prefer it this way enough to risk the minuscule failure rate of the pill anyway. It's more intimate, closer, and they can both feel the warmth of each other in a way that would've been somewhat muted with an added layer between them. It makes the feeling of him entering her all the more gratifying as she tenses up around him in reaction, drawing a groan from where his parted lips brush against hers.
She lifts her head off of the floor as much as she can to capture his mouth with her own and stifle the sonorous sound despite the storm doing a better job of it.
It seems that every blast of wind and roll of thunder is in their favor tonight, so much so that he isn't even worried about getting walked in on. It's not a thought in his head at this point, the only thought he's capable of having is this. Forgive him for being shortsighted, but he doesn't give a shit if John B notices or hears what's happening when he's buried inside of her so deeply.
His hips are flush with the backs of her thighs in a matter of seconds, and right when he pauses to give her a breather, he feels her shake her head ever so slightly against where their faces are pressed together.
The touch of her hands on his hips is not timid by any means, it's commanding. Her palm prints singe an indelible claim into the surface of his skin as she guides him to start moving without a second spared to dwindle the discomfort of him filling her up. It's less like a pain and more of a pressure blooming from the insistent presence of him, not so overwhelming that it's painful, but it's an effort to breathe evenly and the only thing that'll ease this transitional moment is to continue.
At first, their bodies start to rock together lazily as though on autopilot. They'd hardly be conscious of the fact that they're doing anything if not for the initial sensations of heady ecstasy that flash like the sparks of a lighter in response to their movements. As soon as he felt her hands coax him into action, he sighed happily and surrendered himself to the instinct of wanting to move.
The merging of their bodies is less of the aggressive rutting motions they'll surely succumb to once their current pace is no longer satisfying, but that doesn't make it any less intense. She's partly sure that this is one of the most vulnerable moments either of them has ever had when it comes to sex, and it wouldn't work if it weren't them together. No other person could consume her the way he does, taking up every unoccupied space of her soul until there's nothing left but the silent begging of her heart for him.
Their kiss is messy when it breaks to allow them the chance to suck down a couple breaths of air, saliva shining on his lips in between the seconds it takes them to come crashing back together.
It's loving enough to rot her teeth with its sweetness, a slow but impossibly deep grinding of their hips together that continually presses the tip of him into that sweet spot inside of her, but it takes a turn.
Not only do her hands shift from his hips up to the sides of his waist to get a firmer hold on him, the kiss starts to become vigorous, almost hungry, in search of something more. The dreamlike sequence of the first moment or so they spent slowly fucking under the warm hues of candlelight starts to unravel to reveal the baser instincts that guide them forward.
"Fuck, you feel so good," he whispers the praise into her mouth.
As soon as the words are said, he can feel the effect it has on her. The hands braced on his waist pull his body closer to her at the same moment that she involuntarily squeezes down around him, making the smooth drag of his cock against the velvet-soft heat of her walls even tighter than he thought possible.
The sudden feeling of it makes his first returning thrust much harder than the last. He jerks forward into her with none of the restraint he's retained for the past few moments, and her reaction is nothing short of perfection, at least from his perspective. He watches her throw her head back in a moan, hips bucking to him in pursuit of more, and feels the tips of her fingernails digging crescent-shaped marks into the unmarred skin along his waist.
"JJ!" she gasps in surprise, and if her initial reaction weren't enough to spur him on in a frenzied state of desire, this is.
He almost forgot how intense it had been the first time. Their confessions of love preceding this made them both somewhat softer and sweeter in their approach when they started, but he knows how she likes it.
Nobody would expect it from her. He's another story entirely, especially considering how much John B and Pope know about him, but her? He didn't have any in depth conversations about it with either of them, so none of their friends know how dirty she is.
But when you start to tease it out of her, she's got a side to her that makes his blood run hot. Considering how polite she is, he sure as hell didn't see it coming. For fuck's sake, she's the kind of person who'll apologize to a chair if she bumps into it. With that in mind he never thought she'd be the type to demand such things of him.
Just like that, with one moan of his name, it's like she flipped a switch in him that they forgot was there in the first place. It'll never stop surprising him how little it takes to get him going when he's with her, and he doesn't see that changing no matter how long they spend together in the future. Just a touch from her is all it takes, so it's needless to say that the sound of her calling out his name was more than enough.
Those slow, deep movements he made to sink into her again and again have turned rapid and rough, but still controlled enough to have a semblance of precision to them, hitting in all the right places.
"I bet," JJ speaks lowly, "that you want John B to walk out and see us right now."
She doesn't want to admit how much of an instantaneous effect those words have on her, but the feeling of her clenching around him as she bites back a moan completely betrays her. Partly, she worries that he'll take that the wrong way and think it has something to do with John B when it has nothing to do with him at all, but he doesn't. For the spare second of thought she's allowed to have before her mind goes hazy again, she notes how much more eager he is on the upstroke of the next thrust.
Noticing how right he was in his assumption about her liking the risk of getting caught jumpstarts his heart and makes everything he does rougher. She can sense that he's starting to lose control over himself and is acting on instinct alone.
It makes her much more sensitive to everything he does, and all she can do is cling to him and enjoy it as she takes in everything he says and does. It's hard to pick one thing to focus on between the switch up in pace and what he said.
"You want John B to know you like getting fucked like a slut, don't you?"
She could get off on the sound of his voice alone. Hearing him say stuff like that kills her, it makes the swirling bliss that builds in the pit of her abdomen with every thrust he gives her triple in its extremity.
Her legs are tightly wound around his hips to keep him as near to her as possible, her hands sliding up around his waist to keep a steady grasp on him while he pounds into her. The rug scratches at her back enough to make it sting alongside the immense pleasure building in her, but she doesn't care. When blended with the good sensations, the pain underscores the addictive feeling of him inside of her, fucking her exactly how she asked him too.
Looking up at him when he's like this is simply unreal. There's no other way of describing it in her eyes except for that. He's so stunning, she's inclined to believe that he isn't even real as a means of explaining it. This shouldn't be real. It should be one of her daydreams while she steals covert stares at him as they hang out with the Pogues, but it isn't. She can't wrap her head around it.
Those strands of hair that were damp from the rain are mostly dry as they fall into his eyes with the force of his movements. The sight of him alone, set aside from the rest of it, is enough to make her writhe beneath him and claw at his back in tandem with another thrust that sends her jolting against the rug.
He takes one of his hands up from where they both held her hips for leverage to weave his fingers into the roots of her hair.
He demands between the panting breaths and moans that flood the limited space between them, tugging on her hair, "Answer me."
She instantly blurts out the words, "I want him to see us." The feeling of him tilting her head back by the fistful of hair he has wrapped up in his hand is her persistent reminder to concentrate enough to continue, and she bites down on her lip to contain a moan before speaking again, "I want him to know..."
Her cheeks burn with the mere thought of it, let alone saying it out loud. He's the only person she'd ever let in on this intimate side of her, the side that makes her crazy when she hears him say stuff like this. The reason she feels so comfortable doing this with him is that she knows he understands her. It's as if he can read her mind without even having to try, knowing exactly what to say and when to say it.
It wouldn't matter if the topic of their exhibitionism were any other Pogue or a stranger, it isn't about who it is, it's about the thrill attached to the concept of almost getting seen during such a heated moment. In all actuality, John B is probably snoring face down into his pillow right now with no care for what's happening out here, but he knows what it does to her when they push the boundaries of decency this way. It's the same rush he gets from stealing random, useless things every so often, it's the thrill of getting away with something.
The hand tangled up in the roots of her hair sneaks down between their colliding bodies to rub her clit, and her mouth drops open to take in a shaky breath.
The sight of her beneath him is undoing in and of itself. Head tilted enough to expose her neck to him, chest rising and falling rapidly with her breaths, and breasts bouncing gently with the momentum of their actions—seeing her this way makes his thrusts ramp up into more of a frenzied, uncontainable pace rather than one with the same control and cadence as before. But it's mostly the eye contact that kills him. She doesn't dare to shut her eyes the entire time, as if she can sense that he'll tell her to look at him again the second she does.
"You want him to know what?" he asks, and she knows he won't let her get away with not saying it.
She whines, utterly helpless to the climax starting to build inside of her, "Please."
What she's pleading for, she isn't quite sure, but he can tell by how she's acting that she's starting to get closer, and he wants nothing more than to tease her with the impending chance of her orgasm.
"If you wanna come, you're gonna have to do a lot better than that."
Just like that, he withdraws his hand from between them and leaves her desperate, blindly grasping for the peak she was so close to reaching, she could almost feel it already.
With JJ rocking into her at a relaxed, slower rhythm, the pleasure hasn't disappeared completely. It's there, but she can sense the feeling of her orgasm receding as quickly as it had creeped up on her as soon as he slips his hand out from between them.
It's instantly clear to him how desperate she is as all of her previous shyness surrounding having to admit this to him out loud withers away in seconds. She isn't beneath begging again at this point. He could tell her to crawl across the floor to him and she'd happily do it for the chance of touching him. It's pathetic but true. As much as she has him wrapped around her finger, he has done the same to her and she isn't afraid to admit it anymore.
Her hips jerk toward him in search of the familiar frenzy they were in before that sent her to the brink of climax, but he is impressively stubborn. Despite the fact that it physically pains him to dial it back again, he tries to keep the signs of his own frustration at bay. She knew what she had to say to get what she wants, so he'll only cave when she does.
This time around, she doesn't give a fuck about how badly she blushes or the voice in the back of her mind telling her she should keep this side of her to herself. This time, the one thing she needs to do to prompt her to open her mouth and speak the dirty words he asked her less than a moment ago is look at him. One second of staring up at him and here she is, driven mad enough to say or do anything to get him to pick up where they left off.
She says between the soft noises and breaths coming from them both, clinging to him through every slow but deep thrust that sends sparks ricocheting through her body, "I want John B to know I like getting fucked like slut." Her voice is breathless, and he hangs off of each word as she pauses, looking up at him with a challenging attitude swirling in those pretty eyes. "So stop being a tease and fuck me like one."
His jaw clenches at the bratty statement, one he's too far gone to resist at this point, and right when he's about to respond to her, she speaks again.
"Either that," she says, and a deceptively sweet smile crosses her kiss-swollen lips, "or I can go ask him to—"
She doesn't even get the chance to voice the rest of that thought before he's set into motion.
The hands on her hips flip her over with such casual strength, all she can do is yelp in surprise at the sudden movement that blurs the living room in her peripheral version until she lands with her hands and knees pressing into the rug. He was so swift in pulling out of her and tossing her onto her front like she was nothing more than a rag doll, she hardly had the time to take a breath before she ended up here.
There's hardly any time between when he pulled out to flip her over and when he returns to her again, but it feels like an eternity for them. The few second transition might as well be a few years as she feels his hands guiding her body where he wants it, pushing down on her back until it arches just so, and falls down onto her arms. But as soon as she gets situated, she feels a pair of hands yanking her arms away from where they were braced against the floor and put them behind her back.
It's only then, when he has an unflinching grasp on where he keeps her wrists behind her back with one of his hands, that she is met with the relief of him sinking into her again.
Y/N's jaw goes slack, and she cries out into the rug that her cheek is pressed into as he gives her no chance to adjust or catch her breath before resuming the brutal pace they kept a moment ago. Mentioning anyone else but him doing this to her was the quickest way to get him to snap, so it's safe to say that she's getting what she wanted. After all, she did what he asked, it's fair that she gets rewarded for it.
Amidst the sounds of the storm waging war on the landscape outside of the house, the one thing she can hear over the buzzing pleasure that drowns out her senses is the sinful blend of sounds they create together. It's the sound of their bodies merging, his name falling from her lips, and the curses he makes under his breath that never fail to drive her a little wild.
The hand that isn't holding her arms behind her slides down the length of her curved back until it wraps around her throat to pin her down, and her reaction is everything he could ask for. Seeing her rock back against him to meet him halfway makes his grip on her wrists tighten enough to turn his knuckles white.
Her hair is spread in endless directions in a fan around her head, and he can only see one side of her face from where he kneels behind her, but that glimpse is more than enough. Brows scrunched in pleasure, mouth dropped open in a gape as soft 'uh's and 'ah's escape her on the upstroke of each thrust—she's a mess right now. A beautiful, perfect mess.
"Oh God, JJ," she moans between her rapid breaths and the strong hand constricting her neck, "I'm so close. Please, just let me come."
It took virtually nothing for her to be pushed right back to the edge of the peak she was at less than a minute ago. It took a mere half-minute of this and she's once again reduced to incoherent pleas for more and shaking with no control over herself. Her legs tremble with the effort to keep herself up in this position, and she isn't even the one doing most of the work. In all fairness, this change in position has made the intensity triple. It's deeper this way, and with how harshly he slams into her, it's as though she can feel it in the base of her abdomen.
It's the enjoyable type of pain, however, not the bad type. It'll surely end up with her being sore tomorrow, but she can't hide how much she loves the painful pleasure of how rough it's getting. Being denied an orgasm when she was so, so close to it was initially disappointing too, but it was worth it. If the build up to what would've been her climax before was a spark, this is a flourishing fire spreading through her with no chance of smothering the flames.
He lets go of her throat and taps the side of her jaw in a silent request that she picks up immediately, letting her lips fall open to suck his fingers into her mouth without a second of hesitation.
The taste of her arousal on them is faint, but still there, and it occurs to her that she thought about this earlier before things evolved into chaos. Her tongue swirls around the tips of his fingers as he starts to pull them away in what feels like the blink of an eye to her, leaving him to remember what it felt like when her lips were once wrapped around a more sensitive part of him a week and a half ago.
The one other time he let himself remember it was when they were on the boat with the Pogues, yet that wasn't really of his own volition. It was hot out, so Kiara bought ice pops for them and his mind wandered far from where it should've stayed.
Shining with her saliva, his fingers are pulled from her lips with a soft 'pop' in pursuit of that sensitive collection of nerves at the apex of her thighs. She just needs is a little push to go over the edge, and when he slips his hand down her body to rub tight circles onto her clit, she loses whatever remnants of control over herself she had left.
The steady rhythm of her hips moving back against him falters as she is overwhelmed with the separate sensations culminating into one and giving her the push she needs to come. Her entire body tenses up in anticipation, and since she's pinned to the floor with her hands behind her back, she can only lay there and savor the feeling as it hits her.
After what felt like ages of having it build and build within her, then having it taken away to start the process over again, finally being given a release is a relief beyond any she's felt before.
It's so consuming, it takes away her ability to think of anything outside of how it feels to dissolve into the shockwaves of euphoria rushing through her. Every pulsing wave is prolonged by him, not even through the peak of it does he let up on his precise touches and unforgiving thrusts into her that turn a typical orgasm into the most intense thing she's ever felt.
She's melting in his arms through it all, and as if the change in position didn't make it worse, her involuntary spasms leave him hanging on by a thread.
JJ collapses onto her, barely having the chance to keep himself propped up on his arms as he lets go of her wrists and falls forward onto her sweat-slick back.
The heat of his panting exhales raises goosebumps in its wake where his face is buried into the curve of her neck, and he whines at the impossibly tight feeling of her squeezing around his cock through the end of her climax. Those sounds he doesn't realize he's making have her writhing through the aftershocks, answering with a sound of her own that almost makes him come instantly.
For that reason, he makes the decision to pull out and flip her onto her back.
At this point, she's so dazed and fucked out that she doesn't register any of it until she notices the hollow absence of him inside of her, but it doesn't matter when his face appears through the partial darkness above her.
Despite how sensitive she is right now, the sight of him makes her hands reach out blindly to pull him closer again. They're frantic in their need to get back to one another, grasping and clawing until he finds his way back to her in less than a second, hiking her legs up around his waist with a touch that is somehow demanding and tender at the same time.
It's only when he's inside of her again that it occurs to her why he rolled her onto her back again, and it makes her want to kiss him until her lips turn numb. It may be undeniably hotter to pin someone down and fuck them hoarse, but, no, that wasn't what he wanted. He wanted to be able to look at her, to see her face, and the thought of that has her biting back a sudden confession of love. She isn't sure why she doesn't say it right away, since it isn't like they haven't already done it, but she keeps it to herself for a second first.
It's different now. It's not less passionate or frenetic. It isn't as if he isn't being as rough with her as he was before, but they can both sense a shift in the energy between them as soon as he reenters her. It's less about the pursuit of pleasure and more about the feelings they've kept hidden away for so long. It's a simultaneous realization that hits them a little late after they initially confessed their feelings for each other: this is reality. It's real, and when she touches him this time, he isn't going to disappear if she opens her eyes.
The realization of what happened tonight had yet to hit them until right this second, but now that it has, they move forward with a sense of sentimentality that remained partly dormant before.
If there's anything JJ dislikes, it's being vulnerable. The idea of letting someone in to see every part of him, including the parts he doesn't want to see of himself, has always terrified him after years of being made to believe he's undeserving, yet he isn't uncomfortable right now. Somehow, he feels safe with her. Sex has never been something so emotional for him until now, until her, and he doesn't want it differently.
Their bodies are drawn in close, her arms thrown around his neck, and he's so close, he can feel the muscles leading down past his lower abdomen contract with the inevitable approach of his orgasm. She can sense it too in how he acts.
When he gets close, he becomes clingier and lets his feelings get the better of him. His hands squeeze at her hips, sliding up her sides and back down to hike one of her legs up high around his waist to press deeper into her. He can't bear to allow his touch to stay in one place for too long before exploring another part of her, wanting to memorize the delicate intricacies of her body in its entirety.
It's as if she can read his mind too, cause even when she's sensitive enough to gasp when he pushes her thigh to her chest and throws his remaining energy into fucking her at a satisfying pace, she understands what he needs. She knows to reach up and run her fingers through his hair, to tug on it gently until the light strands are taut from his scalp. She knows to lift her head off of the floor enough to trail tender kisses along his face, his jaw, his neck—anywhere she can access.
"Come for me," she says into a kiss placed on the edge of his cheekbone, reeling in overstimulation as she jolts with his quickening thrusts, "I want to watch you..."
Hearing those words, paired with the kisses and fingers pulling on his hair, does it for him. It doesn't take more for his hips to falter and jerk forward into her a final few times before he comes.
Their foreheads press together as they cling to one another for stability, though it's mostly JJ clinging to her while she watches in adoration, and she has to bite her lip to contain a moan at how it feels. The aftershocks of her orgasm have yet to fade as the feeling of pulsing warmth inside of her makes them stronger, reigniting the fire she felt a moment ago if only for a second.
There's a closeness to this situation that they hadn't felt the last time, and they know it has everything to do with what was said before this happened. The sex itself feels like a dream sequence in her mind now that she's coming down from it with him, moving together slowly and gently beneath the candlelight until they ride out the ends of their highs. It was like they were put under a trance by each other, and now that it's over, the first thoughts that come to mind are of what comes next.
It's not the sole topic on their minds though. They're more focused on catching their breath from where they lay, tangled up together, on the living room floor. As soon as the very last of his orgasm faded from him, he fell onto her without a single ounce of energy left to spare. He's careful not to crush her, but, for the most part, he relaxes on top of her and lets his head rest on her heaving chest.
Strong arms slip down to loop around her waist, and she sure that she couldn't get him to release her if she wanted to, which she doesn't.
But they can't stay like this, not for any longer than a few moments anyway, since they don't know how if John B might wake up and come out of the safety of his bedroom after hours of leaving them to their own devices. JJ was right. He's out cold, but for as much as it turned them on in the heat of the moment, neither of them finds getting caught by him as hot with the clarity of their rational minds coming back to them.
He's the one to break the silence.
"As much as I wanna stay like this, we should probably move in case John B wakes up."
The sound of his voice settles in her with the effects of a sedative. It calms her more than anything else could, especially with the added comfort of him cuddling her so closely. One of her hands strokes through his hair and pushes the damp tendrils of sunshine away from his face as he cranes his neck to look up at her. And, for fuck's sake, what else is she to do except admire him?
His cheeks are dusted pink in a way they often are when he spends too much time outside without one of his hats shielding his face, and she thinks he's never looked better.
Ever since they became friends, she's had this theory about him. In the unrealistic landscape of her overactive imagination, JJ didn't come to this world the way the rest of them did. To her, it seems impossible that someone so good, even in his worst moments, could've come from someone like his dad.
So, in idle moments where she would watch him on a day out with the Pogues or daydream about him, she decided that he's the sun.
She imagines he was created in those breathtaking but brief moments where the sun meets the horizon atop the ocean and washes the sky with a vast array of colors. She likes to think he's the incarnation of it. Golden, warm, and bright for everyone but himself, he keeps the world light for her and their friends without intending to.
Some days are warmer than others too. Some days, the light is dimmed by another bruise beneath his clothes or a bad run-in with some kooks, but today is not like that. This moment is eighty-five and sunny with a balmy breeze. Looking at him right now feels like basking in the sun, and she'd burn here forever if he let her.
Without realizing she zoned out, she jolts when he pinches her arm to rouse her from her ridiculous thoughts. He has this dopey half-smile on his face that nearly draws her back into them again.
"You know what they say," he says, "if you take a picture..."
Her soft laughter invades the room, filling his heart with this light, fluttery feeling that always finds him when she's near. His smile grows as she playfully shoves him and reaches above their heads for her wet shirt to cover up with just in case. Odds are, their friend isn't waking up at the exact moment before they seclude themselves to the spare room and get dressed, but she doesn't wanna take that chance.
"I wasn't staring."
She was totally staring. But who could blame her? When someone looks at a person the way he looks at her, how could they ever stay away?
"Whatever you say."
JJ keeps smiling to himself while he pulls his underwear and shorts up his legs and waits for her to be decent enough to sneak past John B's bedroom to the bathroom at the end of the hallway.
The clothes are soaked through with rainwater, so they feel quite uncomfortable to slip back on, but they merely redress enough to be covered. She stole his shirt to avoid putting her shorts back on, the hem of the grey tee hanging right at the tops of her thighs when she walks. As soon as she slips her panties back on and picks up the rest of their cold, wet clothes, that's the cue he needs to scoop her up and take her away.
Y/N curses under her breath in surprise at feeling her feet being plucked off the ground, but she relaxes again once she's settled in his arms, realizing that it was just him who snuck up behind her and lifted her into his arms.
She doesn't say anything on the way to the bathroom. Instead, she lays her head on his shoulder in exhaustion and finds herself staring at the mark she left behind on his neck.
It's a deep, purplish red against the backdrop of his tan skin...the Pogues will surely notice the next time they see him. And while it will make her blush, it won't make her scared as it once would've. There may be a lingering sense of doubt and insecurity within her, but she wants this with him. Even if it means being teased by their friends or dealing with the jealousy of watching kook girls and tourons at parties hit on him, she wants this.
By the time the shower is spraying the rainwater from her hair and washing her clean of sweat sticking to her skin, she realizes that he isn't saying anything either, but she doesn't think it's out of any awkwardness or miscommunication. There's truly nothing to say, at least for now.
Though they didn't have the chance to talk in depth about everything yet, neither of them thinks of that right now. All they know is that they're together, whether it be officially or not, and it feels good. For once, something in his life feels right, and he lets himself enjoy it in silence.
The shower is a cramped space when shared between them and the wet clothes they have draped over the back edge of the tub, but they make it work. It's not like they mind anyway.
They bump into one another whenever they do so much as breathe, and the white walls echo the sounds of her giggling when he tries to tickle her. She leans her head back against his chest and lets out a laugh with shampoo dripping down the front of her face, and he'll be damned if he ever heard a sound as intoxicating as that.
It's a little weird. He's never been as soft and loving with a person before, and he has already felt overwhelmed in the lulls of quiet between them when he's given the chance to think about it.
When she washes his hair for him, insisting that she must return the favor after he so kindly washed hers, he was struck with the same mixture of wanting to simultaneously lean into and pull away from her that he felt the night of the party.
The warmth of the water loosens his sore muscles, washing suds of the green apple scented shampoo over his shoulders and down, down, down until it circles the drain beside his feet. All the while, her fingertips are delicately tracing over a healing bruise on his torso. Those pretty lips of hers are painted in a suppressed frown that she can't hide from him.
"Are you okay?" Y/N asks.
His instant reaction is to fake a smile, to brush it off and distract her as he usually does, yet he doesn't. He forces himself to remain neutral and not push her away.
"Happens all the time," he murmurs, shrugging and averting his eyes to reach for the soap off on the ledge.
The hands holding either side of his waist tighten as he tries to turn, pulling him back to her with more strength than he knew to anticipate from her. Their chests gently collide back together beneath the stream of water, and she can feel his breathing catch for a second or so in response.
The fact that their relationship has changed doesn't change how she handles this aspect of his life. Their new confessions don't have an impact on the part of his life he never wants to let anyone see, so she isn't going to force him to talk about it because they're trying out this whole relationship thing now. He has hard boundaries that she knows not to push sometimes. That's the way it is, and it might change as they grow closer but she knows to accept it for the moment.
As soon as he hears what she has to say next, he could crumble in relief at the realization that their new dynamic doesn't change anything.
"I didn't necessarily mean...that...I meant generally, you know? It's just that—" she sighs, "you shrink away a little when I hold you, and I wondered if I was making you uncomfortable."
Before she could finish the sentence, JJ was already thinking of what to say to prove her wrong, because that's not it. That's not what it is, and if she thinks she's done anything wrong, he'll do anything to convince her otherwise because it isn't her. It's him.
It's his dad lingering in the darker trenches of his mind, commanding his fear and attention so that even when he isn't physically present, he's still here. Part of why he denied wanting her was because he knew these types of things would arise in the beginning, that there would be difficult adjustments to make and conversations to be had, and he didn't want her to leave him as soon as she was faced with one of these things.
He shakes his head.
"You didn't do anything."
The feeing of her chest rising and falling with his begins to steady him after a moment of allowing the initial hesitation to dissolve. His internal reaction to her touch is the mental incarnation of a flinch. It's him waiting for the other shoe to drop and expecting her to do something, to hurt him, before his mind catches up with his heart. But once he realizes everything's okay, he loves it.
"It's kinda embarrassing, but I guess when you touch me, I'm expecting something else," he says softly, scared that if he speaks too loudly, everyone in the world will know how weak he feels.
She should've figured, but hearing him say it is different than wondering what the reasoning behind it is. Hearing him admit it after months of strict avoidance on the topic is a sucker punch to the gut.
Both times they had sex, he was too distracted and thoughtless to get caught up in that part of himself, but it's when the bliss of the afterglow disappears that it creeps back in. That's why he could always handle touch when it came in that context. It was his way of obtaining what he wanted without having to face this side of it—a temporary fix to a greater web of issues.
But there's nothing temporary about her. He doesn't want her to leave him, not without him resisting the urge to beg her on his knees to stay and at least remain his friend, so there's no choice but to face these momentary challenges head on.
She pauses for a second, thinking, then says, "You don't have to be embarrassed about it, I get it. We'll just have to take it day by day then. We can take it slow, and you'll let me know if it gets to be too much, okay?"
It's hard not to be shocked by how well she's taking it. A lot of people probably wouldn't feel too great after someone they love tells them they expect to be hit whenever they touch them, yet she's taking it in stride.
Things are back to normal as soon as she sees the grin on his face.
"So, you're saying you're gonna be trying not to throw yourself at me all the time?" JJ asks, then clicks his tongue as though in thought. "I give you a week. Tops."
Her eyes go wide as she looks at him. She holds her hand over her heart as she pretends to be scandalized by such an accusation, but they know it's true. They both can't keep their hands off of one another, which is why it confuses him. How can he want to reject and enjoy her touch at the same time? Sure, the discomfort disappears after the first split-second, but the fact that it happens in the first place annoys him to no end.
She rolls her eyes and tries to hide the fact that she's giggling as she reaches for the soap.
"You're a little shit, you know that?"
He doesn't miss a beat, saying back, "Yeah but I'm your little shit, so I feel like that says more about you than it does me."
While he's too busy rinsing the rest of the shampoo out of his hair, she smiles to herself at what he said.
Hers.
Nobody has ever been hers before, or proclaimed themselves as belonging to her as proudly and casually as he just did, and her heart melts over the sweet sentiment he didn't think twice about.
Less than a day ago, she was agonizing over her relationship with him and trying to ignore how powerful those feelings for him were, and now they're here. She no longer has to steal glances when he looks away or hide how jealous she feels when other girls flirt with him. To finally let the tension disappear is an immense weight off of her shoulders.
The rest of the shower is as quiet as the start of it was, and that comfortable silence continues through from when they're drying off and redressing to when they hit the mattress in the spare bedroom with tired sighs.
After the day they had, the mere suggestion of sleep is enough to make them start yawning, so being able to slip beneath the sheets and rest their heads almost sings her to sleep instantly.
Their bodies are laying in the exact outlines of where they laid the night of the party, the only difference this time being their mindsets. This time around, they aren't holding themselves back from anything, and it's most evident in the little things. Like how she doesn't turn around to shield her face from him, instead laying with her head propped on the other end of his favorite pillow.
They're so close, their noses brush if they make any slight movements, and this would be enough for him to submit to the urge to drift into sleep if not for the fact that he feels her jolt when thunder rumbles loudly outside of the window.
Much like his own fears being pushed to the side amidst their desire for each other, her anxiety about the storm wasn't on her mind until they laid down to sleep.
She was so wrapped up in him and everything that happened between them that she didn't have the time to think again until now, until she hears the violent patter of rain against the roof and feels her stomach drop at the sound of the thunder. Suddenly, she's not the one reassuring him about his fearful reactions, it's the other way around.
His warm hand takes hers, snatching it up as though he's worried it'll disappear if he doesn't take it quickly enough, and she lets him. Her eyes flutter shut with the release of a slow, deep breath, and she lets the presence of his hand in hers bring her back to earth.
JJ asks into the darkness, "Can I take you out on a real date?" After a beat of silence, the comforting sound of his voice returns to her. "Not that this isn't fun, but I think you deserve a little more effort than John B's living room floor."
A short-lived chuckle escapes her—a win as far as he's concerned. It's difficult to lure her head from the clouds when she gets this way, and it isn't like he has much experience with calming her during these moments either, but that sounded good to him. It sounded like she wasn't thinking about the increased pace of her heart or the howling wind outside.
He was planning on asking anyway. However fitting of a first night together this was, he wants to take her out for real sometime soon. He doesn't have much money for it, like at all, but they can come up with something special together, even if it's similar to the same shit they usually do together. As long as it's time alone together, they don't necessarily care if it's a perfectly traditional first date.
The tip of his thumb rubs comforting circles onto the back of her hand in the brief time it takes her to respond, stroking the soft skin as if to tell her that everything's okay. It seems to say, I'm right here. Nothing can hurt you. And it might make her crazy, but she believes him. JJ could take her back out into the eye of the hurricane at this very moment and she'd still believe his unspoken promise of not letting her into harm's way.
"Of course," she says, then pauses, and the sound of her sleepy voice hardly reaches his ears when she speaks again, "...I'm sorry I avoided you for the past few days. I was scared to tell you how I felt but I shouldn't have left that morning."
The memory of waking up in his arms is fresh in the forefront of her mind, so much so that she can remember the way his breath felt where it exhaled in warm puffs onto her skin.
In the first few moments of consciousness, it was peaceful.
She laid awake for a minute or two to count his breaths and soak in the comfort of being cuddled up next to him, wishing she could stay there for hours. It wasn't until another moment passed that it clicked with her where she was and what was going on between them recently, and that was what prompted her to slip away from the bed to get ready for her day at work.
It was the second time in a row that she left him in that bed with nothing to wake up to but the cold absence of her body between the sheets he slept under, and he can't deny that it's part of why he holds onto her hand so tightly tonight. Even though she's promised him otherwise, he can't help but think she'll be gone by the time he wakes up. At this point, he's struggling to stay conscious. She can see those pretty eyes drooping more and more by the second, yet the hand holding hers doesn't loosen its grip.
He takes a deep breath and scoots closer to her, keeping his one hand in hers while the other arm drapes itself over her waist, and he can feel her relax into the touch.
"It's okay," he says.
It's easier for him to adjust to so much physical contact when he's the one initiating. He knows that's why she only reached out to hold his hand. If she had it her way, she would've already been cuddling with him as soon as they laid down, but he likes that she gives him the space to initiate it. In the ways it counts the most, she cares about him more than anyone else has.
The touch in itself is his way of accepting her apology. However, truth be told, he already forgave her for it before knowing his love was reciprocated could be a possibility.
Right when she's about to fall asleep, the screen door slamming open and shut with the wind on the back porch makes her whip her head around to look over her shoulder in the direction of the sound. It seems like every time he successfully distracts her from it, the storm finds new ways of reminding her of what's happening outside of the safety of the Chateau.
There's the sound of a barely audible, sharp inhale, then her whispering into the dark room as she looks at the closed door, "I can't believe I went out into that. What the fuck was I thinking?"
It's beginning to close in on her again; the sounds of the storm, the sense of being trapped no matter how safe they truly are, and the rising tidal wave of anxiety that picks up speed the more she tries to will it to stop. This is the part where she tries to relieve it in some way, usually by smoking weed to sleep or going to one of her parents so they can help her through it, but she can't help herself right now.
Debris was being picked and tossed around in the wind like it weighed nothing when she was out there, she could've been knocked into the marsh or struck by a piece of debris.
How could she be so stupid?
Not only could she have hurt herself, she could've hurt JJ knowing that he'd likely follow her out into the storm to bring her back inside, and the thought of him being hurt makes the tension in her chest heavier. Her breathing picks up speed, the anxiety starting to snowball out of control when—
"Hey, look at me," JJ says, reaching up to turn her head to face him, and she damn near crumbles in relief at feeling his hand cup her cheek. It doesn't make it all disappear, but it provides a momentary comfort that she doesn't take for granted. "You're safe here. You know damn well I'll do anything to protect you. I mean, shit, dude, if I have to go out there and tell that rain to fuck off, I will."
This draws out a laugh from her, chest stuttering with the happy sound through the tears glistening in her eyes, and he never wants to stop hearing it. His thumb swipes away the first teardrop that falls before it can slip over the apples of her cheeks.
I'm
Her quiet cries and shaky breaths continue for a while after the laughter disappears. For a second or two, he watches with his thumb still wiping her tears away and hopes that it'll be enough to comfort her, but it can't do it completely.
He pulls away from her to get up from the bed with an idea popping into his mind, but upon hearing her whine at the loss of contact with him, he pauses to say, "I'll be back quick, don't worry."
The remaining humorous side of her left wonders if he's actually gonna go tell the rain to fuck off, but he's just opening the bedroom door to trot out into the living room.
A candle burning on the coffee table illuminates the space for him, guiding him straight to the forgotten backpack she left slumped against the arm of the couch hours before their relationship was changed for the better. It takes him an instant to get there and back with the bag in hand, and he's digging through it for a second before climbing back into bed with her.
If anyone else rifled through her bag, sifted through her personal belongings, and dug her phone out of it, she'd probably be annoyed, but she never is with him. She's inherently protective of her things, but JJ can do whatever he wants and it has always been that way. It should've been the first warning of what was to come.
He pulls the sheet back over his body and scoots up close to her, trying to resist the urge to retreat at first when he maneuvers her to lay with her head on his shoulder. It should trigger the flight or fight response that often alarms in his head, but he's able to push it away.
She's so vulnerable right now, so gentle and in need of the warmth of another person that he isn't as intimidated. It's not that she couldn't hurt him if she wanted to right now, she could, but he knows her. He knows that the last thing she'd ever want to do is hurt him, so he has to remind himself of that and give himself the permission to enjoy the physical intimacy of her touch. The part of him that questions if he even deserves it can't reach him now, not when he's so focused on her.
"Thumb?" he asks with the phone held out expectantly.
The screen is less than two inches from her face, so she has to push it back slightly, but she flattens her thumb to the button without further hesitation.
When he unwraps the pair of headphones from around the palm of his hand and plugs them into the charging port, she realizes why he left in the first place.
When she was facing away from him, eyes shut and headphones in to distract herself with music earlier, he was stealing glances at her every so often. He tried to keep away from her for the most part. It was difficult though, especially knowing what she said about being jealous the night of the party and knowing how scared she was of the hurricane. He couldn't help but keep an eye on her, for both his own selfish needs and his worry for her.
He keeps an arm tucked around her, pressing her body into his while he pops one of the headphones into her ear and the other into his. The thing is, her eyes aren't trained on the screen like his are once he starts looking through her vast collection of not-so-legally acquired music for a song that suits both of their tastes, they're trained on him.
Their taste in music tends to diverge in certain ways and overlap in others, so there's always a fifty/fifty shot of him liking what she plays when she's the one picking the music. That is why he smiles to himself and halts the endless scrolling in its tracks to hover his thumb over one song.
He obviously heard it before she played it that one time, but it's different for him now. They were riding together in the backseat of the Twinkie on the way to the beach with John B, Kie, and Pope when they let her take her turn to play a song.
That's how it is with them, the driver goes first, then it goes to the front seat passenger, and so on and so on until they make their way back to the beginning of the rotation. It was her turn when she picked this song, and it could've been the song, or the sunset shining through the window, but he felt as though his heart exploded when he looked at her in the middle of it.
He remembers feeling confused, confused as to why he couldn't catch his breath and why he suddenly adored the song he only heard casually a couple of times.
It was her. It was everything about her. The soft hum of her voice murmuring the lyrics, too shy to actually sing them in the presence of anyone else, was too delicate for the others to appreciate over the sounds of the van. He heard it though. He clung to it and admired her, so unashamed in his staring that he didn't realize he was doing it. It wasn't until she noticed that he stopped.
"Do I still have ice cream on my face or something?"
Her fingers came up to wipe at the corner over her mouth, and the action sent him turning his attention away quicker than he knew he could move, pulling the lighter out of his pocket to fiddle with as he mumbled, "Yeah, but you got it off now."
The cheery melody of Just Like Heaven bursts out of each headphone into their ears.
How did he know? How is he constantly reading her mind without realizing it?
This was her first song on the couch that she couldn't stand to sit through without thinking, naturally, of him when confronted with the topic of love. Somehow, it's like he knew that, and instead of feeling exposed and scared he'll know her feelings like before, she feels loved.
She is never skipping this song again.
"Go to sleep," he murmurs, clicking the screen off and resting it on his stomach.
It takes him a short thirty seconds to fall into an easy, calm pattern of breathing that tells her he isn't asleep, but soon will be. But she's fighting her sleepiness to continue looking at him. His eyes are fluttered shut, hair messy on the pillow, and she'd want to reach up to kiss him if he weren't trying to fall asleep.
Instead, she settles for matching her quickened breaths to the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath her hand and shuts her eyes along with him.
By the time the song reaches its end, she thinks he's asleep, but she still whispers, "Thank you," and feels his arm squeeze around her body in response.
The next songs fade into white noise at this point for her, drowning out the storm to the point where she begins to forget it's happening out there.
Maybe they can be each other's safe place when things get rough. After all, he handled this wonderfully considering his lack of experience with her anxiety and she never pushes him on his plethora of unsorted issues, even when she wants so badly to be the one to initiate the touch.
She never makes him think she pities him, or wants to "fix" him like so many partners with savior complexes who will never try to understand how it feels often do in these situations. With each other, maybe it doesn't have to be so complicated anymore, even when they have those inevitable arguments here or there.
The last thing he does before allowing himself to be dragged under is brush his lips on her forehead in a tender kiss. And when he eventually wakes to the rising sun shining through the windows in the aftermath of the violent hurricane, she's still there.
Tag List: @jjjmaybank, @its-simply-fanfiction, @naughtydild0swaggins.
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