#and he is so confused why Twig is avoiding him.)

[sincerely-sofie]

A blast from the past.

[santaasi]

shape of my heart

pairing: jj maybank x bsf!reader

summary: sometimes you need to wait a little longer to find your true way

warnings: angst, fluff, friends to lovers, miscommunication, family issues, no use of y/n, english isn’t my first language

word count: 21.2k

a/n: based on this ask. thank u love for your request and I'm again so sorry that I made you wait so long.

ᯓ★ now playing…

sting - shape of my heart

Ten years ago.

THE PLAYGROUND WAS ALIVE WITH CHAOS — a symphony of children's laughter rising above the creak of rusted swings, sneakers scuffing across cracked concrete, and the distant thud of a basketball bouncing against the asphalt. You lingered on the edge, an outsider in a sea of familiarity, clutching your purple lunchbox like it was your last line of defense. The unfamiliarity weighed heavy on your chest, like you had wandered into someone else’s story.

You kept your eyes down, avoiding the girls weaving braids into each other's hair, the boys racing toward the gym, or even the smallest glances from passersby. Instead, you stared at the ground, at the stubborn tufts of grass forcing their way through fractured cement, small triumphs of resilience in a world that didn’t seem to notice them.

“Hey!”

The voice was sharp, cutting through the din like a whistle, startling you out of your thoughts. You glanced up, squinting against the golden sun, and there he was — a boy with sun-bleached blond hair sticking up in every direction and a faint streak of dirt smudged across his cheek, as if he’d been pulled straight from the earth itself. His grin was lopsided, too wide for his face, and yet it held a kind of magic that loosened something tight in your chest.

“You’re new, aren’t you?” he asked, rocking back on his heels, as though time didn’t apply to him.

You nodded, the words you wanted to say getting stuck somewhere in the tangled knot of nerves in your throat.

“I’m JJ,” he said, thrusting out a scratched, freckled hand. His fingers were rough, the kind that told stories of climbing trees, skipping rocks, and scraping knees.

For a moment, you hesitated, before placing your smaller hand in his. You mumbled your name quietly, almost afraid to claim it out loud.

“That’s a cool name,” he said with an easy confidence that made you believe him, and then his grin widened. “Wanna see something?”

Before you could respond, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out what looked like a wand — or maybe a stick. He held it out to you like it was treasure, tilting it so you could see the jagged letters carved into its surface: JJ.

“Cool, huh?” he asked, his voice brimming with pride. “Bet no one else has a stick like this.”

You stared at it, unsure whether to laugh or frown. “Why… do you need a stick with your name on it?”

His blue eyes narrowed, his lips twitching into a smirk, like you’d just asked the most ridiculous question in the world. “Why not?”

Before you could come up with a response, his expression shifted — suddenly sharp and purposeful. “Wait a second… you don’t have a stick, do you?”

You shook your head, your confusion growing.

“That’s what I thought.” He crouched down, his fingers digging through the dirt with the precision of someone who had done this before. “Don’t worry. I’ll make you one. Every tough guy — or girl — needs their own stick.”

You opened your mouth, then shut it again, your words tripping over themselves. “Are you even allowed to do that?” you finally managed, watching as he pulled a small, well-worn pocketknife from his shorts like a magician revealing his trick.

“Nope,” he replied cheerfully, flicking the blade open with a quick, practiced motion that made your heart skip. “But you’re my new best friend, so you’ve gotta keep my secrets, alright?”

“Best friend?” The words felt strange in your mouth, unfamiliar and heavy, like a coat that didn’t quite fit.

“Yep.” He didn’t even look up, his focus entirely on the twig in his hands. He carved with a jeweler’s precision, the blade gliding over the bark. “That’s how it works. I pick you, and you stick with me. Forever.”

Forever.

Something about the way he said it made your chest ache, a sharp pang that softened into warmth. You watched him work, his tongue poking slightly out of the corner of his mouth, the sun catching on the golden strands of his hair. And when he finally held up the stick, your name etched into its curve, the world seemed to tilt ever so slightly.

“Here,” he said, handing it to you like it was something sacred. 

Your fingers closed around the rough bark, and you laughed — a sound that startled even you. In that moment, looking into JJ’s impossibly blue eyes, you felt the kind of calm you hadn’t known in a long, long time.

Forever with JJ didn’t sound so bad after all.

Seven years ago. 

THE SKY ABOVE THE MARSH WAS AWASH IN THE MOLTEN HUES OF AN AUTUMN SUNRISE. Amber bled into fiery pinks, the colors rippling across the surface of the water like molten gold. The air carried the faint chill of impending cooler nights, but the day stubbornly clung to its warmth, as if unwilling to let go of summer. The Chateau loomed in the distance, a patchwork fortress that seemed to defy time itself. Its leaning walls echoed with laughter, the kind that concealed unspoken secrets and the weight of teenage dreams.

Inside, the usual chaos reigned. Bedding was strewn across mismatched furniture like a quilt of disorder, a testament to the ragtag family that lived there. Kiara sat perched on the porch railing, one bare foot swinging idly as she took lazy bites of an apple. She always had a knack for fitting in without trying, her sharp wit and effortless loyalty solidifying her place in the group. She was the kind of person who could call you out without making you feel small — someone who belonged.

Pope was hunched over the remnants of a broken picnic table, his brow furrowed in concentration as he fiddled with an ancient, rusted compass he’d unearthed from the swamp. Every so often, his face would light up with a flicker of triumph, his mind always chasing the next answer, the next puzzle to solve. His cautious nature often counterbalanced JJ’s wild energy, grounding their adventures in just enough reason to keep them all alive.

John B. was nowhere to be seen, but you could hear his voice faintly in the distance, shouting something about finding snacks. It was his house, after all. His rules — or lack thereof — held the fragile threads of your makeshift family together. His boundless optimism gave the chaos purpose, like a lighthouse guiding you all home.

But home didn’t feel quite right to you tonight.

You laughed when you were supposed to, smiled in all the right moments, and played your part well enough that Kiara didn’t ask questions and Pope didn’t pry. But deep down, a heaviness clung to you, a storm cloud that followed no matter how hard you tried to outrun it. Your family was crumbling, and every laugh felt like a flimsy shield against the ache in your chest.

JJ noticed. He always noticed.

He watched you from the doorway of the Chateau, his arms crossed casually over his chest. You were sitting on the edge of the porch, staring out at the horizon, your body wrapped in a loose blanket as if it could protect you from more than just the cold. The others were heading to the shore, their laughter fading into the distance, but JJ stayed behind. He leaned against the doorframe, his expression soft yet unreadable, and waited.

He didn’t push. That wasn’t his style. He’d wait until the silence wore you down.

Eventually, you stood and wandered toward the pier, your steps slow and deliberate. The wooden planks groaned underfoot, each creak a reminder of the weight you carried. Behind you, JJ’s boots clicked softly as he followed, keeping just enough distance to give you space. He caught up without a word and settled beside you at the edge of the dock, his legs dangling over the water like yours.

The swamp stretched out before you, golden and still in the last light of the day. The air was heavy with the smell of salt and earth, clinging to your skin like a second layer. But today, even that familiar comfort felt distant.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s going on, or am I supposed to guess?” JJ finally asked, his voice low but not unkind.

You shrugged, keeping your eyes on the rippling water below. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“Bullshit,” he shot back, though his tone stayed light. “Come on, don’t do this. Not with me.”

A bitter laugh slipped out before you could stop it. “What do you want me to say, JJ? That my parents can’t stand the sight of each other? That I’m stuck in the middle, pretending everything’s fine when it’s not?” The words came out in a rush, raw and jagged. “That every time they fight, it feels like the whole house is gonna split in two? Or that I’m terrified my dad’s gonna leave, and I’ll be stuck alone with my mom and her... her anger?”

JJ didn’t respond right away. He just sat there, his blue eyes steady and unwavering, like he was bracing himself to catch everything you threw his way.

“Yeah,” he said finally, his voice quiet. “That’s what I want you to say.”

The simplicity of his answer hit you harder than anything else could have. Your breath hitched, and you shook your head, willing the tears to stay put. “It’s not fair, JJ. I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t even think I can.”

“You’re not supposed to fix it,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s their shit to deal with”

You turned to him, your voice trembling like the first fragile breath of morning. “You don’t understand. You’ve got your own stuff — your dad...” The words faltered, dissolving into the hush between you, thick with history, with everything left unsaid.

JJ’s jaw tightened, his gaze drifting toward the horizon where the sky was just beginning to bleed into gold. The world held its breath, the only sound the slow, rhythmic lap of water against the dock. Then, at last, he spoke, his voice rough, worn like the tide-washed edges of a broken shell.

“Yeah. I know what happens when things break.”

You opened your mouth to apologize, but he shook his head, silencing you before the words could take shape. “It’s fine. You know about my dad. But my mom…” He exhaled sharply, like he was trying to push the weight of her memory away. “She used to talk about leaving. I was just a kid, but I remember — her promises, her trembling, the way she’d whisper about getting me out of here.” A bitter laugh escaped him, quiet and sharp. “Guess she changed her mind.”

“JJ…” Your heart ached for him, for the past neither of you could change.

He shook his head again, as if brushing off ghosts. “It was their mess. And it’s not my fault how it ended. Just like it’s not yours.”

His fingers found yours, warm and sure, grounding you in the space between then and now. When you turned your head, his blue eyes were already on you, soft but steady.

“She left this behind.”

From his pocket, he pulled a small silver ring, its surface worn, scratched — a tiny thing that had survived despite everything. He held it out to you, his fingers hesitant, reverent.

“She used to say it reminded her that no matter how bad things got, there was always something worth holding onto.”

Your fingers trembled as you took it, the cool metal pressing into your palm, heavier than it should have been. As if it carried the weight of his mother’s dreams, of his own unspoken hopes.

“JJ, I can’t- ...”

“Take it,” he said, quiet but firm. “You need it more than I do.”

With careful fingers, you slid the ring onto your finger, feeling its weight settle against your skin like an anchor. “Thank you,” you whispered, voice cracking like the first light breaking over the horizon.

JJ leaned back on his hands, tilting his head toward the sky, where the first flush of morning painted the clouds in soft pinks and golds. “You know… you remind me of her sometimes.”

“Your mom?” you asked, surprised.

“Yeah.” He glanced at you, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “She was tough as hell. Stubborn, too. But she cared — about people. About me. Even when she didn’t have to.” He paused, his gaze steady, unreadable. “You’re the same.”

The words settled deep in your chest, too heavy, too meaningful to respond to right away. Instead, you turned your eyes toward the horizon, where sunlight spilled over the water in rippling gold.

“I’m scared, JJ,” you admitted, the confession barely louder than the breeze. “I’m scared of what’s gonna happen. Of losing everything.”

JJ’s hand tightened around yours, his touch warm, certain. “You’re not gonna lose me,” he said, his voice as steady as the tide. “Not ever.”

The promise hung between you, quiet and unshakable. And as the sun lifted higher, chasing away the last traces of night, you felt something you hadn’t in a long time — hope.

Five years ago 

THE OUTER BANKS SHIMMERED IN GOLD, THE KIND OF GOLD THAT MADE YOU NOSTALGIC BEFORE YOU EVEN KNEW WHAT YOU WERE MISSING. The waves lapped at the sand in gentle rhythm, their white foam catching the blush of the sun. The salt hung heavy in the air, mingling with the earthy scent of the marsh and the tang of summer heat. It wrapped around you like an old friend, welcoming you home, though the nervous flutter in your chest refused to settle. The truck rattled and groaned as it bounced over the uneven path toward the coastline, and you gripped the door handle with one hand, your bag with the other, as though bracing yourself.

“It’s just the dock,” you told yourself, your voice barely audible over the grumble of the engine. But the words rang hollow. It wasn’t the dock, and it wasn’t the coastline — not really. It was him. It was all of them. And it was what they’d come to mean to you over the years.

“Still quiet over there,” your dad said, glancing your way with a knowing smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. He always had that knack for reading you, even when you wished he wouldn’t.

You tried to shrug off the tension, forcing a lightness into your voice. “I’m just... excited, I guess.”

“Excited?” he teased, the smile deepening. “Or nervous? Those are different things, you know, kid.”

“Dad,” you groaned, rolling your eyes even as heat crept up your neck. “It’s not like that.”

He let out a low chuckle, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. “Sure, kiddo. Whatever you say.”

You could tell he didn’t believe you, not even for a second. Maybe because you didn’t quite believe yourself.

Italy had been a dream, one of those picture-perfect, sunlit chapters you’d always imagined. Rolling hills stretching out endlessly, gelato melting on your tongue in the lazy heat of the afternoons, and your mom’s laughter echoing through quiet cobblestone streets. She had come alive there in a way you hadn’t seen in years. And yet, through it all — through the beauty and the memories — you’d felt something tugging at you, an ache that only grew sharper with every passing day. Homesick, you’d called it. But deep down, you’d known it wasn’t the place you missed. It was the people.

It was him.

And now, with the truck crawling to a stop behind the dock, your heart leapt into your throat.

“Are you sure they’ll be here?” your dad asked, pulling the gear into park. His tone was casual, but there was something amused in the way he looked at you, like he already knew the answer.

“Of course,” you replied, your voice a little too quick, too rehearsed. You tightened your grip on the strap of your bag. “They’re where they always are.”

The truth was, you hadn’t told anyone you were coming back early. You hadn’t even told JJ. Especially JJ. He had made you promise — more than once over late-night FaceTime calls — that you’d text him the moment your plane touched down. He’d even threatened to show up at the airport, laughing in that easy, reckless way of his, though you’d known he was only half-joking. But you hadn’t sent that text. You’d wanted to see the look on his face when he saw you standing there, unannounced. And maybe, just maybe, you’d wanted to see what you’d find in his eyes when the surprise wore off.

The dock came into view, and there they were. John B was sprawled across a bench, his cap tilted low over his eyes, giving him the appearance of a man who hadn’t moved all day. Kiara sat with her legs dangling off the edge of the dock, flicking water at Pope, who was laughing and grumbling all at once but made no effort to move away. It was a picture of everything you’d missed — easy, loud, chaotic, and alive.

And then there was him. JJ.

He stood leaning against one of the weathered wooden posts, barefoot and careless, his golden hair catching the rays of the setting sun like a halo. He was laughing at something John B had said, that loud, uninhibited laugh that always seemed to cut through everything and fill the air with warmth. The sight of him sent a rush of emotion through you, so sudden and overwhelming it left you breathless. He hadn’t changed — not really — but there was something about the way he stood there, so vividly himself, that made your chest ache.

Your father’s voice broke the silence. “Go on, kid,” he said softly, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. He nudged you with his elbow, his eyes flicking toward the group on the dock. “I’ll grab your bag.”

You hesitated for half a beat, the nerves tying knots in your stomach. But then you stepped out of the truck, the warmth of the wooden planks beneath your feet grounding you. The salty breeze tugged at your hair, carrying with it the distant hum of cicadas. None of them had noticed you yet; they were too wrapped up in their own world. For a moment, you just stood there, watching, letting the scene unfold like the opening act of a play.

And then JJ looked up.

His laughter faltered mid-breath, his head snapping toward you like a reflex. His eyes, that familiar piercing blue, went wide with disbelief, and for a split second, he didn’t move. It was as though the world had stopped spinning, frozen in the space between his surprise and your racing heart. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

Your heart thudded painfully against your ribs. “Hi, Maybank,” you called out, trying to keep your voice steady despite the way it wavered on the edges.

He blinked, like he was trying to convince himself you were real. And then, all at once, he was moving. He pushed off the post with a kind of urgency that made your breath hitch, his steps quick and unhesitating as he closed the distance between you.

Before you could say anything else, his arms were around you, pulling you into him with a force that left no room for doubt. His grip was tight, desperate, like he was holding on to something he couldn’t bear to lose. Your arms came up to wrap around his neck, and for a moment, the rest of the world melted away. It was just you and JJ, the sound of his heartbeat loud and steady against your ear.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” JJ’s voice was muffled against your neck, rough and raw in a way that made your chest tighten. His arms were still wrapped tightly around you, like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go. You could feel the uneven rhythm of his breathing, the way his grip trembled just slightly. It was a rare thing for JJ to show cracks in his armor, and seeing it now left you speechless.

“I wanted to surprise you,” you murmured, your voice soft as you pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. His face was so close that you could see the golden flecks in his blue eyes, the way his brows knit together like he was trying to figure out how to put words to whatever was storming inside him.

For a moment, the world shrank. It was just you and JJ, the sound of the waves lapping against the dock, and the faint hum of the evening settling over the marina. His gaze roamed your face, slow and intent, like he was memorizing every detail — the curve of your cheek, the faint freckles the summer sun had scattered across your nose, the way your lips parted slightly, trying to form words that wouldn’t come. There was something in his expression you couldn’t quite name, something that made your pulse quicken. It felt like standing on the edge of something vast, something you couldn’t yet see the bottom of.

But just as quickly, the moment broke.

“Well, well, well,” John B’s familiar drawl cut through the air as he strolled over, a grin tugging at his lips. “Look who decided to grace us with her presence. Miss World Traveler.”

You let out a soft laugh, stepping back from JJ, though you felt the absence of his arms immediately. John B threw an arm around your shoulders in a casual hug. “It’s been way too quiet around here without you,” he said, giving you a playful nudge.

Kiara was next, pulling you into a hug so tight it nearly knocked the breath out of you. “God, your tan makes me sick,” she teased, pulling back to inspect you. “Italy must have been amazing. I’m so jealous.”

“It was,” you said, smiling, though the word felt incomplete. Italy had been beautiful, yes — but it hadn’t been home.

Pope stepped forward, his grin crooked as he gave you a mock-serious look. “You know he was unbearable without you, right?” He jerked his thumb toward JJ, who was now leaning against a post, trying (and failing) to look indifferent. “We thought we were going to have to sedate him by the second week.”

“Shut up, Pope,” JJ snapped, but the tips of his ears turned red. He glanced at you, and for just a second, his tough exterior cracked again. There was that shy, almost sheepish smile he gave when he thought no one was looking, the one that always made your heart stutter a little.

You laughed, shaking your head, but something warm and unfamiliar bloomed in your chest. JJ looked... different. His features had sharpened over the summer — the curve of his jaw a little more defined, his shoulders broader, like he’d grown into himself in ways you hadn’t expected. But it wasn’t just the way he looked. It was the way he carried himself, with a quiet kind of confidence that hadn’t been there before. And yet, underneath it all, he was still JJ. Still the boy with the crooked smile and the reckless charm that felt like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

“Let’s go,” he said suddenly, his voice softer now. His hand found yours, his fingers curling around it like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You have a lot to tell us.”

The group fell into step together, leading you toward the bustling marina. The warm glow of the sun bathed everything in hues of orange, and the air buzzed with life — vendors calling out their wares, the occasional shout of a fisherman unloading his catch, the distant hum of a boat engine cutting across the water. It all felt so alive, so home, in a way that Italy never could.

The Pogues bombarded you with questions as you walked. What did you see? Was the food as good as everyone says? Did you meet anyone interesting? You laughed, trying to answer them all, but your attention kept slipping back to JJ. He hadn’t let go of your hand, his thumb tracing absent patterns on your skin — a mindless, gentle motion that sent shivers down your spine. It was such a small thing, but it made your heart race in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

“Italy sounds amazing,” Kiara said, her chin propped on her palm as she looked at you. “But I bet you missed us more.”

“Of course I did,” you said, smiling. The warmth in your voice was genuine, but you couldn’t ignore the way your gaze kept drifting toward JJ.

“She missed JJ the most,” Pope teased, leaning back against a post with a grin. “You should’ve seen him. He was a mess without you.”

“Pope, I swear to God– ” JJ started, his voice sharp, but his face betrayed him. The blush that crept up his neck was impossible to hide. He muttered something under his breath and looked away, scratching the back of his head.

You raised an eyebrow, leaning closer. “Oh? Did you miss me, Maybank?”

He scoffed, trying to look unaffected, but the corner of his mouth twitched in a way that betrayed him. “Just a little bit,” he said, his voice low. But the way his eyes softened when they met yours told a different story.

John B leaned forward, his tone conspiratorial. “He even tried to learn Italian, you know. Thought it’d impress you.”

“John B, shut up,” JJ groaned, his face now fully red.

“It’s true,” Kiara chimed in, grinning. “He kept saying ‘ciao’ like it was going to earn him points.”

You burst out laughing, and the sound seemed to melt JJ’s embarrassment just a little. He ducked his head, but there was a small, bashful smile tugging at his lips. And in that moment, with the sun golden shine behind him and the sound of your laughter filling the air, you felt it — the quiet shift, the unspoken thing between you. It wasn’t just friendship anymore. It hadn’t been for a while.

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a deep amber glow across the water, and the group decided to head back to the chateau for dinner. You climbed into the back of John B’s van, squeezed between Kie on one side and JJ on the other. The ride was a cacophony of laughter, teasing, and JJ’s increasingly absurd defenses.

“Learn Italian to impress her?” Kie snorted. “Did you think she’d forget English while she was gone?”

“It wasn’t like that!” JJ protested, his voice pitched higher, feigning offense. “I was broadening my horizons, okay? Becoming a cultured man of the world.”

“You downloaded one app, dude,” Pope deadpanned from the front seat.

The laughter that followed was so contagious, you clutched your stomach, gasping for breath. JJ caught your eye and grinned, nudging your arm with his elbow. “They’re all jealous of my superior intellect,” he said dramatically, leaning back against the van’s rattling side.

“Yeah, that’s it,” you teased, your shoulder pressing into his. The warmth of his presence next to you was grounding, familiar, and something else you couldn’t quite name.

By the time you arrived, the air was heavy with the scent of salt and pine, the ocean waves a distant hum. The chateau stood as it always had, leaning slightly to one side as though it was part of the landscape itself. It felt like a hug, warm and unassuming, wrapping you in its charm the moment you stepped out of the van.

The group scattered almost immediately — Kie and Pope darted into the kitchen, debating whether Kie’s avocado toast counted as dinner or a snack, and John B headed straight for the radio, mumbling something about needing “vibes” to cook. But JJ lingered, grabbing your wrist gently and pulling you toward the porch.

The wooden boards creaked beneath your feet as you stepped outside. The air had cooled, the sun’s absence leaving the sky awash in deep purples and soft blues. Stars were beginning to blink into view, scattered like salt across a velvet canvas. JJ leaned against the railing, his hands in his pockets, watching you as you took it all in.

“You missed this place, didn’t you?” His voice was quieter now, free of the bravado and teasing he wore like armor around the others.

You nodded, your throat tightening with emotion you hadn’t expected. “Yeah,” you whispered. “More than I thought I would.”

His gaze softened, and he tilted his head slightly, studying you in that way he had — the way that always made you feel like he could see through every wall you’d ever put up. “What about us?” he asked, his tone playful but laced with something more.

“I’ve already told you!” You smiled, your chest tightening as your heart thudded against your ribs. “I missed all of these. Especially you guys.”

He grinned, his signature mischievous look creeping across his face. “And me? You miss me the most, right?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the way he suddenly felt so tall, so close, so... everything. “I didn’t miss you, Maybank. You wouldn’t leave me alone. You called every day,” you teased, trying to keep the mood light. But the truth lingered on the edge of your words, unspoken but heavy: I missed you more than anything.

JJ chuckled, but his smile faltered for just a moment, replaced by something uncertain. His eyes dropped to the floor before flicking back up to you. He shifted, tapping his bare foot against the wooden porch. “You... uh, you look different,” he said awkwardly.

“Different?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck in that nervous way you’d seen a hundred times. “A good different. Not that you didn’t look good before, because you did, obviously, but– ”

“JJ,” you interrupted, laughing softly. “Thanks. You look different too.”

He blinked, surprised. “Yeah?”

You nodded, your voice softening. “Yeah. In a good way.”

He straightened slightly, his gaze locking with yours. The dim light spilling from the house caught in his eyes, turning them into restless fragments of the sea — wild, endless, impossible to look away from. There was something in his expression, something raw and unguarded, like he was balancing on the edge of words he didn’t know how to say. It was the same look he’d had earlier at the dock, the one that had stolen the breath from your lungs.

Without thinking, your fingers found their way to the nape of his neck, threading through the soft strands of his blonde hair. He exhaled a quiet, contented hum, his eyes slipping closed for just a moment as his hand found your waist, pulling you closer. A soft giggle escaped your lips, ringing like a bell in the hush between you. His eyes fluttered open at the sound, locking onto you with an intensity that sent warmth curling through your spine.

The silence wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t easy either. It sat between you, heavy with everything unspoken, everything shifting in ways neither of you had quite named yet. The air seemed to hum, thick with something electric, something that made your skin tingle and your heart hammer against your ribs.

His fingers flexed against your waist, just enough to draw you closer, and your body, as if pulled by an invisible force, leaned toward him in return. His head dipped slightly, the space between you dwindling to something fragile, something trembling.

Then…

Kie’s voice cut through the stillness, sharp and teasing. ‘Come on, lovebirds! The food’s ready!’”

JJ let out a slow sigh, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “We better go before Kie decides to drag us in by force.”

Still, he didn’t move right away. And neither did you.

Then, as if remembering himself, he extended his hand toward you. Without hesitation, you took it. His fingers were rough with callouses, warm and sure, grounding you in the quiet shift of whatever this was between you.

As he led you back inside, you wondered if he noticed the way your hand lingered in his, the way your fingers curled just a little tighter around his. Maybe he did. Maybe he didn’t.

But for now, it didn’t matter.

For all the things that had changed — Italy, the long summer apart, the way you caught yourself looking at him differently — one thing hadn’t. JJ was still JJ. And whatever this was, whatever it was becoming, it could wait.

Because right now, being here — being with him — was enough.

Three years ago.

THE SUMMER HEAT OF THE OUTER BANKS CLUNG TO THE WORLD LIKE A SECOND SKIN — THICK, STICKY, AND INESCAPABLE. The scent of saltwater mingled with sun-baked wood, and the ceaseless hum of cicadas filled the air, their song marking the passing hours like a heartbeat. At fifteen, you and the Pogues were in that strange, liminal space between childhood and adulthood — no longer the carefree kids you used to be, but not yet the grown-ups you pretended to be. Everything felt different now, like the tide had shifted without warning.

And for you, the biggest shift was JJ.

He’d always been your best friend, the boy you trusted with every secret, the one who could make you laugh so hard it felt like you might burst. He was constant, like the rhythm of the waves — a part of you, as familiar as your own shadow. But that summer, something about him was different. He carried himself in a new way, a confidence that made people look at him differently. His smile was sharper, his laughter louder, and there was a reckless glint in his eye that seemed to draw others to him.

And JJ didn’t shy away from the attention.

At every party, there was someone new. A girl with sun-kissed skin, her laughter ringing through the night as she leaned too close to him. She’d drape her arm over his shoulder, her fingers grazing his neck, and JJ would flash that grin — the one that could light up a room. You’d watch from the sidelines, your stomach twisting, and force yourself to look away.

It was Saturday night, and the Pogues were gathered around one of the many campfires dotting the beach. The fire popped and crackled, sending embers spiraling into the dark sky. Music blared from a nearby speaker, mixing with the steady rhythm of the waves. You sat perched on a weathered log beside Kie, clutching a can of beer, trying not to let your gaze drift.

But it always found him.

JJ was the center of attention, as he always seemed to be. He sat with a girl you didn’t recognize — a brunette with tan lines tracing her shoulders and a laugh that rang too loud. Her hand rested on his knee, and every time she shifted closer, your chest tightened. JJ leaned in, murmuring something to her, and whatever he said made her cheeks flush. She giggled, tucking her hair behind her ear, and you turned your gaze toward the ocean, swallowing against the lump rising in your throat.

The moon hung low, casting its silver light across the water in a shimmering trail. You tried to focus on that, on the soothing sound of the waves, on anything other than the way JJ smiled at her like she was the only person in the world.

“Hey,” Kie’s voice broke through your thoughts, gentle but insistent. She was watching you with that look — concern mixed with a knowing edge. “You okay?”

You forced a smile, one that felt more like a grimace. “Yeah,” you lied. “Just tired.”

Kie didn’t buy it, but she didn’t press — at least not yet. “You know, he’s just… being JJ. It doesn’t mean anything.”

You hesitated, your gaze flickering back to him. The girl had rested her head on his shoulder, her laughter cutting through the night like shards of glass. Your throat tightened, and you tore your eyes away again, back to the ocean, where the waves didn’t hurt to look at, gulping the rest of your beer in one go.

“That’s not it,” you said quietly, but your voice wavered, betraying you.

Kie raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into the faintest of smirks. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

You opened your mouth, ready to protest, but stopped. What was the point? Kie already knew. She probably had for a while.

“Just forget it,” you mumbled, your fingers tracing the rim of your empty beer can.

But Kie didn’t say anything else. She just gave you a knowing look and leaned back, her attention drifting back toward the fire.

And then, as if to twist the knife, JJ’s laughter rang out again, loud and carefree. You risked another glance, unable to help yourself. He’d leaned back now, his hands resting behind him, his head tipped back slightly as he laughed at something the girl had said. The firelight danced across his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the messy golden hair that never seemed to sit right, the mischievous spark in his eyes.

It was moments like this that made everything so confusing. Because no matter how much it hurt to see him like this — flirting, laughing, carefree—there were still times when JJ was just JJ. Your JJ. The boy who’d sneak out of his house at midnight to climb through your window when you couldn’t sleep. The boy who taught you how to surf, even though you were terrified of wiping out. The boy who made you feel like nothing in the world could touch you as long as he was around.

And maybe that’s what made it all hurt so much. That underneath all the bravado, the recklessness, and the flirting, JJ was still the boy you’d always known.

But now, he was someone else too. Someone who could break your heart without even realizing it.

It was easier when things were simple — when it was just the two of you, laughing, teasing, moving through life like you were invincible. But lately, even the simplest things felt like they carried a weight neither of you were ready to name.

Like now.

The sun hung high in the sky, beating down on the ocean as another wave crashed against the shore. JJ stood a few steps ahead, his board tucked under his arm, his sun-bleached hair glowing like gold in the afternoon light. That grin of his — mischievous and full of challenge — never failed to pull you in.

“Come on,” he called, his voice rising above the steady roar of the surf. “It’s simple.”

You crossed your arms, leveling him with a skeptical look. “It’s simple for you,” you muttered. “You’ve been doing this since you could walk.”

JJ rolled his eyes dramatically, wading deeper until the waves licked at his knees. “Trust me,” he said, holding out a hand. His grin softened slightly, and there was something steady in his gaze, something that made your heart skip in a way you refused to acknowledge. “I won’t let you drown.”

You hesitated, the familiar tug-of-war between reluctance and trust playing out in your chest. But, as always, JJ won. He always did.

With a resigned sigh, you grabbed the board and trudged into the water after him.

The next hour was a chaotic blend of saltwater, laughter, and repeated wipeouts. Every time you fell — and it was a lot — JJ was there, his hands steady as they pulled you back up. His laughter, warm and unrestrained, rang out like music, and though your pride took a beating, you couldn’t help but smile.

“You’re thinking too much,” he said after your fifth or sixth — or maybe tenth — tumble. He placed his hands on your waist, steadying you on the board once more. Your heart betrayed you, skipping a beat at his touch, but you stubbornly pushed the feeling aside.

“Easy for you to say,” you grumbled, brushing wet hair from your face. “You’re practically part fish.”

JJ chuckled, leaning closer, his breath warm against your ear. Despite the summer heat, goosebumps rippled over your skin.

“Then I guess that makes you a mermaid,” he teased, his voice low and tinged with a surprising tenderness.

Your cheeks burned, and you quickly turned your gaze toward the horizon, focusing on the rolling waves rather than the boy who suddenly seemed too close. “Let’s just try again,” you muttered, desperate to redirect the moment.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you managed to stand. It was only for a fleeting moment — barely long enough to count — but it was enough. The triumph surged through you, exhilarating and fleeting like the waves beneath you.

“See?” JJ said, his voice softer now, as if matching the mellow hues of the setting sun. “Told you you could do it.”

You turned to him, breathless and grinning, and for a moment, the world stilled. The sun was sinking low, painting the sky in soft oranges and pinks. It framed him perfectly, casting a warm glow over his features.

“Thanks, JJ,” you murmured, the words heavier than they should have been.

His gaze held yours, lingering just a moment too long. A strand of his hair fell into his eyes, and without thinking, you reached up to brush it away.

The movement froze both of you. His smirk faltered, just for a heartbeat, and something unspoken flickered in his eyes — something that made your chest tighten. Then, as quickly as it came, it was gone. His grin returned, as cocky and disarming as ever.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he teased, though his voice was softer now, his eyes unreadable. “Don’t go falling for my good looks.”

You rolled your eyes, shoving his shoulder lightly. “Not a chance,” you lied, ignoring the way your stomach fluttered.

JJ laughed, loud and carefree, but you caught the way his gaze lingered just a second longer before he turned toward the waves.

And that was the thing about JJ — he could slip so easily between lightness and something deeper, between reckless teasing and the kind of silence that weighed heavy in the air. Moments like this, where the push and pull between you was almost tangible, never lasted long enough for you to grasp. Before either of you could acknowledge it, the moment was gone, carried away by the ocean breeze.

But there were other moments, quieter ones. Moments that felt heavier in their stillness, like those nights when JJ showed up at your door after another blowout with his dad.

The first time it happened, you found him sitting on your porch steps, his head in his hands, his shoulders hunched as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him.

“JJ?” you called softly, stepping outside.

He didn’t look up right away, but when he did, your breath caught. His face was bruised, his eyes hollow, and his exposed shoulders bore fresh cuts and bloodied scrapes, like shallow knife wounds carved by chaos.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he muttered, his voice rough and breaking at the edges.

You didn’t ask questions — there wasn’t any need. You just held the door open and waited for him to step inside.

In the kitchen, the warm glow of the overhead light did nothing to soften the bruises on his skin. If anything, it made them starker, painting him in shades of blue and violet, evidence of another fight, another night gone wrong. You swallowed hard and pulled out the first-aid kit, setting it down on the counter with hands that trembled despite your best efforts to keep steady.

“Sit,” you said, barely above a whisper.

JJ obeyed without his usual smart remark, without that lopsided grin he used to mask the things he didn’t want to talk about. Instead, he sank onto the stool, shoulders heavy, jaw tight, his usual armor nowhere to be found.

You stepped closer, standing between his legs as you reached for his arm. His skin was warm under your fingertips, burning, like it was branding something into you. You worked in silence, dabbing at the cuts and bruises, trying not to think about how close he was, how you could feel his breath on your collarbone when he exhaled. Every now and then, he winced — just barely, but enough to make your chest squeeze.

“You don’t have to do this,” he murmured, voice hoarse, almost hesitant.

“I want to,” you answered, your voice soft but firm.

His eyes flickered to yours then, searching, like he was trying to read between the lines of what you were really saying. You focused on your hands instead, fingers brushing over his knuckles, the rough callouses there. When you pressed a bandage over a particularly nasty scrape near his collarbone, his breath hitched — not in pain, but in something else, something thicker, heavier.

You could feel it, that shift. The one that always hovered just beneath the surface, the one neither of you talked about.

When you finished, you didn’t step away.

And neither did he.

Instead, JJ reached out, his fingers ghosting over your hip before settling there, light at first — like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed. But when you didn’t pull away, his grip tightened, tugging you closer until your thighs brushed against his.

The air felt too thin. His knees caged you in, his chest so close that every inhale felt shared.

Then, slowly, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against your sternum. His hands curled around the fabric of your shirt, fisting it like he needed something to hold onto. You froze, caught between the urge to step back and the need to stay right here, right in this moment where nothing else existed but the feeling of him against you.

“Thank you,” he murmured against your skin. His voice was rough, stripped bare in a way that made your fingers twitch with the need to touch him, to do something to ease whatever storm was raging inside his chest.

So you did.

Your hand found his hair, sliding through the messy blonde strands at the nape of his neck. He exhaled shakily, and his grip on you tightened just slightly, like he didn’t want to let go.

“Always,” you whispered, your lips barely brushing the top of his head.

The silence stretched, thick and charged. He was still leaning into you, still holding on. And you let him.

Later, when exhaustion finally claimed him, JJ collapsed onto the couch, his arm thrown over his eyes like he was shielding himself from something only he could see. You stayed close, curling up beside him on the floor, your knee brushing his where it dangled off the edge of the cushion.

At some point, his hand slipped down, his fingertips grazing your wrist. A slow, deliberate touch.

You didn’t move away.

Didn’t breathe.

Then, just as you thought he might have fallen asleep, his voice came, quiet, hesitant. “Sometimes… you’re the only good thing in my life.”

The words landed somewhere deep in your chest, something fragile cracking open at the sound of them.

You didn’t speak right away. Instead, you reached up, smoothing his messy hair back, letting your fingers linger just a little too long, letting them say the things neither of you could.

“You’re stronger than you think, JJ,” you murmured, letting your thumb graze the curve of his cheek.

His eyes, heavy with exhaustion, held onto yours for a second too long. Like he wanted to say something else. Like maybe, if you had both been braver, he would have.

But instead, he just sighed, eyes fluttering shut again, his hand still resting against your wrist.

As the night stretched on, as his breathing evened out, you stayed there, your fingers brushing against his in the quiet, in the space between friendship and something more, in the place where neither of you were ready to take that step — but neither of you could quite let go either.

At some point, exhaustion tugged at you, and you let your head rest against the couch, still close enough to feel the slow rise and fall of his chest. You weren’t sure when sleep finally took you, only that when you woke up, the room was filled with the soft, golden light of morning. JJ was already gone, but the warmth on your wrist where his fingers had been still lingered like a ghost of the night before.

Days passed, but that moment stayed with you, threading itself into the quiet spaces between you and him — unspoken, but always there.

And then, just like that, life moved forward.

JJ and your dad got along better than you ever expected. Your father’s easygoing nature seemed to calm JJ, something not many people could manage. The two of them spent hours on the dock fishing or tinkering with your dad’s old boat, a project perpetually in progress but never quite finished.

One evening, you leaned against the porch railing, watching the two of them by the water. The sun was low, casting golden streaks across the horizon, the kind of warmth that made everything feel softer, easier. JJ was crouched next to the tackle box, untangling a fishing line with a furrowed brow, while your dad stood beside him, gesturing animatedly as he explained some trick about casting in shallow water.

Your dad chuckled, shaking his head. “He’s a quick learner, I’ll give him that. Better than you ever were,” he teased, glancing over his shoulder at you.

“Hey!” you protested, crossing your arms with mock offense. “I was an excellent student.”

“Sure you were, kiddo,” your dad replied, grinning. “But this one’s got patience. You always wanted to skip straight to the catching part.”

JJ glanced up at you, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Guess I’m better at something, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small smile that slipped through. Because even as the moment shifted, as laughter replaced the weight of the night before, that quiet, unspoken something between you and JJ remained — always there, always waiting.

Later, after the lines were packed away and the mosquitoes started biting, the three of you retreated to the porch. The air was thick with the scent of salt and cut grass, the night settling comfortably around you. Your dad handed JJ a soda before easing into his chair with a contented sigh.

“He’s a good guy,” your dad said quietly, nodding toward JJ, who was leaning back against the steps, eyes lost somewhere in the stars. His fingers tapped absently against the can in his hands, his golden hair catching in the porch light.

You swallowed, your chest tightening at the sight of him like this — unguarded, weightless, like for once, the world wasn’t pressing in on him. “Yeah,” you murmured. “He is.”

Your dad turned to you then, studying your face with that knowing look only a parent could manage. “You care about him, don’t you?”

Your cheeks burned. “Of course I care about him,” you said quickly, too quickly. “He’s my friend.”

“Uh-huh.” Your dad’s voice was easy, but his eyes were serious. “Just make sure he knows it. Sometimes, people like JJ need to be reminded they’re worth something.”

The words hit deep, settling somewhere between your ribs, heavy and true. You nodded, not trusting yourself to say more.

On the steps, JJ shifted, stretching out his legs before turning toward the two of you. “What’s with all the whispering?” His grin was lazy, teasing, but his gaze flickered between you and your dad with quiet curiosity.

“Nothing,” you said quickly.

Your dad chuckled, shaking his head as if you’d just proven his point.

JJ’s grin widened. “You two always this suspicious?” He took a sip of his soda, watching you over the rim of the can. The way he looked at you — slow, steady, as if he was reading between every word—sent a shiver down your spine.

“What?” he asked when you didn’t look away. “Do I have something on my face?”

“Nothing,” you muttered, heat rising to your cheeks as you dropped your gaze.

JJ smirked and turned to your dad. “She always this mysterious?”

“She’s always something,” your dad said with a knowing smile. Then, softer, just for you, he added, “But don’t let him fool you. He looks up to you more than you realize.”

You glanced at JJ, watching the way his fingers curled around the can, the way his knee bounced slightly like he had too much energy trapped inside him. The words stuck in your throat. You wanted to tell him — to say something, anything — that might make him believe it. But before you could, he nudged your foot with his, just the smallest touch, grounding you back into the moment.

The Pogues, of course, noticed everything. Pope’s sarcastic quips, Kie’s amused smirks, and John B’s relentless teasing made it impossible to ignore the undercurrent of something more. But no one said it outright. No one dared to name the tension that crackled between you and JJ — the way your breath hitched when he leaned too close, how his gaze always found yours first in a crowded room, or how, even now, your legs rested against each other’s on the porch steps, neither of you moving away.

Maybe they were waiting for you to figure it out yourself. Or maybe, like you, they understood that some things were too precious to risk by putting them into words.

For now, you settled for moments like these — JJ’s quiet laughter mingling with your dad’s, the sound of waves lapping against the dock, and the certainty that, at least here, JJ was safe.

Two years ago.

THE SUMMER PRESSED IN AROUND YOU — THICK, RESTLESS, AND ELECTRIC, LIKE THE AIR BEFORE A STORM. It smelled of salt and adventure, but beneath it lingered something heavier, something that coiled tight in your chest with every reckless decision made in the name of gold. You had always been careful, the type to double-check before jumping, the one who hesitated when the others ran headfirst into trouble. But caution never counted for much with the Pogues. Trouble had a way of finding you anyway, slipping through the cracks, curling around your ankles, and pulling you under.

This summer was no different.

Treasure hunts, whispered secrets, maps worn soft by sweaty palms — it all blurred into the long, hazy days. But you never cared about the gold. Not really. The legend of the Royal Merchant and its lost fortune had always felt like a story belonging to another lifetime, another world. Yet somehow, you were tangled in it, caught in the chaos — not by the promise of riches, but by the boy who never once stopped to consider the fall.

JJ Maybank.

He was the reason. He had always been the reason.

With that reckless grin, sun-bleached hair that curled at the edges, and eyes that held the ocean’s mischief, JJ was impossible to ignore. He could turn a disaster into an adventure, a mistake into a story worth telling. And even when your gut twisted in fear, even when you knew the odds were stacked against you, JJ would throw an arm around your shoulders, press his cheek against the top of your head, and whisper things that made the world seem a little less terrifying.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he’d murmur, voice dripping with amusement yet carrying something softer underneath, something just for you. His fingers would squeeze your arm, grounding you. “I’m with you.”

And that was always enough. Even when it shouldn’t have been.

The search consumed everything — your days, your nights, your thoughts. You spent hours poring over clues, breaking into places you had no business being, running from men who wouldn’t hesitate to erase you if you got too close to the truth. Fear was a constant companion, coiling in your stomach, but it never seemed to touch JJ. He lived for this — the thrill, the danger, the chaos.

You wished you could say the same.

And then came Sarah Cameron.

She arrived like a summer storm — unexpected, electric, shifting the very air around her. You had spent so long balancing on the edge of what you knew, what you trusted, that you didn’t realize how tightly you had been holding onto it — until she knocked you off. At first, you resisted. The Kook princess with sun-kissed skin and a life spun from gold — what could she possibly understand about being a Pogue? About clawing your way forward with nothing but grit and a whisper of luck?

But John B fell for her — hard, fast, like a wave crashing against the shore. And somehow, without ever meaning to, so did you. Not in the way you had once imagined falling for someone, but in the way that existed in shared laughter between night shifts, in whispered confessions beneath a sky scattered with silver light. Sarah had a way of slipping past defenses, disarming without a single word. Before you could make sense of it, she was no longer just John B’s girl — she was one of you.

And just like that, the world shifted.

Something else was changing, too, hanging in the humid air like the promise of a storm. In the spaces between you and JJ, in the moments where words ran out and glances lingered too long. But neither of you dared to name it.

Not yet.

THE NIGHT FOLDED AROUND THE THREE OF YOU, WARM AND THICK WITH THE SCENT OF SALT AND SUMMER. The waves hummed their endless rhythm against the shore, distant yet steady, a lullaby you had memorized long ago. On the porch of the chateau, the wooden planks creaked beneath your weight as you leaned back on your palms, a half-empty bottle of stolen wine winking under the soft, flickering glow of string lights.

For the first time in weeks, the world was quiet. No running, no hiding — just Sarah’s easy laughter, Kiara’s sharp-edged grin, and the soft hum of night pressing in close, holding you all in the curve of its palm.

Kie stretched, her gaze flicking to you, something knowing in the curve of her lips. "Alright, let’s liven things up. Time for some girltalk."

You groaned, already knowing where this was headed. "Do we have to?"

Sarah clapped her hands, practically vibrating. "Uh, yes! I’ve been waiting for this moment forever."

"You’re tipsy," you accused, though a smile tugged at your lips despite yourself.

She only giggled, unbothered. "So what? That just makes it more fun. Okay, Kie, you first. What’s going on with you and Pope?"

Kiara scoffed, but the way her grip tightened around her glass didn’t go unnoticed. "What do you mean? There’s nothing going on."

"Oh, please," Sarah teased, nudging her shoulder. "The way he looks at you? It’s so obvious."

Kie sighed, tilting the bottle to her lips before answering. "Pope is... incredible. He’s kind, he’s smart, he actually listens to me. But I don’t know. If I let it turn into something and it doesn’t work out, I lose one of my best friends."

You reached over, squeezing her hand, the salt-sticky warmth of her skin grounding you. "You won’t lose him. Not Pope. He’d walk through fire for you."

Kie’s smile was soft, almost shy. But then she turned, sharp and knowing, her eyes gleaming in the dim light. "Okay, your turn, Honey. Any deep, dark secrets you wanna confess? Maybe about a certain blond hurricane we all know and love?"

Your stomach dropped.

Sarah practically vibrated with excitement. "Yes! I was just about to ask!"

You rolled your eyes, but your fingers moved on their own, finding the ring hanging from the chain around your neck. The metal was cool against your fingertips despite the heat of the night, familiar and grounding. A reminder.

JJ had given it to you years ago, slipping it into your palm with a rare kind of seriousness. "It was my mom’s," he had murmured, voice rough like he was handing over something more than just silver and memories. "Figured you’d keep it safe."

You had never taken it off.

The words sat on the tip of your tongue now, heavy and dangerous. You didn’t want to say it. Saying it would make it real, would give life to the thing you had buried so deep it felt like it was a part of you.

But Sarah and Kie were waiting, their trust shining so openly in the dark that it made your chest ache.

Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the way JJ’s voice was stitched into the fabric of your memories, the way his touch lingered even when he wasn’t there. Maybe it was the fact that, deep down, a part of you had been waiting for someone to ask — waiting for an excuse to finally say it out loud.

You exhaled. "JJ," you whispered, barely more than breath. "I think I’m in love with JJ. It’s always been JJ."

Kiara’s eyes widened. Sarah let out a delighted squeal, clutching your arm. "I knew it! I freaking knew it!"

"No, you don’t," you muttered, heat crawling up your neck. "He doesn’t see me like that. He looks at me like I’m his sister."

Kie snorted, tipping her head back. "Oh, sure. And I’m the Queen of England."

You laughed, but the weight of your confession settled like an anchor in your chest.

Because how could anyone not fall in love with JJ Maybank? He made it impossible.

The teasing. The ridiculous nicknames — "Princess," "Sweetheart," — always tossed out with that signature smirk, always laced with something else, something unspoken.

You told yourself it was just JJ being JJ. That the warmth in his voice was nothing more than habit. That the way his gaze lingered sometimes — soft, searching — meant nothing at all.

But then there were the moments when he didn’t speak, when his presence alone felt louder than words.

JJ Maybank, the boy who never shut up, who always had a joke, a quip, something to say — he knew when to be quiet with you. Knew when to sit beside you, knee to knee, shoulder to shoulder, saying nothing at all. Those moments stretched between you like an unspoken promise, like the space before a shift, before something fell apart or fell into place.

And maybe that was why it scared you. 

He was your best friend and always will be. And you didn’t believed that something or someone could change it. Ever. 

HE WAS ALWAYS THERE, ALWAYS WATCHING.

Protecting.

Sometimes, it was endearing. Other times, it was infuriating.

JJ had a way of stepping into your battles like they were his own, like he couldn’t stand the idea of you fighting them alone. But it wasn’t just when things got dangerous — no, it was the little things too. If someone so much as looked at you the wrong way, JJ was there, his easygoing demeanor hardening, his jaw clenching, shoulders tensing like he was ready to start a fight right then and there.

You had seen it happen before. But tonight, watching him all but snarl at some guy who had been a little too persistent at a party, you had had enough.

You grabbed his wrist before he could do something reckless — before he could do something stupid. "JJ, seriously, I can take care of myself.”

His pulse thudded under your fingertips. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t relax either, his muscles coiled tight beneath your touch.

“I know," he muttered, eyes still locked on the guy as he stalked off, his shoulders squared in something close to satisfaction. Then, softer, like he hadn’t meant to say it at all — "But you shouldn't have to."

You stared at him, heart stumbling over itself, because what the hell was that supposed to mean?

JJ looked at you then, really looked at you, and for the first time that night, you saw something in his expression that you didn’t quite know what to do with. It wasn’t cocky, wasn’t teasing. It was careful. Measured. Like he was teetering on the edge of something neither of you were ready to name.

And maybe you should have said something. Maybe you should have called him out, demanded an explanation, asked him why he felt the need to throw himself between you and the rest of the world like it was his responsibility.

But you didn’t.

Because, deep down, you already knew the answer.

THERE WERE NIGHTS WHEN IT FELT LIKE THE WORLD OUTSIDE THE CHATEAU DIDN’T EXIST.

When the danger, the chaos, the constant search for something just out of reach — all of it faded into the background, leaving only the warmth of JJ beside you, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek.

The two of you fit together without thinking, without needing to. His arm would drape over your shoulders, pulling you closer, and you would let yourself sink into him like it was the most natural thing in the world. The flickering glow of candlelight cast shadows on the walls, the scent of salt and smoke clinging to your skin, but all you could focus on was the rhythm of his heartbeat.

Thump. Thump. Thump. A sound so steady it could anchor you.

His fingers skimmed lazily through your hair, a slow, absentminded motion, like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.

"You’re too good for me, you know that?"

The words were murmured into the quiet, his voice rougher than usual, low and edged with something you couldn’t quite name.

Your fingers, which had been tracing aimless patterns on his arm, stilled for just a second before you huffed out a soft laugh. “You’re an idiot.”

But the words lacked their usual sharpness.

Because he wasn’t joking.

Because beneath the teasing, there was something vulnerable, something raw.

JJ Maybank — the boy who threw himself into fights without a second thought, who always had a reckless grin and a cocky remark — was holding you like you were something delicate. Like you were something he was afraid to break.

And that scared you.

Because you didn’t know what to do with it. Didn’t know how to admit that your heart beat just a little too fast when he looked at you like that, or that you had memorized the way his arms felt around you, or that the ring hanging from your neck suddenly felt heavier in moments like this.

So you stayed quiet.

And he didn’t push.

The two of you just existed there, wrapped up in something too fragile to name.

Maybe you didn’t need to name it. Maybe it was enough to exist in these stolen moments, in the spaces between words, in the way his thumb absentmindedly brushed over your shoulder, in the way your fingers lingered on his skin longer than they should have.

But the truth was there. Unspoken, but undeniable.

It was in the way he looked at you, like you had hung the stars just for him.

It was in the way your chest ached when he wasn’t around.

It was in the way he always, always found his way back to you.

The search for gold continued, the stakes growing higher with every discovery, the danger creeping closer with every step. But JJ was always there. Always at your side. His hand firm on your shoulder, his reckless grin reassuring you that no matter what came next, you’d face it together.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

For now.

One year ago. 

The world felt still. Not the kind of stillness that came with silence, but the kind that settled deep in your bones, pressing pause on everything outside this moment.

You sat side by side at the water’s edge, the damp sand cool beneath your fingertips, the ocean lapping at your toes in slow, steady breaths. The weight of reality — the danger, the chase, the impossible odds — felt distant, blurred at the edges like a half-forgotten dream. Here, in this in-between space, it was just you and JJ. No past, no future. Just now.

JJ sat cross-legged beside you, absently tracing patterns in the sand with a stick with his name on it, the movement lazy, almost thoughtful. His blond hair was a tangled mess, windblown and wild, falling into his ocean-blue eyes. He looked different here — quieter, lighter, as if the weight he carried had finally loosened its grip. The sharp edges of his chaos had softened in the lull of the waves, in the warmth of your presence.

“You know,” he murmured, glancing at you, “When we get rescued, I think I’ll miss this.”

You arched an eyebrow, fighting a smile. “The part where we’re stranded on an island with no food, no real plan, and absolutely zero chances of survival? Yeah, real paradise.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and easy, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. “No, dumbass,” he nudged your shoulder, his touch lingering just a second longer than necessary, “I mean this. Us. The quiet. The way things feel here.” He gestured to the palm trees swaying lazily in the breeze. “Back home, it’s just one thing after another. Running, chasing, hiding. But here… it’s just us.”

His words settled between you, heavier than the humid air pressing against your skin.

You studied him — his tanned skin, the way his lips quirked up like he was always on the verge of a smirk, the freckles scattered across his nose from too many days under the sun. This version of JJ, the one sitting beside you with the ocean in his eyes and something unspoken in his touch, made your chest ache in a way you didn’t know how to explain.

“I get it,” you admitted, your voice quieter now, more careful. “It feels... different here. Easier. No drama, no treasure hunts, no running for our lives.”

JJ’s grin stretched wider. “Yeah, but you miss it. Don’t even try to lie.”

You rolled your eyes, but he wasn’t wrong. Chaos was part of you, just like it was part of him. You weren’t built for stillness, for lives untouched by adventure. And yet, something about this island — this fragile moment — felt like a dream you didn’t want to wake up from.

The thought unsettled you.

Your fingers curled around the chain at your neck, the ring cool against your skin even in the warmth of the evening. JJ’s mother’s ring. His most treasured possession, now hanging from your neck as if it had always belonged there. He had given it to you to keep it safe.

And maybe — just maybe — he had meant more than just the ring.

A lump formed in your throat as another thought surfaced, unbidden.

"Do you think they’re still looking for us?" The question slipped past your lips before you could stop it.

JJ stilled. The stick in his hand froze mid-motion in the water, his jaw tensing for just a second before he turned to you. His gaze, usually so easygoing, softened.

“Of course they are,” he said, the certainty in his voice wrapping around you like a shield. “They’d never stop. And your dad? He’d tear the whole damn world apart to find you.”

You swallowed, blinking up at the sky as if you could hide from the ache building inside your chest. His words were meant to comfort you, but they only made the weight heavier.

Your father.

You could picture him, pacing the floor of your childhood home, staring at the door every night, waiting for you to walk through it. The thought twisted something deep inside you. He didn’t deserve this — didn’t deserve to be left in the dark, to wonder if you were dead, if you had abandoned him the way your mother did.

"I wouldn’t do that to you." You had told him that once, years ago, after she left.

"I’ll always come back."

And yet, here you were. Gone. Just like her.

A sharp pang of guilt dug into your ribs.

JJ must have sensed the shift in you because, without a word, he reached out and took your hand, his calloused fingers curling around yours. His grip was firm but not demanding — just solid, just there. A tether in the storm. It was such a simple gesture, familiar in the way only JJ could be, but it steadied you, pulling you back from the depths of your own thoughts.

Your gaze flickered to him, drawn in by the quiet reassurance in his eyes. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He just held your hand, his thumb tracing slow, absentminded circles over your knuckles, as if he knew exactly how to wordlessly tell you, I’ve got you. I always will.

And for a moment, you let yourself believe it.

For a moment, you let yourself lean into the warmth of his touch, into the silent promise between you.

"Hey." His voice was softer now, careful, like he was afraid to break whatever fragile thing had settled between you. He tossed the stick aside and shifted closer, his knee brushing against yours. “We’re gonna be fine, sweetheart. You have me, remember? I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You turned to him then, really looked at him, and the sincerity in his eyes stole the air from your lungs.

JJ’s bravado was as much a part of him as his reckless grin, his sharp wit, his fists that curled too easily in defense of the people he loved. But this — this quiet, unshakable confidence, the certainty in his voice — was something different. Something deeper. Something that made your chest feel too tight and too full all at once.

"I know," you murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "I know we’re together forever. What did you say back then? That I’m not getting rid of you?"

JJ’s smile returned, softer this time, and before you could think too much about it, his hand was reaching up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was light, almost hesitant, but it sent warmth curling through your veins, spreading beneath your skin like the lingering heat of the sun.

"There she is," he murmured, eyes crinkling at the corners as his grin widened. "That smile. For a second, I thought I lost my touch."

You rolled your eyes, but the laugh that slipped past your lips was real, unforced. It was easy, effortless — just like it had always been with him. And for a fleeting moment, the weight of everything else — the danger, the uncertainty, the endless stretch of unknown days ahead — faded into the background.

All that mattered was the golden light spilling across the sand, the waves humming their quiet song, and JJ’s laughter filling the spaces between.

As the sun dipped lower, the sky melting into deep hues of indigo and violet, JJ stretched out on the sand, hands laced behind his head. “Alright, come here,” he said, patting the spot beside him without looking.

You hesitated — just for a moment — before lying down next to him. The sand was still warm beneath you, cradling your body in its soft embrace. Above, the first stars flickered to life, tiny pinpricks of silver scattered across the darkening sky.

JJ turned his head to look at you, his expression unreadable.

"You know," he said after a long pause, his voice quieter now, almost distant, "if this is all we ever had… it wouldn’t be the worst thing."

Your heart clenched at his words, at the weight of them pressing into the space between you.

Because this — the two of you, side by side, lost but together — had always been enough.

You turned your head to meet his gaze, and for a heartbeat, the world held still.

All you saw was JJ.

The boy who had been your anchor and your storm. Your best friend. And something else, something unnamed but terrifyingly real, lingering between you like the spaces between the stars.

"Yeah," you whispered, the words slipping from your lips with the weight of a thousand unspoken truths. "I think that would be enough for me too."

JJ smiled — just barely, just enough for you to catch the way his breath hitched. And as the sky deepened and the waves whispered secrets only the ocean would ever know, you let yourself believe it.

Even if only for a moment.

Even if the world beyond this island would one day come crashing back in.

For now, in this sliver of eternity, he was yours. And that was enough.

BUT THERE ARE LESSONS YOU LEARN THE HARD WAY.

Like the fact that life is a bitch — unforgiving, cruel. And just when you think it’s finally smiling at you, it’s only a distraction before the next punch.

The golden light of the setting sun shimmered across the endless waves, casting long shadows as Kiara’s silhouette emerged in the distance. After what felt like a lifetime of being stranded, of fighting to survive, of holding onto the desperate hope that you’d all make it back — this moment should have felt like relief. Like victory.

But instead, it felt like the ground beneath you was crumbling.

Your chest tightened as Kiara took off in a sprint, her voice breaking into a joyful cry as she launched herself straight into JJ’s arms. And he caught her — easily, effortlessly. His arms wrapped around her waist as he spun her in a circle, their laughter intertwining in the salty breeze like a cruel melody.

It was the kind of moment that should have been beautiful — a testament to the unbreakable bond between friends who had been through hell together.

But all you could see was the way his hands lingered on her waist. The way her head tilted back, pure delight on her face. The way he looked at her.

You told yourself not to read into it. That it was nothing. That she knew.

She knew about the way your heart stuttered every time JJ’s hand brushed against yours. About the nights you lay awake, his voice and reckless grin haunting your thoughts. Kiara was the one you’d confided in during quiet moments, the one you trusted with the feelings you were too scared to admit even to yourself.

She wouldn’t do this to you.

Would she?

The question settled over you like a storm cloud, dark and suffocating, as the Pogues finally reunited. Their cheers and laughter rang hollow in your ears. You smiled when you had to, laughed when it was expected, but your gaze kept drifting back to JJ and Kiara.

You watched as he ruffled her hair, as she swatted his arm in playful protest. Their movements were easy, thoughtless—like they belonged to each other in a way you had only hoped you and JJ ever could. And then, for the briefest second, his eyes met yours.

And just like that, his smile faltered.

Not for long. Barely even a breath. But it was enough. Because instead of holding your gaze, he looked away.

The boat ride back to the Outer Banks should have felt like freedom. Like home.

But it was just another form of torture.

You sat alone at the stern, the wind whipping through your hair, the salty spray stinging your face as you stared out at the horizon. You forced yourself to focus on the endless blue, on the rhythmic crash of the waves, anything to drown out the quiet conversations and stolen glances happening behind you.

And then… 

It happened so fast that you almost convinced yourself you imagined it.

As you turned to grab a bottle of water, your eyes landed on them.

JJ and Kiara.

Leaning toward each other, so close their faces were only inches apart.

His hand was on her cheek, his touch careful, almost reverent. And the way she looked at him — soft, open, unguarded — made your stomach drop.

You couldn’t hear what he was saying over the roar of the engine, but it didn’t matter.

It was the way his thumb brushed against her skin. The way her lips parted slightly, her breath catching. The way it looked like the entire world had faded away, leaving just the two of them.

"Hey, did you guys see the compass?"

Pope’s voice cut through the moment, shattering it like glass.

JJ and Kiara sprang apart, their movements too sudden, too guilty. JJ laughed — forced and a little too loud — scratching the back of his neck, while Kiara ducked her head, rummaging through her bag with a kind of frantic energy.

"Yeah, it’s right here," JJ said, tossing the compass over without making eye contact with you.

You turned back to the water, gripping the railing so tightly that your knuckles turned white. The salt spray burned your skin, but it was nothing compared to the ache carving itself deep into your chest.

You had seen enough.

The way he looked at her… it was different.

Or maybe — maybe — he had never really looked at you that way at all.

AFTER RETURNING TO THE MAINLAND, THINGS BEGAN TO SHIFT IN WAYS YOU COULDN’T IGNORE.

It was in the way JJ and Kiara sat close by the fire, knees brushing, heads tipped together as they whispered things only they could hear. It was in the way they disappeared on a grocery run for almost an hour, returning with matching grins and a half-empty bag of snacks, like they had just come back from some secret adventure.

It was different now.

You didn’t want to admit it — to say it — but you felt it. The weight of something slipping through your fingers, the quiet erosion of a space that had once belonged only to you and JJ.

And yet, JJ still called you by those ridiculous nicknames — "Princess," "Sweetheart" — like nothing had changed. But something had changed. Because now, when he said them, his voice held an unfamiliar warmth, something softer, something that sent an uneasy shiver down your spine.

And then there was Kiara.

Lately, her gaze lingered on JJ just a little too long. Her laughter came a little easier when he spoke. She found reasons — excuses, really — to be near him. A touch on the arm, a playful nudge, a whispered inside joke.

Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered. Maybe you wouldn’t have cared.

If she didn’t know.

She knew about the way your heart stuttered whenever JJ looked at you.

She knew about the ring he had given you — the one you still kept tucked safely in your pocket, as if it held something sacred.

She knew — and yet, it felt like she was stepping into a space that was never hers to begin with.

And you hated yourself for feeling betrayed.

Because Kiara was your best friend.

And JJ wasn’t yours.

And you had no right to feel this way.

But logic didn’t erase the way your stomach twisted when you saw her lean into him, her fingers grazing his wrist as she laughed at something only he could hear. Logic didn’t make it easier when JJ looked at her with that smile — the one that used to belong to you.

So you stayed quiet.

And maybe JJ noticed. Maybe that’s why his gaze lingered a little longer when he looked at you now, like he was searching for something he couldn’t quite place. Like he was trying to understand why things felt different. Why it suddenly felt like he was losing something — like you were slipping away.

And maybe, just maybe, he was just as scared as you were to find out what that meant.

You tried to brush it off, to convince yourself that you were imagining it.

But the more you watched them, the clearer it became. And the clearer it became, the more you pulled away.

Pope was the first to notice.

"You’ve been kind of quiet lately."

It was late, the two of you sitting by the dock, working to repair a torn sail. His voice was careful, gentle — like he already knew the answer but needed to hear you say it.

"Just tired," you murmured, keeping your eyes on the frayed fabric in your hands.

He didn’t believe you.

You could feel it in the way he hesitated, in the way he watched you — really watched you, like he had been seeing the cracks forming long before you were ready to admit they were there.

You’d always been tired lately.

Pope thought about saying it out loud, but he didn’t.

Because he understood. Maybe not completely — maybe not in the way that mattered — but enough. It hadn’t been easy for him either, watching his best friend and ex-girlfriend fall into something neither of them wanted to name. But for you…

For you, it had always been different.

It had always been written in your eyes — you were only his.

"Yeah," Pope finally said, voice quiet. "It wasn’t easy."

And he didn’t push further.

He didn’t need to.

Because in the silence between you, in the way he sat steady beside you, he let you know — without saying a word — that he saw you.

Even if JJ didn’t.

Over the next few days, you found yourself reaching for Pope more often.

It was easier that way. Easier than being around JJ. Easier than pretending you didn’t notice how he and Kiara seemed to orbit each other like they had their own gravitational pull.

But JJ noticed your absence.

"What’s up with you and Pope?"

His voice cut through the lazy afternoon, sharp and laced with something you couldn’t quite place. You glanced up from your book, sprawled out in a hammock, the sun warm against your skin. He stood above you, arms crossed, his jaw clenched just a little too tight.

"What do you mean?" you asked, feigning indifference.

"You two are always together," he said, his tone deceptively casual. But his fingers twitched at his sides, restless. "Did I miss something?"

You tilted your head, studying him. "Why?" A slow smirk played on your lips. "Are you jealous?"

He let out a short laugh, but it was hollow—forced. His eyes, stormy and unreadable, flickered over your face, searching for something. "Yeah, that’s right. Just wanted to make sure you weren’t leaving me in the dark."

You forced yourself to smile. "I’d never dream of it."

But the lie sat heavy between you.

SARAH WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO SAW THROUGH YOUR FACADE.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked one evening as the two of you sat on the beach, the waves whispering against the shore.

You shook your head, hugging your knees to your chest. "There’s nothing to talk about."

"Come on," she pressed, her voice soft but firm. "I see the way you look at him. And the way you don’t."

A lump formed in your throat, but you swallowed it down. "It doesn’t matter. He’s happy. That’s what’s important."

Sarah’s hand found yours, squeezing gently. "You deserve to be happy too, you know."

You nodded, but the words felt distant, like a dream slipping through your fingers before you could grasp it.

So you threw yourself into the one thing that could keep you from drowning — El Dorado. The thrill of the chase, the adrenaline, the endless dangers. It was easier to focus on that than the ache in your chest. But even then, JJ and Kiara were always there, a painful, constant reminder of everything you couldn't have.

"WHY ARE YOU AVOIDING ME?"

JJ’s voice shattered the fragile distance you had so carefully maintained.

The two of you stood on the beach, the night air thick with salt and unspoken words. He had cornered you away from the others, the ocean stretching endlessly behind him, the stars like shattered diamonds overhead.

You stiffened, forcing your arms across your chest. "I’m not avoiding you."

“Bullshit.” He took a step closer, his blue eyes burning into yours. "You’ve been different since we got back. And don’t tell me it’s nothing, because I know you."

You exhaled shakily, staring at the sand. You couldn’t look at him — not when his voice was laced with that raw, unfiltered concern that always made your walls crack. "It’s just… too much, okay?" You gestured vaguely, grasping for an excuse. "The whole El Dorado thing. Everything we’ve been through. I just needed space."

JJ studied you, his expression shifting — softening. His fingers brushed against your cheek, light as a whisper, and you froze.

"It was easier on the island, wasn’t it?" His voice was quieter now, almost hesitant.

Your throat tightened as memories of Poguelandia washed over you. The stolen moments of peace, the laughter, the way JJ felt like home. "Yeah," you admitted, barely above a whisper. "It was."

His thumb traced along your cheekbone, lingering. "I miss it." His voice cracked, just a little. "It was just… simple. Like we could just be."

Your breath hitched. "Me too."

The words hung between you, heavy with meaning neither of you dared to name.

JJ’s gaze dropped to your lips. Your heart pounded, a war raging inside you. The words you had buried for so long clawed their way to the surface, desperate to be spoken.

"JJ, I…"

But then you stopped.

Because the moment you let those words escape, there would be no going back.

JJ frowned, searching your face. "What?"

You shook your head, biting your lip so hard it stung. "Nothing. It’s nothing."

His jaw tightened, frustration flashing across his face before he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You know you can talk to me, right? About anything."

You nodded, forcing yourself to meet his eyes, forcing yourself to smile.

"I know."

But it felt like a lie.

And from the way JJ looked at you—the way his fingers curled into a fist at his side—you had a feeling he knew it too.

NOW THAT YOU WERE ON THE VERGE OF ANOTHER INCREDIBLE ADVENTURE, THE WEIGHT OF IT ALL THREATENED TO CRUSH YOU.

The jet’s engines hummed beneath you, a steady vibration that should have been reassuring but instead felt like a countdown. A reminder that time was slipping through your fingers. The air in the cabin was thick with anticipation, but it did little to settle the storm raging inside you.

Pope sat across from you, his fingers toying with the strap of his backpack, a nervous habit he’d developed over the years. Next to him, Cleo leaned back in her seat, her usual air of confidence contrasting sharply with the unrest in your chest. Further down the aisle, Sarah and John B. whispered to each other, their hands woven together, completely lost in their own world.

You should have been feeling the same rush they did — the thrill of what lay ahead, the rush of another impossible journey. Instead, all you could think about was him.

JJ.

Your eyes kept flicking toward the empty seat next to you. It was his seat. It was supposed to be filled by now.

He had gone to Kitty Hawk to get Kiara. He promised he’d be back in time. He promised.

"Don’t fly away without me, sweetheart," he had teased, flashing you that signature JJ Maybank grin, the one that could disarm you in seconds. And then, just before he left, he had kissed your forehead. A lingering press of lips against skin, warm and fleeting.

But now, the seconds stretched long, and he still wasn’t here.

You pressed your fingers to your temples, willing the creeping anxiety to quiet down. Your heart felt like a caged animal, slamming against your ribs with every passing minute. Because today —  today — you had made a decision.

After that night on the beach, you hadn’t been able to sleep. The words you had swallowed down burned like acid in your throat. The more you tried to push them away, the heavier they became, pressing into you until you felt like you’d suffocate under their weight.

You had spent days watching JJ laugh, watching him be himself again. Carefree. Happy. And it had become unbearable. Because the truth sat between you, unspoken but screaming.

You couldn’t do it anymore.

The moment he got on this plane, you were going to tell him. Everything. Every feeling you had buried, every longing glance you had stolen, every time you had wished — God, wished — he would look at you the way he looked at her.

You were going to risk it all.

And yet, he still wasn’t here.

"Are you okay?"

Pope’s voice broke through your spiral, his expression soft with concern. He had always been able to read you too well, and you cursed how transparent you must have looked.

"Yeah," you lied, forcing a tight smile. "Just tired."

Pope didn’t push, but Cleo wasn’t so easily fooled. She studied you for a long moment, her sharp eyes catching every detail — the way your fingers gripped the armrest, the restless bounce of your knee, the tension in your shoulders.

"You’re wound tighter than a fishing net," she remarked, tilting her head. "Maybe you should tell us what’s really on your mind."

You swallowed hard.

"I’m fine," you said again, though the words tasted like sand. "I’m just… worried about all of this."

Cleo didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press. And for that, you were grateful.

Because how could you explain what was tearing you apart?

How could you tell them that this trip wasn’t what had your heart in a vice? That the only thing you feared right now wasn’t the danger that lay ahead but the way JJ’s absence felt like a missing piece of yourself?

And worst of all — what if he didn’t show up?

What if, for him, this adventure meant something different now?

What if you had already lost him before you even had the chance to tell him how much you loved him?

The minutes bled into an hour.

The empty seat beside you remained empty.

Every second that ticked by felt like a punch to the gut, the slow, agonizing kind that left you breathless but never quite knocked you out. You kept glancing at the entrance of the jet, expecting — needing — to see JJ come rushing in, his signature grin in place, an over-the-top excuse tumbling from his lips.

But he never did.

Anxiety coiled tight in your chest, a snake of worry and frustration twisting its way through your ribcage. John B. had tried to call him twice, pressing his phone so hard to his ear that his knuckles turned white, but both times, it went straight to voicemail.

"C’mon, man. Pick up."

The cabin was suffocating. The steady hum of the engines felt like a countdown to something you weren’t ready for. You gripped the seat beneath you, nails digging into the fabric, heart hammering in your chest.

"He's coming," you muttered under your breath, almost like a prayer. "He wouldn't just—"

But doubt had already crept in, dark and insidious.

Because what if he would?

What if JJ had finally stopped running back to you?

John B. exhaled sharply and pushed himself up from his seat, dragging a hand through his hair. His movements were tight, shoulders wound with tension as he turned to face the group.

"We can't wait any longer," he said, voice strained. "We'll miss the window if we don’t leave now."

Your stomach plummeted.

Sarah shifted uncomfortably, glancing between you and John B., lips pressing into a thin line. Pope shot you a cautious look, one laced with sympathy, but it only made the ache in your chest worse.

He was really not coming.

You forced yourself to nod, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. Keep it together. Don’t let them see.

Pope’s hand landed on your shoulder, warm and reassuring, but it did little to stop the sinking feeling in your chest. The moment the plane began to taxi down the runway, it was like something inside you cracked wide open.

You turned toward the window, watching as the world outside blurred past. The sky was streaked with hues of orange and pink, a soft and cruel beauty.

JJ should have been here.

The weight of disappointment pressed down on you, suffocating. And beneath it, something uglier stirred — resentment, heartbreak, the bitter taste of being left behind.

Maybe, deep down, you had always known.

Maybe you had always been waiting for the moment JJ Maybank stopped choosing you.

SOUTH AFRICA HAD BEEN CHAOS FROM THE MOMENT YOUR FEET HIT THE GROUND.

There was no time to think, no time to process, no time to feel. You were too busy running. Hiding from dangerous locals, deciphering cryptic maps, escaping gunfire in the middle of the night. Survival demanded your full attention, and you gave it — because if you didn’t, you’d drown in the thoughts that crept in every time you stopped moving.

Thoughts of him.

JJ.

You had been ready. So ready.

Before leaving the Outer Banks, you'd made a decision — to tell him. To finally put everything into words, to lay it all out, no more running, no more pretending. You’d imagined the conversation a hundred times. The way his blue eyes would widen in surprise, then soften with understanding. Maybe he’d smile that slow, lazy smile, the one that always made your knees weak, and pull you into his arms.

But he never showed up.

And now, here you were, thousands of miles away, still carrying the weight of those unsaid words, letting them fester like an open wound.

But the pain in your chest was nothing compared to the moment you saw him again.

It was late at night. You had been running — all of you — navigating the narrow alleys of some unfamiliar town, adrenaline coursing through your veins as heavy footsteps thundered behind you. Your lungs burned, every breath sharp and desperate, but you couldn’t stop.

Then you turned a corner.

And crashed straight into them.

JJ and Kiara.

The world lurched beneath your feet.

For a split second, all the noise faded — the shouts, the pounding of feet, the chaos of your escape. It was just him. Just you.

Your heart slammed against your ribs, your brain scrambling to process what you were seeing.

JJ stood there, his chest rising and falling, his hair a mess, dirt smudged across his face like he had been running too. Relief surged through you so fiercely it almost knocked you over.

But then you noticed her.

Kiara.

And then — their hands.

Intertwined.

Fingers laced together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You forgot how to breathe. The relief, the anger, the longing — it all collapsed under the weight of this.

JJ’s eyes met yours, and for a fleeting second, something passed through them — guilt. His easy, careless grin faltered, but only for a moment.

"Hi, guys," he said, as if this was nothing. As if this wasn’t everything.

Before you could even form a response, Kiara tugged on his arm, her grip tightening. On him.

"We need to move," she said urgently, her gaze flickering around the alley. "Right now."

You couldn’t move.

You couldn’t speak.

You felt everything — and yet, at the same time, nothing at all. It was like watching the ocean pull away from the shore before a tidal wave crashed down, swallowing everything whole.

Every shared moment, every stolen glance, every inside joke — gone.

Had you imagined it all?

Had you been so stupid to believe he was ever yours?

"Are you okay?"

Sarah’s voice was soft, hesitant. A hand touched your arm, grounding you. Cleo stood beside her, brows furrowed, as if she could feel the weight of your heartbreak pressing against the air.

You forced yourself to nod. Forced yourself to breathe.

"Yeah," you lied, voice barely above a whisper. "I'm fine."

But you weren’t.

You were anything but fine.

But there was no time to fall apart.

The next second, you were running again.

THE JOURNEY IN SEARCH OF GOLD HAD DRAINED YOU TO YOUR VERY CORE. Days bled into nights, exhaustion pressing into your muscles like an iron weight as the group clawed their way through dense jungles, ancient traps, and relentless enemies. Every step had been a battle. But now — here it was.

El Dorado.

The cave swallowed you in silence, thick and heavy with history. And at its center — treasure.

Gold, endless and gleaming, stacked in chaotic brilliance. The flickering torchlight made the ancient riches seem almost alive, the reflections shifting like liquid fire. The air smelled of damp earth and something metallic, something old. The sight should have felt like victory.

"We did it," John B whispered, voice unsteady with disbelief.

Pope let out a breathless laugh, his fingers tightening around Cleo’s hand. "We really did it."

Sarah turned to you, eyes glassy with unshed tears. "Can you believe this?" Her voice was barely above a whisper. "We actually found it."

You nodded, but the joy that should have come never did.

Because as the others celebrated, your gaze drifted — to him.

JJ stood a few feet away, but he felt worlds apart. His blond hair was tousled, his body relaxed in a way that made it seem like this was just another wild day, another reckless adventure. But it was who he stood with that made your chest tighten.

Kiara.

Their heads were tilted toward each other, their words low and intimate, as if the rest of the world didn’t exist. She said something, and JJ grinned, his signature smirk flickering across his face. The same one that had once been yours.

The gold around you blurred.

A sharp ache speared through your ribs, and you tore your gaze away before the lump in your throat could choke you whole.

The treasure was breathtaking. But it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

Returning to OBX was surreal.

The sun still set over the water in a hazy blend of burnt orange and indigo, the waves still kissed the shore in a rhythmic lullaby, and the marshes still whispered secrets in the wind. Everything looked the same. But nothing felt the same.

The Pogues weren’t just Pogues anymore. They were legends. Their names passed through hushed conversations, spoken with a mixture of awe and envy. Reporters. Strangers. Questions. Cameras. The world suddenly wanted a piece of the treasure, a piece of you.

But beneath all the chaos, something far more dangerous had crept in.

Tension.

JJ stopped coming around.

At first, you told yourself it was because of everything that happened — the fame, the stress, the gold. But deep down, you knew the truth.

He didn’t come around because of her.

You saw them sometimes, glimpses of them through town — JJ and Kiara, sitting close, laughing, the world fading around them the way it once had for you and him.

You stopped looking.

You stopped waiting.

But your father noticed.

One evening, as the sun began its slow descent into the water, you found yourself sitting on the old wooden steps of your childhood home, watching the marsh sway with the breeze. You had barely spoken to him since returning. It wasn’t intentional — you just felt so lost that words had started to feel meaningless.

But then, your father sat down beside you, his presence heavy with unspoken concern.

"You’ve been quiet," he said after a long moment, his voice gentle but firm. His hands, rough and calloused from years of working on boats, rested on his knees.

You didn’t answer right away.

Because how could you?

How could you tell him that you weren’t sure who you were anymore? That everything you had fought for, bled for, had left you feeling empty? That JJ — the boy who had once been your best friend, your safe place—was now just another person who had walked away?

So you just shrugged. "I’m tired, Dad."

He turned his head, studying you. And that’s when you saw it — the flicker of pain in his eyes.

He didn’t recognize you.

Not because of the way you looked — you were still his daughter, still the same person who had grown up on these docks, chasing after dreams that once felt limitless.

But because the light in your eyes was gone.

Because the fire, the spark that made you you, had been snuffed out.

"I missed you, you know," he said quietly. "Missed my girl."

Your throat tightened, and you had to look away, your fingers curling into the fabric of your jeans.

"I’m right here," you whispered, but it felt like a lie.

Because weren’t you gone, too?

He exhaled slowly, then reached over and squeezed your hand — the simplest, smallest act, but it nearly broke you.

"I don’t know what happened out there," he admitted, voice thick with emotion. "And I won’t pretend to understand. But whatever it is, whatever’s weighing you down… you don’t have to carry it alone."

The words burrowed deep, but you just nodded, afraid that if you spoke, your voice would crack.

So he didn’t push. He just stayed there, watching the sunset with you, holding your hand like he used to when you were small.

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself lean into the comfort of someone who had never left.

Someone who never would.

Days passed in a blur, and you did your best to exist.

You spent your time with Pope and Cleo, their presence grounding you when everything else felt like it was crumbling. Cleo’s quick wit and Pope’s unwavering logic kept you from unraveling completely, and you buried yourself in distractions — helping fix boats, working odd jobs, anything to keep your hands busy, to keep your mind from spiraling.

But none of it stopped the ache.

And none of it changed what had already happened.

It was a quiet afternoon when Kiara finally found you.

You were sitting on the porch with Pope, your fingers tangled in an old fishing net as you helped him untangle the stubborn knots. The rhythmic motion was comforting, something solid in a world that felt anything but.

Then Kiara’s shadow stretched across the wooden planks.

"Hey."

The single word was hesitant — uncertain. That alone made you pause.

You glanced up, fingers stilling. Her usual confidence was gone. She stood stiffly, shifting on her feet, avoiding your eyes like she wasn’t sure if she had the right to be standing there at all.

"Can we talk?"

The words made your stomach twist.

You didn’t want to talk to her.

You still felt the sting of her silence, the betrayal of knowing she had stood by and said nothing while you drowned in feelings you had never even gotten the chance to voice. Kiara had been the one to encourage you, the one who had known what JJ meant to you.

And yet, when she had taken him, she hadn’t even warned you.

But you knew the truth. You had no right to be angry.

JJ was never yours.

And that was the most painful part of all.

Kiara’s words hung between you, heavy with meaning, but not enough to fix anything.

You wanted to believe her.

You wanted to take a deep breath, let go of the ache inside you, and tell her that everything was okay. That you weren’t hurting. That it didn’t feel like something inside you had cracked wide open the moment you saw JJ’s fingers intertwined with hers.

But you couldn’t.

Because it still hurt.

Because no matter how much you tried to push it down, to convince yourself that it was just bad timing, just one of those things — you knew better.

And so did she.

"It’s just... a lot. For everyone."

It was the best you could offer. A truth, but not the whole truth.

Kiara swallowed hard, nodding like she understood. And maybe she did. Maybe she felt it too — the quiet breaking of something between you, something that no amount of apologies could completely mend.

The silence stretched.

The wind whispered through the trees, carrying the salty scent of the ocean with it. The marsh swayed in the golden afternoon light, the world moving forward while you stood still.

"I miss you," she admitted softly.

You let out a slow breath, looking at her — really looking at her. This girl who had been your friend, who had been one of your closest people, now sitting across from you like a stranger trying to find her way back.

And maybe, in another time, another life, you would have reached for her hand. Maybe you would have forgiven her, let her in, let yourself believe that nothing had changed.

But it had.

And you weren’t sure if you could ever go back.

"Yeah," you murmured. "I miss you too."

But even as you said it, you knew — some things, once broken, don’t ever fit the same way again.

THE SKY BLED WITH THE LAST REMNANTS OF DAYLIGHT, BRUISED PURPLES AND DEEP ORANGES SINKING INTO THE HORIZON LIKE A SLOW EXHALE. The ocean stretched endlessly, its surface a restless mirror, broken only by the occasional ripple of unseen movement beneath. The dock beneath your feet creaked as the tide whispered against the worn wooden pillars, a slow, rhythmic lullaby that did nothing to quiet the storm inside you.

The air was thick with salt and the distant scent of bonfire smoke drifting from the beach. A cold breeze curled around your shoulders, making you shiver — not just from the chill, but from something deeper, something that had been building inside you for months.

And then, just like you knew he would, JJ found you.

His footsteps were steady but hesitant as he approached, the kind of walk someone has when they already suspect they won’t like the answers they’re about to get. The moon cast a pale glow over him, softening the hard set of his jaw, but it couldn’t hide the tension in his shoulders, the weight in his eyes. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, like he was trying to hold himself together.

“We need to talk.” His voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the urgency behind it.

You didn’t turn to him. The waves in front of you were easier to look at. Easier to understand. “About what?”

JJ let out a short, frustrated breath. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That thing where you act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.” He took a step closer, his presence radiating heat despite the cold night air. “You’ve been… different. Distant. And I don’t get it.” His voice softened for a moment, almost careful. “Did I do something?”

A bitter smile flickered across your lips before you could stop it. God, the irony. The déjà vu of it all hit like a punch to the gut. Same dock. Same moonlit ocean. Same boy, standing there, looking at you like you were a puzzle he couldn’t figure out.

The only difference was you.

Back then, you had still carried hope like a fragile ember, cradled in your chest. Now, all that was left was smoke.

Your fingers curled into fists, nails biting into your palms. You wanted to yell at him, to shake him, to make him see. But the words felt stuck, lodged deep inside a place you weren’t sure you could reach anymore.

So instead, you exhaled sharply and forced your voice into something steady.

“I’m just tired, JJ. That’s all.”

He scoffed. A sharp, humorless sound. “Bullshit.”

Your shoulders tensed. He rarely ever spoke to you like that.

“You’re always tired,” he went on, stepping closer. His eyes searched yours, desperate now. “But this is different. You’re shutting me out, and I don’t– ” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I don’t know what I did wrong.”

You turned to him then, finally meeting his gaze head-on. His eyes were stormy, filled with something between anger and hurt, like he was bracing himself for an answer he didn’t want.

“That’s the problem,” you murmured. “You don’t know.”

JJ blinked. Confusion flickered across his face, followed by something else. Something heavier. But it was too late.

He let out a breath, shaking his head. “C’mon. We’re friends. We always figure this shit out.”

Friends.

The word cut deeper than it should have. It landed in your chest like an anchor, heavy and suffocating, dragging you down into a truth you had spent too long trying to ignore.

Your breath shuddered as your fingers reached for the thin chain around your neck. You felt the cool weight of the small, worn ring — the one you had carried with you for years, the one that had once meant everything.

The one that meant nothing now.

You pulled it over your head, the metal cool against your fingertips, and held it out to him.

JJ stared at it, then at you. His brows knitted together. “What the hell is this?”

Your throat burned. “I’m giving it back.”

His face twisted in something close to disbelief. “Why?”

Your fingers curled around the empty space where the ring had been. The night air felt colder now, like the ocean had crept up and wrapped itself around you.

“Because I can’t do this anymore.” The words shook, but they were final. “I can’t keep pretending. I need to let go.”

For a long moment, JJ just stood there, looking at the ring in your hand like it was a foreign object, like it was something he had never seen before. Then, slowly, his fingers closed around it.

His voice was quieter now, rough around the edges. “So that’s it?”

You didn’t answer.

You just turned away, walking into the night, leaving him standing there with a piece of your past clutched in his fist.

The dock groaned beneath your feet, the sound echoing into the dark. The ocean whispered its endless secrets to the shore, uncaring, unmoved.

And as you disappeared into the shadows, you made a silent vow — one last promise to yourself.

To stop waiting for something that was never going to happen.

Present time. 

THE MOROCCAN SUN WAS RELENTLESS, BEATING DOWN IN WAVES OF UNBEARABLE HEAT, FLOODING THE ENDLESS DUNES WITH LIQUID GOLD. The air shimmered, thick with dust and despair, distorting the horizon into a cruel mirage of salvation that would never come. The wind howled low, stirring up the sand, slipping into your clothes, into your lungs, burning like fire. But none of it mattered.

Not the heat. Not the ache in your knees, pressed into the pitiless desert. Not the sunburn scorching your skin, making it raw and blistered. None of it mattered.

All that mattered was JJ. 

He lay sprawled in front of you, his once-white shirt dark with blood, the fabric clinging to his skin, soaked in scarlet. It spread like ink across his torso, seeping between your trembling fingers as you pressed down desperately, trying — failing — to stop the life from spilling out of him.

His usual electric energy — the endless, restless spark that made him him — was flickering, dimming by the second. His blue eyes, those damn ocean-blue eyes that were always so full of trouble and laughter, were struggling to stay open, heavy-lidded, dazed. And you?

You were falling apart. Piece by piece. With every shallow breath he took.

Your hands trembled as you pressed a handkerchief — his bandana — against the wound on his side. It was already soaked through. Useless. "JJ, no!" Your voice cracked, shattered, raw with panic. You were sobbing so hard you could barely breathe. "Just- … just hold on! Help is coming soon, I swear! Just a little more, okay? You hear me?"

He let out a choked, hoarse laugh, one that made your heart lurch violently. His lips curved into that same crooked, maddeningly cocky smirk, the one you’d seen a thousand times before. "Well, well, sweetheart," he rasped, his voice like sandpaper, barely audible over the pounding in your ears. His hand, calloused and warm even now, reached up, brushing against your tear-streaked cheek.

"I'm not worth your beautiful tears."

"Don't you dare say that," you choked out, grabbing his hand, pressing it against your face, as if you could keep him here just by sheer will. “Don’t you dare.”

His gaze never left yours, steady despite everything. That infuriating, impossible calm, like he wasn’t bleeding out in the middle of the desert. Like he hadn’t just thrown himself into danger for you.

And God, you hated yourself.

You hated yourself for every moment you ignored him, every glance you turned away, every time you convinced yourself he didn’t matter as much as he did. All because you couldn’t stand the way it burned — watching him and Kiara, pretending it didn’t hurt, pretending it wasn’t killing you.

"You shouldn't have done that," you whispered, your voice shaking, barely more than a breath. "You shouldn’t have risked yourself for me."

A ghost of a smile flickered across his lips, fading as another wave of pain crashed over him. "I couldn't help myself," he murmured, blinking slowly, his grip on your hand tightening for a fleeting second before going slack again. His smirk twitched, weaker now. “It’s just like me, huh? Playing the hero.”

You let out a shaky, broken laugh. "This isn’t funny, JJ. You don’t– ” Your voice faltered. A sob clawed its way up your throat, but you swallowed it down. “You’re not allowed to leave me.”

He tilted his head slightly, barely able to keep his eyes open, but still, still he reached for you, brushing a strand of hair from your face with trembling fingers.

"Why not?" he teased, voice softer now, thinner, like it was slipping through your fingers.

Because I…

The words tangled in your throat, caught between fear and regret and love so raw it felt like it was splitting you in two.

Tears blurred your vision, falling freely onto his cheeks, his chest, mixing with the blood. "I thought you knew," you whispered. "I- … I’ve loved you since the beginning. Please, JJ, please don’t leave me.”

His breath hitched, something flickering in his eyes — recognition, regret, something unsaid that had been there all along. A slow, fragile smile touched his lips, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he looked like himself again.

“I knew,” he breathed, the barest hint of a smirk still tugging at his mouth. His fingers curled weakly against yours. "I’ve been waiting for you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, the world stopped.

The wind died. The searing heat, the endless dunes, the distant shouts of the others — none of it mattered. It was just you and him, and the weight of his words crashing over you like a tidal wave, breaking something inside you, something that had been locked away for far too long.

“What?” you gasped, disbelief twisting in your chest, making it hard to breathe.

JJ's lips curled into a faint but sincere smile, though exhaustion dulled the edges of it. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he repeated, voice hoarse but unwavering. "I broke up with Kiara before this trip. I couldn’t pretend anymore." He exhaled shakily, his grip tightening around your fingers with the last bit of strength he had left. "You’ve always been everything to me. All this damn time.”

Your heart clenched violently.

Your mind raced to keep up, to piece together the truth that had been right in front of you, buried under layers of fear, miscommunication, and unspoken feelings.

"Then why – …why didn’t you say something?"

His eyes, deep and piercing even through the pain, held yours with quiet intensity. “Because you pulled away,” he said simply. "And I thought that’s what you wanted.”

The truth hit you like a punch to the ribs. You inhaled sharply, shaking your head. "No." The word barely made it past your lips. "No. I was scared. I thought I couldn’t handle it. Seeing you with her… It hurt too much. So I ran.” Your voice cracked. Your fingers clenched around his, desperate, desperate, desperate to hold on to something you had almost let slip through your hands. "And I'm sorry, JJ. I'm so sorry.”

He studied you for a moment, his gaze soft despite the pain creasing his brow. Then, with what little energy he had left, he smirked—small, tired, but undeniably him.

"Don’t apologize,” he murmured. "Just… don’t leave me hanging, okay?"

A sob broke free from your throat, raw and full of something you weren’t ready to name. You nodded fiercely, gripping his hand tighter. "I won’t. I swear to God, JJ, I won’t.”

The sound of running footsteps cut through the suffocating air, and you turned, the haze of panic breaking just enough for reality to crash back in. The Pogues. John B, Pope, Kiara — your family — rushing toward you, their faces twisted with fear.

John B dropped to his knees beside you without hesitation, his hands immediately moving to help press against JJ’s wound. His fingers were slick with blood — JJ’s blood — and the sight of it made your stomach lurch. Kiara stood frozen for a moment, her face pale, her hands trembling as Pope frantically rummaged through the bag for the supplies you had packed before the trip.

“We’ve got you, man,” John B said, trying to sound confident, but his voice wavered, just enough to betray his fear. “You’re gonna be fine.”

“Damn right,” JJ rasped, his smirk faltering as he winced. He turned his head slightly, his tired eyes finding yours again, and for a second, it was just you and him in the vast, unforgiving desert.

“Now I have something to live for.”

Your heart clenched so hard it hurt.

A fresh wave of tears burned your eyes, but you refused to let go. You reached for his hand again, holding on as if your grip alone could anchor him, could keep him here, keep him yours. “We’re not done talking about this,” you whispered, voice trembling but steady. "Not even close."

His lips twitched, a flicker of amusement dancing through the pain. "Looking forward to it, sweetheart."

The Pogues worked with frantic precision, their hands moving fast despite the tremor of fear running through them. Kiara handed Pope the bandages with shaky fingers, and John B pressed harder, murmuring reassurances to JJ, to himself, to all of you.

JJ’s breathing was shallow, but it was there. It was steady. A fragile, desperate reminder that he was still here, still fighting.

And as the sun dipped lower, painting the dunes in streaks of crimson and gold, you made a silent vow.

No more running. No more hiding.

JJ Maybank had risked everything for you.

And you’d spend the rest of your life proving to him that it was worth it.

THE NORTH CAROLINA COAST SHIMMERED UNDER THE LAZY GLOW OF THE LATE AFTERNOON SUN, ITS GOLDEN LIGHT CASTING LONG SHADOWS ACROSS THE SAND. The waves rolled in gentle, rhythmic whispers, curling and uncurling against the shore like a lullaby, as if even the ocean had settled into a rare moment of peace. A soft breeze carried the scent of salt and sunscreen, mingling with the distant sounds of seagulls calling to one another.

A year had passed since Morocco.

And somehow, after everything, life had fallen into something that felt too good to be true.

The Pogues, older, maybe even a little wiser — but still just as reckless and full of life — had gathered at the Chateau for one of their usual, chaotic meetings. Laughter mixed with the rolling tide, the weight of past troubles dissolving in the summer air.

At the heart of it all sat Jessica, now eight months old and the undisputed queen of their little kingdom.

She was sprawled on a sun-bleached blanket, babbling happily as she reached for a set of colorful beach toys scattered around her. Her chubby fingers wrapped around a bright yellow shovel, clumsy but determined. Beside her, JJ sat cross-legged in the sand, his usual cocky smirk softened into something infinitely more tender.

"Okay, Jess," he said in an exaggeratedly serious tone, flipping the shovel dramatically. “If we’re gonna build the greatest sandcastle this beach has ever seen, you have to stay focused. Just don’t eat the sand, alright?”

Jessica, wide-eyed and curious, blinked up at him — then immediately grabbed a fistful of sand and stuffed it into her mouth.

JJ groaned, head tilting back in exaggerated defeat, while you, a few feet away, laughed as you set out snacks on the picnic table.

"She doesn't take you seriously," you teased, leaning on the edge of the table with a knowing smirk. "I think your motivational speeches need work, Maybank."

JJ twisted to look at you over his shoulder, grinning. “You’re just jealous because she listens to me more than she listens to you.”

“Oh, is that what you think?” You raised a brow, stepping closer before squatting down next to him.

Jessica’s attention immediately snapped to you, her chubby little hands stretching out with an excited squeal. JJ gawked.

“See?” you said smugly, scooping her up into your arms. “She knows who her favorite is.”

JJ let out a loud, mock-offended gasp, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “Losing my grip?” he repeated, shaking his head. “Damn, babe. You’re killing me here. Everyone knows I’m the funny one.”

“Of course you are,” you cooed, lips twitching.

As if to prove his point, JJ suddenly leaned in and made the most ridiculous face imaginable — eyes crossed, lips puckered, nose scrunched.

Jessica let out an explosive giggle, clapping her hands in delight.

You sighed, defeated, shaking your head. “Great. You’re officially raising a mini menace.”

JJ smirked, his eyes twinkling with something deep and unspoken as he watched you cradle Jessica against your chest. Despite all his bravado, his recklessness, his wild heart, there was an effortless ease to the way he was with her. Like he was made for this — this quiet, unspoken happiness. And maybe that was the most dangerous thing of all.

A few feet away, Kiara lounged on a blanket, lost in conversation with her friend, Maya — a quick-witted artist who had seamlessly slipped into their group like she’d always belonged. The two were locked in an animated debate over which beach snacks were superior, their laughter ringing out, blending into the symphony of the waves.

It was moments like this, the quiet ones, that made everything feel right.

That reminded you of just how much you all had survived.

And, more importantly — how much was still ahead.

As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in a breathtaking blend of burning oranges and soft pinks, the salty breeze carried the distant laughter of your friends. The ocean stretched out before you, its waves rolling in slow, steady murmurs, as if the entire world had exhaled into peace.

JJ stood on the porch of the Chateau, Jessica cradled against his chest, his arms wrapped securely around her tiny frame. His usual restlessness had faded into something quieter — something softer — as he rocked back and forth, his movements gentle, instinctive.

You watched from the doorway for a moment, your heart swelling at the sight of him like this. Unburdened. Present. Real.

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you stepped closer.

"You're real," you murmured, the words slipping out before you even realized you’d said them.

JJ glanced at you, and for a fleeting second, his usual confidence wavered. A flicker of vulnerability crossed his face — something rare, something raw.

"I’m not sure about that," he admitted, his voice quiet, almost hesitant. His gaze dropped to the baby in his arms, and his features softened. "But everything feels... easier with her. She’s just– … God, she’s perfect, you know?"

You reached out, resting a hand lightly on his worn-out T-shirt, feeling the warmth of him beneath your fingertips.

"She’s got a pretty amazing godfather." You hesitated, searching for the right words. "And I have an even more amazing – …”

JJ's lips curled into a knowing smirk, but his eyes stayed soft.

“Boyfiend?" he teased, tilting his head. "The love of your life? A future husband?"

You let out a breathy laugh, leaning your forehead against his shoulder.

"All of the above."

For a moment, neither of you spoke, letting the ocean and the distant voices of your friends fill the quiet spaces between you.

Then, after a beat, JJ adjusted Jessica in his arms and looked down at you, something uncharacteristically shy in his expression.

"Hey," he said, clearing his throat. "I, uh... I got something for you."

You blinked, eyebrows arching in surprise as he carefully passed Jessica into your arms. Her tiny fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt, warm and trusting, as she settled deeper into sleep.

JJ reached into his pocket, fingers fumbling before he pulled out a small, familiar silver ring. Your breath hitched.

"JJ..." you started, but he lifted a hand, stopping you.

"I know it’s not a proposal," he said, his voice quiet yet certain, his blue eyes steady on yours. The words were familiar — spoken once before, in a different place, under different circumstances. "Not yet. But it’s still a promise. That I’m in this. For real. For the long haul."

He swallowed hard, rolling the ring between his fingers before gently sliding it onto your hand. His fingertips lingered, tracing the delicate curve of your knuckle like he was memorizing the shape of you.

"You’re everything to me," he whispered. "Always have been. Always will be."

Emotion swelled in your chest, raw and overwhelming, knotting your throat and making words impossible. So instead, you reached for him, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you closed the space between you. His breath hitched just before your lips met, and then everything melted away.

The kiss started soft, tentative, but then he deepened it, his hand rising to cup your face. His thumb brushed your cheek, warm and rough, as though he wanted to wipe away every doubt, every fear. He kissed you like he was grounding himself in you, like he needed you to breathe. The warmth of him, the quiet strength of his arms — it left you dizzy and safe all at once.

By the time you pulled back, your foreheads rested together, breaths mingling in the cool night air. His fingers brushed down your arm, finding your hand again, twining his fingers with yours like he never wanted to let go.

"I love you," you murmured, your voice barely a whisper.

JJ’s smile was crooked, soft, a little breathless. "I know. And I love you more."

By the time you returned to the group, Jessica was fast asleep in your arms, her breaths soft and steady. The Pogues greeted you with their usual mix of teasing and tenderness—John B tossing out a smirk and Kiara shooting JJ a knowing look that made him roll his eyes. Pope, ever the observant one, just grinned as if he’d seen this coming long before either of you had.

But beneath the jokes, beneath the playful nudges and sarcastic remarks, was something deeper — an unbreakable bond that had carried you through the darkest of times and would continue to hold strong in whatever came next.

And as the stars slowly blinked to life in the vast, endless sky, you realized — without a shadow of a doubt — that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

hey lovies, i'm sooo happy to finally share this piece with you. i've been working on it for three months now, and honestly, i still feel like it’s not quite perfect. but i really wanted to post it today because it’s not just any day — it’s the one-year anniversary of this blog! 🥹 i started this whole thing with a jj fic, so it felt kinda special to keep that tradition going.

i just wanna say a huge thank you to everyone who's been here with me throughout this year. your support means the world to me, truly. every like and reblog is amazing, but your comments? they’re everything. they keep me inspired and make all the effort so worth it. so if you have thoughts — whether you loved it or not — i’d be over the moon if you shared them in the comments or my inbox :3

and before i go — happy international women’s day to all the incredible women out there! you are powerful, beautiful, and unstoppable 💫

love always, your santi 🪐

masterlist

[blastoqueen]

Sunrise.

Chapter 6

Rating: Teen and Up

Relationships: Noa x Mae (Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes)

Content warnings: None

Comments: English is not my first language. This is my last chapter before going back to Med School :(

“How are Noa… and you?” Anaya asked, a little scared to make the female angry or uncomfortable, he knew it was a sensible topic and that the more-than-just-a-friendship thing between them was long time dead.

“Fine” Soona said “He is my friend… like you”

The curiosity was killing Anaya, so he pushed the limits a little bit.

“I know you… were… too close” the male avoided eye contact.

His friend just stood there, not making any movements or showing any emotions.

“Can I be… honest with you, Anaya?”

“Yes! Of course”

Soona inhaled.

“I hoped Noa would see me as… something more… than just his friend” even though her words were sad, her face only showed serenity “He took me… to see the world… once we were… free from Proximus. However… I knew he didn’t… love me that much”

“Oh no, no, no, no, Soona” the male said, he reached to his friend and hugged her tight “He loves you… very much. I do too”

The smaller ape laughed a little, hugging her friend back. When they let go, she continued.

“But you know… what I mean” Anaya looked at the floor, feeling sad for her “And then Mae came back… I didn’t… trust her. And when she… left again I begged… Noa to let her go. He didn’t, but I learned to… forgive. Mae is good and she… is my friend”

He wanted to tell her about the night Mae and Noa were out to see the lighting dancers, but he promised not to tell anyone, so he stayed silent. All he could do was take Soona’s hand in his and act like a true friend.

-----------

“Is this another secret spot you wanted to show me?” Mae said. She and the ape were doing a light climbing in a destroyed three-story building covered in leaves.

“No. I want to teach you how to be strong” Noa said, grabbing a branch and pushing himself up.

“I am strong” Mae said, panting.

“When you came to the village you were a twig”

“Sorry for being held captive in a quarantine bunker”

“No excuses”

They were only halfway through when Mae stopped, hugging a big branch with both arms, closing her eyes and exhaling.

“Mae?” the male came closer to the human, hanging only from one arm and feet.

He put his other hand on top of Mae´s head, gently caressing her hair.

“What is wrong?”

“I just… need a minute”

“I´m bringing you to the village”

“No! No, I can. I just need to rest a little bit”

“Mae”

“I can do it”

The Echo reached another branch, but quickly slipped, Noa held her by the waist, while all her limbs hung loose.

The ape took her to the ground and Mae sat immediately.

“Sorry, but the sun and the height…”

“It's okey”

“Tomorrow we can try again”

“Sure”

Noa was a little devastated, he felt anger at himself. He wanted to pretend Mae was the same as him, or maybe that she could be like him, but they were so different in many aspects. He used to think maybe she was weak even among her own, but he had seen her killed Trevathan…

Maybe it was time to accept the reality. They were different.

Why was he trying to make them both seem equal?

“So that it wouldn’t be so weird to have these feelings”

“Let´s go to the village. And then you… can teach me how to read” Noa said.

Mae looked up and made a strange face, the ape was taken back at that.

“I… no”

No?

“Oh. I just thought… you could teach me some things from your… people” he felt shy, embarrassed, suddenly, his hands became awkward.

“I can´t teach you more things” Mae murmured “Sorry”

“Is that… forbidden?”

“For me, yeah, it is”

“For you?” Noa sat besides her “Is someone forbidding you?”

“No, Noa. I am forbidding myself… from teaching you”

He was getting more confused every time, maybe the girl was really tired…

Right when he was about to offer they return to the village, the Echo spoke.

“I can´t teach the apes. It´s dangerous”

“What?”

Mae refused to look him in the eyes.

“I can not believe you” Noa sighed, he got up and stared at the human “Dangerous? Why would it be dangerous?”

“It is, Noa!” Mae said exasperated, she stood up and almost fall back, Noa resisted the urge to catch her “You are already… evolving. Remember what Proximus said? Those weapons in the bunker would have help the apes to evolve and we don´t want that! Weapons and guns are not the only way your kind can evolve, Noa, knowledge can do that too”

“So you will not share it. Because you are scared that we become… better than you humans. Is that so, Mae?”

“Yes” her face showed security.

Noa walked towards the human and stood in front of her. They were almost the same heigh, both pair of eyes watching each other intensely.

“You are so fake” the ape chuckle “Every time I think you had change… you just prove me wrong. You pretend and lie and steal. Are all humans… like you, Mae? Or are you just a rotten apple among them?”

“Shut up! You stupid animal!” Mae yelled furious, pushing the ape with both hands, only moving him a little.

“How does it feel, Mae? Watching me… evolve”

“You will never know how it feels to be completely human” the human started to cry, tears rolling down her cheeks, anger in her eyes.

“I don’t want to be human” Noa said “And I don’t need you to help me... evolve. I fixed the electric spear… without help and without you, remember?”

“Your time is over, Noa. I delivered the key, got that? The book that could make humans speak again. It´s only a matter of time before the humans reunite and be strong again, it will be our planet again”

“The things with us, princess, is that we don’t claim the planet. We… live here, but it is not ours!”

“You wouldn’t understand”

“No? Am I too dumb, Mae?”

“You didn’t see the world with us in it”

“And you did? How old are you, Mae? Because… I am sure that you never saw the world… either”

“You are being too... cruel” Noa could see the pain in her eyes, the puffy face and red cheeks. The tiredness.

Did he cross the line?

“Let´s go to the village” Noa said, lowering his voice but keeping the cold tone in it.

“I´ll go by myself. I know were it is” Mae started to walk when the ape grabbed her arm. Why did he keep doing that?

“No. We are going together”

“After all that… what makes you think I want your company?”

“I don’t care if you want it or not. I am not… leaving you”

“Whatever” she said with disdain, pushing him away from her.

They started walking putting some distance between them. The ape could hear Mae´s sobs.

Were they going to be able to forgive each other for the words said today?

"Would I ever forgive myself for making her cry?"

[theemptywallet]

Hii hello!! May I please submit a Banhammer x reader Angst/ comfort?

Reader is a criminal who hates him!! But Banhammer loves them with all his heart.

Reader gets injured during an attempt to escape and Banhammer helps them get patched up and the Reader confesses they were scared of being killed off and they secretly loved him back.

Cant catch me.

a reader×banhammer angst comfort!

tw for minimal blood and violence.

· · ─────── · ☾· ─────── · ·

Life had done you dirty.

You spawned into the world, fueled only by desperation. Every day, you pick-pocketed any amount of bux you could in Crossroads just to put some scraps on the table. People looked down on those like you, of course. In their eyes, you were nothing but filthy vermin, selfishly stealing from others’ pockets. Maybe they would understand if they had to experience the feeling og an empty stomach on a cold night, or watching other kids complaining about the smallest of things while you grew up with nothing but the clothes on your back. You envied the lives of those who didn't have to worry about whether food would be on the table that night—envied those with well-stitched garments on them.

“Tch..they didn’t even get my nose right…” You sneered as you ripped the wanted poster off the wall of the alley and crumpled it. You had garnered some notoriety around the area for theft and some sort of assault crime. You scoffed under your breath. Despite your situation, you hardly ever resorted to violence. After all, staying low was much safer and efficient. People were just hellbent on making you look like a monster.

You slipped through the crowd like fog, hand sliding into some inphernal’s back pocket and then out again before they could even blink. Another turn, another wallet. Easy and efficient. With the amount of bux you were pocketing, you just might be able to afford a decent meal tonight…or maybe buy a jacket to better cover your face in future thievery? You were still scheming to find your next victim when your attention was suddenly diverted to a commotion nearby.

“Hey, is that…” someone muttered.

“Why would he be here?” another replied.

Inphernals were moving. Fast. Not casually like shoppers…more like they were scattering? You squinted your eyes, pulling your hood a little lower, blending within the crowd of confused inphernals.

“Banhammer’s in the area”

That whisper passed around the crowd, and your blood turned icy cold once it reached your ears. Fuck. You purposely chose to be in the market, as Banhammer never went there. You avoided that warden like the plague. Despised him. The way he brutally brought inphernals like you to the Banlands for just trying to survive in this hellhole of a world. You hated that. The coldness in your blood turned into boiling rage the moment your eyes landed on him. With caution, you swiftly slip away from the crowd before the warden spots you. You had some close calls of Banhammer going for your throat. You’ve heard rumours of him preferring to play with his prey before inevitably bringing them to the Banlands. Cocky bastard. However, you knew better than to engage with him, as you’ve seen how incredibly powerful he is. One thing you’ve always pondered about was why he had never been able to apprehend you. In every close encounter you have had with him, Banhammer could have easily captured you. Sure, you were skilled from your daily sneaking and thieving, but you were definitely no match for the warden of Banlands himself… or was he doing this on purpose? So he could keep you on edge and living in fear for the next time you encounter him? Bastard.

At the same time, you admired him. You envied his strength. Unlike you, he used his skill to bring justice, while you…well… Your scrawny body was littered with scars and your ribcage was visible. You had been wearing the same thing for swords know how long. On the other hand, Banhammer was jacked. Could probably snap you in half like a twig if he wanted to! He had armour that shone brighter than your future and was sturdier than your mental state.

You inched toward a corner, trying to take a peek. And then you saw him. Advancing. Nearer. Towering over the crowd and moving calmly, methodically like a predator that knew no one could stop him. Inphernals moved out of his way before he even neared them. And of course, he spotted you.

Panic bloomed like rot in your chest.

You bolted and weaved through the back alleys- all your routes you knew at the back of your hands. If you were fast enough, you could be out of his range before he -

“Well.. It's you.”

You'd bumped into someone while turning into a corner. Slammed straight into someone. You didn't even need to look up to know who it was. There was no point in running now.

Banlands was a cruel place, worse than the rumours, a broken wasteland under one red sky, air buzzing with chains eerily rattling on the floors. The chains placed around your wrists felt heavy, familiar.

You weren't meant to be here. No one ever comes back once brought to Banlands. They just disappear. No, you were meant to survive, no matter what it takes, not… disappear. One of Banhammer’s subordinates was keeping an eye on you. Just one. With no time to waste, you wrenched your body towards them and head butted them. They stumbled, and you took the chance, using your legs to kick them down, immobilising them.ba quickly pocketed the key to your chains from the subordinate's jacket with your teeth. Bolting off, you ran away before they had the chance to get back up. With minimal struggle, you stuck the key in the chain locks and unlocked them. You were nearing the fence. Yes! Once you cross that border, you will finally be free. You cross over the rocky terrain and make your way.

But something always has to go wrong in your life.

Before you knew it, a deafening shot burst in your eardrums. You spin with impact, and blood gushes out of your waist. Like someone stuck straight up lava into your waist. It burns as you clutch the wound on your waist, and blood seeps through your fingers. You fell backwards and your back hit the floor with a loud thud on impact. You desperately clawed at the floor, trying to pull yourself up, to escape. But no matter how you move, you couldn't. Your vision was fading. A guard had spotted you trying to escape and shot you.

“Stop! Don't fire! I'll handle this," you heard a gruff, shaky voice cry out.

You didn't bother to look up.

“Go on," you rasped, voice shaking. "Kill me. That's all I'm worth now."

Banhammer didn't answer.

Instead, his shadow fell over you. Surprisingly warm hands reached down. You flinched violently.

“Don’t touch me.”

“You’re hurt.”

“Really? Why don't you fix it before you kill me? Isn't that more satisfying for you, you sadist?"

He didn't snap back. Instead, he knelt over you. Gently, lifting you into his arms. Your head fell weakly against his shoulder. His grip was solid, steady, but slightly trembling. You hated how warm it felt.

Next thing you knew, you woke up in a prison cell. But the cell wasn't locked. You touched your waist and felt the cool touch of bandages. All patched up.

“You know, you're a good person, right?”

You jerked your head up and sat up immediately. A sharp pain shot down your body, and you winced, holding your hip. Banhammer sees this and holds you, steadying you like you were fragile glass pieces

He looked at you. And for once, you were not looking at the proud and arrogant Banhammer. There was grief and weariness behind his eyes.

"Why didn't you just get it over with?"

"I couldn't.."

You raised a brow.

Every time you escaped, every time you ran, every time you cursed and spat my name, I still cared. I never wanted to kill you."

Your lip quivers, traitorously,

"I hated you."

“I know. "

You looked away, too afraid to look at him.

“I don't want to die. I kept running because I thought, if you caught me, I wouldn't come back."

His gaze softened. "You'll always come back."

"I can't die loving someone who would choose the system over me.” You choked out

"I already chose you.”

For the first time in your life, you let your guard down. Like no one was out there to get you. Like you were safe for once. Your shoulders heaved.

He shifts nearer to you. Gently resting your head against his chest. He adjusted your position, shifting you to his side so that you faced him, your noses nearly touching his. He could see the features of your face, your lashes casting a faint shadow on your cheek. Despite your rugged appearance, you were so beautiful to him.

"You don't need to do this anymore. To barely scrape by and survive. I can help you." He rasped.

You let out a chuckle. Maybe.

“I guess it's much better than seeing my face being messed up on wanted posters.”

Banhammer lets out a deep chuckle as he ruffles your hair. He squeezed your hand, nearly crushing it.

You did not need to run anymore.

im not great at doing banhammer fics so im sorry if it sounds off

ondjdskskks im on holidays now so I may be able to write more

school starts on 30 June tho omgbfjd

[nanamineedstherapy]

Ooga Booga Toji gets Hunted

Previous Chapter: Ooga Booga Sukuna gets Reverse Bonked (Tumblr/Ao3)

Summary: Prehistoric, period-accurate Neanderthal JJK daddies courting you with grunts, rocks, & zero verbal communication. Just prehistoric buffoonery. A/N: BRO. LISTEN. You ever just wake up & think, what if Toji was a little cavewife? What if he was bonked over the head like a prehistoric Looney Tunes character & dragged into domestic life against his will? What if a woman looked at him & went yes, I will be taking this like she was picking out a melon at the market? I am here to answer these questions. This fic is 90% brain damage & 10% actual words. Please enjoy Himbo Toji Arc. As usual, => This is a different reader, but the same Toji—unfortunately for you. => No suggestive bits in this one. => This is Toji’s chapter, but Gojo, Sukuna & Nanami are also here. Next chapter will be for Suguru, hopefully in a day or two. The other guys are getting their solo stories, with guest appearances in each other’s on a regular. So I recommend reading all of them, but I can’t force you to make good life choices.

Fushiguro Toji is used to chasing.

He chases mammoths.

He chases sabertooths.

He chases Gojo (his natural prey).

He is not used to being chased.

And yet, here he is.

Being hunted.

By you.

It’s been days. Everywhere he goes, you appear.

At first, he thinks he’s imagining things.

Shadows in the trees. Strange footprints in the mud.

A weird feeling of being watched.

But then—

He sees you.

Crouched behind a bush. Unblinking. Staring.

The next day? You are closer.

The next night? He wakes up to find you squatting near his fire.

Watching.

No blink. No sound.

Just raw, feral focus.

Toji feels fear for the first time in his life.

He grunts. (What want?)

You stay unmoving, unanswering.

Toji’s heart stops.

It’s terrifying.

It’s confusing.

It’s starting to do things to him.

(Things he doesn’t want to think about. Things that make him grunt angrily and punch rocks to feel manly again.)

---

At dawn, he sneaks away from the tribe. Takes only his spear.

Travels far.

Through forest. Over rivers. Past rival tribe (he still punches Gojo on way).

At some point in the night, Toji stops to drink water.

Then he hears it.

Twig snap!!!

He looks up.

You.

Squatting. Staring. Again.

Like a cursed cave goblin.

Toji almost chokes on his own spit.

You have been tracking him. Following his scent. Watching him from the trees like some squirrel.

Toji doesn’t know why.

Doesn’t know if you want to mate him or murder him.

(Both are possibilities.)

You grin.

Then you jump.

Toji dodges. Fast. He’s the best hunter in the tribe.

But you’re faster.

Rock swings. Toji barely avoids it.

You grunt. (Tsk. Fast.)

Toji tries to fight back.

Tries to assert dominance.

You only grin wider.

Toji’s heart beats wrong.

Then—

BONK!!!

Rock hits skull.

World goes dark.

---

When he wakes up—head throbbing, vision blurry—he is in a cave.

Not his cave.

Your cave.

He is not tied up, but he might as well be.

You are blocking the exit.

And watching him.

Like a feral animal guarding its prize.

Toji grunts. (Let me go.)

You grunt back. (No.)

Toji try push past.

You grab his jaw. Inspect.

Toji freezes.

Oh.

Oh no.

This is how he inspects meat.

You are checking his quality.

Like he is a fucking rabbit.

Toji snarl. (I NOT RABBIT.)

You pat his cheek. (Good strong mate.)

Toji’s instincts scream.

He is prey now.

---

Toji tries to leave.

You drag him back.

Toji refuses to eat food.

You shove it in his mouth.

Toji chokes. Gags. Tries spit it out.

You glare.

Toji chews.

You pat his head. (Good boy.)

Toji stares at wall. Existential crisis.

---

Toji wakes up to the worst thing imaginable.

He is being scrubbed.

Like some mangy, flea-infested stray.

In the river.

By you.

Toji snarls. Fights. Thrashes like a cornered beast.

Bites your arm.

You bonk him.

Toji goes limp.

You do not care.

You hold him down. Scrub harder.

At some point, he stops fighting. Sits there. Pouting.

You click your tongue. (Stinky mate.)

Toji glares. Growls. Does his best to look scary. (He is not scary. He is wet.)

Then—

Laughter.

Toji turns.

Gojo.

That damn bastard is sitting right next to him—also being scrubbed by his own mate.

Grinning at Toji.

Mocking.

Enjoying his suffering.

Toji sees red.

He lunges.

You grab his face.

Shove him back. Push him underwater.

Toji comes up, sputtering. Furious. Drenched.

Gojo?

Cackling.

It is horrible.

It is humiliating.

It is—

Effective.

Because one day?

Toji just... stops fighting.

---

Now, he sits by fire.

Eats willingly.

Watches you.

Eyes narrowed.

You grunt. (Good mate.)

Toji exhales. Defeated.

But when you leave the cave to hunt?

He does not run.

Not because he is weak.

Not because you broke him.

But because...

The food is good.

The furs are warm.

And you are kind of hot.

Oh.

Oh no.

HE LIKES THIS.

Toji sighs. Stares at his hands.

Instead of running—

He sharpens your spear.

---

One day, you return to the cave.

Toji is... rearranging the furs.

You grunt. (What doing?)

He grunts back. (Making cave better. You live like animal.)

You tilt head. (Good mate.)

Toji grumbles.

But does not deny it.

---

Later, he carves mammoth figurine.

Leaves it by your sleeping spot.

You find it. Grin.

Toji pretends not to notice.

That night?

You return from hunt.

Drop fresh kill at his feet.

Toji smirks.

(Good hunter,) he grunts.

You nod.

And just like that—

The best hunter in the tribe becomes the best house-husband in the valley.

---

The next day, Sukuna is also suffering.

He sits by river.

Scowling. Wet.

Across from him, Toji and Gojo. Also wet.

They exchange knowing looks.

They understand now.

There is no escaping this fate.

Sukuna growls. Crosses arms. Refuses to look at his own mate.

She clicks her tongue.

Sukuna bares teeth. Hisses.

She grabs his face. Scrubs harder.

Gojo snickers.

Sukuna swings.

Gets grabbed. Dunked underwater.

Emerges. Coughing. Furious. Betrayed by gods.

Toji shakes head. (Stop fighting. No win.)

Sukuna glares.

Will never stop fighting.

Will never—

---

Later.

Nanami passed by, smugly carring his laughing mate on his back like a monkey.

Sukuna sits by the tribe fire. Pouting.

He has been fed.

Dried.

His hair braided.

His mate hums.

He grumbles.

Sharpens her spear.

Toji and Gojo sigh in solidarity.

They all stare into the flames.

The fire of their lost freedom.

The era of wild, untamed men is over.

Now they are simply... husbands.

---

Toji wakes up to the smell of smoke.

This is not unusual. Caves are smoky. Fire is life.

What is unusual?

He is hanging upside down.

Like a slaughtered deer in a butcher’s hut.

Like some offering to gods.

Like some sacrificial goat.

Feet tied together with vines.

Dangling from a tree branch.

Swaying gently.

Toji blinks.

Toji processes.

Toji sees you.

Crouched by fire.

Sharpening a flint knife. Humming.

Toji’s entire soul malfunctions.

He howls. (What the—)

Thrashes. Swings like an overgrown fruit.

Branch creaks.

You look up. Squint. Grunt. (Squirmy meat.)

Toji freezes.

Meat?

Did you just say meat?

Have you been grunting ‘meat’ instead of ‘mate’ this whole time and it got lost in translation???

NO. NO NO NO.

He needs to leave. Now.

You stand. Walk over.

Sniff him.

You poke his bicep.

Squeeze his asscheeks.

Punch his thigh. (OW.)

You nod. Satisfied.

Give an approving grunt. (Good meat. Strong. Juicy.)

Had you been raring him like cattle this whole time, feeding him, bathing him? Just to cut him down.

Toji’s survival instincts start playing the drums. ( WAIT. STOP. NO MEAT. AM MATE. )

You pause. (Mate?)

(YES. MATE.)

You frown.

(But... meat.)

(NO. MATE.)

You tilt your head, considering.

(Mate... better than meat?)

(YES. MATE BETTER.)

Silence.

You stare at him. Deep in thought.

Too much thought.

Toji doesn't have time for contemplation.

His ass is burning.

His entire back is roasting over the fire.

With a snarl, he flexes, yanks, snaps the branch clean in half, and lands—

Right on his ass.

He groans. Grumbles. Rubs his tailbone.

(Crazy mate,) he grunts.

You squat next to him.

Poke his cheek and grunt.

(Mate strong. Mate fast. Mate... pretty.)

Toji bluescreens. (Pretty???)

You nod. (Pretty.)

Toji stares into the void, grits teeth. Refuses to blush.

Fails.

This is not how he expected his day to go.

---

Now Toji is in charge.

He builds a bigger fire.

Skins the boar.

Roasts the meat perfectly.

You watch.

Silently.

Eyes narrowed.

Toji feels the weight of your stare.

The burning intensity.

Toji has been watched many ways before.

Never like this.

Not with the focused hunger of a woman planning long-term investment.

You grunt. (Good hunter.)

Toji smirks. Hands you food.

You accept.

Chew. Nodding.

You grunt. (Mate strong. Mate smart. Mate... good cook.)

Toji leans closer. (Yes. Good mate.)

Your gaze flicks to his jawline.

To his biceps.

Back to the meat in his hands.

Something about seeing him like this—half-naked, covered in soot, feeding you—

You grunt. (Very pretty mate.)

Toji coughs.

Adjusts his sitting position.

Avoids your very direct gaze.

Keeps his eyes on the fire.

For the first time in his life—

Toji does not know if he is the hunter or the hunted.

---

Toji is happy.

He was hunted. He was bonked. He was stolen.

But now? Now he loves it.

At first, Toji resisted. He was a man of instinct, survival, and brute strength. But then he saw you—wild, unhinged, terrifying. You cracked him over the head with a rock, dragged him back to your cave, and called it mating.

He adapted. Now he thrives.

Because Toji is a smug bastard.

And you? You are insane.

When Toji walks through the tribe, he is unbearable.

Every time some poor excuse of a man dares to look his way, he flashes his big, sharp teeth like a trophy display.

"Yes. My mate chose me."

"Yes. My mate strong."

"Yes. My mate will birth strong cubs."

And if any of those weaklings so much as glance at you for too long?

Toji growls. Deep. Menacing. (She is mine. You weak. I kill you.)

This is a problem.

Not because of the men.

But because of the women.

The first time a woman dared look at Toji for too long, you did not hesitate.

You picked up a rock.

And launched it.

The woman barely dodged. Screamed. Ran.

Toji blinked. Then tilted his head, watching you with interest. Your eyes were wild. He grinned.

This happens again. And again.

Woman look? You grunt. (No.)

You pick rock.

You throw rock.

Woman scream. Dodge. Run.

Toji watches, deeply amused.

He looks at you. Sees the crazy in your eyes.

His grin widens.

It keeps happening.

Woman look? You throw rock.

Woman talk near Toji? You chase with stick.

One woman touches his arm?

Oh.

Oh, you tackle.

You growl. Show teeth.

The woman cries.

Toji loves this.

Whenever you chase women away, he puffs out his chest. Stands taller. Grunts at the other men with smug satisfaction. "My mate insane. Yours could never."

Nanami, watching this unfold daily, finally mutters, “You need to control mate.”

Toji, watching you prepare another rock-throwing attack: “Why would I do that?”

You throw rock at Nanami.

Nanami dodges.

Then notices his mate doing the exact same thing—chasing Toji’s mate around with a burning stick.

Nanami tries to hide his smile.

Fails miserably.

---

Eventually, the chief steps in.

Because too many women have fled.

Because you have almost killed three.

Because everyone is terrified.

The chief grunts. (No more. No more crazy mate.)

Toji grunts back. (Why?)

Chief grunts harder. (Too many women cry.)

Toji, picking his teeth lazily, grunts back. (No.)

The chief’s brow twitches, he howls. (If she does it again, you both leave the tribe.)

Toji shrugs. Looks at you.

You grin.

And throw another rock.

Directly at chief Yaga.

The chief glares.

Picks up his spear to chase you both.

Toji smirks, grabs your waist, lifts you onto his shoulder.

And runs back to your cave with record speed.

And that is how Toji and his insane mate almost got kicked out of the tribe.

Toji, grinning the entire time. (My mate best.)

Toji happy.

---

A/N: Alright, tell me the truth.

Choose wisely. History will judge you. (Drop your answer in the comments or I will throw a rock at you.)

Next Chapter: Ooga Booga Suguwu gets mated to Female Mowgli after Neanderthal BL Betrayal (Tumblr/Ao3)

All Works Masterlist

[theres-a-body-here]

Scumtober- Day 9 (Monsterfucking)

The Demogorgon x Reader

Sequel post

The Demogorgon was acting strange.

.......

Stranger than usual.

It seemed to be actively avoiding you in trials. This made you.... Well, you weren't sure how to feel about the situation. On one hand, it means one less killer to worry about in trials. On the other hand, you really miss him.

He wasn't like this before. You two had a "healthy" trial relationship. He tried his best to kill you, and you tried your best to escape. However, unlike most killers, you sometimes gave him treats and pets. He returned the favor by taking the longest paths to a hook or even "accidentally" picking you up under a pallet when he knew your teammate was nearby.

You don't know what happened. And you were hellbent on figuring it out.

Strange(r) things were happening

You wait for your next trial with him. You wonder if you are going to get any grief for this since you casually let your teammates die. But now you can have some alone time with Demo and get this mess sorted out.

You slowly explore the trial grounds, listening for any sounds that could indicate his location.

It takes a while, but you eventually find the Demogorgon hunched within one of the "jungle gyms". You step forward and wince as you step on a twig. The Demogorgon snaps its head towards you. He seems ready to bolt.

"Hey......it's me," You whisper as you get closer. You knew he could recognize you, but you didn't want him to run off and hide. At the sound of your voice, the Demogorgon seems to relax slightly, though it doesn't fully let down its guard.

You slowly step closer. "You've been avoiding me, Demo," You mention softly as you get right in front of him.

Demo whines softly, his head facing downwards as he shuffles his feet awkwardly. His petal-like flaps open and close weakly, almost like he's ashamed. He then begins to drool as it dribbles onto the ground.

You aren't sure what's happening. You look at the Demogorgon as he drools a lot. Like a lot. Come to think of it. It seems....wetter? Wait no, it seems more liquidy than his usual slobber.

If you didn't know any better, you'd probab- OH SHIT HES CRYING!

Your panic is instant. "No, no! I am sorry! Please don't cry!" You reach out tentatively, hesitant despite your desire to comfort him.

You pet him gently in hopes of soothing him. You can feel him trembling. You feel terrible.

After a while Demo seemed to have stopped crying. You gently nudge him so he can sit against the wall. You sit next to him. There's silence as you think of anything to say.

"I'm not mad," you whisper as you pat his head. "I just want to know why you've been ignoring me".

Demo's petals scrunch inwards as if thinking. He raises his head and looks around. He then weakly raises his claw to vaguely point in the direction where Ace was moried. Now that you have time to think, you've noticed how vicious and brutal Demogorgon has been towards Ace these past few months.

"Ace?" You mumble to yourself as you try to recall any instance involving Ace and Demogorgon. And then the realization hit you harder than The Oni's Kanabo. You didn't think that would be the cause.

Demogorgon caught you and Ace making out during a trial.

It was right before Demo started to avoid you. Honestly, it was out of impulse. You were tired of getting off to the porno mags you snatched out of the Legion's realm. You probably should have waited until the trial was over, but you were horny and Ace was.....there. It was a moment of weakness.

You should have put two and two together. You felt dumb. You facepalm and you groan.

Demogorgon was jealous.

You clear your throat awkwardly. You had to set the record straight. You couldn't let Demo think you had the hots for the gambler.

"Me and Ace aren't together," You slowly, hoping Demo understands human relationships.

At your words, Demo's expression shifts from relief to confusion. Well, at least you think so. His flaps went from scratched to relaxed. He tilts his head curiously, seemingly waiting for further explanation.

"Well, um... we were just messing around. Nothing serious," you clarify hastily, waving your hands dismissively. "We both kinda got carried away in the heat of the moment."

Demo processes this information silently for a few moments before seeming to accept it. He relaxes slightly, lowering his head to lay it on your lap. You let out a sigh of relief. The misunderstanding has been rectified.

As you continue to pet Demogorgon's head, you notice him start to sniff around your crotch area. You freeze, unsure of how to react. Is he sensing something? Does he need help? Before you can figure out what's going on, he suddenly licks your inner thigh, causing you to jump in surprise.

"What the hell, Demo?" You exclaim, pushing him away playfully. Your heart races as you try to regain composure. Despite the unexpected move, there's also a hint of curiosity stirring inside you. What could possibly have caused such a reaction from him?

As you ponder over Demo's sudden behavior, you begin to wonder if he's attempting to make a move on you now that he's confirmed you're single. The thought sends a wave of mixed feelings coursing through your veins; part of you feels flattered, while another part is taken aback by the idea of getting intimate with a creature like him.

And another small part of you is a freaky bitch who grew up with unsupervised access to the internet.

With slow deliberate movements, you unbutton your pants. Demo watches with curiosity as his flaps wiggle softly in what you could guess is anticipation. You decide to skip the foreplay and remove your pants along with your panties. You shiver as the cold air of the realm makes contact with your cunt.

As you expose yourself to Demo, he takes in the sight before him. His petals open slightly as he sniffs at your exposed folds, taking in your unique scent. Without warning, his petal flaps open wide and envelop your entire pelvic region. You're startled for only a second before you relax into the sensation.

Demogorgon's clawed hands wrapped gently around your thighs as he opened them up even more, his cold flesh brushed against your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

"Ahh..." You moan softly, arching your back in response to the stimulation. You can feel every inch of his flaps' insides licking your lower body. It was strange.

His slimy tongue bathes your swollen folds, teasing and stimulating every sensitive spot. You arch your back, moaning softly as you surrender to the sensations coursing through your body.

Despite the primal urges pulling you deeper into the encounter, a small part of you remains aware of the absurdity of the situation. Here you are, having sex with a creature from another dimension, all while wondering if your friends think you're having the longest chase ever.

Suddenly, Demo pulls away. You whine as you wonder why. Your eyes widen as you spot the reason. Demo has a slit. You never really noticed it before, but it seems swollen due to his arousal.

As Demo's member starts to emerge from his slit, you can't help but stare in amazement. The organ is unlike anything you've ever seen before – elongated and serpentine, almost alien in appearance. It writhes and squirms as though alive, dripping viscous fluid onto the floor.

Eagerly, you position yourself accordingly. Leaning back against the wall, you spread your legs wider to give him better access.

As Demo positions himself between your legs, his elongated member pressing against your opening, you brace yourself for what comes next. The anticipation builds within you as he rears back and thrusts forward, impaling nothing but air. Still, despite the lack of actual penetration, the animalistic nature of his movements makes you whimper.

You find yourself matching his rhythm, rocking your hips upwards to rub your swollen pussy against his length. You moan loudly, unable to contain yourself any longer. Your fingers dig into Demo's smooth grey skin, drawing lines of red across his shoulder blades.

Your breath hitches as you feel the tip of his cock nudging against your entrance once more. With a final forceful push, he breaks through your barrier, filling you completely. You cry out in ecstasy, the feeling of being stretched beyond capacity combined with the intense pressure building inside you too much to bear.

As Demo begins his rapid thrusts, you find yourself caught in a confusing mix of pleasure and discomfort. Each time he plunges into you, he manages to penetrate only a couple of inches before pulling out again. The inconsistency adds an unexpected element to the experience, leaving you both exhilarated and frustrated.

As Demo finds his rhythm again, you feel him sink deeper into you with each thrust. He holds this angle steadily, allowing your body to adjust gradually to the size and shape of his member. The feeling of fullness grows stronger with each passing moment, reaching new levels of intensity. But then he suddenly stops and pulls his cock out until his tip is pressing against your entrance.

At Demo's unexpected stop, you tense instinctively, preparing for whatever comes next. Just when you think he's about to fully pull out, he slams his hips forward violently, driving his massive member deep into your core as it completely disappears into your pussy. The sheer force behind the motion causes you to gasp in pain and surprise, followed quickly by a rush of pleasure as he fills you completely.

To your confusion, he's deathly still. You whimper as you try to move a bit, but his hands are still gripping your hips, keeping you in place. Demo seems like he's in a trance. Like he's taking in the feeling of his entire cock deep within your pretty cvnt.

Without warning, Demo pulls you inwards and moves into a position you've seen in porn. You think it's called the mating press. It seems fitting.

When he finally begins to thrust, there's no denying the incredible power behind each stroke. His extradimensional dick stretches and fills you entirely, hitting every sensitive spot along the way.

You cry out in delight as he picks up speed, driving deeper and harder into your wet heat. The sensation is overwhelming, bordering on painful – but in a good way. Every muscle in your body tightens involuntarily, holding you together as Demo takes complete control.

As Demo continues his relentless pace, you feel him hitting your cervix with increasing frequency. The sensation is intense, causing waves of pleasure mixed with just enough pain to keep you on edge.

"S-Slow down......Demo," you plead between gasps for air. But Demo seems oblivious to your words. In fact, he's been staring at the brick wall in front of him and you could see he's starting to drool. It's clear that his sole purpose right now is to fuck his cum into you.

As Demo's cock begins pounding at your cervix like an angry Avon lady, you think about how you'll be out of commission for a couple of days.

Despite the increasing discomfort, you cannot help but revel in the sense of being claimed so thoroughly. Moaning softly, you reach between your bodies and begin rubbing your clit, hoping to lessen the pain using pleasure.

As Demo nears climax, you watch in anticipation as his digits dig deeper into the ground, clawing furrows into the soil beneath them. The sight alone sends fresh waves of arousal coursing through your veins.

As he reaches the peak of his climax, Demo lets out a shriek-like roar. You feel his member pulsing inside you, forcing hot streams of cum deep into your womb. Your body convulses uncontrollably, milking his cock as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you as you reach orgasm as well.

After Demo's explosive release, he collapses onto you, his weight pinning you to the ground. Despite the initial discomfort, you can't help but smile at the sight of him clinging to you like a needy pup. You close your eyes as you cuddle up to him, absentmindedly wondering if the Entity has any Plan B.

Scumtober 2023 Masterlist

[moonlit-sirius]

Bunnies

a little fluff drabble about tiny Sirius and Regulus

"I have to sneeze!" Sirius yells, suddenly stopping running and looking up at the sun, messily pushing the hair away from his face to look at the sun without obstacles.

"Oof-" Regulus runs into Sirius, grabbing onto his shirt to avoid falling on his butt. He looks up at Sirius once he regains his balance.

"Why are you doing that?" Regulus murmurs, stepping in front of Sirius and tilting his head to the side, confused on why his brother had suddenly stopped running.

"If you look at the sun it will make you sneeze." Sirius says excitedly, pointing at the sun while still looking at it, or trying to. His eyes are teary and Regulus worries for a moment.

"Why?" Regulus murmurs, gently tugging on the hem of Sirius's shirt.

"I don't know... Just look at the sun!" Sirius grab Regulus by the shoulders and turns him away, tilting his head up slightly so now they're both looking at the bright sun.

"Its... it's wo-"

Two small sneezes resonate through the garden and suddenly there's a wisp of magic making the grass and leaves flutter.

Two bunnies stare at eachother, looking confused. One is black as the night with white paws, ears and nose, slightly bigger. The other one is white as snow with black paws, ears and nose, slightly smaller.

The black bunny jumps, startling the white one whose ears had moved back, nervous.

The white bunny moves closer.

The black bunny jumps again.

The white bunny runs under the black bunny while it's still in the air.

One jumps and the other runs. Over and over again.

The black bunny jumps up high and runs wildly. The white bunny hops and rolls in the grass in the sun.

The two bunnies run after eachother, stumbling and rolling around in the grass before starting to run again, eventually getting tired of running and jumping around so they lay down in the shadow of a big tree.

The white bunny clumsily puts his paw on the black bunny's head, lowering it and trying to get the dirt and leaves out of the fur, trying his best with his small paw.

Slowly, the bunnies cuddle up together, the gentle breeze and warm sunrays lulling them into peaceful slumber.

Sirius opens his eyes, blinking a few times trying to gather his surroundings. He lifts his head and see a white ball of fur sleeping on his chest.

"Reggie?" Sirius murmurs, hesitantly petting the head of the white bunny. Its incredibly soft and warm. Sirius slowly sits up, carefully holding the small bunny in his hand hand, cradling it against his chest.

"You're so tiny!" Sirius whisper-yells, scared any loud noises might scared the white bunny.

Poof

Regulus is suddenly sprawled over Sirius, both of them looking at eachother with wide eyes before they burst out laughing. The pull the leaves out of eachothers hair and Regulus even pulls out a small twig from Sirius's hair.

"Sirius! Regulus!" Kreacher calls from the door, announcing it's time to go back inside and get ready for dinner.

[gilded-sunrays]

[Continued: @Clemymimi]

Yoriichi was an unwanted child. From the day he and his brother were born, both of their destinies had already been decided. It didn't matter if they were twins, that only a few minutes separated them from their birth; it didn't matter that the same blood ran within them—all of this held no significance, for they were destined to live completely different lives. Their fates had been sealed. 

They both were raised differently and instructed to avoid even glancing at one another. Yoriichi would be raised as a commoner, worse as he was stripped away from all the nurturing love that every child craved, as he found solace only in the care of his ailing mother and the distant whispers of the servants who tended to his basic needs.

It was something he had grown used to, however. But his brother, in contrast, was treated as the exact opposite—groomed to inherit a legacy. He'd be given all the attention as he'd receive proper nutritious meals and high-class clothes, some specifically tailored for him, along with a proper, comprehensive education and rigorous training. He was taught to ignore the younger, to look down on him, for he was inferior and unworthy of his attention. They both were worlds apart. 

Yet still, despite all that, he can vividly recall the days when his brother would come to visit him in that cramped, stifling room. He would make sure that his younger twin was well fed, sharing some of his own food; he'd often sneak away with him to the well to wash his face and comb his hair. He even offered his own toys for Yoriichi to play with. He remembers how their father used to scold him and slap him whenever he'd do so, lecturing him not to pamper the younger. But still, he'd evaded his father's eyes and continued to take care of his younger twin. Once, he had even crafted a small flute during his leisure time and gifted it to Yoriichi:  

"Here, blow this whenever you need help.."—

Although his kindness was something Yoriichi deeply valued, it was something that had often confused him as well. Michikatsu was far better than him. He was a son who embodied everything their family valued, and Yoriichi was nothing in front of him—he was unwanted in this home. So why did his brother shower him with such unconditional kindness? They were two sides of the same coin, yet their differences could not have been more pronounced.  

They both were worlds apart. From their clothes to their hair, the food they ate, where they'd sleep—everything was different. One was a shadow, timid, and lifeless, while the other radiated vitality, chearful, and unrestrained. One had been destined for neglect, abandoned to the solitude of a nearby temple while the other would be raised to be the heir of a formidable clan. One would be weak, pitiful—a bachelor in a bind—and the other would be his hero, his idol—

—"Big brother will come right away." 

 He had vowed to be his guardian—his protector. He had promised to always look after him and shield him from any danger that dared to approach, no matter what—

—But the gods had other plans for them..

Their lives always managed to twist and contort into something entirely else.

The memories of those days linger vividly in his mind when he once accompanied his ill mother, gently assisting her, offering his support on her left, while his gaze was often drawn to his older brother. There, in the sun-drenched yard, his brother practiced with a wooden sword, accompanied by the family's loyal vassal. He'd observe as hed make each swing, muscles, bones, and tendons working together to deliver the most powerful strike. It was in those moments, watching his brother—his hero—master the art of combat, that a spark of fascination ignited within him, a desire to follow in his formidable footsteps.   

A faint snap of a twig as he continued observing his brother concealed behind a tree, his face as impassive as ever. The mentor stood nearby, encouraging the younger to take a chance, insisting that Michikatsu pass the wooden sword to him. The very moment Michikatsu had handed over that sword to him—the very moment that Yoriichi accepted the sword and held it in his hands—an act so simple yet profound—was the moment that would settle their fates forever. It was as if they had unknowingly inked a silent contract with fate itself-

It was at that moment their fates would be sealed.

—And it was that moment, when Yoriichi would have bested their mentor, landing precise blows on every vital point of that man's body within a blink of an eye as he'd fall to the ground, unconscious and unmoving.  

..He really didn't mean to..  

Within a blink of an eye, before Yoriichi himself could fully comprehend the unfolding events—he just took one small step, and his body had seemed to act independently thereafter, propelling him into multiple powerful strikes... It was clear that he was born a warrior, that he was born to kill.   

Yet despite all that, his heart lay not in the art of the sword. The feeling of hitting someone, the feeling of wielding such immense power and ysing it against another human being—it all felt wrong.. 

So wrong.. 

"One day.. this boy will unleash chaos upon our entire clan!" 

No.. He didn't deserve all this strength. Someone like him wasn't suited to wield so much power. In fact, someone like him didn't even deserve to hold a sword. He was just some pitiful boy and nothing more. 

Raised in a household that taught him he was nothing more than a pitiful creature, the sudden wave of admiration he received felt like a burden far too heavy for someone like him. All this power didn't suit him at all; it was as if the gods themselves had conspired to place a crown of thorns upon his head. It was all.. too much..

He didn't want it.. He didn't want any attention from anyone at all..

He just wanted to disappear. He just wanted to disappear from this world—   

..He just wanted to be.. simple.. 

..But he couldn't have that either.. 

His fate was already sealed.

Soon hed run, clutching the flute his elder brother gave him. Tears blurred his vision as he sprinted toward the distant horizon. Uncertainty loomed over him; he had no idea where his feet would lead him or what awaited him in the unknown. He was aware of the dangers of this harsh, blood-stained world, but he didn't care much about that—

"Here, blow this whenever you need help."  "Big brother will come right away."    

Clutching the flute in his hands—his brother—he'd envision him as he ran, sprinting forward; he could almost see the smile on his elder brother's face, the warmth of his hand wrapping around his own. The fear of the looming threats and dangers in this land suddenly seemed to go away, as he knew his brother would always protect him, just as he promised—-  

Whenever something bad would happen, whenever any danger would arise, whenever he was about to be attacked—he'd simply take out and play this flute because he knew—-

That his brother would come and save him right away

"It's a promise.."

Yoriichi kneeled before his elder, his gaze fixed on the ground, heavy with sorrow. The acrid scent of blood and the scent of death hung thick in the air as countless samurai lay sprawled across the ground beside them, lifeless. He felt the weight of failure pressing down on him; he was not able to save them. Once again, he was late.     

"Therein lies no necessity for your misdirected expression of regret, Yoriichi."

A deep, commanding voice resonated through the air, pulling his gaze upward to see the figure before him. The man in front of him was almost a stranger now, with heavy armour and broad shoulder plates, which seemed to amplify his already imposing presence. Face with a prominent jawline along with a stubble, similar to his own; long, spiky hair covered in his subordinate's blood. It was hard to reconcile this fierce warrior with the boy he once knew—the boy who had looked out for him with such tenderness. This was the same young boy who once used to gently brush his hair each day, this was the same young boy who would once tell him many stories-—  

—The same boy who had once promised to protect him now was the one in need of protection..

"I do not have 'misdirected' regrets, dear brother.. I do regret not arriving sooner to assist you and your men.." 

Yoriichi spoke, as his own voice had grown deep over the years. It carried a stoic quality, almost monotone, yet beneath the surface, a trace of sorrow lingered. Each of these men had families—wives and children who would be eagerly waiting for their return, only for them to ultimately realise that they would never come back. It ached—so many lives lost just because of his own shortcomings.

"It is abundantly obvious that you are conscious of the nature of the being that has deemed to release an attack on my men. Considering the nature of my closely averted demise, I would classify it as within my right to request a more substantial explanation."

The sophistication of his language reflected a refined nature, matching a demeanor of his own. Yoriichi observed that as the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat settled into a steady cadence, he could see him taking deep breaths, quickly regaining his composure. It was incredible. Such mental fortitude was something that admittedly, lacked in Yoriichi, as he was a lot more.. 'tender-hearted'. The deaths of all his subordinates he knew just a few moments ago would likely be chatting, planning for the future, only to witness their sudden, brutal demise unfold right before his eyes in mere seconds. 

 He nodded slowly "These creatures..'demons' are man eating creatures.. They prey on the innocent and devour them." 

Yoriichi's gaze fell on his brother, his blessed eyes meticulously searching for any signs of injury. He noted the tension in the muscles, particularly around the ankle, where the ligament on the back appeared to be slightly damaged. Yet he recognised that his brother was likely grappling with shock on a subconscious level beneath the surface. Out of compassion, Yoriichi decided to withhold the specifics of his injuries, not wishing to burden his brother with further stress. 

"I believe it would be more appropriate to continue our discussion at a later time. It is quite late, and I recognise that you might be feeling fatigued. Allow me to take you to my house, dear brother. You can rest at my place for the night, and we can arrange a proper burial for your subordinates tomorrow."

He slowly turned around, extending his arms backwards, signalling for his brother to climb on. His house was nearly a mountain away, and the journey would take a while. Forcing his injured brother to walk all that way would be unkind, particularly since he was still likely dealing with shock and exhaustion. He didn't want his brother to push himself further— he was the only family he had left. It would be far more fitting for Yoriichi to carry him home, taking care of his needs. To protect him.   

—The same young boy, who had once promised to protect him, was now the one in need of protection. Their roles had completely reversed. Their duties, their promises, everything. But most importantly—  

—The shackles of fate that had once bound them had shattered.   

[izzy120]

Alien 💗love💗 

First chapter, young love

Pairing: Grace Augustine x na’vi y/n

Summary: when the sky people came y/n was forced to find a mate. Her parents found one that they loved for y/n. She ran away from the night to find the sky people, she falls in love with Grace but when she came back home her parents immediately band her from meeting them. A couple years later she finally meets them again.

Warnings: Na’vi language, humans being called sky people- sometimes even demons, cussing, words like mate & mated

Y/n’s thoughts: blue

Na’vi words in English: red

A couple months ago, the Sky People first landed on Pandora, most of the Na’vi were curious but also deeply afraid. To stay safe from the strange intruders, they remained close to their Hometree, wary of these unfamiliar beings.

Y/n was one of the younger Na’vi in her clan. She was admired for her remarkable skills as both a singer and a hunter. Despite her talents, to her parents’ dismay, Y/n had shown no interest in finding a mate. She couldn’t fathom the idea of settling down or having children—she felt far too young for that kind of life. Her parents, however, had other plans.

Determined to see her mated, they began introducing her to potential partners. One man, Rävo’nak, particularly caught their favor. Without consulting Y/n, they promised her to him. But Y/n wanted nothing to do with him. Disgusted by the entire arrangement, she decided to escape—if only for a little while. That evening, she slipped away into the forest to clear her head.

As she wandered under the bioluminescent glow of the trees, Y/n noticed movement ahead. Two figures were standing in a clearing. Confused, she hesitated. “Why would Na’vi be out here so late? Shouldn’t they be at Hometree?” She crept closer, carefully hiding behind the trunks of the great trees. What she saw astonished her.

The two figures looked like Na’vi but… different. They wore strange clothing, and their feet were covered in unfamiliar objects. Y/n’s curiosity outweighed her caution as she inched closer, her movements as light as a feather to avoid being detected. But a sudden snap of a twig betrayed her. The figures froze and turned in her direction.

Y/n’s heart raced as she ducked behind a tree, but before she could fully recover, a strong hand grabbed her arm and pulled her into the open.

“‘Ak!” she cried out, flinching in pain.

The figures, now up close, didn’t seem like Na’vi at all. Their features were subtly different, their movements alien. Y/n hissed in warning and tried to bite the man holding her, but he restrained her with an iron grip, grabbing her face to keep her from lashing out. Her tail swished furiously as she struggled to free herself.

The man turned to the female figure, speaking in a strange language that Y/n couldn’t understand. “We should take her back to the lab to run some tests. We need more Na’vi blood; supplies are running low.”

The woman scoffed and immediately intervened, pulling Y/n out of the man’s grip. “Absolutely not! We won’t do such a thing. The only reason we had that blood was due to a mistake on our end.”

The woman knelt to Y/n’s level and released her arm. Y/n backed away, crouching in a defensive position with her knife drawn. The woman sighed, raising her hands in a gesture of peace.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” she said softly. Realizing the language barrier, she adjusted her approach, placing two fingers between her eyes and extending her hand forward. “I see you.”

Y/n hesitated before mirroring the gesture. “Oel ngati kameie,” she replied cautiously.

The woman smiled warmly and switched to a language Y/n could understand. “Oel ngati ke tse’a futa rolar mì nga, ma ‘itesyip. Lu nga ketsran?” (I’m sorry that we scared you, little one. Are you okay?)

The gentle tone eased Y/n’s tension. She tilted her head as the woman patted her gently on the head. Though puzzled by the gesture, she found herself liking it.

“Oe lu Grace. Siä ngal?” (I’m Grace. What about you?)

Y/n’s ears twitched as she pushed Grace’s hand away. “Oe lu Y/n!”

Grace nodded, but the man beside her still seemed tense. “What is she saying, Doctor?”

Grace rolled her eyes. “She told me her name. Calm down.”

The man scoffed, crossing his arms. “Well, we need information from her, or she’s useless!”

Grace narrowed her eyes at him, her disapproval evident. Y/n, picking up on the body language, flicked her ears curiously. Grace turned back to Y/n, her expression softening.

“Ulte oel tsap’alute fwa ma Mathew. Fwa po lu txumri, ke ftum fwa.” (I’m sorry about my friend Mathew. He’s quite the buzzkill.)

Y/n giggled. “Po zene tokx-it tswayon sìk!” (He seems to have a huge stick up his ass!)

Grace chuckled, earning a suspicious glare from Mathew. “I feel like you’re both talking about me,” he grumbled.

“Maybe you should learn the language better,” Grace shot back with a smirk.

As Mathew muttered to himself, Y/n’s attention drifted to Grace’s clothing. She reached out, marveling at the soft, colorful fabric. Grace noticed and, with a chuckle, removed her green jacket, draping it over Y/n’s shoulders.

“Nga tsun tìyawn fì’u nìtxan nìlaw oeru.” (You would like this more than me.)

Y/n’s eyes lit up. She stood and twirled, showing off the jacket as though it were a treasure. She couldn’t wait to show her parents! “Why were they so afraid of the Sky People? They seemed kind.”

Grace rose to her feet, gently pulling Mathew along. With a polite bow, she began to walk away. Y/n watched them disappear into the forest, her ears drooping slightly in sadness when she realized they were gone.

Y/n ran back home, her face lit with joy. She darted past Rävo’nak and straight to her parents, who were talking to her sister. “Etuwa, Sa’nok, Sempu!” she called excitedly. Her father, mother, and sister all turned to her, their expressions shifting to relief. They had feared Y/n had run away for good and would never return.

Her mother, Tsahìk Asahe, rushed to her and enveloped her in a tight embrace, her worry evident. “Oeyä ’ite, oe lu oeru san fwa oe soli txoa! Fwa nga za’u teri nì’it?” (“My daughter, I was so worried! Why did you run away?”).

Y/n gently pulled back from her mother and performed the respectful Na’vi greeting. Her parents and sister returned the gesture, though concern lingered on their faces.

“Sawtute-” (“The Sky People-”), Y/n began, but her father, the Olo’eyktan, immediately tensed. His worry turned to fury. “Keaun sawtute ngaru, oeyä ’ite?” (“Did the Sky People hurt you, my daughter?”), he asked sharply.

Y/n quickly shook her head, her voice hurried and defensive. “Kehe, Sempu! Fayu lu txantsan nìtxan ayngaru! Mina tokx fwa oel ke’ut nìftue!” (“No, father! They were so nice to me! One of them even gave me this thing!”).

She gestured to the green leather jacket draped over her shoulders, her smile radiant as she waited for her father’s approval. But instead of softening, his frown deepened. Without a word, he grabbed the jacket from her, making her yelp in surprise.

“Nga txopu oeru sìltsan, oeyä ’ite. Sawtute lu kefyak fwa rolunayä sivi!” (“You disappointed me, daughter. The Sky People are not people to befriend!”).

Y/n’s ears drooped, and her eyes filled with tears. “Sempu…” she whispered, her voice trembling, but her father only glared at her before turning and walking away.

Her mother sighed deeply, placing a hand on Y/n’s shoulder. “Nga lu säspxin nìteng piveng fwa keftxo nawnit txo fwa tawey’it ayoeng teri sawtuteng kehe piveng fpi!” (“You are banned from meeting them ever again!”).

She followed her husband, and Y/n’s sister trailed after them without a word. Left alone, Y/n tried to stifle her tears, but they fell freely as she stood there, clutching the ground beneath her feet in silent anguish.

A couple of years had passed since the Sky People first arrived, and Y/n now fully understood why they were so dangerous. Despite this, she had learned some English from the Na’vi children who attended Grace’s school. She longed to see Grace again, but her parents forbade it, insisting she stay close to Rävo’nak. Her hopes were further crushed when the school shut down after Sky People attacked, killing Na’vi children.

Y/n’s older sister, meanwhile, was promised to a man destined to become the next clan leader. Y/n didn’t understand why her parents were so insistent on her finding a mate when her sister already had such an important union. Regardless, her parents forced her to spend time with Rävo’nak, whom Y/n deeply resented.

One day, while out hunting for fruits and meat with Rävo’nak, Y/n wandered farther from him than he liked—not that she cared about his opinion. She clicked her tongue softly, waiting for one of the animals to take the bait. Suddenly, she noticed three figures in the distance. Narrowing her eyes, she realized they were Na’vi—but something about them was off. They had strange devices in their hands, and Y/n quickly recognized them as demons in Na’vi skin.

Without hesitation, she grabbed her knife and lunged at one of the men, slashing his arm. He cried out in pain before striking her across the face with the back of his gun. Y/n fell to the forest floor, coughing up blood but glaring at the man with defiance. She readied herself to attack again but froze when her eyes landed on the woman.

Her ears perked up in recognition. It was Grace!

Dropping her aggression, Y/n ran past the men and threw herself into Grace’s arms. “Grace!” she cried, surprising the woman, who caught her just in time.

“What are you doing here, Y/n?” Grace asked, though a smile soon spread across her face. “You’ve grown so much!”

Y/n beamed with pride. “I learned demon talk!” she said in English, her tail swishing back and forth. Grace chuckled softly, patting Y/n’s head, making the younger Na’vi melt under her touch.

The two men stared in confusion, prompting Y/n to hiss at them. Grace sighed, gently breaking away from Y/n’s embrace.

“Calm down, Y/n. These two are my friends—well…” she glanced at the man with the gun and sighed, “one of them is more like a forced acquaintance.”

“Hey!” the man protested, pouting.

Grace gestured to him. “That’s Jake,” she said, then pointed to the other man. “And this is Max. He was helping me with the iPad.”

Y/n nodded but kept her focus on Grace, her admiration shining in her eyes. Just as the group continued their conversation, Rävo’nak appeared, bow drawn and ready to fire.

“Stay away from my mate, demons!” he growled, aiming at them.

Y/n spun around and glared at Rävo’nak. “I’m not your mate, Rävo’nak! We haven’t mated yet!”

Her words only fueled Rävo’nak’s anger, though he kept his bow steady, determined to protect her from the Sky People. Jake looked at Grace, clearly baffled.

“Uh… are they like animals? They keep talking about mating,” he muttered.

Grace shot him a withering glare and elbowed him in the ribs. “It’s a sacred bond for the Na’vi. Don’t talk like that, kid.”

Rävo’nak hissed aggressively, baring his teeth. Y/n tensed and hissed back, her tail swishing angrily.

Grace raised her hand, placing two fingers between her eyes and extending them outward in the Na’vi gesture of peace. Rävo’nak ignored her completely, which only irritated Y/n further.

“Go, Rävo’nak! You’ve already gathered food for the clan. Leave!” she ordered.

Rävo’nak’s ears flattened slightly, but he shook his head. “You’re coming with me, Y/n, or I’ll tell Olo’eyktan”—their clan leader and Y/n’s father—“that you’ve been speaking with the Sky People!”

Y/n growled low in her throat, her body tense. “Fine!”

Rävo’nak extended his hand for her to take, but before leaving, Y/n leaned closer to Grace and whispered something in her ear. Then, with great reluctance, she took Rävo’nak’s hand and followed him into the forest.

Jake and Max turned to Grace, eyebrows raised in curiosity. “What did she say?” Jake asked.

Grace sighed, slipping a sample of a flower into her bag. “She told me to meet her here tonight. I have a bad feeling about this…”

After I watched both Avatar movies I completely fell in love with Grace! Please I need her?!

[avvail-whumps]

Fae AU??? Like with all the fae glamours and tricks and rigged “games” and maybe the whole thing where if you eat the food there you can never leave…

Leo knew he wasn’t meant to be out in the forest alone. He also knew that he was bound to step into a hidden trap, laid out for unsuspecting little humans that were certain to fall victim to them.

Part of him had never believed the stories growing up. So, maybe he could blame it on being slightly naive, when his eyes were drawn to a cluster of mushrooms.

He had thought the little circle they formed was pretty to look at; it wasn’t a suprise he found himself hopping into it, smiling slightly to himself to ease the tension of being lost. He admired the large ring for a long while, before gazing up at the sky.

It would be getting dark soon.

The wise thing to do would be to start finding his way back, hopefully before the sun set and the moon rose into the sky. He had been about to start moving, when a sudden crackle of a twig made his head whirl around.

Leo’s heart fluttered in his throat at the sight of a man by the tree, gazing at him intensely. He couldn’t help but let out a suprised breath, a hand instinctively pressing against his chest from the scare.

“You scared me,” he breathed shakily, avoiding the man’s intense stare. There was long, tense pause, before the strange man seemed to smile. There was something peculiar about him, this uncanny aura flowing from him, but Leo noted that he was pretty handsome. Alluringly handsome, in fact, and he found himself stealing glimpses at him on occasion.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he hummed, stepping away from the tree and closer to the ring. His feet stopped just outside of it, but Leo stayed planted where he was. “Are you lost?”

There was something a little odd about the man. Leo could feel his gut instincts stirring in his stomach, his hairs pricking on edge. He hesitantly licked his lips, feeling somewhat awkward now.

“Uh, no,” he answered back, trying to keep his voice from wobbling. He wondered how the man had so easily snuck up on him. Like he’d just appeared from thin air. “I’m on my way home.”

The man’s lip curved up into an amused smirk. His eyes were so intense that he forced himself to look elsewhere, swallowing nervously.

“You’re a bit far out, you know,” the man shrugged. Leo glanced at him, noting how his demeanour had seemed to shift, and he looked a little bit more normal. That unease pricking at the back of his neck seemed to lift, and the knot in his stomach untangled itself. Leo had been in a world of his own. The man was staying far enough away from him, at least.

“I know,” he breathed, rubbing his fingers together awkwardly. “That’s why I should probably go.”

The man hummed. Leo, for some reason, felt glued to the very spot he was standing on. He didn’t really want the man out of his sights if he could help it; his eyes were incredibly intense whenever he was trapped in his gaze.

“What’s your name?”

Leo’s eyebrows rose slightly. They furrowed in confusion after a second, eyes darting to the ground. “Oh, it’s...” He hesitated. “Leo.”

“Leo?” The man hummed, his lip curving up into an amused smirk. At the sound of his name, Leo immediately pricked up, a strange sensation washing over him. It fell right down to the bottom of his stomach, and he could feel his forehead becoming clammy from the sudden outburst of anxious nerves. The man chuckled.

“Is that...funny?” Leo grumbled under his breath, a little embarrassed. He waved a hand airily.

“I don’t think you’d find it very humourous, little lion.”

Leo frowned. Little what—?

His feet shuffled backwards as the man took a step forward, crossing the ring of mushrooms.

“Okay, I think I’m going to go,” Leo hurriedly whispered, violently trying to shake off the sudden impatient surge from his body. “Thank you for your concern.”

Leo spun around hastily to make a dash through the trees. He didn’t make it step out of the ring though, because what he was looking at wasn’t trees. There were no trees. He blinked slowly, registering the gentle brush of wind on his cheeks. His eyes raked around, and his stomach dropped straight to his boots.

He wasn’t in the forest anymore. Whatever land he was in, was a breathtakingly beautiful one. A watercolored sky, painted with light blues that melted beautifully into each other. Perfect hills of fresh, green grass, and the rush of a flowing lake by the flowers.

Leo’s mouth went dry, and a coil of absolute terror stabbed through his heart. The mushroom ring. The stories.

His eyes found the man’s, all coy and fox-like.

“I told you my name,” he whispered in horror under his breath. The man hummed under his breath, smirking.

“Yes, you did.”

A stray tear rolled down his cheek. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No, little lion,” he murmured softly, easing forward so he was close enough to touch him. Leo went to jerk away, despite the fuzziness and the lightheadedness, but the man was quick to stop him.

“Don’t move, Leo.”

So he didn’t.

He didn’t exactly have a choice. Even the air was sweet smelling, so much that it was making him dizzy. The man’s fingers were gently wiping away the tears with the gentlest of touches, his other hand tangling within his own.

Leo could feel himself being pulled along, and it was as though his legs weren’t even attached to his own body. The man—the creature, the fae—was taking him somewhere, inside a house, the sudden burst of delicious smells overwhelming his senses. Leo’s slack expression nearly brightened up when he was welcomed by a long table stacked with food.

There was everything there. Anything he could have dreamt of. The man’s hand eased along his lower back, making shivers tingle up his spine.

In a blink, he realised he’d crossed the room, and he was already holding an apple in his hand. Leo suddenly jolted, snapping out of it, jerking away from the man’s grip.

“Take me back,” he demanded, and realised that tears had been rolling down his cheeks without even realising since he arrived here. His hand felt itchy, trying not to let the panic shake his voice. “Please. Please, I’m begging you.”

“I can hear that, lion,” the man purrred, motioning to the food. “I’ll take you back. Unless you’d like to eat.”

Leo’s frantic brain tried to remember the rules. There were rules to this. What was it? Don’t give up your name? Don’t bargain? Don’t—

He heaved on a sob, craning away from his touch once again. “Please let me go.”

“You can eat a little before you go,” the man pressed, his head tilting to the side. His eyes slid down to the apple clenched in his hand, so tightly his knuckles had gone white. “A bite won’t hurt. Go on, little lion. Just a taste.”

Those words were like a haunting little whisper in his ear. An enticing, tempting command for him to battle with valiantly. Leo opened his mouth to say something, to refuse and to find his way out of this stunning, perfect, extravagant land, but there was a sudden burst of sweetness on his tongue and—

Oh. He was eating the apple.

Leo’s eyes flickered up in horror.

Now he remembered the rules.

And from the look on the fae’s face, he knew it too.

[daebors]

Jason Carver's death as extremely dissapointing + he wasn't a bad person

So I rewatched Season 4 over the past few days, and upon my rewatch I’ve grown to love Jason’s character and found his death extremely disappointing and anticlimactic. I know many people hate him, but in my opinion it’s only for loose reasons. I’m going to start this by stating why he’s not the most amazing special person in the whole world, but I’m then going to talk about why I do like him and then onto how his death was so dissatisfying.

Sure, Jason’s kind of a dick. He told his team to win a game of basketball ‘for’ a number of deceased people, and then quoted that to the school without considering how people may have been affected, so he’s already introduced as this insensitive, kind of unintelligent fella, but we’re shown his good intentions. He does seem to genuinely want to commemorate those people who died, even if he may not be doing it in the best way.

He’s further presented as bigoted towards the Hellfire club, but it seems like there’s some offscreen tension between him and Eddie, as when he calls Eddie a freak, Eddie literally stands up on the table and mocks his interest first, explicitly showing how Eddie started it. Jason should have just ignored Eddie like the rest of the groups, but what can you do?

His dislike of Hellfire may be unfair, but I don’t think it’s necessarily unguided. I’d like to stress that he is a Christian during the satanic panic and all over the news he is being told that D&D is a form of devil worship, which explains some of his later beliefs that Hellfire is a satanic cult.

In his point of view, Chrissy was abducted or tricked by Eddie into going to his trailer and was murdered horrifically, to the point the police wouldn’t even let her family see her face. In Jason’s mindset, this could seem like a date r*pe situation. Obviously, us as viewers know Eddie is innocent, but Jason already has this dislike of the guy because of his seemingly satanic views (as we’ve already established Jason thinks D&D is a form of devil worship).

The police tell him that Chrissy went there to buy drugs, and Jason adamantly does not believe this as he views his girlfriend as innocent and unsullied. This could go a little more into his Christian beliefs, but I’m not fully endowed within that area, so I’d rather not talk about it too deeply at the risk of saying something incorrect.

Jason believes the police are avoiding this issue and are not taking things as seriously as they should, so he goes to his friends to start a search for Eddie. 

When he does find Eddie, both him and Patrick attempt to catch him, but when Patrick begins to hear the clock, Jason stops in concern of his friend. Sure, he says ‘hey come on, let’s go, we almost have him,’ but that is merely encouragement, not rough or belittling. He calls out his name and completely stops his chase on Eddie at Patrick’s growing distress.

When Patrick is lifted up into the air and horrifically slaughtered, the only person around other than Jason is Eddie, further concluding Jason’s belief that Eddie is the one doing these murders. 

Picture this: you’re religious, you believe this guy who you’ve always thought of as weird and wears a shirt with a devil illustrated on it has killed your girlfriend after getting confused between reality and fantasy, and upon your chase of him, your close friend is inexplicably lifted up into the air, their bones snapping like twigs and their eyes bursting. You already think that Dungeons & Dragons is indoctrinating people into satanism and so your only logical explanation is this: Eddie is a vessel for the devil and is using his powers to terrorise your previously quaint, unblemished town, but when you tell this to the police, they only act like you’re seeing things, that you’re hallucinating and that you are unhinged yourself.

Jason could have caught Eddie at this point. Eddie fell out of the boat and is definitely not on the same athletic level as Jason, but Jason doesn’t continue his chase. Instead, he brings Patrick’s mutilated body to the shore and waits for the police (where they patronise him).

This experience is nothing short of supernatural, and the only introduction of this Jason knows is through the bible and the propaganda surrounding D&D.

Now Jason is not sleeping, probably not eating, and the only thing he is doing is following up ‘bullshit claims’. All he wants is the safety of his town and for people to stop dying to the point it consumes his every living hour. He has the whole of Hawkins calling in with suspicious activities all over, and with the lack of sleep, the first-hand experience of Patrick’s death, and the murders of two people close to him weighing on his shoulders, he now displays symptoms of psychosis.

I do believe it was incredibly callous of Jason to hunt down Erica, but I want to accentuate how it was not him who jumped her, it was his friend Chace. Jason did not stand there and say ‘go break her arms’ or any of that, he only had a tunnel vision of stopping these murders.

When he finds Lucas and Max, he completely, without a doubt believes that Hellfire is a cult. He is not thinking straight because of the trauma he has endured and the lack of basic human needs. All he sees is a helpless girl close to the same fate of two of the people closest to him, and all he wants is to prevent yet another murder from happening.

He holds Lucas at gunpoint, believing Lucas has purposefully placed Max in this trance, and when Lucas hurriedly tries to explain that a dark lord called Vecna is committing these murders and that he’s from an alternate dimension, why the hell would Jason just accept that?

I see too many people complain that he didn’t believe Lucas, but would you? Lucas is held at gunpoint, meaning if he really was a member of some cult, he would likely spill out whatever crap comes to mind to save himself, and let’s face it: doesn’t an evil wizard from another dimension killing teens sound like the makings of a gun and a few seconds to you?

Jason’s early relationship with Lucas was accepting and even brotherly. He welcomed him into his group and made sure Lucas got all the praise and admiration for the final shot during their championship game. He looked after him during his first hangover, and made it clear that Lucas didn’t have to join in their witch hunt of Eddie. When Lucas abandons the chase and it’s revealed he was in the Hellfire club, Jason is feeling betrayed, used and played.

Lucas argues that Chrissy was buying drugs, that she was having visions and she was terrified, but Jason, perhaps because he truly doesn’t believe it, or perhaps because of a gnawing guilt clouding his mindset, protests that she would have told him.

Their relationship, despite us as viewers not seeing much of it, is heartbreaking. Chrissy is pretty much forced into this position of popularity, being condemned as ‘the Queen of Hawkins High’ and perhaps even hating this part of her life. She is emotionally abused by her mother and has developed an eating disorder. She, on the outside, is Barbie. She has a seemingly perfect life, is a cheerleader, and her boyfriend is the equally perfect Ken doll.

Jason believes he and Chrissy are closer than they really are, and because of his actually perfect life (as we have to assume as viewers) Chrissy does not feel like she can talk about her issues with him. I do believe that Jason, previously displaying compassion and empathy for others, would perhaps not understand, but would definitely do all he could to comfort her and even work around Chrissy’s situation.

This is why Chrissy goes to Eddie in the first place: not because Jason is a bad boyfriend as some fans believe, but because Chrissy believes he wouldn’t get it. Eddie is easier to open up to as he had known Chrissy before her high school days and is the ‘freak’ as it is. She doesn’t feel the need to be perfect in front of Eddie.

When Lucas claims he can’t wake Max up, Jason moves to a fist fight and is knocked out.

Now we’re moving onto his death and why I found it so disappointing. He wakes, his head is spinning so he’s unable to make of what’s happening, and then he’s immediately seared in half in all of a few seconds.

And that’s it.

There’s no aftermath, no sombre music, no mention of him in the following scenes and that’s why it was just so… dull. Maybe if this scene had played out differently, I would see his death in a different light, but because it was so sudden, and all that compelling characterisation I had enjoyed so much was just erased in a matter of seconds, I hated this ending.

I believe it would have been much more enriching if we instead had a turn of spirit and had a build up to some future redemption arc. Maybe he could have suffered amnesia (I know, that’s a dumb plot in most media) have a dazed and confused mind to everything that happened post Chrissy’s death and subsequently be told the situation straight.

He would make for a great character in a final fight with Vecna, where he could help in some way, reveal his pent up rage and agony as he takes the final blow, as if we’re being honest with ourselves, if he knew the truth that it was Vecna all along, his attitude would be considered heroic had it not been directed falsely.

[froizetta]

WIP Wednesday: Brucie's guide to avoiding traffic jams

This week, here's something from the cutting room floor of my ongoing fic (Love) Triangles, presented with minimal context so as to avoid spoilers. This scene was meant to introduce Bruce's/Brucie's POV but it ended up not fitting, which is kinda sad because I liked how it turned out. So here it is, in case I don't manage to work it in somewhere after all!

It was a crisp autumn evening in central Metropolis. The rain that plagued Gotham had miraculously ceased almost the instant he’d crossed over into her sister city, which was both meteorologically improbable and completely unsurprising. Rather than hurrying along under dark coats and umbrellas, the citizens here seemed content to stroll casually along well-lit streets. There were areas of Metropolis that were more subdued, closer to what Bruce was used to. But here in the center of things, everything was bold and new and shiny even at night, gleaming art deco illuminated by sun-yellow streetlights. Glancing around, all Bruce could see was shining chrome and twinkling glass.

He suppressed the urge to grimace. Instead he scanned the sidewalk until he found what he was looking for and plastered on his most charming smile. “Hey there, Mr. Parking Valet? Could you come over here, please?” he called out.

Hearing a faint voice over the hum of background traffic, the man glanced around in confusion for several seconds before his eyes landed on Bruce, halfway out of his car and waving at him enthusiastically. The valet blinked and pointed to himself questioningly. Bruce nodded encouragingly and beckoned him over.

Warily, the valet approached. He was young, younger than Bruce, probably early to mid twenties with a neatly styled mop of mousy brown hair and a skillfully pressed uniform. Worn leather shoes carefully polished until they shone. He probably would struggle to afford a room at the hotel he worked at, but he took his job seriously. He wanted to impress.

He would do.

“Can I help you, sir?” he asked politely.

Bruce beamed. “Why yes, you sure can, um…” He squinted at the man’s nametag. “Jeremy. Sorry for calling you over so rudely like that, I can’t exactly leave the car when it’s running. That would be terribly unsafe, you know.”

Jeremy glanced at the car. Bruce could spot the exact moment the guy twigged the make and model: a rapid blink, the slightest raising of his eyebrows. When he lifted his gaze, his eyes swept across Bruce’s watch and the expensive cut of his tux.

“Ah, yes, sir. I understand,” Jeremy said smoothly.

He’d decided to humor him. Perfect.

“Oh, I’m so glad,” Bruce gushed. “I knew as soon as I saw you across the street that you’d be an understanding fellow.”

He tipped his head politely. “You’re too kind, sir.”

“What can I say? I call it like I see it, Gerald, that’s just how I am.”

Jeremy’s poker face was admirable – not so much as a twitch. He was going to go far in this business.

“But enough about that,” Bruce continued, smiling broadly. “As to the reason I called you here…well, I’m actually in something of a fix! You see, I’m supposed to be at an event at that building over there—” here, he indicated Lexcorp’s ostentatious façade with his right hand and frowned at the watch on his left “—oh, about an hour and a half ago, now. And there comes a point whereby I’m no longer fashionably late but rather I’ve very unfashionably missed all the fun – and, most importantly, the most palatable offerings from the champagne selection. You can relate, I’m sure.”

“Of course, sir,” Jeremy said, nodding soberly.

“Of course,” Bruce agreed, equally soberly. “But as you can see, this terrible traffic is just not budging! By the time I’m unstuck from this jam, the only sparkling wine left at the open bar will probably be prosecco. Prosecco! I mean, can you imagine?”

“No, sir,” Jeremy said.

“No indeed!” he cried. “So you see, I was wondering if you might park my car for me in the parking lot of your fine hotel and save me the aggravation of missing my party. I would of course compensate you for your time, but you’d truly be doing me a wonderful service.”

Jeremy’s expression turned politely apologetic. “Well, sir, I’m afraid the parking lot is reserved for those who have rooms in the hotel. As much as I’d love to help you, I wouldn’t like to get in trouble with my boss.”

Bruce nodded. “That’s understandable, Jermaine. I wouldn’t want for a nice man like yourself to get into any trouble. Although…are you sure we can’t come to some kind of arrangement?” He raised an eyebrow meaningfully. “I’m an extremely generous tipper, you see.”

Jeremy blinked. “Oh. How extremely generous, exactly, if I might ask?”

Bruce said nothing and smiled wider.

Jeremy glanced once more at the watch and swallowed. And then, after a brief moment of consideration, he said with a bright, professional smile, “Very well, sir! I’d be happy to help.”

Bruce gave his shoulder a jovial slap. “There’s a good man! I knew you’d come through for me.”

He pulled out a handful of bills from his wallet and handed them over, along with his car keys and a business card. Jeremy’s eyes went wide. “Take my card. If your bosses give you any trouble over this, just call this number. I’m confident my secretary can work something out with them.”

Jeremy’s eyebrows were at his hairline now. Bruce wasn’t sure whether it was because of the neat stack of hundreds he’d just been handed or the name on the card – but in the end, it didn’t really matter, did it? The end result was the same.

“I— Of course, sir! Thank you for your generosity.”

“No, Geoffrey,” Bruce said emphatically, taking the man by his shoulders and looking him dead in the eye. “Thank you.”

He left a grateful Jeremy with his still-running car and hurried the remaining block over to Lexcorp.

He’d wasted enough time already as it was.

[themuffin2649]

😳 OOPS! 😳

Context: MC finds Newt’s spellbook puts a spell on the Yanderes that rids them of their Lovesickness. MC finds himself finally being avoided by the Yanderes, but that spell takes a twist when it turns out that their Love for MC didn’t disappear, it warped into a pure bloodthirsty Hatred.

It’s still a competition on who can win his heart… but now they want it ripped from his chest.

—————

[sincerely-sofie]

What did Grovyle call Twig before she was “twig”?

Mostly variations of “you”. They were on their own for a long time before names were broached, and could get away with just hollering “HEY YOU” at each other without ever getting confused. Thankfully they had their nicknames in place before Celebi came along.

Fun fact: He doesn’t know this, but “Grovyle” was very hard for Twig to learn to pronounce, and she was horribly embarrassed by that— so she’d just avoid referring to him by his species name entirely. This is part of why she was the first one to nickname Grovyle instead of the other way around— she was avoiding dealing with the mouthful that was his species name in pokespeak.

[whipplewhippler]

Snivy x Sceptile Headcanons, pt. 2

Look here for context!

Sometimes Infernape will even try to get the romance ball rolling if he and Sceptile happen to be in Snivy’s vicinity. He considers it wing-manning, but Sceptile considers it meddling. His sputtering, indignant reactions do get a cackle out of Infernape from time to time, though.

Snivy takes a little longer to realize her desire for Sceptile’s company spans beyond typical platonic longing. 

She admires him and respects him deeply, though that’s in part because they’re so alike, and yet.. she can’t seem to shake the strange, unfamiliar warmth that bubbles in her chest whenever he grins at her. 

She eventually finds herself venting about her confusion to Unfezant, who is the first to suggest that maybe she’s just crushing on him. 

Snivy politely— and quickly— dismisses the sentiment. She couldn’t possibly. Sceptile is just a friend, that’s all. Just… a very admirable friend, who is worthy of some acknowledgment. And who might be a little handsome. 

Meanwhile, Sceptile comes to the realization that, unfortunately, he’s fallen hard for Snivy. The feeling is akin to what he imagines falling victim to her Attract move must be like.. and boy, does he hate it. Not because he’s got anything against Snivy, of course, but because all those feelings, all those stirrings he’d once felt for Nurse Joy’s Meganium have all suddenly come rushing back to him, and the last time he’d felt so lovestruck, he wound up unable to use battle moves in the days following. 

Despite his denial, the infamous twig in his mouth sprouts another pretty pink bloom.. and, reluctantly, he accepts that he’s got it bad.

And he doesn’t mean to avoid her after he comes to that harrowing realization, but he’s so bothered, so frustrated.. so horrified by his own feelings, that he feels like the best way to combat them is to force them down— to pretend they hadn’t existed to begin with. He even makes it a point to try and conceal his flowering twig. Because all those Beautifly in his stomach would see a spike whenever he so much as got near Snivy, he figured the only way to suppress them was to simply not be near her.

So he’s always finding excuses to get away from her. “Infernape and I are wondering if you’d like to join us for lunch,” She’d offer, though completely unaware of Sceptile’s racing heart. “I—.. I can’t, sorry. Not today. I’m, uh.. trying to master a new move, and I’ve really gotten into a groove. I probably shouldn’t risk losing it.” He’d reply, hoping he’d masked the quivering in his voice or the trembling in his tail. 

“You know, I’m.. in the market for a sparring partner, Sceptile, if you wouldn’t mind humoring me..” She’d say, in passing. “Ah,” He’d begin, and with a feigned hiss of pain to boot. “I would, Snivy, but.. I might’ve overdone it doing some training, the other day. My leg, it’s.. it’s really playing up. I’d hate to make it worse.” He’d explain, following it up with an exaggerated gesture toward said leg. “Another time, then.” She’d simply say. 

Snivy is, at first, quick to brush this behavior off. 

But eventually— and she’d never admit this to anyone— she begins to long for him.

She’ll scan the forested parts of the lab several times in search of him, and, as much as she doesn’t want to acknowledge it, she always feels a pang in her chest when Sceptile turns down her offers to hang out. 

That’s how it hits her that Unfezant really might be right.

Snivy is a little less… mortified, when she acknowledges her feelings. That’s not to say she’s necessarily pleased by them, however. She values Sceptile’s companionship, yes, but.. oh, there’s just no way they could ever be anything more than friends.

Love is supposed to make you feel lighter than air, she’s always been told. So why is she suddenly so resigned after realizing she’s in love with Sceptile? 

Pignite and Snivy have always been close. They’re close enough that sirens begin to go off in Pignite’s head when Snivy’s uncharacteristically coy behavior bleeds into her interactions with him, though he hasn’t the foggiest idea why she’s acting this way. Snivy has never been very open about her personal affairs, not even to him.

Oshawott also takes notice of this behavior, and he is the second Pokémon to suggest that Snivy might be in love— but this time, when Oshawott mentions it, Snivy actually takes care to heed it. Not that she doesn’t take Unfezant seriously, but Oshawott was so prone to infatuation back in Unova that Snivy suspects he actually knows what he’s talking about. 

Oshawott also tells her that the best thing to do in her situation is just to be up front and honest with Sceptile about how he makes Snivy feel. 

Of course, considering Snivy is never this vulnerable, Oshawott is quick to turn the situation into a joke at Snivy’s expense— though she, of course, is not having this.

Despite Oshawott and Pignite’s words of encouragement, Snivy can’t bring herself to say anything. It’s not just the rejection she’s afraid of— it’s the emotional vulnerability. So Snivy and Sceptile resume their mutual avoidance of one another.

But the Beautifly in Sceptile’s stomach never really go away. Merely thinking about Snivy is enough to set them off. So he decides to bite the bullet, because he’s desperate to be rid of them. 

The confession isn’t some big spectacle. Not by a long shot. Sceptile might find Snivy nestled comfortably atop a tree branch, crunching on a berry, perhaps.. and he’ll stiffen, seeing her so content, but he’ll steady on anyway— he’s decided, at this point, that he’d rather bite the bullet and tell Snivy he’s fallen for her— and risk heartache all over again— rather than be stuck mulling over what might have been.

[letsbenditlikebennett]

TIMING: Current-ish PARTIES: @singdreamchild & @letsbenditlikebennett SUMMARY: Both Alex and Cassius find themselves on a late night stroll in the woods. The two catch up briefly when they run into each other. CONTENT: Homophobia mentions

He found himself getting more contemplative after the sun had gone down recently. And instead of continuing to hide like he had been, he had gone out more. Of course, trails closed after the sun went down, but it wasn’t his fault that his skin would start to burn if he tried to hike during daylight hours. That’s how Cassius found himself walking along the trail at sundown. His hands shoved in his pockets as he looked around at the nature around him. It gave him a sort of inspiration. Writing had been hard for him lately, and he had found himself branching out from poetry to writing a novel. It had reinvigorated him and left him with more to say than poetry ever could. So, to get ideas, he often walked around in settings he wanted to portray in his book, like the woods. 

Walking along the trail, he heard a twig snap behind him. Cassius stopped, spinning around to come face-to-face with Alex. “Oh! Hello.” He spoke with a friendly smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, no matter how hard he tried. It was an odd sight, a goth hiking. He was wearing something straight out of a Victorian mourning scene, suitable for a nighttime stroll through the streets of London in the 1800s more than it was the woods as the sun went down in the 21st century. 

“Don’t tell me you’re here to tell me to go home,” he spoke with a frown, knowing that she worked with the park rangers. “Some of us can’t get out while the sun is up for one reason or another.” Usually, he’d make up an excuse for why he couldn’t do things during the day, but he found, lately, that he just didn’t care anymore. So what if someone knew he was a vampire? The worst they could do was kill him. He found that the idea of such a fate didn’t really bother him much, either. It was a strange feeling.

The most recent full moon had made a world of a difference when it came to the restless feelings Alex had been battling, but it had also done wonders on healing up the last of the gunshot wound she got courtesy of one of maman's old friends. The thought held more bitterness than it had previously, but the werewolf was pleased that she could get out and about again without experiencing a significant amount of pain. Even before she'd become a creature of the forest herself, she'd always found peace in nature. Maybe it was because it was everything the basement wasn't— moving, filled with life, open. 

Or maybe she was just a gay girlie who really fucking loved trees and flowers. Alex figured it didn't matter that much either way. She was trying to let go of the idea of 'soft' being a bad thing and that meant whatever the reason was for the whole plant love thing didn't actually matter. It didn't have to be some guise to work as a park ranger and protect people, it could just be. She could just be. 

Alex was doing decidedly doing pretty damn good at the whole just existing thing as she walked through one of her favorite patches of the forest. The fir trees ahead had clusters of honey mushrooms growing overhead that lit up patches of the trail with the most beautiful green glow. It was decidedly a peaceful little nighttime hike that pleased the werewolf's need for a bit of movement though she found herself caught off guard when she ran into someone... her high school history teacher in full goth? Sure, that was his aesthetic normally, but it was a little jarring to see in the middle of the forest, especially considering she hadn't even heard him approach. 

“Oh hey,” she waved with a smile despite her confusion. Alex was nothing if not polite to her teachers, former and current alike. The idea of even a past teacher not liking her was enough to send her into a spiral, so she just avoided that likelihood altogether. But then, he mentioned something about her telling him to leave and not being able to get out during the day.

Alex raised a suspicious eyebrow and found herself listening for a heartbeat that wasn't there. The steady thrum of her own heart was the only one making a sound on the trail. “Huh,” she shrugged, “I wasn't gonna say shit actually. I'm still on leave from my internship so I'm out here enjoying the trail just like you.” 

If she wanted her old teacher to continue liking her, maybe brushing over the vampire suspicion would have been a better move, but her best friend was a zombie and she hung out at a farm staffed by zombies like all the time. Alex even manned their instagram account. Plus, Aria was a mare. She was like totally a friend to the undead. For once, it brought her some satisfaction knowing how much her parents would hate that. 

“So no getting out when the sun's shining...,” Alex hummed, “And no heartbeat.” She offered a smirk to show it didn't matter much to her. It wasn't like she was gonna pull that rosary out that Emilio had given her when that lapir decided she looked like lunch. “I'm guessing I shouldn't break out the garlic bread,” she asked jokingly, “Wait? Is that actually a thing?” She'd probably feel pretty murderous if she couldn't eat garlic bread either, to be fair. 

“Or is it like one of those weird media twists... like Twilight and all the werewolves wearing jorts,” she asked, half serious, “We don't wear jorts... Well, at least not all of us. I much prefer hiking pants or joggers myself. Though I've been known to rock some Daisy Dukes when the theme calls for it.” 

Like when Cass introduced her to the hoedown throwdown from Hannah Montana. That was an occasion that called for Daisy Dukes 100%. Somehow, she had the feeling her history teacher understood the importance of doing something for the aesthetic. 

—

The vampire raised a brow at Alex as she confessed she was in the woods for the same reason. He adjusted his satchel, which held the journal where he had written his ideas down. It was nice to know he wasn’t the only one out walking at night. It was nicer still that it was someone Cassius recognized as a former student. Alex had always been one of the better students, smart and memorable enough that she stuck out in his mind. Of course, it was weird to connect with a student after graduation, but it wasn’t unwelcome either. Plenty of students had reached out to him over social media over the years. He may be old, but he wasn’t a curmudgeon hiding from the internet.

He froze as soon as she started to list the things that made him a vampire. It was weird to be called out on it, but it was also nice not to hide it. Sometimes it was good to be seen for what he truly was, minus the slayer who wanted nothing more than his head to be stuck on a pike. “Caught me,” Cassius muttered with an amused smirk. “Some of us hide in plain sight, I will admit.” He crossed his arms over his chest as she spoke. “Garlic forces my fangs out, but doesn’t make me break out in a rash or anything.” He waved a hand in dismissal. “I still avoid it where I can. Some people freak out at the sudden appearance of fangs and red eyes.” He wiggled his fingers dramatically. 

“Call me a twilight vampire, and I’ll leave.” He threatened, pointing a finger in her direction accusatorily. No, the only thing he had in common with Twilight was that one actor that looked spookily like him. “A werewolf?” He cocked his head to the side, brow raised. “Sharp wit, a temper to match…” he trailed off, looking over the girl’s face. “Yeah, that tracks.” He gave a soft smile. He didn’t care what she was. She had always been a good person. “One of us reps a more stereotypical look than the other, but there’s still time for you.” He gave a toothy grin. “You’re still young, after all.” He raised his brows, almost as if he was issuing a challenge.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, more of a habit to appear human than an actual need to do so. “Obviously, I hide in plain sight.” He shot back, gesturing to what he had on in all its Victorian glory. “Only gotten me caught once in all my years, so I’m doing something right.” Of course, he had also been careless, traipsing around a graveyard that he knew slayers liked to frequent. 

Hiding in plain sight. Part of her had to wonder just how old the vampire was and if he would understand the Taylor Swift reference in his own words. Alex figured she may have already been pushing her luck with being one of his favorite alumni students by asking the whole 'bones or boobs' thing. She wasn't sure dropping a pop culture lesson was the move here, especially considering he looked like he listened to whatever the Edgar Allan Poe of music was which was decidedly not Taylor Swift even if Dear Reader was decidedly a bop and a half. A bop squared even. And... It was pretty emo. 

Instead, Alex laughed. “The curse of having hearing that is just... way too good.” She shrugged. Most of the time it was more of a curse than a gift, but it helped sometimes. What was a little sensory overload in the big scheme of things anyway? “You're doing a pretty good job... wouldn't have guessed before,” she gestured, “Even if the outfit is kind of giving vibes. I just always thought you had a really good sense of fashion. But hey... garlic forces my fangs out too, but probably a very different deal.”

She just loved eating food with garlic in it. Garlic bread, garlic chicken, garlic dip— it was all delicious in her book. Then again, Alex also thought a whole moose unseasoned was delicious depending on the day of the month, so she probably wasn't anyone's go-to culinary expert. Kaden would probably laugh at her name and the phrase even being used in the same sentence considering she was more than content to eat Chefboyardee straight from the can and call it dinner. 

Alex did find herself relaxing into the easier banter. Ah the one thing that connected the supernatural together—- fucking hating Twilight. She leaned against one of the firs and chortled a bit. “Duly noted, teach.” The confirmation of her own species did leave her feeling a bit uneasy, but it was getting easier to say the words at least. “Yep, I'm a werewolf... have been this whole time actually,” she shrugged, “Got bitten when I was 7 so the moon and I have been vibing for a long time.“ 

Vibing was nicer than the truth of it, but the full moon didn't fill Alex with as much dread now that she had a taste of it outside of her bunker. Her bones didn't still carry that same antsy feeling in them the following morning. Even the jokes felt a little easier to lean into and it was a change... that she was pretty sure she welcomed. ”I don't know,“ she retorted playfully, ”I think granola gay is pretty on brand for werewolf... even if it's not on brand for Twilight werewolves, but like--- what is? Twilight got most shit wrong... and had that ugly CGI baby.“ 

She didn't actually know that for sure, but Thea had mentioned it and she trusted that bit. Alex had only seen the first two movies with Cass when it was explained the role the films played in pop culture. They were kind of fun to laugh at. 

”So you've been a vampire the whole time then too,” Alex mused, “Huh. How long has it been for you? Are you like... old enough to have been there for some of the history you taught?” Getting caught only once meant he probably wasn't out eating people left and right... which was a good thing. Not that he had given her the vibe she needed to be afraid of him when he was her teacher. All in all, he was pretty chill as far as teachers went. 

Something in him getting caught did make her own stomach turn. Alex refused to acknowledge that feeling too deeply and instead joked, “Can't say I've been as lucky on that front, but part of the fun of becoming what the family kills or whatever.“ Because somehow every attempt on her life always came back to that. Her aunt, her mother's friend.... hopefully there weren't anymore coming out of the woodwork, but she wasn't sure how much she trusted her own luck.  

Cassius couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness for Alex. The idea of being a little girl and suddenly going through trying to understand being a werewolf on top of everything else sounded awful. “Vibing is one word to use,” he muttered, though mostly to himself. “I’ve been thirty-three for one hundred and seventy-three years.” He confessed, raising his hands above his head as if to say, what can you do?

He had to take a moment to process the phrase ‘granola gay,’ he felt as if time was finally catching up to him, as he had no idea what that could mean. “What is granola gay?” He asked, face a mix of weirded out and confused. “Twilight made people think that vampires sparkled in the sun. I wish all the sun did was make me sparkle.” Cassius frowned, as if disappointed in his person's lack of sparkling skin. 

“I’ve been thirty-three for one hundred and seventy-three years.” He confessed, raising his hands above his head as if to say, what can you do? “I was born in 1817, turned in 1851.” He let out a sigh through his nose. It was weird to talk about his true age out loud. Let’s say my knowledge of Victorian England and onward is more of a lived experience than something I read about.” 

He gave a thoughtful look for a moment. “My sire was born in the 1500s. He was a plague doctor. I got much of my history knowledge from someone who lived it rather than the written variety. I became a history teacher because it was an easy gig.” He smiled wryly, knowing he had taken a lazy way out. But hey, someone had to teach it.

“The only reason I have avoided being hunted for sport for as long as I have is because I was taught to have no connections. And when I overstayed my welcome, I moved to the next place.” He shrugged a shoulder, a faraway look in his eyes as he talked about it. “My sire made sure that we put survival first.” The faraway gaze turned sad, and he shook his head as if willing the thoughts out of his mind. “I don’t recommend living your life that way. Better to learn self-defense than run away from your problems whenever the winds turn against your favor.”

Of all the crazy things Alex could expect to find in the woods, finding herself explaining what granola gay meant to her high school history definitely wasn't one of them. It was far less nefarious than most of the things that lurked in the woods. Cassius always had possessed a certain bravado that seemed to pair well with his classic vampire style. With all the kitschy stuff in Wicked's Rest, the vampire was easy to look over. He practically blended in here. She realized that maybe Wicked's Rest, with all its terrifying faults, was the kind of place where people like them could carve out a life for themselves. Hadn't they both done just that? 

“Granola gay... is like your outdoorsy gay stereotype. Lots of flannel, lots of hiking boots, hydroflasks.” Alex grinned wickedly. “I stole mine. The hydroflask that is... Actually some of the boots and flannel too. But those fucking water bottles are like $60? Capitalism has got me fucked up on that one.” She gestured to the beanie on her head. “But like beanies, other weather friendly hats and outerwear. Backpacks instead of purses. General gist of it.” 

The whole granola aesthetic did seem fitting for what werewolves actually were, or at least, who Alex was as a werewolf. She wasn't sure her experience spoke to all werewolves, but she'd found the forest was a place her and Alan both seemed to enjoy. She'd felt her most free on the full moon weaving through the trees alongside Gael. Who knew. All she knew is it fit her. 

“Yeah, sparkling does seem more fun than catching fire,” Alex joked with a cynical laugh, ”With the way people are using highlighter these days, no one would even know the difference.“ 

How old her former history teacher was didn't surprise Alex as much as she expected. It was like pieces of a puzzle fitting together perfectly. ”And here I was going to say you don't look a day over 140,“ she quipped. “That's pretty neat though... Teaching stuff you've actually lived. And hey, you're good at it.” 

That much was true. Cassius did have a way of making the subject fun even though it wasn't normally her favorite. Alex nodded along as he spoke and found herself frowning. She'd spent a long time running and she wasn't sure she could do it again. Both she and Andy had finally started to place roots and build actual lives. Her stomach turned with guilt, she knew that was worth fighting for. It was still hard to think she shouldn't have made Andy to be the one to fight. 

“Yeah... I moved around a lot when I was younger before we settled here,” Alex explained, “Always me and my sister.” There were a lot of good memories in all the places they called home, however temporarily. “Survival is good,” she noted, “But I think you're right. It's not... living. Or unliving? It's not a life might be the better way to say that. Connections, getting to experience all that is worth fighting for, I think.” 

Cassius couldn’t stop the amused smile that broke over his features, and he shook his head and let out a soft laugh. “Definitely not me, then.” He murmured, that same smile on his features as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Guess that makes me the confused gay.” He pointed to himself with a sage nod. “If I had to choose, of course.” He tacked on, now stuck thinking about ridiculously priced water bottles. His smile turned into an annoyed frown. “Good on you for stealing it. Take capitalists down a peg.” He decided with a smirk in her direction.

“It was strange to talk about these things with a former student. Then again, Alex had already crossed a few boundaries when she dared ask him about his preferences for bones or boobs. He shuddered at the memory. He made it a habit to be polite with his former students but kindly shut down any further acts of friendship on the student’s part. He wasn’t sure why. It just never ceased to make him feel a little bit uncomfortable. Still, being friendly wasn’t that terrible. 

The vampire thought for a moment. He had lived through quite a few historical events, hadn’t he? “You want to know something kind of cool?” He asked her, the corner of his lips quirking upwards. “I may or may not have been in the stonewall riots.” He explained with a shrug of his shoulder. He remembered the pure and unbridled rage he had felt that day. He was so damn tired of hiding who he was at that point—repressing one’s sexuality since the 1800s? He could only take so much. “That’s one piece of history I was present for, anyway.” He waved a hand as if it wasn’t that important. He remembered the look on Richard’s face when he had gotten home before sunrise. He was pissed, but he was also a little proud. 

“Between you and me,” he began, letting his hands fall from his pockets. “I’m still trying to learn to make connections.” He frowned, kicking at the dirt beneath his boot. “Spent so long being taught to avoid everyone and everything at all costs makes unlearning it a bit hard.” He sighed, looking around at his surroundings momentarily before gazing back at the young werewolf. “I’m glad to see that you’re doing well, Alex. Truly.” He shuffled his feet, as if getting ready to leave.

It was a strange chance meeting, but one Alex found she didn't quite mind. Of everything and everyone she could have run into in the forest in the middle of the night, her high school history teacher was hardly even close to the worst. Running into him had actually been nice and she didn't even feel weird about the whole him being a vampire thing. That had to be progress or something, she decided. 

“Confused gay, classical gothic gay,” Alex shrugged, “Kind of go hand in hand anyway. And taking capitalists down apeg is like my favorite hobby.” She smiled proudly at that one. Maybe she couldn't actually be Robin Hood, but embracing the spirit felt right. 

When Cassius shared a bit of history with her, Alex's eyes widened with  amazement. “Really,“ she asked incredulously, ”That's... I mean it's terrible that it had to happen, but pretty fucking awesome you were out there fighting for our right to exist and all.“ It made her pretty proud to call the vampire her teacher even if she couldn't necessarily advertise that part of his history. Cass would at least appreciate it, she thought. 

Part of her understood where Cassius was coming from. Had Alex not staved off making connections outside of Andy for most of her life? It'd been easier that way, but then they found a place they could actually call home... and well, their world got bigger. ”Connections have a way of sneaking up on you in a town like this,“ she smiled wistfully as she thought of the friends she'd made, ”It's hard to unlearn, but... people can surprise you.“  She saw him moving to leave and offered a friendly wave. “Good seeing you... and take care,” she called out.