#had this idea ages ago and its been haunting me ever since

[ragingadhd]

zelink shitposting

[sapphire-writes]

A Second Chance

pairing: Aemond x Reader request: Hello! Sorry to bother you but i have a little idea that came from all the reblogs you recently made! basically Aemond is away so Alicent requests that reader! Comes back after a long time to the red keep because she wants to see her boy happy 🥺 of course its just a simple start but would love to see nice Alicent helping his baby ~ anonymous

warnings: none! this has the tiniest amount of angst but mostly fluff word count: 1.4k note: loved this, loved writing emotional Aemond & your messages are NEVER ever a bother! 💚 masterlist

“I was ever so sorry to hear of the death of your lord husband, Lady (Y/N),” Alicent said, giving you a look full of a mother’s compassion, “and so unfortunate he should leave you so quickly after you wed.”

You take a sip from your cup. The Queen had invited you to the capital and you had been delighted to return. Ever since you arrived your eyes had been searching for Aemond.

You had both left on such harsh terms those several years ago when your betrothal had been announced. You had been missing him for years, feeling as though a very piece of your own heart had been missing. 

“Thank you, your grace,” you tell her, speaking softly.

Your lord husband had been a kind man. Married to you as an alliance for your families and that was all. He was nearly twice your age, but he had been sweet to you. 

“My son has missed your presence,” Alicent tells you. 

“I was hoping to see the prince,” you said, heart rate increasing. 

Alicent nods, looking off to the side. Your smile falters as the realization washes over you at her hesitant glance.

“Aemond does not know I am here,” you tell her. It is a statement, not a question. 

Alicent struggles to keep the smile on her face. She brought her hand to yours, squeezing it gently. 

“I thought perhaps we shall surprise him,” she says softly.

“I do not think he wishes to see me,” you tell her, and feel a slash of pain in your heart. The wound is still fresh, though the years had passed. 

“Tell them not to let me go,” you had begged him, chasing him down an empty corridor. 

The one-eyed prince had stopped his long strides turning to face you. 

“Tell them you wish to marry me,” you had begged.

Aemond had been silent for many moments. 

“I cannot tell them what is not true.”

You remembered it as though it had happened yesterday. The cold look in his eye, so unlike that of which he usually awarded you. None of the kindness you had grown to love. 

“He does,” Alicent insists, “he has been terribly lonely these past years. Growing more resentful each day. I worry about him.”

In truth, you had never stopped thinking of Aemond. He plagued your thoughts at every moment. 

You blink away the tears that gather in your eyes.

“He shall be returning soon,” Alicent tells you, “join us for supper tonight, please.”

Her thumb continues to stroke the back of your hand, a hopeful look is in her eyes. You nod in agreement. 

Aemond remembered watching you go, the way your eyes had filled with tears. The look of betrayal on your face. That most of all. That has haunted most of his days since your departure. 

In truth, he had wished to marry you. But duty is often in conflict with matters of the heart. And duty demanded he remained unwed. 

And though it pained him to do so, he had to let you go. 

Aemond walks quickly to his chambers, eager to bathe and dress before joining his mother for dinner. The days have been long, and there is no feeling like that of being home. 

He hisses as he lowers himself into the tub, the hot water nipping at his pale skin. Aemond wishes to be done quickly, he doesn’t like being alone with his thoughts. He finds himself constantly training, reading, researching, and doing anything to distract himself from the constant thoughts that plague him.

You. 

It has been years since he last saw you since you last spoke. He supposed you must have several children by now. This did not make him sad, he hoped you had children to brighten your life. 

Aemond readied himself before making his way to his mother’s chambers. It was to be a small affair for supper that evening, as Aegon was entertaining some guests from the west. 

“Aemond,” Alicent said, as he arrived. She embraced her son whom she had not seen in several months. 

“It is good to see you, mother,” he said.

“I have missed you,” she told him, “I have invited a guest for dinner..”

“A guest?” Aemond questions, as the door opens. 

He turns and his breath catches in his throat as he sees you in the doorway. Your eyes are wide as you take him in. Aemond looks good, taller perhaps if that is possible. Leaner, the entirety of him is ropey muscles. He is handsome as ever, eyepatch securely covering his ruined eye. Aemond’s lips part.

“Hello Aemond,” you say softly smiling. 

“Lady (Y/N) has agreed to join us for supper, isn’t that lovely?” Alicent says, placing a hand on her son’s arm. 

Aemond jerks his head in a nod causing Alicent to smile. 

“I shall be but a moment,” she says, starting toward the door. She stops to caress your cheek, before leaving the room, the door clicking shut behind her. 

You inhale a shaky breath. 

“Are you well?” you ask as Aemond continues to stare, a rather innocent expression on his normally harsh face. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice hoarse. You wet your lips wringing your hands together. 

“Your mother invited me to the capital,” you tell him, “I did not know you had no part in the invitation.”

“My mother?” Aemond said, shaking his head. Of course, his mother. The hopeless romantic who always wanted more for her children than the hand she had been dealt. You nod. 

“She wished to offer her condolences,” you continue, walking towards the fireplace. You reach for a grape that lays on a golden tray. Aemond’s brow furrows.

“Condolences?” he asks, watching you pop the grape into your mouth. You chuckle.

“Shall you speak in questions all evening, my prince?” you tease before answering his question.

“My late husband has passed,” you inform him. A moment of pause lingers between you. 

“I am sorry to hear that,” Aemond says, “I do hope your children are weathering alright?”

You meet his eye, a blush beginning to creep onto your cheeks. Aemond wishes he could place his hands upon your cheeks, to feel the burning that resides underneath your smooth flesh. 

“We were not blessed with children,” you tell him, “my lord husband was not well, for the majority of our marriage.”

“Did he treat you well?” Aemond asks, voice turning to a tone of concern.

“Oh yes,” you assure him, “yes, he was very kind to me. But-”

You find yourself struggling to speak, struggling to find the right words.

“He did not love me,” you decide, “he did not desire me. It was a quiet marriage.”

Aemond is watching you carefully. How foolish he had been to let you slip from his fingers. The gods are good, they must be repaying him for his suffering in some way by returning you to him. By offering him a second chance. 

“I would,” Aemond says softly.

He walks over to you until he stands directly before you. 

“I would love you, I would desire you,” he tells you, “I do, I always have.”

Your eyes fill with tears and you shake your head. 

“You don’t have to say that-”

“I do, and I was a fool,” he continues, taking your hands in his, “I was a fool to let you leave when I loved you. I have loved you and continue to love you.”

The tears are freely flowing down your cheeks, dripping past your chin and onto the stone floor.

“There has not been a day that goes by where I do not think of you,” he continues, “there is not a corner of this world I could fly to where I did not see your face. In every passerby, in the light of the moon. You are everywhere. You are all-consuming.”

“Aemond,” you beg, not sure exactly if you wish him to stop or keep speaking. 

“I love you,” he insists, fingers digging into your waist. 

You bring your hands to his chest, pulling him towards you and connecting your mouths. The kiss is desperate and passionate, making up for the lost time. Aemond can feel the coolness from your tears caressing his face, and you start to laugh against his mouth. 

He kisses you again and again, swallowing the happy laughter that pours from your sweet lips. 

Queen Alicent stands outside the room, back pressed against the wood of the door, listening to your whispers, and laughter. She places a hand against her heart and closes her eyes, happy that her son has found the love he so longed for. 

note: hope you enjoyed I love me a good love confession, especially from our fave one-eyed prince 🥹

[abs-2020]

Dont really know if you do jake sully asks but.

Yandere! Dilf! jake sully x young Na'vi reader {not TOO young}

Where hake is already married to neytiri and has his four children but isn't satisfied with it, he didn't get to enjoy most of his time as a young Na'vi, then suddenly, a young Na'vi reader gets gis attention, following reader around like its a hobby.

Of course, the reader notices, how could they not with jake big form always around them? The reader took a liking to jake a few pandoran moons ago, but since they know Neytiri is HIS mate, reader can't stand a chance.

So when some time came jake slowly improved his relationship with the reader and they {you know 🤭}

And then one day the reader sees that he looked so happy with his family, so the reader distances themselves to him thinking he doesn't want reader anymore, and the reader thinking they were only and ONLY his plaything.

The reader follows the elders' commands and begins to find another mate.

Jake on the other hand is FURIOUS, let me tell you, volcano furious, he wants reader and reader only, he finds himself getting rid of possible mates as he is ofc, THE Toruk Macto. He gets amd at the reader and pour some angry smut there would you? And the rest us to you😫😫😫😫🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭

Girlie. 🤚🏻🤚🏻 lemme just tell you. This. Sounded. Fun. Buuuut uh, I’m scared I did your thoughts absolutely no justice and that I didn’t live up to any of your expectations. But I did my best and played around sooo I hope you enjoy. Aaassss always comments and complaints are always appreciated. <3.

Warnings: SMUT/18+/choking kink/CNC/forced breeding/oral(M) receiving/jakes an ass/ this is just pure filth/cheating on Netyiri/stalking/age gap/it’s nassstayyy.

Authors note: uuh NOBODY thank me. Because this wasn’t my idea. It was this lovely girls idea. 😌 but I feel like i did your idea no Justice.

———————————————————————————-

Jake. Jake sully. Jake fucking sully. The Avatar that’s been haunting your dreams and daydreams. His hulking blue frame and roguishly attractive aroma haunted your every god damned thought. I mean how could he not? His tenacious smirk, beautiful hair, and that gorgeous gorgeous voice of his had you fawning over him like a little puppy. But it wasn’t always that way, of course not. In fact, you hadn’t really noticed Jake sully, ‘the Toruk Makto’ not until the big blue alien had started following you around like some gaurd dog a few months ago. Like it was a hobby, like it was his duty. That, that is when you noticed the blue avatar. That’s when you noticed his burning hot gaze on your behind, the gaze that sent chills down your spine. That was when you first noticed Jake sully.

Soon after his stalkerish behaviors Jake had finally started to make interactions with you. Such as asking ‘how your day was’ or telling you that ‘your hair looked nice’ even as far as sneaking up behind you and capturing you in unexpected embraces. But that was after he had started to grow on you. But oh boy, The way his arms wrapped around your form intoxicated you to the very core, made you feel a warmth you hadn’t ever felt before. A warmth that you never wanted to go away, never.

But no matter what the hulking blue alien did to make you feel at ease you always had one thought on your mind. ‘Jake was a mated man’ Jake had a mate. And that thought was the only thought that had seemed to keep you at bay. You stood absolutely no chance. But his warmth, oh his warmth. You just wished it would never leave.

And that warmth never did go away, and neither did Jake sully, because that warmth had ended up filling your core. And oh it was so hot, sticky, and passionate when it had happened to. The way his hulking form towered over yours, or the soft little whimpers of praise that left his throat with each thrust had you hooked. Hooked in a way you never thought was possible. And the thought of being so hooked to someone, Especially a mated man scared you. But what scared you even more was the fact that Jake sully never left your mind, not ever.

You should have been disgusted with yourself after it had happened. After you had brought about the cheating on Netyiri, Such a kind and beautiful Na’vi. But not only should you have felt disgusted with yourself for that, you should have felt disgusted because of the age gap. Jake was 28 for heavens sake. And you? You were 19. You were 19 well over ‘mating’ age in the words of the Tsahìk. And that had reminded you of your conversion not only a couple days ago.

A hand being placed on your shoulder had your attention being drawn to its user your brows and ears both quirked up. You’d expected it to be a friend, maybe some random boy. But no, all you were met with was the harsh, stone cold gaze of the Tsahìk.

“(Y/N), you’re well over mating age. I think it’s time you find yourself a mate. A strong man, a warrior...”blah..blah..blah…

that was all you heard coming from her mouth during the encounter. But- the Tsahìk was right, and you knew that. Deep down you knew. But even deeper down a part of you wanted to have Jake all for your self, wanted to be his mate, a part that didn’t want to let him go. mean how could you? How could you let go of a man like that? Was a thought that played in your mind on repeat.

Your mindless and aimless wandering during your thoughts had ended up bringing you to the middle of base, a couple tents away from Jake’s. And you hadn’t quite noticed until the sound of laughing children had your head and ears swiftly jerkin in the direction of the noises. Your heart sunk when your eyes met the scene before you. It was all 6 of them, Spider, Netayum, Lo’ak, Tuk, Netyiri, and Jake. Now it wouldn’t have been such a problem if they all hadn’t been laughing, smiling, teasing, and playing all together like the happiest family you’d ever seen. But they were, and it made your heart sink. You couldn’t take that from Jake, you couldn’t take Jake from that he loved his family too much for that. And you finally saw that.

“Oh Ewya, how could I have been such an idiot..”

You were so stupid, you were an idiot. How could you be such and idiot? Jake had a mate, Jake had children, ‘Jake had children’ you brought a shaky hand to your face dragging the flesh of your palm against the palm of your cheek. An exaggerated sight would leave your throat once reality finally set it. You brought about the cheating Netyiri, you helped Jake cheat on his mate. Betray his family. Betray himself. You did that. You did that.

A uneasy queasiness set into the pit your stomach as a sour and tart taste began to fill your mouth coating your taste buds. Quickly you’d rush a hand to your stomach and the other to your mouth. Your feet scurried against the smooth rocky floor as you tried to find a corner to let your body do its thing. But before you knew it a gag would fill the air as the remains of your lunch hit the floor with a noisy spat.

‘Fuck’

A light sheen of sweat would coat your forehead from the toll puking had taken on your body. You’d shake your head in annoyance at the world and situation your tail whipping furiously and ears falling back in regret.

“Maybe the Tsahìk was right..’

———————————————————————————-

Laughter would fill the air your tail whipping as you sat next to Etäay a joke he had made a couple seconds ago causing laughter to rip through the both of you, a blush painting your features at the proximity of the Na’vi.

Etäay was a funny man, in his late 20s and an excellent hunter. Definitely a Na’vi you wouldn’t have expected to have a sense of humor, But he did. He was a taller Na’vi, skinner, more lean than anything else. His hair in one long thick braid, with two smaller ones hanging in the front of his angular and chiseled face. He wasn’t Jake, not in the slightest, no where near close. No not at all. But you had finally decided to take the advice of the Tsahìk and try finding yourself a mate.

‘Jake wouldn’t mind’ you told yourself ‘Jake won’t care’ he had a family for Christ sake. And a mate. What had happened between the two of you was a mistake. A huge and forgettable one at that. So forget about it you did. Or at least try…

And try you did, but sometimes things just can’t be helped. Because when Etäay decided to lay a bold hand right on the apex of your thigh the sound of a crack coming from the branches above the both of you rippled through the forest causing your ears to fall back in fear as your body stiffened.

A nervous laugh would escape Etäay’s throat. He was just as startled as you were. And you didn’t blame him. Oh no you didn’t blame him at all. How could you when the atmosphere had changed so quickly? Everything had gone dark, a suck a gloomy feeling filling the air making it thick and hard to inhale. A feeling of being watched. stalked by unwanted and familiar eyes. It had your palms going clamy and throat dry. You knew those eyes, and you knew this presence.

“Jake..” it was barley audible, barley about a whisper.

“What?” Etäay would question from the side of you his hand leaving your thigh as he shuffled up uncomfortably. He obviously didn’t catch what you said.

“N-nothing, I’m sorry Etäay but I’m off to bed.” You’d pause “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

But deep down, a part of you knew you weren’t going to be seeing him tomorrow. Because a part of you knew Jake wasn’t going to let you.

As you shuffled up from your seat on the forest floor Etäay would give you his farewells before you scurried off like a little mouse. Your heart was thumping, beating just as fast as your mind was racing. ‘Was that really Jake? Or am I just paranoid?’ You asked yourself as you dodged, weaved, jumped, and maneuvered around the forest and it’s obstacles. But after shuffling around the forest for about 10 minutes your heart and mind had finally calmed down. A laugh would leave your throat, the sound echoing around the quiet forest.

You mumbled to yourself as you looked around the trunk of a girthy tree “I was definitely paranoid-“ a choke would fill the air as a giant and roughy blue hand met your throat with a harsh jab, long and thin fingers wrapping around the nape of your neck in a tight, vice like grip. Immediately your air was cut off and your body thrown against the bark of the girthy tree. An animalistic growl echoed through the forest, and rattled every bone in your body shaking you down to your very core your thighs rubbing together subconsciously.

‘Jake’

“Oh sweet girl I think you were paranoid just enough.”

Your eyes widened in confirmation at the sound of Jake, oh god jakes voice had your ears falling back and your tail wrapping around your own thigh. Jakes voice was almost hypnotizing a hint of anger and a promise of threat laced in his words, A cherry on top just for you.

Jakes grip on your neck only tightened, the danger of the lack of oxygen causing a sweet and sticky slick to form between your folds as your thighs rubbed together in unison. Black spots starting to cloud your vision, jakes yellow honey dew eyes never leaving yours, not even for a split second. Another aggressive growl would leave his throat as he held your body against the bark of the tree. Your hands would shoot to jakes forearms your nails digging into his blue flesh, breaking skin, drawing blood as you fought the brink of consciousness and unconsciousness. Your eyes would flutter closed as you tried to suck in a breath that wasn’t granted. Your vision getting blacker, blacker by the second. Your body and limbs weakening your hands slipping from jakes forearm as you slipped into unconsciousness. That was until a weight was finally lifted from your throat your knees hitting the forest floor with a loud thud.

Your gasps of air would fill the quiet forest as Jakes giant form loomed over your tiny one, him even taller as you sat on your knees your hand shooting to your throat in an attempt to ease the pain. There was definitely going to be a bruise you thought. A dark and very noticeable Bruise. A mark he was going to leave you with to remember him. The sounds of steps, jakes steps would have you shooting your head up to look at the man.

“You think you can just go around fucking, flirting or even looking in the direct on other guys sweet heart? …?” Jakes tone was dark, each word he spoke with a possessive snarl his canines glistening in the dark of the forest. “You think that’s okay?” Jake would quirk a brow at you.

A scoff would leave your throat as your hand continued to rub and sooth the bruising flesh.

“You don’t own me Jake. You’re a mated man.” Your words were thick, full of truth and venom. “So yes, I can go around. I can go around and find myself a mate. And he’ll be the only one allowed to touch me and make love to me.” Your ears would perk up with pride as you looked up to the man before you, still resting on your knees.

Jakes ears would twitch at your words, his whole body moving in a quick blur as his hand reached for your face his hand gripping your cheeks forcing them into an ‘o’ shape straining your neck to look up at him as he pulled you from your knees to your feet.

Jake was radiating heat and anger, his eyes boring holes into your very soul. He was fuming and oh my did it make slick run down your thigh. You liked him like this, liked him manhandling you. Like him choking you. Got you loved him choking you. He’d never done that before but now, now you were hooked. A dark look would cross jakes features as he stared at your ‘o’ shaped mouth and sinister smirk coating his beautiful face as an idea crossed his mind. Quickly Jake would shove you back down to your knees with a snarl his hands knotting into your hair the skin on the back of your scalp burning from his grip tears threatening to spill from the pain.

In a blur Jake would remove his groin cloth, an unholy groan leaving his lips as his member spring free from its confinement. Your eyes would widen when his long, blue, shaft collided with the skin of your cheek. The sight had your mouth weathering as you counted the bumps and ridges of his member saliva threatening to spill at any moment. Jakes grip on your hair would tighten, a slap to your cheek brining you back to reality causing you to look back up at the dominating Na’vi with doe eyes.

Another slap to your cheek, “open your fucking mouth.” Jakes honey dew eyes were staring right back into yours not an ounce of forgiveness in his orbs.

you wanted to resist you really wanted to, bout how could you? This man was your poison and you would do anything to get a taste even if it meant death. So, you obliged with a more than happy heart. Sticking your tongue out in the most sultry way as a pool of saliva ran from your tongue down the the forest floor. Im that moment you swear you heard jake suck in a breath and stutter. His demeanor faltering for only a second. But only for a second because before you knew it jakes member was getting shoved in and out of your throat in a ruthless and unforgiving pace, each thrust leaving you on the verge of gagging as his ridges caught onto parts of your throat only making the abuse on your throat worse. Ruthlessly Jake would fuck into your throat, small curses and growls leaving his throat as tears trickled down your blue cheeks your ears back and tail stiff.

“O-oh I’m not gonna make love to you b-baby girl, I’m gonna fuck you.” Jake would spit his words through his teeth with venom trying his best not to moan or let his demeanor fall.

A moan would fill your throat at jakes words, the vibrations from your throat brining Jake closer the the edge his thrusts getting faster and faster, quicker and sloppier. Sticky and sweet Slick was running down your thighs, the feeling of jakes member ramming into the back of your throat causing you an embarrassing amount of pleasure and ecstasy.

“Oh yeah you like that? Like the thought of me fucking you and taking you from behind huh sweet girl..?” A slap to your cheek and the tightening grip on your hair would cause another moan to leave your throat as you rubbed your thighs together in an attempt to ease some of your desire. “Yeah you do, fuck yeah you do you…” jakes thrusts we’re accentuated with his last few words as he reached his orgasm. “cause. You’re. Fucking. Mine.”

Jakes mouth would fall open when he finally reached his climax his head and ears falling back in pleasure and bliss as his hot and sticky seed coated the back of your abused throat.

Panting would fill the air as jake slowly removed his hand from your hair along with his member from your throat in a quick motion. Tears would stain your blue cheeks your skin damp and wet as you brought a shaky hand to the flesh in an attempt to dry your skin. Subconsciously you were still rubbing your thighs together as you bit your lip. Jake still standing tall in front of you.

“Oh we’re not done baby girl.” Jakes words were filled with a threat.

Roughly and forcefully jakes hands would find their way to your waist the blue Na’vi making easy work of flipping you onto your stomach, so that you were face down and ass up. Jakes hand would rub soothing Circles onto the flesh of your behind as he lined himself up with your entrance. You waited in anticipation. You knew it was going to hurt, be painful. Especially with a Na’vi of his size and girth. But you’d never expected him to do what he was just about to do, suddenly jakes hand was lifted from your arse, your hips would rut in the air in retaliation, you wanted him to touch you. To stretch you around his fingers to warm you up for him, but when the sudden sound of a slap filling the air and a quick shot of pain from between your legs came out of nowhere a mewl of pain and surprise escaped your throat.

“Y-you..” you couldn’t speak, you were in too much pain from jakes actions. From him thrusting his whole length into you in one go, without stretching you out or warming you up.

“Shhh, shhh, shhh baby girl. It’s okay. You’re okay.. fuck- fuck you’re squeezing me so good…” Jake would sit bottomed out inside of you for a few seconds before he finally decided to take his length almost all the way out just to slam right back into you. “…you deserve this, this is what you get sweet thing. D-daddy’s gotta teach you a lesson.”

A moan of pleasure and pain would leave your lips when jakes hand found it’s way to your throat for the second time of the night, the man’s large, long, and slender fingers wrapping all the way around your delicate throat as he pulled your back to his chest to he could cradle you one hand snaking to pleasure your little bundle of pleasure and nerves. Your body was on fire, jakes hand on your throat, his harsh thrusts, harsh words and harsh tone, his warmth was enough to set off every single nerve in your body.

“J-jake.. please.”

A laugh would rumble from jakes chest as he mumbled a ‘Nuh uh’ his fingers making quick and great work of your clit the action brining you closer and closer to the edge.

“Daddy’s gotta remind you who this pussy belongs to baby girl, he’s gotta remind you that you’re mine. He’s gotta show you what happens when you talk to other guys.” Jakes voice was sultry and demanding as his thrusts got faster and faster, deeper and deeper, roughy and rougher by the second.

You’d chant jakes name as he brought you closer and closer to the edge, climax, your orgasm. His grip on your neck only tightening as he pulled your back tighter against his chest, his eyes landing on the bulge that formed in your belly with each thrust. A guttural groan would leave jakes throat at the sight, his hips now pistoling into you at an unforgiving pace the sight making him chase his and your high.

A sharp moan would leave your throat as your nails dug into jakes forearm as he fucked you flush against his chest the angle causing him to hit deeper and deeper your velvety and gummy walls spasming around him, gripping onto him like a vice, suctioning, pulling him back into you with each of his thrusts.

The finally a knot would snap sending you into cloud nine, oblivion, All you saw was white as you scream jakes name and closed your eyes in pure ecstasy and pleasure your orgasm crashing into you like an ocean wave your ears falling back in triumph.

Jake would continue to piston into your weeping and swollen cunt your juices dripping down the both of your thighs as the sound of wet skin slapping skin filled the forest air. Jakes tail would wrap itself around your thigh as his ears fell back.

“Daddy’s gonna make you a mommy.”

Your eyes would shoot open at his words, but it was far too late jakes hips already sputtering as he stilled inside of you spilling his hot and sticky seed inside of you an ever so present bulge poking out from your tummy as both of your juices mixed onto the forest floor.

“That’s Daddy’s lesson.”

———————————————————————————

Authors note: ahahah, was this too much? Maybe. do I care? Maybe. But hoooopefully you enjoyed it. I tried my best to fufilll your wishes. And I’m sorry it took so long. I suck ballz. <3 ;)

[don-dake]

So I've been playing around with Cāngjié…

And I thought a post like this (similar to a post on Zhùyīn done by linghxr) may be of interest to some.

Edited: 10 Sep 2023

This post has gotten a little popular lately and on scrutinizing my own post again, I've come to the conclusion that I had made some mistakes in my given character examples.

Amended now. Namely, 「唔」 and 「龍」 have now been swapped over in the examples.

「唔」 is really the “3-parts”, and 「龍」 is indeed a “2-parts” character! Amendments are reflected in orange.

What (and who) is Cāngjié?

For those who may not know, Cāngjié is another way to input 漢字/汉字 (Hànzì — Chinese characters). It is way less popular than Pinyin (or even Zhuyin) but it still has its fans, and has a few advantages over the other two.

Cāngjié is also the name of the mythical figure in Chinese legend who is said to have been the inventor of 漢字/汉字, for which Cāngjié (the input system) was named after.

Would I recommend it?

Yes, if you think you have already acquired a good (enough) understanding of 漢字/汉字, and/or just like a new challenge.

(TL;DR at the end)

Why am I learning Cāngjié (and why you may like to, too)?

1. Mostly for fun.

Have long been intrigued by both Cāngjié and Zhùyīn, and since I finally mustered up the courage to tackle Zhùyīn not too long ago, I thought I'd finally give Cāngjié a try.

While learning Cāngjié does require more effort than learning Pinyin or Zhuyin, it can also be really fun! Inputting 漢字/汉字 with the Cāngjié method is almost like doing a jigsaw puzzle.

The euphoria derived from figuring out and piecing together the radicals that make up a word is something that learning Jyutping (Cantonese equivalent of Pinyin), Pinyin or Zhuyin can't quite match.

And while I know I'll never be as adept with Cāngjié — my knowledge of 漢字/汉字 is nowhere near good enough to ever use Cāngjié efficiently — as I do Jyutping or Pinyin (or to some extent, Zhuyin), it'll still be fun to use Cāngjié every once in a while!

2. Helps with thinking and typing in Chinese.

The upshot of relying too much on using Jyutping/Pinyin/Zhuyin is, I'd tend to think in Roman letters or ㄅㄆㄇㄈ before I'd even think about the actual 漢字/汉字.

But with Cāngjié, because it's based on knowing radicals and joining them together to form actual characters, it'll encourage thinking of 漢字/汉字 first, so I think that would help some with 漢字/汉字 memory retention.

Now you may be thinking, why not just you know, practise actually writing then? That is the tried and proven method to better remember 漢字/汉字 after all?

Yes, of course I can do that — and am doing so occasionally — but we live in a digital age now, and the probability and opportunity to type things out is much higher than actually writing stuff by hand.

The idea here is, more looking to think of and envision characters fully in my head, and trying to lessen over-reliance on Jyutping/Pinyin/Zhuyin.

And this is where I find Cāngjié can be useful, which leads to my next point…

3. Haunted by “What if” scenario.

What if there comes a day (however improbable) where I'm presented with only a Cāngjié keyboard to use for typing Chinese? It has happened with Zhùyīn for me!

That means, no Pinyin or Zhuyin keyboards, no Handwriting tools/touchscreens to write with fingers/mouse, no speech-to-text, and no option to copy-and-paste characters from somewhere else either! What then?

4. Able to type without knowing pronunciation, and with more accuracy.

Cāngjié is shape-based. Unlike Jyutping/Pinyin/Zhuyin, where you have to know what a character sounds like before you can type it out, with Cāngjié, you can type out (again assuming no Handwriting or other tools available) characters without needing to know how to pronounce them at all.

With shape-based typing, you'd also get more accurate hits in the first few 漢字/汉字 that show up, versus sound-based methods like Pinyin where for e.g., typing out “wan” will get you a whole list under the same sound and you may have to scroll through a whole lot to get the exact “wan” you need.

You can also type both Traditional and Simplified characters without having to toggle something or switch keyboards.

So how does one begin learning Cāngjié?

Install a Cāngjié keyboard.

Duh…but of course! Heh! Gboard offers one, banded under Cantonese language input (Android user here, don't know about iPhones, sorry).

There are two versions of Cāngjié that are prevalent currently. Cāngjié 3 and Cāngjié 5. Cāngjié 5 is supposed to be an improvement over version 3 but I don't find there's much; having a slightly altered version just adds to the confusion and unnecessarily complicates matters, in fact!

If you have a choice, I'd recommend selecting Cāngjié 3 as that is more supported. Some operating systems may not be too compatible with Cāngjié 5 still, for some strange reason.

You may also come across something called “Quick” (速成) aka, “Simplified Cāngjié”.

This is simply a scaled down version of Cāngjié, it's still based on Cāngjié's formula. So you still need to know how Cāngjié works in order to use “Quick” efficiently.

You'd then need a chart like this. ↓

* the 重 (Z) key doesn't really come into use. I don't really know what it's for, but it seems to be used (paired with other keystrokes) mainly to type out various punctuation marks.

There are variants out there, some having a little more, or less, radicals shown than in the above example, but I'll say the chart here is one of the more comprehensive ones I've found so far (and sufficient enough) — other charts often fail to highlight the 難 (X) key and what it corresponds to.

You don't have to memorize the chart all at once. Just always have a chart like this on hand to refer to and with enough typing practise, you'll eventually remember which key corresponds with which radicals.

Remember the rules. ↓

“1 part” character (e.g. 寫) = first 3 & last (radical).

“2 parts” character (e.g. 唔龍) = first & last, first 2 & last.

“3 parts” character (e.g. 難) = first & last, first & last, last.

e.g. 寫 ↓

With radicals 宀，丿，臼 (first 3) and 灬 (last).

Corresponding keys: 十，竹，難 and 火。

寫 → 写 ↓

With radicals 冖，卜，㇆ (first 3)，一 (last).

Corresponding keys：月，卜，尸 and 一。

e.g. 龍 ↓

With radicals 亠，月 (first & last), 卜，コ (first 2)，ヒ (last).

Corresponding keys: 卜，月，卜，尸，and 心。

龍 → 龙 ↓ (Simplified 龍 → 龙，a “1 part” character)

With radicals 丶，ナ，ヒ (first 3).

Corresponding keys: 戈，大，and 心。

e.g. 難 ↓

With radicals 廿，人 (first & last)，亻(first & last)，土 (last).

Corresponding keys: 廿，人，人 and 土。

難 → 难 ↓

With radicals ヌ (first & last)，亻(first & last)，土 (last).

Corresponding keys: 水，人，and 土。

Occasionally, you may get a character that looks like a “2 parts” but is actually a “3 parts”. ↓

e.g. 唔 ↓

With radicals 口 (first & last)，一，一 (first & last)，口 (last).

Corresponding keys: 口，一，一 and 口。

Or looks like a “1 part” but really a “3 parts”. ↓

e.g. 奪 ↓

With radicals 大 (first & last)，亻，土 (first & last)，丶 (last).

Corresponding keys: 大，人，土，and 戈。

奪 → 夺 ↓(Simplified 奪 → 夺，a “1 part” character)

With radicals 大，寸 (first 3; the 丶 is the 3rd component).

Corresponding keys: 大，木，and 戈。

But these are exceptions, and don't occur that often.

And you can start practising!

You can try out this pretty good app called 『五色學倉頡』 (learning Cāngjié with 5 colours), for practise. It's on Playstore, just search for “Cangjie Dictionary” and it should show up.

You have to pay to unlock higher levels, unfortunately. ↓

Anyway, each character comes with colour coded hints and you can opt to turn them off if you like more of a challenge. There are also hints (提示) and the chart (字根表) to refer to if you're really stuck. Also has a dictionary component (查字典) to check out the Cāngjié input for characters.

Another option would be a website called HKCards. ↓

You can use it to check the Cāngjié input for any 漢字/汉字, and there's section for practise (倉頡輸入法練習) as well. After inputting your answer with Cāngjié keys (手田水口廿卜), you can click on the “Answer” (答案) button to see how right or wrong your answers were. ↓

There are 8 characters each time, and you can just hit “Practise Again” (再做練習) to refresh for another 8 to practise with. I've yet to hit a limit.

Unfortunately, this website has lots of ads popping up. And it only supports searching in Traditional characters (Cāngjié was initially catered more for Traditional).

Or you can just try practising randomly with a Cāngjié keyboard and check for mistakes with a Cāngjié dictionary (『五色學倉頡』 app's dictionary comes in really useful here — it appears to support searching in Simplified too).

TL;DR

Cāngjié could be useful (and fun) to know if your 漢字/汉字 knowledge is already adequate, and/or you just like a new challenge.

And if watching videos is more your thing, here's a really helpful YouTube tutorial on how to use Cāngjié (has English subs)!

[rachelsfav-queer]

AAAAAA SHIT!!!!

Okayyyyyyyy! I'm feeling angsty for some reason (probably cause I'm an idiot and keep listening to sad music) so I'm taking a break from my actual writing to get this out. I knew I couldn't not write it either cause it's just too good, but ITS SO HEARTBREAKING!!!!

I'm really sorry about this

(Note: I started this oneshot before I got the news last night, so obviously I'm in a much better mood lol)

It hadn't been long after Enid had passed that it started. Yoko was also gone, which left Wednesday alone, truly alone, for the first time in decades. The three of them had all grown into old age, even Yoko, who had found a spell to allow her to age with her wives, two people she could not stand to outlive.

And now, it's only Wednesday left, her genes allowing her a naturally longer lifespan. Well, at least, as long as the ones who held her heart lived. But now, she can feel her age catching up to her in the most brutal ways. Her mind, body, and soul are all withering quickly and without mercy.

Enid’s funeral was only two weeks after her passing, but by then, Wednesday was already in a wheelchair, barely capable of holding herself up even in the chair. It broke Bianca’s heart, the sight of her best friend suffering so deeply that it reflected completely on her physical body. And the pain wasn’t only present in her physical condition, but also emotionally. Nobody had seen Wednesday so utterly desolate in years. It was as if every last bit of her will to live had been torn from her.

And really, it was.

Everyone knew that when an Addams falls in love, they love with everything they have, all of their soul is dedicated to their chosen. It's how they're built, and it has its ups and downs. One of the worst cons is showing itself clear in Wednesday now.

She is degrading, every part of her. An Addams is truly nothing without the ones they love. It gets so bad that only a month after Enid's death, Wednesday is entirely reliant on others to stay alive and care for herself. Bianca does her best, but is ultimately helpless on her own, needing help from other friends and nurses. Especially because Wednesday simply doesn't speak anymore. The only sounds she makes are the tiniest grunts, and that's only ever in response to little Raven, who still speaks to her every day.

Little Raven, oh poor little Raven. She made a promise long ago to always be there for her best friend, and she is staying true to that promise. By now, she's long since figured out all the abilities she has as a spirit possessing a physical object. One of those abilities is to affect living beings around her, at least a bit. She uses this to ensure no one tries to separate her from Wednesday, nobody even gets the idea to do so with her influence. And so, the haunted plushie that has always remained by Wednesday's side throughout the entire time they've known each other stays posted right at Wednesday's side, sitting atop the bedside table.

One day, she's not sure why, but little Raven decides to finally tell Wednesday her story. It all starts with a soft chuckle, "You know, I used to know someone who was just like you, Wednesday. She was... everything." And little Raven tells the seer everything. From the moment she met her little sister, to the moment she finally met her. It was long and complicated, but somehow, little Raven knew the entire time that the seer was listening.

Eventually, little Raven finished. It was then that something beautiful happened. Wednesday, for the first time in so long, spoke. "Raffi," the seer's voice was weak as she spoke the name the spirit hadn't heard in a century, the name she had forgotten, but she heard it so clearly, and it shocked her thoroughly. "You're curious. I saw this, in a vision, when I first held you. A Boot-strap paradox, quite exhausting. You have... served me well, old friend. You protected me, you cared for me, and you have shown me all the love you had to give. Furthermore, you have given me comfort in the darkest of times, and it is my turn to return that comfort. You've done well, Raffi. But... my time here on this mortal plane is come to a close, and so is yours. You have no need to hold yourself here anymore, so please, forgive yourself. It's time to let go. As Enid and Yoko are waiting for me, so is Lovette waiting for you. It's time we meet them again. I love you, little Raven."

"We- Wednesday... Thank you. It has been such an honor, being your friend. I love you too, Wednesday. Good night."

And so, in that lonely old mansion, two spirits, two best friends, leave together onto their final adventure. When Bianca enters the room again and sees her friend has passed, she oddly feels at peace. As if some huge weight has been lifted from the very walls of the house itself. And Bianca sees the raven plushie, and she can't quite describe it for a while, the stuffed animal almost seems to be missing something. But eventually, she realizes, and she smiles, “So long, little Raven. It was nice to meet you. Goodbye Wednesday, you finally got that splash of color you needed.” With that, the siren sets the plushie atop Wednesday’s chest and leaves a final kiss on the seer’s forehead, leaving her to finally rest.

End <3

(Little Raven + her sister’s name reveal???)

(This is what I had on repeat while finishing this lol)

[madsworld15]

Part 3 of Heal Me, Hold Me, Make Me, Know Me

Fic 2 of my Asexual as Folk Series

For the next few days, Brian and Jennifer rarely left Justin’s side. The young teen remained in a coma, but with each passing day, his prognosis got better. On the second day, the neurosurgeon was able to go in and complete the surgery they had started the night of his attack. With his head injury taken care of and his internal bleeding getting better on its own, what remained was a waiting game.

Justin was no longer on the ventilator, and the cannula in his nose was simply there as a precaution, not that the doctors really felt he needed assistance with getting oxygen. His doctor told Brian and Jennifer, on the morning of the third day, that his brain activity had shown signs of improving. He was optimistic that Justin would come out of his coma very soon. That was hours ago, and Brian was getting anxious. Was there something wrong with Justin that the doctors missed? Is that why he hasn’t woken up yet?

He was tired of just sitting around; he needed to move. Brian needed to get out of the four walls of this hospital. It had been almost a full 24 hours since he had last left Justin’s room for more than just a bathroom break. Brian stood up and placed a hand on Jennifer’s shoulder. He gave her a small smile and then motioned his head to indicate that he was going to step outside for a second.

“It’ll be good for you. Take all the time you need.” Jennifer returned his smile.

Brian walked toward the courtyard near the ICU. The air was a bit chilly, and despite wearing a long-sleeved button-down, Brian found himself huddling against himself to try to stay warm. Having not slept in almost 15 hours, Brian was exhausted and didn’t know how he was going to properly function in his client meeting via phone in two hours. He’d tried getting out of all work for the last few days, but this meeting couldn’t be rescheduled because the customer wanted their ad to go live by the end of the week.

Brian pulled out his cigarettes and quickly lit one. He’d needed a smoke for days now but hadn’t dared to try. He didn’t want the doctors or Jennifer to say anything. Now, he was so stressed and exhausted that his nerves were constantly on edge. He needed something to ease the tension that was now a permanent fixture in his muscles.

A few minutes later, Brian stubbed out the butt of his cigarette and rolled the non-lit end between his thumb and forefinger as he thought back over the last few days. He’d never admit it out loud, but he hadn’t breathed easy in days. The idea that Justin could die had haunted his every moment. For reasons beyond even his understanding, Brian couldn’t picture a life without the kid in it. He threw the butt into the trashcan by the door.

The cell phone in his pocket rang just as he was ready to go back inside. He looked at the caller ID and saw his sister’s name. He rolled his eyes and almost ignored her completely. But she’d been hounding him for ages, calling at least four times a day for the last 4 or 5 days. 

“What do you want Claire?” Brian sighed and rubbed his temples with his other hand.

“I’ve been trying to reach you for days, Brian.” Claire sounded completely put out, but what else was new. His sister always had something to complain about.

“I’ve been busy. I would think me not answering your calls would give you a clue.” Brian was barely able to keep his own sanity in check at the present, let alone try to talk his overly emotional sister off her own ledge.

“I can’t take it anymore. Mommy is drinking more than ever before. She’s never happy, no matter what I do. I need a break.” Claire whined through the phone.

“So take one. She’s an adult. Let her make her own decisions.” Brian sighed before he hung up on Claire. Two minutes was more time than he’d really been able to handle.

Brian shoved his phone back into his pocket and opened the door. The warmth of the hospital was only a degree or two above that of the outside, but it was enough for Brian to welcome the change in temperature. He made his way back to Justin’s room, and the sight he was greeted with pushed all the air out of his body. There in his bed, Justin was awake and mumbling something to his mom, who was crying once more. The minute Brian entered the room, Justin turned his head to him. 

“Brian.” Justin grinned a crooked grin. Brian took a deep breath and willed his eyes not to tear up. 

“I thought I’d never hear your voice again.” Brian finally said as he crossed the room and gently took Justin’s hand in his own. Despite his efforts, tears fell from Brian’s eyes.

Justin didn’t say anything in response, just squeezed Brian’s hand. The two made eye contact, and Brian refused to blink. He worried that if he tore his eyes away for even a second, it would all prove to be a dream. He rolled his lips over his teeth and gave the smallest of smiles. Without turning away from Justin, Brian brought his other hand up to caress his cheek and spoke to Jennifer.

“How long?”

“He opened his eyes about five minutes after you stepped out.” 

Brian nodded his head and fell silent. There were so many things he wanted to say, but he didn’t know how. He cared deeply about Justin, and he knew that Jennifer could see that, but Brian wasn’t someone who went around talking about said feelings. Being raised to be silent but present meant that Brian had never developed the emotional maturity or communication skills to be comfortable with such declarations. Instead, he showed through his actions and hoped that people caught on. If they didn’t, well, that was on them, wasn’t it?

Justin smiled groggily at him and then said tiredly, “My mom was trying to tell me what happened, but she doesn’t know everything.”

“You don’t remember?” Brian looked from Jennifer, who looked away, and Justin, who shook his head.

“The last thing I remember was Emmett saying ‘Go Baby!’ the moment I signed up for the King of Babylon contest. I don’t remember dancing, I don’t remember after, and I definitely don’t remember whatever got me here.” Justin explained.

Brian didn’t know which he preferred, that Justin remembered everything about that night, including the viscous attack, or that he didn’t remember the painful, damaging events. Either option hurt in some way, and that was something he wasn’t used to at all.

He stared up at the ceiling as he contemplated how much he would tell Justin. 

“I remember everything. But I wish I could forget the bad parts.” He let go of Justin’s hand to rub both his hands down his face.

Justin’s eyes went soft, and he reached for Brian’s hand. “There were good parts?”

Brian bit his lip and contemplated how much he was willing to reveal, how much he wanted to give away.

“You won King of Babylon for one.” Brian shrugged with a smirk on his face.

Just then, Brian’s cell phone rang again. He was certain it was his sister again. So, he ignored it. When Justin gave him a curious look, Brian waved him off. There was no reason for him to leave Justin at this moment, especially not for his overly dramatic sister.

“And,” Brian paused, unable to figure out how to explain what he had said to Michael and why. “I pissed Mikey off by telling him we were together.”

“You told him the truth?” Justin’s eyes lit up, and Brian knew despite whatever reservations he had about admitting things out loud, he would do anything to ensure Justin’s eyes never lost that light ever again.

Brian shrugged just as his phone went off again. He wanted desperately to ignore it, but considering he’d been out of the office for days, there was now a chance it was a work-related emergency. Sure enough, he pulled it out of his pocket and recognized the number as coming from his boss. He looked up at Justin with an apology in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, I have to deal with this. I promise I’ll come back later.”

“Don’t worry about it. You’re a busy guy.” What he didn’t say, but Brian heard loud and clear, was, ‘I’m surprised you have stuck around.’

As Brian exited the room, he heard Jennifer reassure Justin that Brian would be back. After all, he had spent the last three days there with her. But Brian knew, and he knew Justin did too, that there was no set time frame for his return ‘later.’ Brian had been ignoring that he even had a job for the last three days, but now that his bubble had popped, he couldn’t ignore the stress coiling up in his stomach at the state of his accounts.

He arrived at the office about 20 minutes later. Cynthia met him just outside his office, by her desk, with a look of apology. He had told her what had happened to Justin so that he could have some peace these last few days.

“I’m so sorry. I know you said you were taking the whole week, but then the art department lost the file containing the mockups for Liberty Air, and Ryder was fuming. He told me to get you here, or he would have your pink slip.” She grabbed his jacket from him and continued, “I refused, but in a show of dominance, he called you.”

“Cynthia,” Brian put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. “Breathe. It’s fine. I can come in for a few hours if it’ll make Ryder happy.”

“But, Justin?” 

“He woke up about an hour ago. He’s going to be fine. I need to focus on the Liberty Air account, so tell me. How bad is it really?” Brian walked past her and into his office. He immediately poured himself a glass of water and sat behind his desk for the first time in almost a week.

“Well, I’m pretty sure Ryder is seconds away from firing half of the art department. So, maybe you could say something?” Cynthia gave him a pleading look as she gently draped his jacket on the hook. 

“Why do I need to step in?” Brian knew he should, but a part of him, the extremely exhausted part, didn’t have the energy to even bother with it.

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t care. I’ve worked for you way too long for fall for any of that.” Cynthia chided him.

He was about to snark back at her; being around Cynthia had softened his edges a bit and made him feel normal for the first time in days when Ryder appeared at his door.

“Ah, I thought I saw you walk past my office, Brian.” Mr. Ryder’s eyes gleamed with enthusiasm. “Glad to see whatever had you away is taken care of now.”

Ryder’s lack of interest in his employee’s lives had never bothered Brian before. In fact, he had loved it. But, right now, fresh off a three-day stint at the hospital with little to no sleep, Brian was irritated by it.

“My partner isn’t going to die. Thanks so much for the concern, Ryder.” Brian seethed and gave his boss the kind of glare he reserved mostly for his interactions with his mother.

“Liberty Air will be here for the sit-down meeting with us in about 20 minutes. Where are we at with getting the mockups situated?” Ryder chose to ignore Brian’s statement.

Brian pinched the bridge of his nose and dispelled any thoughts he had of Justin. He needed to focus if he had any hope of keeping his job. Ryder was an understanding man, to a point, but if Brian fumbled the play with Liberty Air, one of their biggest clients, he would be packing his things.

“The art department said they would have a new mockup in your hand within ten minutes.” Cynthia addressed Brian directly, who in turn gave Ryder a look, essentially dismissing him.

Ryder left Brian’s office in a huff, saying he would see Brian at the client meeting shortly.

“So, when exactly am I supposed to see these mockups?” Brian leaned his head against his hands. 

“Right now,” Came a voice from the doorway. Brian looked up and laid eyes on the head of the Ryder art department, Mitch.

“Thanks, Mitch.” Brian got up and met the man at the door to go over what he presented. “Can we quickly change the size of the font to be one size bigger? Otherwise, this looks exactly like what the customer is looking for.”

Mitch nodded, and in a flash, he was gone once more, down the hall toward his shared working space. 

“I would rather eat nails than do this customer meeting right now,” Brian admitted to Cynthia. Of all the people in his professional life, Brian trusted no one like he trusted Cynthia. She always called him on his bullshit and kept him from burning the candle at both ends sometimes.

“I think Ryder is worried,” Cynthia whispered conspiratorially. “Rumor has it he’s trying to sell the company and is worried that if we lose any of our current clients, no one will bite.”

“Why is he looking to sell?” Brian asked her, finally starting in on his overflowing inbox. The start of a stress headache already forming.

“Not sure, but I’ll bet my money on money and retirement.” Cynthia handed Brian two ibuprofen before giving him a wink and walking out the door.

Over the next 6 hours, Brian flitted from his meeting with Liberty Air, which he managed to smooth over any bumps, to working on all the other client work that had piled up during his time off. He didn’t even look at the clock again until Cynthia knocked on his door. She was on her way out for the night and had wanted to check on him as well.

“Oh fuck. I didn’t realize how late it was.” Brian responded when a glance at the clock on his computer told him it was a quarter to 8 already. “Yeah, I’m leaving too.”

He got up, flipped off his computer, gathered up his client files, and put them in a pile to be handled tomorrow. Then he grabbed his coat and followed Cynthia out the door.

“You going to see Justin?” Cynthia asked him with a knowing look.

“I am going to call his mom and check how he’s doing. Then I am going to go home and sleep.” Brian admitted. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see Justin. It’s just that he needed to be well-rested for work the next day, considering all he needed to catch up on.

“If you say so.” Cynthia’s words held weight, and Brian felt guilty for not feeling bad about his decision.

“I just spent three days straight sitting at his bedside. He’ll be fine without me for one night.” Brian scoffed as he left her in favor of climbing in his own Jeep. He rolled down the window and added, “See you tomorrow, Cynthia.”

*****

In fact, Brian didn’t have time to make it back to visit Justin until Saturday afternoon, three days after he left to go handle his work emergency. He’d forgotten how all-consuming his job could be sometimes. Despite not making it to see Justin during normal visiting hours, all that he was allowed now that he was on a regular floor, Brian had called Jennifer every day to check in and relay to her his message of care and encouragement for Justin. He felt bad having not been to see the kid for three whole days that he brought him a gift. It wasn’t much, just a silly little stuffed frog wearing a shirt with sunshine and a rainbow on it that he’d found at the gift shop, but still, it was more than he’d ever done for someone else before.

“Did you talk to my mom yet today?” Justin smiled at Brian as he handed the teen the stuffed frog.

“Nah. I figured I’d be seeing you. I didn’t need to.” Brian plopped down in the chair next to the bed, “Why?”

“I’m getting released tomorrow. I still have to do in-patient rehab at a specialty care facility, but no more hospital.” Justin was so excited Brian didn’t have the heart to remind him that the rehab center would probably be very similar to the hospital.

“That’s great. See, you’ll be back to earning tips at the diner in no time.” Brian smirked. “And putting Warhol to shame in the art studio at PIFA.”

“I doubt it.” Justin’s mood dipped at the mention of art. “My rehab therapist said I’ll be lucky if I regain 80% function in my hand.”t

“The way I see it, that’s still a passing grade. Besides, I doubt you’ll give up at a measly 80%.” Brian winked at Justin and patted his thigh fondly.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do if I can’t ever draw again.” Justin acted as though he didn’t even hear what Brian had said.

“Justin,” Brian nudged the teen until he made eye contact with him. “Doctors always downplay things to keep themselves free of a lawsuit. They say things like you’ll never walk again, talk again, or draw again so that when you do, you’ll think they worked a miracle, and they can charge you an arm and a leg.”

“Trust me, you’re going to draw again. Don’t listen to his bullshit.”

[miitgaanar]

The Howling

It's me! Again! When will someone nail my hands to the floor so I can't write self-indulgent garbage ever again!

Anyway, this idea was born of the hypothetical plot point I rambled on about many months ago in this post. It's haunted me ever since. Don't ask me if this is something that really happens in my little continuity. I genuinely haven't decided if this is a What If or concrete fact.

I don't suggest reading this. But, then again, I never suggest reading anything I write <3

***

The training grounds.  One hour.

The summons had been concise, almost curt in its brevity.  The chosen parchment had yellowed with age, the edges wrinkled and torn as if it had been thoughtlessly ripped from an old tome.  It had been left on her cot and folded over twice, likely to hide the simple message from prying eyes.  No name accompanied the words scratched onto the page, nor a wax seal to identify its sender—but it was hardly needed.  It never was.

He was already there when Addilyn Theron stepped onto the stone path leading to the training grounds, his long golden hair shimmering dully in the pale light of the moon.  Night had long since fallen over the city of Durlyne, the sky dark and clear of clouds.  A brilliant display of stars shone unimpeded from the heavens, countless in their number, rendering the lamplights lining the temple grounds superfluous in their placement.

It was little surprise that Lemuel Adelier’s gaze remained skyward as she approached.

“Sir?” Addilyn ventured, watching him.  He was hunched forward, leaning against the waist-high stone wall that separated the training grounds from the surrounding pathways, his forearms braced atop the rough-hewn surface.  He was still in uniform, though his plate armor had been removed.  Odd, considering the late hour.  “You asked to see me?”

Lemuel hummed in response, seemingly unsurprised by her appearance.  “How was the patrol this evening?”

Straight to business, then.  She resisted the urge to sigh.  “Fine, sir,” she said, coming to stand alongside him.  “Just the usual rabble.”

“Is that so?” he said flatly.  His eyes remained fixed on the moon, his features schooled into a mask of cool indifference.  “Bloodied your blade on your own bowels then, did you?”

Addilyn cringed, cursing softly under her breath.  She’d hoped that more important matters had garnered his attention, but little escaped his notice lately, especially where she was concerned.  It made what solace she still found in his presence seem thin and brittle.

“It was nothing, sir,” she insisted, averting her gaze to the ground.  “Just an unruly band of Geffie.  We put them down easy enough.”

Her skin prickled as Lemuel’s attention finally turned to her, his scrutiny nigh unbearable. She remained silent, unmoving in the face of his unspoken accusation.  A Semon’s blood had indeed stained her sword that evening, the man part of a gang of Gefendur intent on burning down a Ssaelit owned market stall.  They’d been dealt with swiftly and ruthlessly, but such was the daily life of a Lion these days.  Blood flowed easier than water within Durlyne.

And yet a cold dread pooled within the depths of her belly.  No one had seen her cut down the Semon, only the crimson gore that drenched her blade in the aftermath.  No one had noticed the flash of recognition in the man’s dark eyes as he met her gaze, the realization of who he’d stumbled upon dawning just a moment too late.

Lemuel couldn’t know that the Lioness had slaughtered yet another huntsman intent on her hide.  She’d made sure of it, killing the warning shout that sat upon his tongue before it could be given life.

“Addie,” Lemuel said quietly, wearily.  “You can’t keep on like this.”

“Keep on like what?”  Addilyn rolled her shoulders, all professional pretense forgotten.  “It was a routine patrol.  You’d have done no differently.”

“This isn’t about the patrol.”  He sighed heavily, the shadow of annoyance beginning to creep into his words.  He pinched at the bridge of his nose, breathing deeply before he continued, his voice soft and near inaudible.  “The wolves are closing in.  By God, I can feel them nipping at our heels even now.”

“What are you talking about?”  She glanced his way, the familiar claws of trepidation digging into her chest.  “Lem, what’s all this about?”

Lemuel sighed again, turning to face her fully.  There was a strange look about him; his jaw set, his gaze unflinching.  As if he had steeled himself for some long awaited battle.  “Have you ever thought of taking the Third Option, Addie?”

“Taking th—?”  An incredulous laugh escaped her then, the sound sharp and grating in the tranquil silence.  She looked up at him in utter disbelief, waiting for the derisive smirk to take shape, to hear the rumbling chuckle that always accompanied his playful jibes.  ‘You’re so serious of late, Theron,’ he would say, his golden eyes alight with mirth.  ‘We truly must do something about that.’

But the laughter never came.  His lips remained a thin line, the corners dipped downward in the beginnings of a frown, his aureate eyes harder than the stone beneath their feet.

“Y—You can’t be serious,” Addilyn said, her laughter petering out into a pathetic wince.  “Why would I ever consider that?”

“The Gefendur still hunt you,” Lemuel said gravely.  “They still call for your head.  Each time you step outside the temple gates, you take your life into your own hands.  And it’s only a matter of time before their demands reach the Lions, then even this precarious haven will have been lost to you.”  His eyes softened but a fraction.  “It could mean security for you.  Safety.  Protection under the law from both your own faith and theirs.”

“They’d never allow it.” Desperation clawed its way up her throat, undercutting the otherwise insouciant declaration.  He couldn’t truly think this was the right path for her.  The only path.  “I’m no wright.  They know I’ve no talent for spellery.  They’d have no use for me.”

“You’re a good soldier,” Lemuel reasoned.  He said it with such conviction, such genuine affection.  It was enough to cleave her heart in two.  “You have fought and bled and killed in the name of Ssael.  You know how desperate we are for seasoned Ssaelit soldiers, men willing to hold the line against our impending slaughter.  It’s reason enough to push the request through.”

“And what about me?” she snapped.  “What would happen to me?  You know what the oath calls for, what it would mean for me.  For—”  She choked on the word.  “For us.”

He looked away from her then, his features shuttered once more.  “You’ve no protectors left, Addie.  That you’ve lived as you have for this long is a miracle in itself.”

“And so I must kill Addilyn Theron?”  The words were sharp, venomous, each one a viper’s bite plunged into flesh.  “After everything she has accomplished?  After everything she has overcome?”  She scoffed, forcing the indignation to crush the despair blooming within her.  “You’ve always preached how we can’t give in to them, that to do so is to die a slow death under their heel.  And now you propose I do exactly that.”

“I propose you live.”  Lemuel rounded on her, his frustration boiling over at last.  Addilyn did not so much as flinch.  “And if Addilyn Theron must cease to exist to ensure your survival, that should be a small price to pay.”  He loomed over her, the moon’s faint glow casting his face in deep, menacing shadow.  “The Geffies will not grant you a swift death.  I’ve heard the whispers, the plans they have for you.  You’d be tortured, defiled, paraded about for all to see.  An example made of you, a promise of what is to come for us all should they achieve their loftiest goals.”

A trickle of fear began to seep into her veins, her blood running cold at the imagery put forth—though she continued to hold his gaze, her chin held high.

“Were you to bleed out in the street with a poisoned blade buried in your chest,” he rumbled, “it would be a mercy compared to what awaits you at their hands.”

“You ask me to die a slow death either way,” she said firmly, undaunted.  “That one is seemingly bloodless does not make it any less agonizing.”

“You are a liability as you are, Addilyn,” he spat, pounding his fist atop the stone wall with a dull thud.  At that, she flinched.  “To both Ssaelism and to Alderode.  The Lions have been keenly aware of this from the start.  Your only true protection laid in the word of a fucking Copper, and he has remained silent despite the encroaching scourge.  The Lions had not dared anger him, fearing bloody retribution, but without his looming shadow there is nothing to keep them from ousting you.”

A beat passed, one in which Addiyn felt an acute sadness settle upon her shoulders.  After all this time, after everything they'd endured, she never thought he would be the one to come to her with this.

“You can’t ask this of me,” she whispered, her hands clenching into tight fists at her sides.  It was the only way she could hide how they trembled.  “You can’t ask me to throw my entire life away.  To kill the woman that I am in the name of survival.  I can't live that lie.”

“Think beyond yourself, Addie,” he pleaded, a sudden softness overtaking him.  “Civil war looms, and we cannot afford even the smallest crack in our armor when they come for us.  We need you, I need you—but not as you are now.”

Addilyn recoiled as if slapped.  Lemuel’s brow furrowed in—apology? Sympathy?  She couldn’t tell.  She didn’t much care either.

“Sacrifices must be made if we are to survive,” he continued.  “Ssael asks much of us at His altar in this crusade.”

“And I am to be the sacrificial lamb.”  A small, derisive laugh burst forth unbidden, and Addilyn shifted to hunch forward over the stone wall, her palms flat against the rough surface.  The stone was cool to the touch, a balm against her feverish skin.  Out of the corner of her eye, she would swear she saw Lemuel flinch.  “How poetic.”

“Addilyn—”

“If Ssael cannot accept me as I am,” she cut him off, a steely resolve taking root within her, “if His followers cannot see the injustice in this, then what use would there be in such a compromise?  If the Gefendur truly want me dead, a pitiful oath will not stop them.  And I'll have flayed myself alive for nothing.”

“Don’t be foolish, Addilyn,” Lemuel warned.

“I won’t take the Third Option, Lem.” There was a note of finality to her voice. She could abide this torment no longer. “I won’t bind my chest and tie another unhappy woman into an unhappy marriage.  I am well aware of the expectations tied to that oath, as well as the scrutiny that comes in the aftermath.  I would drive myself mad with despair, with grief at what I had discarded.”  She glanced sidelong at him, desperate for him to understand.  “Why add to the weight of Alderode’s boot upon my back when the end result will be the same?  It’s heavy enough as it is.”

Silence descended, thicker than even the densest fog. It felt impenetrable, a chasm opening between them. A sharp pang of sorrow twisted at her heart, leaving her vision blurry with unshed tears. She didn’t know what pained her the most: that he had asked this of her, knowing what it entailed, what it meant for her—for them; or that it seemed, even now, she was simply not enough.

Lemuel’s shoulders sagged, an air of resignation about him.  He ran a hand through his golden hair, the strands near silver beneath the night sky.  His face was unreadable, an emotion she could not quite place crossing his features.  It made something within her squirm, an unfamiliar disquiet clenching at her gut.

Lemuel looked toward the training grounds, and there was the slightest crack in that unreadable facade.  “This was where we first met,” he said, a sad smile pulling at his lips, a faraway look in his eyes.

Addilyn’s gaze followed his own, falling upon the practice staves and shields littered about the ground.  A terrible melancholy fell over her.

“To think,” she began, her voice little more than a whisper, “that you’d still be fighting to be rid of me all these years later.”

Lemuel simply hummed, moving to stand behind her.  The air was still and crisp, the bite of a quickly fading winter evident.  There was a familiar comfort in this, in having him at her back.  Solid, warm, safe.

A hand came to rest at her hip.  She could feel each breath, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.  She allowed herself to lean back against him, to indulge in this moment.  To forget the wolves that sat ready to tear her asunder, if only for this instance.

His lips brushed the top of her head, an uncharacteristically tender gesture. The sensation sent a pleasant shiver skittering down her spine.

And then he spoke, the words soft and entreating—and filled with a grief she’d never once heard pass his lips. “Dan paesabi, da lledeol.”

It happened so quickly.  An immense pressure at her neck.  The stone wall digging into her pelvis.  Lemuel’s weight at her back, pushing her forward.  Trapping her.  Restraining her.

Addilyn clawed at the arm around her neck, only to be met with the thick leather of his riding gloves, her nails cracking and splintering against the well-tended armor.  She could find no purchase on the ground, no leverage to break his hold.  Her legs were pinned against the waist-high wall, held in place by Lemuel’s considerable strength.

And it was only then, as her vision began to fade, the dark abyss of unconsciousness rushing forward to claim her, that she realized Lemuel Adelier had betrayed her.

[writtengalaxies]

Alone with His Thoughts

Characters: The Actor

Word Count: 920

Spicy Rating: Brief implied mentions of alcohol and self-harm

His hands curled around the edge of the table, the wood creaking under the force of it.

Maybe drinking alone this late at night wasn't the best idea he's ever had. But the Actor sold his name years ago, when the whispers slunk into his mind, telling him the truest ways to get revenge on the people who abandoned him, had turned their metaphorical knives into real ones, sinking them deep into his chest and heart.

And what price is a simple name to the cost of payback?

The photos were ones that, for most of his life, he cherished. The man he considered his best friend and brother in all ways but blood, inseparable even as they grew up in that very mansion, the house he still couldn't bear to be away from for very long. That made his betrayal all the more painful. He wasn't sure if he wanted to shred these photos by hand, burn them, or lock them away so he would never have to look at them again.

"You made your choice."

William had. He had left with the draft, eager to do something to protect them. Had said as much. So what if he had known about how much William loved Celine. So what if he knew that he was breaking his own promise to Will that they would try to win her heart equally, and let her choose on an even playing field? It wasn't even certain he'd come back alive...and so what if he had made sure William couldn't find out about the marriage by sending him on safari after safari, funding him to keep him away. So what if he was the one to shove his brother away in the first place.

The next set of photos...their wedding day.

"This wasn't fair...how could you do this?"

Despite his anger at her leaving, a part of his heart was still forever soft for her. Celine never opened up to new people easily, but the four of them had been inseparable since childhood. William had loved her because of her fierce protective nature. But he? Oh, the fiery personality and sharp tongue were up there. But so was the very gentle way she always cared for all of them. Not like a mother would, oh no. He would never delegate that onto her, but the way she after she would verbally tear apart anyone who came after her twin, she would take the time to mend whatever wounds had been placed into his heart. She made sure to handle the darker side of life with fire and wit, to keep Damien happy.

The pressures of being the children of politicians made the twins ill-equipped to handle the barbs of others their age, and they were also complimented as mature for their age. He hated that, he always hated how these adults had placed those burdens upon shoulders too small to handle them.

So he had done his best to make her smile. It meant making a fool of himself, but her wide smile and loud laugh was always worth whatever fleeting embarrassment he had.

He just...hadn't been enough to convince her. Maybe he should have listened when she told him that the house made her uneasy, that she didn't like who he became when he spent too long in its halls. 

"...Do you hate me now?"

The annual photos, the last photo taken of any of them together, sat alone. Just himself, and Damien.

Out of all of them...maybe Damien had deserved this the least. He hadn't known anything of the drama, of the betrayals and backstabbing. He had been distant, working on doing something with his life in a way the rest of them didn't. William only knew how to brandish a gun. Celine's visions and haunted stares unsettled too many. He only knew how to put on a performance.

Damien was fighting an entire political structure alone. He was trying to make the city they lived in as good and great in reality as it had been in his mind.

And look where it got him. Forever not picking sides, only taking what he was handed, doing whatever anyone asked of him. If he hadn't been coddled, if he had stood up for himself for once in his life, maybe he wouldn't have had to become a villain in this story! Maybe Damien should have done something more than accept things. But even then, the one time everything was laid out perfectly, where he'd have to point a finger, just go along with the obvious answer, he didn't! And when it was finally laid out for him exactly what his beloved twin had lead him to, he refused to accept how she had betrayed him too!

The Actor snarled, anger rising in him like it always did when he thought about how the world refused to see how he had been wronged. And why couldn't they? Why couldn't they see that he was the victim from the start?!

So what if he was the one to push them all away in the first place? So what if he refused to reach out before each of those attempts that didn't keep him down. So what if he was the one to blame for everything--

The rage was snuffed with a chill of ice.

He slammed his hands on the table, turning on his heel.

The Actor didn't need to think on trivial matters like the past.

He had a show to write.

[alexsiple]

I just read through In Terms of Rain and I found it exceedingly beautiful in illustration AND writing (tf how do you do that). It really captured what I like in a lot of Death Note fan creations, which is some abstractness and ideas left up for interpretation. That being said, I would really love some insight and analysis on your end of certain choices you made while creating it. Just any meanings from certain pages or your general thoughts would be incredible for my plebeian mind <3

ohhhh anon thank you so much. this is so kind of you- thank you for reading it and enjoying it. and thank you for giving me the opportunity to talk at length about this thing i've made HAHAHAHA i'm rubbing my hands together like a little creature (i'm putting this under a cut)

listen i think about death note too much. like, too much for what it is. it's one of my favorite things ever but i'm hyper-aware of its flaws. that said, i think a lot about L and light and how the creators managed to make this really crazy story about being known and what we hide from others. it's so romantically tragic to me. it's so romantically violent to me. i wrote about this more on my substack but i'll keep going with some more specific death-note-lore sort of analysis (i guess i'm a person who links their substack unprompted. great).

L is like, one of my favorite characters of all time? i read a lot of death note fanfiction (i know ok) and my favorite hobby is analyzing people's interpretations of him. literally a year or so ago i was reading so much fanfic and it was kind of rotting my brain and i had this sudden wave of inspiration/wrote the whole script of this comic in one sitting. i kept starting this comic since then and the visual style never felt right until i managed to land on this one.

L makes me very sad. i both relate to him and watch him from afar as an omniscient observer. i wanted to capture all these feelings he gives me at once; it's a really L-centric comic. the tragedy of living a life in so much isolation. the tragedy of living life not exactly for beliefs or morals or justice, really, but because it's your job, and all you have, and you're good at it, so you do it. whatever. shrug, shrug. you do it. if you die, you die. apparently i also for some reason fixated on the thing about L being adopted by wammy and being raised to be this child prodigy. a gifted kid narrative, etc. that makes me sad. i think L and light have this parallel going on where they both feel misunderstood by most people because of their own making, maybe, but also because of how they were raised and because of their ""intellect"" and their superiority complexes. light's complex coming more from privilege, of course, and being more analyzed in the source material. both of them jaded by and cynical of the world and its extreme violence.

i wanted to hone in on that loneliness. L and light are very lonely characters. they are very internal and thoughtful and weird and express this in opposite ways (but they're the same! of course!) hm. i like thinking that L was raised in a church. dropped off in that movie-orphan way as a baby during a snowstorm or something. how did wammy find him at eight years old and adopt him like that. what does a child have to see and do to become a "detective prodigy" at age eight. canonically, the whole wammy's house thing is fucked up. canonically, L is the first and best. what does a child have to see and do to become the First and Best. does intelligence make a child more mature, more able to "handle" anything thrown in their line of view? some people seem to think so. i think it's creating a sort of ghost that haunts you when you're old enough to look back and see it behind you.

also i wanted to explore religious [catholic] imagery. albeit in a more earnest way than the source material but yeah- i imagine L grew up around catholicism. wammy's house with its big cross on it! i think sometimes when you've been lonely for a long time, or your whole life, and you have never felt truly seen, there's this euphoria that arrives with the person who finally Sees you. you know? sometimes that feels like religion. sometimes being known feels holy. sometimes it feels like being loved. shrug, shrug. sometimes it feels like dying.

i've always really loved that L likes that light could be kira. is. i think it's so insane and endearing and personal to me. light hates that L knows him, has never been known before, translates this feeling into violence. L is like, i get this guy completely, he's a mirror, but somehow he's like no one else i've met before and it's still exciting! i'm laughing at him (i'm crying.) i like that light hides all strong emotions deep within and that L occasionally releases strong emotions with, like, a detached acceptance. he's not exactly afraid to be vulnerable but more picks and chooses what to let people see. plays off of something real, sometimes. is willing to play a character for fun. light just doesn't show anything real at all. is very uncomfortable with any vulnerability. is also very afraid of death. in some ways i feel that L seems to halfway accept his death. he's like, yeah, i'm dying now. this is where my life has led me. i lost but it's out of my control anyway. with in terms of rain i wanted it to feel like this foggy reflection on a life from a ghost, i guess? hence all the references to specific years or cases/the opening part. lol. won't explain the one hundred years of solitude reference but i feel as if the stars aligned with that one.

hopefully this is interesting to SOMEONE? LMAO?

and as for certain pages, the only ones i think i want to point out are these two, which are references to B and A respectively because i actually love the los angeles bb murder case novel with like. a fervor. even though i don't think it's actually good but i also think they really nail something with it. i just think about beyond birthday a lot. ugh. DEATH NOTE. I USED TO LAUGH AT BEYOND BIRTHDAY AND NOW IT'S SERIOUS TO ME

thx bye.

[marquis-of-writeblr]

20 Questions Writer Questionnaire

Tagged by @saturnine-saturneight

Is writing a hobby or way of life?

Still just a hobby, but I want to make it much more a part of my life. Getting off to a rough start, but this blog is part of that plan.

A journal full of writing notes or a clean, completed manuscript?

Hmm… I'd say 50/50 probably? During the planning stages, to figure out aspects of the world or my characters, I'll use notebooks as something like scratch paper to sketch things out (sometimes literally) before writing them up in digital documents. But all those notes are largely just for the sorts of things that could cause continuity errors. A character's appearance, the geography and climate of a location, etc. When I sit down to write, it's usually by opening a blank document and just writing by the seat of my pants.

Who (or what) is your writing inspiration?

Oh that's a tough one. There's a couple of authors who I look up to in aspiration, usually for stylistic reasons; Pratchett, Tamsyn Muir, Diana Wynne Jones…

But honestly? I think most of my inspiration comes from the people I think fell short. Like… "Okay, you had a couple good ideas here and there, but the overall story is just… so disappointing. Let me see what I can do with these pieces."

Oh! One work that does fall on both sides of this fence is Final Fantasy IX. Its world manages to feel so incredibly real to me, and I love how it manages to maintain an incredibly personal and intimate tone for all of its characters, even as the plot builds to saving all of reality from the manifestation of entropy (not kidding, the "Not Alone" sequence that kicks off the third act still makes me tear up). But it still has shortcomings inherent to being a turn-of-the-century JRPG, and not all of its characters get all the narrative attention they deserve. But writing a story that I can conceive as an improved version of FF9 (whatever medium it winds up being) is probably my number one writing goal.

Which is worse: someone you "idolize" reading your first draft or listening to you sing?

Probably singing? I'm not horribly self-conscious about it - I did have some lessons once (a long time ago) - but I pretty much always want people to read my writing, if only to give me feedback on what they did like, and what I might do better.

Has writing from someone else's POV ever changed your own perspective?

…Not unexpectedly. I'll actually sometimes do a little bit of writing as an exercise specifically to explore certain points of view. So like… usually, if my mind changes due to writing from a particular character's POV, I started writing with the intent to see if my mind might change. Granted, that's pretty oversimplifying of the process, and mind-changing tends to be pretty gradual and slow, anyway, but…

Tumblr, AO3, LiveJournal, or FFN?

AO3 and Tumblr. I've been active on Tumblr for years, though I've only recently started writing on it. Meanwhile, I've been reading fic on AO3 for ages, and …very occasionally post stuff to it. …I really ought to post a new chapter to my Freyatrix fic, thinking about it…

AO3 wordcount, and are you satisfied with it?

3,744 and I'm not horribly stressed about it, but as I mentioned in the previous answer, I should see about maybe hitting 5k soon.

What movie/book/fic gripped you irrevocably?

Counting games under this.

Final Fantasy IX, as previously mentioned

Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones

The Last Unicorn

The Locked Tomb

The Fallen Gods series by S.D. Simper

Backwards to Oregon by Jae

Heaven Will Be Mine

The Clinch by Nicole Disney (specifically for teaching me to appreciate present tense narration, which I had previously been firmly opposed to)

Carmilla and all its adaptations and spin-offs

The Harrietta Lee series by Stephanie Ahn

A Memory Called Empire

the mountain of unfulfilled potential in Warcraft has haunted me since I started writing

and a whole host of honourable mentions that I'd be listing all night, if I started

There will also absolutely be two or three things I think of tomorrow that I'll be slapping myself for having forgotten, but... alas.

What’s the highest compliment you’ve ever been given, and have you been given it?

I can't think of any single compliment I've been given, but the number of times people have complimented the flow of my writing has stuck with me.

What defines your writing style?

I think it's that flow, again, mostly. Whether it's action or description, I have a feeling I have a fairly signature way of handling it. I think I also have a knack for maintaining characterization.

Gonna pull the "I'm still new here so don't yet know a lot of people, so all of my followers may consider themselves tagged, if they wish." thing again.

[fishwishkiss]

Nawapol Thamrongrattanarit "Die Tomorrow" review

Death..

I've always known death. 

It all started with my brother. I lost him at a very young age, when I was 2, and ever since my life has revolved around death. I was obviously too young at the time to even fathom what death meant, but I felt. I felt what my parents felt, I felt an absence, I felt a silence, I felt an empty room.  My parents have always been very open about that. I've read the letters my mom wrote to him after he died, I've touched the plush that my father had bought for him, as he did for my sisters and I. I've even saw pictures of his dead body, free of any life, a bluish skin. Then, around 6, I finally understood what it meant, and the crushing weight of death and its hold on my family, a trauma that will haunt us forever, especially my father, who has never really grieved. 

As if it weren't enough, I thought about ending my life multiple times. As soon as I grieved my brother, I had to face the possibility of my own death.  And as if it weren't enough, I have this very strong fear of losing the ones I love. Nightmares, insomnia, are manifestations of this fear. Thankfully, I haven't been exposed to the loss of a friend yet, and I truly hope it will remain that way for as long as possible.  My relationship with my family (blood) being quite.. complicated, I had to turn to a whole new family (heart). The future unconditionally involves this family of friends, and always will. My child will have dozens of uncles and aunts, as I have dozens of brothers and sisters.  Maybe it's why I'm so obsessed with films about grief, death, and family. These films help me to understand what I couldn't in the 21 years of life I spent with my family. 

Today, not even 12 hours before watching this film, I learned that a girl who was in my class from 6th to 10th, grade, Marine, died in a violent car crash a year ago. We used to hang out together from time to time, until some high school drama showed up and our group split up in two halves. Though we hadn't had any contact in 8 years, and our last interactions were based on pure contempt, I was strongly shocked by this new. I've heard of many kids dying around my hometown, especially on the very road where it happened, but this was the first time I heard about someone I used to know. She was only 22. May you rest in peace. 

We all face death at some point, but I can't help feeling like death is a complete part of my life, of me, and that it will always be an obsession in my conversations and in my works. 

One thing I love about Nawapol Thamrongrattanarit is how he integrates documentary into fiction. My favorite director, Hirokazu Kore-Eda, uses that a lot, mostly in his early works. You may think using documentary tropes and techniques could make the fiction a lot heavier, but this is where the talent of these two directors lies: they are able to turn the heaviness of life, death, illness, broken families, into very soft, very gentle, almost warm and welcoming instants, outside our universe's timeline, like bubbles, like photographs.  Thamrongrattanarit used this very idea in the movie I discovered him with, 36, consisting of 36 still frames in which the characters evolve, sometimes even leaving the said frames. 

As an aspiring filmmaker (among many other Xmakers), I can only admire how you can capture so beautifully the complexity of the mere creatures we are, all ridiculously trying our best not to be forgotten. 

Death, in its own way, is what makes us human.

[haruhey]

Mind If I Join You?

check out my masterlist!

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Word count: 13k (i am SO SORRY i got carried away and this fic turned out SO FILTHY but i hit 300 followers so consider this a gift??)

Established Relationship Fluff | Smut

There’s only one bed shower, and Daryl Dixon is an opportunist.

the request:

every single fic of yours is seriously amazing. ur a great writer!! can i request a daryl shower smut bc wooweeeee

There’s always a giddiness inside Daryl when he returns from runs. No more sleeping in the RV for nights on end, no more eating cold canned chicken soup and - as much as he liked Aaron - no more hearing him talk about how much he missed Eric and making him miss you, too. He’s exhausted, his muscles sore from overuse, but the fact that you’re probably curled up in bed makes him so damn excited that all the ailments of his aging body are swiftly forgotten with each step he takes.

Houses fly by in a blur as he ramps up into a jog, his feet taking him to the dim light of a moving lantern in your shared bedroom window. By Daryl’s estimate, it couldn’t have been more than 10 or 11pm, but time meant little in the apocalypse - it was either dark out, or light and with the days getting shorter, he noticed you using the lantern more and more frequently. Just a few days ago, you had fallen asleep curled up on his chest, the soft orange light filling the room before he strained his body trying to turn it off without waking you. The next morning he had a terrible cramp running from his rib up to his bicep, but he never complained. Not even a wince in your presence since he thought the soreness was worth it. He would rather die several times over than lose the image he saw - of your pillowy lips taking soft, steady breaths of air while you slept against his bare skin.

Smiling, he lets himself remember the way you looked when he first gifted it to you, a grin that spread to the apples of your cheeks and crinkled at your eyes plastered on your face. It wasn’t a perfect replica, but it looked close enough to the one you would both light on nightwatches in the prison - which he thinks was when he first realized he loved you. Daryl also remembers the first night he saw you use it, the memory so vivid in his mind that he felt like if he reached out, the soft fabric of your pajamas would welcome his touch.

He could picture it now, your back against the headboard, reading one of the books that littered the shelves he never touches. Your face bathed in the lantern’s hue while your eyes scanned the pages and drinking in every word of whatever you were holding. He plucked that book right out of your hands that night and pulled you onto his lap, kissing the pout off your face until you weren’t annoyed at him anymore, rendered down to just laughing against his lips.

Fuck, he couldn’t wait to get home and see you again.

Daryl curses under his breath as he fumbles a little with the doorknob, but the profanities are quickly replaced with a huff of accomplishment as he practically sprints to the bedroom, boots shucked off haphazardly at the front door. He skips every other stair with long strides, desperate to feel you in his arms. When he enters the bedroom, he places his crossbow on the dresser and is surprised to see the room as dark as it is, the only source of illumination being the moon as it streams through the windows. The bed is empty and the blankets are strewn to your side, but neither you nor your pajamas are anywhere in sight. Panic flies through him before he registers the unmistakable sounds of the shower running, and he scoffs at himself when he sees the dim orange light peeking from beneath the bathroom door.

Had you known how worried he was for a second, you would have laughed at him. He was already so protective of you before the two of you got together, but it was another level entirely when you both made it official. It wasn’t just losing you to the dead anymore - it was also losing you to other people. Daryl knew you could take care of yourself, he had seen you hold your own on runs in the prison and trips outside the Alexandrian gates, but, God, if anything happened to you he wouldn’t know what to do. Being apart from you once when the Governor attacked was already almost too much for him to handle, but the thought of losing you and having to be okay with the fact you were never going to love him again? That was something he never wanted to experience.

Leaning against the wall, he pulls off his belt and places it next to his crossbow, his vest following not long after. The mattress squeaks slightly when he makes his way over to it and lies down, his body feeling almost instant comfort at the feeling of something other than the hard leather of his bike’s seat. Days like this made him think that maybe you were right in jokingly telling him that his motorcycle was a dumb choice for long runs - his tailbone was probably shaped like a rectangle from how long he’d been sitting on his ass.

A few moments pass as he allows himself to indulge in some rest, eyes closing and already in the first stages of a slumber before he shoots up, pushing himself to the edge of the mattress and sitting straight. Fuck, he needed to shower. He had given you his word that he would. Each time before he fell asleep after a run, he’d said; and Daryl Dixon was not one to break promises. Especially not to you.

Getting off the bed, he sheds his shirt and throws the old fabric onto the dresser, grimacing at the knowledge he would have to scrub at the dried walker blood come morning. His socks are next, pulled off by impatient hands and left on the floor, not even given a second glance as he then pulls open a drawer and grabs a pair of boxers from his meager pile. The only thought in his mind being the feeling of smooth sheets and your body against his skin. He’d pick up his clothes after his shower - if he could even muster up enough energy to.

Step by step, he makes it a good few feet out of the bedroom before he realizes the other second floor bathroom doesn’t work. If his memory served him correct, there were some plumbing issues and, before anyone could buy replacements, the world became, well, what it is now. After all, it was the only reason you and Daryl even took this house - nobody else wanted to have only one shower and, after becoming a couple, sharing one between two people didn’t seem all that bad. At least, that’s what he thought until now. Groaning, he rubs his eyes in an attempt to rub out the fatigue in them before his whole body lights up with an idea. Maybe he could have some fun with this. And if you asked, he could always blame the missing pipe or whatever it was that the Alexandrians couldn’t fix.

Practically thrilled, he mentally pats himself on the back and rushes back to the bedroom. Tired? Not anymore. Daryl can’t be if he wants to fulfill what just popped into his mind. Years of hunting leave his footsteps nearly silent when he enters the bathroom, but he’s not exactly at a disadvantage in terms of noise. The rhythmic beating of water against the tiled floor drowns out the slight squeak of the door as well as the hitching of his breath when he notices the gap. With how the room was designed, just standing at the door led his gaze in a nearly direct line of sight to you, the shower curtain lying an inch or two from the wall and offering him a vision which he doesn’t hesitate to indulge in.

It’s not like he's never seen your body - far from it, actually - but there was something about you that made him hesitate when it came to stuff like this. You deserved sweet and soft, affectionate with declarations of love between his kisses, and while he enjoyed giving that to you, sometimes he wanted something different. Sometimes Daryl wanted to act on impulse - to feel a different type of desperation - and tonight, he wanted to act out one of his long-hidden fantasies. One that involved you on many, many occasions.

Truthfully, he couldn’t fucking stop thinking about it since Merle and his buddies showed him that damn VHS as a hormonal high schooler. He never really had a committed girlfriend or anything like that to ever even pluck up the courage to ask, but that fantasy remained like a phantom in the back of his mind, lying just outside his finger’s reach. One that haunts him late at night and renders him withering in his own palm. At least, that was the case. Because he has you now and how he managed that? He didn't know. But he felt confident enough around you and trusted you enough to pursue the desire in him.

A shiver courses through him, running along the tip of his spine when he considers the possibility you might like it as much as him - and if you did, maybe he would divulge to you more of these secrets he’s always kept hidden so well.

With silent movements, Daryl unbuttons and unzips his jeans as he leans against the door of the bathroom, just barely suppressing a groan when his fingers graze the zipper. He curses himself, chastising his sensitivity at the mere image of you doing something as mundane as taking a shower, but he knew it was an inevitable consequence. Ever since the prison, anything you did got him riled up - even just seeing you sitting on his motorcycle made his skin light up with goosebumps. Left in only his boxers, he steps out of the denim pooling at his feet and picks it up, throwing it haphazardly onto the cream coloured counter as he waits for you to take notice of his presence. The metal button clashes against the smooth marble of the vanity, and its noises sound across the room, your eyes opening and your fingers catching the edge of the plastic curtain as you dart your head out, searching for the source.

Your body tenses up, no doubt the experience of living out on the road for so long, but the fighting instinct drains from you the moment you see the affectionate boyish grin playing on Daryl’s lips. It’s barely visible as he stands so far from the meager light source, but it sends an eager smile onto your face. Like all those times he’s returned to you, you want to run to him, feel his arms wrap around you and inhale his scent as you plant those incessant kisses he ‘hated’ everywhere on his face, but that urge only serves to remind you that you’re standing naked in a shower and he’s just staring at you.

“Daryl! What the- I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow.”

Embarrassed, you speak, voice pitched higher than normal from the shock and excitement coursing through your body. However, he stays put, leaning against the door as he drags his eyes up the expanses of skin afforded to him; that is, until you pull the plastic curtain to cover yourself and run your free hand through your hair, tilting your head ever so slightly in order to urge his eyes to meet yours. You wait for his response as you brush the wet strands back from your face, but it never comes, him instead choosing to stride towards you and send you a pout before pulling petulantly at the shower curtain, trying to coax you to let go of it. Raising an inquisitive eyebrow, your grip loosens and he can barely hold back his excitement when you really do let go, tongue peeking out for just a second before he hooks his lip between his teeth.

Throughout your relationship with Daryl, you learned he loved looking at you, gawking at and admiring each angle, birthmark and curve until you felt heat flush through your body. Even before the two of you got together, his gaze stuck on you, longing and soft when you weren’t looking, only hardening if your eyes ever met his. Each time he saw you it was like he was still in disbelief that you were his, forever suspended in the wide look he had when you first confessed to him, hence why you didn’t pay much attention to his stare as you moved to pump out some shampoo. You didn’t really know why he was in the bathroom and he made no effort to tell you, but you were here to clean yourself. So that’s what you’ll do. He’ll probably leave sooner or later after making sure you weren’t hurt anywhere, anyways.

The way the light from the lantern bounced off your glistening skin made you look like some sort of goddess. Like an otherworldly being he shouldn’t be looking at. Or like a succubus, sinfully tantalizing, except you didn’t know what you were doing to him as you raked your hands through your hair again, bubbles forming already between your fingers as you scrubbed. Shit, this was way better than he expected, and he’s gladly taking in everything it was offering. Shifting his weight, he clenches and unclenches his fists - commanding himself to keep them at his sides - but then you turn around, allowing the water to rush down your back and his resolve withers away as he tries not to envy the path along which it’s falling.

Soon, the little space between the shower curtain and the ceramic tiling isn’t enough for him. He needs to feel you against him, his trembling hands and suffocating boxers egging him on like this was the first time he’s ever seen you naked. Clearing his throat, he urges himself to move, building his confidence which had seemed to dissipate nearly immediately as you locked eyes with him. What he wanted to do wasn’t sweet or affectionate, and even though he knew you would tell him if you didn’t like it, he just didn’t really want to risk even doing something you didn’t like in the first place.

“Sorry I, uh, I’ll go rinse out my hair somewhere else. Here, I’ll get out so you can-”

This was it. He had to act now or he’ll lose the opportunity. Running his thumb across his bottom lip, he watches as your hand reaches for the shower valve, but your movements and voice stop when Daryl shoots his dominant hand out, the calloused skin wrapping around your wrist in a warmth that makes you snap your gaze to his. While firm, he never applies enough force to hurt you - he knows what kind of men there were in this world, and he didn’t know what he would do if you ever thought of him like that. On the contrary, the feeling of his fingers around you is welcome, especially after what felt like years away from him. Giving him that same inquisitive look, except this time laced with a small smile, you can tell by the way he’s gnawing at his lip that he has something to say. Something that has him hesitating in a way you’ve never really seen him hesitate before, well, besides the first time you both kissed.

“Actually, mind if I join ya? ‘Cause ya see, the other shower don’t work and there’s this girl - my girl - she’s amazin’, but she doesn’t let me into our bed ‘til I shower and I’m damn tired.”

Oh.

Noticing the way you tense up slightly at his suggestion, he offers more, another reason to sway you into accepting as if the pursuit of his little fantasy would both begin and end with what drops from his lips. This definitely felt more daunting, like a much larger leap than him asking for permission to kiss you.

“I also heard showerin’ in pairs saves water.”

Oh.

Yeah, you get why he was hesitating now.

Honestly, Daryl really couldn’t give a fuck about the water he was talking about. What he had in his running mind had little to do with his environmental footprint and more to do with feeling your skin on his and the image of you coming undone for him. He hasn’t been home - been with you - in what felt like weeks, and he thought the generator could stand to work a little harder after running for one person for a few days. With a slight upwards twitch of his eyebrow, you can feel what little apprehension you had leave your body and his heart pounds in his ribcage with the anxiety of what’s to come. At least, he thinks that’s why its beating at 100 miles per hour.

It surely can’t be the residual hormonal anticipation or excitement from his youth.

“And who exactly did you hear that from?”

The slight joking edge to your voice causes him to smile, but it’s a mischievous one, one that holds promises and sends a shiver through your body. Daryl really had no clue what he did to you when he looked at you like that, his piercing blue gaze hitting you as his head tilts down almost sheepishly to the grip he has on you.

His eyes flick up to meet yours, a glint residing in them that draws you to look at nothing but him as he runs his thumb along the bone of your wrist. With a tilt of his head, he speaks, muttered as he gnaws once more at his lips and lets go of his hold.

“It matter?”

So nobody, probably.

The amusing thought sends you shaking your head ‘no’ as you smile, pulling open the plastic curtain in invitation while trying to suppress the idea that just popped into your head. Daryl just wants to shower and the only reason he wants to shower with you is to fulfill that promise he had made. Because he just wants to go to sleep. That’s all. Nothing more, nothing less. Hooking his fingers into the waistband of his boxers, he’s hopeful that you would be watching him - and he’s fully prepared to make a show of stripping his last piece of fabric - but he’s sorely disappointed when he sees your eyes closed in an attempt to keep the bubbling shampoo from burning at them.

Why weren’t you looking at him? Was he not overt enough?

Wow, he really wasn’t very good with… whatever it is he’s trying to do, huh?

You shuffle forward from the steady stream and he takes that as his cue to step in, gladly placing his body just a few inches from yours and sighing in relief when the water hits his sore muscles. The sounds don’t go unnoticed by you, and your heart sinks a little with each suppressed groan of pain Daryl lets out. He always worked so hard for Alexandria, and they still treated him like somewhat of an outsider, questioning his true intentions with harsh looks when he even so much as walked too close to them. But they didn’t seem to mind him much when they were eating the animals he hunted, though, and that sent your blood boiling.

Turning around, you try not to let your gaze drop too low as you place your hands on his shoulders, frowning when you feel the stiff knots that have burrowed their way underneath his skin. Almost immediately, Daryl submits to your touch, an all too familiar warmth bubbling in his heart as he, too, turns and exposes his scar ridden skin to you, allowing your thumbs to rub circles into his upper back. He always loved this - the domesticity of these moments, the wordless communications, your love and affection directed solely at him - and he’s starting to forget the real reason he crashed your shower in the first place, lulled into relaxation under your nimble fingers and the water beating down on his overworked muscles.

“Does that feel better?”

Your question warrants a response landing somewhere between a grunt and a groan, but then you laugh and he swears his heart swells tenfold. He missed hearing that. Even if you got embarrassed of it sometimes, or hid it muffled behind the palms of your hands, he loved hearing it. Because you glowed when you did, your eyes crinkling up at the corners with a smile that almost always brought him to his knees, and perhaps almost selfishly, the knowledge that he doesn’t want to be away from you any longer dawns on him - as well as the knowledge that it’s inevitable that he has to leave again soon. Whether it be with Aaron or Rick, or some of the poor bastards that piss their pants whenever they see him.

When you stop your ministrations, he feels himself frowning as you tap him once with your thumbs, but he elates almost immediately when you speak promise of a better massage come morning. He’s slightly ashamed of the way his whole body lights up in goosebumps in anticipation, but it’s not unwarranted. Spending late mornings with you was something Daryl never knew how the hell he had lived so long without, and they were his favourite types of mornings by a long shot. Especially when it ended up more often than not with you on him or him on you, the both of you thankful for the misfit house you had all to yourselves and away from prying eyes and eavesdropping ears.

“You’re too damn good to me.”

But he deserves it, you think to yourself, He deserved to be cared for like this.

His praise drips with a softness he didn’t even know he was capable of until you came along and Daryl turns back around to face you, smirking lopsided when he sees a shy smile worm its way onto your face. He had to have known what he was doing when he said stuff like that - especially when he used a voice like that. Seriously, how long had the two of you been together? It felt like an eternity already, but he could still make you flustered from a simple compliment. Shaking your head, you rest your wrists at the nape of his neck and use the leverage to pull his lips to yours, thumb swiping at the blood dried at his cheek and hoping the distraction of your tongue on his will keep him from teasing the warmth crawling up your neck.

A ‘hm?’ noise falls from him, small and surprised as his eyebrows raise for just a moment before his hands loop around your waist by instinct. When you pull away, another noise falls from Daryl, but this time it’s more disappointed than anything, and he chases your lips with his bottom one jutted out, taking full advantage of the strong arms he has wrapped around you. Holding you in place, his eyes plead with the now perfected ‘one more’ look you’re all too familiar with and you can’t bring yourself to deny him - he knows you can’t. Closing his eyes and puckering his lips as he waits patiently, he hums when you finally kiss him again, his satisfaction vibrating down to the hollow center of your collarbones before begrudgingly letting you go when you pull away again.

The water runs a brownish red from the dried walker blood being washed off his body and he scrubs furiously at his arms, trying to gauge the right move that will get your thighs shaking and your moans bouncing off the ceramic tiles he’s seen less than he’s willing to admit. Should he just… go for it? Just pull you against him and push you up against the walls he wants your noises to echo off of? No, he should come up with a better idea. You deserved a better idea.

Running his thumb along his jaw, Daryl sneaks furtive glances at your body - who the hell he was hiding them from, he didn’t know - and picks even more skin off his chapped lips as he watches you twist at your waist ever so slightly to comb through your hair. Swallowing down his spit like some teenager, he watches your shoulder blades protrude and disappear, intently following the droplets of water as they fall along your neck and down the muscles you’ve developed. He had to hand it to the sorry rich prick who had designed this house because, all things considered, they did a pretty good job; there was just enough spread of it between the two of you to pass as a decent shower. Even if you or him had to oddly angle yourselves to warm a cool patch of skin.

Reaching towards the shampoo bottle, his arm brushes against your waist almost feather-light, but it sends a shiver through you, rattling your ribs and making your cheeks flush all the same. Daryl lingers for a moment longer than you expect, his body leaning as he stretches over and you think he’s going to step forward - wrap you up in him - but dutifully, respectfully, anxiously he stays put. You want his touch, especially after nights alone with only the scent of him on his side of the bed to keep you company, and, having caught a quick glance at his straining boxers before he joined, there’s little room for doubt in your mind that he wants you. But still, it exists.

Your own arms begin to sore when he finally pulls away, his hands now raking through the hair he seemingly never wants to cut. Clearing your throat, you turn around, eyes screwed shut as you face Daryl, fearing for both the shampoo you’re washing out stinging at your eyes and the fact that if you looked at him, your gaze would probably drop. God, was all it took just a few days without him to have you craving him like this? The close proximity coupled with the knowledge he’s standing next to you naked makes you tense up before a shiver runs up your spine, your thoughts causing your breath to hitch for barely a second. Despite your efforts to suppress it, your subconscious prays that he picks up on the little noise. Please let him pick up on it.

And he does, ever observant as he connects the dots, the initially surprised look on his face melting into a small anticipatory smirk before he all but races to lather his hair in the coconut - or was it grapefruit? - scent. This was good. This was damn good.

He dares take a step forward, tentative, testing out the waters as if he was unsure of your desire, but he knows he can read you, and that he can do it well. This was when he should do something, right? The subtle confirmations - a tense, a shiver, a hitching breath - beg him to. Under the streaming shower, Daryl impatiently scrubs at his scalp, teeth hooked permanently atop his lip as he watches the rivulets of watered-down shampoo catch along your skin, his fingers and mouth itching to replicate its path down your neck to your chest. He knows that path well, and perhaps that’s what makes him even more envious.

Thank God for the fact you’ve closed your eyes because if anybody saw Daryl right now, they would take a step back, maybe even several thinking he was angry. How could they not when he was glaring at you as if you had done something horrible? It’s a surprise to him, the fact that it seemed like you really could not feel the burn of his stare, but then a thought pops into his lust-fogged brain. Maybe you did know. And maybe you were toying with him, playing coy and pushing him to a teetering edge, letting him taste the tension on his tongue until he could hold back no more.

To say he’s impatient is an understatement. He isn’t simply impatient, no, he’s impatient. He wants to do something. He wants you to do something, to initiate the flurry of hands and lips he’s craving so desperately and, seemingly blind to that triad of signals, he scrubs frantic at his hair in an attempt to control himself. As he rinses out the shampoo, he manages to cling onto what little restraint he had over his body until you turn back around. It was like the universe was egging him on, trying to break his resolve by showing him those dimples on your lower back, reminding him of the way he gripped them when he took you that night before he left - and it works. Jesus fucking Christ does it work.

Daryl’s body crowds you then, muscular arms wrapped around either side of your waist and rough hands palming at your chest before sliding down to your stomach, pulling you flush into him while he grinds his hips experimentally against your body. The feeling catches you off-guard, eyes widening in surprise as you let out a gasp into the steam of hot water and you grip harshly at his forearm, attempting to steady yourself from the sensations blossoming from your thighs. He can feel them tense and begin to snap closed against him, but you hear the corners of his mouth twitch upwards with satisfaction.

“What- what are you doing?”

Restless, his fingers travel downwards, hooking a strong thigh between your two legs as he ignores your question, them parting immediately to accommodate him. Daryl’s veins thrum with adrenaline, feeling the all too familiar effects of your warm skin when he realizes you’re letting him do this - enjoying him, even - your hands pawing at his to beg him to speed up, to bring you that nirvana he loves to be the reason for. Heat flushes your body, knowing full well what he’s capable of, but despite it, your skin erupts into goosebumps under his touch, desperate for more.

“What’s it look like ‘m doin’?”

Your neck comes under his affection next, his lips meeting it as he mumbles the words against your pulse point, tongue darting out when he feels it speed up. Almost methodically, Daryl finds the marks he’d left days prior, darkening them with unadulterated determination and rolling his hips against you once more. The heavy motion draws a whine from you, short and needy as your nails dig into his wrist and he all but basks in it. God, this felt good. How the hell had he spent so long without you? Without your skin under his? Everything about you feels like a fucking drug to him.

“D-Daryl- what would your girl say.”

He smiles against your neck, a warm pride bubbling in his chest when he hears the slight shake in your voice. It always got like this when he was touching you, and he liked to think it was the anticipation raking through your body. All the possibilities he could bring to you. He loved listening to your voice as it was, but hearing it quaver as it bounced off the ceramic walls, mingled perfectly with the rhythmic thrum of water crashing against the two of you? It was almost alarming how quickly it made his head spin.

Submitting to your urging, he lets you slide his hands down to the apex of your thighs, groaning guttural into your ear when he feels your hips lift and rut into his touch, unintentionally grinding your ass onto his cock when you push yourself back onto him. Hooking his chin over your shoulder, you hear his breaths as he digs his palm an inch below your pelvis, thick fingers gripping harsh at your inner thighs as he nudges his further between them. It feels like fucking magic, whatever he’s doing, and a plea tingles at your lips before you bite it down. Daryl’s never been this bold, and this is new territory for the two of you. Very new. So you were going to let him take his time - let him explore every inch of your skin as if he didn’t already have it memorized - despite the fact every cell in your body screams for you to sink down on him right here and now.

His grip disappears too quickly for your taste, but before you can even register the decadent sear that marks his blunt fingernails and calluses, his palm makes home just below your stomach and he swipes two fingers against you, spreading you for him but avoiding that bundle of nerves you want so desperately for him to touch. An expletive drops from Daryl’s lips as he gathers evidence of your arousal, and the sound of him makes you claw at his wrist, your hands still blanketing his as you try to angle him to do something other than coat his fingers and smear you across your inner thighs. Amused, his middle finger curls, breaching you just until his first joint before pulling away, relishing in the way you clench as if trying to keep him in you.

“Hm, I dunno. What do ya think she’d say? I think she likes it.”

You can hear the self-satisfied smirk on his face as he feels your body react and you can practically see it behind your closed eyelids. Daryl knows all your buttons, every single movement that renders you down to a puddle of mush, but he’s avoiding them. His jaw clenches and unclenches as you buck your hips up to try and meet the talented fingers only getting further and further and further from you. Skin warm from the streaming water and the sheer amount of lust coursing through him, his left arm snakes upward, resting just under your breasts before pulling your shoulders flush against him. His teeth sneak out from behind his lips, grazing against that spot that made your thighs shake the first time you slept with him, and you become putty in his hands.

A gasp of Daryl’s name falls before a staggered whimper erupts from your throat, his hands moving so fast and sure along your body as if he had molded you to his perfection. Everything hits you at the same time, his sharp canines right below your jaw bone before they melt into the caress of slightly chapped lips, the hand at your chest palming and tweaking and toying like there was no tomorrow, his fingers swirling, nudging at that tiny bundle of nerves you’ve been silently begging him to touch just once, and you can’t stop the noises falling from your lips. No matter how much you try, they escape.

“Or d’ya think she’s too busy moanin’ for me to tell me?”

Oh, that fucking prick.

To make it worse, you can’t even bring yourself to be angry for that long because his voice drops into that low, husky whisper that makes your knees go weak. Had Daryl not essentially smothered you against his body, you just know you would be a puddle, pliable and aching after just a few days away from him. A jolt of pleasure rockets through you the moment you realize what he wants - to make you as desperate as he is for this - and you know he knows exactly how to get it. Biting your lip, you trap your sounds in your throat just to spite him and you dig your fingers into his forearm, seeking in any way to find another outlet for all the compounding stimulation he just keeps giving you.

Your heartbeat drums through your ears and you can barely register the growl against your skin, but the vibration of it is inescapable. He feels the crescent shapes already forming from your nails on his tan skin and he pulls his face from you, breath fanning your ear in preparation to express how disappointed he is at you robbing him of your noises, but you beat him to it, freeing the words that burn at your tongue to knock him off his high-horse. Daryl was never a very confident man, but fuck if it does not make your skin tingle.

“I think she’d tell you to- to shut up.”

The rebuke is futile, a stutter brought on by the push and pull of his deft fingers and he laughs. Daryl chuckles into your skin before everything from him detaches, only for him to grab at your waist and spin you around to face him, adjusting his hold to crowd you once more. Your back hits the ceramic tiles, a sharp whine escaping you at the contrasting cold, and you can see that smirk you had envisioned on his face when you open your eyes, taking in every inch of the swept back hair now falling into his face as he tilts his forehead slowly to yours. Running your non-dominant hand up from his arm to his face, you push the strands back, smiling slightly at the way he melts as his eyelids flutter shut for just a second. As much as he said he hated how damn soft you made him, he sought after your touch, your hands much too intoxicating for him to deny them.

You glow a ring of delicate orange from the lantern shining behind him, the light bouncing off your glistening skin and those sparkling damn eyes that shine with unguarded affection despite your ‘annoyance’ from just moments ago. Creating shadows over your body with his broad figure as he blankets you, Daryl nearly groans with delight at the image - the realization that you look impossibly better with the warm hue making his head spin. And when he remembers that you’re his to love? He tries to hide just how much it makes his mind run, but his voice comes spilling out without much thought, everything about you shrinking the filter between his brain and mouth that he so tenaciously keeps on during the day.

“That so? ‘Cause if I do then I can’t tell ‘er how much I missed her. Or what I was thinkin’ when I thought about ‘er at night.”

Daryl was already so worked up at the thought of doing this to you, you didn’t even need to actually do anything to him to have him throbbing against your stomach, begging to be touched after days of only imagined scenarios to keep him company. So you indulge him, tracing your dominant hand down the V-line of his pelvis and biting your tongue when his hips snap into your grasp, his grip at your waist tightening as he tries to still himself. He wants you to touch him, to let you give him what you want to give him and he tries his damndest to control himself, instead using his words to try and rile you up.

“Nothin’ I do feels as good as her. Nothin’ I’ve tried’s ever been close.”

Your whole body shivers at the insinuation, the ceramic sandwiching you to Daryl ceasing to feel as cold as it did when he first pushed you against it. He feels like centuries have passed when your hand finally wraps around him, running your fingers in a stroke that has him groaning and nearly keeling over you with how much that simple damn action makes heat pool in the pit of his stomach. Everything about this feels heightened, the steam of the shower failing in comparison to the heat pinging between the two of you. His eyes seek yours, cock twitching and catapulting him much farther to his climax than he would like to admit when he sees you watching your grasp, lips parted ever so slightly, pleading with him to lay his on them.

Heart thrumming in his chest, another groan of an expletive followed by your name drops from Daryl before his hips jerk forward, stuttering into your grip with no real rhythm as he pushes a rough kiss onto your mouth. When you let out a little surprised squeal, he pulls himself back immediately, as if shocked by his own lack of self-control, but your hand never stops, and your face leans closer towards his, the feeling of his ruined sounds vibrating along your tongue making you chase him. This must have been how he felt when he had you whimpering for him on those late nights and early mornings. No wonder you both loved them so much.

Twisting your other hand from the side of his neck to his nape, you pull him to you with equal fervor, the stroking of his cock forgotten in favour of his chapped lips turning into something more sinful with each movement of his talented mouth. His fingers begin to wander now, eagerly grasping at the two dimples at your lower back before his palms find all too familiar territory kneading and massaging your ass. Knees nearly buckling, you remember the leaking heaviness twitching in your grip and you nudge him between your thighs, your legs spreading just a bit wider as you inch him closer and closer and closer to where you need it most.

“N-no, wait- I gotta-“

His hands shoot downwards to still yours and he pulls his hips from you, his statement stuttered through a sharp, shaky breath. Whining, you nearly beg for him before you realize he succeeded in what he set out to do - and he was only gone four days, your subconscious chastises. Your head is swimming in desperation for him as you shake it, hair whipping into your face and onto the wall while you vehemently disagree with both his words and your own internal mocking. All coherent thoughts leave your mind, washed away in the stream of water running down your body and you come to the conclusion that you don’t fucking care if he would poke fun at you come morning, you need to feel him.

“Daryl you don’t need to- you can just- I can-“

You don’t need to keep-

You can just-

I can-

God, you sounded pathetic, your voice barely breaking above breathy through the heavy beating of water, and he loves it, it’s enticing him; he could die right now and he would feel nothing but satisfaction. Daryl was never a very confident man - well, with people at least - but around you, he felt wanted. Not just in moments like this when you craved him so debaucherously, but in moments when you would pull close to him while you were sleeping or hug him from the back. Just giving him your affection so freely and not expecting any back. It made his heart damn near break everytime he had to leave. Adjusting his grip on you, he digs his knee into the wall, perching you on either side of him and leaning closer and closer to your burning skin.

“Gotta get ya ready. Jus’- jus’ be a good girl an’ be patient. Don’t want ya limpin’ tomorrow ”

Despite his words, Daryl can’t help but think that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. It wouldn’t be so bad to linger beside you the whole day, a constant reminder of the real reason you needed him to get you things, or why you would grip his arm as a piss poor substitute for a crutch when the two of you walked along the street. Nobody else would know - at least, neither of you would ever tell - but the satisfied puff of his chest and the fact he stands just a little bit prouder might make them connect the dots. That, and the lovebites that creep out from underneath the neckline of your shirt which, coincidentally, only seemed to darken after he came back. Nah, he thinks to himself, it wouldn’t be so damn bad.

“I thought you were tired.”

There’s a hint of concern in your voice, peeking out from between the teasing and he grunts, acknowledging your words before his hands wrap around your wrists and urges them to loop around his neck. He knows he needs to do this, the action a silent beg for you to just relax and let him treat you right in the way you know he always will. With his neck flush in the crooks of your elbows, you tug him, pulling his face to yours and raking your fingers through his wet hair.

“Never too tired for you.”

His stubble scrapes against your nose as he mumbles his confession between kisses down from your forehead, a delicious burn leaving a trail that makes your heart beat impossibly faster between your ribs. Grip falling to your waist, Daryl’s rough fingers inch towards the apex of your thighs, but he moves them so fucking slow you're tempted to just reach down and push them into you like you intended to do with his cock. Before you can entertain the idea any longer, he catches your lips in a clash of tongue and teeth and knowingly smirks against your lips. He’s dedicated, attentive, and what kind of man would have the heart to deny you? He would do anything for you, all you had to do was ask.

Daryl eagerly swallows the moan you let out against his lips when his middle finger curls into you, the vibrations spreading along his tongue and consuming him from the inside out. Your thighs spread wider for him, welcoming him - no, begging him - for more and it riles him up almost comically well. Whether it was intentional or not, he would never know. He pulls his face away just inches, breath heavy against your parted lips before he sends you a small smile, an underlying mischief peeking out from the tiniest sliver of teeth he exposes. Leaning more of his weight onto his knee, his left hand travels around your waist to your ass, digging his dull fingernails into the flesh and pulling towards him, bringing your hips off the cold ceramic and snaking that arm into the curve he’s just created.

Before you can even brace yourself, he pushes a second finger in, curling languid with accelerating speed, revelling in the heat you bring him with an audible groan that reverberates off the shower walls. Already so desperate, the feeling nearly makes your legs shake under your own weight, but Daryl’s prepared - he could keep you up with the hand he has splayed across your upper back and he’s secretly proud of it. His mouth returns to you again, tongue surging to meet yours as if just the taste of your kiss would satisfy his desire to taste what’s beginning to coat down his palm.

It doesn’t, but it’s a damn good substitute.

Nails scratching pathetically at his scalp, your lungs beg for oxygen, but you ignore your body’s pleading for as long as you can. You need Daryl. Just him. Just him. His fingers are ardent, all of them pushing and pulling and toying and touching you in a way that skyrockets you into an overwhelming nirvana and it feels good. It feels so good to be with him again, surrounded by his scent and his heat, that you start to entertain the thought of begging for him. You try to do just that, but every sound coming from your lips is only absorbed greedily by his before you pull him away by his hair, taking large gulps of oxygen as he does the same.

Not even a second passes before you’re grinding down into his palm with pleas falling into the steam of the shower, all your words going straight down to his cock. Gritting his teeth, he growls at your desperation, lips shooting down along your collarbone before catching the skin between teeth. He has your whole body memorized, proof of that fact littered across your body in the form of lovebites, memories seared into your mind of his everything and it’s almost too much to handle. Almost. But you need more. And Daryl knows, much too perceptive in all senses of the word.

His left arm snakes up to your neck, the nape of it secured in a grip firm enough to pull your hips down onto his muscular thigh, spreading you and rubbing that sensitive bundle of nerves with his rough skin. Something between a swear and Daryl’s name chokes through your throat and he curls his two fingers just enough for you to repeat the sound, the movement perhaps pulling your hips forwards toward him. With the way you grind down so readily on him, it wasn’t easy to tell whether the roll of your lower body was from his fingers or the lust running through your veins. A satisfied smirk worms its way onto his face that you want to kiss off, but your head is stuck against the ceramic tiling by his hand tugging securely on your hair. Not enough to hurt you. Never enough to hurt you.

He can feel it now, the fact that you’re close, and it only makes him work harder. Maybe it was selfish of him, expediting your pleasure so he can finally seek out his, but he’s damn near shaking with the thought of finally being able to be with you in one of the ways he always wants to be. Sometimes Daryl felt like a teenager with all this certain enthusiasm he can’t seem to control with you around, but you had never complained - you made him feel alive in all the best ways - and he thanked whoever was pulling the strings in his favour for bringing him to you. Circling his thigh, he pushes everything he can up into you, the pressure making you feel like you’re floating. Fingers carding through his hair, your whole body tightens around him in a silent plea, and he's pretty sure he would have to be just about the biggest idiot in existence to ever deny you.

“Give it to me. C’mon, give it to me. Ya wanted my cock didn’t ya? Jus’ give it to me an’ I’ll make ya feel even better.”

Give it to me.

Give it to me.

Give it to me.

Daryl’s voice makes your mind swim, the growl rough and dangerous like everyone always tends to think he is, and incoherence drops from your lips, echoing against the confines of the walls as his breath fans your ear. Rutting your hips up to his hand, the knot in your abdomen snaps, the proclamation of it escaping you in a broken moan of his name. He can feel your body’s reactions before you start to get those familiar sparking waves of pleasure, the clench of you around him growing sporadic as he continues to unravel you with his teeth gritted, the unrelenting precision of his fingers sending you clawing and tugging at his scalp with no regard of your strength for just a moment.

His groan at the sensations edges out the haze of your climax and you immediately detach from him, pulling your body back from his so abruptly that he slips from you. Scrunching his nose in disappointment, his large hands cling at the back of your thighs, bringing your chest and forehead to his as if he couldn’t stand being apart from you for even just a few seconds.

“Sorry- sorry if that hurt I didn’t mean to-”

Face inches from yours, he shakes his head and cuts you off with a series of hungry pecks. One to your sinfully soft lips, then to the corner of your mouth, then one to your jawbone, devouring your apology right then and there as he overtakes your senses.

“‘S alright. It felt good.”

Then he kisses you again, urgent all the same, but he only pushes a firm brush of his mouth against yours. The movement is like a signature, as if it were his name scribbled easily along at the bottom of a letter - a soft possession that you wear along the tingles of your lips. It makes you claw at him again, tugging on the sides of his hips to pull him flush against you, fingernails digging crescent shapes he wants to see come morning, and your apprehension all but dissolves into the hot water of the shower. You were his, he was yours and in his mind, there was nothing he wanted more than for you to show him just what he does to you.

“Anythin’ ya do feels good.”

It’s stupid, how you could be in the middle of something so intimate and a simple compliment from him could leave you flushed from the neck upwards, but he loves it. He loves the little whimper you let out at his words and he smiles that lopsided boyish grin that makes your heart skip a beat. When he smiles at you like that, it makes you feel like the only person in the entire world. No walkers, no Alexandrians, no runs or patients at the infirmary to steal you or him away from the other. There was no one except you and Daryl - and it’s been too damn long since it was like this.

Body flush against yours, he snakes a hand down between his legs and the other grips at your thigh, hooking it around his torso and begging with a roll of his hips for you to rest your leg there. Each breath he takes sends a jolt of pleasure blossoming against your ribs, his skin rubbing against your chest so deliciously it makes your mouth fall open in silent pants of air. You don’t know when you closed your eyes, but they open when Daryl says your name, broken by a curse that falls somewhere after the first letter. He looks good like this - eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenched.

Gritting his teeth, his mouth can barely form a coherent sentence with how much excitement is coursing through him, and he’s trying his fucking best to hold back from slamming into you until you give him a nod or a pull or anything, but then something in him breaks. The feeling of just having you so damn close worms its way into his brain and he takes himself in his fist, dragging along to gather the remnants of your climax and notches himself, all the while groaning from the heat emanating off you.

“‘S this okay? Need t’know if this’s okay.”

Slurred speech. It was so uncharacteristic of the Daryl everyone else knew - the Daryl who was so sure of himself, the Daryl who wore a permanent scowl on his face, the Daryl who was so mysterious, never speaking anything above a growl - and you think you could have laughed had it not been for the fact the words themselves dig up memories of all the times he had said them to you before. Every cell in your body lights up, high alert now that he’s in you, but he’s not moving. He’s not inching into you or filling you in the only way he can and you push your hips towards him, greedy movements making you swallow more of him. Taking a sharp breath, he lets you rut against him, but still, he doesn’t fucking move.

“God, Daryl- yes. Yes, it’s okay. More- more than okay.”

Sometimes you hated him, and then hated how stupid you felt for hating him.

He waits for your words. He always does. Without fail he checks on you before he slides into you. He never wants to take because he always wants to be good for you, but sometimes you wish he would. Sometimes you wish he would just take from you - take everything you have. There is nothing in this world that is not shared between the two of you. Daryl’s wholly yours as you are wholly his.

Curses drop from his lips, your name thrown in once or twice as if he’s reminding himself you’re real as he feels you around him. They fly out of his mouth like the bolts from his crossbow and ricochet off every wall as he begins to move, slow at first, experimental maybe with his hand secure against your thigh, then he starts building and building into a heavy, sinful rhythm. Shakily, Daryl groans, the breath he lets out tendrilling at your chin before he sucks frantically at your bottom lip, your noises meeting his as they hit the ceramic wall.

He wants to live in this moment forever; immortalize the way you look and sound on one of those VHSes, write the damn date on it, and hide it away for his and your eyes only so it’s rewatchable and revisitable and reliveable. It's not enough to just sear you into his memory like he’s done so many times before because you’re damn near perfect. Like you were made for him - for him to give you everything he wants to give to you.

“Fuck- fuck- you feel better’n I remembered. How’s‘at possible?”

The words escape him, rushing out as if you’ve put a spell on him, and they almost escape you, too, your pulse beating in your ears. But he’s so close to you, growling out through gritted teeth into your ear and pushing his lips to the curve of your jawbone like they need to be on your skin. He pulls his body away, chest leaving yours, and you pull at his waist to bring him back, whining lewd for him and only him, shameless and betraying the blush you feel as you register his stutters, but he doesn’t. Instead, Daryl smiles, that same damn grin with his teeth hooked along his bottom lip and eyes hooded as he watches every change in expression. You groan, half in the way he rolls his pelvis just enough to rub against that small bundle of nerves that beg for him, and half in annoyance at the way that lascivious expression seems to make every electron in you buzz.

“Shut- shut up.”

He lets out a sharp breath, a singular amused ‘ha’ following it, cock hardening and twitching even more at the fact he’s making you blush like that first night he had lavished every inch of your body with his lips - like you didn’t deserve every single damn word escaping from him. Leaning his weight against his left forearm that lies on the side of your head, Daryl brings his face to yours, nipping at your lips and seeking your tongue before he starts speaking.

“You should see yourself like this, y’know. Fuckin’ perfect for me.”

For a man who only ever growls and mutters, he certainly liked to talk a lot when he was pounding into you the way only he knows how and you’re just so damn unbelievable for him. For him. You’re his to love and it sparks something within in him that makes his tongue fucking run and his hips speed up involuntarily. Hell, you probably heard more of his voice in this shower tryst than the whole first nightwatch you had with him. You’re not even sure the water is beating down onto you anymore because the heat of your body makes the shower pale in comparison.

The sweat accumulating on his back and chest and everywhere is washed away almost immediately as it forms and you’re grasping for something to hold onto. Clawing, you wrap both your arms under and around his shoulders and scratch desperately at his back, grinding up against him and making jumbled noises of moans and Daryl’s name when he drags against that spot he knows so well. It’s skin on skin, the ceramic wall ceasing to feel cold as you screw your eyes shut and let yourself mount and mount with each roll of his hips. You hear a nearly feral growl, feeling your leg being hiked up higher by the elbow hooked underneath your thigh, and a loud noise breaks from your throat when his thumb swipes where his cock meets you.

“C’mon, we ain’t got all night.”

You’re close and he knows it. It was like he was rubbing it in your face, the fact he could make you like this - how quickly he could reduce you into the incoherent, ruined state you always seemed to become for him. Attentive. He’s always attentive. You can tell by the way he’s memorized everything that makes you shake and capitalizes on them, thrusts coupled with the tight circles pulling you closer and closer to that precipice of pleasure, but he says those words anyways, hoping to get a reaction from you. Daryl’s not an impatient lover - he would spend hours buried in you if you let him - but he’s so damn close and perhaps almost selfishly, he wants to watch you succumb first. He wants to watch the water race down your body as you writhe for him against the wall, and he wants that to send him over the edge.

“Then- then do better, Daryl.”

You bite back, your breath grazing against his neck and a wet heat rushes through him, making him groan nearly wrecked as his hair tickles your cheek. Reaching behind his muscular body to his shoulder blades, one of his large hands is more than enough to wrap around both of your wrists and he takes them in his grasp, moving them until they’re secure against the ceramic wall behind you. You’re warm for him. Pliable for him despite the veil of distaste in your voice and he can’t get enough of it.

Daryl’s so fucking happy you bite back.

His hips stop and you let out an almost childish cry, but he stays buried deep, filling you up to the brim as the water beats down on the both of you and holding you against the tiles by the weight he’s pressing from where you meld to him. His face is so close to your ear now. So much so that you can feel the breath when he speaks, a dangerous growl resounding through your body before his teeth graze along your neck.

“Hm? I ain’t never heard a complaint from you be- before. That a- fuck- are ya challengin’ me?”

An expletive drops from Daryl’s lips when you clench around him, no doubt from the sudden crash of your mounting pleasure, and he pushes impossibly further into you, firmly pinning you down until he knows you won’t be able to move anymore. He wants to show you he can stop at any moment, that he can make you work for it, but you both know he’ll give in. Maybe you didn’t know the extent of which you have him wrapped around your finger, but if you even knew half of it, you would know he would never stop. Not when he was so desperate for you he can barely think of anything except the way you look and feel. At least, not unless you wanted him to.

“Are you g-gonna take it up?”

Although your mouth ceases there, your brain runs, pleas tickling at the tip of your tongue, but you can barely manage to form the meager few syllables that have already escaped you. Eyebrows knotted at your forehead, you try desperately to coax more movement from him - a whine, a whimper, a thrash of your pinned hands flattened by his strong grip - but Daryl’s so damn still and it’s driving you crazy. When your body settles for only ragged breathing and shaking thighs, he takes it as his cue to lean down, lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s so affectionate you forget that, just moments ago, he was relentlessly pounding into you.

“Don’t know. Seems like you might be wantin’ it more’n me.”

Smiling against your mouth, he pulls away just enough to speak. A challenge in his words so obvious to you that you try in vain to buck your hips to his. If he didn’t sound so good and look so good and feel so damn good, you would have denied it, but you’re strung so taut, so close to the peak, that you can barely form a retort. A stupid, handsome smirk rests on his lips as he waits. Patient. Like it wasn’t affecting him, being buried in you. He’s just waiting for your words - goading you as he watches from underneath his lashes.

“Daryl, I swear to God if you stop right-“

The insincere threat is enough to spur him into action. Partly due to the fact you sound so desperate and ruined for him, and partly because he just needs to feel you again - he would lay you down and take you the way you deserved on the bed come morning, but right now was a different matter entirely. Swearing, his smirk drops in favour of a scowl, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he snaps up into you in quick succession. The hand at your thigh is roaming now, massaging and palming wherever his nimble fingers can worm their way onto before it splays across your ass, using the grip to pull your body impossibly closer to his. Daryl would have made you beg for him - he wanted to - but he can’t stop himself. Not when you look so pretty up against the wall and you’re taking his cock so well.

“Been gone four days an’ you’re already so damn needy.”

Whether that statement was directed at you or himself, you would never know.

An abashed whimper escapes through you and you want to deny it, perhaps just to see what would happen, but you can’t. You can’t because Daryl’s right. He knows he is, and you know he is. You thrash your arms so you can touch him, feel his skin underneath your fingers, but his grip around your wrists keeps you firm against the ceramic tiling - just enough to keep you pinned so he can admire the way you squirm for him. Grunts and groans of your name escape from him with each thrust, the feeling of your body melded to his much too intoxicating for him to keep his mouth shut.

“What, you embarrassed now? Wanna cover your mouth? Keep them noises from me when you’re soundin’ so damn pretty? Ya better not be thinkin’ about it. ‘Cause ya damn well ain’t gotta.”

Daryl tilts his head, eyes squinting in faux-concern and mocking you as his hips relentlessly hit up into yours, pushing out the breath from your lungs which escape in tantalizing gasps with each roll. You’re so close, and the only thing you can do is moan at the sound of his rough voice, the coil tightening in your abdomen because of his determined thrusts. You just need a little more - just a little more - and he reads you like a book.

Without warning, the hand pinning your wrists frees itself, his finger pinpointing back between your thighs with an unadulterated eagerness to pull your climax from you and you damn near cry out Daryl’s name as you claw at his back. It’s like second nature to him, the way he can touch you and make you crumble for him. Practice does make perfect, and he’s always been a persistent man.

“Ya sure as hell weren’t when you were bein’ a brat.”

Everything he’s doing to you is almost effortless. It makes your legs shake and without warning, your thighs tense up, a white hot surge of pleasure erupting from the base of your stomach and you gasp a broken moan of Daryl’s name as you clutch at his neck in an effort to keep yourself from collapsing onto him. He holds you close, chest pushed up to yours and breathing ruined into your ear as he works you through your climax with dextrous fingers, chasing his own as his rhythm begins to falter. Sporadic thrusts meet each flutter of your clenching warmth. until he can’t hold out anymore.

Screwing his eyes shut, a stuttered chanting of profanities mixed in perfectly with pleads of your name fan out from his mouth and he pulls out, rubbing himself harsh against your thigh before your fingers wrap around his cock. Fuck, Daryl nearly crumbles right then and there, a ragged groan rushing from him before his hips jerk upwards to your touch - nothing could even compare to it and he thinks nothing could ever come close. Nothing except you. Pulsing in your grasp, both of his rough hands dig into either of your thighs and he stills, teeth gritted as the evidence of his pleasure hits your stomach before being washed away in the steady stream of water.

Satisfied, you smile and lean towards him, your head coming off the ceramic wall, and he parts his lips immediately for your tongue, but you pull away after giving him a quick peck. Scrunching his nose, Daryl pats lightly at your thigh for your attention and seeks your lips once more, moving his with the same amount of overwhelming love and affection he always does. It makes you feel warm inside, like you were the only one in the world for him. And you were. At least, in his mind you were.

He releases the grip he has on your thigh and slowly lowers it, his hand still ghosting close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his body. Both legs still shaking slightly, your foot hits the floor of the shower and you lean your weight on it, tentative and experimentally at first before you overestimate its security and half-fall-half-stumble into him. Daryl notices, of course he does, and he swallows down the pride welling in his chest as his sure grasp steadies you against his body.  

“Hey, hey, I got ya. Jus’- jus’- I got ya.”

By instinct, he speaks, the rumble of his chest against yours making your heart well up with the familiar fondness you always experience when it comes to him. Daryl wasn’t a man of many words even though you had managed to break him out of his shell a little - at least with you - but there was no doubt in your mind that he genuinely and wholeheartedly cared about you. In his eyes, you had strung the stars into the sky and he always treated you with a softness he never thought himself capable of.

With one hand on his waist and one on his shoulder, you use Daryl as a crutch, continuing to lean your weight on your legs until they cease to shake. When you can stand on your own, albeit with wobbly legs, you link your fingers in both of his and meet his protective gaze - alert as if prepared to catch you again if your body gave any type of signal. He smiles when he sees the expression on your face and brings your knuckles to his lips, pressing a firm kiss onto the back of each of your hands before letting go and reaching for the bar of soap you two had ignored in exchange for something more riveting.

“Here, let me- I’ll help ya wash up.”

It meets your shoulder and it’s cold as he trails it down, lathering your right arm before moving across your chest and to your left. Smiling at his concern, you hum, nodding your head and content at the feeling of his tenderness as he continues to dutifully run the suds down along your body. Daryl unabashedly goes about copping a feel or two when his hand just so happens to fall onto your chest or your ass, a boyish grin meeting your quirked eyebrow when you question his intentions with a look. If you actually, truly cared to ask him, he would say he was helping you wash your body and making sure he was doing it to the best of his ability - quality assurance or some shit like that.

He helps you lather, too, calloused fingers rubbing off dead skin much better than yours could as he focuses the showerhead on him. You laugh when he pulls you into him, water streaming down your body along with his hands as the bubbles wash off your body and you run the bar of soap along the broad expanse of his shoulders, doing your fair share of subtle… touching too. Daryl all but melts into your caring hands, revelling in the way your attention is solely focused on him before he grunts, as if signalling you to look at him. When you do, his hands loop around your waist, head tilted to one side as he gingerly rubs those little shapes he always love to draw onto your skin.

“Y’alright? Was, uh, was that alright, I mean.”

Allowing you to maneuver him under the shower, he begrudgingly lets go of you to rinse off all the soap and feels genuinely clean for the first time in what felt like days. Smiling, you respond, saluting playfully and laying a small peck onto the corner of his lips before you spin around, pulling the curtain open just enough to reach for the towel lying just a few inches away on the towel rack but still keeping the warmth from the water in.  

“Yes, sir!”

His cock twitches at the name, betraying the slur of fatigue in his voice and he sighs at himself, turning the shower knob off and opening the curtain fully, reaching for his own towel that hangs next to yours. He always did feel like a teenager when it came to you, and usually he didn’t mind it, but he really was tired before this and his back is killing him, so maybe another time.

Drying your body, you turn your head towards him and smile before making quick work of your wet hair and stepping out, pulling your underwear on from where you left it on the bathroom counter. It’s a small smile, one fully innocent and only ever reserved for him, but that look makes your words replay in his mind. A shudder runs through him as he tries to ease a smile onto his face too, admiring the scene of you for a moment. It’s domesticity, showing him a homelife he could actually feel loved and safe in; reminding Daryl something like that actually existed for him.

He imagines meeting you in a different world, wooing you like you deserved through coffee dates and Radiohead concerts, not through killing reanimated corpses or guarding Alexandria’s walls together, and his whole body calms down.

But then you pull on a shirt that’s much too big for you - one of his shirts that you said you liked wearing because it smelled like him - and he swallows his spit as if he hadn’t seen you naked just moments ago, a familiar shudder running through him again. Definitely another time. Near future, preferably.

Hopefully.

“You coming?”

Your voice breaks Daryl out of his daydream and he grunts an answer, smirking at the joke that just popped into his head as he replies with a curt ‘I just did’ and catches the pair of boxers you throw at him in response. Rolling your eyes, you comb your fingers through your hair and try to dry it as much as you can with the towel before reaching for your toothbrush. He follows suit, dressed in only his boxers as he brushes his teeth and shakes his wet hair at you like a dog, causing you to whip water at him off your fingertips after you wash off the excess toothpaste dribbling at the corners of your mouth. Smiling internally, he spits, tasting mint on his tongue that he'd much rather replace with the taste of your lips, even though he knows full well you’re just as minty as he is.

“Thank you.”

Meeting his eye in the mirror, you give him a confused look, eyebrows raised in an expression he thought was much too cute on your face for your own good. Your hands don’t still as you continue to rub out the water in your hair, determined not to go to bed with it too wet and risking it to clump up and dry tangled.

“For lettin’ me, uh, do that.”

His naturally gravelly voice clears up, turning slightly more timid than you were used to and you notice the shift in his behaviour. He avoids your gaze, waiting for your response as he fiddles with the lantern he now has in his grasp, unsure of what you would say and you decide your hair is dry enough. Hanging your towel back onto the rack next to his, you grab his free hand and lead the two of you back towards the bed, smiling affectionately as you turn off the lightsource and place it onto the nightstand. Wide-eyed, Daryl stares at you, as if waiting for you to tell him to leave - that you hated what he had done - but you break him from that train of thought as you slip under the covers and welcome him to join you.

Relief washes over him and he happily climbs in, groaning at the feeling of your body next to his and he succumbs to the comfort of the mattress. Pushing yourself into his side, his arms automatically open for you and he swears he could cry when you brush your thumb against his cheekbone and lean up to him.

“Anything for you.”

He feels the words as you whisper them just inches away from his lips, and he relishes in them when you pull away from the quick peck and dig your face into your pillow, closing your eyes and just looking so at peace. You’re so close to him Daryl’s in awe and he can’t help but stare. Wanting to hold onto the feeling of his skin a little longer, your finger draws a little heart over where his beats in his chest and you speak again, voice so warm and sincere.

“I’m glad you’re home.”

Home. That’s what it is to him now, too.

“Glad ‘m home too.”

With a final kiss laid on your forehead, Daryl echoes your statement and pulls your body closer into his. A small smile tugs at his lips and his arm slings lazily at your waist before he, too, closes his eyes, allowing himself to fall into the lull of sleep.

It was good to be back.

Back to a home he had made with you.

──── ⋙ 

@daryldixonluv @pulplorrd @fuseburner @hells-mistress @maria--grey-blog @marylimlp @pncnsc @tinachristeen @hail-yourselves @whimsicallymad @just-always-tired​ @phoenixblack89​

comment to be on my taglist!

[kazewhara]

IMAGINEEE- IMSGINE LIKE UR KAZUHA'S LITTLE BROTHER/SISTER/SIBLING AND KAZUHA IS LIKE 13 AND WE/YOU ARE LIKE 8 OR SUM AND WE GOT NIGHTMARE AND HE LET US SNUGGLE TO HIM OMG ITS SO CUTEEEEEE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

"another nightmare?"

kazuha isn't sure why you suddenly started having nightmares. the first time you came knocking on his door was about two weeks ago. you were hysterical and inconsolable, blubbering something about the dark and being hurt by something you couldn't see. kazuha, who was too tired to help, panicked and told the nearest attendant to take you to your mother. he thought that that would be the end of it, but you kept coming back, each night with some new thing haunting your dreams.

even at his young age, kazuha is crushed by the idea that you can't sleep. you've been smiling less lately, you're too tired to really keep up with kazuha when he tries to train with you, and the hallways are so much quieter now that attendants aren't chasing after you in a futile attempt to get you to stay still for more than fifteen minutes. you're not you -- you haven't been for two weeks.

so, kazuha stopped calling for someone to take you to your mother about a week ago. it took some getting used to, but he's been staying up later and listening for the pitter-patter of your frantic footsteps. he's more than happy to take care of you since you always come to him first.

you nod your head at his question, your eyes fixed on the ground. your shoulders are shaking and kazuha can see crystal tears dropping from your eyes onto the floor. you've stopped crying out loud for reasons beyond him, and that's probably the thing kazuha hates the most. the only reason why he sounds a little annoyed is because he had no idea you'd been standing outside for so long; you didn't make a sound somehow, and it bothers your brother that you'd been stewing in your pain for so long by yourself.

"sorry, kazu'," you sniff and wipe your sleeve over your eyes. "i didn't wanna wake you up this time."

ah. so you wanted to just climb into bed with him without waking him. what kind of child thinks like this? what could possibly be tormenting you so badly that you're thinking in such a way?

kazuha sighs quietly and lifts you into his arms with a quiet grunt. he chuckles quietly when you cling to him the way you always did. "i don't mind you waking me up." he tells you quietly. "i'm always up when you come in, aren't i?" you don't answer, instead burying your face in his shoulder. you're still shaking. kazuha brings you to his bed, lays you down, and sits beside you, his hand petting your hair. "will you tell me what your nightmare was about this time?"

you pull his blankets up over your shoulders. "nuh-uh." your eyes are still dewy from earlier. "too scary. don't wanna talk about it."

kazuha wipes any stray tears from your face. "are you sure? maybe talking about it will make it go away."

"no!" your face scrunches like you're going to cry again and kazuha hushes you, leaning down to hug you. "i w-wanna sleep," your voice shakes, "can-- can i sleep here again?"

"you're already under the covers." kazuha points out.

"y-you gotta lay down too. that's the rule."

kazuha snorts, but does as you say. "and who came up with that rule?" you waste no time cuddling close to him and he rubs little circles into your back. "i didn't make that rule."

"i did." you mutter into his shirt. "just now." there's a little pause before you ask: "can you hum the song again? please?"

kazuha's been humming a strange tune to you these days; one that neither of you really know the lyrics or origins of. it came to him one night during a thunderstorm to keep you calm and you've been asking for it ever since. it works surprisingly well, kazuha found, since you fell asleep after mere minutes. it was a little weird to him since his voice always sounded funny so late at night, but if it meant you would stop crying...

your brother pulls you a bit closer to him so your head is pressed against his chest -- you've mentioned before that you like it there a lot -- and starts to hum for you. kazuha combs his fingers through your hair and works out any knots he may catch, giggling a little when you grumble at him to stop. "your hair is a mess." he comments.

"you gotta hum!" you whine.

"alright, alright." kazuha snickers. he doesn't pester you anymore. he'd hoped he'd at least get you to laugh along with him, but it seems like he'd have to try again another night. after a few more minutes of humming, he hears a quiet snort; you've fallen asleep. your hold on your brother hasn't loosened much, so he doesn't bother to try and move.

he sighs and keeps rubbing circles on your back. "i hope your nightmares go away." he mutters. "far, far away." he's not sure who he's talking to, but maybe they'll actually go away if he wishes hard enough. he'll find out come morning time; until then, your brother hums his song for you until he's tired himself out as well, his wish for your peaceful sleep being heard by the moon the blankets the two of you.

[maddiwrites]

The Hybrid (I)

Pairing: JJ x Reader

Summary: The Pogues rekindle their friendship with their old childhood best friend and JJ’s first crush, Y/N. Old feelings resurface for JJ and Y/N, possibly leading to a summer neither one of them could ever forget. Due to past trauma, Y/N is reluctant to let anyone into her heart, but JJ never backs down from a challenge, even if he knows it will come back to haunt him in the end.

Note: Thank you for being patient with me as I slowly write this series. I had this idea a long time ago and I’m not finding motivation to write it but the inspiration comes and go. I smile with every comment that is left on my fics and I’m so grateful for this community. Thank you for letting me pursue my creative writing without judgement. Love you guys! (Also, yes. If you didn’t see my last note, I based YN’s family off of the Gilmore Girls characters. That’s who I picture as them.)

Word Count: 8k

 Masterlist   Prologue 

You wake up to someone falling on your bed next to you with a dramatic sigh. Knowing exactly who it is, you choose to ignore her and try getting back to the dreamless sleep you were peacefully having before you woke up.

That is, until she sighs again. 

You flip onto your back and stare up at your ceiling fan that’s quickly spinning above you. “What, Rory?”

“How did it go with Andre and that boy?”

You look at her with one brow raised. “You woke me up to hear about Andre’s love life? That hardly sounds like you. You don’t care about high school drama or hookups.”

“You’re right,” Rory says. “But I thought I would ease you into what I actually need to tell you.”

You turn on right side and look at your sister confused. “What?”

She sighs. “The cafe’s basement flooded last night. Mom needs us there to help her clean up and take inventory on what’s salvageable.”

You turn back on you backside and close your eyes, exhaling a deep sigh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Unfortunately not,” Rory says and pats you twice on your covered thigh as she sits up. “Come on. I made you pre-cafe coffee. It’s sitting in the kitchen.”

You throw your sheets off of you and trudge to the bathroom to brush your teeth and clean your face. It’s about 8 a.m. At least you were able to get about six hours of sleep. 

Last night, it was hard to let your brain rest to fall asleep. You kept tossing and turning, thinking about the blonde Pogue who walked you home. You missed how easy it was to talk to someone who you felt truly knew you. Your banter rolled off your tongue easily and you never had to worry about offending him because you knew him like the back of your hand. You knew what he could take and what he couldn't. 

Talking to him brought back childhood memories you had hidden deep in your mind. How JJ would constantly poke you until you ripped into a smile on days that were grey. How you used to steal John B’s bandanas until he was chasing you around his house to get them back. How you would draw a mustache and a unibrow on Pope’s face when he fell asleep by the water. 

Those days felt like they were decades ago. So far away, you didn’t know if you’d be able to reach for them again. If it was even possible to get back. 

You thought about texting him. Thanks for walking me back. We should all get together soon! You had written out. But then you deleted the whole message, telling yourself it was because you didn’t know if he even had the same number. But deep down, you were just afraid of the rejection. 

Its been about three years since the four of you had been together in one place. You don’t know what they’ve been through or if they’ve changed. They for sure as hell don’t know what you’ve been through. You don’t know if they're dynamic has changed. Clearly you and JJ can still joke with each other but what about John B and Pope? You heard about John B’s father disappearing at sea, most people believing he’s dead, but John B holding onto hope that’s he’s alive. You always thought about calling him to reach out and offer your condolences. But for the same reason you didn’t text JJ, you never called. It didn’t feel like your place. They had Kie for that now. A little part of you felt jealous of her, like she had replaced you and any memory of you. She seemed nice, but she wasn’t you.

“Ready?” Rory pops her head in to your room as you slip on a cropped plain white zip up jacket over your cropped black tank. 

“As I’ll ever be,” You say and snag the car keys out of her hands. “Don’t even think about it. I’m driving.”

Rory rolls her eyes. “I want to get there safely.”

“And I want to get there quickly.”

“Fine. But we’re taking my car. It actually has doors.”

For your sixteenth birthday, your grandparents gifted both you and Rory your own individual cars and even let you pick them out. Rory chose a black 2020 Honda Civic for it’s safety features and reputation for longevity as if she was planning on handing it down to her future kids. And you picked out a white 2020 Jeep Wrangler with a hard top that pops off along with the doors for a very open and thrilling ride. Everyone but you called it a death trap, but you found it to be the perfect summer car. 

You park Rory’s boring Honda Civic in the back of the cafe in a lot used specifically for employees. The cafe is already booming with teens and families, waiting for their morning coffees and fresh pastries. Kids your age are running around behind the counter with sweat dripping down their brow bone to get everyone’s orders out in a timely manner. 

In the back of the store, your mom walks up the steps from the basement with two large trash bags and immediately notices the two of you. “Oh good. You’re here. Rory, help the girls behind the counter. The dishwasher’s broken and poor Hailey is hand washing everything. Y/N, come with me downstairs.”

“Why does Rory get the fun job?” You grumble and follow your mom back downstairs after she tosses the two trash bags. 

“Because she’s actually nice to the customers.”

“Treat others how you would like to be treated. Isn’t that what everyone always says?” You smirk. You never agreed with the phrase ‘the customer is always right.’ It’s complete bullshit and being the employee shouldn’t mean letting yourself getting verbally abused by a ‘Karen’ on the other side of the counter. 

The basement is used for the cafe’s storage, lined with wooden shelves Steve put together that hold to go cups, back up espresso machines, boxes of coffee and food and ingredients, etc. Now all the boxes are dark and sopping, creating puddles on the concrete floor. 

“Oh my god. Mom. How did this happen?”

“Jenky water pipe busted in the middle of the night,” Steve walks down the stairs and passes your mom a knowing look. It didn’t surprise you that he was here. He’s the jack of all trades. Owns his own automotive shop, builds a lot of his own furniture, actually cooks a decent meal, and has the same outlook on customer service as you do. He was probably your mom’s first call. “Talked to the plumber. They can’t get here until at least noon.”

“Noon? We’ll be underwater by noon. I might as well turn all my employees into a swim team,” Your mom says.

Steve shakes his head. “I was able to hold the leak until he gets here. You should be fine.”

Steve was the first person that actually helped your mother out when's she moved to the Cut. Six months pregnant, she pushed her car into his automotive shop after it broke down on the side of the road. Their banter was similar to the one you and JJ have. He helped save your mom money by building yours and Rory’s cribs, changing table, and dressers. And ever since, the two of them had been connected by the hip, although they both refuse to admit it. You think the pair are just trying to deny the love they clearly share for each other. And you think the main reason for that is because of the incident four years ago with your mom’s ex boyfriend. No thanks to you.

 “Look at you constantly building your resume,” You smirk at him. 

Steve scoffs. “It’s more than what you’re doing.”

You roll your eyes. Steve is the closest thing you have to a father. He practically helped raise you with your mom. He’s the one you turn to whenever a fight with your mom goes too far, which isn't too often but it happens. He usually lets you stay at his house for the night to let you cool off. But he’ll never sugar coat his advice when it comes time for him to give it. Even if you don’t ask for it. He knows growing up with Rory has been challenging. She was clearly your mom’s favorite, or at least that’s what you thought. She has a 4.0 GPA with a realistic dream to get into Brown University and study journalism. She played by every rule, never got into trouble, and spent most of her free nights getting ahead of her school work or staying late at the cafe with an open book from the library across the street. She was an absolute angel to everyone else, making you look like her evil twin. 

You glare at him before turning to your mom with crossed arms. “What do you want me to do, Mom?”

“Actually honey. Can you go to Heywards and grab more coffee filters and napkins. The water soaked right through the plastic wrapping on our last box.”

You nod, leaving your mom and Steve to clean up the basement themselves. Before heading out, you sneak behind the counter and make yourself a quick coffee to go.

“Where you going?” Rory asks as she reaches behind you to grab a banana for her customer at the register.

“Heywards to grab a couple things for Mom.”

“Oh. Make sure to grab toilet paper while you’re out. I think we’re almost out of it.”

“Got it.” 

Heywards is only a short drive from your mom’s cafe. It’s the closest convenient store that isn’t crazy pricey. It’s where your mom gets all her supplies whenever she runs out of things before shipment gets there. 

You use to always come here when you were younger with the boys, each of you, even Pope, stealing a small bag of chips or a candy bar here and there. Little did any of you know, Mr. Heyward caught your thieving hands every time but never said anything. 

The bell above the door chimes when you walk into the store. You know this place as well as you know the cafe, finding the toilet paper and coffee filter immediately. 

When Mr. Heyward looks up from the counter, his smile grows. He can pick you out of a crowd anywhere, but he hasn’t seen you in a long time. Last time he saw you, you had braces and overgrown bushy brows. Now you had bushed hair and shaved legs. 

“Hi. Mr. Heyward,” You grin shyly at him. You don’t know how he’s going to react to see you, unsure of what Pope might have told him about you. 

“Little Miss Y/L/N? Is that you?” Heyward smiles widely, pulling your own lips into a wider smile. “I haven’t seen you for a long time.”

“Yeah, I’ve been busy with school and my mom’s cafe...” Both of those things were a lie. You just avoid the Cut to avoid the Pogues. 

“How’s the fam?” 

“They’re good,” You say as Heyward hands you your bags. “Mom says hello by the way. I’m actually taking these to her store now.”

“Well, don’t be a stranger. We miss your smiling face around her. Anette, too.” Heyward says, mentioning his wife. 

“Tell her I said hi.”

“Of course, darling.” 

Heyward and Anette always had a special place in their heart for you and Rory. They’re not one for gossip, but they knew a little bit about what your mom’s been through and have heard plenty of stories about your grandparents. They always thought, despite your mom’s background, that you and your sister were raised impressively. Anette always hoped that one day Pope and Rory would get together. Everyone always wanted their child to be with Rory. 

As your about to leave the store, the bell chimes again with another customer. Only it’s not another customer. It’s Pope and John B. They don’t see you at first, and you wonder if maybe you can sneak out without them seeing you. But something about that felt wrong. Especially because Heyward would more than likely mention to them that you were here. 

Pope sees you first and stops in his tracks. “Y/N?” 

“Hey, guys. Long time no see,” You smile at both of them. You bite down on your lip awkwardly when you meet John B’s stare. You don’t know if you should mention anything about his dad’s disappearance. But what would you say? Sorry? What good would that do?

“How’ve you been?” Pope gives you a small side hug, then John B. 

You shrug. “You know, living the dream.”

“How’s life as a Hybrid?” John B smirks. 

You roll your eyes playfully and groan. “Oh god. Never call me that again.”

You may be considered a Hybrid by everyone else, but you would never put yourself into that category. You grew up a Pogue, the same way everyone else did around you. The only thing tying you to the Kooks are your grandparents. 

“Why?” John B smirks. “I wish I was a Hybrid.”

You smirk back. “Maybe you will be one day. I hear you have a Kook of your own for arm candy.”

You saw a faint hint of blush on John B’s cheek at the mention of his girlfriend but you don’t mention it. “Sarah, yeah. She’s not like the other Kooks.”

“I would hope not. Her brother’s a dick.”

“Yeah,” They laugh. 

“We miss you, you know.” John B says. Pope looks at you, trying to read your expression. John B’s not wrong. They do all miss you, especially Pope. He felt like you were the only one who really understood him. Of course his other friends are great, but you actually took the time to try and understand his passions. Like forensic science. 

“I miss you guys too. It’s been a while.”

“Well, hey. We’re actually all getting together tonight at my place. Nothing big. Just a bonfire and a couple beers. You should stop by,” John B says.

“Yeah,” Pope says, immediately getting hopeful that you’ll show up. 

Your smile falters. The invite makes your heart swell and your lungs contract. It’s an invite you’ve been wanting for three years. And now that you have it, you don’t know what to say. It’d be different if it was just the four of you like old times. But now there’s Kie and Sarah and although you have nothing against them, you’re afraid they won’t accept you. The thought of your boys picking them over you terrifies you. 

“Okay. Yeah, sure. I’ll try to swing by later.” 

Pope smiles wide and looks at his friend to see his reaction. John B grins and nods, almost impressed that you had agreed. But he saw the twitch in your lips when the question was asked. 

“Great. I guess we’ll see you later then.” 

You nod. “Okay. Bye guys.”

You suck in a deep breath when the fresh air outside of Heyward’s store brushes over you. Your heart thumps wildly with both excitement and nerves when you’re finally able to collect your thoughts. You don’t know what you’ll do tonight, but the possibilities can change your entire summer.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You spent the rest of the day mopping up the cafe’s basement and rearranging the shelves. You smelled of sweat and coffee grounds by the time you were done and dreamt of the shower you would be taking when you got home. 

Rory drove you home after the two of you closed up the cafe for the day. Neither of you said much. Rory was exhausted from running around behind the counter and you were too busy thinking about whether you’d go back to the place you used to call your second home.

You took a longer shower than usual, still pondering what your night would be like. Your head was telling you to stay home but your heart pulled you in the direction of the Cut. You yearned to hear about what the future held for Pope, and listen to John B retell stories of when you were kids, and be able to stare into JJ’s bright blue eyes without him noticing. 

You changed into a pair of jean shorts and a plain red cropped tank. Rory walks into your room as your brushing out your hair and looks at you as if you lost your mind.

“Are you out of your mind? You can’t wear that,” She says.

You brows scrunch together in confusion. “What are you talking about? I wear shit like this all the time.”

“Not to the Country Club, you don’t.” That’s when it hits you. Today’s been so hectic, you forgot what day it was. “It’s Sunday.”

Sunday dinner at the Country Club is now a weekly commitment forced upon you by your grandparents. Each week, your mom, sister, and you are forced to spend one dinner with your grandma and grandpa. This is basically your mom’s payment back for sending you and Rory to Kook Academy. Only they actually pay for the dinner. It’s usually the longest two hours of your entire week. It’s hard to listen to your grandfather rant about Real Estate and your grandma slyly critique your mother in almost every aspect of her life. 

“Shit. I completely forgot,” You say.

“Well, you better change. We’re leaving in about five minutes,” Rory says then plucks a gold necklace from your dresser. “Oh and can I wear this tonight?”

You sigh. “Sure.”

You change into a baby blue wrap around dress and pin your wet hair into a half up half down due. It’s gonna have to work for the limited time you have to get ready. After applying a thin layer of makeup to look the least bit presentable, you meet your mom and sister by the front door.

“Finally,” Your mom says when she sees you. 

“Sorry. I didn’t realize it was Sunday.”

“It’s okay, honey. I just don’t think I can handle another late remark from Mom today.” She looks you up and down and grins. “You look great.”

Despite the many fiery fights you and your mom can have, she is also your best friend. It’s kind of like a love hate relationship. Steve says it’s because you’re exactly like your mom - almost like a sixteen year old version of her. 

You really hope that isn’t true. You’re not ready to have a kid in two years. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Your grandparents are already sitting at a round table in the corner of the country club by the two tall windows that reach up to the ceiling with a view looking out into the golf course. The best seat in the house for the richest a holes on the island. 

“Lorelai,” Your grandmother grins, but you can instantly tell it’s sarcastic. “Did you have to walk here?”

You speak up before your mom could. “Sorry Grandma. It’s my fault we’re late.”

Your grandparents are hard on your mom but easier on you and Rory, especially Rory.

“Well, you’re here now,” Your grandpa says. He’s usually the mediator between your mom and grandma. Although he’s usually sucks at it. “Sit. Sit.”

Meanwhile, back in the kitchen, JJ shuffles through his many coworkers with his apron in one hand and a piece of fried calamari from Miss Carol’s appetizer in the other. 

“JJ -” She scolds and slaps his hand away from going in for a second piece. 

“Good evening Miss Carol,” JJ smirks and makes his way to the area between the kitchen and dining room where most of the servers and bust boys hang out. Some of the boys slap him on the back or shove him by the shoulder, chuckling to themselves. “What’s going on boys? Busy crowd?”

“What are you doing here? You never work Sundays,” His friend, Mitch, says. 

Luke Maybank was behind on several bills - worse than it’s ever been. They already shut off their electricity and JJ wanted to make sure the water wouldn’t be next. 

But JJ shrugs nonchalantly. “Little extra dough can't hurt.”

“Well, you picked a good day,” Raymond walks up to the blonde, rolling his sleeves. “You got Kook Royalty and their Hybrid offsprings in your section.” 

“What?” JJ looks through the small square Plexiglas on the swinging door. He knows exactly where to look and immediately sees you sitting with King and Queen Kook, looking absolutely miserable, pushing around your food with your fork. 

“Damn, Maybank. Almost broke your neck - you turned so fast.”

“Shut up, Easterling. I was just seeing how crowded we were,” JJ lied. He really just wanted to see if you were here. And now that he sees you are, he’s a little nervous to do his own damn job.

Raymond Easterling chuckles. “Yeah, I know what you were looking at. But don’t get your hopes up. There’s a reason Kooks call that girl the Heart Sucker. Not even the high and powerful JJ Maybank could get a piece of that.”

The guys around JJ and Raymond chuckle and nod in agreement, hearing the stories of how you’d reject every single guy that’s ever asked you out. Sometimes you’d go on a few dates, trying to push yourself out of your comfort zone, but then things would quickly become too much, and you’d get overwhelmed. 

JJ didn’t like the way Raymond talked about you or how the others laughed at your expense. His hands clenched into fists, tempted to throw a punch in Ray’s cocky face.  The guy’s just being a jerk because he’s one of the guys that got rejected by you, he thought. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” JJ shakes his head and ties his apron around his waist to distract his hands.

“No?” Raymond challenges him. “You think I’m wrong? You think you could pull the infamous Hybrid over there?”

JJ glances back through the window. You’re looking at your grandma with a clearly forced grin. You’re twirling your hair between your fingers, a habit you picked up when you were little to do when you’re bored. JJ would find you doing that in school all the time. 

You’re gorgeous, he thought. It’s no wonder that almost every guy on this island has tried to make a pass on you, including JJ himself, but his remarks always come off as playful, afraid of actually telling you how he feels about you. His fantasies about you went further than just getting you between the sheets. He could picture getting married, having children, and growing old together. Years ago, the two of you would talk about your future. Neither one of you cared about money or fancy jobs. All you wanted was to be free - of this island, of each other’s families, of responsibilities placed on you from birth. You hold the same values as JJ, and he’s never met another person like you. 

But JJ has a hard exterior. No one other than his best friends know his true heart, and he wasn’t going to let someone like Raymond Easterling find out about his soft spot for you. He would never hear the end of it.

JJ looks at you one last time. You’re talking to Rory, your face in his direction. This time you’re smiling, probably discussing something other than your grandparent’s expectations of you. He’d kill to see that smile every single day.

What’s the worst that could happen? You reject him? Yeah, that might kill JJ inside, but maybe you’d still be his friend, or continue to be acquaintances like you are now. As long as he gets to see you, he’d be okay. There was always the future. But who knows? Maybe you’d say yes? He’ll never know unless he tries. Right?

JJ fakes the same cocky grin that Raymond wears. “I haven’t failed yet.”

The guys around him whistle and shake their heads with smiles. 

“All right, Maybank. Let’s make a bet. I’ll give you one hundred dollars to get Y/N Y/L/N in the sack by the fourth of July.”

JJ scoffs. “You like giving away free money?” He ignored his racing heart at the thought of being that intimate with you.

Raymond nods. “Okay. Let’s put your money where your mouth is. Get her to say ‘I love you’ by the end of the season and I’ll raise you an extra hundred and cover all your dishwasher shifts in September.”

JJ raises his brows with surprise. No one offers to take the dishwashing shift. Sometimes the boys are pulled back there when the kitchen is short staffed and it’s easily one of the worst jobs at the Club.

This bet was almost too good of an opportunity to pass up. “Deal.” JJ says.

The boys shake hands on it and the other guys whisper to each other about how intrigued they are to see this play out.

JJ wipes his sweaty palms against his apron and pushes the door open to approach your table, hoping he can hear you over his thudding heart. 

“Good evening folks. May I take those empty plates out of your way?”

You look up at the voice you know so well and a smile raises on your lips. JJ meets your eyes and he winks at you, splattering your heart in flutters. 

“Please.” Your grandmother pushes her plate away from her, stuffed with filet and red wine.

“JJ,” Your mom grins up at him. Growing up, your mom always had a soft spot for the blonde Pogue. She’s heard the stories about his father, mostly from Steve, who actually grew up with Luke Maybank, his cousin. As a child, he was sent to live with Luke Maybank and his single father. Lets just say, he’s not surprised by the way Luke turned out. “Look at you. You’re all grown up now. Last time I saw you, Y/N was still pushing your head in the sand for stealing her popsicle.”

“Yeah. I quickly learned no one should mess with Y/N and her food,” JJ says.

“Never stopped you though,” You smirk at him.

“Lorelai. Who is this?” Your grandma asks, disregarding the boy himself.

“Mom,” Lorelai gives her mom a warning look. “This is JJ Maybank. He went to school with Y/N and Rory.” Lorelai knew to play it safe with her wording. She didn’t know where you and JJ stood. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him and she knew better than to ask. 

“Nice to meet you,” JJ says politely. “I’d shake your hand but mine are kinda full.” He motions to the plates in his hand.

“That’s quite all right.” Your grandma’s smile is so forced, it makes you uncomfortable. 

“I won’t hold you up. Has your server been around with the dessert menu?” JJ looks at you. “We have chocolate cake tonight.”

Heat rushes up your neck. Not because of the cake itself but because JJ remembered your favorite dessert. Chocolate cake with chocolate frosting and chocolate sprinkles. It was safe to save you were a choco-holic. The boys use to make it for you every year for your birthday. It usually came out burnt, none of them ever remembering how to properly make it. But it was all you needed to feel like a very special girl. 

“Your favorite,” Rory elbows you.

Your grandma cringes. “Sounds like diabetes on a plate.”

“Mom,” Lorelai scolds. 

“What?” She asks, not understanding the concept of a filter.

Now heat rushes to your cheeks for an entire different reason. “He did. We’re not doing dessert tonight. Thank you, though.”

JJ nods but feels disappointed by the way your face flinched at your grandmother’s comment. 

“My pleasure,” He says like he was taught to do and excuses himself to drop the plates off in the back before he can say anything else that would probably get him fired.

Your mom looks at your with raised brows. “He’s cute, honey.”

“Lorelai, please. He’s the busboy,” Your grandma says.

“He’s a good kid, Mom.”

“If you’ll excuse me,” You stand up. “I have to use the restroom.”

Rory gives you a knowing grin as you walk away from the table. When you walk into the hallway between the dining area and the front lobby, you immediately feel like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. Sometimes just the presence of your grandparents and their pompous judgements can be suffocating. You do your best to bite your tongue around them, excusing yourself when you feel yourself getting heated. 

JJ catches a glimpse of your light blue dress out of the corner of his eye when he rounds the corner to collect the plates off a different table. He looks over his shoulder at Raymond, who’s staring at the blonde watching you, and winks.

“Hey, Y/N,” JJ says, walking up to you.

You look up from your phone and immediately smile. “Hey. I was actually hoping I’d catch you out here.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” You nervously tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “I’m sorry about my grandmother. She can be...”

JJ shakes his head. “Hey. It’s okay. I work for Kooks almost every single day. I’m use to it.”

You sigh. “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“Don’t apologize for something you can’t control,” JJ says. “Besides, that’s probably the nicest she’s ever been to me.”

You hide your face in your hands. “Stop. You’re making it worse.”

JJ laughs and takes your wrists in his hands, slowly pulling them away from your face. Your eyes shoot up to his, immediately feeling a tingling feeling run through your skin, straight to your heart. 

“It’s okay. I promise,” He says softly. His voice is so sincere that you have no other option but to believe him. It almost makes your feel guiltier, wondering how much bullshit he’s been through with ungrateful Kooks that it’s so easy for him to forgive and forget.

“Okay,” Your voice is a whisper, taken off guard by how close he is to you and how he still hasn't let go of your hands. 

In that same moment, JJ realizes he’s still holding you and gently removes his hands. He coughs awkwardly and scratches the back of his neck, where sweat begins to bubble. Why is he so nervous?

“So um...” You say, suddenly feeling nervous too. “You going to John B’s tonight?”

JJ’s eyes shoot up in surprise. How did you know that? “Yeah. I’m heading over there after work.”

“I saw him and Pope at Heywards earlier today and they invited me over. I wasn’t sure if I should come or not.”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

Because it’s different now, you wanted to say. But you didn’t because you feel like the elephant in the room would only grow. And you didn’t want to admit you were nervous to meet Kie and Sarah outside of school. 

You shrug. “I don’t know.”

“You should definitely come. The boys miss you.”

You pretend like a little piece of your heart didn’t just break when JJ didn’t say ‘we.’ 

“What time do you get off of work?”

“Around 9ish.”

You nod. “I can pick you up if you’d like and we could go together?”

Your heart races after you suggest it. What if he says no? Why were you feeling this way? This is the same kid you use to make fun of for pouring milk into his bowl before his cereal. 

“Yeah. That’d be perfect.”

“Great!” Your phone pings with a text from Rory, telling you that your grandparents are wondering where you are. “Shit. I have to get back. I’ll see you at nine?”

“See you then,” JJ nods and turns back to the kitchen. When his eyes meet Raymond’s, he’s reminded of what he agreed to. Almost surprised how quickly he forgot about it. You were able to take his mind off of anything without even trying. He clears his throat to get rid of the giddy grin he was wearing after talking to you, wanting to look tough and casual in front of his coworker. “Easy.” He says to him. But that felt anything but easy. He could vomit with nerves.

“There’s still plenty of time for you to screw up, Maybank.”

JJ huffs. He’s not wrong. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

You drive up to the front of the country club and park in front of the main entrance. It’s 8:57. You’re early and will look eager. So you wait until 9:06 to text him that you’re here.

You changed into a pair of dark washed denim shorts, a yellow cropped tube top, a grey flannel, and navy converse. You changed your outfit about four times before deciding on your first one, not wanting to look too casual or too dressed up. 

For the last three years, you wondered when the four of you would get back together as a group. You wondered if it would ever happen. And now that two Kooks are involved, you feel more nervous than excited.

You jump when the passenger seat door opens, lost in the depth of your own head. JJ smiles, not seeing your reaction.”Cool ride,” he says and looks around the interior. 

“Thanks,” you say, pulling out into the road.

“I got you something,” JJ says.

You glance at him with furrowed brows. What could he have possibly gotten you since you saw him last? A book mark from the Country Club’s gift shop?

JJ reaches into his backpack and pulls out a plate with clear wrap around it. Your mouth drops when you see the chocolate cake on a plate in his hands, the smell immediately hitting your nose with pure delight.

“You saved me a piece?” You jump in your seat excitedly.

“Had to hide it good too or else Miss Carol would have had my ass handed to me,” JJ jokes and even pulls out two forks. He undoes the wrapping and cuts off a piece. He waits until you hit a stop sign and says, “Open up.”

You look at him and immediately open your mouth. He gently places the fork between your lips and you take the piece of cake off with your teeth. Like a baby.

Your eyes close with pure pleasure. “Oh my god. That’s amazing.”

“Miss Carol does know how to bake a mean cake,” JJ says and takes a bite of his own.

“Another one,” You say, glancing at the cake again. Like you said, choco-holic. “Please.” You say when JJ teases you by holding the fork away from you.

JJ laughs. “I like hearing you beg.”

You slap him in the arm with the back of your hand. “In your dreams, Maybank.”

“You got that right, Y/L/N.”

The two of you finish the cake with only a few bites each. Small but rich in chocolate that leaves you craving more. You were gonna have to meet this Miss Carol woman. 

After he puts the plate back in his bag, JJ reaches for the aux cord, but you quickly slap his hand away. “Hey. What do you think you’re doing?”

“You’re seriously gonna make me listen to this the entire way to John B’s?”

You scoff. “I’ll have you know Blink-182 is one of my favorite bands.”

“It’s also soccer moms’ favorite band,” JJ laughs at you.

You turn up the volume, blasting ‘All the Small Things’ and point to your ear. “Sorry. Can’t hear you!”

JJ rolls his eyes but laughs along with you, even bopping his head to the beat. You drive with the windows down, dancing and singing along to a bunch of throwback songs with JJ as if the two of you have been doing this forever. 

You pull up to John B’s and park behind his dad’s old van, better known as The Twinkie. When you turn down the music, JJ looks at you with a shake in his head. “Next time, I’m driving.”

“What was wrong with my driving?”

“We’re in the Outer Banks, Sparky, not NASCAR.”

You scoff and follow behind JJ who’s leading the way up John B’s driveway. As you get closer, you smell the smoky scent of a bonfire nearby and eventually hear John B’s laugh mixed in with a female’s. Your smile falters as nerves gather in the pit of your stomach. 

“What’s wrong?” JJ asks.

“Nothing,” You say, but JJ easily catches your lie and gives you a knowing look. “What if they don’t like me?”

“Who? Pope and John B? I’m pretty sure they like you more than me even after three years -”

“Not them, you idiot,” You shove him playfully by the shoulder as you two let yourselves inside. “Sarah and Kie.”

“Don’t you go to school with them?”

“Yeah, but we don’t talk,” You say quietly, not wanting them to hear you.

“Hm.”

“What?” JJ shrugs. “Nothing. I just didn’t think you cared about what other people thought.”

“I don’t,” You say quickly. “But they're your best friends. It’s different.”

“You don’t need their approval. You technically were here first.”

“Yeah, but I’ve been replaced,” You try to say it as a joke and even throw a smirk in there. 

But JJ stops in his track and looks at you seriously. “No one can replace you. Not even if they tried.”

You open your mouth to respond, but you’re at a loss for words. It’s not a common occurrence that JJ gets all serious on you. Warmth covers you like a blanket and the longer he holds your stare, the weaker your knees become. 

“JJ! Is that you?” John B calls out from the backyard.

“Yeah,” JJ yells back. He opens the fridge in John B’s kitchen. “Want a beer?” He offers to you.

You shake your head. “No thanks.”

For the first time, you take in John B’s home. It looks the same as it did three years ago, only a lot messier. The pull out couch looks like its been used recently with blankets and sheets tossed about on it. Empty beer cans and cigarette butts are thrown messily on the coffee tables and the air smells faintly of old marijuana. 

JJ leads you out to the back where four people are gathered around a fire. Three out of the four immediately smile when the two of you approach them, but Kie’s eyes narrow and her head tilts with confusion.

Shit, you think. 

“You came!” Pope laughs and hops up from his beach chair and embraces you in a hug.

You laugh, not expecting the embrace, but welcoming it all the same. John B’s next, giving you a quick hug and shaking his head.

“I gotta say, I didn’t think you were going to come,” John B says.

“You can thank me for that later,” JJ says jokingly.

“Actually when I heard JJ was coming, I almost changed my mind and stayed home,” You joke and smirk JJ’s way.

“Just like old times,” Pope says, looking between you and the blonde. The banter felt like the yall never separated in the first place. 

“Hey, you know Sarah and Kie, right?” John B points to the girls. Sarah stands up to say hi, and eventually Kie follows her, not wanting to look rude, but stays off to the side, keeping her distance.

“Yeah,” You wave awkwardly. 

“Hey!” Sarah says sweetly. “I didn’t realize you guys use to all hang out.”

“Y/N grew up down the street,” JJ explains and sips at his beer. 

“You want a drink or something?” Pope asks you, not knowing JJ already did.

“No thank you,” You say again.

“You don’t drink?” Kie asks. It was the first thing she’s said to you.

“Not usually,” You say and hold her stare. You try to get a read on her, but she’s had to get a tell on. You can’t tell if she just doesn’t like you or just doesn’t know you. Either way, it makes you uneasy. 

“Here, I’ll go grab you a chair,” Pope says and walks to the side of the house to grab another beat up beach chair. 

As the night goes on, you feel the tension in your shoulders loosen and your body feel lighter. Most of the night was spent retelling childhood stories the four of you shared. Sarah would laugh at most of them, occasionally rolling her eyes at her boyfriend from the stupid shit he would do, although it sounds like he’s no different to you now. 

You talked about the time you and JJ stole a golf cart for a joy ride on Figure Eight, or when you and John B pranked Pope by putting a dead fish in his locker, or how you and John B learned how to play guitar from youtube tutorials. 

Midnight came around quickly and exhaustion was slowly taking over your body. It’s been a long day between the cafe flooding, dinner with your grandparents, and now this. 

JJ was the first to notice you slowly fading. 

“You okay?” He asks you quietly as everyone else is caught up in conversation. 

“Yeah,” You say, lazily grinning at him. 

“We can leave if you want,” He says.

“You’re not staying?” You ask. It sounded like everyone was planning to spend the night here. And as much as you wanted to, you just didn’t feel comfortable enough yet. 

JJ shrugs. “My dad’s out of town tonight. It’ll be nice to have the house to myself.” Before you can say anything, he stands and brushes his hands against his pants. “All right, losers. We’re out of here.”

“Aw, you’re leaving?” Sarah pouts.

“Yeah, I’m beat and Y/N’s my ride home,” JJ says.

You were glad he didn’t call you out for being tired. You didn’t want to look lame in front of everybody, especially Kie.

“Thanks for having me,” You say to everyone. It might have been John B’s house, but it was everyone’s night you intruded on.

John B stands up to hug you. “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

You nod. “I won’t. I promise.”

Pope hugs you next. “Text me when you get back safe.”

“I will.”

“Bye!” Sarah waves and Kie exhales a ring of smoke from her blunt.

You wave at them before following JJ back to your car. 

“Nuh-uh-uh,” JJ says. You didn’t realize you both walked to the driver’s side.

“What? No.”

JJ nods and holds his hands out for your keys. “I’m not dying tonight.” 

“You’ve been drinking and smoking all night,” You say. You didn’t think JJ was drunk or even that high, but you were not going to let a teenager with an ounce of alcohol in his system get behind the wheel. “Next time. For now, hold on to the cupholder.”

JJ sighs dramatically and goes to the other side of the car and hops in the passenger seat. 

This time you keep the music quiet, listening to the hum of the radio instead of your phone. 

“Take a left,” JJ says.

“JJ, I know where you live. And it’s not left.”

“Don’t you trust me?” 

You snicker. “Not in the slightest.”

JJ rolls his eyes. “Just take the left.”

You hold your hands up in surrender and take the left turn. He directs you for a couple more miles until he has you park in front of a 24 hour diner. 

“What are we doing here?” You ask.

“I’m in the mood for a milkshake.”

“We just had cake!” You say.

“Come on, Sparky. Show me what that mouth can do,” JJ smirks. 

You go to hit him again but he takes off running to the front entrance and pulls the door open. You chase after him, almost running into his back at the front host stand where JJ safely smirks at you in triumph.

“Two please,” He says to the hostess. 

The old cranky woman leads you to a booth off to the side next to a window without a word. 

A couple minutes later, a waitress walks by and asks if you’re ready to order. 

“Yes. One chocolate milkshake and one black and white milkshake,” JJ orders for both of you, already knowing what flavor you’d want.

“And fries, please.” You say. The waitress nods, takes your menus, and walks off. JJ raises his brow at the extra order. “What?” You shrug. “Just showing you what my mouth can do.”

JJ scoffs. “What a tease.” 

You playfully kick his shin under the table.

“Did you have fun tonight?” JJ asks.

“Yeah,” You answer. “Felt like old times. The girls are nice too.”

You were about to only mention Sarah, but you didn’t want to cause any issues with Kie. Not yet at least. Maybe she just needed time to warm up to you.

“See? I told you they wouldn’t bite.”

A couple minutes later, the waitress comes back with your milkshakes and fries. 

“How’s John B doing? You know, with the whole Big John thing?” You ask delicately, unsure of how JJ would react to you pestering about John B’s business. “I didn’t want to ask and bring the mood down,” You explain yourself although you don’t need to.

JJ shrugs. “He’s in denial I think. Won’t sign a death certificate until he sees a body. He could be worse, though.”

“Yeah,” You say softly. You don’t know what you would do if you were in that situation. In a way you felt lucky that you never knew your dad at all. It would be harder to lose him, knowing who he was.

You take a fry and dip it into your milkshake before taking a bite. This makes JJ freeze and look at you like you have two heads. 

“What?” You say with your mouth full.

“I can’t believe you just did that.”

“Don’t knock it till you try it,” You say and give him a look to do it.

JJ reluctantly picks up the fry and dunks it into his milkshake. He looks at the fry questioningly before popping it into his mouth. Somehow the sweetness of the milkshake and the saltiness of the french fry complement each other beautifully and his widen in pleasant surprise. 

“Oh wow,” JJ says.

“Told you,” You smirk.

You spend the next hour catching up, trying to fit the last three years into an hour. JJ does most of the talking because you want to know more about what John B, Pope, and JJ have been up to. Your life was so boring and depressing, you didn’t want to bore JJ with the details.

You drive JJ home and talk for a few minutes more when you park. He seems to be procrastinating getting out of the car, but you don’t mind. You could talk to him all night, suddenly not feeling tired anymore.

“All right. I’ll let you get home before the sun rises,” He says and opens the door. He pauses when his feet hit the ground and he looks back at you. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“I have to work at the shop, why?”

“Well, there’s a storm coming in. John B and I might go out to surf the surge before it hits. You still surf?”

You scoff. “Do I still surf?”

JJ holds his hands up in surrender. “Just checking. You think you can handle the surge?”

“Let’s not forget who the better surfer is, JJ.”

“I didn’t. It’s still me.”

“You wish.”

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Now you have a point to prove. You have to show JJ that you’re still the better surfer. 

“I'll see you tomorrow,” You agree. 

“Great, it’s a date.” He winks and shuts the door before you can tell him otherwise. 

You giggle to yourself as JJ walks up the front yard and stay there until he you see he gets in safely. 

You pull out of the driveway, wishing he had asked you out on a real date. One that didn’t involve John B.

Tag list: @super-funky-bisexual​ @sunsetswithjj​ @moniamaybank​ @throwawayfish​ @poguestyle17​ @5am-cigarette​ @jjpouggues​ @fly-away-from-here​ @buckys2thicc​

[emerald-chaos]

Already Gone

**gif not mine, credit to the owner below!!**

Oh hohohohoho besties. You are in for it on this one. The other night I had an idea that popped into my head and to say I got carried away with it would be a gross understatement. This is the first time I've written smut in forever so bear with me as I get back in to it. I hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. As always, please feel free to send feedback!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 5.3k (oops)

Warnings: Smut, 18+ (MINORS DNI), language, ANGST (holy shit is there angst), fingering, unprotected sex (please be smarter than these two), infidelity, and I think that's about it? Please let me know if I left something off.

A/N: Thanks to my sweet, sweet friend who read through this for me and helped me fix a few things. Also I take the, MINORS DNI, warning very seriously, so please only interact if you are of age. Please have your age in your bio so I can confirm. By clicking "read more" you agree to this. I really don't want to have to block people.

The cacophonous trill of shattering glass erupted through the space. Raised voices, thick with rage, echoed off the walls. It was difficult to tell which words were coming from which mouth, the both of you overlapping as you spewed out hatred toward one another.

“What in God’s name is going on here?!” Steve shouted as he entered the room, coming back from a late night run at the most inopportune time.

“Stay the fuck out of it!” Your two voices shrilled together as you both pointed toward Steve.

You could feel your chest heaving and it almost felt as though you were foaming at the mouth. Rage was completely consuming every crevice of your body and spilling out into your actions and your words. You turned back to the object of your aggression and watched as he ran a hand through his hair and turned to walk away from you.

“You’re nothing but a coward, James Barnes. A goddamn selfish, son-of-a-bitch, coward!” You screamed with every ounce of energy you had left in your body.

The two of you had some knock-down drag-outs in your past, but it was nothing compared to this. Months of pent up feelings, insecurities, jealousies, and secrets were all coming to a head at this very moment. The last few months the two of you had been incredibly short with one another - a stark contrast from your usual loving tone. Passionate kisses became brief pecks to the cheek, midnight roaming hands became backs set to one another, and ‘i love you’s’ felt more like a habit than a genuine feeling. In your heart you feared it would come to this one day. No matter how hard you tried, how much you wanted to, you were never going to be able to fix what had been done to the man you loved. There was no amount of love in the world that could reverse the tragedy of the Winter Soldier - at least that’s what you were convinced of now.

The man in front of you turned and strode across the room, minimizing the space between the two of you. His metal hand in a fist as he brought it up to jab a finger into the middle of your chest. Pupils were blown wide, what was once a lustful look was now filled with only pure anger. As he opened his mouth to speak, spit flew into your face.

“And you are a self-righteous, ignorant, self-important bitch!”

As your eyes raked over the contorted facial features of the man standing in front of you, you realized you couldn’t recognize them. The man standing in front of you was not Bucky. It was not the man who twirled a strand of your hair when he sat with his arm behind your chair, not the man who pulled over the car to help a turtle cross the road, and definitely not the man who held you in his arms as he cried after a nightmare. The man standing in front of you was a frightening enigma of hatred and rage. This was not your Bucky. In fact, you were almost certain you lost your Bucky months ago.

* * *

You hadn’t noticed the bouncing of your knee until the man who sat beside you gently cupped it with his hand, stilling your nervous movements. It was enough to break you from your thoughts as you turned your head to meet his kind eyes.

“We don’t have to do this, you know. I’ll have them turn the car around and we’ll go back to the airport. We catch the next flight back home.” He whispered in reassurance. Even though your mind was anxiously racing, you couldn’t help but smile at the compassionate gesture.

“Of course we do,” you started, cupping his cheek with your hand as the sunlight glinted off your pristine wedding ring, “Tony was one of the most important people in my life. Plus, I’m pretty sure he would haunt me if I didn’t go to his funeral.”

8 years ago you promised yourself in the taxi ride to the airport that you would never step foot in this place again. That all changed when you got the news of Tony’s death. Your time working with the Avengers was a life-changing experience and it was all thanks to Tony. The memory of him seeking you out to work alongside Dr. Banner in the research lab was one that you could never forget. Tony was an arrogant, pompous asshole but he was undeniably a good man. You would curse yourself for the rest of your days if you let your own baggage get in the way of that.

“Alright,” your husband responded with a sigh as he squeezed your knee, “But please, promise you’ll tell me if there’s anything I can do for you.”

“Promise.” An agreement that you sealed with a kiss.

Mike was a good man, he was someone who cared for you deeply and who made you feel safe. After your transfer to the DC Shield Office, you had sworn off any more office romances. Those never ended well. That was until your path crossed with Mike. From the beginning of the relationship, you were upfront about your past issues with relationships and how you weren’t ready to dive into anything and he simply stated that he was okay with that, that he would wait.

The marriage was a happy one, Mike always playing the role of doting, caring husband. No matter how much you pushed back against him, he was always willing to give you space and to let you feel what you were experiencing. Mike was a good man. But he wasn’t him.

Your gaze left his as your eyes returned to the skyline, the familiar pressure clawing its way back to your chest. It’d been 8 years since you saw him. 8 years since you packed your bags and left the only home you’d ever truly known. Sure, you had this new life - a new husband, new friends, new job with similar duties, but there was still a piece of you that was missing. A piece you knew could never possibly be filled again. You had come to terms with that, slowly, but it had happened eventually. Now that you were back, you knew you were going to have to see him again - see all of them again. While a lot of good memories resided within this area, there was a hell of a lot of pain that went along with it. All you could do in that moment was remind yourself that you were here for Tony - to honor his memory and pay your respects. You didn’t owe anything else to anyone else. Something in your chest, however, told you that wouldn’t be the way things played out.

* * *

The service was beautifully executed. It was obvious that Pepper had poured her heart and soul into ensuring that Tony Stark was remembered as he should have been. The walls of your heart tightened as you saw Pepper clutching their young daughter to her side. Although Tony had made a lot of mistakes in his life, he spent his last years making sure to do good and to make things right. While it felt like a hot knife had been stabbed into your chest as you said goodbye to a once dear friend, you took solace in knowing that Tony was so loved by so many. That his legacy would live on in so many different ways. And that Pepper was there to say goodbye.

It had been your plan to attend the service and then leave immediately after it had ended. Of course, life has a funny way of never doing quite what we want it to.

It was Sam who stopped you first, pulling you into a tight hug against his form as your fingers gripped his jacket. Sam, being the angel he was, never once mentioned anything from the past and instead expressed his happiness with seeing you again and learning that you were doing well. The one thing Sam was not good at however, was keeping his mouth shut. Word quickly traveled through the crowd of your attendance and one by one old friends began to find you. Wanda didn’t have much to say but kept you in a grateful embrace while you expressed your condolences for Vision. In a shocking turn of events, It was actually Peter who was the most difficult to see. The once bright, happy-go-lucky, smiling boy was visibly devastated - heavy dark bags lingered under his eyes and his glow had been severely dimmed by the loss of his mentor. You couldn’t help but cry as you held him in your arms, expressing to him how proud of him Tony was and how he’d told you just that on several occasions.

After the hellos, the hugs, and the reminiscing you had told yourself that was it, that you were going to leave. It was then that Pepper stopped you with a soft hand on your shoulder, a kind smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, and a warm embrace. After a pause of silence, she pulled away and invited you and Mike to stay for the gathering that had been planned following the service. Your mind screamed at you, begging you to politely decline - tell her you had to get back to DC, that you had a flight already booked that you couldn’t miss, that you had important business to get back to.

“Of course, Pepper. We’d love to.”

* * *

The gathering was exactly what Tony would have wanted. It was family and friends gathered around eating and drinking, but most of all - it was a bunch of people talking about Tony Stark.

You told Mike before the two of you arrived that you would stay for 20 minutes tops. That it simply would be out of respect for Pepper and once you felt your presence had been noted that the two of you would slip out unnoticed in the sea of people.

That was 2 hours ago.

Laughs came easy, tears flowed frequently, and stories were shared amongst friends. Surprising to you, it felt good to be around these people again. A familiar pang of home would hit you every now and again as you reconnected with those who you hadn’t seen in years. You introduced Mike to your old friends, who welcomed him warmly and with open arms. What you had thought would be a stressful, gut-wrenching day had actually turned out to be a joyful celebration of life. The day had been progressing smoothly and you wanted to chastise yourself for being so pessimistic.

That was, until you saw him.

Hands stuffed into the pockets of a black bomber jacket, long chestnut hair falling onto his shoulders, and a familiar collection of facial hair decorating the lower half of his face. He looked as terrible as you felt at the beginning of the day. Dark circles had only grown more prominent beneath his beautiful blue eyes and the corners of his lips were drawn down in a permanent frown. You couldn’t help but notice that he’d lost a considerable amount of weight. The once broad, thick man was now far more lean and toned than you ever remember him being.

A breath caught in your throat as the cerulean eyes met yours. Unable to stop yourself, you shoved your drink into Mike’s chest and hurried off to the nearest bathroom. Barely making it in time, you emptied your day’s stomach contents into the toilet. Breathing heavily, you fought back sobs as they threatened to leave your throat. To anyone else, it may seem you were simply grieving the loss of your friend, perhaps taking it harder than most. Oh how you wish that were the case.

You knew it would be difficult to see him again, but you didn’t expect it to feel as though someone had set your entire body ablaze. The heavy feeling of grief, anxiety, and stress from the beginning of the day was crushing your lungs, your stomach still trying to lurch although it had nothing left to give up, and tears burned the rims of your eyes. As you cleaned yourself up and flushed the toilet, you exited the stall to wash your hands and rinse your mouth. You tried to convince yourself it was the entire day's worth of emotions that had led you to this moment. That man no longer had this kind of hold on you - you had moved on. Or, so you thought.

Slowly, your gaze met your reflection in the mirror. The woman there looked worn and tired, like she had been fighting a raging war that she had been losing miserably. Mascara had begun to run down the apples of her cheeks and lipstick was smeared across her mouth. A heavy sigh left your lips as you did your best to make yourself more presentable. A shaky hand entered your clutch as you retrieved your lipstick and applied another layer. You gave yourself a final once-over and decided that your current appearance was as good as it was going to get. Just as you were going to turn around and return to the party there was movement in the mirror that caught your eye. The door was being pushed open from the outside. You turned to protest, to let the intruder know that the bathroom was occupied.

“Excuse me, sorry, there’s someone--”

It felt as though all the air had been taken from your lungs and your heart threatened to beat out of your chest as you came face to face with the man you had tried so hard, for so long, to forget. It was as though you were frozen in time, as if he were Medusa - turning you instantly to stone. Logically, the thing to do would be to tell him to get out or for you to leave the bathroom so that he could occupy the space alone. However, all you could do was stand and watch as he closed the bathroom door behind him, as his fingers closed around the lock and clicked it into place.

Then it was just the two of you. Bodies unmoving, aside from the rapid rise and fall of your chests in tandem. The air felt 100 degrees warmer than it had when you were alone. The silence, paired with the thump of your heartbeat, was deafening to your ears. You were hyper-aware of his gaze as he studied you the way you had him not minutes before. His eyes finally met yours once more and there was a poignant silence before he finally spoke.

“Can’t believe you still have that dress.”

Your eyes blinked a few times, brain trying to process his words and the situation you had currently found yourself to be in. You looked down to the front of your dress and smoothed your hands down it. How could you have gone the whole day without realizing that the dress you were wearing had been a gift from Bucky on your first anniversary? You were positive you had rid yourself of anything even remotely related to him. In fact, you distinctly recall dumping a box of momentos into a barrel and tossing a lit match inside. You don’t remember making the conscious decision to keep the dress, or why you would have made the decision. Now here you were - mere feet away from the man who had put it on and so delicately took it off of you many times.

“S’perfectly good dress. Shouldn’t go to waste.” Was all you could muster as a response in that moment.

The man before you took a step forward and you took a step back, hips coming into contact with the cold marble counter of the sink.

“Thought I’d never see you again. Y’look...different.” His gaze roaming its way down your body once more.

As his eyes landed on the diamond ring nestled onto the 4th finger of your left hand, you felt a lump begin to form in your throat.

“Congratulations.” His words were cold. Inauthentic. “He’s a lucky guy.”

“What the fuck are you doing in here, James?” The words were supposed to be sharp, but instead came out shaky and insecure.

“Saw you out there, starin’ at me. Guess I just wanted a closer look at you.”

By the end of the sentence he had closed the gap between the two of you even more, chests threatening to bump one another. His metal hand slowly reached forward and brushed a piece of hair off your shoulder. The cool appendage felt like fire against your skin and you know he heard the way you sharply inhaled, but you just couldn’t help it. You swallowed hard, head reeling and knees trying to buckle beneath you when you felt his cool palm cup your fiery cheek. It took everything in your body to avert your eyes from him, especially when you felt him even closer than before - warm breath fanning the expanse of your face. Why was he doing this? What was he going to accomplish? The fight or flight response in your body was screaming at you to push him away and run, but you didn’t.

“I’ve thought about you every day since you left, sweets. There’s not a moment that passes by where you’re not on my mind.”

Your eyes closed tightly, tears now welling up and spilling over.

“Everything you said about me that night was true. I am a coward. A coward who lost the best fuckin’ thing that ever happened to his sorry, broken ass.”

A small sob escaped your chest as your hand flew to your mouth, failing to keep it from tumbling out. Bucky found a loose thread and was slowly unraveling everything you’d worked toward in the last 8 years, every step toward progress and peace that you had worked so hard to find.

“I’m so fuckin’ sorry, doll” Bucky was now fully cupping your face with his large, calloused hands, “I’m so sorry that you fell in love with someone like me - a broken son of a bitch who never got put back together. I’m sorry that I hurt you so badly. I’m sorry I didn’t protect you the way I promised I would. I’m sorry that -”

In a moment of weakness, before he could finish his sentence, you were crashing your lips to his. There was nothing else that existed in your world - there was only you and there was only Bucky. Seemingly moving on their own accord, your hands found their way into his hair, grasping wildly for something to hold on to. As your fingers tugged on his roots, Bucky let out a deep moan into the kiss, sending a shiver down your spine.

The kiss was sloppy and desperate, all tongue and teeth. It was a balance of dominance between the two of you - although you were the one who initiated the kiss, Bucky was the first one to gain access to the inside of your mouth, and you were the first to tug his lower lip between your teeth. A pathetic mewl left your lips as Bucky’s mouth began trailing wet kisses across your jaw and down the column of your throat. The heartbeat in your ears from earlier was much worse now, making your head throb in pain. Every nerve ending in your body felt as though it was on fire and a small voice in the back of your head kept pleading with you to stop. For a moment you entertained the idea of shoving him off and telling him to fuck off, but that was before he started sucking that spot on your neck that he knew drove you mad. It was your turn to moan this time as you involuntarily arched your back, pressing yourself up against his firm torso.

You knew the way that you were tugging on the strands of his hair had to be incredibly painful but it only seemed to urge Bucky to continue. A soft gasp tumbled past your lips as you felt Bucky’s thigh push against your aching core. The sensation had you digging your fingernails into the back of his jacket as you finally released your grip on his hair. Before you could stop yourself, you could feel your hips grinding yourself down against his clothed thigh. Your dress had been pushed up around your waist, now only a small piece of cloth covering you as you desperately chased a high.

“I shoulda never let you go. Shoulda been at the airport to stop you before you got on that plane.”

His teeth sunk into your pulse point once more, earning himself another moan from your lips. The sting was soon replaced with the cool sensation of his tongue tracing the marks he had left.

“I love you, doll. I haven’t ever stopped lovin’ you.”

“Show me,” you whimpered pathetically against his shoulder, “show me you love me, Bucky. Please.”

An audible breath caught in his throat as he pulled himself back to look at you. Your chest was heaving, make-up smeared once more, and your pupils were blown wide with lust. You obviously weren’t able to see the look you gave him, but judging by the way he looked back at you it was fair to say you looked broken, pathetic, and desperate for him. The eyes looking back at you had the softness to them that you remember, the strokes of his hands against your body contained the passion that you’d so been longing for, and the tone in his voice told you that he was desperate for you too.

Within seconds your feet were lifted from the ground and your ass made contact with the cold, wet countertop. There wasn’t a lot of room, objects were scattered onto the floor and others were left to push into your hips with aggressive force, but you just didn’t care. It was impossible to care when Bucky moved your knees apart and dragged a finger along your clothed pussy. The sensation made your head fall back against the mirror with a hard thud but you couldn’t feel any of the pain from it at all. The only thing you felt was the way electricity rippled through your body when he used his thumb to apply pressure to your aching clit. Bucky groaned and rested his forehead against yours, lips slightly parted as he felt your need for him growing.

“So wet for me, just like I remember. Lemme make you feel good, sweets, hmm?” He had leaned forward to whisper softly in your ear as his teeth grazed your lobe.

It was you who reached down and shoved your panties down your thighs, meeting a surprised look from Bucky as he helped you drag them down to hang around your ankle. Bucky’s tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip as he hooked his hands underneath your knees to spread your legs open for him. Another groan came from him, this time more guttural than the last. You felt small underneath his gaze and the cool air in the bathroom brushing across your soaking core made you shiver.

Your hand flew to your mouth to suppress the noises you made as his finger slipped through your folds, running up and down to collect your wetness.

“More. God. Please, Buck. Need more.” You whined, attempting to roll your hips against his hand to find any form of friction that you could.

“Anything for you, baby.” He whispered as he gently inserted a finger inside of you. The two of you moaned in tandem.

There was a brief moment of embarrassment with the way your walls immediately clenched around his finger and the way his finger immediately found that soft spot. It was shortly replaced with a feeling of ecstasy. Bucky captured your lips with his to swallow your moans as he added another finger. The way his fingers were curling and pumping inside of you already had you close to the edge. Bucky pulled back and held your gaze as he added pressure to your clit with his thumb, circling the area as his fingers continued to repeatedly hit that spot inside of you.

“Please, please don’t stop.” You begged as you felt the pressure building within the lower part of your body.

“S’okay. I’m right here.” Bucky’s other hand was cradling the back of your head as he whispered to you. “I know you’re close. Can feel you squeezin’ me. You can let go for me, I got you.”

As your eyes met his, foreheads pressed together, you finally came apart. The white hot sensation tears through you as your legs quake. You squeeze your eyes shut and allow Bucky to help you ride through your orgasm as he peppers light kisses along your neck.

“I almost forgot how pretty you look when you cum.”

You whine at the emptiness and loss of contact when Bucky removes his fingers from your center. As your eyes flutter open you see him push the fingers into his mouth and suck them clean. The look on his face was euphoric.

“God. Almost forgot how fuckin’ sweet you taste too.”

Mustering up all the strength you had, you sat up and pulled him closer by his belt. The two of you worked together to rid him of his pants and boxers. Your hand wrapped around him, thumb swiping the red tip and using the pre-cum to help lubricate as you pumped your hand down his length. Bucky’s jaw clenched as he moaned at the sensation. Just as you were going to leave the counter, you felt his hands grabbing your shoulders and halting your movements.

“Maybe a different time, sweets. But right now I gotta be inside you.”

You caught your bottom lip as you nodded and released your hold on him. Bucky’s hands wrapped around your thighs as he pulled your hips to the edge of the sink. The metal hand left your thigh as he grabbed himself at the base and pushed his length through your folds. The two of you once more shared a moan at the sensation. As he lined himself up with your entrance, your hands wrapped around his neck to pull him in for another kiss. The next thing you felt was the familiar sting of his cock stretching your walls as he slid into you. Your lips left his and your forehead found itself pressed against his once more. Both of you panting heavily as neither of you dared to speak a word.

Following a moment of silence, allowing your body time to stretch to accommodate him, you nodded slowly as to signal to him that it would be okay for him to move. His thrusts were slow and calculated at first, as if he was attempting to regain his memory of your body - one that he once knew so well. You couldn’t help but dig your fingernails into his shoulder as you held on to him for dear life, subconsciously afraid that if you were to let go of him he’d be gone again forever.

“Faster, Bucky. Please.” You whimpered into his ear as you took his earlobe between your teeth and nibbled softly.

A low growl left his chest as he grabbed your hips and lifted you off the counter, moving slightly so that he could cage your body against the wall. You wrapped your legs firmly around his waist, locking them at the ankle. His thrusts became faster, deeper, and it was apparent he had gained his confidence back.

“You feel so fuckin’ good, baby. Just the way I remember.” He grunted as he dug his fingers harder into your hips.

His lips were on yours again, this time tears were starting to decorate the corners of your eyes. The pleasure, the regret, the passion, the guilt - every feeling was building up along with your orgasm. Bucky pulled away from the kiss to tap on your bottom lip with two of his fingers, which you greedily accepted into your mouth. Your tongue swirled around his digits until he pulled them out and used them to circle your clit. The added pleasure was almost too much to handle.

“C’mon, baby. Wanna cum with you. Can you do that for me, huh?” Bucky whimpered, his thrusts beginning to falter from the calculated snaps he was giving you before.

All you could do was nod your head quickly as the pressure steadily increased, bringing you to the brink of your second orgasm.

“I love you. I love you. I love you so fuckin’ much, oh my god.” Bucky grunted as the two of you reached your peak together.

You leaned forward to bite down on his shoulder and suppress the scream that left your mouth as pleasure erupted through your body. The two of you assisted each other through the high of your release and you felt your ass make contact with the cool countertop once more.

The only noise present in the space was your heavy breathing and a small dripping noise that came from the sink. Bucky’s final words before he came replayed in your head over and over again as you attempted to slow your breathing and bring yourself back down to earth. Your body shuttered slightly as Bucky slipped himself out of you. As you sat up, you noticed he was looking around the bathroom.

“Shit, sweets. I don’t think there’s anything I can use to help clean you up.” He sighed and turned to meet your gaze that was locked upon him.

“It’s fine, Buck. Not a big deal.”

Bucky bent over and helped you pull your panties back on before he redressed himself. Neither of you spoke for what felt like eternity.

“I-...” You muttered finally, “I love you too, Buck. I thought I was over you, I thought I moved on but...I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop loving you no matter how hard I try.”

Bucky reached out to stroke your cheek with the back of his hand as he listened to you lament to him. His eyes were soft and caring and you could almost swear he was looking into the depths of your soul.

“I think —“

Your conversation was cut short by the sound of knocking at the bathroom door.

“Hey, are you okay in there? Do you need anything?” Mike’s voice had your entire body flooded with the shame of your infidelity. In one swift movement, you were on the floor and turning the sink on to make it appear you were just washing your hands.

“Y-yeah I’m fine! Just finishing up! I’ll find you out there in a minute!” You squeaked.

Mike seemed to pause for a moment before you heard his footsteps retreat from the bathroom door. A wave of relief washed over you, but it was only temporary. As soon as you were relaxed the gravity of the situation you were in was clouding you once more.

“I have to go. I can’t give him any reason to think he needs to come in here.” Bucky nodded, eyes not leaving yours as you spoke while collecting yourself, “but we need to..we should..we have to address this. Later.”

“I agree.”

“Our flight leaves tomorrow night. I’ll...see what I can come up with as far as an excuse. Then we can put this to bed for good.”

“Absolutely, sweets.”

The nickname made your knees buckle once more as you sighed.

“Goodbye, James.”

You finally tore your eyes from his as you unlocked the door and slipped out of the bathroom. In reality, however, you knew this really wasn’t goodbye. Not even close.

[britishassistant]

I wonder what the supervillains (the dorm leaders) would do if they get switched with their other self in Twisted Wonderland.

They'll meet a younger Yuu calls them senpai and probably get shivers when they hear someone shout Prefect but then realize its Yuu's role in that world.

Bonus would be if Yuuken's there too, sharing the dorm with Yuu.

Thank you for the ask, dear anon!

I decided to take a little inspo from my Villainous Paranoiac series for this one! Not a whole lot, but the idea of Twisted Wonderland Yuu being put in the infirmary after the events of Chapter Five!

(Also consider it non-canon, since it kinda involves everyone’s identities being exposed!)

Basically imagine that the supervillains find themselves in what looks like a private school infirmary, late at night. The air is buzzing with a strange energy, almost like the powers back in their home world, but...different, somehow.

The room nearly empty, save for one occupant in a cot close to the door.

Poison Queen and King immediately begin bickering over whose fault this mess is, while Royal Flush tries to get them to keep their voices down or else they’ll be detected. Charon is half a minute from going to curl up in a corner, clutching his freeze ray like a lifeline, while Octo Dealer and Snake Charmer are busy inspecting their surroundings for anything of value or that can be requisitioned into a weapon on short notice.

Tsunotaro has wandered over to inspect the sole other living being in the room with them.

He is pleasantly surprised to see what looks like a younger version of the reporter he’s so fond of, fast asleep in the infirmary cot. Their cheeks still retain the last bit of baby fat from childhood, and there’s some acne left that will fade with age. He may give one cheek a gentle poke, just to satisfy his curiosity. The sleepy mumble they let out is a little more high pitched than normal, but that’s the reporter’s voice alright.

He is less pleased to see dark circles under their eyes, or the bandages around their throat that stink of medicinal salves. If this truly is a younger version of his child of man, then why do they look so worried, even in sleep? Why are they injured and sleeping in this place of healing in the first place? They’re a mere child, barely old enough to operate a vehicle or live alone. Their only worries should be trivial things, not whatever is causing this furrow in their brow and hunch in their shoulders.

The other supervillains have begun to migrate over to where Tsunotaro is crouching in silent contemplation. King flips his eyepatch up to get a better look, whistling lowly. Octo Dealer busies himself with refilling their water glass, sneaking glances at them as he places it within easy reach. Snake Charmer pulls their pillow more under their head from where it’s almost slipped off. Poison Queen straightens the arrangement of the very tasteful bouquet on the bedside table, so the flowers’ best angle is shown to the bed’s occupant. Royal Flush carefully tucks their covers in over them.

Charon takes a picture with his tablet.

He forgot to turn off his flash.

Yuu cracks their eyes open...

To see seven adults looming over their bed in masks that resemble the ink from the overblots that haunt the Prefect’s nightmares.

Cue terrified screaming.

Snake Charmer lunges forward instinctively to cover Yuu’s mouth—

It’s only thanks to Poison Queen yanking him back that he doesn’t end up with an arrow in the shoulder.

Several more follow the first one through the window above the prefect’s cot, cold iron sharp and perfectly aimed to seriously maim if the supervillains don’t immediately get away from the screaming teenager. Rook was lax in protecting the Trickster after VDC ended, assuming there was no more danger after Roi du Poison’s overblot was saved. He will not make that mistake again.

The infirmary doors burst open, a younger Yuuken in a sleep-rumpled uniform barging in from where he decided to sleep outside because Ramshackle felt too empty and quiet to bear, but was forbidden from staying in the infirmary himself. He only has a pillow, but he brandishes it at the strange adults, fully willing to defend his dorm mate in whatever way he can.

The vanguard appears in a flurry of bats though, too many to fight off, small and vicious and furious. Their commander materializes in the center if the swarm, hovering over the head of Yuu’s cot, pink eyes brimming with a cold rage that makes his small and cute form look like it’s bursting at the seams holding something much older and angrier back. He opens his mouth, fangs long and glistening—

Only to stop short at the sight of one of the supervillains. “Malleus? Malleus Draconia?”

Tsunotaro nods warily.

“Wh-What in Twisted Wonderland are you wearing??”

Tsunotaro ducks his head like a chastened child. “I could say the same thing.” He mutters sullenly.

From there the lights get turned on, and the seven supervillains are made to explain themselves to the sleep-deprived students and staff who trickle in to see what’s going on. All six dorm leaders and one vice dorm leader vanished from their beds, setting everyone on high alert until news of these...alternate versions spread.

It is very weird for the supervillains to see all their minions as teenagers (again in some cases). It is only surpassed by how weird it is for everyone else to see their dorm heads and vice head all grown up and adult, even if they are dressed weird.

Ortho still wants to shoot them with a beam until they bring back his nii-san. Luckily Charon is able to convince him that Idia should be fine if he’s in Charon’s lair—he’s got plenty of the latest games, manga and tech for him to play with, so that should keep him occupied for a while.

Sebek is in a state of Malleus awe. He has shut down and will not restart. Silver has taken to pinching himself just to make sure this isn’t a Lilia’s cooking induced fever dream, while Lilia himself scolds Tsunotaro that he raised him better than to go around watching people sleep like that! Tsunotaro tries to use the “but I’m a supervillain” excuse, only for Lilia to shoot back “and I’m a war criminal in some nations, what’s your point?”

King is enjoying watching the overgrown lizard get scolded. Now if only the tiny Ruggie would stop asking him what injury the eyepatch is for, and making remarks about how embarrassing it would be if it were totally pointless—King does not pay his adult self so much to put up with this shit. The baby Jack also needs to stop demanding to know if his adult minion self can pull a sled faster than a moose or something...

Jade and Floyd are attempting to wind up the adult Octo Dealer, trying to see how much they can get away with compared with the normal Azul. Octo Dealer is legitimately at a loss as to how this world’s Azul doesn’t keep them in line without letting them turn to a crime or two. Then he learns about Azul’s contract business and feels a pang of commiseration and understanding.

Poison Queen, Royal Flush, and Snake Charmer are unpleasantly shocked when their dorms address them by their respective secret identities in front of their fellow supervillains out of the blue.

Poison Queen has to put up with King’s uncontrolled laughter as he finally understands the full extent of the incident with White Neige so long ago, while Tsunotaro tries to tell him he liked Schoenheit in his role as the evil dragon prince in the GaoGao dramatization. Royal Flush is about two seconds away from throttling Octo Dealer if the bastard doesn’t stop trying to make a deal to guarantee his mother doesn’t learn about her son’s private activities. Snake Charmer’s just glad his civilian identity flies under the radar enough that Charon has to try and look him up to understand who he is (and fails because he’s not on school wifi and his cellular data is bust).

Poison Queen is also getting a headache from Rook rhapsodizing about how his villain form is another, enhanced mode of beauty he is fortunate to lay eyes upon, as if he hadn’t been willing to skewer Poison Queen along with the rest of the supervillains five minutes ago. He’s at least able to amuse himself by letting Epel run away with his speculations about how he’s the buff hyper-masculine muscle for Poison Queen.

Kalim is crying that Jamil had to resort to becoming a villain in his home world! He must be so sad if he has to do that! He’s mildly cheered up when Snake Charmer tells him they work together on schemes, and that Snake Charmer is actually reasonably happy with his chosen vocation—and then he begins panicking that Jamil will like that world so much, he won’t want to come back.

Royal Flush is glad his counterpart at least has good people around to look after him, even if it is odd to have young versions of Trey and Cater trying to mother hen him despite the fact that he’s the older one now. At least Ace and Deuce acting up seems more fitting now considering their age than it ever did on their adult selves.

Ace huffs a sigh and leans on Yuu’s shoulder. “This is a mess, huh Prefect?”

“You said it.” Yuu replies. “I just wanna sleep forever.”

The supervillains go still.

“I’m sorry,” Snake Charmer says carefully. “But isn’t Enma-san the Prefect?”

“No?” Yuuken replies, confused. “Yuu’s the prefect of Ramshackle Dorm. I’m their vice— or would be, if we had any other students apart from them, me, and Grim.”

Octo Dealer laughs, sounding slightly strained. “Ah, apologies, but you see, that isn’t possible. It can’t be. Yuu isn’t—”

“But I am the prefect, Azul-senpai.” Yuu the Prefect says. “I’ve–I’ve always been the prefect.”

There’s a stunned silence.

Royal Flush places his head in his hands. “What the fuck.”

Back in the Supervillain AU universe, Yuu the Reporter sneezes sharply while trying to wrangle five frightened teenagers, one frightened-but-playing-tough twenty year old, and one confused however-old-he-is-but-younger-than-Tsunotaro fae.

They wonder what the chill down their spine is.