#twig responds

[laterreurofficial]

hi! i was wondering if we could hear about all the folks working to make la terreur happen? i’m curious about how many people are working behind the scenes on this lovely au :)

twig: five people artin' and writing six people spewing ideas seven people in the group chat hope this helps

wis: Hi!!!!! It's mostly the six of us who work together on this project :) However as shown in the diagram you are mostly likely to get direct answers on this blog from the three of us. You can tell us apart by the tags but usually all of us tend to respond differently/each have our own little voice, lol.

[sincerely-sofie]

Hi, I was the anon who had the idea of Skunktank running into Merit and Constance and idk if my ask made it through. I hope it didn’t, because I was not finished typing lmao-

But I imagine Skunktank doesn’t know much about Ruby’s past. She doesn’t want to talk about it. He does remember there was a period of time where Opal looked devastated, and that she wouldn’t explain what happened. Ruby showed up in Twig’s and Ark’s care not too long after. It’s only a little later he just happens to catch Ruby’s illusion waver a little, and he sees these . . . Scars. Scars that shouldn’t ever be on a child. He thinks that maybe, just maybe, that he saw it wrong, but he gnaws at the back of his head until he pulls Twig aside and tells her that maybe Ruby should be taken to the doctor, because he thinks he saw some scarring. Twig takes a deep inhale, pausing to find the words, and the longer she takes, the more dread Skunktank feels.

Eventually Twig tells him that they know about the scars, and that Ruby is recovering. She’s safe, so it’s best not to ask either of the girls about it. When Skunktank presses — out of concern, a rare sight from him — Twig tells him it’s not her story to tell. After another brief pause, she continues and says that she would appreciate it if he kept an eye out for two Hisuian Zoroarks — one normal, one shiny — always together with matching burn scars. She doesn’t want Skunktank to do anything other than tell her and Ark where they are and if they’re coming anywhere close to the village. That’s it. Do NOT do anything else. If he won’t listen for Twig, listen for Ruby and Opal.

Skunktank can’t get anymore information, so he lets it go for now. Ruby is safe and healthy, so that’s all that matters. If anyone can keep her safe, it’s legendary battler Twig and nightmare bringer Ark. It’s put in the back of his mind. Some time later, when he’s away from the village, he bumps into two Pokémon with burn scars all over their hands. When they fall, their illusions drop and reveal two Hisuian Zoroarks, their burn scars still remaining. Skunktank sees their claws, and his mind flashes back to the shape of Ruby’s scars and Twig’s warning. He knows who they are now. He looks at them, and he can’t help but feel sick. He’s nauseated. He wonders if he’s staring at another imagine of himself — a version that went too far. A version that would have just shrugged their shoulders at the thought of those little Azurill and Marill kids going into the Amp Plains to get their treasure back, uncaring if they got hurt. A version of themselves that got two kids in the form of a Mudkip and Charmander hurt.

These two are attempted murderers, free to go due to lack of evidence, leaving their baby sister with scars from a wound that it was a miracle that she survived from.

It’s no wonder Twig hates him. He’s looking into some distorted mirror — one that’s not entirely accurate, but still displays a general image — and he hates what he’s looking at too.

ANON I’M LOSING MY MIND

I did get the ask, actually! I’ve just been slowing down answering asks in general because I’m (yet again) sick as a dog, and I wanted to give that ask a more extensive, drawn response!

Here’s an incomplete teaser where Twig and Ark ask Skuntank to take Ruby out on a walk for her physical therapy while they’re stuck dealing with legal stuff. They encounter Merit and Constance while out and about.

For some bonus context, despite Ruby’s strong preference to hide her bandages (and later her scars) using illusions, she’s been instructed to avoid using illusions whatsoever. However, she’s still keeping her form of a unovan zorua secret, so she’s still using that illusion:

[ampleappleamble]

WAIT WHAT was that about sanitarium and mean names 😭😭😭

[clumsypuppy]

i feel shy talking here when i dont have anything worth sharing but i cant help feeling like ive said things in the tags that could be brought up in court

[cruilty-ink]

this is a post for all my followers, moots, and anyone in between

What do you want?

[santaasi]

shape of my heart

pairing: jj maybank x bsf!reader

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

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

word count: 21.2k

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

ᯓ★ now playing…

sting - shape of my heart

Ten years ago.

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

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

“Hey!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shook your head, your confusion growing.

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

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

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

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

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

Forever.

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

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

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

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

Seven years ago. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

JJ noticed. He always noticed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She left this behind.”

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

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

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

“JJ, I can’t- ...”

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

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

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

“Your mom?” you asked, surprised.

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

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

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

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

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

Five years ago 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was him.

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

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

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

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

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

And then there was him. JJ.

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

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

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

And then JJ looked up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But just as quickly, the moment broke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Different?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

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

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

He blinked, surprised. “Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

Then…

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

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

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

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

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

But for now, it didn’t matter.

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

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

Three years ago.

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

And for you, the biggest shift was JJ.

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

And JJ didn’t shy away from the attention.

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

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

But it always found him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“JJ?” you called softly, stepping outside.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When you finished, you didn’t step away.

And neither did he.

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

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

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

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

So you did.

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t move away.

Didn’t breathe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, just like that, life moved forward.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing,” you said quickly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two years ago.

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

This summer was no different.

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

JJ Maybank.

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

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

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

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

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

You wished you could say the same.

And then came Sarah Cameron.

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

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

And just like that, the world shifted.

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

Not yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach dropped.

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

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

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

You had never taken it off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And maybe that was why it scared you. 

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

HE WAS ALWAYS THERE, ALWAYS WATCHING.

Protecting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you didn’t.

Because, deep down, you already knew the answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the words lacked their usual sharpness.

Because he wasn’t joking.

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

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

And that scared you.

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

So you stayed quiet.

And he didn’t push.

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

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

But the truth was there. Unspoken, but undeniable.

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

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

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

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

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

For now.

One year ago. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The thought unsettled you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your father.

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

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

"I’ll always come back."

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

A sharp pang of guilt dug into your ribs.

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

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

And for a moment, you let yourself believe it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All you saw was JJ.

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

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

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

Even if only for a moment.

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

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

BUT THERE ARE LESSONS YOU LEARN THE HARD WAY.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She wouldn’t do this to you.

Would she?

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

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

And just like that, his smile faltered.

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

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

But it was just another form of torture.

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

And then… 

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

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

JJ and Kiara.

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

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

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

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

"Hey, did you guys see the compass?"

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

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

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

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

You had seen enough.

The way he looked at her… it was different.

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

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

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

It was different now.

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

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

And then there was Kiara.

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

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

If she didn’t know.

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

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

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

And you hated yourself for feeling betrayed.

Because Kiara was your best friend.

And JJ wasn’t yours.

And you had no right to feel this way.

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

So you stayed quiet.

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

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

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

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

Pope was the first to notice.

"You’ve been kind of quiet lately."

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

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

He didn’t believe you.

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

You’d always been tired lately.

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

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

For you, it had always been different.

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

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

And he didn’t push further.

He didn’t need to.

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

Even if JJ didn’t.

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

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

But JJ noticed your absence.

"What’s up with you and Pope?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the lie sat heavy between you.

SARAH WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO SAW THROUGH YOUR FACADE.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"WHY ARE YOU AVOIDING ME?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your breath hitched. "Me too."

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

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

"JJ, I…"

But then you stopped.

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

JJ frowned, searching your face. "What?"

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

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

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

"I know."

But it felt like a lie.

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

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

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

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

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

JJ.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn’t do it anymore.

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

You were going to risk it all.

And yet, he still wasn’t here.

"Are you okay?"

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

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

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

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

You swallowed hard.

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

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

Because how could you explain what was tearing you apart?

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

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

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

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

The minutes bled into an hour.

The empty seat beside you remained empty.

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

But he never did.

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

"C’mon, man. Pick up."

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

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

But doubt had already crept in, dark and insidious.

Because what if he would?

What if JJ had finally stopped running back to you?

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

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

Your stomach plummeted.

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

He was really not coming.

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

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

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

JJ should have been here.

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

Maybe, deep down, you had always known.

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

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

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

Thoughts of him.

JJ.

You had been ready. So ready.

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

But he never showed up.

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

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

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

Then you turned a corner.

And crashed straight into them.

JJ and Kiara.

The world lurched beneath your feet.

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

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

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

But then you noticed her.

Kiara.

And then — their hands.

Intertwined.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn’t move.

You couldn’t speak.

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

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

Had you imagined it all?

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

"Are you okay?"

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

You forced yourself to nod. Forced yourself to breathe.

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

But you weren’t.

You were anything but fine.

But there was no time to fall apart.

The next second, you were running again.

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

El Dorado.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kiara.

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

The gold around you blurred.

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

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

It would never be enough.

Returning to OBX was surreal.

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

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

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

Tension.

JJ stopped coming around.

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

He didn’t come around because of her.

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

You stopped looking.

You stopped waiting.

But your father noticed.

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

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

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

You didn’t answer right away.

Because how could you?

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

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

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

He didn’t recognize you.

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

But because the light in your eyes was gone.

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

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

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

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

Because weren’t you gone, too?

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

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

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

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

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

Someone who never would.

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

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

But none of it stopped the ache.

And none of it changed what had already happened.

It was a quiet afternoon when Kiara finally found you.

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

Then Kiara’s shadow stretched across the wooden planks.

"Hey."

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

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

"Can we talk?"

The words made your stomach twist.

You didn’t want to talk to her.

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

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

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

JJ was never yours.

And that was the most painful part of all.

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

You wanted to believe her.

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

But you couldn’t.

Because it still hurt.

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

And so did she.

"It’s just... a lot. For everyone."

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

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

The silence stretched.

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

"I miss you," she admitted softly.

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

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

But it had.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do what?”

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

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

The only difference was you.

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

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

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

“I’m just tired, JJ. That’s all.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Friends.

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

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

The one that meant nothing now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t answer.

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

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

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

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

Present time. 

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

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

All that mattered was JJ. 

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm not worth your beautiful tears."

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

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

And God, you hated yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because I…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart clenched violently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now I have something to live for.”

Your heart clenched so hard it hurt.

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

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

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

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

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

No more running. No more hiding.

JJ Maybank had risked everything for you.

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

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

A year had passed since Morocco.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, more importantly — how much was still ahead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"All of the above."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

love always, your santi 🪐

masterlist

[umikawa]

a/n: omg ANOTHER senku fic?? Sedate me. I went off topic in this fic and didn’t even try to redeem myself so 🙏 writing Stanley next, wish me luck

senku ishigami x gn!reader | no warnings, set at the end of the village origins arc. 970 wc. Lot of dialogue cause that’s just how I roll (｀_´)ゞ

Senku was tired. 

Thoughts raced in his mind at a mile a minute, never-ending and constantly sprouting. On paper, he was sure it’d mimic the nervous system. Each thought that crossed his mind bothered him to no bounds, leading him to sleepless nights where he would devise plans for any situation that could happen. 

Like how to handle animal attacks like the one with Taiju in the beginning. What to do if there were (somehow) a fish shortage. What the plan was if an unknown settlement comes suddenly to raid the village. What to do if the Tsukasa empire decides to take action first…

For once (more than he’d admit), thinking made his head hurt. A groan leaves his lips as he holds his head in his hands, rubbing his temples in an attempt to soothe himself. 

“Another late night?” 

He turns around slowly, watching with parted lips as you approach him, a tray with two steaming cups in your hands. “Yeah.” Is all that he can come up with, mouth running dry. He can’t remember the last time he stopped to have a drink.

“You know, for someone as knowledgeable as you, I’d hoped you know that sleeping can be very beneficial to your health.” Senku chuckles at your words, gratefully taking the cup of tea from your hands. “What’s got you so worked up?” 

He takes a moment to gather his thoughts, taking a long sip to mask his uncertainty. “I'm just thinking about how this whole thing will play out.” It’s not a lie; he is worried about how everything will go, but it isn’t what he hoped to say. Though, he isn’t too sure what he wanted to say in the first place. 

You hum, leaning against the edge of his workbench. Your eyes trail over the mess of scribbles on the papers in front of him to the notable bags under his eyes. “Have faith,” Senku nearly rolls his eyes. “Believe in your comrades, and everything will fall into place.” 

He nearly jumps out of his skin at the feeling of your hand holding onto his chin, blinking up at you with wide eyes as you tilt his chin. “You should rest, Senku. A general can’t lead an army with only a wink of sleep.”

He laughs to himself, shutting his eyes as he pulls away from your warm touch. “I know.” Is all he responds with. He knows you're right, but he goes back to the drawing board anyway, ignoring the irregular beating in his chest. “You can go.” 

His tone held no malice or annoyance at the blatant dismissal, his words gentle as he cast a glance your way. You’d walked away from the table, standing behind him now, likely to aid him in his next endeavor. 

Once again, Senku jolts at the feeling of your touch. Your arms wrap around his waist from behind, your head pressed in the space between his shoulder blades, and your fingers clutch the fabric of his tunic. 

“What’s gotten into you?” He asks. Voice strained to keep himself from shouting or worse– trembling.

“Come to bed, Senku.” You’d whispered, pulling on his tunic gently. He sighs, running a hand through his hair as the slightest bit of annoyance builds up. 

Not with you, with himself for ignoring his health to the point you were concerned. 

“Alright.” He sighs, turning around in your hold. You weaken your grip the slightest. Senku wonders if you thought he’d run away if otherwise. “Don’t worry, I won’t run.” 

“You’d better not, " you mumble, releasing him fully. Your hand slips into his, fingers intertwining in place. He felt like they were meant to fit together. Senku quirks a brow. “Just in case. Though I’m sure you wouldn’t be able to get very far with your… stamina.”

He rolls his eyes, allowing you to lead him out of the lab. Twigs and dirt crunch under your steps as you approach his hut. His eyes trailed around the village, and a part of him was praying that no one was awake to see you and him together. 

Not that anything was wrong with that– it’d just be another annoyance he’d have to deal with. 

Senku blinks down at your intertwined hands. When was the last time he held hands with someone? Did he ever? A flash of Byakuya crosses his mind, and a smidge of sadness crosses his face at the thought–right, when they went to see fireworks. 

He figures the look was still etched on his face when you entered his hut. Your hand comes to his face, thumb brushing over his knitted brows. He ignores the touch, his eyes lifting to meet yours. 

Instead of asking him what was wrong, as he thought you would, you wordlessly pulled him into you, fingers carding into his hair and ruffling it around. He groans out a noise of protest, frowning at the wide smile on your face.

“There’s something wrong with you,” he says, rolling his eyes when you pinch his cheeks. “Ten billion percent.” You don’t say a word in response, only messing his hair up even more until it falls in front of his eyes. “You’re weird.”

You scoff at the insult, pinching his chin. “Yeah? And what are you, normal?” He nods, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re the craziest guy in this village, Senku. I assure you.” He chuckles at your words, and only then does he realize what you’ve done for him. 

Tore him away from his work, successfully relieving him of his stress and calming his mind. 

Except his mind wasn’t calm, and a million thoughts swarmed his head the second he locked eyes with you again. Did you always make his heart race when you looked at him?

And when did you get so… pretty?

[laterreurofficial]

Weird question:

I know Paris is isolated from the quarantine and people don't really know much beyond the bare basics of what's going on. What impact does this have on their economy and exporting? How do they get food in/out. DO they get food in/out? Am I thinking too hard about an AU?

Getting quarantined and Hawkmoth'd absolutely tanks Paris' economy. Stuff does get in and out, but the process is slowed significantly by [insert security process here] and not a lot of people want products from the city beset by magic demon bullshit. It's scary! It's bad!

Most of the characters you see here are rich enough that they're insulated from the worst of it, but Marinette and her family are starting to struggle, on account of their business relying on ingredient imports.

Also, maybe. Don't let that stop you if you're having fun though.

[sincerely-sofie]

Ark watching Twig go ballistic on Ruby's abusers from the sidelines is funny, but it also makes me wonder if that's moreso a hesitancy. Considering the things that almost took place the last time he allowed his anger to drive his actions.

(referencing these two posts)

:)

[fandom-lover-extra]

DC X DP: Taking The Cake - Dead Tired

This had to take the cake.

Tim had noticed a couple of odd things about his boyfriend.

One: His boyfriend had an unusual cold temperature-- Tim had originally assumed it might just be because he had poor circulation in his blood stream. But as winter creeped in and his boyfriend still didn't get cold? Not only didn't get cold, but thrived in the temperature? Tim considered just maybe his boyfriend was a meta.

Danny had never mentioned being a meta. But Tim hadn't mentioned being Red Robin either. Not to mention, this was Gotham, so Tim understood why Danny may be a tad apprehensive as to mentioning his colder temperatures.

And if Tim kept the thermostat at a lower temperature from then on any time Danny came to visit? Well, that was his business and nobody else's.

Two: His boyfriend was abnormally quiet. Danny had managed to sneak up on Tim and a few of his family members before. He had managed to sneak up on Cass. And while, on some level Tim could understand his family's apprehension, he felt telling them to promptly 'f*ck off' had also been justified. Tim knew Danny, and Danny genuinely hadn't meant to sneak up on them. 

He had seemed just as startled as them when they shot up in surprise. (And maybe he did ask Cass if Danny was genuinely surprised. His boyfriend was a little sh*t and would totally pull something like this to laugh at. It was his business and Cass's and as far as the two of them were concerned, Danny was perfectly fine.)

Three: Danny was oddly protective. He freaked out anytime there was a Rogue attack and he hadn't heard back from Tim. And while Tim was touched, he hadn't exactly appreciated the mini heart attack he received when he saw Danny out in the field looking for him in a panic.

(That was one of their first big fights. Tim didn't want Danny out in the line of fire, he could take care of himself. Even if Danny didn't know that. But Danny had been just as insistent that he needed to hear back from Tim to know that he was safe.)

They'd reach a compromise. Tim made sure to always respond to Danny's text messages asking if he was safe during a major rogue attack. (Never any phone calls. Danny would know he was lying then.) And he would put up with Danny coddling him the next time he saw him. While it was a bit frustrating, Tim was still touched by the worry.

Four: Danny had enhanced senses. At first, Tim didn't really notice. But eventually, he saw how Danny would flinch at particularly loud noises. Would avoid crowds like the plague. Would sometimes have to wear sunglasses because it was "too bright". Tim never said anything. Never called attention to any of these occurrences, just attempted to help his boyfriend through it.

Tim knew it was a possibility that Danny was just sensitive to those types of things. But considering Tim was sure that Danny was some type of meta, he was leaning more towards that theory.

Five: His boyfriend was unusually strong for someone that looks as much like a twig like him.

Once when Tim had been injured particularly badly during patrol, he had practically been put on bedrest. Not because he hadn't attempted to go out the next night, but because Danny had found out he was injured and came to take care of him while he was injured.

When Tim had attempted to sneak out that night, luckily he had yet to change into his Red Robin suit, Danny had basically manhandled him back into bed. With absolutely no effort, even with Tim struggling against him. Not that Tim had struggled much, with how frazzled his brain had been when he realized that Danny was stronger than he realized.

And if Tim invited Danny to the gym next time he worked out? Well, that didn't have any ulterior motives, no matter what Steph insisted upon.

And now for number six. This took the absolute cake. The last thing Tim had expected. And at this point? Tim wasn't so sure that Danny was actually even human. Which means he would have to completely scrap his theories on his boyfriend and start over from scratch.

Because right now, Tim and Danny were cuddled up on the couch in Danny's apartment. They were having a series marathon of the Star Trek series. It had started out perfectly fine. It had started out as normal.

A weighted blanket on top of the two, Danny cuddled up to Tim, with a bowl of popcorn in-between the two. Eventually, they shifted. The bowl of popcorn ending up on the floor with Danny on top of Tim on the couch.

Absentmindedly, Tim began running his fingers through his boyfriend's hair, not really paying attention to the background noise of the TV. He was just so warm and felt safe with the added weight of Danny on top of him. The movements of his finger's being just as much as a soothing motion to Tim as it was to Danny.

And at first, Tim hadn't noticed it. Not when he was slowly drifting off to sleep. But as the sound got louder, Tim couldn't help but notice. Danny was purring. 

Tim blinked and he blinked again. Not once stopping in his ministrations as he blanked out. Danny continued purring away, leaning into Tim's touch, his eyes closed and a content smile on his face. Tim couldn't help but be reminded of an overly affectionate cat. Especially when he rubbed the space around Danny's scalp and ears, Tim was convinced the was purring louder than the sound coming from the TV at this point.

So maybe he wasn't human after all. Maybe Tim should have given more weight to Damian's alien theory.

But right now, Tim was tired, and he was sure he would remember in the morning.

In the end, Tim allowed Danny's presence to send him off into a warm and comfortable sleep.

(And if Tim proceeded to take apart his theory board and contemplate just how to ask his boyfriend about the fact that he wasn't human? Well, that was his business and nobody else's)

[olive-treeeee]

Bad Timing - 11th Doctor x Reader

Summary: You and the doctor are running from a horrific beast, but He has something to tell you.

Warnings: Monsters and Snogging.

Hello all! I hope you're all doing well, this is my first fan fiction so be nice! But if you like what you see I take requests!

“I think you made him angry.” The Doctor’s voice was tight with panic, the edges fraying in a way you’d never heard before. He wasn’t just nervous; he was afraid, Terrified even. And if he was afraid, you were as good as dead. He moved in front of you, his stance tense, like a man trying to shield a child. He squared his shoulders, puffed out his chest, Small and fragile pretending to be bigger than he was. It would have been almost endearing if it wasn’t utterly useless.

Your breath hitched as your gaze stayed locked on the thing in front of you. It was wrong. Blinding white, the color of fresh snow and hospital walls, but there was nothing pure about it. Its eyes, a vast blue, the other red and raw, freshly wounded. its gaze tore into you with a predator’s patience. A fresh scar slashed down its grotesque, rodent-like face, its curved ears twitching at every breath you took.

And then there was its body. massive. A hulking, bearlike beast, towering over you both like a skyscraper waiting to collapse. One swipe, one lazy flick of its monstrous claw, and you would be nothing but shredded meat. You could feel it. It knew that too and you bet it liked it.

Desperate, you turned to the Doctor, searching for some sign of reassurance, some plan, some miracle. But for the first time since you’d met him, he was silent.

“Angry?” You managed to get out. It felt more like a panicked ramble. “Why would he be angry?”

The doctor, still eyes glued to the monster, noticed the snapped pile of sticks and twigs, the pile was too small for the monster to have sat in but based on where the monster stood and the sudden switch, you would assume that it was the reason. 

“It was a nest for its offspring and you broke it.” The doctor’s voice wobbled. “You stepped on it and you broke it.” 

He didn’t sound like he was angry or telling you off in any way, which surprised you considering you were face to face with certain death and it was all your fault.

“I didn’t mean to.” You squeaked.

The Doctor twitched his head, “I don't think it cares. Over three hundred years of hunting, searching and scouring the planet for a nest for its newborns and it's been squandered by a human.”

Silence fell over you as you heard the monster’s snarls and growls. It sounded somewhat like a lion or a tiger. Both of you took a mini step back again as you felt your heart beating louder and louder. You looked to the doctor for some sort of comfort, but when you did, you received no such thing. The same look of eyes wide and a slightly agape mouth, still etched on his face didn’t necessarily take you by surprise but it definitely made your heart sink. 

“Doctor.” You said, tugging at his sleeve.

“Yeah?” He responds, eyes still glued to the monster.

“Would now be the best time to run?” You began to panic even more. The Doctor turned to look at you for a split second, the first time he looked at you since you saw the creature. You’d never admit it but you liked it when he looked at you. 

Even during certain death. Especially during certain death.

The Doctor, without taking his eyes off the monster stretched his arm around so he’s able to grip your hand. “Uh, yes. Yes I think that would be a great idea.”

He snapped out of his daze and pulled you by the hand and together you ran for your lives. The monster lets out an eardrum rupturing screech before barrelling for both of you. The ground shakes at every single booming step. You Watch as corridors twist and turn in your view.

You looked back, the doctor’s hand still in yours. A huge group of cyber armoured soldiers burst through one of the doors, their guns pointed at the creature - you were safe.

“Where did you put the TARDIS?” You asked, still slightly out of breath. You looked around, the entire building isn’t anything you’ve seen before. A spaceship of some kind? A derelict hunk of metal whirling through deep space, sent to keep the beast contained and never return to whatever hell it came from. There’s an acute feeling of despair that stains the walls of this Wraithhold.

“I haven’t the foggiest. It was meant to be here.” The Doctor said, panic dripping in his voice. “It was right here, I swear.”

“So, we’ve Lost it?”

“Unfortunately.”

Your heart Slammed against your ribs, a cold dread coiling in your gut. This is it, Here you are, Stranded on a dying, rust coated hunk of junk with nothing but the faint sounds of systems, slowly failing and the slow, wet grunts of the thing that might eat you alive. Panic grips at your throat, what if no one can get you off this god forsaken ship? What if you never see your mum again? Never step foot into your crummy job ever again? Never feel the warmth of the sun? It wasn’t much of a life before Him but now you are standing at the edge of something so much worse. 

“(Y/N)” The Doctor broke you out of your trance. You spun around to look at him properly. His hair flopping in front of his face, dropped to his knees, twisting slightly so he was facing you. He looked to have been trying to ‘sonic’ an exit out of the side of the metal. “I think this is bad timing, but I have a feeling that we might not make it out alive-”

“Oh my god, please don’t say that.” You shrieked. “You have never said anything like that.”

“Would you just let me finish?” He cut you off, launching to his feet in one fluid motion. Before you could protest, his hand was suddenly on you. Warm, firm, calloused as it pressed against your mouth, silencing you. Your breath hitched. He never touched you. Not like this. Not ever.

Your heartbeat thundered in your ears as his gaze burned into yours.

“We might not make it out alive,” he murmured, low and rough. This was so unlike him. He was usually so bubbly, but this tone, it made you feel something. Then he shrugged, “but we probably will, because it’s me. But if we don’t…” His fingers twitched against your skin, his thumb ghosting along your cheek as his voice dropped to something almost guttural. “I need to do this. Just once.”

And then, before you could process it, before you could even breathe. His lips crashed into yours.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t tentative. It was raw, searing, all-consuming. His fingers slid from your mouth to cradle your jaw, tilting your head just right as he deepened the kiss, pressing himself flush against you. Heat coiled low in your stomach. The metal walls around you, the danger, the ticking clock. It all dissolved, drowned out by the way he tasted, the way he took you in his arms. 

When he finally pulled back, just enough for his forehead to rest against yours, his breath was uneven. His hands lingered, thumbs stroking along the skin of your jawline as though worshipping the shape of you.

“If we die,” he whispered, lips barely brushing against yours, “at least I’ll go, knowing what that felt like.”

You pull away from him, a sly grin plastered across your face. “That was really cheesy, doctor.” 

The doctor looked back at you with a look you couldn’t quite read, you supposed – you hoped it was a positive one. Then he smiled, oh god, He smiled. His dimples brimming on his cheeks. “You know me, gotta keep you on your toes.”

The Moment, just as quick as it started, was cut short by the ear splitting, shrill roar of the monster. You both snapped your heads in perfect unison adrenaline pulsing all over again.

“Speaking of keeping you on your toes.” A wicked grin spread across his face, Then before you could react, he laced his hand in yours and the two of you took off down the corridor

[pookietv]

mending | arthur tv

omg bee is back after her inconsistency streak oncemore?? lmao i feel all i do as the forewords for my posts is say sorry for being inactive but.. sorry for being inactive :P

hope you enjoy!! if people want it, i may make a part two :)

arthur was a clumsy boy. you knew all too well after seeing his neverending spillages, leading to him carrying a flask round his house twenty-four seven.

and after falling out of a tree, drunk in a recent video? you weren't even surprised.

you had been an easy shoe-in for the friendgroup as soon as bach and liv had moved to london - you had went to school with liv, reconnecting when you found out she was living in the same city as yourself, and in no time you found yourself with a better group of friends you could ever have asked for.

and you had to admit, you had grown a small crush on bach's best friend, arthur, the silly nerd that was nice to everyone you had ever seen him interact with.

and the next time you guys were hanging out, he was complaining about his jumper.

"a twig got stuck in the jumper i was wearing, ripped a hole as well man, that was my favourite jumper!" he declared over his pint, the group laughing at his complaints (that were mainly his own silly fault).

"i might be able to fix it," you hummed, over the glass of cider that sat in front of you, "i mean, i'd have to see it first, depends on the hole," you said softly.

"never knew you were a spinster," george joked, and you rolled your eyes.

"not a spinster, i'm just a grown adult who can fix my own clothes if they break," you grinned back.

"you think you could fix it?" arthur said, looking back at you, a small smile gracing his face, "it really is my favourite jumper,"

"sure, if you bring it round to my house, i can have a look at it and see what i can do," you said, nodding.

so the next day, arthur showed up at your door, handing a folded jumper over with a slightly embarrassed grin, before unfolding it slightly, "see, the hole's here, near the hood? it's pretty close to the seam,"

as your eyes scanned over where his longer fingers held the fabric (and trying to ignore just how nice his hands were long enough to examine the damage), you smiled at him, "oh, this is an easy fix, arthur," you said, and watched a lopsided pleased expression grace his face.

"you're the best, y/n," he said.

"it's not a problem, it'll probably take me an hour, i mean you can come in whilst i sew it if you'd like, i can make you a cuppa," you offered, and he frowned.

"i wish i could, but i'm actually dropping this off on my way to meet with bach for filming," he said softly, "but i can come pick it up whenever, honestly don't rush if you have other things to do,"

"it's fine arthur, you stresshead - i'll do it tonight and you can come pick it up tomorrow," you smiled.

"see, what would i do without you?" he grinned, and hugged you at your door, "i'll text you tomorrow, to see what time i can come get it,"

so your night had consisted of a cup of tea, a tv show in the background whilst you curled up on your sofa, your sewing kit (which resided in an old chocolate box) laying beside you, and patching up his jumper.

and once you had finished it, the shoulder of the hoodie looking practically new, despite one small line of stitching that really wasn't noticeable, unless you were being pedantic about it.

you sent him a photo of the fixed jumper, along with a message reading 'all mended!" and he responded saying 'thank you so much! i'll pick it up around lunchtime tomorrow if that's okay?'

'around lunchtime' of the next day came, and a knock on your door signalled arthur was here, so you grabbed the gray jumper and walked to your door.

he smiled as he saw you opening the door, holding a small bunch of flowers, "sorry, i wanted to get you something to say thanks for fixing them, but i didn't know what so i figured flowers would be.. i don't know, but they're for you," he explained awkwardly.

you smiled back at him, "you're sweet, arthur, but honestly you didn't have to, it was just a small favour, didn't even take me long,"

days later, however, arthur just couldn't bring himself to wash the jumper. he didn't know how, but it smelled so inexplicably of you after all you had done was fix a small part of it. he almost felt himself a creep, but there was something so strangely comforting about the way it smelled slightly sweet, homely almost. he hadn't even realised that he enjoyed the way you smelled until then, but it was all he could reasonably think about. he hadn't dared to wear it and ruin it by smelling like him again.

he knew it was a stupid, stupid idea, but he found himself trawling through his cupboard of clothes, looking for something, anything that had a small hole or slight tear that he could ask you politely to sew.

he didn't even know why he felt this way, and he didn't know exactly what to do with this feeling, so he mentioned it off-handedly to bach.

"i know it sounds weird, but it's just such a.. nice comforting smell, and i feel bad even wearing the jumper again." he finished explaining, and bach was trying not to giggle, a smug smile plastered across his face.

"have you not considered the fact that you might, you know.. like her?" he laughed, looking at arthurs bright red and confused face.

"of course i like her, she's my friend, but like, no offence bach, i don't think you smell nice enough to make me this weird over a hoodie," arthur rolled his eyes at bach's seemingly stupid comment.

"arthur, you freak, i mean a crush,"

"no, i.. i don't think i have a crush on her.." he murmured out, and felt his eyes look to the floor for a moment, as if calculating something in his head.

[ozzgin]

Hello!

🌟 here again! I'm here with another request for our lovely bodyguard yandere.

Have you ever seen videos of fans jumping up onto stages with kpop idols? Then get carried away by security behind stage?

I'd love to see how our lovely violent baby girl would react to not being able to react with immediate violence as a reaction given all the eyes and cameras on him. Would he be stone faced just carrying the stage crasher by the collar like a cat? Or would he be dragging him by the legs into hell?

The reactions of fans to the bodyguard would be interesting too, I could see Reader being jealous over people thirsting over bodyguard on Twitter or something lol. Or bodyguard confused on why people would say stuff like "he could snap my back like a twig and I'd say thank you" about him.

Hope you are taking care, and I have my fingers crossed to hear from you eventually

Sincerely

-🌟

Long overdue and I'm terribly sorry about that! I had the ideas for a while now, but I could never find the proper words to assemble everything. ;-;

Yandere! Bodyguard x Idol! Reader (III)

Your bodyguard has gained sudden Internet fame after dealing with a crazed fan on stage. Naturally, he couldn't care less about anyone else, but that doesn't stop you from trying to make him jealous in return. Someone will have to be the sacrificial lamb to his murderous possessiveness.

Content: female reader, obsessive behavior, violence, death, reader and yandere are both psycho

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

The screen of your phone lights up again and you only need a quick glance to know what it is. Another post about last night’s event. About your bodyguard. You sink your nails into the leather chair and look ahead towards the mirror, exchanging a smile with the hairstylist.

“Oh, it looks lovely! You always do such a great job.” You compliment the woman as you tilt your head both ways, admiring the gentle curls. Now get the fuck out already.

“I’m so glad! Is there anything else you’d like me to-”

“No, that’s all. You can go”, you respond curtly.

The stylist collects her products and waves at you, exiting the room. The phone vibrates once more with a new notification, and you promptly throw it against the door. It scatters in large chunks of scrap across the plush carpet.

The whole ordeal happened within seconds. You were performing the final song of the evening when a fan hurled himself over the security barrier and onto the stage. The people standing at the very front began screaming and some took their phones out, scrambling for a good angle to record everything.

“Please, (Y/N), I’m your biggest fan!” the man pleaded, approaching you with shaking hands.

You froze in place, observing his actions with the same indifference of watching a TV ad that goes on for too long. Before the stranger could even reach your proximity, your bodyguard effortlessly and speedily threw him over the shoulder, giving you a reassuring nod and retreating backstage. He had that smile on his face that signaled he was pissed, and your mouth hung open in realization: You wouldn’t be able to witness the massacre.

You knew that expression all too well. That man would never see the light of day again, and under normal circumstances you would be right behind your bodyguard, cheering him on and suggesting ways to further torment of whoever dared to get too close to you.

And yet, your little ritual had been interrupted. You stood there on the stage, baffled, as the other idols gathered around you with worried looks. You poor thing. That must’ve been terrifying. The audience was shouting words of support, encouraging you to continue as if nothing happened. With pursed lips, you tightened your grip around the microphone and reassured everyone of your well-being. The show had to go on, regardless of your bloodlust.

This morning, you woke up to hundreds of posts online about the incident. Or rather, the way your bodyguard dealt with it. You scrolled through photos, videos, and confessions regarding the mysterious stranger who protected you from harm.

“I need a man like that in my life!”, “I know, right? So cool!”, “Imagine how easily he’d pick you up”, “The broad shoulders! I’m in love <3”

You don’t even have time to be properly upset about it. Your schedule for the day is packed with interviews and photoshoots. You glance in the mirror one final time and exit the room. The bodyguard has been waiting for you, resting against the wall with crossed arms.

“I need a new phone”, you tell him in a casual tone.

“What happened to the previous one?” He inquires, somewhat confused by your sudden request.

“Just do it!” You snap at the large man, rushing past him without providing any window for a reaction.

Ideally, you would very much like to tell him that the sudden influx of attention irritates you beyond comprehension. Then he’d reassure you that his indifference towards everyone else has not changed whatsoever, and thus your worries are entirely unfounded; but, if you need an outlet to release all that stress, he can easily find an empty changing room and service you like he always does.

Unfortunately, there is no time for that.

The bodyguard follows your movements with raised eyebrows, perplexed. What could’ve gotten you into such a sour mood? Has someone caused you to be upset? Are you still pouting after the missed playtime? He ponders the possibilities as he searches for an assistant.

The employee is visibly startled upon hearing his deep voice calling her. She turns obediently and nods, flashing her best customer-facing smile.

“Can you get (Y/N) a new phone?” he asks plainly.

“Huh? Sure…Did she specify any preferences? What was her previous model?”

He stares in confusion.

“…Can’t you guess?” she insists.

“I’m not good with these things.” The bodyguard rummages through his pocket and pulls out an old, cracked device to prove his point. “I don’t use phones much.”

Why would he? The only time he needs a phone is when he’s apart from you, which hasn’t happened since the Christmas incident. He previously considered a more modern option, so he could stalk your social media and make sure you don’t have any perverts sliding into your messages. That proved to be unnecessary, as you frequently leave your phone unattended or involve him in the process: most of your photos posted online nowadays are actually curated by his truly.

“Oh, so you don’t know about the recent craze?” The woman chuckles and takes out her own phone, speedily tapping on the screen before presenting it to the man. “See? You’re trending!”

He scans the multitude of messages. Ah, so that’s what it was. His lips curl into a grin. To think he’d witness his spoiled idol struggle with jealousy.

“That will be it for today!” the photographer announces, gesturing with his hands and guiding his helpers with the expensive equipment.

This was it, the last photoshoot. You unscrew the cap from your water bottle and take a healthy sip from it, wiping the sweat off your forehead with your other hand. The only good part about the continuous work was that you couldn’t check more of those annoying posts drooling over your bodyguard. Remembering it is enough to increase your heartbeat. The male model you were paired with for this campaign walks in your direction.

“Say, do you have anything planned after this?” He questions smugly. “You could come back to my place.”

What a ridiculous idea, you think with a grimace. Does this asshat think he’s worthy of your company? After a second of contemplation, you’re flooded with the same disappointment you felt back on the stage, watching your fan being carried away like a mere piece of cardboard over the much larger frame of your bodyguard. You might just consider the stupid offer. Why not? It’s not fair to be the only one plagued by jealousy.

“Sure. I know a better place, though.”

Your eyes narrow in a bright smile and you lead the young man towards your backstage room. As you pass by your bodyguard, you remember to mention in a low voice: “Make sure no one disturbs us.” He doesn’t answer, merely gazes at you with an empty expression.

“Man, that guy is scary as hell”, the model remarks as he throws himself in your vanity seat. “Are you not afraid to be alone with him?”

“Not really, no”, you respond idly. “You, on the other hand…”

“Excuse me?”

Now then. To set the scene, you gingerly climb into the man’s lap and adjust your arms around his neck. What a frail little human in comparison to your bodyguard. You blush in anticipation and begin counting in your head.

“H-hey, what did you mean-”

The young man is interrupted by someone’s abrupt intrusion. Your bodyguard throws you a quick glance before turning to close the door behind him. Alright, he can’t be too excited. He must pretend he’s furious, baffled, out for the hunt. You went all the way out for him. He even checked his watch to make sure you had enough time. He can’t let his enthusiasm betray him.

You jump out of the model’s hold with a gasp.

“It’s not what you think~!” you exclaim with feigned surprise. “He started flirting with me and I…” Your words trail off and you rub your arm nervously.

The bodyguard approaches the other man with monotonous movements and grabs him by the collar.

“Wait, you can’t possibly…he’s a well-known model!”, you protest with a fake cry.

Sweet little darling. Worry not, he won’t disappoint you. He’ll put on the best show for your sake. Anything to soothe your innocent heart.

“Could be the President himself”, your bodyguard confesses with a dash of theatrics, “and I’d still break his fucking neck for touching you.” He pulls out his pocketknife and looks at you. “I’ll deal with you in a moment, Miss.”

Your knees weaken and you have to rest against the vanity table. Among the screams and pleads for mercy coming from the poor butchered model, you can only focus on one thing: the violent fucking you’re about to receive.

Your bodyguard truly knows you best.

[sabersandsnipers]

Drabbles: Just One Bed (part ii)

Featuring: Astarion, Halsin, Gale, Raphael

A/N: I love that you are all as obsessed with the one bed trope as I am lol. Inspiration courtesy of @creativepromptsforwriting

Astarion

You can’t explain the pleasure that courses through your veins every time Astarion feeds from you. The delicious waves of heat that writhe in your lower abdomen. The light feeling that envelopes you as your blood is slowly drained from your vessels.

This current feeding session isn’t any different. Slight moans leave your lips at the delicious feeling floating through you. Astarion cradles your head for easier access to your neck, his other hand grips your thigh, holding you in place.

Just when the edges of your vision begin to blur, his fangs part from your skin. You let out a breath, heat flushing through you. His tongue licks the remaining blood off your neck. The hot feeling of his tongue gliding along your skin earns a shiver from deep within you.

“Thank you,” he sighs, hovering over you. “I was feeling so weak.”

You simply nod, your mind so mushy you can’t even form a coherent sentence. Your limbs feel like jelly. Your breaths come out in heavy bursts, as if you just were running uphill.

Astarion notices your state, taking in the paleness of your skin, and the slight shake in your hands. “Do you want to sleep here tonight?” It’s the least he could do after taking so much from you.

You look at him, an incredulous look on your face. He’s never invited you to stay with him before. Not that the invitation isn’t tempting. The last thing you want to do right now is drag yourself to your own tent. Besides, you find Astarion’s presence comforting, despite his history.

“Sure,” you respond, your body relaxing a bit.

Sleep is quick to find you. After a few hours of dreaming, you wake to find yourself in Astarion’s arms. His face is buried in your neck. Your body is flush against his, and you can feel the firmness of his body.

You smile to yourself, happy to help find comfort in any form.

Halsin

The grass beneath you tickles your skin. The hardness of the ground presses into your back uncomfortably. You always admired Halsin’s connection to nature. But did he have to be so connected he had to insist on sleeping in the woods?

Traveling with Halsin alone meant “using the forest as your resting place”, as he had said too excitedly. You couldn’t bring yourself to deny him. He was absolutely giddy at the prospect of a sleepover with you under the stars.

But now, with twigs digging in your back and rocks up your ass, it’s hard to see the bright side of the situation. You toss and turn, trying to find any sort of comfortable position.

“Are you alright?” You hear Halsin’s deep voice ask.

You squirm against the ground again. “I’m alright. I just…feel a little exposed is all.”

He chuckles. “Understandable, seeing as it’s your first time sleeping in the forest.”

You hear him shuffle closer to you. The heat of him is quick to reach you. “Come here,” he says, reaching for you.

You allow him to pull you onto his bare chest. The firmness of his body is somehow more comfortable than the hardness of the ground. He wraps his arms around you, securing you in place .

Every inch of you is acutely aware of his proximity. He seems unbothered by your positioning though. You will admit, laying on top of him is much better than the cold, hard ground.

His thumbs trace circles along your exposed skin, and your arms wrap themselves around his neck as you find the most comfortable position you can.

“Better?” He asks. His voice vibrates through you.

“Much,” you tell him, and he lets out a contented sigh.

Gale

Your group was lucky to reach an inn before the storm began raging. The dark clouds stirring above you gave evidence of the snow about to fall. Goosebumps pebbled your skin as the temperature dropped.

You’re grateful to have an actual bed for the night as well. Not so grateful you have to share with someone else. But if you had to share with someone, Gale isn’t a bad choice. He’s one of the few members that’s actually considerate, even selfless.

The bed is pretty small, and even with the fireplace going, you find yourself growing cold. You pull the blanket around yourself as tightly as you can, careful to not take too much cover away from Gale. You can feel warmth radiating from him, though, and your body craves it.

Your teeth chatter suddenly, and you clamp them in an attempt to smother the noise.

“You’re cold aren’t you?” Gale suddenly asks. You turn to face him, a slight flush heating your cheeks as you notice he’s sleeping shirtless.

“I’m fine,” you lie, not wanting to complain.

He sighs, motioning you over. “Just come here. We’ll stay warm if we’re close.”

You know you should deny him. Snuggling with a companion is a risky game. But you trust Gale.

You scooch over into his embrace, sighing at the warmth of him. He wraps his arms around you as you rest your head against his chest. Your fingers are freezing, so you place them against his torso.

He hisses. “Your hands are freezing.”

You giggle. “Sorry. I hope you don’t mind.”

You feel his mouth move against your hair. “Not at all.”

His skin nearly feels like fire against the cold, but it’s also a welcome feeling. You admire how he holds you so tightly. You breathe in his scent, noticing how it comforts you.

It doesn’t take long for his heat to seep into you, and eventually, a deep sleep overtakes you.

Raphael

It’s either sleep in his bed with him, or sleep in your cell. He says you should call him merciful for giving you a choice, but it doesn’t feel like mercy. He’s so pleased with himself when you huff with frustration at his offer.

Sleep with a devil, or sleep behind bars. You’re not sure which one is worse. In the end, you choose the option with the bed. Knowing Raphael, it will be one of the most comfortable beds you’ve ever slept on.

He doesn’t hesitate to instantly invade your personal space when you crawl under the sheets. You feel his presence at your back, and you know his eyes are raking over you, taking in every detail he can. Searching for every button he can push.

He presses himself against you, wrapping an arm around your torso to hold you. A tingly feeling builds in your lower abdomen. You scold yourself. This creature simply wants to tease you.

And tease you he does. He traces those claws of his along your thighs. He lets his soft breaths linger at the back of your neck. He never reaches for an intimate part of you though, but will get close before backing off again. It leaves you feeling empty, and it drives you mad.

“I won’t be sleeping tonight, will I?” you ask him, a small shake in your voice.

“Not a wink, little mouse.” You can hear the smug smile in his voice.

[yuwuta]

*TEST DRIVE — YUUTA OKKOTSU

❝I WILL NEVER LEAVE BY YOUR SIDE, DON’T YOU KNOW YOU GOT A RIDE OR DIE

pairings. okkotsu/reader, uhhh implied maki/nobara and sort of itadori/fushiguro but that’s not so important for now

warnings, themes. non-curse/modern au, marriage of convenience au, i thought long and hard about who would fit this trope best and all i can say is that i didn’t really pick just one in the end, so if this spirals in a wedding/marriage playlist, you’ve been warned, um… sort of implied possessive behavior on yuuta’s end but it’s only teased for now :)

word count. 2.5k i can yap about him all day

playing. test drive/ariana grande, going crazy/exo, heart of glass/blondie, idea/taemin, tipsy/chloe x halle 

“I just heard the funniest joke from Inumaki,” Nobara says, welcoming herself into your apartment. You’re not surprised, and continue with your dessert preparations. Yuuji, to your left, spares her a wave, before going back to diligently preparing the vegetables. 

Maki is the only one to respond by turning slightly in her seat to raise an eyebrow at Nobara when she walks up to the island, “Since when do you think Toge is funny?” 

“Not usually,” Nobara admits, taking the neighboring open seat. She crosses her arms atop the counter, and squints at you, “But he surprised me this time.”

Your eyes fidget to Maki, who seems equally confused by Nobara’s unnerving stare, then to Yuuji, who appears none the wiser, because he happily chirps, “Well, I wanna hear it! Tell us, Kugisaki!”

“He said that it was soooo kind of you to share your anniversary date with Yuuta and have us all over for dinner,” Nobara drawls, “Then I got confused, of course—but then I thought, ‘Maybe they’re secretly together and I just didn’t know. Wouldn’t be a huge surprise.’”

You flinch at that, “What do you mean that wouldn’t be a huge sur—”

“This is the funniest part, though,” Nobara squints, “He said that you’re actually married, and he meant that today is your wedding anniversary. He was pretty convincing, though. He’s very committed to the bit—even challenged me to ask you at dinner, but I figured I’d straighten it out now,” she drawls, reaching over to steal a cucumber slice from Yuuji’s station, “You’re not actually married to Yuuta, right?”

You pause, for too long. Maki’s disbelief shifts from Nobara to you, morphing into a threatening glare that makes you chuckle nervously. Yuuji keeps turning his head between you and Nobara, waiting for one of you to crack. 

It’s not her. “Okay… define married,” you mumble.

Nobara all but jumps across the island, standing up and slamming her palms on the counter top. “What do you mean ‘define married’—there’s only one definition!” Yuuji frantically sweeps his preciously sliced vegetables out of her range. “You’re either married to Okkotsu or you’re not, which is it?” 

You pause again. Too long this time. 

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Maki says, “It’s true? Toge says that shit all the time, how he can ‘still hear wedding bells’ when you two are around. Oh, I’m going to be sick.”

“Wait, you’re married?” Yuuji quips, “Since when? You should have told me, I would have gotten you a present!”

“Okay, okay—enough!” you yell, taking a step back, “It’s… true, but it’s not what you think. Yuuta and I are legally married, but we’re not together together.”

Nobara reaches to flick you on the forehead, “What the hell does that mean?” 

“It means, we’re married on paper only,” you explain, strategically placing your knife in the sink, far out of Maki and Nobara’s reach. 

“Say more words,” Maki demands, “Now.” 

You sigh. Even Yuuji has paused his preparations, blinking at you with those big, wide eyes, and you know for sure there’s no way out of this now. 

“It happened four years ago. I—”

Despite being the one who asked you to say more, Maki is the first to cut you off, incredulous, “Four years? You’ve been married to that beanstalk for four years and neither one of you twigs thought to mention it?” 

“Maki, let her finish,” Yuuji pitches in for you, reaching a comforting hand out to your shoulder, “Maybe she was dying and needed Okkotsu-senpai to sign her insurance papers so the government didn’t sweep her away! I saw that in a K-Drama once,” he smiles proudly. Nobara pinches her face in disgust, immediately refuting and calling Yuuji an idiot for believing everything he sees on TV. 

“Honestly, that’s not too far off. I’m not dying—and neither is Yuuta,” you hastily correct the worried faces peering at you, “But he was sick as a kid, and long story short is something got fucked up with his insurance when his parents died. It wasn’t a big deal, at first, but it spiraled into a bunch of issues, the biggest being the threat of taking his parents’ house away from him.”

Nobara pulls back, crossing her arms. “Why didn’t Gojo just do something then? That idiot has more than enough money to spare for some petty hospital bill, even with twenty years of interest.” 

“He did,” you assure her, “But then the house became its own problem. His parents didn’t leave the deed in his name, and the community board tried to say that Yuuta had no assets and wasn’t a favored candidate for their neighborhood, even if he was their son.” 

“That’s bullshit,” Maki interjects. 

“Yeah, totally not fair,” Yuuji pouts, “That’s his dead parents’ house and they wanted him to prove himself?” 

“Pretty much,” you sigh, “Basically marriage is something that helped prove his eligibility… plus some doctored philanthropic donations on Gojo’s end, and letters of recommendation from Shoko and her co-workers.” 

Nobara tuts her bottom lip out. “I don’t know, I’m not buying it.” 

“No, it makes sense. I’m sure by now all his parents’ neighbors are a bunch of uptight, old heads who didn’t want some kid throwing parties nearby,” Maki argues, “But once they hear he’s a young, married, nurse with a side hustle in philanthropy, I’m sure those geezers welcomed him with open arms. Sounds like some shit my family would do, too.” 

Nobara hums, factoring in Maki’s evaluation. “Okay fine. Yuuta marries you, he gets his parents’ house back and probably commits insurance fraud too,” she settles, “But what about you?—You said this was mutually beneficial, so what did you get out of it?” 

You probably should talk to Yuuta about revealing all the details of your marriage to your friends, but you knew it was bound to happen sooner or later. Yuuta’s parents’ death and the issues that came along with it weren’t a secret at the time, but your problems are something you kept private. It’s a miracle you’ve gone this long under the radar, and you know Nobara isn’t going anywhere with unanswered questions. 

“Permanent residency status,” you tell her, “Yuuta’s a citizen, so in marrying him, all my problems about finding a job in six weeks after graduation disappeared.” 

“But… you got a job?” Yuuji questions, head tilted. 

“Yeah, eventually, but I didn’t know I would, and it was either take that chance, or be forced to go back home, and my time was running out,” you reveal, twiddling your thumbs together, “Look, I would have said something at the time, but everyone had their own shit to deal with after graduation. I would have asked any one of you to marry me, but I knew Yuuta was the only one with a reason to say yes.” 

The kitchen falls quiet as the news sits with your friends. Nobara and Maki’s stern disbelief slowly morphs into empathy, and Yuuji’s bright eyes grow steely with concentration as he pieces your story together. 

Then he springs up, “Wait, I totally would have married you, senpai!” 

You laugh, a lightness easing its way back into the room. “Thanks, Yuuji,” you lean to give him a kiss on the cheek, but you’re met with Nobara’s outstretched palm instead. 

“Nuh-uh. Just because I think this marriage is insane doesn’t mean that I condone adultery.” 

“It’s not adultery. I told you, Yuuta and I are married on paper only—he’s free to date and kiss whomever he pleases, and so am I,” You roll your eyes, pushing her hand away and giving Yuuji a kiss anyway, which he happily accepts, sticking his tongue out in mockery at Nobara.

Maki scoffs, “Are we sure that Yuuta knows that?” 

“Of course he knows that.”

“So then why hasn’t he dated anyone?” Maki presses, eyes lowering into a teasing glare. 

“I don’t know,” you shrug, “Who Yuuta does or doesn’t date isn’t really my business.” 

Nobara pulls at her hair, “Yes it is. You’re his wife.” 

“His contractual wife,” you correct. 

“Contractual?” 

“Wait—have Yuuta and Toge not totally kissed on several drunk, or am I the only one who saw that?” Yuuji interjects.

“No, that was you and Fushiguro,” Nobara says, “And nobody cares about you two right now.” 

You put a hand on Yuuji’s shoulder, “I care about you, Yuuji. Please, tell us about your drunk escapades with our dear Megumi.” 

“Save it, Itadori,” Maki cuts in, crushing Yuuji’s bright demeanor, “You and Yuuta are way more pathetic. Keep talking.” 

“Since when do you even like to gossip?” 

“Since she met me,” Nobara gleams, proudly, “Now, keep going.” 

You give Yuuji an apologetic glance before continuing, “I just mean that by the end of this year, Yuuta and I can get amicably divorced without raising any suspicion. Our marriage can’t be contested as a sham, I’ll be eligible for citizenship and housing on my own, and all will be well.” 

It’s quiet again, for a moment. You bite your lip in anticipation. Ultimately, you knew that none of your friends would judge you and Yuuta for what you did, but it wasn’t exactly normal to marry your friends for legal benefits, and then hide your marital status from almost everyone you knew. Still, this conversation was going about as well as it could, until Maki starts laughing. 

Her laughter starts off quiet, then grows gradually, until it becomes concerning. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Maki actually laugh before—a few amused grunts, and occasional drunk giggles, yes, but full-on, blown laughter is a first. It’s scary, and as you glance at Nobara and Yuuji, you’re clearly not the only one worried. 

“You actually believe that he doesn’t feel anything for you—that’s rich,” she says through laughter, clutching her stomach, “God help you if you think you can just divorce him. You two are so fucked, you deserve each other.”

“Wait, speaking of rich, did you sign a prenup? Isn’t Yuuta totally loaded now that he’s a nurse and related to Gojo—I also don’t think that you’ll be able to divorce him that easily, but if you kill him, you could be an instant millionaire,” Nobara reasons. 

“That’s so shallow!” Yuuji exclaims, “Also, I’m a nurse, and I wouldn’t say I’m loaded.” 

“That’s because you’re not cute like Yuuta,” Nobara mocks, “If you were, then you’d make the big bucks.” 

“I’m cute!” Yuuji cries, turning to you, “I’m cute, right?” 

You reach to pat his head, “Yes, Yuuji, you’re very cute. And perfectly well off enough. Yuuta works inhumane hours for his money, don’t be like him.” 

“Itadori, you make, like, quadruple what the average person makes,” Maki reminds him, “You just spend it all just as quickly.” 

Nobara scoffs, “Which he can afford to do because he’s a nepotism baby.” 

“You just said I was poor and ugly, and now I’m a nepotism baby? Pick a story, Kugisaki!”

“I don’t have to pick shit. Nanami-san sponsors your entire life, and enables your bad spending habits,” she huffs, “Yuuta’s a nepotism nurse, too. In fact, you both make me sick.” 

“Okay, then by that logic Fushiguro is also a nepotism baby!”

“Well, duh. He’s, like, the poster child for nepotism babies all around the world.” 

You drown out Nobara and Yuuji’s argument, mulling over Maki’s words instead. Did she mean to imply that Yuuta would make your divorce difficult on purpose?—you don’t see why; Yuuta doesn’t have a malicious bone in his body, and it wouldn’t serve him any purpose. You didn’t sign a prenup, but you would never argue ownership over any of his assets, and you know that Yuuta knows that; he’d already given you so much, you would never try to take anything from him. 

In fact, getting divorced would only open more doors for him. You don’t know if Yuuta hasn’t dated in the past four years out of some lingering loyalty to your marriage, but if that was the case, then you don’t want to stand in his way for any longer than necessary, and you especially don’t want him to grow to resent you for it. He would no longer be unnecessarily bound to you; he’d be free, legally, to carry on with his life—you would be the only one indebted to him for his boundless kindness. 

Truthfully, you hadn’t thought much of your divorce throughout your marriage. You knew that after five years, you could get divorced without consequence, but you hadn’t pictured how that would go. The thought of it somehow messing with your relationship to Yuuta, and your mutual friendships makes your head hurt. Maybe you should have married Yuuji instead. 

“Are you kidding, Yuuta would have mauled him,” Nobara chuckles, “Plus he would have lost his childhood home.” You blink. Guess you said that last part out loud. 

Her words spark more bickering between her and Itadori, and this time you turn to Maki. It was evident that she was just as much in the dark as anybody else about your secret marriage, but, still, it seemed like she knew something that you didn’t. 

“Maki, does... you said I think that Yuuta doesn’t feel anything—then what does he feel?” 

Maki blinks, then shakes her head, “You clearly don’t know who you married. That’s for you and your husband to work out.” She continues, this time that same wicked laughter is back, “Just know that whatever your plan for divorce was, it’s not going to be that easy. Yuuta is stupid, clearly, but he’s not that dumb. At least, I hope not.” 

You pout, shoulders slumping. That was about the most cryptic and least comforting response a person could give, but you shouldn’t have expected more from Maki. Luckily, Yuuji moves to give your shoulders a comforting rub, forgoing Nobara’s exclamations of him being a homewrecking harlot. 

At this point, you can’t tell if their arguing or your overthinking is causing your headache. Maybe you should cancel this group dinner all together; there’s no way you and Yuuta won’t be the topic of conversation all night, and you’re not exactly looking forward to pairing Maki’s mystic messages with Toge’s public humiliation, unless you start consuming liquor now. 

Deciding that’s the best plan of action, you turn to your cupboards to reach for a bottle of wine, pawning off popping the cork to Maki when your phone buzzes, catching your attention. 

It’s a text from Yuuta, similar to one you’ve received on this day every day, for the past four years, with something a little extra tacked on this year. 

from: yuuta 🌟 — happy anniversary (and i’m not just saying that because the feds are watching) (＾∇＾) — cheers to us, and many more! 🖤

[pastel0rchid]

A Gift from the Gods (5)

Hiccup x F!Reader

Word Count: 1.5K

Warnings: None

A/N: Hello everyone! I finally got the time to work on and finish this chapter. It's been so hectic since I started student teaching, most days I just come home and immediately go to sleep, others I just have no motivation to even open my computer. I just want to thank everyone who has waited ever so patiently for this chapter to come out. I hope this was worth the wait <3

Previous Chapter .~.~. Next Chapter

Days pass excruciatingly slow, filled with eyes constantly following your every move.

Somebody was always nearby.

Stoic’s orders. 

Usually, it was either Hiccup or Gobber, but there was the occasional moment where neither was available, leaving you with somebody else of Stoic’s choosing.

Now was one of those times.

Sitting on a rock near the edge of the forest, your wings wrapped once again by the rope that also bound your wrists together, you watch Astrid use a small stone to sharpen her axe. Her eyes were locked on you, just like yours were on her.

Like two predators, wrongly thinking the other was prey.

Your wings twitch against the rope, both from being uncomfortable and from the unease of the silence, so thick you could cut it with that freshly sharpened axe.

Hiccup constantly tried his hardest to argue your case with his father, most of the time only granting you moments of freedom to fly that were few and far between.

You felt like nothing more than a pet, occasionally taken out for a walk.

The sound of the stone against the axe suddenly stops, causing your focus to return to the blonde across from you. The same silence prevails as she watches you, her gaze scrutinizing.

It was as if she was looking for something within you, something that you knew wasn’t there.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

Your voice cuts through the silence, finally becoming tired of the tense air that felt like it was suffocating you the longer you sat in it.

She scoffs in response, an action you had somewhat expected from how she had been constantly reacting around you. Her body was always poised in a position as if she was ready for your attack, waiting for the moment you would undoubtedly strike against her or her friends. Her hand always hovered over her axe that was hooked into the belt wrapped around her waist when you were in her line of sight.

It has grown to become a tiring sight.

“Why would I believe that?” Astrid asks in that same defensive tone she used around you too, another thing you’ve come to expect, “How do we know you’re not working with an enemy of Berk? You’ve given us nothing about you that could even potentially gain our trust.”

“I’ve gained Hiccup’s.”

Astrid’s face scrunches up like an anger you’ve only seen briefly from the dragons with spikes on their tails when being confronted by another dragon for territory. Hiccup had said that they call them ‘Deadly Nadders’, a fitting name for such a powerful dragon.

It seems that Astrid and her dragon are more alike than meets the eye.

She’s about to respond, her lips parted with a rebuttal to your words.

But both of your gazes suddenly snap towards the forest when a twig snaps and a deep growl rumbles.

—

Hiccup had to be dragged towards the blacksmith's hut by Gobber, wanting nothing more than to spend more time with the dragon hybrid they had come across, wanting to learn more about her and where she came from.

He found himself growing a form of attachment towards her, whether it was from his innate curiosity, or something deeper, he had no clue.

His father, on the other hand, wanted nothing more than to be rid of her, seeing her as a threat to their village. Gobber seemed like the only one who truly understood Hiccup’s side, albeit a little reluctantly.

His mind was nowhere near as focused as it should have been while he tweaked with one of Toothless’ spare tail flaps, having gotten less busy after he helped with the weaponry that had been brought in.

Hiccup knew Gobber had noticed this, earning him a few smacks to the back of the head from the Viking himself throughout the day.

“Where has your mind been today, Lad?” The older Viking finally asks after the blacksmith has only been filled with the crackling sounds of the fire and the screeching sound of metal for a long while. His tone was filled with displeasure, his arms crossed across his chest as he turned to face the young adult, “You almost impaled yourself today on that sword I had you sharpen.”

The brunet looks over towards his mentor, stopping his adjusting of the tail fin with a small sigh escaping him. He knew his brain had been preoccupied, less focused than he usually was, less fine-tuned.

He’d been like this for a few days.

“I don’t know. I just can’t help but worry about her since she’s with Astrid today.”

“That dragon lass?”

Hiccup gives another sigh. He was obvious, he always was about certain things.

“I know Astrid doesn’t seem to trust her, but-”

“Astrid has every right to be, Hiccup. The lass is new, strange, she’s not like the rest of us. She hasn’t even told us who she is.”

Gobber walks over towards Hiccup, placing his human hand onto the younger Viking’s shoulder, his displeasure melting away to reveal a look of understanding.

“I know you trust her, I can see it in the way you look at her… but you have to understand that not everyone thinks like you, just like with Toothless.”

Hiccup frowned. Gobber was right, he usually was in times like this. It had taken a while before all of Berk fully accepted having dragons as companions, but they had known of dragons and had studied them for centuries.

But her… she was new, unheard of… a new adventure.

“Gobber-”

A roar interrupts him, sounding loud and too close for comfort. The tone wasn’t like the tamed dragons that resided in the village, it sounded rougher, meaner.

The two rush out of the blacksmiths, looking towards the edge of the forest and finding two familiar figures, an untamed Monstrous Nightmare towering over them with its wings spread wide.

Hiccup’s heart races, watching as Astrid grips her axe and gets into a fighting position while she is left defenseless, tied up, basically being fed to the dragon on a silver platter.

—

The dragon roars again as it towers over you and Astrid, who is now gripping her freshly sharpened axe, her body tense with a readiness to fight.

You managed to stand from the rock, moving a few steps back as the dragon stalks closer to the two of you. You knew how dangerous this species could be, having seen them engulf their bodies in flames in times of distress.

You begin to struggle against the rope around you, trying to find a weak spot like you had once before. Stretching your wings only gets you so far before the rope pushes back, unwilling to let you escape. Astrid had tied them this time, it only made sense that they were immaculate.

The dragon, whose name you had learned from Hiccup to be the ‘Monstrous Nightmare’ (another fitting name, you think), fully engulfs itself in flames like you know them to do. The heat instantly shocks you, causing you to take a few stumbled steps back.

It seems to be more focused on Astrid than yourself, its head reared in her direction and stalking mainly toward the blonde. Her grip on her axe tightens, raised to defend herself.

As the dragon’s jaw opens, ready to unleash the heat from its mouth, you rush to stand in front of the blond. Your wings, having pushed past the sting of pain due to the adrenaline coursing through your veins, stretch it just enough to where the rope snaps and they spread in a defensive position.

A growl, deep from your chest like your father had taught you, rumbles out of you. One that dragons would give when guarding another dragon, one that parental dragons would give with their young behind them. It was one of the first dragon-like sounds your parents had taught you to make when you were younger.

The Monstrous Nightmare shuts its jaws with a grumble escaping it, the fire on its body slowly dying out until all that’s left is the smoke billowing off of it. It copies your growl, leaning down to look into your eyes, huffing its hot breath into your face.

Your eyes glance off to the side, noticing something hiding off in the bushes behind the Monstrous Nightmare… a baby dragon, it’s baby. You had gotten too close.

This dragon was nothing more than a mother protecting its young.

When you look back into the dragon's eyes, you give a small nod and begin to slowly step back, using your hand and body to move Astrid with you as well. Your growl, once protective and deep, had lightened into one of understanding, showing that you were backing down.

You watch as the dragon looks between you and Astrid while you move further and further away from her and her young, before huffing out once again and turning to return to the forest, seemingly satisfied with how the encounter had ended. Its young keeps its eyes on you two before turning and rushing after its mother.

Once the dragon and its young are out of sight, you stop pushing Astrid backward and turn to face the blonde, ready to ask if she is okay, but you pause…

And you watch as her gaze softens ever so slightly into something other than hate.