#Helps that I'm now working a mid shift rather than Nights entirely

[solardee]

Guess who finally got some quotes for a roof replacement and bathroom plumbing!!

Gonna be about 10 grand all together which, yes sucks a bit but is far better than I was expecting! I will have two whole functioning bathrooms in this house for the first time since I bought it finally c:

#Dee talks #Now all I gotta do #Is figure out how the hell to take out a personal loan from a bank #I mean I know how it works and I've done some research #But specifics are beyond me #Hopefully shouldn't be too hard thankfully since by some miracle I have really good credit #But ye! #Helps that I'm now working a mid shift rather than Nights entirely #Though they keep moving my scheduled days around so that's hard to plan #Gonna have to fit it around the trans-masc therapy program I'm starting next month too uGH #Being an adult is so busy sometimes

[s-brant]

The Endless Summer (2/?)

(gif: @beccs) (PART ONE) (SERIES MASTERLIST)

Summary: A day out on the water goes awry and puts JJ, John B, and Y/N in danger. With tensions rising and the stakes higher than ever, JJ finds it difficult to control his feelings.

Word Count: 9.1k

Warnings: Angst, implied sexual content, strong language, graphic violence, and JJ being an emotionally confused asshat.

A/N: Welcome back! Thanks for the love on this series, I’m so glad you guys like it and I hope this part is just as good. Things get a little heated in this chapter, so buckle up. Let me know if you enjoyed this. Have fun!

JJ isn't sure why she did it.

He wasn't sure then and he isn't sure now, but he knows one thing for certain: there isn't any going back to how things once were now that the barrier between them came crashing down.

Sweat drips off of his skin from the relentless heat of the Caribbean that has made their recent lives hell with the painful tinge of sunburn atop their tans and heat exhaustion they must be careful to avoid at all costs. They were educated on both topics by Pope, their godsend of a survival encyclopedia in human form, who advised them to spend most of their day outside of necessary tasks like fishing and constructing stable shelter under the shady cover of the treetops.

The sole reason he and John B aren't hiding in the safety of the shade is that it's their day to fish, but he's not thinking about the sun. In fact, neither of them is. They're both wondering where their third fishing buddy is.

It took roughly ten minutes of spearfishing with him in comfortable silence for JJ to finally break and spill his guts about what happened last night. Though there was an unspoken agreement to never tell anyone that their hatred has turned into desire, he couldn't help it. He was going mad trying to unravel it in his head.

After all, he already had a conversation with JB about the recent shift in their behavior with each other by the ocean last night, so it seems fitting to pick up where they left off with the calm and clear blue water in front of them again.

He walks on the jagged outcropping of rock that serves as their perch to observe the fish without disturbing the pattern of the current they swim through with John B closely behind.

"One second she's pissed at me, the next she's all over me. It makes no sense. Then, she didn’t say anything to me after it happened," JJ says with his face hardened into a look of concentration at the fish he squints against the sun to aim at, "Not even "Fuck you, Maybank" or one of her weirdly creative threats. She just sat there all night and talked to everyone but me."

His gaze slips away from the water as his chosen fish disappears from sight before he can bother to throw the spear, eyeing up his friend's reaction to the news.

John B doesn't seem that surprised by it, because who else, aside from everyone else in Kildare who knows of their "hatred" for one another, could've seen it coming as much as he did? He considers it for a second, then props his arm up on the handle side of the spear he digs into the rock to lean against.

"I'm pretty sure that means she likes you."

JJ retorts, "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard you say."

Why would anyone ignore a person they like? It makes no sense to him. Every time he wanted a person, he'd simply walk over and make it happen. It's never been difficult for him to pursue the people he finds himself attracted to...Well, except for her. For a guy that also ignored her for the rest of the night and pretended their moment in the woods didn't happen, he has some balls of steel to be chastising her for the same things he did.

John B shrugs and says, "I'm being serious, dude. Sarah wouldn't even acknowledge my existence when I worked on the Druthers, and I thought it was some stuck-up rich person thing but it wasn't."

They shouldn't be talking at all right now as to not scare away the fish, but they do it anyway. They both know he won't let it go until it's out of his system for good. He wouldn't allow himself to forget it if he wanted to, so its better to talk it out than turn stir crazy from ruminating over it 24/7.

Though it's, as he worded it yesterday, hot as balls out, being by the sea lessens the feeling of it by a landslide.

The breeze they crave whenever they work on their huts or forage through the forest for wild berries, coconuts, or potential building supplies blows on them without pause for the time they spend here, which almost makes it more dangerous. They stand under the direct harm of the UV rays frying them without truly feeling it burn yet, and he dreads the next few days in anticipation of the returning sunburn he just peeled off of his shoulders the other day.

JJ walks down the side to get a better view of the water, balancing precariously on the sharpened edge with the spear clenched tightly in one hand. The breeze is strong enough to threaten his balance, but he holds firm and digs his toes into the sedimentary rock for traction. His body sways in the midday sun with the struggle for stability, or, at least he suspects its midday.

Since being stranded here, time is a foreign concept to them. With no phones, clocks, or any guide to go off of other that the position of the sun above to display the hours that pass, they've lost complete track of what day it is, let alone how long minutes or hours truly are in comparison to the endless summer they live within. They suspect it's been a month since they were left here, but, in all honesty, it could be two. None of them had the sense to mark the days in a tally until it was too late.

He says, lifting his arm to throw the spear, "Well, she is a stuck up rich person, so maybe it's just—"

"You know I'm right here, don't you?"

The sound of her voice from a few feet behind them startles JJ into turning around to look at her right when he lets go of the spear.

Unfortunately for him, the jerking movement throws off his carefully distributed weight and skews his balance, making the feet placed on the edge slip from underneath him and send him slipping down into the water. His calf is the first body part to hit the rocks, and the groan of pain he lets out at the feeling of the jagged rock slicing through his skin could make her heart stop mid-beat. But what truly scares her is seeing the back of his head hit the ground too.

Before he can slide the rest of the way into the water, two pairs of hands are grabbing onto his arms and heaving him up with all of their strength. She and John B grit their teeth with the effort it takes to pull him back up, their muscles burning from the strain, and once his feet are over the ledge, he pushes off the rock to help them the rest of the way. Drops of his blood disperse into the water off the edge from where he cut himself, dripping until there's hardly any left.

Once he's safely laid back down a few feet from where he slipped, Y/N is kneeling in front of him in a matter of seconds. The rock beneath her knees opens small cuts into her skin, but she doesn't pay it any heed. She sits on her heels to lessen the minor pain and lean forward to inspect the damage he took with nothing on her mind other than worry.

Soon enough, John B joins her to kneel at his feet as he sits up and watches them eye up his injury as though it’s some sort of ghastly, life threatening thing instead of a gash that won't need stitches. He watches them against the glittering ocean, waves washing up on the rocks around them to sting his wound with saltwater.

"It's a scratch, not an amputation," JJ says.

She ignores him with a frown lining her pretty features and twists his leg by the ankle to get a better view of the wound in the sunlight. It extends up the entire length of his calf, almost from ankle to knee, and dribbles fresh blood onto her hands as well as the ground beneath them. From what he can tell, it doesn't look all too severe. No muscle or bone can be seen, so it's a simple, superficial scratch.

When he doesn't get a response from either her or John B while they're too busy checking out his leg, he says again, "Guys, I'm serious, it's fine."

This time, she doesn't hesitate to answer.

"Yeah, well you may not need stitches but you still have infection to worry about. This wilderness isn't exactly the cleanliest place," she says retorts with as much snark as usual, and he quietly rejoices in the fact that she's finally acting normal after what happened last night, "Not to mention, you hit your head pretty hard. There's no need to act all tough."

He shrugs.

"It's not an act, it really doesn't hurt that bad."

John B stands and smears the blood on his hands off on the front of his shorts.

"I'll be right back, guys, I'm gonna go get stuff to patch him up."

Just like that, they are left plunging into silence as he is running away down the peninsula back to the beach they've claimed as their own.

Silence has always been her least favorite thing to share with JJ. She'd rather anything over it—screaming, fighting, joking, friendly conversation, or even what they did together yesterday night. Anything is preferable over the tense and insufferable feeling of silence when they're alone together with none of their friends, or their playful hatred, between them as a barrier between them.

Instead of seeing the same pestering jerk she always used to when she looks at him, she sees the memory of how he looked at her in the woods. He didn't look at her like she was the worst person to ever walk the planet, or like she was his least favorite Kook "Princess", he looked at her like she meant something to him.

They sit together in uncomfortable silence in the time it takes John B to rush to the beach and back, careful not to slip on the rocks the way JJ did, with the supplies from the dinghy in his arms. It isn't much to work with, but at least it's something to keep the nasty wound on his leg protected from dirt and germs. She's sure he'd leave it uncovered and up to fate if he had it his way.

Before he can set them down on the wet rocks, thus ruining the gauze and bandages in craters filled with ocean water, she gestures at JJ with a stern command, "Take off your shirt."

His brows raise.

"Shit, Princess, take me out to dinner first."

She groans in frustration, "Can you be quiet for a second and actually listen to me for once?"

He catches John B's gaze with wide eyes, but complies nonetheless, reaching down to tug the tank off of his torso by the frayed hem until it's balled up in his closed fist to hand off to her. Her eyes only linger on his body for a quick second on accident before snatching it from him.

Her bloodstained palms lay the shirt out on the flattest stretch of rock she can find to act as a barrier from the small puddles of water to protect the supplies. One nod at John B has him setting them down atop the navy fabric as she glances up at JJ with a smug smile.

"Believe it or not," she taunts, unscrewing the cap to the disinfectant, "I didn't ask for it so you could sit there and look pretty."

The words throw him back in time to their conversation on the beach while they thatched the roof to their hut, and he wonders how long she's been waiting to throw that back in his face since he first said it.

He grins at her as he asks, "You think I'm pretty?" but before he can say more, she's pouring a generous amount of the hydrogen peroxide along the length of his cut without a warning for him to prepare himself. His leg jerks away on instinct to save himself from the burning sensation, but she grips his ankle tightly enough to force him to stay still.

His nose scrunches up with the urge to groan in pain, and he does a little. Through grinding teeth, he winces in response to the peroxide slipping into every cell of open skin and bubbling up like the white water of the waves as it kills the bacteria lingering in the gash.

"Does it hurt now?" Y/N asks.

She's looking up at him through her lashes with her lips curled into a smirk as she packs gauze onto the wound until it's covered to her satisfaction. And it should be the last thing he's thinking about right now after cutting up his leg and hitting his head hard enough to worry her about concussions, but he can't help it. Looking down at her like this, it's impossible for him to not think about the unfinished business they have.

Everything is the same as it was yesterday—the tattered white top, the red panties in place of a bikini, sunburnt cheeks, and a taunting look that he'll never get tired of seeing. But that's precisely why he's reminded of it. She's wearing the same clothes and looking at him the way she did on the beach before any of last night's antics occurred, and he can't keep himself from wondering if it'll happen again.

"Yeah," he finally responds.

Her smirk grows for a second before she gets back to work.

"Good."

JJ subtly eyes her up from where she shifts on her knees to set the open gauze wrappers under the peroxide bottle in exchange for the bandage wrap, but he isn't as subtle as he thinks. She can feel his stare no matter how sneaky he attempts to be. He may be able to evade John B's attention, since he dove into the ocean to retrieve the wooden spear that began to float out in the tide, but she never misses a thing. Not when it comes to him.

When he looks at her, he finds memories.

Her legs folded up beneath her bring him back to how smooth they felt on his palms when he lifted them up around his hips. Her rosy lips pressing into a line in concentration bring him back to the coconut flavor he tasted on them. Her nipples poking against the fabric of her shirt bring him back to when he lifted it up over her breasts to suck at the sensitive skin until he got a moan from her—There isn't a place he can stare without going back to last night.

Part of him hates that.

He can't stand that a girl who he spent the last five years hating has found a way into his daydreams. Why couldn't it have been anyone else? Why did she have to lure him into her trap? He supposes there's nothing he can do about it now, though. After hours of stewing over it, he's reached the conclusion that it was likely a one-time thing, a mistake made in the heat of the moment that she won't make again, and he should get the idea of it out of his head.

When she has to adjust her grip to hold the gauze in place while she wraps the bandage around his leg, he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth and jerks away again. She glances up at him with her best, "Are you kidding me?" face. Didn't he say he was tough?

"I'm starting to think you're a sadist, 'cause it's like you're trying to make it hurt," he says.

She gasps, feigning offense.

"Me? Enjoying this? It's not like we've hated each other for years or anything."

And though he may not realize it, this is her way of distracting him from the pain of having her apply added pressure to his cut while she wraps the bandage into place. It has to be tight enough to keep water and sand out, but not so tight that it cuts off circulation, and while it may have been tolerable without her touching it, the contact is enough to make it worse for him.

He asks, "Uh, speaking of, why are you the one doing this? Isn't it some kind of HIPAA thing to treat patients you've threatened to violate with tree branches before?"

The sound of her laughter makes his stomach flutter with butterflies, and he wonders what the hell is wrong with him.

"That's not what HIPAA is, genius"—her eyes crinkle at the sides with her wide smile while she wraps his leg—"and I'm the one doing this because I know way more medical shit than the rest of you."

Even Pope.

"Ohhh right, I forgot. Your dad is this hotshot surgeon and that makes you think you know everything," he taunts.

The casual mention of her father makes her chest ache with something not many of the Pogues, excluding Pope, have felt since being stranded on this island. With their parents either disowning them, absent, abusive, or dead, they have no reason to resist the allure of living here for the months or years it may take to be rescued, but she does.

She misses him.

For the longest time since her mom died, it was her and her dad versus the world. In everything they did, they did it together, and before she met Sarah, he was the closest she had to a best friend. Since they had no other family to help watch her as a child, she grew up in the hospital with him, drawing with crayons on his office’s printer paper with her babysitter and picking up small things along the way from watching him for so long.

He could've chosen to leave her at home, sure, but he didn't want to miss out on seeing her more than he already did, so she spent the majority of her childhood in offices, waiting rooms, and the indoor playground of the PEDs wing.

She takes a deep breath to steady herself after the sucker punch of being reminded of her dad and says, "Well, I know enough and, thankfully for you, I'm the one doing this instead of John B."

From far away, twenty or so feet offshore where their friend is paddling through the water with the lost spear held in one hand, they hear John B shouting an offended, "I heard that!" back at her. It draws a soft chuckle from them both, and she silently thanks him for distracting JJ one last time as she finishes and secures the bandage so it won't unravel.

She wipes her hands off on her water-soaked thighs one more time to get as much of his blood off of her fingers as possible before she reaches out with both arms extended to offer him help to stand. He takes them with a murmured, "Thanks," as they both try not to show how affected they are by the casual touch.

It makes them feel pathetic that something as small as holding each other's hands makes them remember what they did and desperately wish to continue it. Her throat bobs with how she must swallow the lump in her throat at their close proximity, barely breathing now that he's standing close to her with less than a few inches between them.

For a second, they don't move away. They stay face to face, and all she can think of is how badly she wants to kiss him again. But she can't do anything yet, not when she hears someone screaming from the water.

"There's a shark!" John B screams as he paddles back faster than he's ever swam in his life, already close enough to the peninsula that they can see the terror in his eyes when they turn to look.

Surely enough, there a tip of a fin too pointed to pass off as a dolphin cutting through the surface of the water to alert them of the fish's presence, but if that weren't enough, the water is clear enough for them to see its outline.

Thankfully for him, it isn't huge. It looks about as long as he is tall, but that doesn't change the degree of danger. Just because it isn't as big as other sharks doesn't make a bite any less lethal, especially when their only form of medical attention rests on her knowledgeable yet inexperienced shoulders.

For once in his life, JJ is frozen with no clue of what to do.

He's always the man with the plan, the one who jumps into action when others choke up and sit on the sidelines, but this makes him falter. What can he do to help other than stand here and pray John B can out-swim a shark? He's helpless, and now that he's faced with the prospect of losing his best friend for a second time, he doesn't know what to do.

It was his blood in the water that must have attracted the shark, and he was so caught up in his own drama with her and the pain of his cut that he didn't consider the danger of John B jumping in to retrieve the spear he dropped. It's his fault. His best friend is about to be eaten by a shark and it's his fault—

The blurred image of her rushing past in his peripheral vision rips him from his stormy thoughts, and right when he thought it couldn't get worse, it does. Water splashes up around her body and swallows her under the surface after she leaps off the edge of the rock with the aluminum spear from the dinghy raised in her dominant arm.

"Y/N!"

Before he even realizes what he's doing, JJ is screaming out her name, screaming it like he cares, and damns the consequences to dive in after her.

While he was frozen, she sprung into action without thinking of her own life first. She knew he was close to the rock, but not close enough to swim faster than a predator designed for the conditions of the ocean. It took one glance at the spear resting to the side for her to lean down, scoop it up, and get a running start to jump out as far as humanly possible. Various joints and muscles ached from how she strained to push herself far off the rock, taking flight with nothing but their survival in mind.

She sucks in a heaving breath upon breaking the surface, but she doesn't take a second to pause with John B paddling up to her so soon.

"Go back!"

The only answer she gives him is, "Use your spear!" before she brings hers out of the water in anticipation of the grey figure bolting straight for them.

It's a stupid plan, but it's the only one she has, and if one of them is in danger, they'd all risk everything they have to protect them. After all, they're already trapped here with the threat of death every day. Is there anything more worthy of dying for than your friends?

Neither of them is necessarily trying to kill it yet either, they're trying to keep it at a safe distance or hurt it enough so it swims away from them, but she puts all of her strength into spearing the fish between the eyes anyway. Her legs kick tirelessly to keep her afloat while she and John B stab as accurately as they can, choking down a mouthful of salty ocean water from how her head sinks at the surface without the help of her arms to keep her up.

Blood stains the water with a crimson hue spreading out around their bodies—whether it's theirs or the shark's, she doesn't know—and she must keep her lips clamped shut to prevent it from spilling into her mouth, breathing solely through her nose. She can tell her legs are soon to give out on her, but then a pair of hands latch onto her body. Call her irrational or stupid, but even with the clear distinction of human hands on her waist, her mind reacts in instinctual fear.

The touch makes her jolt mid-stab and sobers her feral mind back to reality for a moment until she realizes it's a human touching her, not the shark.

It's JJ.

His arms wrap around her thighs and hoist her up out of the water as much as he can while still swimming, effectively pushing himself underwater with one last gasp for air.

The sudden shift in view has her gaze shifting around to take in the new sights with a gush of red water rushing off of her onto the splashing surface: a light grey tail whips around in the chaos, the shark's head oozes blood from the multiple puncture wounds that didn't push quite deep enough, and its jaws snap right where John B's arm is before he yanks it back.

After a fraction of a second, it clicks with her that there's no time to waste watching her friend almost get his arm chomped off while she takes in the unbelievable sight. Her slippery grip on the handle remains as firm as possible, and she raises the spear over her head with an improved accuracy she never could've had from where she previously aimed it before. All of their shots landed well enough, but with the height advantage, she won't allow herself to fuck it up this time with her friend's life hanging in the balance.

She hardly recognizes her own frantic voice shouting at him, "Spear it in the gills!"

Her hands bring the razor-sharp tip of the spear down into its head repeatedly, and she isn't sure whether it's the splashing water or tears wetting her face when she buries the weapon down into it for a final time right when John B lodges his wooden spear in its gills.

Whatever she did, it must've hit its brain, because the animal halts its thrashing. Its teeth no longer snap at her friend, nor does its tail whip around in the water as violently as it did a moment ago.

As quickly as it started, it drops off into a sickening calm that leaves the white bubbles dissolving into a puddle of bloody water surrounding the trio and the fish that dies with no small amount of guilt on her part. There was no choice but to kill it. It makes her ache on the inside, but how could she regret it if she knows it saved them? The guilt might ravage her for the upcoming days, but she can't bring herself to regret jumping in after him.

She hardly has the chance to process it before she's being pulled away by both of the boys, her view of the scene shifting drastically once more with the abrupt drop of JJ letting her down in favor of guiding her through the gentle waves. His calloused hand squeezes her arm enough to cut circulation off on their journey back.

Time rushes past her in the next thirty seconds or so it takes them to reach the peninsula again in a paranoid sprint away from where the dead fish floats. One of them, John B she thinks, tosses the aluminum spear he dislodged from the shark's head up onto the rocks and clambers his way back up on his own. The waves closer to land grow rougher than the tender current out where they killed the shark, and she grunts in pain as one sends her and JJ straight into the rocks. His body hits her back with a solid ‘thump’ and forces her to wheeze with the wind getting knocked from her lungs upon impact, nails cracking on the black rock from the desperate grip she uses in an attempt to lift herself.

Meanwhile, JJ can't seem to catch his breath either, nor can he think of anything other than her once he sees that John B isn’t injured.

As soon as he sees his friend is unmarked from the teeth of the shark after he's out of the water, he positions himself behind Y/N to help her out first. He places his hands on her backside to push her up as quickly as he can. Knowing that the carcass in the water will soon attract more sharks in the surrounding area into a feeding frenzy, he'd rather it be him than her. It's a thought that shoots by too fast for him to fully acknowledge the meaning or weight of it at a time like this.

Somehow within his adrenaline-crazed mind, he is careful not to push her onto the jagged edge that sliced his leg open earlier, then climbs after her with little space left between them.

She's coughing up saltwater onto the rocks as he scrambles over to her, eyes wild with the petrifying worry of anything bad happening to her. They scan over her arms, legs, stomach, and back, and he doesn't even realize his hands are reaching out to inspect her as frantically as she had with him when he got hurt.

His hands cup her face, petting over her dripping hair and forcing her to look up so he can see if she somehow got hit in the face. Never has his mind been so void of rational thought, and, knowing him and his impulsive tendencies, that's saying a lot. The confusion of his contradictory feelings for her muddle his mind. Worry and hatred, attraction and anger—they battle it out, but only two manage to reach him externally.

Worry and anger it is. Worry for obvious reasons. Anger because—

"What the fuck were you thinking?"

She has never heard him sound so vicious since the start of whatever odd relationship/friendship/enemy-ship they have. With his worried expression and how he checked her entire body for injury after helping her out of the water, the last thing she would've anticipated from him was anger. Especially not after she saved his best friend's life. Considering what she just did for him, she thinks he should be thanking her, not chastising her.

Behind her back, she can hear a collection of yelling voices and splashing footsteps over the water dripping from them. It can only be the rest of their friends racing up the peninsula to them, but she can't turn around.

She stares at him with utter confusion flooding her at his unexpected outburst. Speechless.

"What was I thinking?" she asks incredulously with her face still cradled between his hands, "I was saving John B's life!"

Their emotional distance and disagreement are made up for in abundance by how physically entangled they've become. It wasn't intentional. It was a result of him needing to get close enough to scour her exposed skin for any bites, but now that they're sitting so near to each other, they forget to back away.

John B is too busy to engage with them.

He's doubled over on the ground with the compulsion to vomit the contents of his stomach into the ocean, but he doesn't dare get close to the edge again after what they went through. Instead, he positions himself away from them and their approaching friends until the half-digested food is forced back through his mouth. The acidic bile scorches his throat and nostrils on the way out.

JJ doesn't have the opportunity to retort back something about her being stupid, because Pope is the first person to reach them and ask, "What the hell happened?"

The rest of the group isn't far behind. It's Kie who asks the next question, then Sarah, then Cleo. They all pop off in rapid succession before either of the three of them can answer.

"Are any of you hurt?"

"Why is he throwing up?"

"Is that a shark?"

The last question draws everyone's attention over to the half-sunken mass of fish bobbing up and down on the breaths of the sea with a wooden spear sticking straight out of its gills. Though it isn't the biggest, most intimidating shark to roam the ocean, its presence doesn't fail to make everyone who looks at it shudder with the realization of what must have happened.

John B wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and points over at her with his trembling arm outstretched.

"She killed it."

The four of them whip their heads in her direction, jaws nearly falling off their faces in disbelief, but she doesn't say anything yet. Because as soon as they feel the eyes of their friends burning into them, she and JJ realize, as though they're returning to reality from the hazy layers of a dreamscape, that they're still holding each other.

She's slumped halfway onto him from when he hauled her body closer to inspect her, so she's essentially sitting on top of him at this point. Her legs, bruised and scratched up from when the waves crested to send them crashing into the rocks, are entangled around his enough that they look back and forth between them and where his hands cup her face in surprise.

JJ doesn't know what came over him.

Now that he snaps out of it at the same time as her, both of them separating and nudging each other away until their bodies are no longer entwined, he feels his cheeks flush in embarrassment.

When he saw her leaping past him to jump into the water, his mind shut off. He wasn't thinking about himself, or the possibility of getting killed, or anything at all. He was only thinking of the danger she put herself in, then he dove in and the rest of his conscious mind faded away into pure survival instinct. Yet, even after he knew the immediate danger was gone, the adrenaline kept him on edge, desperate to get her back to land and pray none of them were hurt.

"It was trying to attack him," she rasps. Her throat is raw from the saltwater she choked on, and every word burns. "But we did it together."

She pushes herself off the ground with an exhausted sigh.

Muscles spent from the struggle in the water, her legs wobble beneath the weight of her upper body as she takes a few steps to help John B up from his position on his hands and knees. From what she heard, he has thrown up all he has left in his stomach and hasn't gagged again in a minute or so, so attempting to stand again shouldn't be too strenuous for him.

His hand is cold in her grasp from the water soaking their bodies, but it holds firmly enough for her to help him into his feet without their palms slipping apart. No patches of blood are visible on his shorts, nor are there any puncture wounds on him from the sharp teeth that snapped at his arm in the quick but vigorous fight.

They were very, very fortunate to have made it out alive, and when he looks down at her face, he feels nothing but gratitude for the girl he previously saw as nothing more than his girlfriend's best friend. They went into the water as casual acquaintances, companions of convenience and the happenstance of being forced onto this island together, but they've come out of it differently. Now, they're friends.

Now, she's a Pogue.

He smiles at her, glancing up at their friends as their questions die down at the sight of his crazy grin, and says, "That was some real Pogue shit right there, Y/N." His eyes come back to meet hers. "I think it's about time we officially make you one of us. What do you think?"

She's opening her mouth to respond when Kiara cuts her off. The rest of them are staring at the trio as if they have ten heads sprouting from their bodies for not immediately surrendering more details of their near-death encounter other than saying she killed it.

"I'm sorry, can we please rewind to the part where you got attacked by a shark first?"

"Ladies and gentlemen, can I get a drumroll please for..."

The campfire is roaring with the abundance of sticks, leaves, and branches thrown onto the pile to fuel it as she feels a strong pair of arms looping around her thighs to lift her into the expansive, star-flecked sky.

In a flash of haunting memory, she relives the moment where JJ dove into the water after her and lifted her body above the surface to give her the high ground over the shark. She relives its thrashing hunger, the water splashing on her, and the cloudy hue of blood around them that she hoped wasn't either of the boys. For a second, as the world grows taller with her new perspective, she is brought back to the sudden shift she felt then and feels her stomach drop in panic, anticipating the danger.

But then the sound of her friends laughing, as well as the surging fire and crashing waves, comes back to her and forces the frightful flashback away. Her hip fits perfectly in the curve of John B's shoulder, and she lets her head fall back in giggling laughter at how he hoists her up in the air as though she's a holy figure of worship for the Pogues to kneel to.

His voice can likely be heard across the entire island when he shouts, "The Shark Conqueror!"

The group erupts into a triumphant mixture of cheers and laughter that fills the beach, everyone celebrating in their narrow escape earlier today...everyone except JJ.

After John B divulged the gory details of what happened, from JJ's fall to her picking up the spear and jumping in to save him from the shark, they made their way back with enough conversation to last the month. They all asked questions and took peeks back at where it happened in morbid curiosity, wondering how on earth they managed to come out of the situation without a scratch.

The rest of the afternoon continued on with the same buzzing energy that can only be created from the thrill of being alive. She's felt it many times since joining Sarah's group of friends that seem to find trouble wherever they go, but she has never felt it as vehemently as she does tonight. It's a mixture of euphoria, shock, and soul-crushing guilt for having to hurt another living creature, even one that was intending to make a meal of her friend.

No matter how much she grows up or discovers more about herself as a person, feelings never stop being as frustrating as they were to her as a child. You can get better at processing and hindering explosive reactions to them, but they never simplify. She doesn't know why she feels so much at once. She doesn't know why she feels simultaneously on top of the world and thrown off the edge of a cliff, but she thinks it has to do with him.

Since they walked back to the beach and talked about what happened until the day withered into night, which led them here to the “official” ceremony of her being named a Pogue for life, JJ hasn't spoken to her once.

Suddenly, the shoe is on the other foot.

Much like how she avoided him all night last night leading into this morning, he doesn't talk to her. He tries not to look at her too from where he sits on the log of driftwood across the fire, but it's somewhat inevitable with the spectacle John B is making of her at the moment.

Painted in the warm tones of the firelight like a goddess in her own right, Y/N is impossible to look away from, and it makes him angrier than he already is. A handwoven circlet crafted from the hibiscus and hippeastrum flowers growing in the forest around their camp sits atop her head. It doesn't fall to the ground with the movement of her throwing her head back in laughter. It stays in its rightful place against the rule of gravity until her face comes back into view for him to quickly look away from.

It dampers her laughter to see him avoiding her gaze so adamantly, taking a swig of water from one of the small cups they carved from wood and turning to talk to Kie to keep himself busy. The distinct sensation of being on top of the world slips away with the feeling of his cold avoidance and John B lowering her back to the ground until her bare feet sink into the soft sand.

Before she can start sulking about it for the foreseeable future, Sarah steps up beside her.

The familiar touch of a hand on her shoulder brings her comfort amidst her confusion and hurt over the way JJ is acting, and when she turns to see a pretty face looking fondly at her, a warm smile finds her lips.

"Pogue for life?" Sarah asks.

The three words bring make her smile grow the same way it had when she was talking to JJ on the peninsula. It crinkles the skin around her eyes with its unrestrained happiness to hear them because, as much as she pretends to let JJ's comments roll off of her, tonight marks one of the first times she's felt at home with them.

That's not to say they haven't made her feel welcome in the past, they did, but this isn’t the same. This is closer, this is the type of bond that's forged in situations like these where people have no choice but to rely on each other or let their worlds collectively fall apart, and she thinks, for the first time, that she could live here with them forever if she must.

None of them know how much time has passed since they arrived here, least of all her, but it sure as hell feels like an eternity. At first, she could barely withstand the idea of living here for months with the intention of being rescued as soon as possible, but now...

She brings Sarah into an embrace tight enough to force the air from their lungs.

"Pogue for life," she echoes back with her face buried into the salt-scented tresses of dirty blonde hair cascading over her tan shoulders.

Would it be crazy of her to think that this is where they're meant to be? That they're her family and this place she has fantasized about escaping is now their home?

After all, the lush island provides everything they need to sustain themselves with the rationing, scavenging, and hunting routines they adhere themselves to. Freshwater runs down the land in a stream from a water source uphill, plenty of different edible plants grow in the forest, and there's so much left of the expansive land to explore; it's perfect. Everything here is perfect for them, calling out to them to make it their home, but there's one little problem as of right now, and he's sitting across the fire behind her back.

Sarah's arms squeeze around her shoulders once to bring her in even closer.

"Thank you for saving him," her voice is so hushed, Y/N can hardly hear it with her lips brushing the shell of her ear to whisper into it, "I'm not gonna get all mushy with you right now, but I don't know what I would've done if"—Sarah's breath hitches in her throat, and she shakes her head—"I just wanted to thank you."

When they pull apart, Y/N is looking back at her with a knowing expression, one that says everything she can't in the presence of the others, and Sarah can't help but mirror it.

It isn't long before the blonde-haired beauty is whisked away by her boyfriend to help him cook the crabs they caught closer to shore after their encounter with the shark. Not wanting to swim out or risk slipping off the rocks again with the dead fish promising to lure more predators to their area for the next week or so, they settled for hunting for shellfish and making good use of the fruits they find growing in wild abundance in the forest.

The night ticks away in swiftly passing minutes thanks to the humorous company of the people around her.

She nearly chokes on a mouthful of banana as Cleo tells a story from before she met them, when she used to live in Nassau and work jobs with Terence and Stubbs on ships. For such new additions to the group, they both fit surprisingly well with the lifelong childhood friends that sit around and banter with such ease together.

They talk, laugh, dance, and eat together, and there are moments when she feels happier than ever. There are moments exactly like when John B lifted her up and made her giggle at how their friends cheered on her behalf in indulgence of the silly "ceremony" they did, half out of boredom and half out of gratitude for what she did. But then she is reminded of the man sitting on the outskirts of the group with his features hardened into an expression of contemplation she wishes she could decode.

The night breeze feels heavenly on her perpetually overexposed skin. It blows into the fire and allows it to swell from the oxygen supply, crackling and popping embers out every so often like the spark of the zippo lighter JJ fidgets with in his restless hands. The movement attracts her wandering eyes while they should be focused on Cleo and Kie dancing around the fire with boisterous laughter while Sarah and Pope sing for them.

She keeps herself honed in on the opening and closing of the lighter under the guidance of his ring-clad fingers for the next minute or so.

They may have been pitting themselves against each other since they met, but that doesn't mean she doesn't know him well. If anything, the keen attention that her old hatred for him forced her to keep on him made her memorize everything there is to know. And she surely has picked up on the nervous habit of him playing with the lighter whenever he's thinking, whenever there's something crawling under his skin that he can't piece together.

He sits with his back to her, facing out toward the ocean so all she can see is the hand he uses to flick the lighter open and shut with. With a quick glance at the rest of their friends to see if any of them are watching or wanting to speak with her, she pushes herself up from the log and dusts her sandy palms on her shirt.

The tracks of her footsteps lead around the corner of the driftwood he rests against until her feet appear, sunken into the sand in front of him. It takes a lot of control to not allow himself to follow up the length of her body, panning up along her legs until he sees that infuriatingly tenderhearted set of eyes looking down at him.

However, he doesn't have a choice in looking when her hand outstretches in a silent invitation. His first glimpse of her in the last half-hour shows her jerking her chin in the direction of the beach curving around the bend of the island.

This morning, he probably would've taken her up on the offer. He would've done anything to get a few minutes alone with her, but now he can't see past his anger and doesn't know why. He doesn't know why it hasn't calmed yet, but, in truth, it has more to do with him than it does her idiotic yet brave decision to fight off a shark today. Trust him, it still has a lot to do with the idiotic shark thing, but the rest is lost in translation for him.

"Not in the mood," he dismisses her.

Her brows furrow and form a crease between them as she tries to find something to say but comes up with nothing. At least not until it clicks with her what he thought she was trying to do by inviting him to walk with her.

The last time they went off on their own together, it ended in an explosive encounter they have yet to erase from their minds. It's what greets them whenever they close their eyes for a second too long, existing in their wildest daydreams and fantasies whenever they have a spare moment to themselves. Hell, he can't stop thinking about it even when he's already occupied. It was the reason why he didn't catch any fish this morning before the incident that made him pissed at her in the first place. He couldn't stop thinking of her.

"Oh," she murmurs and starts to kneel down until her knees are sinking into the sand the same way she did when patching up his leg. Her eyes peek over his shoulder to ensure the others didn't hear them—"That wasn't what I meant...I was just wondering if you wanted to talk about today. It must have been a lot to process, since he's your best friend and all, and—"

JJ snaps, unable to tolerate it anymore, and stands up from his spot on the sand to move away from her.

"You don't need act all therapist with me, okay? I'm fine, and I don't need you to fix me if that's what you wanted. Today was fine. Everything's fine, so let it go."

Her mouth opens and closes like a fish with a loss for words. For the second time in the span of a minute, she is grasping blindly for something to say in the wake of him shocking her to silence. He's starting to walk past her but she doesn't let him. Her hand shoots out to stop him and holds onto his arm to turn him back despite his rudeness.

Underneath it all, her concern touches him deeply. It shouldn't trigger a reaction like this in him, so why does it? What about today set him off? He hasn't been this genuinely angry with her since before the hunt for the gold began, before she started to blend into their friend group and establish herself as one of them.

"Woah, woah, woah," she says, "I never said that. I thought that you needed someone to talk to. You know, as a friend."

Their friends start to notice their interaction tensing up now. Before, they didn't pick up on her stepping away for a second to check on him. Now, it's impossible to ignore what unfolds hardly six steps from where they watch as slyly as they can. The two of them haven't had a conversation as cold as this one in months, and what he says next takes it to a place that freezes over the connection they made last night and shatters the warm place it held in her heart.

He scoffs.

"We're not friends. If you think you gotta act different 'cause you threw yourself at me last night, don't bother. You hate me and I hate you. That's how it is."

No nicknames, jokes, or anything to act as a buffer, just cruelty. Rejection.

Though they truly were trying to pretend like they weren't paying attention, every single one of their friends stops and stares. A chorus of hushed reactions sound off from across the fire, and the faint sound of Kie muttering, "Oh shit," is the first thing to reach their ears. It's needless to say that none of them could've expected something so callous to come from him, not after what they saw when they ran up to them on the peninsula this morning.

With the way he was holding her then, doting on her and cradling her face between his hands even in the midst of his anger at what she did, they sooner expected the pair to admit they're dating than have a blowout like this.

In the delayed seconds it takes for her to realize what the fuck he just said to her, he watches her face shift from a look of concern to sadness, to flush-faced embarrassment, then finally to anger. Her teeth grind together, nostrils flaring on her inhale, and in one quick moment, she comes to a conclusion within herself.

She reaches up to rip the handmade crown of vibrant flowers off her head with flames to match the camp fire flaring up in her eyes for him. Before she can do anything, he already knows he crossed a line, if not multiple lines. It's evident in everything he sees, from the hurt look on her face to the force with which she shoves the crown into the center of his chest to send him stumbling back a few steps. Just like yesterday, except it couldn't be any more different.

"Fuck. You." She spits the words as though they're venomous, and he almost shrinks away under the intensity of her stare, “Go find somewhere else to sleep tonight, 'cause it sure as hell isn't gonna be with me."

Petals flutter out upon impact against his solid chest and float peacefully to the sand around his feet as he watches her turn on her heels and storm off toward their hut. Though, after what he did and what she said to him as a goodbye, it isn't really theirs anymore, is it? At least not for tonight, tomorrow, or the next day until he finds a way to make her hear him out for an apology.

He stands there, frozen, the entire time he watches her leave. Nothing can move him from the spot, not even Sarah knocking her shoulder against his with a pointed glare on her way past to follow her into the moonlit darkness.

He doesn't even resist the disappointed looks he gets, or the shoulder check from Sarah. This time, he deserves it. He deserves every ounce of their judgment. All she was trying to do was make sure he was okay and he was too consumed in his unreleased frustration from today to see it. And, in a way, he's still frustrated over it, but it's greatly overshadowed by the guilt seeping through him.

The shadowy shapes of the two girls disappear into the small hut further down the beach, and JJ is left with nothing to do but look down at the flower crown clutched to his chest in regret.

Tag List: @gabiatthedisco, @fangirlvoice, @black-syren, @apparrio, @particularcth, @planetdemon, @idk-ijustworkhere, @krisphann, @astrydis, @k-k0129, @zarahsloves, and @stilesflannels.

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank smut #outer banks #obx #fanfiction #obx2 #this fic is so over the top and silly but I love it 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

[mama-ghostie-61542]

A Thousand Lifetimes

Rated M++ for language and themes

If you recognize it--IT AIN'T MINE

Sorry for the OOC-ness

Chapter 7

Kihyun

The next day, after two fittings with costumes, two phone interviews, a shoot for an ad, and a tv spot; I finally got back to the dorms, and back to that story.

Bryn PoV--

As if today wasn't bad enough, I walked into the house to find it completely empty. The kids wandered around and I tried to field a million questions about where they were gonna sleep and what we were gonna eat. That and the meltdowns every five minutes led me to try to call my little brother. I really just needed to talk to another grown-up. As soon as I had supper figured out, I called Joey.

"Hello," said a voice on the other end of the phone.

"Ummm. Hi?"

"Oh. Hello," The voice was familiar, but it wasn't Joey.

"Is Joey close?"

"Sorry. Who?"

"Sorry. Jooheon. Kids call him 'Uncle Joey'. Guess it stuck."

"Hmm. No. You just missed him."

"Dern. Can you pass on a message?"

"Sure."

"Can you tell him to call Bryn when he gets back?"

"Oh! I didn't recognize your voice, Bryn. How are you? It's Kihyun. Joey is in the shower. Can I help you with whatever you need," I asked, biting my lip and praying she would say yes. Just the sound of her voice was both soothing and somehow able to tie me up in knots.

"Actually, I was calling to vent. I've had a particularly terrible day today. Joey is my sobriety sponsor."

"He is? Wow," I said before Honey came charging at me, his hair still wet. "I would still LOVE to talk to YOU," I shouted.

"Gimmie my phone, Kihyun."

I handed him back the phone and heard him say

"What's up, Sis?"

Though I couldn't hear exactly what was said, I could tell by the look on his face, it wasn't good.

"Really?"

Then, Honey sighed. "Lemme see what I can do from here."

"Please, let me help."

If it were possible for him to get any more pissed off, he did. "HE WHAT," he yelled. Then, he pulled the phone from his ear and said, "I need a one way ticket to Peoria International!! I'm gonna kill him. I am gonna fuckin' kill him." Next, he put the phone back to his ear, "Lemme see what I can do here, Sis," he growled as he demanded numbers and wrote them down, and then hung up.

As he started digging on the internet to find the cheapest fare, HyunWoo said, "Hold it, Hot Shot. What happened?"

"That douchbag finally left. He took everything! Even the kids stuff. He left them with NOTHING! That is why Sis was calling. He cleaned out their account and took everything. Damn lucky he couldn't touch the shop accounts or he would have cleaned them out too. Literally everything. She needs a little cash to feed the kids til Friday."

"Thank God it is Wednesday," said CK. from the far side of the room. If anyone had bothered to look, the reflection on his glasses was an Amazon cart with 37 things in it. The only time ANYONE has that many things in an Amazon cart is when they are buying groceries. However, most of those were chips or snack cakes.

Honey, Min, and HyungWon all sat down to iron out how much and what they were gonna contribute.

Silently, I picked up my bank book and palmed the slip of paper with her info on it. Only HyunWoo saw me slip out the door. He stopped me as I waited for the elevator and handed me a few bills from his own wallet before turning back towards the room.

"What," was all I could get out before he interrupted, cutting me off mid-question.

"We look out for our own," He answered before he opened the door to the dorm.

After heading to the nearest Western Union, I called the number on the slip from Honey. When she picked up, I smiled.

"Hey, Bryn, it's Kihyun. I wired you some money. Should be about $100, if everything gets exchanged right."

"Kihyun, you guys didn't have to do that. My dad was already gonna feed the kids. I just needed to talk to someone. This has got me so shaken up, I want a drink really bad. Guess I wasn't too clear with Joey."

"Really? Then why was he," I stopped as a shadow fell over me. "Well, shit. Guess who is now standing right behind me."

"Tell him to calm down."

"Bryn says to calm down. She told me to sit on you if I have to."

"Kihyun! I did not."

"I paraphrased," I laughed. "Besides, Sweets, if looks could kill, I'd be dead right about now."

"Really," she chuckled.

"Oh yeah. He is probably gonna follow me all the way to the dorm. I guess I am not allowed out on my own," I laughed.

"Why," She asked.

"I tend to do dumb things, according to others. Though they may be a little impulsive, they always work out in the end. So don't look the horse in the mouth."

"I won't."

"Good girl," I laughed, "So why did you call him, anyway?"

"I needed someone I could yell at that would not take it personal."

"I am always here. Though, I may occasionally yell back."

She laughed. "Thank you."

"For?"

"Making me laugh. I needed that. "

"Damn. I was looking forward to the screaming match. C'mon, get it started, Angelface," I said as I stopped at the stoplight and waited for the crosswalk. "Do you want me to start," I asked, then pulled the phone away and yelled.

Bringing the phone back to my face, I asked as the crosswalk lit up and I crossed the street, "How was that," I grinned.

"A 10. A fuckin' 10. Have you thought of being a Rockstar," she laughed.

I could almost hear the smile on her face, which made me laugh. Even if my throat killed me in the morning it was worth it.

"Hey, hang on a second. I want to send you something," I said as I put my phone on speaker and started the camera.

"Oh dear God, what now," she asked.

I took a short video of me sending her a kiss and sent it off. "Nothing bad."

"Ok, if you say so. Just not cool with unsolicited dick pics from strange men."

"I would not send you unsolicited dick pics, nor am I a stranger. Now, if you asked for them...Like a good girl," I started and looked over at Honey, who was looking at me with the 'better never do that' face. "Uh-oh."

"What?"

"I'm getting side eye."

She laughed and said, "I know just the look. It screams, 'You'd better not be sending photos of ANY part of your anatomy to my sister'."

"Yes," I laughed. "So how are you feeling? Better?"

"Much. Thank you."

"No problem. I'm here all week. Try the veal," I laughed. "Still want a drink," I asked.

"No. The laughs did it for me. Thank you."

"You are very welcome, Darling. So did you get the video I sent?"

"I did. That was very sweet. Thanks."

"You are very welcome, Pretty Lady. Well, we are back at the dorms."

"I should probably go then," she sighed.

"Just remember I am also available for Mitzvahs," I chuckled, which made her laugh. "Seriously, Sweetie, anytime you need a sounding board or a laugh fest, a screaming match or some naughty-Ow, Mother fucker!-I got smacked on my arm for that last bit. I am always here,"

"Thanks again. Until next time."

I paused and came VERY close to telling her how I felt but said, instead, "Again, you are welcome."

"Bye, Kihyun."

"Bye, Bryn," I breathed, then hung up.

Honey looked at me as he crossed his arms over his chest, "It took everything you had to not tell her 'I love you' didn't it?"

All I could do was nod and hope that my dreams tonight would be better than they had been.

As we got into the elevator, He said, "It was good hearing that you made her laugh."

"I love the sound of her laughter. Once I got her started, I didn't want her to stop. I think that she is just as funny as she is sweet."

"You do know that she will do one of two things, right?"

"What two things?"

"Either immediately send the money right back, or hang on to it and physically give you back every bit. She hates asking for help...of any kind," he said as he opened the door to our dorm.

"Yeah? Wonder why."

He just laughed, "Her ex-fiancée, ex-husband, and her father."

"What happened," I asked as I made us a pot of coffee.

"They all held every penny over her head. Her dad decided he wanted her out the minute she turned 18 and to do it, he threw her out the boat, so to speak. Said if she floated, she never needed help anyway; and if she sank, well, it was her own fault."

"That's abuse. Financial abuse."

"Yep. He was the kind to tell her everything she had was his, that she owned nothing; not even the clothes on her back. He comes from the 'I Own You' school of parenting. Her ex-fiancée would demand she work, then make her late, so she would lose any job she got. Then, he'd take any money she got paid and use it for crap he wanted rather than the bills she had it ear-marked for."

"Oh, tell me he didn't."

"Oh he did. Spent it on girls at the local under 21."

"Shit. He screwed around on her, didn't he?"

"Yep. Which is why if you ever think about cheating, I will castrate you myself," he growled.

Somehow I knew he would do it, and I would let him. "Don't have to worry about that. Can you tell me about her ex-husband?"

"That asshole was a piece of work. Emotionally, Mentally, and Fiscally abusive. The entire time they were together, he would pinch a penny until it died if it was something she needed, but she was expected to turn over her things and cash to him. She worked second shift in a factory; out of the house from half 1 to almost 1 am. He was in semi driver school at the time, racked up a HUGE amount of debt; I'm talking almost 40K. Constantly accused her of cheating when he had a different lot lizard every night. It's a miracle he never gave her anything."

I was disgusted by this guys behavior. To have a woman like her waiting at home and trying his best to break her.

"And that isn't even the worst of his offenses. He screamed at her one night while he was over the road, on training. She was at work, and he called her on her lunch break. The entire time, he screamed at her for having a cold sore and yelled about her cheating loud enough for her co-workers to hear. Her boss to tell her to turn off her phone; that he was tired of hearing that jerk yell at her. The guy he was learning with, told him that 'If I were her, I would be calling the lawyer first thing in the morning, after that shit.' He 'apologized' pretty quickly after that."

"Icky. I hope she ended it there."

"No. That girl has a ton of stay and No show. He ended up deployed to Egypt and told his brother about the girls there. Never thought his brother would run and tell her. She still didn't leave. You left a blister on her cheek one night and he threw her out in the snow."

"Stay and no show? I'm not sure I understand."

"Horse terms," came a voice from the doorway. I had forgotten Hoseok was staying with us while his apartment was getting the pipes fixed. "When a filly is learning to ride, it's said she is full of Show and no Stay. Meaning she looks good, but is too skittish to stand still. Sis--Well Sis may not look like much, but she has tons of loyalty to those who show her the same. She has the patience to play a 30 year long game, and the courage to weather ANY storm. But she has a problem knowing when to leave, and so she gets hurt."

"Hold up! He threw her out in the snow?!"

As Hoseok filled his own mug, he answered, "Yeah, he threw her out of the apartment in the middle of a snowstorm. Lucky her parents were in town. So if you start this with her, and you ever want out; you are gonna have to straight up tell her to go. She won't understand otherwise. She doesn't play games and has a tough time with subtly. So always be direct and honest with her."

I nodded taking it in. There was something I thought I wanted, so I asked, "How is her aegyo"

"If you are looking for overt aegyo, don't. Hers is subtle but she has got it in spades, and she doesn't even know it. It's in the way she plays, either with her guy or her kids," he said as he leaned against the counter, "It's in the subtle blush when you say or do something for her without her asking. It's in a compliment and the smiling eyes that comes with it. She has never had some of the things other girls take for granted, like a stolen kiss or flowers on her birthday. Other things, like those romantic gestures, she has only had once or twice. If I remember right, the last guy to 'play' was an FWB years and years ago, and that guy only stole one kiss, once," Honey replied.

"Don't expect her to run with girls. Most girls find her too harsh, too rough. She doesn't appreciate girls and their whiney, gossipy ways. She never wears makeup, and I have never once seen her with her nails painted. She is a guys-girl, a tom-boy through and through; wasn't made delicate. She is stronger than most people will ever know. However, her heart is extremely delicate, it's been broken and bruised so bad, even I wonder how she is still alive. So, let me tell you, right now," Hoseok said as he sat down his mug and leaned over the counter in my direction, "She may not be blood, but she is my sister."

"Hmm," I nodded. "You really don't have to worry about that," I replied. "How are you related to her again," I asked.

"Distant cousin. Her auntie married my mothers little brother, for all of five minutes. I am only gonna tell you this once, if you hurt that filly in ANY way; you wont walk again."

"Got it," I replied, cringing.

"You know that she won't ask for what she wants or needs. You are gonna need to be damned good at reading between the lines, cause she is so afraid that if she tells you what she needs, what she wants, you will do the same thing every one else has done," Honey said after a minute.

"Run," I answered nodding.

"Yep. Most men can't handle her intensity so they either run or try to turn her down to levels that they can handle without realizing that her fire isn't meant to be dimmed, but fed. She is gonna need you to be just as emotional as her, to show her that it is ok to feel again. She is very touch oriented, very tactile. So a lot of her feelings are touch related."

"I understand, Joey."

"You had better. The only reason I didn't beat the shit out of the other assholes, is that I wasn't there. If I had been, I would have had no problems with a few months in the county lock-up. And if Clark had tried that shit while I was there..."

"Really?"

"Yeah. See, the shit of it is, she fades into the background. She doesn't want all those things that other girls want. She isn't the kind to run or chase. She doesn't play games. She is also emotional. Ease into it. Don't try to love bomb her, she went through that shit with Clark and won't put up with it from you," Hoseok said, then turned to Joey, "Speaking of, did you hear what Lone Elm called him?"

Joey shook his head.

Hoseok grinned. "Elm called him a fuckin fishstick."

Joey started laughing, "Elm called him 'Fishstick'."

I looked back and forth between the two men who were holding themselves up on the counter while they laughed. "I don't get it. What-What's a fishstick?"

A hand landed on my shoulder from behind. I turned to see Changkhyun standing there, an amused look on his face.

"Fishsticks are only available in the States. They are mashed-up fish paste, about an inch wide by around six inches long, which is then breaded. Then, they are to be baked in an oven. Either they turn out soggy or they are hard as a rock; inedible either way. Which is good, because they are fuckin' gross. Nasty little things."

"Are they like the fish at Mickey's?"

"No," CK stated. "The fish there is actually decent. Fishsticks are generally served in school hot lunches on Fridays due either to religious reasons, or because they are cheap and can be purchased by the gross. At any rate, they are still inedible."

"Icky. How in the hell can people do that to their kids?"

"Not a clue. That was why I always took my lunch on Friday. Every Friday, the hot lunch was always the same thing; rock hard fishsticks, soggy tater tots, dehydrated-rehydrated mixed vegetables, and golden glow salad with mayonnaise on the top. It was the grossest meal I have ever seen in my entire life."

I shuddered to think of those poor kids. Forced to eat that nasty stuff.

After reading that, I was glad her kids never had to eat that. She fixed boxes for them. School lunches in the States sounded gross.

'Some things were ok.'

'I thought you took your lunch, Mami?'

'I did. My dad said cold lunch was cheaper. But, there was one day, once or twice a month, that I would get school lunch. They called it pork pattie day, but it was a breaded pork tenderloin on a bun. It was pretty decent. It was pretty gross the rest of the time, but that day wasn't too bad.'

'Have I watched you fix those before?'

'Not sure.'

'Are those the sandwiches where you beat the pork chops to nothing and then bread and fry them?'

'Yes.'

'Those do look pretty tasty,' I said as I dug around for what to fix the next day, so I could write it on the board. 'Hmm. Help, please. Can't figure out supper.'

'Whatcha got?'

'Hmmm. Some sausages, some tiny shrimp, and a package of chicken,' I said as I dug around in the freezer.

"You can use the shrimp and chicken in Gumbo.'

'It has been quite a while since I've had Gumbo. I've never made it before though.'

'Look it up. There are a million Gumbo recipes out there.'

'I think I will do that. Thanks, Baby. Have I told you, today, how awesome you are??'

'Yes, but I can always stand to hear it again,' she laughed.

A/N)--The above abuses......actually happened. First hand experience.

#original writing #my writing #original story #twin flames #twin souls #soulmates #soul mates #soulmate #soul mate #past life #astral travel #spirit projection #fanfic #fan fiction #monsta x fic #kihyun fic

[battle-scarred-raven]

RvB CarWash Fanfic: We Will Take It (Pt. 5)

Title: We Will Take It

Part: 5

Rating: Mature/Explicit (Canon typical Language, and things get pretty intimate later on)

Pairing: Carolina/Wash (other pairings acknowledged/hinted at)

Summary: When the shot comes along this time, dear Carolina, you will take it.

Inspired by Blood Gulch Blue from Singularity’s Soundtrack.

—

This isn't your first rodeo with another person.

Hell, it isn't even your first time with Wash. That had been been back after Hargrove had been defeated, and the war on Chorus had finally ended. You all partied hard, Tucker decided to activate the Temple of Procreation, because of course he did, and you had ended up with Wash. Kimball had come and joined you both later, something you allowed, because you’d have been lying if you told yourself that you didn't have a little bit of a thing for the former General. Wash had been okay with it, you all used protection, you all enjoyed yourselves.

Nothing more had been said about it, even now. You knew nothing could ever happen between you and Kimball again. Your lives were heading in two different directions; you were supposedly retiring and she had a whole planet to run as President now. But you couldn't help but secretly hope, dear Carolina, that something might happen between you and Wash again.

After everything you've been through together, you never imagine your wish might be granted. But it is; this is happening. Right here, right now.

Your movements with Wash are nowhere near your usual, dominant self. You have to constantly remind yourself that he is recovering still, that you need to take it slow with him. You want this, of course you do, but not at the cost of Wash’s wellbeing.

“David?” You murmur between languid kisses. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“I'm sure.” He answers, without hesitation.

“If I'm going too fast for you…-”

“Iz…” he cuts you off before you can finish, nuzzling your cheek lightly with the tip of his nose, “If I didn't want this as much as you do, then we wouldn't be doing this right now.”

“I know, I know.” You eventually relent quietly. “I just… don't want to hurt you accidentally.”

“You could never hurt me, Iz. We trust each other too much for that.”

But I did hurt you, you don't say. You don't want to reopen that wound and ruin the moment. You’ve already both talked about that back in the Everwhen, about why you had done what you had done. You didn't need to go over all that. Not again.

So you just kiss Wash once more, gently pushing him towards the bed. He surprisingly resists you, his calloused hands wandering down your body, grasping at the hem of your shirt. You don't fight it when he pulls back from you to remove the garment in one easy motion. You also can't help the shudder that courses through you as the cool air meets your suddenly bare skin.

“You’re… so beautiful, Iz.” He comments genuinely, idly running his hand along your exposed skin, tracing scars along the way. He looks almost thoughtful, like he's reminiscing old memories.

“I'm… really not-” you begin, only for your breath to hitch mid-sentence as Wash crouches down, slowly kissing down the side of your body.

You reach down, ruffling his grizzled blonde hair affectionately. You gasp and shudder again as his starts kissing your stomach, stopping just short above the line of your jeans. Your fingers curl deep into his hair instinctively.

“God, David…” You breathe heavily. If Wash could leave you like this now, Carolina, what were you going to be like after the main show?

An absolute mess, your brain supplies helpfully. In the best possible way.

A tugging at your at your trousers snaps you from your thoughts. You look down, only to see Wash staring up at you with questioning, almost puppy like eyes.

“May I?” His question is a soft, barely audible whisper, which is almost enough to make you melt right there and then.

“Only if you lose some clothes first.” You answer him, a slight smirk tugging at your lips.

A thoughtful look crosses his features, considering your proposition. “Okay.”

He rises, and your hands fall to his shirt. You give him a quick kiss before you start to remove the article of clothing, deliberately slow. When you are done, you throw the shirt behind you, next to yours. You repeat the slow motions of your hands against his battle-scarred skin next, drawing a soft whine from the other Freelancer.

“C-Carolina…” He struggles, stumbling over your codename. “D-Damn, Iz…”

You didn't think you would have that effect on Wash. It's been so long since you've let yourself go like this. The temple was nearly two years ago now, and that had just been a frenzy. Before that had been York, way back in Project Freelancer.

York. The thought of his name catches you off-guard for a moment. Wash notices something up with you immediately.

“You okay, Carolina?” He asks you quietly, his arms hugging your waist as he gazes at you in concern.

“It's nothing.” You are quick to assure him. “Just a memory, is all.”

He doesn't pry, bless him. You both know each other well enough by now to know what things elicit pain in you and the things that haunt you each night. No, he just just kisses you again, hands wandering up your back to unhook your bra. You let it fall down at your feet once he loosens the straps off, watching as his blue eyes drink you in.

You expect to feel vulnerable, with the top half of your body naked like this, but with Wash you feel completely safe and barely exposed at all. It feels… almost natural, and that thought makes you chew your lip in barely restrained excitement. If you weren’t aroused before, you definitely are now.

“It’s okay, Wash.” You whisper gently to him, realising belatedly that he’s waiting for your permission to continue. “You can touch me, if you want.”

There’s a slight delay before Wash responds. Not with words, but by moving his hands from your back straight to your breasts. Your breath hitches as he massages both mounds alternately, first the left side, then the other.  He squeezes both firmly after that, his thumbs gliding over your nipples, and you don’t even try to stop the breathy moan that falls from your lips without your permission.

“F-fu…-” The swear almost escapes your mouth, but that you do manage to stop. It wasn’t that you never swore; you just saw no need to most of the time. “God. Do that again…”

He obliges you, making more of an effort to play with your nipples this time. You never realised how sensitive they were until they met Wash’s seemingly expert hand. You are practically putty in his hands, to be moulded any which way he chose, and right now Wash is making you melt bonelessly against him.

Somewhere in your lust-filled mind, you dimly register Wash whining and groaning close to your ear. It doesn’t hit you why, not at first, until you are abruptly and acutely aware of something hard poking you in the thigh. You feel yourself blush slightly as the dots finally connect. Is he turned on just by the groaning, or is it specifically the fact that those sounds were coming from you?

You aren’t allowed to wonder for long as Wash starts kissing and sucking at your neck, drawing more sounds from you. Your fingers claw into his back, certain to leave marks. He hisses slightly, but doesn’t tell you to stop, lightly sinking his teeth into your skin. You deliberately grind against his erection with the inside of your thigh, and the teeth sink in a little deeper as Wash hisses again. You let out a soft gasp at the sudden sharp pain and you actually feel the other Freelancer wince and pull away.

“Shit, I’m sorry!” He apologises quickly. “I… I didn’t mean to… It’s just, your leg…”

You ruffle his hair gently, spiking it in all directions. “It’s fine, Wash.”

“But… you’re bleeding.” He points out, making to pull away.

You stop him, tugging him back with a sharp pull of your hand on his wrist. Your emerald eyes flick down to gaze at where he had bitten you and yes, he was indeed right. You were bleeding. You would never have noticed, not before he had pointed it out to you.

“It’s nothing.” You shake your head; not entirely true, it stings like shit now you are focusing on it but you don’t want to worry Wash further. “I’ve hurt myself doing far stupider things during training.”

He gives you a wide-eyed look, like he’s trying to work out whether you are being serious or not. “Wait… really?”

“Yeah.”

“But you trained with holo-targets.” Now his eyebrow raises; the result is almost comedic to you, Carolina. “How does that even work?”

“You’d… be surprised.”

A chuckle escapes you. Wash joins in shortly thereafter, and you both laugh for a full minute. It’s a sound you find you rather enjoy, and a moment you will treasure. Just laughing about silly little things like this.

“Trust you to make even the training targets hurt.” Wash snorts loudly, tucking a strand of your fiery red hair behind your ear before he shakes his head at you, a big grin on his face.

You smash your lips into his in order to wipe the smug expression from him, but Wash is more than ready for it. His hands grip your hips, pushing down your jeans and underwear until they pool at your ankles, whereupon you kick them off haphazardly. Your own hands quickly make equally short work of the pair of joggers Wash was wearing.

“Iz…” He thumbs your jawline.

You gaze up at him. “Hm?”

He doesn’t answer again, merely threading his fingers through your hair, gently pulling it from its ponytail, allowing it all to flow messily behind your back. He looks like he wants to say something, but he refrains. You know that look; it usually meant that he had a sentence, but had forgotten what it was, and was about to say something else.

He soon proves you correct. “Your hair is so… smooth.” He ruffles his fingers in it for a little longer, something that you find comforting. “It’s really nice.”

“Mmmhm.” You hum, closing your eyes in content. “I like it when you do that.”

“I’ll be sure to do it more often, then.” His hand shifts from your hair back to one of your breasts again, fondling it slightly. “Are you ready for this?”

“God, yes,” you nod your head vigorously, “though I feel like I should be asking you that.”

“If we take it slow, I think I will be fine.” He reassures you.

You lightly push him down onto the bed. You will take that.

#outofravens #f; we will take it #agent carolina #agent washington #rvb carwash #rvb fanfic #rvb #fanfic #n s f w text

[diningpageantry]

First Days

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18672919/chapters/44630452

Chapter 2/12 of Proximity (The Collision of Lonely Men)

Word Count: 2451

Chapter Summary: Simon makes a friend, and maybe an enemy at the same time.

First days send me back to being a teen.

The anxious new faces and tired, sagging ones of upperclassmen trying to get around them. The pushing, the shoving. The new class schedules, and the confused kids who don't even know who they are, much less what they're doing.

Thankfully, now, I get to watch it from afar. Although I feel like I'm locked up in a tower.

This is the shittiest fairy tale I could imagine.

Brushing my hands over the stack of papers laid out on my desk, I let the day's weight ease onto me. I only have five appointments today, but that doesn't mean I won't get bombarded by students trying to change their classes last minute. I know how it is, I shadowed a public school counselor for a year.

The pile of work out in front of me is a bit dense, but easy. New students, all second or third year transfers. And… lunch is in four hours. That's, at least, something to look forward to.

Well, except for being thrown further into that teenaged “Who do I sit with” bullshit. I haven't left my room much in the past week, and I highly doubt Mr. Stick In The Arse will let me sit beside him (though, I wouldn't be shocked to find that he sits alone). That, of course, leaves me with no other option that the fact that I'll be standing alone, waiting to find the furthest spot from everyone else.

Brilliant.

I get halfway through my morning before the Dean stops in, standing at my doorway as I'm rearranging a student's schedule. He knocks once, sending me jumping before I straighten up. “Oh, hello. Good morning sir--David.”

His nose turns up unimpressively. “You'll be introduced before lunch so that the faculty knows you beyond a welcome email.”

Well, there's no yes or no to that. Guess it's an order. “Okay. I'll be there.”

After nodding briefly and flicking his wrist watch out for a look, he turns on his heel and leaves me without another word.

I know I've never had a father, but he's the closest thing to a disappointed, high standards parent I think I've ever gotten, and it's only been a week.

Checking the time doesn't prove to be much of a spirit lifter. 10:48. Lovely.

I stare out the window, pen clicking impulsively in my hand as I follow a few leaves fluttering across a sidewalk. Empty. It's all empty. Locked away classrooms and borderline solitary confinement for me.

I introduced myself to the other counselor. She's in her late 60s and seems very cold. I doubt I'll talk to her much except for good mornings. That, of course, leaves me knowing three people so far. The Dean, Professor Pitch, and her.

I might as well count the pigeons I fed last night as friends too. They've paid more attention to me than anyone else around here.

Exhale. Slow, steady exhale, blowing out through my mouth.

It feels like a century before lunch finally hits. It takes me a bit of navigating, but I finally find the building after roaming the grounds for a good 10 minutes. Once inside, I steer myself towards the lunch line, avoiding the watchful eyes of students and faculty alike, starting to fill up the rooms.

I'm guilty of stuffing as much food as possible onto my tray, swiping my ID, and scuffling back to the staff dining room. It's empty, all but for the Dean, who's pacing towards the back. Such an odd man. “David?” I manage out, weight shifting nervously from foot to foot.

His head perks up, fingers resting upon his chin. “Ah yes, Mr. Snow. Thank you for being early. Come, sit.”

Following orders is easy to do. Take a seat and stare at my hands as others filter through. I worry that I'm sat in someone else's “spot” as a short, unamused woman takes a seat a few chairs around away from me. She gives me a familiar once over, looking through the top of her glasses before she shoves down a mouthful of salad.

A hand clasps over my shoulder, snapping my from my trance and jolting me standing. It feels as though the entire room is staring (they probably are). Scurrying quickly, I find myself standing feet away from the Dean, nervously picking at the pills of my jumper. Everyone falls silent at the wave of his hand--it's like magic.

“I'd like to take this opportunity, as we're all already gathered, to allow our new guidance counselor, Mr. Snow, to introduce himself.” Introduce myself?

“Uh, yes. Yeah. Thank you.” I stumble over my words, eyes scanning the crowd as I pull at my sleeve. I'm absolutely shit at public speaking, on top of barely being able to form a solid sentence in the first place. Brilliant. “I--uh--hi. Hello. I'm Simon. 26, just moved from London. I-I was a social worker for kids in the system, helping them get proper care and whatnot. I took this job to save up a bit, though. Social work isn't really lucrative, and I have bills.” I try laughing, but it comes out more as a nervous chuckle. “Besides that, I-I'm always up for a chat. I quite like football, I suppose. So yeah. That's… that's pretty much it.”

My hands rest on my thighs, back hunching in the slightest as the Dean looks over, nodding and finally letting me go back to eat without all the eyes in the room on me. Except, when I do sit, the woman with cat-eye glasses is staring at me again.

Slowly, I open my mouth, trying to formulate a response. She cuts in before I can.

“You don't have to move, you're fine here.” Oh well, that's lovely information.

“Thanks,” I exhale, squinting at her ID. “Penelope, is it?”

“Call me Penny,” she shrugs off, picking up her napkin and wiping her face. The rings on the fingers shine slightly in the dull light, catching my eye as I count them off.

“Are you engaged?” I ask rather bluntly, eyes following her right hand. There's a rather nice ring on her finger--I can see it closer now, as she extends her hand and offers a look.

“Mmhm,” she begins. “He lives in America, though. He was studying abroad in uni. He flies out every summer to see me. This year, I flew out to surprise him in more than one way.” She admires the glint, and I can't help but study her. She's interesting. Smart. Large personality, larger hair.

“What's his name?”

“Micah.” Her hand settles back on the table. “Anyway. Enough about me. Who the hell are you, really?”

I hold back a careless snort, poking at my food. “I'm… nobody important, really.”

“That's bullshit if I've ever heard it. Where are you from? Your accent doesn't sound like London.”

Good question. “Here and there,” I shrug. It isn't exactly a lie. “I settled for secondary in London, though, and that's where I stayed through uni.”

She side eyes me, taking a few bites as I shovel in my own food. I'd be more embarrassed if it wasn't for the fact that my back is to most of the room. Still, she's looking at me the same way Agatha would at fancy dinners--like I have no table manners (because I barely do).

She lets me finish before she starts up conversation again. Given it's me, it doesn't take long for that to happen. “So, who'd they put you up with?”

“As in, my roommate?”

She nods, peering around.

“Well, uh… Mr. Pitch. I don't really know how to say his first name, but--”

“Basilton?!” She whispers hushly, eyes raising before she laughs. “Oh you poor bastard, they put you with Mr. Prick.”

“Mr. Prick…?”

She waves a hand dismissively, sipping her coffee as she holds back a grin. “That's what the students call him. Rightfully so, I'd say. He's quite the wound up loon, if you ask me.”

I can't help myself from looking around, trying to find him to get a good look. I catch him, eventually, sitting in the near back, alone at a table with earbuds in and a book in hand. He's got the signature scowl on his face. “What's… he do? What's the deal with him?”

She's rolling her eyes when I look back. “Tenured in. Did they not tell you what he does?” I shake my head. “Brilliant. Well, he's head of the English and Literature department--I teach 10th and 11th year Lit and Creative Writing--and everyone who has him says he's an absolute nightmare. It's a shock that anyone takes his Queer Lit course.”

“Queer Lit?”

She nods dramatically. “See, fun as all hell course. Wilde, Shakespeare, Nin! I'd campaigned to teach it, but he got first call on it, being the teacher for the Gender Sexuality Alliance.”

I stop, cogs turning as I stare down at the grease streaking my plate. It processes slowly, then all at once. “Is he… you know…”

She laughs again--this time, it's a big, snorty laugh. Once she calms down, she gives a final chuckle. “Are you asking if Mr. Pitch is gay?”

I give her a shrug, blinking back to reality. “I-I mean, there's nothing wrong with it! Nothing at all, I'm just… I didn't know, and--”

Her hand settles over mine. “Don't get your knickers twisted. He is. Just thought it was evident, given literally everything about him.”

I glance back again, and I swear on my year's salary that he was looking at me. “I don't like to assume,” I add back into the conversation.

“There's a difference between assumption and context clues, dear.” The bell rings, cutting her short as she sighs. “Well, fuck. I've got a group of clueless 15 year olds to yell at. I'll save you a spot at dinner.”

And with that, I think I've made my first friend (well, besides the pigeons).

It's a pain to drag through the rest of the day. Even though the classes usually wrap in the mid afternoon, my office hours are locked into staying until half an hour before dinner. Basis of this? Fuck everything, and I need to buy snacks to hide in my desk.

I spend roughly half of it staring out the window or playing solitaire on my computer, and the other half was spent reworking schedules to the stuck up kids whimsy. I wonder if part of my job description is “doormat”, and I just hadn't read it clearly enough.

When I'm finally able to lock up and go to eat, I'm feeling half starved and completely exhausted. Thank God Penny seems to like talking, because she spends the entirety of our meal wholeheartedly ranting about how much young boys are the absolute worst group to teach.

“I should've taken the job at the all girls prep,” she huffs, practically throwing down her soup spoon. “Imagine how much happier I would have been not having to ask a boy to not replace ‘rump’ with ‘asscheeks’.”

“Why didn't you take the job?”

“Same reason as everyone else--money.”

I nod solemnly, taking another mouthful of baked chicken.

She keeps going. Long enough for me to get the occasional word in, but not so little that I have to talk often. By the time everyone's starting to file out, she's finally wrapping up her story about her least favorite student so far.

Thankfully, there aren't many students out and about once we're done. They're all scuffling off to the library or any other hang out on campus.

Penny and I part ways by the dorms. As per usual, Mr. Pitch has me locked out (or is it Basilton? Is what what people actually call him?) When I step in after scraping my keys around to find the right one and actually get in, I find him sitting right by the door on the sofa, doing work. That bastard.

He looks up, lips curving distastefully as I carefully close the door behind me. And thus, I'd assume, begins our nightly routine of avoidance. I lock myself in my room, and only step out for maybe a glass of water.

Tonight, though, I suppose I have something to attempt a conversation. “So…” I begin, fiddling with my glass as I stand in the kitchen. The light's off, but the soft yellow of the living room lamp washes over us, making the room feel all toned down. “You teach English, yeah?”

He doesn't turn, still seeming to stare ahead. “Yes, Snow. Astounding conclusion.”

“I… I'd meant that Penelope told me--”

“So you're all pals with Bunce then. Good. She's been sat alone for some time now.”

It hurts a bit, coming from him. As if he's assuming we're both too much of outcasts to be friends with anyone but each other. I worry that, maybe, he's right.

I inhale slowly before continuing. “She said you teach Queer Lit, and that you run the GSA. That's…” I think for a second--a long pause--trying to find the right word.

It's a second too long in his eyes, because he whips around quickly and stares me down. “Don't bother finishing that sentence, Snow. I don't need to hear semi coherent blubbering about how brave I am. Yes, I'm gay. So kindly fuck off.”

I freeze momentarily, glass squeezed tighter in my hand as I stand bolt-still. He stares back, sighing exaggeratedly after a minute before going back to his work.

Taking the glass back, I try not to slam my bedroom door.

Does he have to be an absolute dick about everything? Jesus Christ, this is why they call him Mr. Fucking Prick. Maybe he deserves it. Maybe I'm not actually mad, and he's just ridiculously mean.

I scratch my arm absentmindedly, settling down my glass before falling face first onto my bed. My mind runs over things to do, body working up into a red flashing anger. Who's it for? I don't even know.

It's just… unfair.

Everything's unfair. I thought it'd be livable--I thought I could be optimistic.

I push myself up, then kick down onto my mattress, hitting my fists against my pillows.

Rat bloody bastard wants to be a little dick and yell at me. Fine. Fine. I'll just avoid the shit out of him. Let him be fucking alone, for all I care. He seems to do that to himself anyway.

I manage to sit myself up, chest struggling to heave a full breath in and a full breath out. In the corner of my eye, I see myself in the mirror. Hunched, reddened. Sad. I'm so fucking sad.

Fucking hell. What am I doing?

#carry on #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #snowbaz #mine #simon snow #tyrannus basilton grimm-pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #baz pitch #simon #baz #proximity (the collision of lonely men) #p(tcolm) #chapter update