#yesterday i had to leave two hours early because i had an anxiety attack that lasted well over two hours and persisted through a nap | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

s-brant · 3 years

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Angels Roll Their Eyes (2/2)

(gif: @toesure) (PART ONE)

Summary: Hurricane Agatha approaches Kildare Island during the aftermath of the eventful Fourth of July party. JJ and Y/N are determined to continue avoiding each other after what happened at the party, but John B has other plans for them.

Warnings: Smut, strong language, angst, implied physical abuse, depictions of anxiety/panic attacks, and sickeningly sweet fluff.

Word Count: 24k

A/N: Here we goooo! To celebrate the trailer dropping today, here’s part two to Devils Roll The Dice. If you haven’t read the first part, I suggest you read it and come back so this makes sense. This one has all the drama and spice, so buckle up! Thank you for the love and support on the first part. Let me know if you enjoyed this and have fun, cause I had a blast writing it.

Hurricane Agatha.

It was the first thing she heard about as soon as she woke up yesterday to the sound of her phone blaring with an obnoxious tone that reminds her of waking up too early in the morning for work or school.

Her sleepy eyes couldn't make out who was calling, so she pressed the button to answer and lifted the phone to hear her mom's voice squawking through the speaker at her about the hurricane projected to hit the island in the middle of the night tonight.

The problem is, her parents are out of town this week, leaving her all alone to prep the house and endure the storm alone. And for someone who flinches whenever she thinks she hears the sound of thunder in the sky, that is the worst it can get.

It's a fear her friends are conscious of. One time when they were out on the HMS Pogue, a quick summer storm started to drift overhead and it took all of her self control to not fall into a blind panic when thunder began to rumble above. John B was already steering them back in the direction of the Chateau but she knew it would do nothing to calm her nerves until she was back inside of the house.

The anxiety was starting to become too overwhelming when JJ sat down beside her and threw his arm over her shoulder. It was their first month of knowing one another, so the casual friendly gesture made her jump at first and turn her head to look at him, but he acted like everything was normal.

The next person to notice was John B. With JJ currently out of commission, the only person she thought to call to help her prep the house for the incoming storm was him. Since they never got hurricanes up where she used to live her whole life, she needed someone who's been through a couple to help her while her parents weren't home.

That's how she ended up here. Sweating bullets in the front yard of her house as she unloads the contents of the van with John B was not how she envisioned her Saturday night to go, but she's glad she has someone who's willing to help.

In the past five months of being with the Pogues, she's learned that it's lovely to have friends. She never used to have any before she moved, so in situations like this or when she got so drunk at the party, she never would've had anyone to be there for her. It's quiet moments of kindness and companionship like this that make her realize how much better life has been on the other side of uprooting everything to move here—self-inflicted boy drama and all.

The sandbag on her shoulder sends a growing ache through her back muscles with every step she takes to follow him up the length of unpaved dirt path up to her front door. As usual, he makes it look way easier than it is, and it almost makes her want to laugh at how different they are.

Most of her new friends are effortless, naturally picking up anything they decide to try at while she is inept by comparison. It's part of what attracted her to JJ in the first place. He may have his insecurities the same way every other individual does, but in her eyes, he has nothing to be insecure of. Even when he wipes out on a wave and appears out of the water with sand clumped in his salt-kissed strands of blonde hair, he manages to make it look cool.

"What are you smiling about?"

John B's laughter makes her look up from where she concentrated on the dirt path to see him looking back at her. He stands at the entrance to her house with the rest of the sandbags they carried up placed meticulously in front of the door to prevent water from entering the house. They did the same thing with the back door an hour ago.

Is she smiling? She hadn't even realized her expression changed from one of exhaustion and fear at the dark clouds closing in above to a grin, so her face instantly drops in guilt. After running out on JJ for the second time two days ago to go to work, any mention of him from their friends has left her drowning in shame.

She can't recall the bulk of her memories from the night of the Fourth of July party, but she fills in the gaps between those flashes of memory with what their friends told her about it.

Thanks to her overindulgence, there are holes poked in the fabric of her memory.

It jumps from her last fully sober moment of seeing JJ across the room with the kook girl to dancing clumsily with Kie to the floral scent of her makeup wipes that she can't attach a specific visual image to.

Then, she can remember waking up with a start in the middle of the night to throw up in a pot beside the bed while he held back her hair. Before John B explained it, she was quite confused after waking up about how she somehow got from being jealous over JJ flirting with another girl to waking up in the same bed as him.

She grunts as she plops the last sandbag down into place and decides to take a seat on the steps leading up to the door.

"It wasn't anything special," Y/N says and watches him come down to sit next to her, "I was just thinking about taking something so I can pass out and avoid having a panic attack over this stupid storm."

Unlike JJ, she isn't that skilled of a liar. It's obvious to anyone who knows her well when she does it based on the way her eye contact begins to drift away and her voice raises in pitch when she speaks. She's too honest with her friends to handle keeping secrets from them, which is why it's been so difficult for her with everything that has happened recently. Not only does she lie to the Pogues, she also avoids them by association in the process of trying to avoid JJ.

Regardless of how obvious her bluffing is, John B doesn't call her out on it. Instead, he focuses on a different part of what she said.

"Are you sure you're gonna be okay alone? I know your parents are out of town till next week..." he trails off into concerned silence.

The tip of her sneaker hangs off of the edge of the bottom step and absentmindedly digs a line into the dirt as she takes in his question.

Being alone when she's prone to panicking is a recipe for disaster. Anxiety and loneliness have a relationship similar to that of a weapon and ammunition. It takes very little for her to fall down the rabbit hole of obsessive thinking and break down into a hyperventilating, fearful mess, especially when no one else is there to tug her out of those dark thoughts.

Most of the time, the people who help her with that are her parents. If they're home during one of these episodes, she'll come stumbling downstairs to them from her room for help, and they'll do everything they can to bring her down from hysterics. Her friends, on the other hand, have yet to witness her have one of those moments.

"Having people with me helps, you know? But it is what it is, I'll just try to cope the best I can and hope for the best."

He nods, and though he's a portrait of understanding, she wonders if he finds it as juvenile and stupid as she does.

Logically, she knows that this anxiety is something many people experience. She understands that it's something that is mostly out of her control but can't help but tear herself apart over it.

She thinks to herself, What kind of weirdo can't sit inside during a thunderstorm or hurricane without losing their shit? Why am I not the one in control of my own mind when this happens?

Do her friends think similar things? Do they think it's as pathetic as she does, or is she just paranoid that they pick her flaws apart as much as she does? And, of course, she wonders what JJ would think if he saw her panic like that. He may have seen her start to become anxious on the HMS Pogue, but he hasn't seen her panic panic before, not in the way that her parents have, and she wonders if he'd think less of her for it.

Right when she's about to change the topic and steer him away from a chance to think of how ridiculous she's being about the approaching hurricane, he says something that makes her look back over at him.

"Then come spend the night at the Chateau. I can distract you. We can play board games and shit."

"Really?" she asks.

The idea of anyone wanting to waste an entire night playing board games and possibly signing themselves up for having to talk her down from a panic attack makes her heart melt.

"Yeah, why not? You need a friend tonight. You know any of us would do anything for you. You're like my little sister, dude, we'd all probably hack off a limb if we thought it'd help you. Especially JJ."

John B's last second name-drop is designed specifically for where he wants this conversation to go. Underneath the need to get his friends back to normal, he does feel a little guilty for having to do this. She thinks he's only offering to let her stay with him to help her—and he is, even if there weren't a rift between her and JJ, he'd still offer—but he has a different reason.

"Right," she says softly. "Speaking of which...is he gonna be there tonight?"

With how often he escapes his house to spend a night or two in temporary safety at the Chateau, it's not an unfounded assumption. He and John B spend more time together than any of them because of this, and when she goes over to hang out, she knows that he and JJ often come as a package deal.

He tries to play it cool and not give up anything that could make her suspicious of him, looking off at the van parked in the driveway as he takes a second to collect his thoughts. It's never easy for him to deceive people he cares about, even if it's for their own good. It wasn't easy when he invited JJ to spend the night a few hours ago with the knowledge that he'd soon invite Y/N too either, but he managed.

As always, Pope is the brains behind this operation. He was the one to suggest inviting them both over to wait out Agatha together when the three of them put their heads together to come up with a solution to their oblivious friends' drama. After JJ stormed out of the house the morning after the party, they knew they had to do something about it. This was what it came to.

"Nah. I offered but he said he's staying at home until this whole thing blows over."

He isn't sure why she buys into it.

She knows JJ well enough to know that he would literally rather eat glass than be trapped in a confined space with his dad for an entire day. Perhaps it's only because it's what she wants to believe. She wants to believe that she won't have to see him again tonight after everything that happened. How can she handle having to tell him why got so drunk that night and made an ass of herself? She can't bear to tell him all of that unnecessary drama started because she was jealous.

What right does she have to feel that way? He isn't hers. They aren't together, and she thinks it's quite obvious that he doesn't want a relationship out of whatever it is they have together. It was one night. She has no right to be mad at him for flirting with other girls because of it.

"Then I'll definitely be taking you up on that offer. Thank you," she says.

The old wooden stairs make a squealing sound when she stands to make her way inside to gather her things for the night, but the feeling of a warm hand gripping her forearm stops her mid-step. Her eyes follow down the length of her arm back to where he sits, glancing at her with this knowing look in his eyes that makes her want to turn and hide.

"When are you gonna talk things out with him, Y/N?" he asks. "He misses you."

Since the party, no one has had the courage to burst her bubble of pretending not to care until now, but now that someone has, all of her bottled up emotions stir inside of her at a simple concept she hadn't considered yet.

JJ misses her.

For the first time since they began this stupid game of cat and mouse, she is confronted with how desperately she misses him back. So consumed with the task of concealing everything that happened and trying to avoid him, she hadn't acknowledged that all she ever really wants is to be with him lately.

She misses his jokes and the way he looks at her when she giggles at them. She misses his smile when they play fight on the HMS Pogue. She even misses when he dangles her over the edge of the boat as a means to end the wrestling match, making her squirm in his strong hold as he threatens to toss her overboard.

But what she misses most of all is how he never lets her fall in. It's something about the way he looks at her as he pulls her back onboard, how time itself seems to stop in the moment between when he's still holding her and when she feels her feet touch the deck again.

Then, they'll suddenly want nothing to do with each other for the next half hour.

JJ will make himself busy forgetting the way her hands felt holding onto his shoulders for dear life, burning the memory of her palm prints into his skin for the next few hours. And she'll try her hardest to forget that charming smile and the feeling of his arms around her. But it won't work, not really, and when they're both laying down to sleep at night, they'll have one thing keeping them awake.

She takes a second to internalize what he said and avoid exposing the effect it has on her to hear it before asking, "Did he tell you that?"

The sky overhead grows darker and darker by the second, but she has yet to notice it due to the topic of their conversation. With JJ involved, her attention shrinks to a tunnel leading only to him. There's no room for anything else but the audacious idea planted in the back of her mind that he might miss her as much as she misses him.

"No, he didn't," John B admits, and right when she's about to say more in response, he cuts her off, "but hear me out. I've known him since we were kids, so I can tell when things aren't right with him, and ever since your relationship with him got complicated, I picked up on some weird vibes."

Y/N doesn't give anything away with how she reacts. He can't tell if she's about to bolt like JJ did or stay to talk and open up to him. All she does is cross her arms over her chest and lean back against the railing.

"Weird in what way?"

"Weird in a way that makes me think you two have to talk it out before you ruin your friendship. I've never seen him act this way over a girl."

That doesn't surprise her. He has a reputation for chasing after any girl available to him, something the Pogues have gently teased him about, and it factors into why she doesn't want to have this dreaded conversation with him. She doesn't want to sit there and listen to him tell her that she was just another one of those girls to him.

Going for broke and being honest about what he thinks of their situation is a better strategy for trying to get her to talk to JJ than the other way around. John B can look back on what happened the morning after the party and see where they went wrong in their approach of trying to get him to talk, but she's less unpredictable and turbulent than he is. The fact that she's hearing him out is enough proof of their differences.

She sighs.

"I know we need to talk sooner or later, but it's hard, you know? I'm so embarrassed of how everything went down at the party, even though I was too fucked up to remember most of it, and I just—" There's a brief second that lapses between when she stops and when she starts again where he can almost see her working through it in her head. "I don't wanna get hurt."

John B's face falls at the mention of the party and her feelings surrounding it.

"You have nothing to be embarrassed of. You drank too much but who cares? The only person who should be embarrassed about that night is the guy that tried to take advantage of you."

That part is the most fuzzy in her mind.

She can remember what led up to it and the moment she saw JJ pull him away from her, but she can't remember anything about the interaction itself. It wasn't as if he did anything to her—not yet—but the thought of it alone makes her skin crawl because she's seen that before. She's been the JJ in that situation, pulling a wasted Touron away from someone who thought nobody would be looking out for other people at the party, and she knows how quickly those situations can escalate past "harmless" flirting.

The sound of JJ shouting at Tyler echoes in her mind as she reaches for any remaining memories left from the party. He said it right after he punched him, when he was starting to rush forward to follow him onto the ground and pin him there.

"If I see you near my girl again, you're fucking dead! You got that?"

She doesn't remember realizing that he called her that at the moment. She was confused and upset and all she wanted to do was stop him from getting himself in trouble, so she pulled him away from hitting Tyler again without realizing what he said. And even now, she tries to avoid acknowledging it. She reasons with herself, telling herself that he was pissed off and didn't mean it, because if he did, why hasn't he told her how he feels yet?

Y/N looks up and sees how dark the converging clouds have gotten in the time since they began working on prepping the house for the hurricane, so her next words are shakier than usual.

"I guess you're right." She pushes off of her spot against the railing. "But can we not talk about JJ tonight? I kind of wanna hang out and forget about the rest of the stuff I've got going on right now."

This makes him feel a pang of guilt inside of him for the ulterior motive he's kept hidden from her for the duration of the conversation, but he knows it's for the best. Even if her and JJ's inevitable conversation goes in the wrong direction and they don't end up mending fences, it's better that they let it out sooner than later. If they wait any longer, it'll make it worse, and he knows that they're stubborn enough to keep this childish game going for another week or so.

So, he keeps her in the dark for now and offers a kind, "Sure, that's cool with me," despite knowing how messy the night will soon become.

A smile pokes at the edges of her mouth, making the sides of her eyes crinkle, and she extends a hand to help him up from where he sits.

"Now," she says as they make their way inside the house for her to pack a bag, "are you ready to get absolutely crushed in Monopoly?"

It started to rain before they left her house, and by the time they pull into the driveway of the Chateau, it's pouring down on them with violent winds whipping droplets at their faces hard enough to hurt.

The rapid pace of her pulse beats with such an intensity, she can feel it in her head. They shouldn't have taken so much time at her place before heading over here. While she was packing, they talked and dilly-dallied the whole time, and now they pay the price for it.

If she knew that it would start this soon into the night, she probably would've hurried things along sooner, but it's too late. She's already starting to feel that tightness in her chest and each breath of air feels less satisfying with every inhale. It's not so bad that she loses complete control of herself, but it's getting there, and she can't express how badly she doesn't want to lose her shit in front of John B.

The passenger side door is slammed shut by the force of the wind behind her, the noise becoming swallowed up in the rest of the budding storm, and she stifles a sound of surprise that escapes her in reaction to it. They're lucky they made it here in the first place. Any later in the night and they probably would've had to take refuge at her place until it blew over.

She decides to focus on how the edges of her white sneakers are swallowed up by the muddy earth on her way through the front yard to distract herself. It stains them a deep brown color and simultaneously washes them clean from the rain coming down from above, which she'd probably be annoyed about if she weren't such a nervous wreck. But, because she's too busy keeping her backpack raised over her head to shield herself from the rain on her way up to the front door, it's not high up on her list of priorities.

Since both the screen door and the door behind it are unlocked, she doesn't hesitate to come bursting into the house as she usually does.

Y/N lets out a deep breath, feeling that telltale tension in her chest and shoulders, and laughs at the sight of John B running in as she kicks off her shoes. His t-shirt is speckled with rainwater, and his hair is saturated enough with it to stick to the sides of his face after he crosses the threshold into the Chateau.

The sound of her laughter makes JJ's heart stop from where he stands in the kitchen.

"There was an umbrella right on the dashboard, why didn't you take—"

Her heart might as well have stopped just as abruptly as the sentence she was in the middle of saying when she turned and saw him standing there.

Maybe they're both a tad too dramatic, but it takes a full few seconds for them to stop staring at each other in surprise. He looks like a deer in the headlights, eyes wide with surprise like he was caught doing something he shouldn't even though all he was doing was grabbing a beer from the fridge.

It's been two days since they last saw each other. For him, the last glimpse he got of her was when he peeked through the blinds to see her pedaling away on her bike to go to work, but hers was somewhat different.

The last time she saw him, he was asleep. Their legs were tangled together underneath the sheets and his face was smushed against her chest, allowing her to feel the soft puffs of his exhales on her skin every few seconds. It's a wonder that she managed to slip away unnoticed once she remembered she had work that morning. He was holding her closely, so closely that she found it hard to discern where she ended and he began in the dazed, hungover headspace she woke up in.

It's when the conversation she had with John B on the front steps of her house comes back to the forefront of her mind that she puts together what's happening right now. Now that they're here, it's far too late to leave. With how aggressively the wind and rain batter the area surrounding the house, it's obvious that they're not going anywhere.

It seems to click with them at the same time, because JJ turns to look at him only a half second after she does.

Y/N says, completely serious, "If you did what I think you did, I'm gonna kill you."

Before either of them can think of doing anything, John B shoots out from the doorway and runs past her in the direction of the hallway where his bedroom is.

"Gotta catch me first!"

They both chase him, JJ hopping over the back of the couch to run after him, but they end up coming to a screeching halt at the shut door right when they hear the lock turn and click.

Neither of them knows what they were planning to do when they caught him, cause it isn't like they'd hurt him, but they bang on the door nonetheless. The sound is drowned out by the sound of the wind and rain pounding the outside walls of the house, picking up speed, and for a second she wants to kick the door open.

She shouts, "John B! Open this door!"

The last thing she wanted tonight was to be trapped in a house with the one person she didn't want to see. Doesn't John B realize how embarrassing it is for her to be around him when she knows that he's gonna reject her? He may have said something about JJ never acting so weird over a girl before, but he's wrong. There's no way JJ actually wants her...right?

"I can't hear you, this storm's kinda loud!" he yells back at them through the locked door. "Maybe try again later!"

Neither of them wants to acknowledge the other. In fact, they don't even want to look at each other right now, so all they can do to stop themselves from acknowledging the elephant in the room is continue trying to get answers out of John B. What does he think that locking them together in the Chateau for the night will accomplish other than make them ignore their own drama and team up to plot their revenge on him?

Though he's significantly less angry than she is, JJ pulls the doorknob enough to make the door whine on its hinges and pleads with their friend, "This isn't funny, John B. Open the door."

"Not until you guys stop being immature and talk to each other."

She furrows her brows at him even though he can't see her, saying, "It's none of your business. You can't just trap us here cause you think you know what's best for us."

The sound of thunder rumbling above the house makes her flinch, hand shooting out to latch onto JJ's arm on an instinct she couldn't consciously resist. Feeling the warmth of his skin beneath her palm and the fingers clutched around his wrist sends shocks of familiar electricity up her body. Touching him always makes her feel hyperaware of herself, leaving her to wonder if he can sense her pulse picking up or notice how her breathing pattern turns uneven.

With that being said, it's safe to say that the night they spent together took that sensation of electricity and hyperawareness to a height it hadn't reached before.

That time, it wasn't a brush of their hands or an arm over her shoulder, it was the epitome of physical closeness. She couldn't handle it. He was so sickeningly sweet with her, yet, at the same time, he knew all of the right times to be commanding and in control too. There were awkward moments at first, sure, but once they became comfortable with each other, it was game over.

And whenever they've touched since, she hasn't been able to get those memories off of her mind. It's less prevalent now, since she's only holding onto him out of fear, but it's still there underneath it all—the unfiltered desperation of the lust in his eyes, the low noises that escaped his parted lips, and the strong pair of hands that pinned her hips down on the mattress to give him the leverage to really give it to her at the intensity she begged for.

It's pathetically easy for her to be sucked right back into the vortex of emotions, memories, and fears that haunt her whenever they touch, but he brings her back out of it just as easily when he speaks.

"You okay?"

John B was as good as forgotten by him as soon as he felt her jolt next to him and grab onto his wrist like she was hanging from a ravine and he was the only thing preventing her from falling. It makes him feel like a fool, but even when they're ignoring each other, the urge to comfort and protect her from anything that displeases her never disappears. He'd literally fistfight Zeus if it meant there'd be less thunder to scare her.

If he weren't hiding behind a locked door to avoid their wrath, JB would probably be calling him a simp right about now.

The concern on his face is so pure and unaffected by any of the chaos that surrounds them, both physical and emotional, that it makes her stomach turn with a sick feeling. God, he really does care about her. Why does that scare her? Why doesn't she want to believe that he cares? Why is she so set on believing that he wanted nothing more than a quick fuck from her?

Her eyes turn down to see their connected hands, realizing all in one moment what she did and pulling her hand away as if she were burned.

"I—Yeah," she stops, looking up at him, then back to the closed bedroom door, "I'm fine. You know how it is, it's just the storm."

They're both left with no choice but to face the music after days of avoidance that had no good reason behind it other than the respective doubts and fears they have. Yet even now that they're standing here, unsure of what comes next, they're hesitant to say or do anything that might disrupt the illusion they've created in the week and a half since they first ruined their friendship for good.

It feels as though the tension that has been boiling between them is coming close to turning explosive and all it will take is one tremor of their self-control for it to spill over.

Every feeling they have feels so contradictory. They want to but they also don't. They almost do it, then hesitate and decide to ignore each other for days. At the party, this tug of war game was at its peak for JJ when she was telling him about her jealousy and cuddling up to him, but he couldn't do it then, not when she was drunk. And by the time he had a whole night to think it over and see her biking away, he didn't want to risk it.

She looks away from him, hoping that "out of sight, out of mind" may ring true for once, and says to John B through the door, "Whatever, have fun. I won't hold JJ back when you finally come out of there though."

He won't actually do anything to him, maybe just a non-serious fight that'll end with her walking in on them rolling around on the floor trying to wrestle each other, but she likes to fuck with him anyway. For the dick move he just pulled, she thinks he can withstand a little teasing.

Without anything else to say, Y/N turns and walks off to make herself useful elsewhere—anything to distract from the buzzing, anxious energy that surrounds her from both the hurricane and being forced to confront JJ. She tries to play it cool though she is anything but at the moment, allowing herself to grimace once her back is turned to the blonde boy still standing against the wall in the hallway.

Maybe if she keeps pushing this false sense of normalcy, it'll work. It worked when they both started pretending things never happened between them initially after they had sex, so who's to say it can't work now?

All they have to do is get through the next 12-24 hours without talking and all will be well. Right?

They tried.

They truly tried to get through the night without inciting chaos within the Chateau, but, for these two idiots, not inciting chaos is a task easier said than done. Not only was John B much more stubborn with staying in his room than either of them bargained for, he didn't even attempt to speak to them for the first five hours and they were left with nothing to do but find new ways to avoid talking to each other.

It was simple in the beginning.

She went off on her own and sat with her headphones in to drown out the sounds of the storm.

With her eyes fluttered shut to block out anything but the sound of The Cure blasting into her ears, there was no reason for her to have to worry about anything once her nerves began to settle. Since the songs drowned out any sound and all she could see was darkness behind her closed eyelids, she was able to drift away with the distraction of the music.

The thing is, after a while, she started to see pieces of him in every song she skipped to. She made it a full minute into Just Like Heaven before a supercut of her most treasured memories of him began appearing in her head. Fade Into You? Skipped as soon as the first dreamy lyric flooded in through the tangled cords of the headphones. Cloud 9? Forty seconds in. By the time Dirty Little Secret came on, she decided that her playlist was mocking her.

The headphones were out of her ears, hastily wrapped up, and stowed away in the small pocket of her overnight bag before the chorus of the song could hit. Thankfully for her, JJ wasn't looking when she ripped the headphones out and put them away in a huff, so by the time he turned to see her again, she was laying down on the couch to "nap"—meaning she laid awake for another hour and cursed John B for making her endure this.

While she was daydreaming of a John B voodoo doll, JJ was worried about her.

Yes, the topic of their relationship/friendship/situationship/whatever-the-fuck-it-is was bombarding him against his will every five seconds, but not without him coming back to his concern for her. A small sound of thunder on an otherwise perfect day was enough to make her zone out and start getting antsy that day on the boat, so he didn't want to know how bad it could get during a time like this.

He tried to play it cool, and, in all honesty, his remaining scraps of sanity lasted a lot longer than hers. Four and a half hours passed, then, as the storm began to do its worst on their town, the power flickered out and left them in complete darkness. At that point, John B was passed out in his bedroom, so he didn't care nor notice when they had to find a few candles and stumble through the dark.

Somewhere along the way, having to search through the dark house for candles to light and place around the living room led them here...he isn't quite sure how.

JJ can hardly open his eyes enough to see through the rain that pounds against him the second he runs after her through the back door. The wind is so aggressive and unrelenting, it almost sends him stumbling a few steps when he follows her blurry figure a few paces behind where she tries to flee the house in a panic.

"Get back inside!" he shouts as he picks up his speed to catch up, "Y/N!"

The part of him that isn't focused on the pure physicality of trying to see and move through the stormy weather is utterly overwhelmed with fear. Not for himself but for her. She's deathly afraid of mild storms, let alone hurricanes, and yet she ran through the back door when he tried comforting her through an anxiety attack. One would think that she wouldn't want to go directly into the thing she fears the most, but what sent her running for the hills wasn't the panic itself, it was him.

It's hard for her to think rationally in this state, but all she knows is that he was there, he was saying all the right things and holding her, and she couldn't do it. The fear began to blend to one centered around both him and the storm. The hours of useless distractions and ruminating in her thoughts built up to this point of contention, then it snapped.

Between the thunder, his voice, and the voice in the back of her head that was urging her to confess her feelings and do as John B advised them to, it became too much. Maybe it was the most idiotic split-second decision she made without any regard for logic or reason or her safety, but she bailed. For the third time, she couldn't handle the pressure and ran from him.

The only difference is that he couldn't let her leave this time.

He gasps for air against the streams of water flowing down his face, soaking his hair and making it hang in his eyes to obstruct his view more than the weather already has. It happened so fast, neither of them are wearing shoes. His feet sink into the muddy yard with every stride he takes in his frantic pursuit of her and it frustrates him no end because of how it slows him down.

There's endless dangerous possibilities with her being out here. She could be knocked over into the marsh by the wind, or stuck and hurt by a piece of debris—merely thinking about it makes him call out her name louder in the hopes that it'll wake her from her panicked trance.

After trudging through the mud all the way to the edge of the yard, he finally manages to get to her.

"What are you doing?" JJ shouts, turning her around and grabbing onto both of her arms as if one gust of wind would sweep her away if he didn't, "You're gonna get hurt!"

Stumbling backwards in the direction of the screened-in porch that surrounds the back door, he uses their difference in strength to tug her away in the direction she came out in. The rain makes it difficult to keep a firm grasp on her, and she almost slips away a couple of times when the wind picks up enough to make him too unsteady to hold on.

His arms slip around her waist for a better grasp on her the closer they come to reaching the house. The last thing he wants is to almost get her back inside and lose her at the last second. She isn't thinking rationally right now with the panic she feels taking full control of her responses. He knows firsthand how it feels to be thrown headfirst into a panic attack, he's been in her shoes before and knows better than anyone the lengths your irrational mind will go to if it means survival. And for whatever reason, her response is flight, not fight.

The door to the screen porch takes all of his effort to open against the power of the wind blowing it back against the house.

He grits his teeth as he forces it open, one arm secured around her midsection, and helps her in before he slips inside too. The second he lets go of the door, it's sent slamming back into place and rattling in the frame behind them, but he doesn't spend anymore time on it other than the few seconds it takes to lock it. As soon as it clicks with him that they're safe—most importantly, that she's safe—he whips around to face her with a cold rage flowing through his veins.

"What the fuck?"

She stands in front of him with water pouring off of her in rapid drops onto the rug, and there are no thoughts in her head outside of the ones telling her to leave. Her tears blend in with the droplets of rain so seamlessly that he wouldn't know she's crying if not for the sound of it.

In between her rapid breaths and sobs, she yells back at him, "I was scared, okay?"

"Why'd you run out into the storm if you—"

"I wasn't afraid of the storm, I was afraid of you!"

The silence that follows is louder than anything they've experienced. Nothing can rival it, not the thunder, the rain, or anything can drown it out while he stares at her in shock. His eyes are wide, lips slightly parted as he reaches for something, anything, he can say in response to that, but there's nothing. For once, he is absolutely speechless.

Things got awkward between them in the initial aftermath of last week, but not like this. There was never an instance where he felt like there was nothing left for him to say to her to fill the uncomfortable silence that always brought forth memories of them together until now. Until she said the last thing he wanted or expected to hear.

His anger subsides as he picks over what he did in his head for anything that could've made her feel unsafe.

Before it evolved into him chasing after her through the hurricane, he noticed how terrible it had gotten for her when he lit the first candle. Her cheeks were streaked with tears and her chest began to rise and fall faster with each second that passed. He could see it on her face that things were getting worse, but, now that he thinks of it, it got worse once he reached out to put his hand on her shoulder.

It felt like a dream sequence in his head, so hazy and faraway now that it's over, and he was so stunned by what she was doing, he didn't run after her until a few seconds later. There was a delay in which he stood there in surprise and tried to process what the hell just happened to no avail. Though it wasn't very long, he remembers it feeling like eternity tucked into the cramped space of four seconds.

JJ's voice is softer than she's ever heard it, asking into the void of the near-darkness that encloses them, "What'd I do?" And it breaks her heart in half to hear him sound so concerned, so terrified of the idea that he did something to hurt her when all he did was try to help. "I never meant to scare you, I swear. I know how bad it can get sometimes, and I know we haven't been talking but I'd never try to hurt you if that's what you thought..."

His thoughts run rampant with the possibilities of what she was thinking at the time, and he realizes that he can't stand the idea of her thinking anything badly of him. He never cares about what people think, but, fuck, he loathes the idea of her having any ill feelings toward him.

Y/N immediately starts shaking her head, her face scrunching with the emotion and incessant tears.

"I know you'd never hurt me. I was scared because..." she stops herself mid sentence, catching it right when she was about to admit the one thing she promised herself she wouldn't.

But the need to say it doesn't go away this time. Usually, once she catches herself she comes to her senses and realizes how foolish it would've been to confess, but this time is different. This time, the urge to speak her mind and tell him everything sticks around. The words left unsaid creep up her throat, thrashing and begging to let out after months of being pushed aside.

The look in her eyes is strangely reminiscent of the way she looked at him the night they hooked up, almost yearning in its nature, and he couldn't be more confused. She's scared of him, but she's looking at him like she did when she was two seconds away from jumping his bones. And if he didn't do anything wrong, why was she afraid enough to face her worst fear in order to avoid him?

"Because what?" he asks.

That frustration from when they first stepped into the porch hasn't vanished, it only took a backseat once she said she was afraid of him, not the storm, and he can feel it stirring up again. He's tired of not having answers. He's tired of mixed signals and loneliness and unrequited love. Most of all, he's tired of her running away all the time. At this point, he questions whether or not it's worth it to expose his feelings to her and suffer the consequences.

John B was right. This isn't healthy for them, nor is it healthy for them to put their friends through this along with them, and it might be better to not be friends than to stay this way forever. At least that way they wouldn't be wishing for answers that would never come for the rest of their time together.

She decides at this moment that this has to be said before it gets worse, before she runs away again like a scared, immature child and ruins everything.

"Because," she has to shout over the lightning that cracks down on the earth down the street, something she would be trembling in fear over if she weren't so focused on him, "I've been in love with you for a couple months and it scares me more than anything, even this stupid fucking storm! And I've tried so hard to ignore it because I know you don't feel the same way, but you touched me and I just"—a soft cry escapes her—"I couldn't do it anymore."

There it is.

After months of ruminating over it and hiding everything, he knows, and her immediate feeling after she says it isn't what she thought it would be. She expected trepidation and regret, but what she finds on the other side isn't either of those, it's relief. Her dad often tells her when she's nervous about something that the anticipation is worse than the thing itself, and that has never been as true her as it is now.

However, some of the nerves return with the time that passes after she spoke in complete silence. Much like the delayed reaction he had to her running out of the house, it isn't as long as it feels to her. It's a short span of time that it takes for her words to process with him, but it feels like an eternity that he stands there with his head facing the floor in quiet contemplation.

Her heart sinks.

This means he doesn't feel the same way, doesn't it? If he were the one telling her he loved her, she likely would've leaped into his arms and said it back, but he stays where he is.

Then, after what feels like forever, she thinks she sees him start to smile and feels like she's losing her mind. It's quite dark out here, so there's only a limited amount of light to allow her to see his features, but there's no doubting it when a flash of lightning floods the porch with a split-second of harsh light.

Oh God, why is he smiling? What does it mean?

Much to her frustration, the first thing he says after her confession isn't much help in making her understand his feelings either.

"Why didn't you just talk to me?"

Why? The voice in the back of her mind asks incredulously. Is he seriously asking why? He ignored me too. He didn't want to talk about it either, so what else was I supposed to do?

Maybe she was undeniably worse when it came to the avoidance and lack of communication, but he could've reached out to her too. They both could've. Instead, they spent day after day waiting for the other to make the move and pushed the tension further and further until it finally broke. Now she's waiting for him to hurry up and reject her so she can move on with her life.

She shivers from the wind blowing at her wet skin through the screens separating them from the outside world, crossing her arms over her body to hug herself. His eyes follow her movements down to the breaths that are slowly evening out without her realizing it. It turns out that confessing your love for the guy you've been crushing on since the day you met him is a hell of a distraction.

"I thought you wouldn't wanna hear me being all emotional and shit over a one time thing. You've literally never had an actual relationship before. And that's fine," she rambles, "I'll be okay eventually, but that's not who you are and there isn't a problem with that. I just caught feelings when I shouldn't have."

In her defense, she isn't making baseless assumptions about him, he hasn't had a relationship before. His love life hasn't ever really revolved around love itself, it was mostly comprised of random chicks he'd meet at parties or at the beach during the summertime when tourists come to visit the island. Out of all of them, he's the last one the Pogues would expect to fall in love with someone and commit to a relationship, but then...

He looks over at her with a swell of emotion within him that he's never felt before. It wasn't like he hadn't known before now. He did. He even said it out loud to himself that morning after the party, but this is when it feels the most real. Now that she's said it to him, he doesn't feel so stupid for toying with the four letter word in the back of his mind for the entirety of the past week.

In all honesty, he was the last person he would've expected to fall in love with someone this quickly too. He thought he knew himself better than this. He thought he could keep himself hidden away and not let anyone close enough to see him—the real him, faults and feelings and vulnerability included—but she proved him wrong. In walked Y/N with her pretty smile, teeny bikini bottoms, and oddly strong opinions on Ratatouille, and he stood no chance.

This sudden crescendo of emotion only continues to grow when he watches her shiver, soaked to the skin, across from him and decides that he never wants to deny himself of her again. Those feelings of inadequacy that forced him to question his relationship with her may not have gone away, not by a long shot, but they can't stop him anymore. Nothing can.

Like a light flickering to life in this swirling, stormy darkness, she hears JJ's voice asking her, "What if it is who I am?"

It was said so softly, she nearly lost it beneath the rain and wind. But it was not said with a lack of certainty, which is why she questions if she heard him correctly. He sounded so sure of himself that it feels too good to be true. After his reaction, or lack thereof, to her telling him she loved him, she accepted what was coming and this was not it.

"What?"

He doesn't miss a beat.

"You heard me." There's a pause. "Maybe I needed to meet the right girl."

There is no way he's saying what she thinks he's saying because if he is...if he is then that means the tears and frustration have all been for nothing because he loves her back. But if he loves her, then what was with the kook girl? Was it to make her jealous, or is she misinterpreting him right now and he was flirting with that girl because he doesn't have real feelings for her?

"JJ..." she trails off, looking down and thinking to herself how thankful she is that it's too dark for him to fully see how nervous he made her, "don't do that."

Partly, he should feel offended that she'd think he'd toy with her feelings like that, but he isn't. He's too busy wondering what on earth made this poor girl so insecure to think that someone has to be joking to confess their love to her. It makes him wonder if anyone wronged her before she moved here, and he feels that switch of impulsive anger inside of him flip at the thought.

But that anger has nowhere to go, so it shifts into something different—a need to spend every waking moment of the rest of their time together proving to her that she doesn't have to be so afraid. Does it make him a hypocrite? Probably. It wasn't too long ago that he was telling the Pogues how much he didn't deserve to be with her, but he doesn't see himself the same way he sees her. In his head, he has reasons to believe he doesn't deserve her love, but how could she ever think that herself?

He steps closer to her, the movement something so natural and unconscious to him that he doesn't recognize he does it until he hears her breath hitch in the back of her throat. They were already close enough to reach out and touch each other if they wanted to, yet now it's the kind of closeness that wipes the slate of her mind clean with nothing else but the thought of him there to stay.

He starts to say, "I'm not fucking with you, dude, I'm being serious—"

"Then prove it."

Oh.

The sound of his unfinished sentence lingers on the tip of his tongue as he blinks away his surprise at what she said, though it was less of a statement and more of a challenge. What the challenge is, he isn't too sure, but he thinks there could be a couple of meanings there.

The fire in her eyes when she looked up at him is one he recognizes very well, it stars in one too many of his daydreams that center around their secret night together. She rose to the occasion without fail and matched his chaos every time, and that steely-eyed stare is reminiscent of it.

Yet, the sexual undertone isn't the only part of it to be discovered. There's a clear meaning there for him to actually prove it, to put his money where his mouth is, grow a pair, and tell her how he feels with no room for confusion. No more miscommunication, running away, or insecurity getting between them, just a clear cut confession like hers.

His hand runs through his hair to sweep it out of his eyes and keep the wet strands from dripping down his face. It helps him see her a little better too, grounding him to the moment and calming him at the dimmed sight of her expectant, wide eyed gaze.

There were a million versions of this whenever he let himself imagine admitting it. He only let himself picture it on the worst days, days like the one two days ago when he went home to his dad, ending the night by cleaning his own cuts and inspecting his own bruises in his locked bedroom. He did it to distract himself from wanting to storm out of the room and finally kill the son of a bitch after years of suffering in silence.

JJ closed his eyes, shaking with anger, and dreamed of how he'd tell her. There were versions with long speeches that were far too sappy to exist outside of the realm of his imagination. There were versions with him burying the words between friendly jokes to play down the extent of his feelings too, but he thought it worked best in its simplest form.

So he puts it as simply as it gets, lips fighting a soft smile as he crosses the space between them and rushes in to kiss her. It's charged with an accumulation of the pent up love, anger, and sexual desire that has been repressed until now, resulting in something utterly explosive.

He stops for a second to whisper, "I love you too," into her parted lips, and she finally lets herself go at the sound of those words.

Forget that they've only known each other for five months, when you know you know. This is the real deal. This is the kind of feeling that possesses every accessible inch of her heart and she'd never be open enough to admit that to anyone but him at the moment, but neither of them minds that. It's such a new, rapidly developing feeling that they want to protect it and keep it close to them for the time being.

His arms twine around her waist, tugging her the last bit forward and leaving no space between their bodies this time. The sudden movement draws a sharp gasp from the back of her throat and sends her hands out to brace themselves on his shoulders. The sound of the gasp that disappears into their connected mouths only fuels him on more. It makes him more eager with how he touches her with his hands drifting down the plane of her back, one of which playfully slipping beneath the hem of her soaked shirt in a way that makes her smile into the kiss.

He knows exactly what he does to her. He can sense it in the small reactions that would often go overlooked if it were someone less familiar with her.

It's easy to tell by the way she completely surrenders herself to him, letting out these soft little noises she doesn't even realize she's making when he takes control of the interaction and kisses her like he's starved for it. In a way, he is starving for affection and attention from her. He never knew it was something he needed so badly until he got it, and now he never wants to go without having her again.

That's why it doesn't surprise him when she starts getting antsy after a moment or two, especially after keeping away from him for days.

Her hands run down the length of his chest over the soaked t-shirt, taking a quiet victory in how his stomach flinches inward in response to her exploring touch, and she could swear his next exhale trembles as she continues lower. Never once does she break the kiss, which, by the way, has gone past the point of being passionate and straight to downright needy, but her concentration does falter. The perfectly paced rhythm of her mouth moving with his is interrupted when she touches him over the fabric of his shorts.

Those plushy soft lips go on an exploration of their own too. Leaving him with the first opportunity to catch his breath in minutes, she dips her head beneath the sharp edge of jaw in pursuit of the sweet spot she remembers reducing him to a grabby, moaning mess the last time they did this. It doesn't take her long, not if the tightening of his arms around her and the satisfied hum of a moan she feels vibrate beneath her mouth has anything to say for it.

He loses himself in it for a second or two...okay, fine, maybe ten.

The separate sensations combined spark a flame inside of him that burns so hopelessly for whatever she'll give him. His mind sends him images of them together, both real memories from their first time together and imagined fantasies he only let himself visit in his dreams, and he realizes how thinly spread his self control has become lately.

First, it's the thought of her from last week, thoughts of her gasping, writhing, and begging beneath him that makes his cock throb under the teasing contact of her hand through his shorts. But then he's brought elsewhere. Then, though he hasn't thought of it since the day after the party, he thinks of the mix of jealousy and anger he felt when he saw Tyler with her.

He remembers being sane one moment and charging across the room like a madman the next. He remembers how it felt to watch another person's hands slip under her dress, how it felt to see someone else try to kiss her the way he had, and this raw wound of a memory is all it takes to spur him into action.

It happens so quickly, she doesn't even notice what's happening until he has her scooped up in his arms with her legs around his waist. She doesn't even have the chance to voice her surprise or crack a joke at the expense of his neediness before he reconnects their paused kiss with enough force to make her teeth ache in the collision.

JJ's rings are colder than ice, digging into the flesh of her thighs as he holds them with a tight grip and blindly takes the few steps necessary to reach the back entrance of the house. His wet handprint smudges on one of the cracked-open glass doors and sends droplets of water dribbling down the surface. The teardrop of rain zig-zags at the swinging motion of the door on their way in, only changing course again when he nudges it shut behind him a little too loudly.

"Wh"—her question is cut off by him laying her down on the rug-covered floor in between the couch and coffee table—"What if John B wakes up?"

His first thought was to bring her into the spare bedroom, but then he realized that it shares a wall with John B. Then, he considered the pull out couch but realized that would be louder than the room adjacent to their friend's. His only conclusion was this.

It isn't nearly as romantic as either of them would've pictured, but they're not exactly picky either. They're so desperate for it, they'd likely do it on the porch in the middle of a hurricane if there weren't another option. And in their own weird way, they make it romantic.

There's no one else she'd rather risk rug burn for, and that is the peak of romance.

"John B sleeps like a fuckin' rock," JJ says, "and it's own his fault for trapping us here anyway."

He follows her down onto the floor without a second thought, not even looking up to see if they woke their friend with the sound of the door shutting behind them.

Hovered above her, he looks particularly captivating in the flickering candlelight. The fire burning in one of the three-wick candles they scoured the bathroom cabinets for brings out the warm hues in his blonde hair and highlights every edge of the angular face that looks down at her. The porch was far too dark for her to see him in all of his near-perfection, but this is enough for her to notice a multitude of things.

His slicked back, wet hair allows her to see his features better and the way he looks at her...it's enough to make anyone feel red in the face. How hadn't she see it before? She knows it was denial, but, somehow, she used to overlook the small hints along the way like how he looks at her like she's the only thing that makes sense to him. For the first time in a while, she allows herself to embrace the idea of being loved without looking for something to justify her fears surrounding it.

The sound of her voice brings him out of the mesmerized trance he fell under at the sight of her.

"I've missed you," she says softly, "like a lot."

The sweet admission slows him down for a second, making him stop to ignore the distracting desire that she sparked to life a moment ago and take the time to cherish this moment of rare serenity with her.

It's a wonder that she hasn't even acknowledged the storm raging on outside since they've come back in. It's all thanks to him, of course, since she's been too focused on everything happening between them, but it surprises him. It makes a sense of pride flare up in him on her behalf for being capable of forgetting something she fears so much.

But, on the other hand, it reminds him of how distraught she was right before their conversation/argument on the porch shifted from her panic to the topic of their relationship, and he can't help but hesitate a little.

"I missed you too." The hand he isn't using to support himself above her cups her face, his thumb tracing the line of her cheekbone. "Are you okay though? You were just crying and I don't wanna make you—"

"Yes."

It was so said so quickly, there was zero hesitation. It's not that it doesn't surprise him that she's as eager as he is after what started to happen out on the porch, but it does make his eyes widen a little. His mouth curls with a slight grin. It's the kind that never fails to make her stomach fluttering and light with butterflies.

"You don't have to worry about me. I'm okay, and I promise I'll let you know if I'm not," Y/N clarifies.

"Okay."

There's a short moment where all they do is look at each other with a complete loss for words to convey what they feel right now. It isn't as awkward as it would've been prior to tonight. Before they confessed their feelings, they wouldn't have been able to look at one another for any longer than a few seconds without needing to walk away to break the tension. Now, things have changed. They don't feel the need to conceal how much they care anymore.

They're still the same bickering duo they've always been with the added fun of being head over heels. She never used to understand how some people could let their feelings for another person drive them crazy, but it's done more than make her crazy this past week. It made her jealous, obsessive, and somehow happy too, and no one has ever made her feel so many varying emotions in her life.

Her fingertips graze the stretch of skin between where his cargo shorts sit on his hips and his shirt rides up the side of his torso, and he swallows thickly at the feeling.

"Do I make you nervous?" she asks.

Her lilting, smooth voice is enough to soothe any nerves he could possibly have. It's as if hearing her ask that paired with the hand teasing the waistband of his shorts pulled him back to the place he'd been before when she was teasing him over his clothes.

He answers honestly, his head going fuzzy with the crushing desire that courses through him, "Not as nervous as I make you," and closes the space between them again.

The cheeky comment doesn't go unnoticed by her, not one bit. It makes her face heat up in embarrassment that is purely instinct after having to hide her feelings from her for so long. Maybe after they've been together for longer, it won't make her blush every time he acknowledges the effect he has on her out loud, but that day isn't today. Today, she goes hot in the face from a sole second of his attention, let alone this.

JJ lets his hand climb up the length of her torso as they kiss as if they have all the time in the world, as if their best friend isn't sleeping less than twenty feet away from them, until it flattens at the base of her neck. It doesn't curl around her neck and squeeze, nor does it do anything but remind her how much she loves the feeling of him touching her, the large palm of his hand simply stays draped over her throat to flaunt his ability to sway her nerves.

She's pretty sure if it were anyone else, it wouldn't work, but he's JJ for fuck's sake, and the quiet display of dominance sends an exhilarating little thrill rumbling through her. It isn't anything over the top or exaggerated like some people would do in an attempt to stake a claim over the person they love, just a simple gesture that they both know the meaning of.

She's his. After five months of friendship, two months of silent pining, and a week of sexually confused hell, she's his, and he'll never let her forget it.

The wind rattles the windows over the couch with its force and she notices that his hips grind into hers at the sudden sound. Even in the midst of such a heated moment, it's downright cute how he still makes an effort to distract her from what she fears. And, boy, does it work.

Their panting breaths in the brief seconds they allow themselves to break away from each other are the only sounds audible in the small living room. The storm drowns it all out for now, including the noises that start to leave them from the steadily building pleasure of their bodies moving together.

She can feel how hard he is through the layers that separate them with every absentminded thrust that brushes the fabric of her panties up against her clit each time. It leaves her breathless and wondering, despite already knowing, what it'll feel like when he finally slips inside of her again.

They both fantasized about it in the time they spent apart. Neither of them would dare deny it, least of all JJ. It actually became frustrating after a while because she started to become the only scenario he could conjure to get himself off when he had a rare moment of privacy. His fantasies, all stemming from the night that was so perfect, he began to question the reality of it, linger in his head.

The best part of his fantasies were the parts of them based in truth, and if he knows anything about her when she's in this state, it's that she's needy. Her tongue swipes along his bottom lip in a silent urging to let her deepen the kiss, and he complies without a second to spare, willing to entertain her every whim so long as she keeps being so good for him.

He revels in her muffled squeak of a moan when he presses down on the sides of her throat at the precise moment his hips grind down to meet hers. She can't keep herself still for any longer than a half-second, always meeting his movements halfway and unknowingly doing another thing that will be the death of him.

She leads his shirt up his body without having to second guess herself, knowing that he's always on the same wavelength as her no matter what. This was how it was the last time too. Anything she did, he was already one step ahead, and tonight isn't much different. By the time her hands ball up the dripping cotton fabric, JJ is lifting the hand off of her neck to reach for the neckline of the shirt and help tug it off.

There's a sense of urgency in everything they do. Charged up with frustration and jealousy that brewed within the days they spent apart, there's nothing to stop them from reducing themselves to a pair of panting, impatient lovers too consumed in each other to care about the outside world.

The sopping wet fabric is thrown beyond her line of sight and lands on the hardwood floor with a 'thwack' that accompanies their cacophony of moans and gasps, and she whimpers at the sight of him. It may have to do with the fact that he's guiding their bodies together at a cadence and pressure perfect enough to make her legs tremble, but seeing him like this does nothing but aid the sensation.

Golden skin glistening under the candlelight, tendrils of half-dry blonde hair falling into his face with the lazy effort of his movements, and a stray raindrop that squeezed from the wet shirt dripping down his chest...she's not gonna make it out of tonight alive, is she? In her memory, she knew he was a sight to see in the midst of a heated moment, but, fuck, memories do not hold up beside the real experience of it.

Y/N is so caught up in his seemingly endless beauty, she doesn't notice him peeling her damp denim shorts off of her hips until they're halfway down her legs, and the only reason she does notice is because he must shift his position to do it. Suddenly, the budding feeling that stirred from their needy antics is plucked away and left to ache for more in the absence of him between her thighs.

Her middle and index fingers hook around the front of his necklace to pull him back down to her, but he doesn't budge at first. He's too busy trying to rid her of her shirt to care.

It was too much of a distraction while they kissed for him to resist slipping it off of her when he got the chance to. Much to his frustration when he first realized they were trapped with each other, she's braless underneath, and it's only worse now that the t-shirt is soaked to her skin and clinging to every delicate curve.

Once the clothing gives way to the canvas of her bare skin, he submits to her urgency and follows her down by the fingers hooked around his necklace without any qualms.

As soon as they resume, it's as if they never stopped to begin with, and they start to realize how seamlessly they fit together as the seconds elapse. Neither of them are actively thinking about it while he dips his hand into the front of her panties, but it is in their subconscious.

It's a revelation of sorts, an ah-ha moment where it hits them both in a sweeping realization that it was obvious from the day they met. They should've known sooner, they should've dropped their pride and admitted it as soon as the first inklings of desire began to pop up, but they didn't. Instead, it washes over them now and they let the current take them away together.

Her mouth falls open against his cheek at the feeling of his fingers swiping through the arousal that pools in her underwear for him, dragging the wetness over his fingertips and spreading it up to brush fleetingly against her clit. It's a split-second of a touch that it makes her hips lift up off the floor on their own accord to seek out more. It makes her dig her nails into the skin stretching over his taut shoulder muscles in a wordless plea for more that he doesn't indulge her in at first.

He makes her earn it from him without having to say a single word. He touches her, but he doesn't touch where she wants or ease his fingers into her to satisfy the need she feels yet. It's a blessing and a curse that he manages to turn her on to such an extent. He does it for her like nothing else can, so much so that she's noticed a distinct difference in how it feels when she's alone versus when they're together. When she's alone, it can tend to feel like active effort, but when she's with him, it's as natural as the urge to breathe.

His smirk is felt against her skin the entire time she begs for it through the revealing actions of her body—her hips jerking up toward him, her chest pressing tightly to his, and the sound of her murmuring, "Please," in a breathy tone that could stop his heart.

"Tell me what you want," JJ says, every word constrained and tight in a way that tells her he's a lot less composed than he lets on, and "accidentally" swipes his thumb over her clit again. "Talk to me, baby."

She almost forgot in their time apart how much of an effect he has on her, but this is the best reminder of that she could possibly imagine. If she could, she would find a way to bottle the feeling he gives her and keep it with her forever so that, no matter what happens between them, she'll never have the misfortune of forgetting him.

What he said simultaneously melts her heart and frustrates her to no end because he knows! He knows damn well what she wants from him and won't give it to her unless she asks for it, and she hates herself for loving it. She hates herself for enjoying the flushed-face embarrassment it brings to her cheeks to be so open with him about what she needs.

She swallows the lump in her throat and tries to focus through the clouded landscape of her head to speak to him. It's hard to concentrate when he's above her like this, touching her, calling her pet names, and looking at her like that.

With his lips worshiping the sensitive skin along her neck, she finds it hard to choke out the words, "I want you," into the humid air that has infiltrated the house.

It's not a lie. Anything regarding her wanting him or any related feeling is no longer something she can hide anymore, but they both know it isn't exactly what he wanted. No matter how it took his breath away to hear her say it, he was seeking something more specific. He was aiming to make her ask, maybe even beg, for it. They're both too impatient to wait and based on how wet his fingertips are from barely dipping into her, he can tell she's as eager as he is.

It's been thirteen days too long since the last time they allowed themselves to meet this way, and neither of them wants to let it happen again.

She was nearly trembling with the urge to go to him whenever they were together in the company of their friends, unable to think about anything except for how badly she wanted him. All the while, he appeared so unbothered, especially on the night of the party when he flirted with someone else, that she didn't even believe he felt the same way back. Thankfully for her, she couldn't have been more wrong.

He clicks his tongue and says, still teasing her with light touches that never linger in one place for too long, "That wasn't very specific."

Part of her should know that he's about to do something based on how he withdraws his head from its cherished place in the crook of her neck, but she's too caught up in the anticipation and seeing his face for the first time in a minute to think about it. How dare he look so good? She could cry in frustration, although she might actually already be tearing up a little with the rush of neediness hitting her in its full force.

Never has she felt so turned on by so little physical contact before. It usually takes longer for her to get to this point, whether it be alone or in the past with previous partners, yet all it took was being kissed, touched, and being given his undivided attention and now...She realizes she's in trouble. He has her in an emotional and sexual chokehold at this point, and she fears that no one can compare.

"I want—" her voice is snuffed out in an instant when he eases two fingers into her, "Oh!"

So that's why he pulled away from her neck to look at her.

It was worth abandoning the mark forming on her neck just to see the expression on her face shift. She gets this cute look when anything overwhelming starts to happen where her brows scrunch a little to create a soft wrinkle between them as her mouth drops open in a moan. And after ten steady minutes of doing nothing but some over the clothes action and painstaking teasing, this is as overwhelming as it gets without it crossing the line to being too much.

It never occurred to her how much larger his fingers are compared to hers until now. This type of pleasure is like an itch only someone else can scratch to her, she feels virtually nothing when she does it to herself, but when he does it, it's like an explosive being set off inside of her. Especially with the thumb that sneaks up to circle her clit without stopping to tease her again, she is putty in his hands at this point.

Every smooth stroke of his fingers into her reaches a spot she can never quite find on her own, and she can feel the cold bite of rings when they're buried into her to the knuckle.

It's a surprise every time, even when she knows to expect it. Like a delightful chill running up through her body and down her spine exactly how it's intended to. It strikes an idea in her head for when he eventually pulls them out of her, conjuring the image of her sucking them clean for him just for the sake of imagining what it'll do to him.

With that idea tucked away in the back of her mind, he's the center of her world right now. All she breathes, thinks, and feels is him. Whether it be the sight of him, or the feelings he's giving her, or even the taste of his kiss that still lingers on her tongue, it connects to one common thread.

"What were you saying?" JJ asks, and she wants to wipe that smirk right off his face.

It's virtually impossible for her to piece together a coherent thought, let alone a sentence detailing every filthy idea she has for him, but she tries. It takes another moment or two of her succumbing to the rapid incline of pleasure that he gives her, watching her in wonder through any greedy buck of her hips or gasping inhale that makes her head loll back onto the floor.

At first, what she wanted to say was that she wanted him to touch her, to do anything more than the fleeting touches he gave before. Now, she wants more than that. Now that she's drawn in closer to the eventual high that's to come, she doesn't want it to happen like this. She wants to feel closer to him than this, wants to feel him throb inside of her and fuck her with all of the urgency and desperation that has accumulated in their time apart.

That's why her hands start to grab at the belt loops of his shorts to tug him closer by them, meeting his gaze through the hazy bliss of his fingers pumping into her. It's not enough.

"Please"—she keeps pulling him closer to her, so close that there's hardly any space left to cross, and he revels in her desperation—"just fuck me already..."

Internally, JJ is losing his shit.

Though this was what he wanted, what he coaxed out of her with the teasing and the pretend sense of a nonchalant attitude on his part, it hits him harder than he expected it to to hear her say it. It's not necessarily the act of begging itself either, it's the fact that she's the one doing it. She may have been jealous of the girl at the party, but she had nothing to worry about. Not in the slightest.

Before her, he never thought he'd fall for someone this way. It's not like he had a hatred for love or anything, he understood the appeal, it simply wasn't his thing.

He was perfectly content with his only form of companionship being his friends. Then, she came along and changed it. So to hear her say something like that isn't just breathtaking, it's the kind of thing that makes his heart ache for her. It hits him precisely where she wanted it to, and he has never felt as consumed with love the way he does now.

JJ can do nothing to stop himself from pouncing on her at this point, like some animalistic form of himself has worn down the restraint he used to keep himself at bay.

The loss she feels when his fingers slip away from her is an emptiness she mourns at first before she realizes what's happening. He pulls away slightly to reach down between them for the front of his shorts, and their hands clash as they both frantically try to undo them together. The rings adorning his fingers glisten when they catch the light and remind her of the thought that popped into her head when she first felt their coldness against her skin.

That idea paired with the promise of what they're trying to accomplish in their uncoordinated attempt to get the rest of their clothes off makes her want to press her thighs together. Her hands abandon the task of undoing his shorts for the sake of ridding herself of the last layer that separates her from him.

Her most embarrassing old pair of brightly colored panties, courtesy of past Y/N's questionable decision to trust her mom to buy some on her behalf, are hardly a sight to behold. They're the kind that come in a value pack from Walmart, vibrant blue with the word, "Tuesday," printed on the front of them, and she could hide her face into the rug in shame if she weren't so determined to get them off. Of all the days to wear the day of the week undies her mom accidentally got her, of course she chose today.

By the time she reaches for the waistband, he has pushed his shorts and underwear down his thighs and comes back to her with just as much excitement as he left with, but when he helps her tug her panties down her legs, he laughs. Apparently, he had also been too eager to touch her to notice what was written on them before.

"Cute," he breathes out through a laugh, then adds as the cotton fabric slips over her knees, "Pretty sure it's not Tuesday though."

"If you tell anyone, I swear I'll—"

He cuts her off, "Whatever you wanna threaten me with won't work, chances are I'm gonna be into it."

Her eyes are alight with a certain fire he's had yet to fully lure out of her. Even her voice is slightly more airy and seductive as a result of it.

"Promise?"

JJ grins down at her as he finally tosses her panties aside with the rest of their clothes, "Cross my heart, pretty girl."

His hands grip her thighs and tug her down the rug to him with a quick jolt that snaps them out of the playful nature of their back and forth teasing. No matter how lighthearted of an interruption it was, the mini-conversation might as well have never existed for how easily they fall back into it again.

She watches with her forehead pressed against his as he strokes himself a few times, then drags his tip, messy with precome, through her wet heat. And though she watches it happen, her body still arches into his when he lines up with her and sinks his hips forward.

She anticipated it, but she still gasps and digs her nails into his biceps at the sensation of him pushing into her. Neither of them bothers to worry about the obvious lack of a condom—it was discussed the first time around when he offered and she told him it was okay. He's often the one to silence the alarm on her phone warning her in its title to, "Take your birth control or else, bitch," while she searches her bag for it anyway, so he trusts her.

Both of them prefer it this way enough to risk the minuscule failure rate of the pill anyway. It's more intimate, closer, and they can both feel the warmth of each other in a way that would've been somewhat muted with an added layer between them. It makes the feeling of him entering her all the more gratifying as she tenses up around him in reaction, drawing a groan from where his parted lips brush against hers.

She lifts her head off of the floor as much as she can to capture his mouth with her own and stifle the sonorous sound despite the storm doing a better job of it.

It seems that every blast of wind and roll of thunder is in their favor tonight, so much so that he isn't even worried about getting walked in on. It's not a thought in his head at this point, the only thought he's capable of having is this. Forgive him for being shortsighted, but he doesn't give a shit if John B notices or hears what's happening when he's buried inside of her so deeply.

His hips are flush with the backs of her thighs in a matter of seconds, and right when he pauses to give her a breather, he feels her shake her head ever so slightly against where their faces are pressed together.

The touch of her hands on his hips is not timid by any means, it's commanding. Her palm prints singe an indelible claim into the surface of his skin as she guides him to start moving without a second spared to dwindle the discomfort of him filling her up. It's less like a pain and more of a pressure blooming from the insistent presence of him, not so overwhelming that it's painful, but it's an effort to breathe evenly and the only thing that'll ease this transitional moment is to continue.

At first, their bodies start to rock together lazily as though on autopilot. They'd hardly be conscious of the fact that they're doing anything if not for the initial sensations of heady ecstasy that flash like the sparks of a lighter in response to their movements. As soon as he felt her hands coax him into action, he sighed happily and surrendered himself to the instinct of wanting to move.

The merging of their bodies is less of the aggressive rutting motions they'll surely succumb to once their current pace is no longer satisfying, but that doesn't make it any less intense. She's partly sure that this is one of the most vulnerable moments either of them has ever had when it comes to sex, and it wouldn't work if it weren't them together. No other person could consume her the way he does, taking up every unoccupied space of her soul until there's nothing left but the silent begging of her heart for him.

Their kiss is messy when it breaks to allow them the chance to suck down a couple breaths of air, saliva shining on his lips in between the seconds it takes them to come crashing back together.

It's loving enough to rot her teeth with its sweetness, a slow but impossibly deep grinding of their hips together that continually presses the tip of him into that sweet spot inside of her, but it takes a turn.

Not only do her hands shift from his hips up to the sides of his waist to get a firmer hold on him, the kiss starts to become vigorous, almost hungry, in search of something more. The dreamlike sequence of the first moment or so they spent slowly fucking under the warm hues of candlelight starts to unravel to reveal the baser instincts that guide them forward.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he whispers the praise into her mouth.

As soon as the words are said, he can feel the effect it has on her. The hands braced on his waist pull his body closer to her at the same moment that she involuntarily squeezes down around him, making the smooth drag of his cock against the velvet-soft heat of her walls even tighter than he thought possible.

The sudden feeling of it makes his first returning thrust much harder than the last. He jerks forward into her with none of the restraint he's retained for the past few moments, and her reaction is nothing short of perfection, at least from his perspective. He watches her throw her head back in a moan, hips bucking to him in pursuit of more, and feels the tips of her fingernails digging crescent-shaped marks into the unmarred skin along his waist.

"JJ!" she gasps in surprise, and if her initial reaction weren't enough to spur him on in a frenzied state of desire, this is.

He almost forgot how intense it had been the first time. Their confessions of love preceding this made them both somewhat softer and sweeter in their approach when they started, but he knows how she likes it.

Nobody would expect it from her. He's another story entirely, especially considering how much John B and Pope know about him, but her? He didn't have any in depth conversations about it with either of them, so none of their friends know how dirty she is.

But when you start to tease it out of her, she's got a side to her that makes his blood run hot. Considering how polite she is, he sure as hell didn't see it coming. For fuck's sake, she's the kind of person who'll apologize to a chair if she bumps into it. With that in mind he never thought she'd be the type to demand such things of him.

Just like that, with one moan of his name, it's like she flipped a switch in him that they forgot was there in the first place. It'll never stop surprising him how little it takes to get him going when he's with her, and he doesn't see that changing no matter how long they spend together in the future. Just a touch from her is all it takes, so it's needless to say that the sound of her calling out his name was more than enough.

Those slow, deep movements he made to sink into her again and again have turned rapid and rough, but still controlled enough to have a semblance of precision to them, hitting in all the right places.

"I bet," JJ speaks lowly, "that you want John B to walk out and see us right now."

She doesn't want to admit how much of an instantaneous effect those words have on her, but the feeling of her clenching around him as she bites back a moan completely betrays her. Partly, she worries that he'll take that the wrong way and think it has something to do with John B when it has nothing to do with him at all, but he doesn't. For the spare second of thought she's allowed to have before her mind goes hazy again, she notes how much more eager he is on the upstroke of the next thrust.

Noticing how right he was in his assumption about her liking the risk of getting caught jumpstarts his heart and makes everything he does rougher. She can sense that he's starting to lose control over himself and is acting on instinct alone.

It makes her much more sensitive to everything he does, and all she can do is cling to him and enjoy it as she takes in everything he says and does. It's hard to pick one thing to focus on between the switch up in pace and what he said.

"You want John B to know you like getting fucked like a slut, don't you?"

She could get off on the sound of his voice alone. Hearing him say stuff like that kills her, it makes the swirling bliss that builds in the pit of her abdomen with every thrust he gives her triple in its extremity.

Her legs are tightly wound around his hips to keep him as near to her as possible, her hands sliding up around his waist to keep a steady grasp on him while he pounds into her. The rug scratches at her back enough to make it sting alongside the immense pleasure building in her, but she doesn't care. When blended with the good sensations, the pain underscores the addictive feeling of him inside of her, fucking her exactly how she asked him too.

Looking up at him when he's like this is simply unreal. There's no other way of describing it in her eyes except for that. He's so stunning, she's inclined to believe that he isn't even real as a means of explaining it. This shouldn't be real. It should be one of her daydreams while she steals covert stares at him as they hang out with the Pogues, but it isn't. She can't wrap her head around it.

Those strands of hair that were damp from the rain are mostly dry as they fall into his eyes with the force of his movements. The sight of him alone, set aside from the rest of it, is enough to make her writhe beneath him and claw at his back in tandem with another thrust that sends her jolting against the rug.

He takes one of his hands up from where they both held her hips for leverage to weave his fingers into the roots of her hair.

He demands between the panting breaths and moans that flood the limited space between them, tugging on her hair, "Answer me."

She instantly blurts out the words, "I want him to see us." The feeling of him tilting her head back by the fistful of hair he has wrapped up in his hand is her persistent reminder to concentrate enough to continue, and she bites down on her lip to contain a moan before speaking again, "I want him to know..."

Her cheeks burn with the mere thought of it, let alone saying it out loud. He's the only person she'd ever let in on this intimate side of her, the side that makes her crazy when she hears him say stuff like this. The reason she feels so comfortable doing this with him is that she knows he understands her. It's as if he can read her mind without even having to try, knowing exactly what to say and when to say it.

It wouldn't matter if the topic of their exhibitionism were any other Pogue or a stranger, it isn't about who it is, it's about the thrill attached to the concept of almost getting seen during such a heated moment. In all actuality, John B is probably snoring face down into his pillow right now with no care for what's happening out here, but he knows what it does to her when they push the boundaries of decency this way. It's the same rush he gets from stealing random, useless things every so often, it's the thrill of getting away with something.

The hand tangled up in the roots of her hair sneaks down between their colliding bodies to rub her clit, and her mouth drops open to take in a shaky breath.

The sight of her beneath him is undoing in and of itself. Head tilted enough to expose her neck to him, chest rising and falling rapidly with her breaths, and breasts bouncing gently with the momentum of their actions—seeing her this way makes his thrusts ramp up into more of a frenzied, uncontainable pace rather than one with the same control and cadence as before. But it's mostly the eye contact that kills him. She doesn't dare to shut her eyes the entire time, as if she can sense that he'll tell her to look at him again the second she does.

"You want him to know what?" he asks, and she knows he won't let her get away with not saying it.

She whines, utterly helpless to the climax starting to build inside of her, "Please."

What she's pleading for, she isn't quite sure, but he can tell by how she's acting that she's starting to get closer, and he wants nothing more than to tease her with the impending chance of her orgasm.

"If you wanna come, you're gonna have to do a lot better than that."

Just like that, he withdraws his hand from between them and leaves her desperate, blindly grasping for the peak she was so close to reaching, she could almost feel it already.

With JJ rocking into her at a relaxed, slower rhythm, the pleasure hasn't disappeared completely. It's there, but she can sense the feeling of her orgasm receding as quickly as it had creeped up on her as soon as he slips his hand out from between them.

It's instantly clear to him how desperate she is as all of her previous shyness surrounding having to admit this to him out loud withers away in seconds. She isn't beneath begging again at this point. He could tell her to crawl across the floor to him and she'd happily do it for the chance of touching him. It's pathetic but true. As much as she has him wrapped around her finger, he has done the same to her and she isn't afraid to admit it anymore.

Her hips jerk toward him in search of the familiar frenzy they were in before that sent her to the brink of climax, but he is impressively stubborn. Despite the fact that it physically pains him to dial it back again, he tries to keep the signs of his own frustration at bay. She knew what she had to say to get what she wants, so he'll only cave when she does.

This time around, she doesn't give a fuck about how badly she blushes or the voice in the back of her mind telling her she should keep this side of her to herself. This time, the one thing she needs to do to prompt her to open her mouth and speak the dirty words he asked her less than a moment ago is look at him. One second of staring up at him and here she is, driven mad enough to say or do anything to get him to pick up where they left off.

She says between the soft noises and breaths coming from them both, clinging to him through every slow but deep thrust that sends sparks ricocheting through her body, "I want John B to know I like getting fucked like slut." Her voice is breathless, and he hangs off of each word as she pauses, looking up at him with a challenging attitude swirling in those pretty eyes. "So stop being a tease and fuck me like one."

His jaw clenches at the bratty statement, one he's too far gone to resist at this point, and right when he's about to respond to her, she speaks again.

"Either that," she says, and a deceptively sweet smile crosses her kiss-swollen lips, "or I can go ask him to—"

She doesn't even get the chance to voice the rest of that thought before he's set into motion.

The hands on her hips flip her over with such casual strength, all she can do is yelp in surprise at the sudden movement that blurs the living room in her peripheral version until she lands with her hands and knees pressing into the rug. He was so swift in pulling out of her and tossing her onto her front like she was nothing more than a rag doll, she hardly had the time to take a breath before she ended up here.

There's hardly any time between when he pulled out to flip her over and when he returns to her again, but it feels like an eternity for them. The few second transition might as well be a few years as she feels his hands guiding her body where he wants it, pushing down on her back until it arches just so, and falls down onto her arms. But as soon as she gets situated, she feels a pair of hands yanking her arms away from where they were braced against the floor and put them behind her back.

It's only then, when he has an unflinching grasp on where he keeps her wrists behind her back with one of his hands, that she is met with the relief of him sinking into her again.

Y/N's jaw goes slack, and she cries out into the rug that her cheek is pressed into as he gives her no chance to adjust or catch her breath before resuming the brutal pace they kept a moment ago. Mentioning anyone else but him doing this to her was the quickest way to get him to snap, so it's safe to say that she's getting what she wanted. After all, she did what he asked, it's fair that she gets rewarded for it.

Amidst the sounds of the storm waging war on the landscape outside of the house, the one thing she can hear over the buzzing pleasure that drowns out her senses is the sinful blend of sounds they create together. It's the sound of their bodies merging, his name falling from her lips, and the curses he makes under his breath that never fail to drive her a little wild.

The hand that isn't holding her arms behind her slides down the length of her curved back until it wraps around her throat to pin her down, and her reaction is everything he could ask for. Seeing her rock back against him to meet him halfway makes his grip on her wrists tighten enough to turn his knuckles white.

Her hair is spread in endless directions in a fan around her head, and he can only see one side of her face from where he kneels behind her, but that glimpse is more than enough. Brows scrunched in pleasure, mouth dropped open in a gape as soft 'uh's and 'ah's escape her on the upstroke of each thrust—she's a mess right now. A beautiful, perfect mess.

"Oh God, JJ," she moans between her rapid breaths and the strong hand constricting her neck, "I'm so close. Please, just let me come."

It took virtually nothing for her to be pushed right back to the edge of the peak she was at less than a minute ago. It took a mere half-minute of this and she's once again reduced to incoherent pleas for more and shaking with no control over herself. Her legs tremble with the effort to keep herself up in this position, and she isn't even the one doing most of the work. In all fairness, this change in position has made the intensity triple. It's deeper this way, and with how harshly he slams into her, it's as though she can feel it in the base of her abdomen.

It's the enjoyable type of pain, however, not the bad type. It'll surely end up with her being sore tomorrow, but she can't hide how much she loves the painful pleasure of how rough it's getting. Being denied an orgasm when she was so, so close to it was initially disappointing too, but it was worth it. If the build up to what would've been her climax before was a spark, this is a flourishing fire spreading through her with no chance of smothering the flames.

He lets go of her throat and taps the side of her jaw in a silent request that she picks up immediately, letting her lips fall open to suck his fingers into her mouth without a second of hesitation.

The taste of her arousal on them is faint, but still there, and it occurs to her that she thought about this earlier before things evolved into chaos. Her tongue swirls around the tips of his fingers as he starts to pull them away in what feels like the blink of an eye to her, leaving him to remember what it felt like when her lips were once wrapped around a more sensitive part of him a week and a half ago.

The one other time he let himself remember it was when they were on the boat with the Pogues, yet that wasn't really of his own volition. It was hot out, so Kiara bought ice pops for them and his mind wandered far from where it should've stayed.

Shining with her saliva, his fingers are pulled from her lips with a soft 'pop' in pursuit of that sensitive collection of nerves at the apex of her thighs. She just needs is a little push to go over the edge, and when he slips his hand down her body to rub tight circles onto her clit, she loses whatever remnants of control over herself she had left.

The steady rhythm of her hips moving back against him falters as she is overwhelmed with the separate sensations culminating into one and giving her the push she needs to come. Her entire body tenses up in anticipation, and since she's pinned to the floor with her hands behind her back, she can only lay there and savor the feeling as it hits her.

After what felt like ages of having it build and build within her, then having it taken away to start the process over again, finally being given a release is a relief beyond any she's felt before.

It's so consuming, it takes away her ability to think of anything outside of how it feels to dissolve into the shockwaves of euphoria rushing through her. Every pulsing wave is prolonged by him, not even through the peak of it does he let up on his precise touches and unforgiving thrusts into her that turn a typical orgasm into the most intense thing she's ever felt.

She's melting in his arms through it all, and as if the change in position didn't make it worse, her involuntary spasms leave him hanging on by a thread.

JJ collapses onto her, barely having the chance to keep himself propped up on his arms as he lets go of her wrists and falls forward onto her sweat-slick back.

The heat of his panting exhales raises goosebumps in its wake where his face is buried into the curve of her neck, and he whines at the impossibly tight feeling of her squeezing around his cock through the end of her climax. Those sounds he doesn't realize he's making have her writhing through the aftershocks, answering with a sound of her own that almost makes him come instantly.

For that reason, he makes the decision to pull out and flip her onto her back.

At this point, she's so dazed and fucked out that she doesn't register any of it until she notices the hollow absence of him inside of her, but it doesn't matter when his face appears through the partial darkness above her.

Despite how sensitive she is right now, the sight of him makes her hands reach out blindly to pull him closer again. They're frantic in their need to get back to one another, grasping and clawing until he finds his way back to her in less than a second, hiking her legs up around his waist with a touch that is somehow demanding and tender at the same time.

It's only when he's inside of her again that it occurs to her why he rolled her onto her back again, and it makes her want to kiss him until her lips turn numb. It may be undeniably hotter to pin someone down and fuck them hoarse, but, no, that wasn't what he wanted. He wanted to be able to look at her, to see her face, and the thought of that has her biting back a sudden confession of love. She isn't sure why she doesn't say it right away, since it isn't like they haven't already done it, but she keeps it to herself for a second first.

It's different now. It's not less passionate or frenetic. It isn't as if he isn't being as rough with her as he was before, but they can both sense a shift in the energy between them as soon as he reenters her. It's less about the pursuit of pleasure and more about the feelings they've kept hidden away for so long. It's a simultaneous realization that hits them a little late after they initially confessed their feelings for each other: this is reality. It's real, and when she touches him this time, he isn't going to disappear if she opens her eyes.

The realization of what happened tonight had yet to hit them until right this second, but now that it has, they move forward with a sense of sentimentality that remained partly dormant before.

If there's anything JJ dislikes, it's being vulnerable. The idea of letting someone in to see every part of him, including the parts he doesn't want to see of himself, has always terrified him after years of being made to believe he's undeserving, yet he isn't uncomfortable right now. Somehow, he feels safe with her. Sex has never been something so emotional for him until now, until her, and he doesn't want it differently.

Their bodies are drawn in close, her arms thrown around his neck, and he's so close, he can feel the muscles leading down past his lower abdomen contract with the inevitable approach of his orgasm. She can sense it too in how he acts.

When he gets close, he becomes clingier and lets his feelings get the better of him. His hands squeeze at her hips, sliding up her sides and back down to hike one of her legs up high around his waist to press deeper into her. He can't bear to allow his touch to stay in one place for too long before exploring another part of her, wanting to memorize the delicate intricacies of her body in its entirety.

It's as if she can read his mind too, cause even when she's sensitive enough to gasp when he pushes her thigh to her chest and throws his remaining energy into fucking her at a satisfying pace, she understands what he needs. She knows to reach up and run her fingers through his hair, to tug on it gently until the light strands are taut from his scalp. She knows to lift her head off of the floor enough to trail tender kisses along his face, his jaw, his neck—anywhere she can access.

"Come for me," she says into a kiss placed on the edge of his cheekbone, reeling in overstimulation as she jolts with his quickening thrusts, "I want to watch you..."

Hearing those words, paired with the kisses and fingers pulling on his hair, does it for him. It doesn't take more for his hips to falter and jerk forward into her a final few times before he comes.

Their foreheads press together as they cling to one another for stability, though it's mostly JJ clinging to her while she watches in adoration, and she has to bite her lip to contain a moan at how it feels. The aftershocks of her orgasm have yet to fade as the feeling of pulsing warmth inside of her makes them stronger, reigniting the fire she felt a moment ago if only for a second.

There's a closeness to this situation that they hadn't felt the last time, and they know it has everything to do with what was said before this happened. The sex itself feels like a dream sequence in her mind now that she's coming down from it with him, moving together slowly and gently beneath the candlelight until they ride out the ends of their highs. It was like they were put under a trance by each other, and now that it's over, the first thoughts that come to mind are of what comes next.

It's not the sole topic on their minds though. They're more focused on catching their breath from where they lay, tangled up together, on the living room floor. As soon as the very last of his orgasm faded from him, he fell onto her without a single ounce of energy left to spare. He's careful not to crush her, but, for the most part, he relaxes on top of her and lets his head rest on her heaving chest.

Strong arms slip down to loop around her waist, and she sure that she couldn't get him to release her if she wanted to, which she doesn't.

But they can't stay like this, not for any longer than a few moments anyway, since they don't know how if John B might wake up and come out of the safety of his bedroom after hours of leaving them to their own devices. JJ was right. He's out cold, but for as much as it turned them on in the heat of the moment, neither of them finds getting caught by him as hot with the clarity of their rational minds coming back to them.

He's the one to break the silence.

"As much as I wanna stay like this, we should probably move in case John B wakes up."

The sound of his voice settles in her with the effects of a sedative. It calms her more than anything else could, especially with the added comfort of him cuddling her so closely. One of her hands strokes through his hair and pushes the damp tendrils of sunshine away from his face as he cranes his neck to look up at her. And, for fuck's sake, what else is she to do except admire him?

His cheeks are dusted pink in a way they often are when he spends too much time outside without one of his hats shielding his face, and she thinks he's never looked better.

Ever since they became friends, she's had this theory about him. In the unrealistic landscape of her overactive imagination, JJ didn't come to this world the way the rest of them did. To her, it seems impossible that someone so good, even in his worst moments, could've come from someone like his dad.

So, in idle moments where she would watch him on a day out with the Pogues or daydream about him, she decided that he's the sun.

She imagines he was created in those breathtaking but brief moments where the sun meets the horizon atop the ocean and washes the sky with a vast array of colors. She likes to think he's the incarnation of it. Golden, warm, and bright for everyone but himself, he keeps the world light for her and their friends without intending to.

Some days are warmer than others too. Some days, the light is dimmed by another bruise beneath his clothes or a bad run-in with some kooks, but today is not like that. This moment is eighty-five and sunny with a balmy breeze. Looking at him right now feels like basking in the sun, and she'd burn here forever if he let her.

Without realizing she zoned out, she jolts when he pinches her arm to rouse her from her ridiculous thoughts. He has this dopey half-smile on his face that nearly draws her back into them again.

"You know what they say," he says, "if you take a picture..."

Her soft laughter invades the room, filling his heart with this light, fluttery feeling that always finds him when she's near. His smile grows as she playfully shoves him and reaches above their heads for her wet shirt to cover up with just in case. Odds are, their friend isn't waking up at the exact moment before they seclude themselves to the spare room and get dressed, but she doesn't wanna take that chance.

"I wasn't staring."

She was totally staring. But who could blame her? When someone looks at a person the way he looks at her, how could they ever stay away?

"Whatever you say."

JJ keeps smiling to himself while he pulls his underwear and shorts up his legs and waits for her to be decent enough to sneak past John B's bedroom to the bathroom at the end of the hallway.

The clothes are soaked through with rainwater, so they feel quite uncomfortable to slip back on, but they merely redress enough to be covered. She stole his shirt to avoid putting her shorts back on, the hem of the grey tee hanging right at the tops of her thighs when she walks. As soon as she slips her panties back on and picks up the rest of their cold, wet clothes, that's the cue he needs to scoop her up and take her away.

Y/N curses under her breath in surprise at feeling her feet being plucked off the ground, but she relaxes again once she's settled in his arms, realizing that it was just him who snuck up behind her and lifted her into his arms.

She doesn't say anything on the way to the bathroom. Instead, she lays her head on his shoulder in exhaustion and finds herself staring at the mark she left behind on his neck.

It's a deep, purplish red against the backdrop of his tan skin...the Pogues will surely notice the next time they see him. And while it will make her blush, it won't make her scared as it once would've. There may be a lingering sense of doubt and insecurity within her, but she wants this with him. Even if it means being teased by their friends or dealing with the jealousy of watching kook girls and tourons at parties hit on him, she wants this.

By the time the shower is spraying the rainwater from her hair and washing her clean of sweat sticking to her skin, she realizes that he isn't saying anything either, but she doesn't think it's out of any awkwardness or miscommunication. There's truly nothing to say, at least for now.

Though they didn't have the chance to talk in depth about everything yet, neither of them thinks of that right now. All they know is that they're together, whether it be officially or not, and it feels good. For once, something in his life feels right, and he lets himself enjoy it in silence.

The shower is a cramped space when shared between them and the wet clothes they have draped over the back edge of the tub, but they make it work. It's not like they mind anyway.

They bump into one another whenever they do so much as breathe, and the white walls echo the sounds of her giggling when he tries to tickle her. She leans her head back against his chest and lets out a laugh with shampoo dripping down the front of her face, and he'll be damned if he ever heard a sound as intoxicating as that.

It's a little weird. He's never been as soft and loving with a person before, and he has already felt overwhelmed in the lulls of quiet between them when he's given the chance to think about it.

When she washes his hair for him, insisting that she must return the favor after he so kindly washed hers, he was struck with the same mixture of wanting to simultaneously lean into and pull away from her that he felt the night of the party.

The warmth of the water loosens his sore muscles, washing suds of the green apple scented shampoo over his shoulders and down, down, down until it circles the drain beside his feet. All the while, her fingertips are delicately tracing over a healing bruise on his torso. Those pretty lips of hers are painted in a suppressed frown that she can't hide from him.

"Are you okay?" Y/N asks.

His instant reaction is to fake a smile, to brush it off and distract her as he usually does, yet he doesn't. He forces himself to remain neutral and not push her away.

"Happens all the time," he murmurs, shrugging and averting his eyes to reach for the soap off on the ledge.

The hands holding either side of his waist tighten as he tries to turn, pulling him back to her with more strength than he knew to anticipate from her. Their chests gently collide back together beneath the stream of water, and she can feel his breathing catch for a second or so in response.

The fact that their relationship has changed doesn't change how she handles this aspect of his life. Their new confessions don't have an impact on the part of his life he never wants to let anyone see, so she isn't going to force him to talk about it because they're trying out this whole relationship thing now. He has hard boundaries that she knows not to push sometimes. That's the way it is, and it might change as they grow closer but she knows to accept it for the moment.

As soon as he hears what she has to say next, he could crumble in relief at the realization that their new dynamic doesn't change anything.

"I didn't necessarily mean...that...I meant generally, you know? It's just that—" she sighs, "you shrink away a little when I hold you, and I wondered if I was making you uncomfortable."

Before she could finish the sentence, JJ was already thinking of what to say to prove her wrong, because that's not it. That's not what it is, and if she thinks she's done anything wrong, he'll do anything to convince her otherwise because it isn't her. It's him.

It's his dad lingering in the darker trenches of his mind, commanding his fear and attention so that even when he isn't physically present, he's still here. Part of why he denied wanting her was because he knew these types of things would arise in the beginning, that there would be difficult adjustments to make and conversations to be had, and he didn't want her to leave him as soon as she was faced with one of these things.

He shakes his head.

"You didn't do anything."

The feeing of her chest rising and falling with his begins to steady him after a moment of allowing the initial hesitation to dissolve. His internal reaction to her touch is the mental incarnation of a flinch. It's him waiting for the other shoe to drop and expecting her to do something, to hurt him, before his mind catches up with his heart. But once he realizes everything's okay, he loves it.

"It's kinda embarrassing, but I guess when you touch me, I'm expecting something else," he says softly, scared that if he speaks too loudly, everyone in the world will know how weak he feels.

She should've figured, but hearing him say it is different than wondering what the reasoning behind it is. Hearing him admit it after months of strict avoidance on the topic is a sucker punch to the gut.

Both times they had sex, he was too distracted and thoughtless to get caught up in that part of himself, but it's when the bliss of the afterglow disappears that it creeps back in. That's why he could always handle touch when it came in that context. It was his way of obtaining what he wanted without having to face this side of it—a temporary fix to a greater web of issues.

But there's nothing temporary about her. He doesn't want her to leave him, not without him resisting the urge to beg her on his knees to stay and at least remain his friend, so there's no choice but to face these momentary challenges head on.

She pauses for a second, thinking, then says, "You don't have to be embarrassed about it, I get it. We'll just have to take it day by day then. We can take it slow, and you'll let me know if it gets to be too much, okay?"

It's hard not to be shocked by how well she's taking it. A lot of people probably wouldn't feel too great after someone they love tells them they expect to be hit whenever they touch them, yet she's taking it in stride.

Things are back to normal as soon as she sees the grin on his face.

"So, you're saying you're gonna be trying not to throw yourself at me all the time?" JJ asks, then clicks his tongue as though in thought. "I give you a week. Tops."

Her eyes go wide as she looks at him. She holds her hand over her heart as she pretends to be scandalized by such an accusation, but they know it's true. They both can't keep their hands off of one another, which is why it confuses him. How can he want to reject and enjoy her touch at the same time? Sure, the discomfort disappears after the first split-second, but the fact that it happens in the first place annoys him to no end.

She rolls her eyes and tries to hide the fact that she's giggling as she reaches for the soap.

"You're a little shit, you know that?"

He doesn't miss a beat, saying back, "Yeah but I'm your little shit, so I feel like that says more about you than it does me."

While he's too busy rinsing the rest of the shampoo out of his hair, she smiles to herself at what he said.

Hers.

Nobody has ever been hers before, or proclaimed themselves as belonging to her as proudly and casually as he just did, and her heart melts over the sweet sentiment he didn't think twice about.

Less than a day ago, she was agonizing over her relationship with him and trying to ignore how powerful those feelings for him were, and now they're here. She no longer has to steal glances when he looks away or hide how jealous she feels when other girls flirt with him. To finally let the tension disappear is an immense weight off of her shoulders.

The rest of the shower is as quiet as the start of it was, and that comfortable silence continues through from when they're drying off and redressing to when they hit the mattress in the spare bedroom with tired sighs.

After the day they had, the mere suggestion of sleep is enough to make them start yawning, so being able to slip beneath the sheets and rest their heads almost sings her to sleep instantly.

Their bodies are laying in the exact outlines of where they laid the night of the party, the only difference this time being their mindsets. This time around, they aren't holding themselves back from anything, and it's most evident in the little things. Like how she doesn't turn around to shield her face from him, instead laying with her head propped on the other end of his favorite pillow.

They're so close, their noses brush if they make any slight movements, and this would be enough for him to submit to the urge to drift into sleep if not for the fact that he feels her jolt when thunder rumbles loudly outside of the window.

Much like his own fears being pushed to the side amidst their desire for each other, her anxiety about the storm wasn't on her mind until they laid down to sleep.

She was so wrapped up in him and everything that happened between them that she didn't have the time to think again until now, until she hears the violent patter of rain against the roof and feels her stomach drop at the sound of the thunder. Suddenly, she's not the one reassuring him about his fearful reactions, it's the other way around.

His warm hand takes hers, snatching it up as though he's worried it'll disappear if he doesn't take it quickly enough, and she lets him. Her eyes flutter shut with the release of a slow, deep breath, and she lets the presence of his hand in hers bring her back to earth.

JJ asks into the darkness, "Can I take you out on a real date?" After a beat of silence, the comforting sound of his voice returns to her. "Not that this isn't fun, but I think you deserve a little more effort than John B's living room floor."

A short-lived chuckle escapes her—a win as far as he's concerned. It's difficult to lure her head from the clouds when she gets this way, and it isn't like he has much experience with calming her during these moments either, but that sounded good to him. It sounded like she wasn't thinking about the increased pace of her heart or the howling wind outside.

He was planning on asking anyway. However fitting of a first night together this was, he wants to take her out for real sometime soon. He doesn't have much money for it, like at all, but they can come up with something special together, even if it's similar to the same shit they usually do together. As long as it's time alone together, they don't necessarily care if it's a perfectly traditional first date.

The tip of his thumb rubs comforting circles onto the back of her hand in the brief time it takes her to respond, stroking the soft skin as if to tell her that everything's okay. It seems to say, I'm right here. Nothing can hurt you. And it might make her crazy, but she believes him. JJ could take her back out into the eye of the hurricane at this very moment and she'd still believe his unspoken promise of not letting her into harm's way.

"Of course," she says, then pauses, and the sound of her sleepy voice hardly reaches his ears when she speaks again, "...I'm sorry I avoided you for the past few days. I was scared to tell you how I felt but I shouldn't have left that morning."

The memory of waking up in his arms is fresh in the forefront of her mind, so much so that she can remember the way his breath felt where it exhaled in warm puffs onto her skin.

In the first few moments of consciousness, it was peaceful.

She laid awake for a minute or two to count his breaths and soak in the comfort of being cuddled up next to him, wishing she could stay there for hours. It wasn't until another moment passed that it clicked with her where she was and what was going on between them recently, and that was what prompted her to slip away from the bed to get ready for her day at work.

It was the second time in a row that she left him in that bed with nothing to wake up to but the cold absence of her body between the sheets he slept under, and he can't deny that it's part of why he holds onto her hand so tightly tonight. Even though she's promised him otherwise, he can't help but think she'll be gone by the time he wakes up. At this point, he's struggling to stay conscious. She can see those pretty eyes drooping more and more by the second, yet the hand holding hers doesn't loosen its grip.

He takes a deep breath and scoots closer to her, keeping his one hand in hers while the other arm drapes itself over her waist, and he can feel her relax into the touch.

"It's okay," he says.

It's easier for him to adjust to so much physical contact when he's the one initiating. He knows that's why she only reached out to hold his hand. If she had it her way, she would've already been cuddling with him as soon as they laid down, but he likes that she gives him the space to initiate it. In the ways it counts the most, she cares about him more than anyone else has.

The touch in itself is his way of accepting her apology. However, truth be told, he already forgave her for it before knowing his love was reciprocated could be a possibility.

Right when she's about to fall asleep, the screen door slamming open and shut with the wind on the back porch makes her whip her head around to look over her shoulder in the direction of the sound. It seems like every time he successfully distracts her from it, the storm finds new ways of reminding her of what's happening outside of the safety of the Chateau.

There's the sound of a barely audible, sharp inhale, then her whispering into the dark room as she looks at the closed door, "I can't believe I went out into that. What the fuck was I thinking?"

It's beginning to close in on her again; the sounds of the storm, the sense of being trapped no matter how safe they truly are, and the rising tidal wave of anxiety that picks up speed the more she tries to will it to stop. This is the part where she tries to relieve it in some way, usually by smoking weed to sleep or going to one of her parents so they can help her through it, but she can't help herself right now.

Debris was being picked and tossed around in the wind like it weighed nothing when she was out there, she could've been knocked into the marsh or struck by a piece of debris.

How could she be so stupid?

Not only could she have hurt herself, she could've hurt JJ knowing that he'd likely follow her out into the storm to bring her back inside, and the thought of him being hurt makes the tension in her chest heavier. Her breathing picks up speed, the anxiety starting to snowball out of control when—

"Hey, look at me," JJ says, reaching up to turn her head to face him, and she damn near crumbles in relief at feeling his hand cup her cheek. It doesn't make it all disappear, but it provides a momentary comfort that she doesn't take for granted. "You're safe here. You know damn well I'll do anything to protect you. I mean, shit, dude, if I have to go out there and tell that rain to fuck off, I will."

This draws out a laugh from her, chest stuttering with the happy sound through the tears glistening in her eyes, and he never wants to stop hearing it. His thumb swipes away the first teardrop that falls before it can slip over the apples of her cheeks. I'm Her quiet cries and shaky breaths continue for a while after the laughter disappears. For a second or two, he watches with his thumb still wiping her tears away and hopes that it'll be enough to comfort her, but it can't do it completely.

He pulls away from her to get up from the bed with an idea popping into his mind, but upon hearing her whine at the loss of contact with him, he pauses to say, "I'll be back quick, don't worry."

The remaining humorous side of her left wonders if he's actually gonna go tell the rain to fuck off, but he's just opening the bedroom door to trot out into the living room.

A candle burning on the coffee table illuminates the space for him, guiding him straight to the forgotten backpack she left slumped against the arm of the couch hours before their relationship was changed for the better. It takes him an instant to get there and back with the bag in hand, and he's digging through it for a second before climbing back into bed with her.

If anyone else rifled through her bag, sifted through her personal belongings, and dug her phone out of it, she'd probably be annoyed, but she never is with him. She's inherently protective of her things, but JJ can do whatever he wants and it has always been that way. It should've been the first warning of what was to come.

He pulls the sheet back over his body and scoots up close to her, trying to resist the urge to retreat at first when he maneuvers her to lay with her head on his shoulder. It should trigger the flight or fight response that often alarms in his head, but he's able to push it away.

She's so vulnerable right now, so gentle and in need of the warmth of another person that he isn't as intimidated. It's not that she couldn't hurt him if she wanted to right now, she could, but he knows her. He knows that the last thing she'd ever want to do is hurt him, so he has to remind himself of that and give himself the permission to enjoy the physical intimacy of her touch. The part of him that questions if he even deserves it can't reach him now, not when he's so focused on her.

"Thumb?" he asks with the phone held out expectantly.

The screen is less than two inches from her face, so she has to push it back slightly, but she flattens her thumb to the button without further hesitation.

When he unwraps the pair of headphones from around the palm of his hand and plugs them into the charging port, she realizes why he left in the first place.

When she was facing away from him, eyes shut and headphones in to distract herself with music earlier, he was stealing glances at her every so often. He tried to keep away from her for the most part. It was difficult though, especially knowing what she said about being jealous the night of the party and knowing how scared she was of the hurricane. He couldn't help but keep an eye on her, for both his own selfish needs and his worry for her.

He keeps an arm tucked around her, pressing her body into his while he pops one of the headphones into her ear and the other into his. The thing is, her eyes aren't trained on the screen like his are once he starts looking through her vast collection of not-so-legally acquired music for a song that suits both of their tastes, they're trained on him.

Their taste in music tends to diverge in certain ways and overlap in others, so there's always a fifty/fifty shot of him liking what she plays when she's the one picking the music. That is why he smiles to himself and halts the endless scrolling in its tracks to hover his thumb over one song.

He obviously heard it before she played it that one time, but it's different for him now. They were riding together in the backseat of the Twinkie on the way to the beach with John B, Kie, and Pope when they let her take her turn to play a song.

That's how it is with them, the driver goes first, then it goes to the front seat passenger, and so on and so on until they make their way back to the beginning of the rotation. It was her turn when she picked this song, and it could've been the song, or the sunset shining through the window, but he felt as though his heart exploded when he looked at her in the middle of it.

He remembers feeling confused, confused as to why he couldn't catch his breath and why he suddenly adored the song he only heard casually a couple of times.

It was her. It was everything about her. The soft hum of her voice murmuring the lyrics, too shy to actually sing them in the presence of anyone else, was too delicate for the others to appreciate over the sounds of the van. He heard it though. He clung to it and admired her, so unashamed in his staring that he didn't realize he was doing it. It wasn't until she noticed that he stopped.

"Do I still have ice cream on my face or something?"

Her fingers came up to wipe at the corner over her mouth, and the action sent him turning his attention away quicker than he knew he could move, pulling the lighter out of his pocket to fiddle with as he mumbled, "Yeah, but you got it off now."

The cheery melody of Just Like Heaven bursts out of each headphone into their ears.

How did he know? How is he constantly reading her mind without realizing it?

This was her first song on the couch that she couldn't stand to sit through without thinking, naturally, of him when confronted with the topic of love. Somehow, it's like he knew that, and instead of feeling exposed and scared he'll know her feelings like before, she feels loved.

She is never skipping this song again.

"Go to sleep," he murmurs, clicking the screen off and resting it on his stomach.

It takes him a short thirty seconds to fall into an easy, calm pattern of breathing that tells her he isn't asleep, but soon will be. But she's fighting her sleepiness to continue looking at him. His eyes are fluttered shut, hair messy on the pillow, and she'd want to reach up to kiss him if he weren't trying to fall asleep.

Instead, she settles for matching her quickened breaths to the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath her hand and shuts her eyes along with him.

By the time the song reaches its end, she thinks he's asleep, but she still whispers, "Thank you," and feels his arm squeeze around her body in response.

The next songs fade into white noise at this point for her, drowning out the storm to the point where she begins to forget it's happening out there.

Maybe they can be each other's safe place when things get rough. After all, he handled this wonderfully considering his lack of experience with her anxiety and she never pushes him on his plethora of unsorted issues, even when she wants so badly to be the one to initiate the touch.

She never makes him think she pities him, or wants to "fix" him like so many partners with savior complexes who will never try to understand how it feels often do in these situations. With each other, maybe it doesn't have to be so complicated anymore, even when they have those inevitable arguments here or there.

The last thing he does before allowing himself to be dragged under is brush his lips on her forehead in a tender kiss. And when he eventually wakes to the rising sun shining through the windows in the aftermath of the violent hurricane, she's still there.

Tag List: @jjjmaybank, @its-simply-fanfiction, @naughtydild0swaggins.

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank smut #outer banks #obx s2 #obx #fanfiction

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randomshyperson · 3 years

Text

Wanda Maximoff x Reader - Sorry for your loss - Part III "I will get better"

Serie Masterlist here || Part II| | Read on AO3

Summary: When your wife Natasha passes away in a car accident, a part of you dies with her. It takes a few months of mourning for your psychiatrist thinks the best alternative is for you to join a grief group. And there you meet Wanda Maximoff, and learn to live again.

Warnings: (+16) mentions of death, panic attacks and anxiety, grief, self sabotage, mentions of abusive family background, mutual attraction pining, explicit consent, therapeutic conversations about death, self-deprecation, healthy methods of coping with grief, possible triggers about anxiety, domestic Wanda, hurtful behaviors.

Tag list: @imapotatao / @aimezvousbrahms/ @ensorcellme/ @helloalycia / @mionemymind / @abimess / @stephanieromanoff / @yourtaletotell / @tomy5girls / @justagaypanicking / @thegayw1tch / @idek-5

//-//

Chapter III - I will get better.

Your mother has an insinuating look on her face when you wake up after hearing noises of voices and walk to the kitchen, finding her sipping coffee on the table. With Wanda.

"H-hey." You greet clumsily, your sleepy brain had completely forgotten that the redhead was in your house.

"Good morning honey." Your mother said, her gaze following you all the way to the cupboards and as you served yourself. "I was just telling Wanda how I've been suggesting that you schedule a coffee so we could get to know each other, and what a coincidence it is that I come home and find her lost in my kitchen."

You yawn, shrugging your shoulders.

"Yes, fate is incredible." You mumble sarcastically, and your mother laughs lightly patting you on the arm as you sit down next to her at the table. "Did you sleep well, Wands?"

The redhead looks up at you and smiles as she nods. You stare back for a moment, but feeling your cheeks flush, you look away to your coffee.

"How was your date, Mom?" You ask next, not missing the opportunity to tease her.

"How was yours?"

You choke on your coffee, and your mother laughs. You don't risk looking at Wanda after that joke. But your mother is quick enough to change the subject.

"I need to talk to you about something, by the way." She comments stretching her arm to reach for the work case she left on the empty chair at the table. "Darcy came by the store yesterday afternoon, looking for you."

You frown in surprise, turning your head to look at your mother. She rummages through the files inside her bag, and then pulls out a red folder, handing it to you next.

"What's this?"

"Your contract."

You blink in surprise, and then open the folder. Running your hand over your face momentarily, you sigh.

"Mom..."

"Honey, give it a try." Your mother pleads touching your shoulder. "You are so talented honey. It would be so nice if you would write again."

You laugh humorlessly, running your hand through your hair. Taking a deep breath, you close the folder.

"I'll think about it."

Your words are far more than anything you have done regarding work in many months, so your mother lets out a contented exclamation and gives you a kiss on the cheek, making you laugh.

"Now, let's change the topic, okay?" you ask clumsily, making your mother laugh. She straightens up in her chair, and you look at Wanda quickly, blushing at the fond look in her eyes in your direction.

"Tell me, darling, what do you do?" Your mother asks Wanda. You go back to eating, holding back a giggle. You knew that now your mother would interrogate Wanda the same way Pietro did you, but she was far less subtle than the man was.

Several minutes later, Wanda managed to evade questions when she said she needed to go home, and you nudged your mother lightly in the ribs to get her to leave the other woman alone.

You stood up, grabbing the pots and pans from the table to take to the sink before walking Wanda to the front door while your mother pretended to read the newspaper while watching you two.

"Thank you for letting me stay the night." Wanda said at the door. You smiled, telling her it was okay. She hesitated next, and then moved closer, kissing your cheek good-bye. You nodded dismissively as she walked away, a silly smile on your face as you closed the door after she returned to the car parked in the driveway.

"I liked her." Your mother says as soon as you close the door. You give a short laugh, turning to go back to your room and take a shower. "Don't let that one get away."

"I'm not going to talk about this." You tell her with a mixture of embarrassment and impatience, looking back. Your mother laughs, glancing back at the paper.

//-//

Non-Reader Pov’s

Wanda sighed as she opened the door to the house. The boys were with Pietro, because they had insisted on spending the night after the party. And honestly, Wanda was so tired that she didn't even argue.

Erik was in the living room and didn't take his eyes off the newspaper when his daughter entered the room, throwing her shoes in the doorway and her purse on the couch.

"Should I ask where you spent the night?" he says with a slight hint that makes Wanda's face heat up, but she just continues toward her own room.

"Please, don't." She asks embarrassed, and Erik smiles, not speaking again.

After taking a shower, and getting dressed, Wanda stared at herself for a few moments in the mirror. You are fine. Everything is fine. She repeated these words a few times before leaving the bathroom.

When she returned to the living room, her father was still in the same position, but this time he lowered the newspaper to look at her.

"Honey, I ended up not meeting the friend you said you were bringing to Luna's party yesterday." He counters and Wanda presses her lips together as she goes to the kitchen, starting to sort the ingredients for lunch. "Pietro told me she left early."

"Yep." Wanda agrees a moment later. "It was my fault really. But it's okay now."

"I'd still like to meet her."

Wanda grumbles in agreement, washing some pots. Erik gets up from the armchair, walking over to the counter.

"There is something else I would like to talk to you about." He continues as he rests his hands on the marble. Wanda murmurs signaling that she is listening, but does not turn around. Her father sighs before speaking. "I need to get back home."

One of the pots slips from Wanda's hand, making a noise, but she catches it before it breaks. With a racing heart, she wipes the soap from her hands and the pot, and then dries her hands with a cloth, turning to look at her father as she rests her back against the sink.

"R-right." She agrees with tears in her eyes, but forces herself to smile. Erik looks at her with concern and guilt, but still stands firm as he says.

"Wanda, it's time." He says. "Charles misses me, I can't stay here forever."

"It's okay, papa." Wanda adds in a hoarse voice. She clears her throat lightly, trying not to despair at the thought of being home alone for the first time since Vis died. "I'll be fine."

Erik went around the countertop, moving closer to his daughter to place his hands on her shoulders.

"You can call me anytime you want." He says tenderly. "This is your home, Wan. You'll be able to make it. I'm sure."

Wanda nods, letting the tears flow. Her father hugs her next, and she responds, relaxing against his grip.

Erik breaks the embrace a moment later, smiling at his daughter before pulling away.

"I need to get things organized." He says. "When Pietro arrives with the boys, tell him I need a ride."

"You’re leaving today?" Wanda asks in surprise, and Erik sighs as he agrees. She swallows dryly, nodding frantically in assent.

Her father turns toward the second floor, and Wanda rests her hands on the countertop, taking a deep breath.

She tries not to be too anxious about the fact that starting tomorrow, when the kids go off to school, she will be all alone at home. Actually alone.

//-//

Reader’s Pov

Leaving your monthly appointment with Agatha, after spending an hour telling her about all the progress since you last saw her, you were quite hungry.

You hadn't spoken to Wanda since the day before, but when you thought about texting, you were surprised to realize that she had tried to call you while you were in therapy.

Dialing her number, you waited for her to answer.

"Hey, sorry, my cell phone was off." You say as soon as she says "Hello," slightly worried that it was important. "What did you want?"

" To see you." She says simply, and you ignore your quickened heartbeat. "I...I've been sitting in my car for ten minutes. I can't get into the house."

You frown at Wanda's tearful tone.

"What happened?"

"I just..." She starts half breathlessly. "My dad's not here. I dropped the kids off at school, and I don't...I don't want to be alone."

Your heart breaks for confession, and you shake your head.

"Wands, take a deep breath okay?." You ask her. "Send me your address."

"No, you don't have to..."

"Wanda." You interrupt with a short laugh. "I don't mind, really. Let me help you."

The woman on the other end of the line sighs heavily, and then thanks you. You smile when she hangs up and there is an address on the message app.

//-//

It takes about half an hour for you to arrive, and you walk slowly to the car parked outside, tapping the window lightly to attract Wanda's attention.

She is briefly startled, distracted by her cell phone, but smiles when she realizes it is you, then opens the door and steps out to hug you. You ignore the feeling of how good it is to have her against you as you respond.

"Everything okay?" You ask softly, and Wanda denies it with her head as soon as she lets go of you. You bite the inside of your cheek, unable to resist stroking her cheek for a moment before pushing your hand away.

"I can't get in." She confesses with water-filled eyes as she leans against the car. You sigh, standing next to her with your back to the metal. Her hand slips into yours, but neither of you say anything about it.

"Why not?"

Wanda is silent for a moment, and you imagine that she is not going to answer. But she does.

"Vis bought this house for me." She begins, and you resist the urge to wipe away the tear running down her cheek, imagining that your touch might intimidate her into shutting up. "I never...I never thought I would live in it without him."

"Is that why you asked your dad to move in with you?" you question.

"I think so." She murmurs. "I...I didn't want to be alone here. I mean...I have the boys. But they stay with Pietro so much, and there's school and karate, and music class. When Vis was alive, he worked from home, and I always had company." She explains. "Dad is retired so he’s always around, and he didn't mind staying. I don't think I've been alone here in eight months." Wanda sniffles softly, wiping away tears. "But his husband needed him to come back, and Charles is right to ask. Dad can't keep babysitting his grown daughter who can't put her life together."

"Don't talk like that." You interrupt by squeezing her hand lightly. Wanda shakes her head, running her hand through her hair and taking a deep breath. "Wanda?" You call out to her after a moment, and wait for her to look at you. "Do you want me to come in with you?"

She looks at your lips for a moment, but your head is elsewhere, so you just smile. Wanda nods in agreement.

After you help her get the groceries from the car, you wait behind her until she opens the door. Wanda takes a deep breath, and turns the handle.

Her house is very nice. Clean and organized, although the common characteristics of a house inhabited by children are visible. Wanda leaves a paper bag on the countertop and helps you with the one you are carrying, picking it up and placing it next to the other.

"So?" You ask with your hands in your pockets, looking intently at Wanda, who is trembling slightly as she puts away the items in the kitchen. "Wands?"

"I just..." She begins half impatiently. You don't get affected however, standing your ground. "I don't want you to leave."

You let out a short laugh, feeling your face heat up.

"But I need to go eventually." You say shrugging. "But while i'm here, why don't you show me around? I'll spend the afternoon with you until the boys arrive. But someday you'll need to do it alone."

"Like you moving back to your apartment?" She retorts bitterly and you blink in surprise, and Wanda is already assuming an apologetic expression, but you laugh and she looks at you with confusion.

"Ouch." You joke. " All right, smarty-pants. That was mean. But it's okay, I'm not mad." You assure her approaching as you take your hands out of your pockets to raise them to Wanda's shoulders. " Let's make a deal then?"

"What?"

"I'll keep you company at your place ." You say. "And you help me with my apartment?"

Wanda looks at you a moment, thoughtful. And then she smiles, nods, and circles her arms around you, burying her head in your neck. You don't mind that this hug lasts much longer than a hug between friends does.

//-//

You are laughing at a funny story from Wanda's college days when the front door opens and three small children come running in, throwing their shoes and backpacks on the floor. Pietro is surprised to see you too as he walks in and closes the door.

"Look who's here." He comments with a smile approaching to greet you. "How are you?"

"Good, Pietro." You reply gently. "And you?"

"Yeah, it’s all fine." He says looking at Wanda for a second. "Everything okay around here?"

Wanda bites her lip, looking away to the floor before speaking.

"She's keeping me company."

"Okay?"

"Because papa's not home." Wanda adds, and it takes a moment for Pietro to understand. He exchanges a look with you, but smiles, squeezing Wanda's shoulder for a moment before the boys join you all.

"Hello, who are you?" One of the boys asks, who hugs Wanda's right leg.

You bend down at his height, extending your hand.

"I'm your mommy's friend. You're Billy right?" You say and the boy looks quickly at his mother before shaking your hand. You shake very quickly and repeatedly without squeezing making him laugh as you tell him your name.

You turn your face to the other boy, hugging Wanda's other leg. "Good to see you again, Tommy. How are you doing?"

"I'm fine, thank you." He replies politely, making you laugh.

"Do I know her, daddy?" You heard Luna shyly ask Pietro next as she was hiding behind her cousin Tommy. Pietro smiled, nodding.

"Yes, dear, she was at your party don't you remember?"

"She helped Tommy with his headache didn't she daddy?"

Wanda frowned in confusion, but you didn't notice, your gaze on the child as you smiled. Pietro agreed again, and then Luna approached you.

"Do you want to be my friend?" She asked and you thought your heart was going to melt with such cuteness.

"Of course I do!" You replied excitedly, imitating the hand gesture you made with Billy, drawing a laugh from the girl.

"Let's take her to see our room!" Tommy suggested next, and you let out an exclamation of excitement to play with them. Exchanging a quick glance with the other two adults in the room, you let Tommy and Billy hold your hand and lead you upstairs, Luna following behind.

//-//

Non Reader’s Pov

As soon as the children were completely up the stairs, Pietro let out a giggle that attracted his sister's attention.

"What?" Wanda asked.

"Oh, nothing." He replied with a little smile. And only when he and Wanda were in the kitchen, intent on preparing lunch, did he add. "I like her."

"Shut up." Mumbled Wanda with reddened cheeks, understanding exactly what Pietro meant.

The man laughed again, walking over to stand next to his sister and chop some vegetables while she stirred the pots.

"I'll just say one more thing about it, and I promise I'll wait until you feel comfortable telling me." He says and seeing his sister's lack of response, he continues. "It's really good to see you smiling again. I'm glad you're moving on."

"Pietro..."

"Hey." The man interrupts his sister who looks clearly uncomfortable. He drops the knife he picked up to cut carrots and approaches her, holding her hands.

"There's nothing wrong with that." He says tenderly.

"Stop saying those things." Wanda asks releasing her hands to run her fingers through her hair, sighing as she leaned against the sink, breathing deeply. "I don't... I have the boys to take care of, I don't even have time to think about those kinds of things right now."

Pietro sighs, shaking his head.

"You know what, Wanda?" He begins. "Ever since we were kids, all you've done is take care of someone. You took care of babushka, and mamochka. You took care of me all my life, and then you got married and Vis joined the list too. Then came the twins." He said, and Wanda frowned, not understanding where the conversation was going, but Pietro's firm tone encouraged her not to interrupt. "When Vis died, you needed to breathe, and I really didn't mind helping you take care of the boys. But what about you. Wanda? If you're looking out for everyone else, who's looking out for you?"

"I..."

But Wanda doesn't know what to say. She opens and closes her mouth a few times, and Pietro sighs slightly, smiling to reassure his sister.

"You've been through hell the last few months, Wands." He adds. "There's nothing wrong with wanting some heaven."

"You're getting so cheesy, P." Wanda mumbles with flushed cheeks, causing Pietro to laugh lightly. The woman wiped a few tears from her face, and sniffled before shaking her head. "Come on, enough of this talk. The children must be starving."

"Yes, ma'am."

They prepare lunch in silence for a few moments. It is only when Pietro hands Wanda the cut vegetables to throw into the pot, that she remembers to ask about what happened at the party with Y/N and Tommy.

"Oh, she ran into him in the office." Pietro counters. "I think he was feeling sick again. I found them in the kitchen, eating some hot dogs. You were lucky to find a girl who does very well with children, eh?"

Wanda smiles with reddened cheeks, nudging her brother lightly with her shoulders as she mumbles at him to shut up.

//-//

Reader Pov’s

You sat on one of the twins' beds as they filled your lap with toys.

Doing your best to follow all the lines and get on with the fun, you pretended to drink imaginary tea when Tommy handed you a cup, and made a funny voice when Billy asked you to pretend to be a policewoman. Then Luna asked you to imitate a dragon and you spread your arms, running around the room behind the three of them.

Several minutes later, they got into a game of pretend play and forgot all about you, so you looked around at the posters, not sure if you should leave them alone.

Looking around, your gaze caught the pictures on the boys' dresser, and you smiled as you ran your fingers across the pictures.

You bit the inside of your cheek when you picked up one of the frames, the picture of the whole family in it.

"Careful not to break it." You heard Billy say out loud to you. From the tone, it sounded like something Wanda probably said to him a few times.

"I promise I won't break it." You assure him with a smile, turning your gaze to the photograph.

It is probably the picture of the day when the kids came back from the hospital. Wanda is holding one of them, and a tall, blond man is holding the other baby. They have contented smiles on their faces as they wave to whoever was taking the picture.

"Were you friends with dad too?" Tommy asked suddenly. You were slightly surprised to realize that he had stood up and was standing next to you.

"No, Tommy." You respond by stooping down to his height. "I didn't know your father."

"Did you know he died?" He asked next, shifting his gaze to the floor. You held your breath before letting go.

"Yes."

"Mom said that dying means you don't come home anymore." Tommy said and you felt your heart tighten.

"Yeah, honey."

"I miss daddy." Tommy confesses next, and you feel your own eyes fill with water at the scene. But not wanting to make him nervous, you swallow your emotion and smile weakly to calm him down.

"Yeah, I know you do." You tell him, extending your hand toward him for him to hold if he wants. When he accepts, you squeeze it lightly. "But the people we love never really leave us. When you think of your daddy, you feel a little pain in your chest don't you?" You ask and Tommy nods in agreement. "That's the part of your father in you. The love you feel for him stays inside your chest now. Before, you could spread that love with hugs and kisses and smiles. But now you have to keep it to yourself." You say tenderly, and Tommy seems to absorb your words. Billy and Luna are also listening to the conversation and look at you as they sit on the floor in front of a dollhouse. "Do you understand what I say?"

Tommy nods. "Yes, I'm already five."

You chuckle lightly at the quick response.

"I don't want to keep love in my chest." He grumbles. "I want daddy back."

You swallow dryly, watching the thick tears stream down the boy's face. Your gaze quickly catches Billy's, and he is crying, too.

"I'm sorry, kids." You say reaching out to wipe away the tears of the boy in front of you. "That's how death works. It's not fair, and it hurts. But that's what happens. But you all aren't alone, okay? You can always hug your mommy, and your aunt and uncle, and me too if it hurts too much.”

Tommy sniffles and throws his arms around you. You hug him back, hoping he will calm down. It doesn't take long before Luna and Billy join you.

You want to make them feel better, so you open your arms as wide as you can to squeeze them all together, and wait a few minutes before you make a noise with your mouth like a monster. And it works very well, because the next moment they are laughing.

You let them go so that they run, and you laugh as you chase them around the house. When Wanda yells from downstairs for them to come to lunch, you change direction so that they dash downstairs.

"No running on the stairs!" You quickly warn. "The monster catches those who run on the stairs. You need to go slowly."

The children exchange quick glances and then obey. You pretend to walk in slow motion so that they come down without hurrying. They run again as soon as they get down, making you laugh.

Downstairs, Wanda guides everyone to the kitchen table. You exchange a quick glance with her, putting your hands in your pockets.

"You're going to have lunch with us right?" Wanda asks with a smile. You bite your lip, thoughtfully. "Please say yes." She adds the request making you laugh lightly.

"But then I need to leave." You say with a raised finger in jest, Wanda smiles, nodding in understanding, and taking your hand to pull you into the kitchen.

Neither of you mind the look Pietro casts at your linked hands as Wanda leads you to the table.

//-//

Your week goes by very slowly.

At group therapy on Wednesday, Stephen brings games, and it is as much fun as any other time. Before you leave for lunch with Wanda, Stephen asks to speak with you both.

"I have some questions about your checklist." He says as the gymnasium empties out and you guys help him put the chairs away. "I noticed that you crossed out all the questions about grief." He begins, and you and Wanda exchange a look. "But of course it's okay, it's not a script to be followed really, it's just ideas to break the ice. And you guys are making progress, so as long as it's working for you, it's working for us."

"Stephen you are diverting from the subject." You grumble with your hands in your pockets, and the man laughs.

"Sorry." He says as he finishes folding the metal chairs in the corner of the gym. "I imagine you also realize that you have completed the vast majority of your monthly goals. With the exception of one."

You sigh, looking away. Stephen tries to smile to reassure you.

"I understand that this is difficult for you." He speaks again. "And you should also know that it's not mandatory, okay, but I would like you to try."

You swallow dryly, and it takes a moment, but you nod in agreement.

"I will." You say. "But I need time. I'm not going to drive off the first time."

"Don't worry about deadlines." He interrupts. "Find a way that works for you. Besides, you won't be doing this alone."

Stephen gives you both an encouraging look, and you take a deep breath trying not to overthink his request. When he nods in farewell, Wanda holds your hand and stands in front of you.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" She asks and you smile, running your gaze over her face.

"Only if you stay with me."

She smiles. "I will."

You both walk outside next.

//-//

During the following week, you set small goals with Wanda regarding her house.

Wanda is always home alone in the morning, because the kids go to school. And since you don't do anything at home, you come to spend the morning with her.

On the first day, you leave her house five minutes before the time she usually pick up the kids. You smile, hug Wanda goodbye, and tell her she can take being alone for five minutes. She catches up with you at the front door, shaking as she hugs your back. You don't have the heart to leave her alone after that, and you go with her to pick up the boys at school.

On the second day, you try again. Five minutes of solitude. Wanda is nervous as you walk out the door, but she doesn't follow you. You smile proudly as you leave.

On the third day, you leave ten minutes early. And then fifteen. Then twenty. By the third week, Wanda can be alone for hours. On week four, you don't come.

Wanda calls you, laughing and crying, saying that everything is all right. That she can breathe, and that she is not panicking anymore. And you also cry and laugh while telling her that you are proud of her.

You have started writing again by then.

Because you needed to find something to keep you busy while you were at her house and Wanda worked from home with the administration of the flower shop, and she didn't mind you bringing some books and your laptop to try to write something.

For the first few days you just watched television, occasionally chatting with Wanda when she came to ask if everything was okay and if you were comfortable before going back to her study room. But then you run your fingers through the photographs of the house and get an idea about a small story. It's brief, and simple, but it's sweet and the first thing you've written in a long time. Wanda loves it when you show it to her, and you laugh shyly when she puts the paper on the refrigerator door.

You call Darcy the second week you are helping Wanda. Your colleague is happy to hear that you are working again, and even happier to hear that you will accept the contract. It's a quick thing, and the timing is good, just what you need to get used to again. Wanda sets up a second desk in her office and you smile in appreciation, saying that she would get tired of your presence like this, but she assures you that that would never happen. You enjoy having her company while you write.

Soon you tell her that you are ready to try driving again. And Wanda sighs, saying that she is also ready to go back to the flower shop.

You agree that after she drops the kids off at school, she will pick you up at home with her car, and you will go to the flower shop together. And you can try to drive her car on the way back.

"Everything okay?" You ask Wanda when you arrive in front of the establishment. The flower shop is very nice, even from the outside you can tell. It is a small brown building, with many vases and floral decorations outside, and a sign at the entrance. You can see Monica at the counter through the glass but she is distracted by a customer and doesn't notice you two at the door.

"Yeah, I just...I just need a moment." Wanda clarifies looking at you quickly. She takes a deep breath, and then enters.

"Wanda!" Monica greets you two cheerfully as soon as the customer leaves, and you two approach her around the counter. The woman quickly hugs Wanda, who laughs lightly. "I am so happy to see you here again. And look at that, I think even the flowers have cheered up."

You smile at the interaction, letting your gaze wander around afterwards.

Flowers are not exactly something you know well, but you think they are very beautiful. And you absolutely love photographs of flower arrangements, and flowers in nature.

"And how are you, Y/N?" Monica asks loudly, attracting your attention. You take your eyes off the white flower in front of you to smile at her.

"I'm good, Monica." You reply. "It's good to see you again. Is everything okay?"

"Oh, yeah." She says gently fiddling with some vases. Wanda disappears beyond the back doors, probably getting used to being around again. "It's been pretty quiet today, so I've had plenty of time to look around the web page."

You smile in understanding. You knew that Monica had an online store that she and Pietro ran, but you couldn't remember exactly what they sold, so you didn't comment on it. But you were glad to know that she was taking the time to check out the shop even though she was working at Wanda's flower store.

"Are you going to stick around today?" she asks next, and you put your hands in your pockets.

"I don't really know." You reply. "If Wanda stays then I'll stay."

Monica raises her eyebrows suggestively, impressed by your words. You feel your face heat up.

"B-because she's my ride." You clarify quickly, and Monica lets out a chuckle, turning to take a vase in her hands and move it around the place.

"Got it." She murmurs humorously.

Wanda joins you next, her purse was no longer with her, and you figured she was ready to work then.

"Mon, I'm going to stay in the back today, okay?" She says to Monica, who just nods encouragingly. Wanda looks at you hesitantly. "Is it okay if I leave you alone?"

You laugh lightly.

"Don't worry, Wands." You tell her. "I'm here for you. Do what you have to do."

"I'll keep you company, honey." Monica adds with amusement. Wanda laughs, glancing one last time at you before turning toward the office. You look at the other woman next. "Tell me, have you ever tended a garden before?"

//-//

You are washing the dirt from your hands when Wanda finishes. She was only inside the small office for at most three hours, much less than a normal workload, but you don't say anything and Monica doesn't care either.

After thanking Mon for teaching you how to grow a garden, you say goodbye to her with a kiss on the cheek, wishing her a good rest of her shift, and leave with Wanda from the flower shop. You were anxious because you are going to be in the driver's seat now.

Wanda left the car in the supermarket parking lot at the corner of the place, at this time the surroundings were relatively empty.

You two were standing facing the driver's door.

"Here we are." She said beside you. You took a deep breath.

"Here we are." You repeated her words.

Wanda slipped one of her arms around your waist, hugging you from the side, waiting for you to be ready to open the door. And it took a moment until you did.

As soon as you sat down in the driver's seat, Wanda turned around the car and got in, sitting next to you in the passenger seat.

Your heart was racing, and you were static. When you risked looking down, you had a flash of memories, and your breath hitched and your eyes filled with tears. Wanda noticed, and reached for your hand quickly. You sat there in silence for about forty minutes until you stopped crying.

"Sorry, I'm wasting your time." You muttered breathlessly, and Wanda shook her head, squeezing your hand and raising the other to make you look at her. She stroked your cheek tenderly as she spoke.

"Don't say that. I want to be here and help you." She whispers while wiping your tears with her thumb. "As you have done for me."

You sniffled, trying to smile a little. Wanda just looked at you as you closed your eyes, trying to normalize your breathing.

"Let's try again tomorrow, okay?" Wanda murmurs to you. You gasp slightly, agreeing.

Then you switched places, and Wanda drove you home. You mumbled a thank you, giving the woman a long kiss on the cheek before getting out of the car. You didn't notice how she squeezed the steering wheel and her face flushed when your lips touched her skin.

//-//

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wandaxreader #wandaxyou #wanda maximoff x you #sorry for your loss #marvel imagines #wanda x yn #wanda maximoffxreader #wandamaximoffxyou #wandamaximoffxfemreader

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jaceyneedsabetterusername · 3 years

Text

Ni Kar'tayl Gar Darasuum

Pairing: Din Djarin x Pregnant! Reader

Summary: When you finally wake up, Din knows it’s time to break the news. (Part 2 of Aliit Be Cuur)

Warnings: Pregnancy, Mild Description of Injuries

Word Count: 3700

A/N: The much requested part 2 to Aliit Be Cuur! I took some inspiration from a comment by @linkpk88. My apologies for the long ass name. I just wanted to keep up with the Mando’a theme.

__________

“M-mando?” Your voice shook and cracked from having gone so long without being used. You were trying to reach towards him but in reality, your fingers only lifted off the medical cot ever so slightly.

Mando looked as if he’d possibly fallen asleep at your bedside, though it was difficult to know for sure with the helmet and the way he had a habit of sitting so still, even when he was awake. At your words, though, he immediately stood up, shooting to attention and coming to your bedside, “Cyar’ika? How are you feeling?”

“W-water? Please?” Your mouth was dry and throat stiff. It felt like you’d been breathing in hot sand and it had sucked all the moisture from your body.

Mando reached down to a water pack he had for himself on the ground by the crate he’d been residing on, unscrewing the lid, and tilting it slightly at your lips. The liquid felt like the best thing you’d ever drank, life suddenly coming back to your body at the small amount of water. “Thank you,” You said as he put the lid back on.

Mando sighed, his gloved hand coming down to rub over your knuckles gently, careful to avoid anywhere covered with bandages, “Why would you run in like that?”

“I thought you were dead. I was ready to kill the damn thing with my own two hands. I certainly can tell you I wasn’t expecting it to explode.” You attempted to chuckle weakly but you flinched, hand reaching for your torso in a poor attempt at soothing the pain of the broken ribs and burns.

Mando noticed the way your fingers grazed unassumingly over your belly that held the secret everyone but you knew about and he stiffened beneath the beskar armor. “How long have I been out?”

“About a day. The attack was yesterday.” He answered, pulling the crate closer to your bedside so he could sit beside you while you spoke.

You groaned at the thought of being unconscious for so long, “Am I dying?” You asked in an attempt at making a joke to lighten the mood. You could practically feel the anxiety and stress radiating off Mando and you wanted to try to lighten the mood but clearly it hadn’t helped. Your grip on his fingers tightened slightly, reassuring him. “Hey, I’m kidding. It’s gonna be alright.”

Mando’s silence was not something you were unaccustomed to. Even now that your relationship was much closer than professional, he was a man of few words. You still couldn’t help the way your face a little when you felt like your joke may have caused more harm than good.

Little did you know that Mando had glanced up over your shoulder and made eye contact with the nurse from yesterday, the one who had shown him the unborn child within your womb. Of course, the nurse couldn’t tell that the Mandolorian was looking at him but he still sent the masked man a knowing, almost pushing look.

As selfish as it made Mando feel, because obviously he was very concerned for your wellbeing and wanted nothing more than for you to be awake and okay, he was relieved when you remained asleep through the night. It gave him time to get his own thoughts straight, how he felt and how he would tell you.

Children were sacred in Mandolorian culture. With depleted numbers, many of the Alor had encouraged child rearing amongst Mandolorians or the adoption of Foundlings to save the Way. Even so, Mando had honestly never actually seriously considered being a father, at least not at this stage of his life. He had Grogu, to whom he was a father by the Creed, but physically rearing his own genetic children felt different to him, even if it wasn’t supposed to. He lived a dangerous life full of criminals and skeezy backwater planets and he was comfortable that way. Even if it was preferred that Mandolorians reproduce, he was one of the few that had been called more to a life of service. Besides, after losing everyone he’d ever loved, from his birth parents to his clan, he was used to being alone. A part of him was scared to bring more people into his life because he didn’t want to keep losing them. Even accepting the fact that he loved you took a long time.

But Mando was nothing if not a man of duty and honor and, as the leader of his clan of two, your lover, a father to Grogu, and now a father to your unborn child, he had a responsibility to protect and care for all within his clan, which was now about to expand to a clan of four. It was a responsibility that he had actually come to almost look forward to in some aspects in the early morning hours when he allowed his mind to move from the hardships that you were sure to face to the happy memories you were all sure to make together.

“There’s-there’s something you need to know.” He began directly, his modulated voice sounding strained.

Your smile faded at his tone and you gave him a concerned look, “Wait, am I actually dying?”

His helmet shook side to side in a moment of silence before he continued, struggling to find the right words. All the words he’d spent all night rehearsing in his head were failing him now. “No. They said you’re going to be fine.” He began, another pause between words as the actual confession was so much harder to get out than he imagined it would be. Mando had never been a man of many words but suddenly there were no words at all that seemed fitting.

Your eyebrows raised and you shook your head a little, indicating for him to continue. Nerves buzzed through your body. Mando was never like this. Sure, he had never been very talkative but he was concise and straight to the point when he did. He was never one to beat around the bush or draw out information for dramatic effect. Whatever he had on his mind must have been serious if he were struggling this badly. “What’s wrong, Mando? What happened?”

“The nurse came by while you were out. He said you’re pregnant.” The words came out clear and blunt, straight to the point. It was the only way he could process the information himself and he struggled to find a more delicate way to put it to you.

Your jaw went slack at the news, “What?”

“You didn’t know?” It wasn’t so much a question as much as it was a confirmation of what he had hoped. You hadn’t known. You weren’t keeping secrets from him. That alone made him feel better.

You shook your head, looking a little offended at the suggestion, “No, of course not. I- I wouldn’t have-” Your brain was moving a million miles a minute and cohesive sentences were difficult to form. “You have to trust me that I would have told you if I knew.”

The sentiment let out a floodgate of relief in Mando’s chest. “What do you want to do?” He asked simply. Throughout the night, he had thought about this long and hard and the more he thought, the more he was actually excited about the prospect of having a baby. An actual baby. He knew that this wasn’t just his decision though.

You swallowed hard, looking down at your stomach that you had just noticed was covered with Mando’s cape. “I-I don’t know. I need some time to think. This is just… a lot.”

You didn’t talk about it for a while. You barely spoke at all for almost an hour. After he knew you were alright, Mando had left your side to take Grogu outside. The poor kid had been cooped up inside for almost two days. It also allowed you time to think without the pressure of him being right beside you. Mando didn’t know if you needed time alone to process the information or if you needed him there to talk it through but he knew that he preferred to have time to himself to figure things out and it was the best thing he could think of to help you.

The nurse had stopped by while Mando was gone, just to ensure that the Mandolorian had in fact informed you that you were pregnant. He went over your vitals, important basic information about being pregnant, answered any questions you had, and reapplied bacta to all your wounds, which were estimated to be fully healed up within the next few hours with minimal scarring, thanks to the miracle medicine. You felt better after he left, physically and emotionally.

When Mando returned a few hours later, you were sitting up in bed, having made nearly a full recovery. “You’re looking better.” He commented as he walked over to you.

You gave a small smile of acknowledgement before looking down at your hands and flexing your wrists. You stretched out your torso a little bit. Your back was certainly achy but at least you didn’t feel like you had been hit by a flaming X-wing anymore. Mando felt better now that he could see the burns and abrasions that had littered so much of your body fading away to your natural skin color, only a few looking like they might possibly even leave a scar.

“I’m feeling better.” You responded and it was clear that you meant it about everything.

Grogu toddled towards the bed and reached his tiny arms out in an attempt to reach the frame and climb his way up to you but couldn’t reach. With an amused chuckle, you bent down and lifted the baby effortlessly.

Mando didn’t want to press you about the matter but he was desperate to know what exactly your future held. He stood in waiting silence until you spoke again, “How do you feel about this?”

Despite the fact that you were often concerned for others before yourself, he hadn’t been expecting that question. It also just wasn’t a question he had ever been used to being asked. Nobody usually cared. “How do I feel?”

You nodded, looking up to him, “Yeah.”

Mando sighed before sitting on the medical cot beside you, the thin mattress dipping more under his weight and the weight of his armor. He struggled to find the right answer to this question. Not just the right answer that you wanted to hear but the right answer that was truthful to himself. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.”

“What does that mean?” You asked, gently stroking Grogu’s soft head while you glanced to your left at Mando. You had tried to pick up on Mando’a since you’d been travelling with Mando but he rarely spoke it unless it was a knee-jerk expletive, which you too were now an expert on.

“It means I love you. I know you. But it’s much deeper than those words mean in this language. But… that’s how I feel.” It took a lot for Mando to admit his feelings for you. Words of affection were seldom exchanged between the two of you. Your love for each other manifested more as just a mutual feeling of love, protection, and honesty with each other that extended beyond platonic friendship. Mando especially had a hard time expressing his feelings so when the words left his mouth, you couldn’t take your eyes off the visor in his helmet that hid those eyes you wished so badly you could finally see.

“I love you too,” You started, wishing you could repeat those words in his tongue but knowing you would do them no justice. There was a brief pause while you inhaled a deep thoughtful breath before you continued, vulnerably honest, “I would like to raise this child with you, Mando.”

Again, another pause. The silence hung thick and uncomfortable in the air, at least for you. You wished so deeply you could see his face so you could at least try to get a glimpse of something that might be going on in his head. You swallowed hard, attempting to get rid of the lump in your throat that was forming in the midst of his pensive silence. You took your eyes off his helmet that seemed to be pointed towards your knees or the ground just below them, though you could never tell exactly where his gaze ever actually was, and stared at your lap where you began to pick at your fingers with your thumb nail.

“Din.”

“What?”

You looked back over to the Mandalorian to see his visor turn towards you and this time you were sure his gaze matched. “If we’re going to have a child together, I want you to know my name. It’s Din. Din Djarin.”

You smiled, knowing how important this was to him. Mandalorian culture was still something you were learning about and you hadn’t met any other than Man- Din - but he had never told you his name before so you assumed that perhaps it was like his face, where you couldn’t know it in its true form. “Din Djarin,” You tested the name on your tongue, “I like it. It suits you.”

Din’s mouth fell in disbelief beneath his helmet at the way his name rolled so sweetly off your tongue and he let out a little sigh of happiness when you had said you liked it. Though saying his name was not breaking the Creed, it was something he very seldom told anyone. It reminded him of his home planet and his birth parents, good memories tainted by tragedy that he preferred to avoid. It was also a way that he kept people at an arm’s length, a habit he’d developed quickly as a distrusting bounty hunter. But he didn’t want to be called Mando by you anymore. If you were going to give him the gift of a child, a literal human being to call his own, the least he could give in return was as much of him as he had to give.

“There’s one more thing,” He began, reaching into his pocket. You stayed silent but waiting as you watched him pull a long chain from his pants, a small pearlescent shard dangling from the end. He held it up for you to see, the jagged and unrefined edges to the uniquely beautiful stone swaying in his grip. “I would like you to become my riduur.”

Your mouth fell into an ‘o’ shape. That word you knew. The Armorer had asked Din if you were his riduur back on Navarro all those months ago, to which he honestly answered no to. “I love you, Din, but I don’t want you to marry me just because I’m pregnant.”

“In my culture, we come to have our own children in several ways but marriage is not necessary in any. Like I said earlier, mesh’la: Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum. And I would be extremely grateful if you would do me the honor of joining me in riduurok, baby or not.” He confessed, pressing the necklace into your hands.

The edges, though jagged, were not sharp by any means. Simply unrefined but there was a beauty in it. The light created the illusions of different textures across the small stone. The chain was thin and of a material that you didn’t recognize, a dark grey metal that definitely was not silver, beskar, gold, or steel. “Usually betrothal tokens are rings. I know this is not a ring but Cobb had managed to scour a few broken pieces of Krayt pearl from the dragon yesterday and should you accept my offer, I will replace that chain with one made of beskar.”

You shook your head, trying to shake away any doubt as to how perfect his gesture could be, “It’s beautiful. I love it.”

“You don’t have to decide now.”

“I would be an honor to be your riduur.”

“Really?” He asked, sounding genuinely surprised. “You’ve never even seen my face and you’re willing to marry me?”

You reached a hand out to rest on his helmet, just where it curved inwards where his cheek should be, “I know that I love the heart of the man behind this armor and I know what you feel like without it in the dark. I am willing to marry you without knowing what you look like beneath that helmet because I know I love you regardless.”

Din’s hand came to press against yours, holding it against his helmet. Inside, his face was pressed against the interior, wishing he could feel more than just mere knowledge that your hand was there. He wished he could feel your skin against his again. “When we are bound in riduurok, I can finally remove my helmet for you and for you alone.”

Your heart picked up with excitement, “You mean I can really see your face one day?”

His helmet nodded up and down.

“I can’t wait to look you in the eye and kiss you one day.” You closed your eyes and leaned your forehead against the beskar shielding Din’s face but he was mirroring the action beneath. A smile crept up on your lips and you handed him back the necklace, “Would you mind?”

He reached around your neck and clasped the necklace together, pulling your hair gently to lay over the thin metal cord. “How’s it look?” You asked, straightening out the pearl over your chest.

“Like it was meant to be there.”

His arm fell to rest comfortable behind your back and you leaned over to rest your head on his shoulder. It was uncomfortable from the beskar that pressed hard into your cheek but you would still rest like that for the rest of time and then some if it meant you could be with Din. Grogu sat between you, a tiny leg on each of your legs and your hand pressing against his stomach gently to keep him from falling forward.

When he startled wiggling around in your grasp, making tiny grunts of effort, it drew both yours and Din’s attention down to see what the kid was doing. He twisted to face your stomach, your hand now firmly keeping him from tumbling backwards. Neither you or Din were sure quite how much of your language he understood but it would have appeared that he somehow understood that there was now a new addition to your clan because his small three-fingered hand stretched out to rest against your lower belly and he closed his eyes, leaning back into your hand slightly.

At first, you thought he was just trying to feel for the baby, which of course was far from being large enough at this stage to feel, especially from the outside. “Hey, hey! What’re you doing?” Din asked, not angrily but definitely concerned for what Grogu could be doing to the new baby. Though he wasn't a malicious child, Din had seen him choke Cara with the Force once before and he couldn't be sure what was going on within your womb from the outside. All he knew was that the kid was definitely using the Force.

Grogu kept his eyes shut, ignoring his father, but a look of contentment spread over his face. That was when you felt it. You weren't even quite sure what it was that you were feeling but it felt positive, like an awareness of the life inside you that had been previously unbeknownst. It was more than that though. You could feel your connection to it and, though you knew it sounded absolutely insane, you could have sworn you could feel Grogu connecting to the fetus as well.

Din made a move to lift the child from your lap but you put your hand on his forearm to stop him, “Wait, it’s alright.” You nodded in reassurance, looking down to Grogu. “Can you feel them?”

Grogu reached out his other hand for Din’s, his entire hand only able to wrap around a single gloved finger. That was when Din felt it too. Again, it was a sensation he couldn’t describe. It was almost like an awareness of life but it was clearly emanating from within your womb. Grogu was merely acting as a bridge for Din.

“Do you feel it too?” You asked, looking up at Din.

Beneath his helmet, his mouth was agape as he struggled to process the feeling of life and light that seemed to radiate from where his body met Grogu’s and that his mind was able to just innately comprehend that this was the life you and he had created. “Yeah, I feel it.” He breathed out in amazement. “Is that the baby?” Din asked, the idea sounding preposterous but at the same time he had no idea of the capabilities of this new thing he’d learned of called the Force. He didn’t know the limits of Grogu’s power or his connection to it.

Grogu’s hands fell from both your stomach and Din’s hand as he flopped onto his butt on your knee with an exhausted plop. Nevertheless, his disproportionate green ears wiggled happily and the rosiness in his cheeks made you fairly certain the answer was yes.

Your hand came to cover where Grogu’s hand had just been, no longer feeling that same light feeling you had when he was touching you. Din no longer felt that connection either since Grogu sat down. “I don’t know what that was but it was kind of amazing.” You let out a breathy chuckle, “We’re going to be an actual family. Can you believe it, Din?”

“Y’know, deep down, I think a part of me always wanted to have a family. A riduur and a youngling all of my own. I just got so used to being alone that I didn’t think I would ever find someone I’d want that with. But now I have you and Grogu and,” his hand came around your front to gently rest on your stomach, “this. I promise you that I will care for you and protect you both until the day you give birth and every day after.”

You lifted your hand to Din’s helmet, gently turning him to face you, “Trillions of men in this universe and I got lucky enough to find you.” Grogu squealed in your lap and you laughed, stroking his ears, “And you.” Your hand dropped to Din’s lap and you laid your head against his chest plate, “I love you, Din. I cannot wait to spend the rest of our lives together.”

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poorcinderelly · 3 years

Text

Perfectly Fine

Author: poorcinderelly

Rating: PG13 (language mostly)

Fandom: RPF

Pairing: Tom Holland/Reader

Disclaimer: This work is purely fiction and not-for-profit fan activity. It is not intended to infringe on any rights by and of the companies and/or individuals involved in the production of any series mentioned here.

Word Count: 3,491

Notes: Soooooo....I have never written an RPF fic before and especially not one that involves Tom Holland. I got inspired to write this after listening to Taylor Swift's song, Mr. Perfectly Fine on loop for the past few days. Fair warning, Tom is not really kind here. I mean, he's not the worst, but he's also not the greatest either. Part of me also really wants to do a part two to this, but I guess it will depend on how it's received and honestly, if I feel like it, lol.

Here's the AO3 link, too.

Enjoy!

It takes everything in me just to get up each day But it's wonderful to see that you're okay

You rolled over in bed and picked up your phone. It was almost 11:00am. You knew you had to get out of bed. Brush your teeth. Comb your hair. Eat something.

But your energy was gone. Everything felt so heavy.

The last communication was over a text message. Tom had asked when you were going to come by to get the rest of your things from his apartment. At first, you told him you weren't sure yet. He responded asking if he should just have them mailed to Jessica's, your best friend's place. You had been staying with her since the break-up.

You eventually told him that you would come to get them. But that was two weeks ago.

You opened your messages, a small part of you hoping to get a new one from him. But there was nothing.

You opened Twitter, mindlessly scrolling through, not really reading anything that was on your feed.

'Cause I hear he's got his arm 'round a brand-new girl I've been pickin' up my heart, he's been pickin' up her And I never got past what you put me through But it's wonderful to see that it never phased you

That was when you saw it. A video of Tom, with his new girlfriend. They were caught by paparazzi coming out of a restaurant. You watched as they held hands, making their way down the sidewalk. Tom was chatting them up as usual; it was something he did to try to make what's a typically stressful situation go as smooth as possible. It was something he did when he was out with you.

A lump swelled in your throat and you tried your best to blink back tears.

He seemed totally fine. It's like he has completely moved on, even though it had only been two weeks. You started seeing photos of him and her together shortly after you broke up. You thought it was odd that he had moved on so quickly, but you also suspected that he may have been talking to her for a while, even while you two were still together.

How wonderful.

That thought made the dam broke and you started to cry again. It felt like you had been crying non-stop since things ended. You were so tired of it. Jessica, being the best friend that she was, told you it was okay to cry and that it was okay to feel. "You've been through a shock," she said. "What Tom did caught you by surprise."

She was right of course, but it still hurt.

You closed Twitter and went back to your messages. You opened the thread you had with Tom and wrote the following:

I'll come pick my stuff up today.

You closed the app and rolled over, facing the window. The sun was out and you could see the leaves from the trees rustling in the breeze. It was a beautiful spring day.

Then you heard your phone ping. You reached over to the other side of the bed and picked it up.

Tom replied.

You took a breath and opened the message.

Okay. Just text when you're on the way.

You saw through that immediately. It was so obvious that he was trying to make sure she wouldn't be there when you came. "How considerate of you."

You didn't even bother to text him back.

You set your phone down on the table and even though it felt like it took all of your strength, you rolled out of bed.

"Time to get moving."

- * -* -* - * -* -* -* - * -* -* -* - * -* -* -* - * -

Mr. "Perfect face" Mr. "Here to stay" Mr. "Looked me in the eye and told me you would never go away" Everything was right Mr. "I've been waiting for you all my life" Mr. "Every single day until the end, I will be by your side"

You and Tom met at a red carpet event for a summer Hollywood blockbuster. He already had two Spider-Man movies under his belt by then, but you were an up-and-coming actress. You were aware of him and he was aware of your work, but you had never met or spoken to one another before. However, when you saw him outside the theater, it was like sparks went off. Despite being surrounded by the press and screaming fans, all you could see was him.

Once you both were inside the venue, he asked if he could find you at the party afterward. You said "yes," trying your best not to show how eager and excited you were. Once the movie was over, you made your way to the after-party. Walking in, you felt like you were in a fairytale; a princess trying to find her prince in the crowd.

Tom found you first; he made his way from the other side of the room and offered you a drink. You never left each other's side that night; you danced, ate, drank, and left to go back to his hotel together.

You hoped that the one-night stand would turn into something more and it did.

One month turned into six, then a year, and another year. Tom was everything you wanted in a person; kind, funny, smart, and attentive. Even though you both had extremely chaotic schedules, you both made it a rule to coordinate a FaceTime every night before you went to sleep, no matter where you were in the world.

It did not take long for the press to catch on about your relationship. Since your career was not as established as Tom's, having everyone in the world find out about you made you incredibly anxious. But Tom was supportive and patient; he was also a private person, which helped. He promised to protect you.

Tom was good for you and you thought you were good for him, too. He made you feel safe and loved. You had been waiting for a relationship like this one for a long, long time.

But that was when I got to know Mr. "Change of heart" Mr. "Leaves me all alone," I fall apart

You couldn't pinpoint when exactly things changed, but it occurred over the span of a few months.

Tom started to snap more during your FaceTimes. He assured you that it was stress from having to film three movies back to back. But you knew something was off; you just couldn't tell what it was. Not long after that, your FaceTimes were getting short. The same thing would happen: Tom would lose his patience, you would get defensive, a fight would happen, and both of you would hang up.

Tom barely answered your FaceTime calls after that fight. He would always say he was busy or tired, but you knew better.

And throughout this time, the anxiety kept building up. Every day, you asked yourself what you did to upset him and if there was a way to fix it. Your communication with Tom was mostly through text messages, and you were starting to notice that when you told him you loved him, he didn't say it back.

The first time you saw him after that was in November. It was the start of the holiday break for the both of you and you wanted to have a few weeks to yourselves before having to travel to see each other's families. You arrived at the apartment you both shared in New York. After you dropped your suitcases in the bedroom, you texted him asking if he was on his way.

Hours went by. He never responded.

You heard the doorknob click around nine-thirty that evening and Tom made his way inside. He tossed his keys on the counter and went into the kitchen, not saying a word. You could tell he was tired; you were tired too. You knew better than to do this, but the anxiety and frustration that had been building up for the past few weeks finally got released.

It resulted in the biggest fight you had. You asked why he didn't respond to your text; he snapped and asked why you were always breathing down his neck. You just wanted to know what was going on; why things have been distant between you both. But Tom just kept deflecting, saying that nothing was wrong. But your anxiety wouldn't let you believe it; something was different and you knew fighting wasn't going to solve the problem. But it just didn't stop; it quickly escalated to more screaming, more crying, and slamming doors.

Tom left the apartment that night; he left you sitting on the living room floor, crying. Right before he slammed the door, he said, "I need to get away from you right now."

Hours went by and you were waiting for him to come home.

He didn't.

You ended up sleeping on the couch.

Mr. "Never told me why" Mr. "Never had to see me cry" Mr. "Insincere apology so he doesn't look like the bad guy"

Tom returned the next day. You heard him come in around the early afternoon. He was wearing the same outfit he wore yesterday. You wanted to know where he was, but you didn't ask, afraid that it would set off another fight.

Your mind wandered to what he said the night before.

"You're always nagging on me."

"Why do you think something always has to be wrong?"

"You're so fucking crazy."

"I need to get away from you."

Tom saw that you were on the couch and came to the obvious conclusion that you slept there and had not moved. He crouched down in front of you and brushed some loose strands of your hair out of your face.

"I'm sorry."

You could not tell if his apology was genuine. It honestly felt like he was only apologizing just to apologize, not because he truly meant it. But you were so tired; you wanted this to be over.

So you accepted it.

Hello Mr. "Casually cruel"

Things did not get better after that. Typical small arguments turned into big ones and minor disagreements turned into personal attacks.

It amazed you how Tom had so many casually cruel comebacks for you in his arsenal. But you were not so innocent either; some of the things you said to him surprised you.

You started to not like who you have become; you were anxious all the time now and truthfully, you really did not like hurting him. You weren't sure if you could say the same about Tom, though.

One night in February, you were sitting out on the balcony, looking over the Manhattan skyline. You were sipping your tea and heard the sliding door to the balcony open. Tom sat in the chair next to you, running his hands through his hair.

"I think..." he sighed, "....I think we need to break up."

You knew it was coming, but you still were not fully prepared. Tears swelled in your eyes and you squeezed the mug like it was your lifeline.

"We just can't keep doing this, babes," said Tom. "I can't keep doing this."

In your head, you begged him to stop. You pleaded that it was not in fact over; that you just needed to talk things through. You could definitely work through this; it was just a rough patch. But you could not say the words - because a part of you knew that he was right.

You could not keep doing it either.

Both of you sat out there for a while, not saying a word. You still squeezed the tea mug, but the tears you were holding back were falling freely now.

It was over.

- * -* -* - * -* -* -* - * -* -* -* - * -* -* -* - * -

You found the energy to shower, blowdry your hair, and get changed into a white t-shirt, jeans, and green jacket. You grabbed your phone, wallet, and keys and tossed them in your handbag.

Jessica was in the kitchen eating a piece of toast. You saw how elated she was when she noticed that you showered and changed clothes. She offered to make you breakfast, but you refused.

"I'll just eat something when I come back."

"Oh!" Her eyes widened. "Where are you going?"

"I, uh...I'm going to Tom's...to get the rest of my things." You picked at the end of one of the drawstrings on your jacket.

"Will she be there?" Jessica asked.

You shook her head. "I don't think so."

Jessica nodded; you noticed that she looked a little relieved. "Well, do you want me to drive you? Just in case you see some paps along the way?"

"Oh. Them," you thought. It did not take long for the media to catch on that you two had broken up. It was partly why you had been hiding out at Jessica's for the past couple of weeks. As much as you wanted her to come with you, you knew this was something you needed to do yourself.

Jessica said she had to work tonight, but promised to come home straight after for a full report, which you laughed at. You said your goodbyes and made your way out of Jessica's building.

You breathed a sigh of relief when you saw that there were not any paps around. You hailed a taxi and gave the driver the address to Tom's apartment. Your old apartment.

You leaned back in the seat and pulled out your phone.

I'm on my way.

You tried not to think too much about it. If you thought about it, you would surely cry. That was the last thing you wanted to do.

The cab pulled up to the front of the building. You paid the fee and got out. You said your hello to Tony, the doorman (who was surprised to see you), and made your way through the lobby, up the elevator, and down the green carpet hall to your old unit. Room 4J

Your hands were shaking a little now, but you tried to brush it off. You turned it into a fist and lightly knocked on the door. It was just starting to hit you that this would be the last time you would set foot in this place, but you interrupted the thought.

"Damn it, you are NOT going to lose it!"

You heard movement from the other side of the door and the jiggle of the doorknob.

There was Tom.

He was wearing a black turtleneck, jeans, and socks. His chestnut hair was curly and he had what looked like a cup of tea in his hand.

"Come in."

He did not smile when he saw you; you were not expecting him to, but it stung a little.

You began to scan the apartment, trying to find anything that belonged to you. Then you heard Tom clear his throat.

"Uh...everything's in the guest bedroom," he said.

You looked at him, confused. Since when did he have a guest bedroom?

"We turned it into a spare bedroom after..." his voice trailed off near the end.

Their now guest room used to be your craft room. It had all of your paints, markers, fabrics, and colorful paper that you used to make gifts for friends, co-workers, and loved ones. Of course, all of that was packed up and in storage now.

You sighed a little and made your way down the hall to the guest room. You opened the door and saw a full bed, a dresser with a small television on it, and a bedside table with a lamp on it. In the space between the bed and the dresser was a single medium-sized cardboard box with your name written on it in big, black letters. The handwriting was Tom's.

You crouched down and opened the box. Inside was your favorite tea mug, a spare cell phone charger, some headphones, a scarf, and a paintbrush set you left behind. At the bottom of the box, was a small, red photo album.

You knew immediately what that was. You bit your lip and swallowed. "I'll open that another time," you thought.

You folded the box back up and tucked it under your arm as you got to your feet. You made your way back to the living area and saw Tom sitting on the couch, with his arms crossed. When he saw you enter the room, he got to his feet.

"Do you need help with that?" he asked.

You shook your head. "No," you answered, shortly, "I got it."

Tom let out a small sigh and followed you to the door. You wanted to get out of there. You could feel the dam was about to break. Just as your hand was about to twist the doorknob, you heard Tom's voice let out a small, "I'm sorry."

You bit your lip and lowered your head. "Don't do this! Not here!" you begged yourself. "You don't have to apologize, Tom," you said, surprised that you were even able to get that out of you. Your hand was still clenching the doorknob.

"Y/N, can we please talk?" Tom asked. "I just need to clear the air on a few things."

You could tell he was a little desperate for this. Part of you wondered if this was something he had planned all along. You knew you did not owe him anything, but part of you wanted to hear him out.

You turned around and set the box on top of the kitchen counter. You leaned against the counter, crossing your arms. "Do you want to sit down?" Tom offered. You shook your head. "No thanks."

And it's really such a shame It's such a shame 'Cause I was Miss "Here to stay" Now I'm Miss "Gonna be alright someday" And someday maybe you'll miss me But by then, you'll be Mr. "Too late"

So Tom stood too. He looked you in the eye the entire time he spoke, but he also twiddled his fingers.

"I'm sorry that we ended things the way we did. I'm sorry for the way I treated you, how I yelled at you and insulted you. No one should ever have to hear those words, and I know I should have treated you better. I'm truly sorry."

You swallowed the lump in your throat and bit the inside of your cheek. This was all you wanted - a genuine apology. Now that you finally got it, you weren't sure how to process it.

But you knew you better say something, too.

"I-I'm sorry, too. I'm sorry for how I treated you, too. I said some horrible things to you, too, and I wish I could take them back. I'm sorry."

The damn started to break now. A few small tears started to roll down your cheeks. You wiped them away with your sleeve, hoping it would hinder the rest.

There was so much more that you wanted to say to him, but you knew if you did, you would not be able to control yourself. Tom took a step closer to, with the intent to give you a hug. But you held your hand up to stop him, which he respected.

That was when you took a step closer to him, stood on your tiptoes, and kissed him on his cheek.

"Goodbye, Tom," you said, your voice cracking. "Thank you." "I wish you well."

You did not give him the time to speak. You quickly turned around, grabbed the box from the counter, and walked out the door.

You pushed through the doors of the building and walked out into the street. You got lucky again and immediately hailed a cab before saying goodbye to Tony.

On your ride home, you watched people pass on the sidewalk. The box was resting in your lap. The tears you had been working so hard to hold back were starting to fall. But you did not feel any tinge of sadness, anger, or any pain. The feeling in your chest was mostly bittersweet.

You accepted that that was probably the last time you were ever going to see Tom, and you were beginning to feel okay with that. You were also beginning to feel happy that he was fine. Despite the pain that the both of you endured, you truly just wanted to see him happy. And now you finally knew that he wants the same for you too.

You reached up and wiped away the tears that were still rolling down your cheeks. A part of you will always love Tom, but after today, you can finally take the steps to move on.

You know you will be perfectly fine too someday.

Goodbye Mr. "Perfectly fine" How's your heart after breakin' mine? Mr. "Always at the right place at the right time," baby Goodbye Mr. "Casually cruel" Mr. "Everything revolves around you" I've been Miss "Misery" for the last time And you're Mr. "Perfectly fine" You're perfectly fine

Click here to read Part II (Changing Minds)

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #taylor swift #mr. perfectly fine #mr perfectly fine #fic: perfectly fine #fandom: rpf #rpf: tom holland #ch: ofc #ch: reader

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a-edgar-allan-hoe · 4 years

Text

The Red Witch

Jasper Hale x Reader Part 6

A/N: Part 6 is here lovelies! And I hope you all are doing well! 💕

Summary: Imagine being an immortal witch from the Middle Ages and being the previous love of Jasper before he was turned. You two were separated under certain circumstances and cross each other’s path once again, years later in the present era.

Warnings: language

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5

That night you had went to bed early, only to awaken at the crack of dawn the next morning. Today was the day of your performance. You layed there in bed beneath the sheets for a moment with your hands resting on your stomach, staring at the ceiling and pondering on yesterday’s events. Your anxiety had almost cost you your identity, and you did not want that to happen again.

You got out of bed, adjusting your eyes to the dark room and slowly placed your weight on the wooden floor, being careful not to wake Charlotte. You slipped out of your nightgown and into a simple light cotton dress, not even bothering to put on a corset or stockings. You tied a leather belt around your waist before reaching under your pillow to grab your Colt revolver, putting it in your holster. You might need it in case any threatening situation arised. You threw on your lightweight overcoat and left it unbuttoned before lacing up your boots and grabbing your wicker basket, you threw in your Wuthering heights copy and some apples for a light snack.

You carefully opened the door, taking one last look at Charlotte’s sleeping figure before closing it behind you. You exited the inn and glanced around outside, breathing in the cool morning air and relieved to see that no one was up and about yet. You walked a mile out in search of an isolated area with shady trees until you stumbled upon a meadow filled with bluebonnets and Indian paintbrushes. Your eyes lit up at the sight of it and a smile appeared on your face. It was beautiful. The way the flowers spread across the field with the few scattered trees and the morning sun’s rays just barely peeking out over the horizon. It looked like a painting. You eyed the closest tree that stood by itself and made a little jog towards it, your free hair flowing behind you as you ran your fingers along the grass and the flowers. This moment right here reminded you of the very few fortunate days you had as a child when your mother would take you out on a picnic to the english countryside because your father was away on urgent matters. It was a chance to escape the cold stone walls of the castle while he was away. You missed running through the meadows while she chased you around, both of you giggling from delight, free from your father’s tyrannical presence.

When you met your destination, you put your basket down by the tree and took off your boots before plopping down on the grass, taking out your book and reading it as you held it above you. You layed there for a while, your hair splayed out behind you and the skirt of your dress hitched up to your knees, lost in your book, the soft grass, the sweet scent of the flowers, and the cool morning breeze. You’d occasionally stick your bare feet out above the grass, stretching out your legs and toes.

Half an hour of peacefulness had passed by until you heard the sound of hooves in the distance. Your senses became heightened as you sat up, whipping your head around to see a horse in the distance coming in your direction. The rider was hidden from view from where you were crouched down, making you nervous as you backed up against the tree, your hand gripping your colt in case this was some sort of attack. The horse came to a sudden stop before you and turned, allowing you to finally see the rider. It was the same gentleman from yesterday.

“You.” You narrowed your eyes at him while standing up with a balled fist. You were still gripping your pistol and had half a mind to not just hit him with it right there.

“Ma’am.” He tilted his hat at you, his face darkened by the shade his hat provided.

“You’ve damn near ran me over. You know that?”

Bloody plonker.

“Well you look fine to me.”

“And if you had gone a few inces closer I wouldn’t have been fine.” You huffed out, your breathing affected by the thrill of getting nearly trampled over or murdered by a bandit. You didn’t know which was worse.

The man let out a chuckle, shaking his head before eyeing your hand that still clutched the grip of your pistol. “Don’t worry. I’m not gonna hurt ya.”

“And what? I’m supposed to magically believe you?” You scoffed.

“Well you’re welcome to shoot me if I do something to offend you.”

You stood there for a second, making yourself look as if you were contemplating the thought. “Does that include verbal offenses?”

He chuckled again at your remark, dismounting his horse and tying the reins up. “You’ve got quite the attitude on you, you know that? You come from a dishonest place or something?”

You watched him wearily, lowing your guard down. “Dishonest is one way to put it. More like a dodgy hell hole if you ask me.” You thought about all the times you had to fend for yourself against the worst scum of men and even women in the past, especially in the Middle Ages. Only difference was you wielded a sword then instead of a revolver. If there was one thing you had to thank your father for, it was for raising you like a son and teaching you the art of war and the sword. “What are the likes of you doing about here anyways?”

“Well, what’s a lady like you doin round these parts all by yourself at this time of day?” He looked at you.

It was then you had just remembered you weren’t wearing a corset which meant. Shite. Your Belisha Beacons were cage-free. You let in a sharp intake of air and quickly buttoned up your jacket before he’d notice, covering up your chest to add an extra layer to your cotton dress. You were silently praying the wind wouldn’t blow up your skirt and reveal your short drawers and your lack of petticoats and stockings or else you might as well shoot yourself from embarrassment. You almost cursed yourself for a lack of proper dressing and daring to go out like this. But, he just had to show up didn’t he.

“You didn’t answer my question.” You looked up at him, finally noticing his features and my goodness. You didn’t want to admit it but he nearly took your breath away. You found yourself staring at him. That golden blonde hair that looked soft to the touch, the tanned skin, that face, and my goodness those green eyes. You quickly changed your expression into a stern one as he looked at you. You hoped he didn’t catch you staring at him like some toad at a fly. Him being pretty means nothing.

“Neither did you.” He remarks.

“Well I believe I was the one to ask a question first. Now go on, explain yourself.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “You’re not following me are you?”

“No ma’am. Just doing my patrol. Now, what are you doing out here?”

“............reading. As if it’s any of your business.” You lifted your chin before turning away and sitting down with your back against the tree, adjusting your skirt to cover your legs.

“Out here by yourself?”

“Obviously.” You rolled your eyes.

You sat there and glanced up at him still standing there like some kind of meerkat. “Well? Are you just going to stand there and watch the grass grow or are you going to have a seat? It’s not like you’re going to leave me be anytime soon.”

“Is there anywhere you specifically want me to sit, princess?”

You raised a brow at the nickname, wanting to smack that smug look right off his mug.“Whichever pleases you.” You wave your hand about before muttering to yourself. “Bloody fucking hell.”

The man smirked before taking his hat off, sitting down beside you and leaning against the big tree as well. You side glanced at him before scooting away just an inch. He chuckled at your little movement, shaking his head as he rested his arm on his bent knee, fiddling with a strand of grass in his hand.

There was a bit of silence between you two. Your eyes roamed everywhere else but him while his would occasionally glance in your direction. This situation was awkward for you.

“What’s your name soldier?” You asked him as you pulled your basket closer to you and pulled out your gloves, putting them on for precaution. You could feel him watching you with curiosity as you did so.

“Jasper Whitlock ma’am.” He bowed his head to you.

“How long have you been a major?”

“You know my rank?” He quirked his brow at you.

“Well you are wearing a uniform with insignia aren’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Just making sure.”

Jasper sat there with his brows furrowed as he studied your face before popping a question. “You seem to know a lot. You’re always reading. You some kind of genius?”

“Well.” You scoffed. “I wouldn’t quite call myself a genius. Though I have met many in the past. Very interesting individuals I must say. What on earth bothered you to ask a question such as that?”

“I don’t know.” He stared at you. “Your eyes.”

You looked at him gobsmacked before letting out a confused laugh. “My eyes?”

“Well.” Jasper tried to explain himself, feeling embarrassed while straightening up a bit. “When I was younger my ma used to tell me how you could read people’s eyes. How some held wisdom behind them.”

You nodded your head with approval, a small smirk playing on your lips. “Your mother sounds like a wise woman. Though, it completely baffles me that you a ninny like you would be her son.”

“Ninny?” He cocked his head back from the word. “Is that some kind of insult?”

“I’ll let you figure that out on your own.” You gave a short smile before reaching into your basket to grab an apple, holding it out for him.

Jasper studied the apple in your hand before looking up at your blank expression, his brow raised playfully in suspicion. “That’s not poisoned is it?”

“.............maybe.”

“Well that’s not a very encouraging answer.”

“If I wanted you dead you’d already be.”

“Well my apologies Lady Macbeth. I guess I’ll take your word for it. If anything happens-“

“Don’t worry. No one will know.”

“Okay. Here goes.” Jasper chuckled at your strange sense of humor before taking the apple from your gloved hands.

His fingers lingered there on your palm for a brief moment. And even though you were wearing your gloves, you couldn’t help but feel a shiver run down your spine. A part of you wondered what it would feel like if you weren’t wearing your gloves, just your bare hand against his. You stared into his eyes and a blush started to creep on your cheeks before you pulled your hand hastily away, turning your head away from him. You were in complete shambles.

“I’m sorry.” Jasper gave you a pained look as you had your back to him. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“No. You’re quite alright.” You composed yourself before pulling out your pocket watch from your coat pocket, glancing at the time. “Shite. In fact, it’s my fault. I should get going. I have a performance later and I do not want to be wasting your time and mine.”

“Wasting my time?” Jasper sat up once he saw you hurriedly packing your things. “Ma’am, I assure you, you weren’t wasting my time. I enjoyed your company.”

“Well you shouldn’t.” You stood up with your basket as Jasper followed you right after. “I’m sure you have far more important matters to attend to, Major. Good day.”

You turned to walk away only to have Jasper at your heel, making you close your eyes in frustration.

“Wait! At least let me take you safely back to town.”

“No thank you. I managed to get here on my own and I am more than possitive I can make my way back.” You gave him a polite smile before going your way, not even bothering to look back.

Jasper stood there by the tree next to his horse, his heartstrings being pulled at as he watched you disappear from sight. He didn’t know why you reacted in such a harsh way, especially when you seemed to have eased up a bit around him. But he wanted to understand, more than anything.

You marched on back to the inn, wiping away at the lone tear that dare to fall from the corner of your eye. You were upset, filled with distress and fueled with anger for yourself. You had promised yourself not to give in to such feelings and yet here you were. Conversing with a dashing gentleman whom you have found to be tolerable and risking everything being at a close proximity with him. You knew more than anyone the dangers of becoming close with a mortal. You knew more than anyone, what would happen if you were to merely touch a person with your bare hand. You knew more than anyone, that the most simple form of affection, a touch of a hand, a caress on the cheek, a kiss, could never be possible for you.

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#jasper hale #jasper hale imagine #jasper hale x reader #jasper hale x y/n #jasper hale x you #jasper whitlock #jasper whitlock imagine #twilight imagine #twilight imagines #jasper whitlock x reader

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justnerdthings · 3 years

Text

New Beginnings Ch. 12

F!Reader x Liu Kang/Kung Lao

Oh nooo!

@ancientowlgirl @miss-nori85

Liu was an early riser. And since you had been training with him, you’d had to adjust to his schedule. You were already up and out of your room when Lao came for you. He had begun to knock, but a nearby monk had stepped up to him. You weren’t there. You’d already left for training.

He’d eventually found you sitting in Raiden’s arena… on the edge of the cliff. He stopped at the stairs to watch you cautiously from a distance. Lao wondered how’d you gotten yourself that close to the edge. He wondered how long you’d been sitting there. Had you done this before, or had this been the first time you’d been back here since the morning after he’d pulled his stunt.

He’d hurt you that morning. He hadn’t meant to. He’d hurt you the night before as well. But that morning your arm had started shaking again and he figured massaging it would help calm your nerves. You’d been going through withdrawal. He’d never gone through it himself, but he knew it wasn’t pleasant. Lao sighed at the memory. What he had intended to be a helpful gesture had only caused you pain. He’d wished he’d known just how bad your muscles had been strained before trying to massage them. He’d never have tried.

Lao slowly moved down the stairs and across the arena. You were sitting so still. He wasn’t sure if it was because of your anxiety or you had been lost in meditation. He stepped up and sat down right next to you, leaving some space between you. He watched your face as you sat there, eyes closed.

You were focusing on your breath, listening to the sound of the wind whistling in the ravine. You’d gotten better at this. Liu had shared some tips with you. The one that helped you the most: Your mind is going to wander. Don’t fight it. Just make a note to revisit the thought later.

You could think about those three kisses from yesterday later. Right now, you were focusing on the fact that your knees were just about hanging off the edge of this cliff… No. Don’t think about that either. Think about that later. You were meditating. You were focusing on your breathing, on the air, on feeling your lungs expand with every breath. You were focusing on the whistling of the wind, on the distant chatter of monks that echoed through the ravine…

On the steps in the sand coming closer to you.

The hair on the back of your neck stood up as you felt a presence close in on you. It was next to you now. You forced your shoulders to relax. It was only Lao. It must have been. Liu said he had to take care of something this morning and he’d see you at breakfast. And as long as Lao was serious last night, you had nothing to worry about. He wasn’t going to hurt you again.

You could feel his eyes on you… those deep brown eyes that stared right into yours last night. They had been so full of regret that they almost made you feel guilty for being so upset with him. Maybe you were feeling a little guilty about it. He’d only been trying to help. Liu had told you that Lao was impulsive. He didn’t always think things through before he did them…

Lao didn’t say a word as he continued to watch you. He wondered what was going on in that head of yours. He doubted you were completely focused. Not because you weren’t capable, but because even he had trouble with focusing during meditation. And he’d been doing it his whole life! But, whatever you were thinking about, it seemed to help you stay calm with sitting on the edge of the arena.

His eyes shifted down over the edge. He leaned forward to look straight down. Several hundred feet, at least, of jagged rocks and certain death if anyone happened to fall down into it. He could still remember how you had hung off the cliff, balancing as you held his dangling self over this very spot. In that moment, you looked so determined to pull him up. Despite you saying only seconds before that you wouldn’t fight for him, you had. Lao grinned and let his legs hang over the edge as he looked back to you.

“You’re doing great,” he said softly to you, not wanting to startle you.

Your jaw hardened when you heard him. You never were good at taking compliments. You always felt there was some hidden meaning behind them. With Liu, you didn’t worry so much about it. But with Lao… You weren’t too sure yet. Other than last night, all you had to go on was him purposely trying to rile you up every chance he got. But just what kind of guy was Lao when he wasn’t trying to get under your skin?

“Thanks…” you answered, perhaps more cautiously than you intended. Lao had helped you out of an anxiety attack last night, and you were grateful for it. But you two hadn’t been training at the time. What was he going to be like when he was supposed to push you?

Lao noticed your hesitance. He wasn't sure if it was because you were in the middle of fighting off some anxiety, or because he was there. Either way, he figured anxiety was involved. You were probably worried he’d go back to playing the bad guy. “How long have you been out here?”

“About an hour?” you weren’t really sure. You hadn’t kept track of time. You weren’t even sure what time it was when you got up. You’d just gotten into the habit of waking up on Liu’s schedule. “I got up before the sun did, if that means anything.” Hell, you weren’t sure if the sun was even up as you said that. You’d had your eyes closed the whole time.

Lao’s brows rose, impressed. “That early?”

“I kind of had to, to keep up with Liu.”

Lao lifted his chin for an agreeable nod. “He’s always been a morning person.”

“It’s not so bad now. That second day though…” You winced at the memory of being so groggy that you’d actually fallen asleep during morning meditation. Liu had laughed about it, but you hadn’t. God, that had been so embarrassing.

Lao chuckled at your expression. “At the monastery, everyone got up at four o’clock.”

“In the morning?” you asked in disbelief.

“Yeah. Once I got out of there I started sleeping in later and later. But, then again, I stayed up later and later.”

“What do you mean once you got out of there?”

“When I graduated, I took some time away to see the world… Or, at least China.”

“Like rumspringa?”

Lao’s face contorted to his confusion. “What’s that?”

“It’s what the amish do in America. Once they reach a certain age they’re allowed to live outside their communities with no restrictions. See if they like it, or whatever. Then after a while they have to make a decision on whether or not to return to their community. As far as I know, if they decide not to return, then they’re like, banished, or something.”

Lao’s brows sunk. “That sounds horrible. Why would they banish their own people?”

“I really don’t know the details. I’m not amish. I only know about rumspringa because there was a show about it on TV.”

“Oh…” Lao still thought the idea was terrible.

“So is it like that? The thing you did?”

“No.” He shook his head even though your eyes were still closed as you couldn’t see it. “Not that last part anyway. A monastery will never banish anyone. They’re dedicated to helping people.”

“So what was China like?”

Lao straightened. “Loved it. Also kind of hated it. It wasn’t what I had imagined. The first time I visited Beijing, I almost lost my mind. I’d never seen so many people.”

You grinned. “Cities are like that.”

“Have you been to Beijing?”

“No. But I was born and raised in New York City.”

Lao’s brows rose curiously. “Really?”

You nodded.

“Is that why your English is terrible?” He joked.

You scoffed. You finally opened your eyes and looked at him with a raised brow. “Look who’s talking,” you countered. Lao spoke English just fine, but sometimes his accent threw you. You then chuckled and looked out at the ravine. You took a deep breath to calm your fear of the height as Lao laughed.

Lao then tried his best at a New York accent. “Ey’ Fahgetabou’it!”

You rolled your eyes at the horrible impression. Why did everyone not from New York think New yorkers had an accent? You didn’t have an accent, he had an accent. “No, you Wàngdiào tā,” You told him with mock offense. You knew your impression wasn’t any better, and you were sure you didn’t say it quite right, but your point was made regardless.

Lao’s brows rose again in surprise and he nodded with a cheesy grin. “Not bad. When did you pick that up?”

“I hear Chinese all day long, I was bound to pick something up.”

He was grinning. “Liu taught you, huh?”

You shook your head. “Monks in the infirmary. I’ve been spending a lot of my free time there. Figured it’d help to be able to understand most of them.”

Lao was nodding again. “Smart woman.”

You rolled your eyes again and looked at him. You both laughed at each other and he shifted closer to you. You didn’t seem to mind, so he inched just a bit closer after that. Feeling his hat tap against something, he looked up to see your fingers on it, feeling the blade.

“Why do you always wear this?” You asked curiously.

He lifted a brow and glanced upwards to the brim of the hat. “I don’t like being without it.” He shrugged.

“So, it’s like a security blanket?” You chuckled.

Lao laughed and reached up, slipping the strap from his chin and hat from his head. He held it on his lap. You looked up and chuckled again, earning a curious look from him. But before he could ask, your hand had reached up and began to fix his hair. His eyes shifted to the smile on your face. A knot twisted in his stomach.

That feeling from last night had returned. Those thoughts came back.

He couldn’t help but think about you last night after he’d left you in your room. You had been slowly but surely checking off each thing on his list. The list.

Brave? Check.

Smart? Check.

Selfless? Check.

Funny? Check.

Nurturing? Check.

Adaptable? Check.

Independent? Check.

Respectful? Check.

And as shallow as it was, he’d admit, you were easy on his eyes. He grinned. He knew you already thought the same of him from a few days ago when he overheard you tell Liu about it.

Pretty? Check.

Thought he was handsome? Check.

Alright, you hadn’t used the word ‘handsome.’ But he’d take ‘nice ass’ just the same.

“So, what’s the plan today?” You asked, but stiffened when you caught his eyes and grin. Oh… You knew that look. Liu had that look last night at dinner before you two had practically made out. Uh oh.

Lao noticed your face fall in obvious anxiety. His brows knotted. Then he realised he’d been staring. He sucked in a breath and quickly looked away. "Sorry," he said.

“It’s alright,” you said and looked away as well. Your cheeks were growing hot. Did Lao share Liu’s feelings for you? Oh… this was getting complicated. Oh no. You lifted your hands to cover your face.

Observant. Check.

Lao sighed heavily. There was no use in denying it. You'd figured it out. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I didn't mean to." And he didn’t. Lao never would have guessed it’d be you that'd fit his idea of a future wife.

You groaned. "Oh… Just go back to being an asshole," you begged. This couldn't be happening. Not both of them!

He forced a small laugh. "I don't think that's going to fix anything."

He was right. You knew he was. Dammit.

"Want to try and beat me up again?" He asked, forcing another laugh.

"Depends. Do you like that?" You glanced over.

He shook his head with another laugh, then shrugged his shoulders. "I don't not like it."

You swatted at his arm and he smirked before pulling his legs up and standing. He offered you a hand. You took it and he helped you up. “How’s your back?” He asked, letting your hand go.

“Still hurts, but not as much. Liu’s been making me take it easy.”

He nodded. “Do you want to take it easy?”

You lifted a brow as you followed him to the center of the arena. He chuckled.

“You want to take a break from taking it easy? Liu can be a little too cautious.” Lao shrugged his shoulders. “Sometimes it’s good to push yourself.”

You thought about it for a moment. It’d been days since you last threw a punch, or lifted a weight. Actually, when you got up this morning, you were rather stiff. You could still feel it as you stood there. You rolled your shoulders with a slight wince. “Actually. I am kinda cramped up.”

Lao smiled. “Good. Because I hate meditating.”

You blinked at him. Your brows knotted. “What? But you—”

“Yeah. That was Liu’s idea. Liu thinks meditation can solve almost anything.” Lao shook his head with a dismissive wave. “Don’t get me wrong. Meditation is great. I just hate sitting and doing nothing.”

“So… What do you do instead?”

“Tai Chi.”

You perked up hearing those words. “Wait. I’ve heard of that before. That’s that slow-mo kung fu, right?”

He laughed, but nodded. “Yeah. It’s like meditation, but you focus on your form and movements.”

“So you don’t get so distracted,” you reasoned with your own nod.

Lao pointed at you. “Bingo.”

“Alright then, let’s try that.”

He flung his hat into the sand, the blade sticking in. Lao stepped back over to you. He stood a few feet away next to you and planted his feet. “Just do what I do. You can keep your eyes open.”

You nodded and copied his stance. You watched as he moved slowly, precisely. You tried to follow along. It was kind of like yoga, but you moved more and you didn’t really focus on stretching. You focused on your movements. You didn’t even mind that Lao was watching you. He had to. He had to make sure you were doing it right. Occasionally, he’d grab your attention and show you what you were doing wrong. But he mostly just let you be as you followed his motions.

This wasn’t so bad. He wasn’t yelling at you. He wasn’t even pushing you. This was completely different than what he’d been like before. This was nice. This was relaxing. This was much better. “You’re doing great,” Lao told you as you grew more confident in your movements. And you found yourself able to take the compliment this time. You smiled.

Lao noticed your smile. The one on his face grew. Yeah, this was much better. You weren’t so anxious. You weren’t angry. You didn’t resent him. He was sure you were more comfortable. “So, how has your withdrawal been?” He asked, continuing to lead you through basic Tai Chi motions.

“I’m not shaking anymore,” You answered.

“I noticed.”

“Headaches are better. Still there, but not as bad.”

“That’s good.”

“Losing my appetite though.”

“Oh?” He frowned. “How much?”

“Just not eating as much. I hardly ate much at all last night, but that may have just been anxiety.”

Lao nodded. He remembered how upset you looked in the hallway last night. “How is your anxiety? Worse?”

“A little of both. I don’t worry about my heart nearly as much. But I still worry about dying. The medicine I was taking helped me have a clear head and stopped the side-effects. Now it’s kinda all coming back.”

“What kind of side-effects?”

“Mostly palpitations and being lightheaded.”

“Are you lightheaded now?”

“Yeah. But it’s okay.”

“You’ll let me know if it gets worse, right?”

You nodded. “I’ll be fine. I’ve only passed out a couple times.”

“Didn’t the last one almost kill everyone here?”

You froze. Oh, yeah. You’d almost forgotten about that. You frowned. “Yeah… Sorry. I didn’t even know it happened.”

He frowned as well. “It’s alright. Not your fault.”

You looked to his face. “Kind of was.”

“No one got hurt.”

“But they could have.”

Lao stopped his movements. Shit, you were doing that thing again--Imagining scenarios that could have happened. “No one got hurt,” he repeated gently. “Had the shit scared out of them, sure. But no one got hurt.”

You’d stopped your movements as well. You sighed heavily at him. “What if they do the next time?”

“Who said there’d be a next time?”

You gave him a doubting look. Of course it’d happen again.

“You think too much,” Lao told you. “You and Liu…” He blew out his cheeks with a small roll of his eyes. “Worry warts.”

“Hey!” You pouted and straightened up. But he was right. You were a worry wart. You’d always been one. “It’s not like I can just stop thinking!”

“Sure you can. Don’t think. Do. Follow your gut.”

“You have to think. How can you possibly not think?”

“Easy.”

“Maybe if you don’t have a brain!” You mocked him.

He grinned. Lao shrugged it off with a shake of his head. “Alright. I’ll prove it to you.”

“How?” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“Red or blue?” He asked.

You knotted your brows. “What? What are you talking about?”

“Don’t think, just answer.”

“What?”

“Red or blue?” He repeated.

“For what? Like, which one I like more?”

“Don’t think.”

“I— I don’t know. Red!” You shrugged.

“Left or right?”

“Right?”

“Odd or even?”

“Odd.”

“Heaven or hell?”

“Hell.”

He lifted a brow at your answer, but you just shrugged. Curious, but alright. “Sun or rain?”

“Rain.”

“Running into a fire to save a stranger, or staying away because you could hurt yourself?”

Your jaw tensed with that one. Now you understood what he was doing. He was right. You could be impulsive. Saving that man had been dangerous. You could have gotten hurt, or died. But you’d done it anyway. And because you did, you saved that man. And you were still alive. If you had let your anxiety get the best of you, then that man would be dead.

That familiar icy chill washed over you. How did Lao do that? How could he seem like nothing mattered one second, and then drop a bomb like that to make you realise that you did, in fact, probably think too much.

“Dive over a ledge to save some asshole, or stay back because you could fall as well?” he asked, driving the point home.

You felt your eyes begin to burn. Sure, it'd been a test, but you thought it was real at the time. You’d believed he was going to die if you didn’t catch him and pull him up. You knew you could have died. But you’d done it anyway. You caught him. You pulled him up. If it had been real, you’d have both lived. He was right. You did think too much. What if when the tournament came, you were too scared to fight? Too worried to step in when they needed you?... They’d die. That’s what would happen. You would let them down, and they would die, and you probably soon after. You’d told Liu yesterday that you’d do your best, but if you kept worrying like you always did, you couldn’t possibly give him or Lao your best.

Lao stepped up to you. He’d been watching your face sink lower and lower into guilt and realization. You watched him as he held your cheeks and he used his thumbs to wipe away the tears that had started to fall. “Don’t keep doubting yourself,” He told you gently. “Don’t keep trying to be a prophet. Don’t look back and think of how things could have gone wrong. Don’t expect everything to turn into a catastrophe. Yes, things happen. Shit happens. But it doesn’t always.” He wiped away a new stream of tears and those deep brown eyes looked directly into yours as if searching for something. “You’re doing great,” He said, then grinned. “You’re kind of a badass.”

Your eyes flinched at the compliment. Your brows sunk as your heart skipped a beat. A badass? You?

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat 2021 #liu kang #kung lao #raiden #reader insert #fanfic #fic #reader x character #ludi lin #max huang #tadanobu asano #new beginnings #reader x liu kang #reader x kung lao #liu kang x reader #kung lao x reader

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simonsrosebud · 3 years

Text

Kevin's first real christmas with dalton!!

kevin says he’s celebrated christmas before, but it’s not true.

sophomore year he spent it locked in wymack’s apartment with a broken hand and ongoing anxiety attacks.

junior year he went to new york with matt and nicky and the others which was weird because they didn’t actually do anything christmas-y and he was drunk for a lot of the trip.

and last year he had dinner with abby, his father, and andrew and neil. but then neil was having a panic attack because this time the year before he was at evermore. they left early and kevin ducked out because he didn’t want to intrude.

then he spent the whole next few days panicking over meeting dalton’s family.

this year, his last year at palmetto, dalton asks if he wants to spend christmas in maryland with him and his family.

there’s no question, of course he’s going.

dalton tells him when they’re at the mall about all the things they do, and how they’ll go to new york again if he’s okay with it. and then, “what do you guys normally do for the holidays?”

kevin freezes. he thumbs at a shirt on the rack in front of him. “uh... last year me neil and andrew had dinner with my father and abby, but neil was having some ptsd relating to this time of year, so it was kind of a mess...”

“that sucks. for him, i mean.”

“yeah.” he nods. it does suck, and kevin still blames himself. “and the year before i went to new york with the team to matt’s dads place, but i was drunk most of the time,” he mumbles.

dalton feels like an idiot for asking, “and before?”

kevin shakes his head. broken hand.

“we ran practices every day of break at the nest. never celebrated any holidays growing up.”

he did have one thing he did every year. he lit a candle for his mother. he didn’t realize it until his first christmas away from the nest, when he was hidden at wymack’s apartment and noticed the man didn’t have a single candle lying around.

he sparked wymack’s lighter and sent up a quick prayer instead.

dalton slides up to his side and wraps an arm around his waist. “i’ve got to impress you this year, then.”

“the bars set pretty low.”

when dalton’s on the phone with his mom that night, he tells her about kevin’s lack of experience with the holidays. “have you done the tree yet?”

“i was planning on doing it tomorrow, why?”

“do you think we could wait and do it all together when me and kev are there?” he hesitates. “he’s never really celebrated christmas and done the typical traditions, and i know he wants to cause his mom used to.”

anne’s heart wants to break a little. “i’ll save it until you get home. and he’ll be here in time to make cookies, too.” oh boy. “you guys can go ice skating if that one place does it again- you know the one, and uh... should we get him a stocking?”

“me and bella got him a present!”

“is that carm?”

“yes!” she steals her mothers phone. “he always pays for things for us when he’s here so we got him this peanut butter sampler pack and an ocean city maryland crewneck.”

dalton pouts, but only because it’s cute to him that they did that for his boy.

when they drive up, dalton’s family welcomes him like they haven’t seen him in years, and it makes kevin smile every time. they don’t get in until late, but bella still peeks into dalton’s room once they’re in bed for the night. “did you bring your racquet?”

kevin’s got his eyes closed, he’s tucked underneath dalton’s big comforter and arm with an ankle thrown over his boyfriend’s. he hums a yes.

dalton grumbles. “shut the door, bella.” and tugs the blanket up to his chin.

they wake up earlier than they’d like. anne and george are at work, and the girls are still asleep. he has dalton at his back and an arm holding him close.

kevin doesn’t ever want to move.

he only does when dalton’s phone alarm goes off. “what’s that for?” he groans. dalton reaches over him to shut it off and drapes his arm and leg right back over kevin.

dalton’s voice is muffled. “shopping day.”

oh fuck. he knew d had said something about shopping yesterday.

it takes them another half hour to get up, and kevin hates the mall to begin with, but this is unbearable. he’s just lucky they’re there a week out and not the day before christmas eve.

kevin stops. they’re in a clothing store, and he’s wandered to the women’s side. he sends a few pictures to allison, and when dalton come over he holds up a fuzzy bomber jacket and an oversized jean jacket. “for the girls?”

“i already got their gifts.”

“but from me?”

“oh.” dalton smiles. “then absolutely. did you already text allison?” he’s joking, but laughs when kev shrugs because that’s so a yes.

anne has the family decorate the tree that night after dinner- takeout, and kevin is kind of in heaven looking through dalton’s ornaments from when he was a child.

“you wanna put the star on top?”

their ceilings are high enough for them to have a fake tree tall enough for kevin to not be able to reach, which is definitely a first for him.

so instead, he gets on dalton’s shoulders.

after they’re done, anne sits next to kevin on the sofa. “you know, i never did the thing where i show you all of dalton’s baby pictures, but i did find this yesterday.”

and kevin turns to look at the book in her lap, and smirks. “no way.”

it’s a small book, with all of dalton’s school picture day photo’s going back to kindergarten. “this is better, i think.”

dalton stops, and lets his head roll back. “can we not?”

“no, we can.” kevin takes the book and opens it up to a random page.

“you’re not allowed to mention the braces.”

“but they’re so bad!”

christmas eve is fun.

kevin is no cook, dalton is and even then that’s saying something, but anne puts kevin to work after he’s up in the morning. they’ve got a lot of family coming over around six, and she needs help in the kitchen.

he’s doing pretty alright, he thinks, and his face lights up when anne tastes a bit and pats his arm. “that’s really good.” it’s a passing thought, and she leaves right after to make a run to get more of something at the store.

but when dalton comes back from the alcohol run, kevin’s plenty proud of it anyway.

and then, because he’s already dirty from cooking anyway, he helps dalton’s father with stuffing the turkey. “you actually stuff it?”

he knows it’s called stuffing, but he’s never actually seen it prepared. or eaten it, he doesn’t think. abby doesn’t make it for thanksgiving or anything because only she and nicky typically eat it. it goes to waste.

george nods. “stick your hands up there, kid.”

kevin lowers his stare to dalton just sitting there across the table. he grins. “you’re doing great, babe.”

kevin takes a shower after he’s done while the others do what else needs to be done.

once dalton’s family starts filtering into the house it’s a little chaotic. in a good way, opposed to the way that he typically knows chaotic to be.

he’s fine, really, once he gets used to it.

at this point they all know who exactly dalton’s boyfriend is, but kevin only recognizes a few faces so he still gets the excited introductions from the few that are fans.

two of them are younger kids, anyway, so that’s at least entertaining and cute.

dalton comes to stand with kevin and his cousin. “can i steal him for a sec?” he takes him by the hand to the other room where the two younger cousins are lounging. “dessert is out, guys.”

they go running out of the room.

“that was cruel,” kevin says, but then dalton is holding something above their heads and-

mistletoe.

“are you sure?”

kevin smiles. “i take it back.” and pulls dalton in.

dalton grins against his lips, and after a moment pulls away just a bit. “that’s not actually why i pulled you away, but i got lucky.”

kevin kisses him again, because he can, and dalton turns. there’s a ledge above the unused fireplace that his mom usually uses for picture frames, but there’s a candle in the middle, now.

“you’ve told me about lighting a candle for your mom, and i figured maybe you’d still want to do it even though you’re here this year.”

he definitely does, and dalton presents him with a lighter when he nods. kevin lights it silently, and watches it for a moment. “thank you,” he says quietly. “i know you listen, but i didn’t expect that...” he wraps his arms around dalton’s waist. “it’s really nice.”

“yeah, well, i’ve got to impress her.” he kisses the top of kevin’s head.

christmas morning, kevin looks surprised when bella says “kevin’s turn” because he really isn’t expecting to get gifts. he has money, he doesn’t need anything.

but then he opens the peanut butter sampler package, and after taking a moment to read it he starts to smile to himself. “i love peanut butter.” it’s almost a whisper, but it makes everyone laugh and sends warmth through his chest.

he hugs the box to his chest. dalton hugs him from the side for a moment, and then kevin gets more surprised because dalton’s parents are handing him a bigger box and oh my god it’s a little portable mixer for his shakes and a nike gift card.

he and dalton do their gifts alone.

dalton gets him a big chunky weighted blanket and a new pair of sneakers that he’s been eyeing for weeks, and then kevin unwraps a small frame. and in the middle is the ticket to the first game of kevin’s that he’d gone too, with a heart drawn on the corner so many times that it’d been indented the ticket.

he remembers teasing him about the heart, but he never knew he kept the ticket all this time.

kevin tackles him from where they’re sitting on the bed. “i love it, and you.”

kevin gets dalton airpods, sweatpants that say “my boyfriend likes my tramp stamp” on the butt as a joke, and a box of his favorite coffee k-cups from a brand that supposedly stopped selling them months ago.

and last, a thin gold necklace, long enough to tuck under his shirt like he used to do with his cross necklace until it broke. except this one has a small “k+d” hanging.

dalton’s smiling down at it, and rubs the charm. he pouts and looks up at kevin. “you got this made?” he nods. “can you put it on me?”

he nods, and drapes it around his neck to clasp it. he presses a kiss to the back of dalton’s neck when he’s done, and dalton kisses him when he twists around.

“i love you.” he wraps his arms around kevin’s neck and leans into him. kevin lies down on his back so dalton’s on top of him. he thumbs at the necklace hanging.

“looks good on you.”

dalton kisses him. “i know.”

they have dinner at dalton’s aunts house. it’s just her, her husband, and her two kids, so it’s nothing like the night before.

wymack calls just after dinner. “merry christmas. what are you doing?”

“merry christmas, we just ate, we’re at his aunt’s house.”

“everything going good? no problems?”

he glances through the doorway at dalton at the table and smiles to himself. “no problems.”

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greenbriar-j · 3 years

Text

Muscle Memory, full wip, unedited 4.7k, scroll at ur own risk; tagging some people who showed previous interest @halleiswriting @chazzawrites @pe-ersona @druidx and also @pens-swords-stuff this is what I’ve been up to lately

Saint Joseph’s Catholic Church bustles with activity. It’s peculiar, for it being a weekday. More peculiar still that the bustling is being done by young men and women who could very well be engaging in… more satisfying summer indulgences.

The Youth Group’s power couple sweeps in an hour late, ever put together even when, by all rights, they ought to be melting right out of their fancy outfits. Cheers rise from the crowd when they appear, each splitting off in their own directions to their own stations.

Y Nhi beelines for the painters, flicking her sleek ponytail to make sure it’s out of the way. The girls hand her a brush while detailing what’s left to be done. Vinny bustles for the sound technicians - who, really, are already done for the day, but are staying for the social factor.

Two things to note about St. Joseph’s power couple:

Y Nhi isn’t sure she believes in God very much anymore.

They are not a couple, but it’s easier to let everyone think so than to correct it.

“Jude,” Mary says (everyone calls her Jude because she and Vinny made a big deal of it years ago), “Are you sure you can’t help out during the week?”

Y Nhi shrugs. She’s not busy or anything, but it feels wrong to shepherd children into a religion she’s falling out of - even if Vacation Bible School had been one of her favorite summer memories for her entire life. That’s where she met Vinny, after all.

Vinny, laughing with the guys at the sound booth. To be more accurate, Vinny himself is only smirking, but that’s as close to a laugh as he gets around here. Stupid smirk. Stupid boy.

“I have work. Unfortunately,” Y Nhi mutters, dragging her brush across a cardboard cutout. “Vinny’s taking the week off, so I’m picking up his slack.”

Mary grins widely at that. “I swear it’s like you’re married.”

For whatever reason, Y Nhi’s heart clenches at that. Picturing herself and Vinny in wedding attire on the altar sickens her, but putting a faceless someone in her place makes her feel worse. But it’s not like she likes him. She’s sworn to herself that she’d become a cat lady in her old age - her army has already begun with a fluffy black kitten. It’s not looking too good for her future; Toothless likes Vinny more than her. She’s already failed as a parent.

Belatedly, Y Nhi realizes she’s supposed to be engaging in a conversation, not thinking about Vinny and their co-parenting of a cat. If it can be called that.

“Don’t hold your breath. The wedding is a long way off,” she says tightly. Like. Never. Never is a long, long way off.

“I wouldn’t be too sure.”

This time, Y Nhi lets the comment slide. She paints while singing under her breath, as she always does. A long time ago, she had no qualms about belting it out, but time has weathered away her volume, reducing it to only this. No one’s noticed the change or found it strange.

The conversation turns to something - anything - else. Degrees, internships, other boys who don’t dress in all black and aren’t named Vincent Truong. Y Nhi listens, but doesn’t contribute.

By the time the call goes out for a lunch break, Y Nhi is finishing three tasks at once. One of the other girls brings her a burger, slathered with ketchup and mayo and tomatoes. Y Nhi thanks her and continues wrapping one of the white pillars in cardboard paper to simulate a palm tree.

Not long after, someone nudges her. Eyes flickering upward, she’s met with the bored eyes of her very best friend. “Bite.”

She doesn’t, not yet.

Vinny wiggles the burger he’s holding in front of her mouth. “Only half a slice of cheese. No tomatoes. Freshest patty of the batch. Eat.”

She still doesn’t take the bait, even though he’s tailored this burger to her weirdly specific tastes.

Vinny sighs. “Jude. No one’s watching you. I promise all they can see is my back.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” It’s true she had a complex about eating in public for a while, for reasons she’s never told anyone including him. “Just not hungry.”

“Not very Gucci of you to lie in the house of God.”

“Not very Gucci of you to breathe.”

“Jude! The fuck, man.” But he’s grinning. Not the half-assed grin he gives everyone else, but an honest, mirthful grin reserved for Toothless and Y Nhi only (usually Toothless. Damn cat).“Just eat this, okay? I’ll eat the other one.” His whole demeanor softens as he picks up the burger she had ignored - the one that is surely cold by now.

She is hungry. After all, the reason they were late is because Vinny had to coax her to every step of getting ready this morning. He even applied her eyeliner with the even strokes of a practiced hand - so practiced that even Y Nhi admits it looks like her own work. If she had a choice, she would waste away in bed for the day, but Vinny has never been much of a fan of that plan.

According to her own plan, Y Nhi had been wasting away since before yesterday’s dinner. Famished might be a better word to describe her present state.

But today is one of those days that she feels guilty cementing the married couple narrative any more than it needs to be. They’re not getting any younger, Vinny and Y Nhi, and just because she’s sworn off marriage doesn’t mean he has. How’s he supposed to get a nice girlfriend if she keeps hanging around?

Objectively, it’s a stupid reason to risk passing out in a church of all places, but something about him just makes her stupid. Always has.

The longer she ignores his peace offering, the twitcher he gets. He finishes his own burger in ten massive bites. When Y Nhi still doesn’t eat hers, he eats that whole thing too. “We’re leaving early. Say an hour? Think about what you want to eat.”

With that, he’s gone. Y Nhi is not hyper aware of his presence as it moves through the open space. She does not miss having him next to her. Not even a little.

Y Nhi writes, appetite??? in her journal when she gets home. It’s the third time something of this nature has appeared on its list which isn’t titled - but if it was it would be something like “Things About Vinny T. that Don’t Make Sense.”

Even after inhaling two burgers, he took her out for pho and Thai tea, and he ate so slow that his noodles expanded in the broth. Still, he finished a medium bowl with relative ease, and Y Nhi was content after she’d finished a small.

How does someone who eats like that look like that? It has to be some sort of stupid freaky metabolism. Genetic polymorphism, she thinks, then adds that she might be incorrectly using the term she’d heard in class about two semesters ago.

She writes freeloading on the list. It’s not technically true, but he spends enough time at her place to make it feel like it. Right this minute, he��s setting up the living room to sleep in, awaiting her delivery of the overnight bag he always leaves stocked in her apartment for emergencies.

That goes on the list too. Definition of ‘emergency.’

According to recent months, an alarming amount of things fit under this category of Vinny’s mind. It might be nearing time to stage an intervention, but who’s Y Nhi to tell him to relax when she’s the one bordering on anxiety attacks all the time? Only god knows how many times he’s clutched her shaking hands until they stopped.

Y Nhi closes the journal. Snaps the band over the cover. Shoves it under her pillow. Vinny wouldn’t dare read it to begin with, but for some reason, she doesn’t even want him to know of its existence.

Quickly divesting herself of the impeccable outfit she’d worn for the day, she slips easily into one of Vinny’s large, large shirts and the shorts she affectionately calls game day shorts. Ever since high school, she’s worn them for events that require equal amounts of comfort and courage - or just for comfort, to be honest.

“Hey, loser,” she greets Vinny, emerging from her room. He’s got her guitar in hand, and is humming some tune that she recognizes but can’t place. “Your stuff is on my bed. Have you seen Toothless?”

He nods, and keeps playing. It’s in experience, being stared at with such intense eyes while trying not to stare at the other party’s stupid pretty hands playing her guitar. Fuck him, honestly, she thinks angrily.

Leaving him there, she pours each of them a glass of water in the kitchen. A shadow looms on top of the fridge, and she jumps. “Toothless, baby. Please stop napping on the fridge.”

Toothless is not napping. He stands up, shakes his tiny body and hops to the counter, then to the floor, twining around Y Nhi’s feet before scuttling off.

Vinny is singing now. It’s a new song, she supposes, and it sounds like a love song.

Slowly, Y Nhi moves around the kitchen, making as little noise as possible while doing absolutely nothing. She just wants to listen to Vinny and his new love song without him watching her reaction.

Once she gets past the lyrics about gentle touches and midnight escapades, she realizes something. Re-entering the living room, she deposits his water on the table. “Is that my melody? Why would you steal it?”

The guitar is placed awkwardly on the floor, the neck of it leaning on the couch. “Oh, is that where it’s from? Thought it was familiar,” he says with mild disinterest. “Well, I wasn’t that attached to it anyway.”

“Are you saying it sucks?” Y Nhi settles on the floor on the other side of the table, pulling her knees into her chest. Glancing through her lashes, Y Nhi watches Vinny’s expressions.

“I’m saying I’m not taking your work, you brat.” Then he hesitates. “I mean. Can I, just for one person?”

“What the fuck.”

Vinny twitches, finally. “I… Wrote the song for someone… So I’d like to sing it for her, just once.”

Something vile rises in her throat, and she wishes Toothless would notice her distress. Hugging the cat might make her feel a little better about the fact that Vinny’s written a song about a girl using her melody - and it’s not about herself and for some odd reason, that bothers her.

“Can- Can I hear it?” Y Nhi asks in a tiny voice. It’s easier than No, you cannot take my song to sing to some other girl who will take you away from me.

“Haven’t you been hearing it?”

“Vincent.” Because that’s easier than You colossal idiot, what shit are you pulling after two years?

“Jude-”

She stands suddenly, fleeing to her room. Shutting the door, locking it, she tries to breathe. Of all people, Vinny should be the last person to push her to this reaction. She doesn’t know what to think.

Vinny knows.

Vinny knows where her hard limits are. Technically, he hasn’t passed them. But he’s pretty damn close.

Y Nhi slips into the shower, leaving it on the hottest setting to boil the emotions out.

For the next two days, Y Nhi doesn’t emerge from her room. Her phone dies, and she lets it. Her body self-destructs in hunger and dehydration from crying, and she lets it. She stays in bed for most of it. Whether Vinny continues to sleep on the other side of the wall for those nights, she doesn’t know. Nor care.

It’s punishment for believing she might be ready to give love another chance.

The third day, a letter slips under her door.

She almost flushes it down the toilet without reading it. Everything is in position to do so, paper fluttering in unsteady hands above the toilet bowl. But she wants to know. What can Vinny possibly say for himself?

Jude. I wrote the song for you. I didn’t mean to steal your tune - honest to god, I didn’t. But when I found out, I thought it was fitting that we’d worked on it together. (“Together”)

Jude, the song is up to your interpretation, but it’s yours. I wrote it from my core, and it’s yours. Charge your fucking phone and check the lyrics I sent you.

Take a shower, and call me when you’re ready. You have a few days’ worth of takeout in the fridge. Please take care of your health; I know you’re not right now. I mean it in the best way.

It cuts off there. Unceremonious and blunt, and so very him. She hates it very much.

Y Nhi charges her phone while she showers. Working quickly because she’s so unsteady on her feet, she does the bare minimum before stumbling into the kitchen for food.

While she nibbles on the stir fried noodles he left, she pens her own note.

Vinny,

I will not read the lyrics. I don’t want to know, and you don’t have to pretend it’s about me.

Your joke took two years to reach completion. Congratulations. I hope I was amusing and that my downfall wall be the stunning conclusion you wanted.

She tapes it on her front door so he’ll see it the next time he comes over. Soon, probably.

Momentarily, she wonders if she’s being rash. Is it so impossible to think that he could find romantic attraction to her?

Then she remembers. Y Nhi is not built to be loved, if her history is anything to go by. Even if she’s wrong, even if Vinny loves her for real, she will resist. Losing him this way is better than the alternative: watching him dissolve to some monstrosity while loving her.

Nothing changes after that. Apart from Vinny’s absence from her apartment, they interact in exactly the same way.

Vinny says something borderline rude.

Y Nhi retorts with something blatantly rude.

They laugh about it and move along.

There are no gentle touches to avoid because Vinny rarely touched her to begin with - despite the way he slings his arm around everyone else, he wasn’t like that with her. No arm around her shoulder, no hugs, not even extended contact with her hair.

Y Nhi pretends not to notice when he goes through a full dinner with an arm draped over the back of his friend Justin’s chair. He leans on it, adding the tiniest space between himself and Y Nhi. He still passes her the condiments and spices she likes before she asks for them. He takes her home at the end of it.

This should be enough. Up until now, it always had been. These tiny acts were his long distance hugs. It had always been enough, but now it isn’t, and Y Nhi doesn’t know what to do.

Isn’t this what you wanted? For him to get a life away from you?

“How’s that girl?” She asks on the way home, just because the silence is killing her and perhaps because she’s a masochist. “The one you wrote the song for?”

Vinny looks at her for a brief moment, something like grief in his eyes. It’s a confusing expression. “She hasn’t really talked to me since.”

Y Nhi tries not to sit straighter at this revelation. “Oh, really? Hm. That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

Something about the word is profoundly heartbroken. She can almost feel the emotions hurtling off him in waves, but he doesn’t lash out at her. All it does is enclose each passenger of the car in a separate bubble. This is the closest they’ve been in a long time, but Y Nhi has never felt so isolated.

Her throat constricts, and her hands start to shake. “Do you… Know why?”

Vinny thinks for a moment, tapping his fingers on the wheel. “I think she doesn’t believe me. But I don’t really think it’s me, I think she thinks that love is meant for everyone except herself. She’s pretty bent on self-destruction now, as far as I can tell - No, don’t say anything yet.”

Every girl Vinny’s talked to in the last week pops up in her mind. Which of them seems most self-destructive? If she can’t keep herself by his side, he should at least have someone who can care for him. She could talk to them, probably, if she knew who it was.

“I… She thinks this is sudden, but I’ve been in love with her since I was fifteen. Or something. Like it kind of just happened over time, and I thought she knew.”

Fifteen means Vinny’s been futilely in love with someone else while she fell for the guy who ended up cheating on her.

They were happy in high school. It was college that broke them. Distance. The communications became less frequent in an inverse relationship to Y Nhi’s alcohol intake. Her grades suffered, and she convinced herself that she was too stupid for higher education. On his birthday, she drove for hours to his dorm to surprise him, only to find him making out with another girl. Sober.

Not that any level of inebriation could excuse him, but perhaps it would’ve hurt a little less.

Vinny isn’t done. “I fucking cut fruit for her every time we hung out. I did her dishes sometimes. I don’t know, I- I thought I did everything right. My mom thought I was doing everything right.”

“You tell your mom about your love life?”

Y Nhi doesn’t. Her parents don’t care enough to know anything about it beyond that she let go of a future doctor and that she’ll never find another because she’s past her prime. That’s what it feels like, anyway.

She’s literally twenty four. She has time.

“Not really. But they’ve met.” Vinny parks the car in front of her apartment, but he makes no move to get out or to let Y Nhi get out. “Jude, listen to me.”

“I’m listening,” she says. Training her eyes on her kitchen window, she thinks about the dishes she hasn’t done yet, the fruit she hasn’t cut yet, and how she hates thinking about it because it reminds her Vinny is fading.

Human adaptability is a remarkable thing. One more week, and this new normalcy will cement itself.

“The girl I love is you. Okay? I’ve walked around the topic for years, and I understand if you’re still not ready for it. But I know you’re getting the wrong idea in that head of yours. It’s you, and it’s always been you, and I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it if you let me. I’ll also bow out forever if that’s what you need from me. But I need you to talk to me. I-”

Holy shit, is he about to cry? With wild eyes, she glances at him. If she’s made him cry, he’ll return the favor five-fold. No, she backtracks. That’s not Vinny. That’s the behavior of her second ex, the one that reduced her to a stiff puppet of a girl.

“Come back to me,” he says in a small, strangled voice. “I don’t even care if you break me in the process, but please come back to me. You can do whatever you want, as long as you do it by my side.”

For the longest moment, they say nothing. Then Y Nhi opens the car door. “Can you cut my strawberries for me? They taste better when you cut them.”

Vinny washes her dishes and her strawberries and quarters the already small fruit for her. He deposits the snacks in front of her and watches her eat - slowly, since they’ve just come back from dinner, after all.

“So it’s me?”

“Always has been.”

“And you never said anything.”

“I did. You ignored it on purpose.”

“No, I’m just a stupid hoe.”

“You’re not stupid. Or a hoe.”

“You’re always calling me stupid.”

“Not like that, stupid.”

“You’re going to have to undo a lot of damage if we date.”

“I know. I’ve been working on it already, didn’t you notice?”

“Yeah, but it’s gonna get worse if we date.”

“Have you considered therapy?”

“Vinny, I’ll be a pariah.”

“A happy one, maybe.” Hesitantly, he reaches for one of her hands. Halfway, he flips the palm up and waits for her to complete the gesture on her own. “You don’t have to decide right away. It’s just a thought.”

She puts her hand in his a little too eagerly, then pulls back a little too harshly. It feels like touching the flame of a candle.

A defeated look momentarily crosses Vinny’s eyes, but Y Nhi barely has the time to look at it before she steels her nerves and takes hold of his hand again. The coldness of his rings grounds her somehow. “We need a list,” Y Nhi says, “of things. First, you’re going to Google touch starvation.”

Her best friend jerks in a little victorious motion, jamming his knee unceremoniously on the table leg as he does. “Fuck, that hurt.”

“What was that about?”

“I wasn’t sure if you were actually touch starved or if you didn’t like men touching you.”

“And you didn’t ask?” Y Nhi is incredulous.

“How am I supposed to ask? ‘Jude, when I touch you, does it remind you of your sleazy ex boyfriends?’ You’d say no. Like a liar. Or so I thought.” He pauses. “Anyway, this means I can hug you now, right? 24/7.”

“If you ease into it.”

“And you’ll stop wearing those gigantic shirts that literally drown you.”

“...No. What?”

“Okay, never mind, nothing. What else? What other boundaries do we have?”

Of all questions she’s been asked today, this one is probably the most confusing. Her previous relationships are no help; she hasn’t exactly had the best exposure to “healthy relationships.” She’s aware that the bare minimum counts as decadence for her, so the question has her a little frozen.

After watching her face flicker through whatever emotions it’s displaying, Vinny rubs a thumb over her knuckles. “How about this: I have a specific thing I want your help with, and when things come up, we can talk about it.”

Y Nhi nods, though they both know she won’t talk about shit. But perhaps watching Vinny sort out whatever issue he needs sorted will give her inspiration on how to approach this. “Can we-?” She starts and stops abruptly.

Vinny blinks, then feeds her a strawberry slice. “Go ahead.” It’s a tactful move. Putting food in her mouth means she has to chew, meaning she has a few more seconds to gather herself and her thoughts, or at the very least, the desire to continue speaking.

“Can we not label this?” She finishes. “Whatever is between us.”

To her surprise, Vinny nods and acts like she hasn’t asked the bitchiest question of the night. “Sure.” You can do whatever you want, he’d said, as long as you do it by my side.

“And… Get rid of Jude.”

“What?”

“Jude. You remember why I picked that name?”

“Because of some fictional fairy queen that had the same name? You thought she was a conniving boss ass bitch and-”

“Shut up. Saint Jude. Patron saint of?”

Technically speaking, he hasn’t been wrong about the fairy queen bit. Unlike the suckers who fell for Cardan Greenbriar, Y Nhi’s wimpy ass was all in for Jude Duarte, mortal queen of the fae. And it was easier to admit that than to admit the truth that was dawning on Vinny’s face in 3… 2...

“Hopeless causes,” Vinny answers easily. Then his expression sobers. “Oh.”

Y Nhi nods. “But the me with you isn’t a hopeless cause. I don’t want her to be, anyway.”

There’s a lot that goes unsaid, but she’s certain Vinny hears it. Logically, she can’t keep relying on whatever instinct says, He’ll understand because he’s Vinny, but up to this point, it should work out okay.

Gently, he says, “Y Nhi,” reacquainting himself with the syllables of her given name. “Y Nhi.”

“Yes, Vinny?” She says just as gently.

He lowers his voice to a husky whisper, “You’ve never been a hopeless cause. You were a cause for hope.”

Vinny’s request is this: that Y Nhi teach him to be soft again.

The request makes her question if she and Vinny exist in the same dimension because who the hell convinced him he wasn’t soft? Hardened, prickly souls don’t master winged eyeliner for the sake of their loved ones. They don’t volunteer extra hours at Vacation Bible School while working graveyard shifts at the hospital. Don’t do the dishes because as much as they hate them, their roommate hates them more.

Vinny is soft, and Y Nhi is out for blood. “I need names, Vincent. And addresses if you have them.”

“My ex,” he says.

An awkward sound emerges from Y Nhi’s throat.

He raises an eyebrow at her. “What? I dated around. Didn’t think I should be hung up on you, but nothing ever went as planned. Anyway, my one ex did a really good job making me become someone I wasn’t. I didn’t like the person she made me, but it was kind of too late to turn around.”

Again, Y Nhi is confused. The narrative is promising, though, so she lets him continue in hopes that it’ll clear something up.

“If you don’t know me, how would you describe me?”

“Vinny.” She doesn’t have an answer, she just doesn’t want to say it. It’s not all good, and they just came back from an awkward fight. Was it a fight?

They’ve slipped back into their normal existence so easily. Nothing has changed, but at the same time, everything has.

“Just- The rings and the black and the tattoos. You’d think I drove a motorcycle or something, right?”

“You drive a Lexus. It’s the same in terms of your fuck boy vibes.”

“Y Nhi!”

“BMW would’ve sealed the deal. How many Hennessys do you drink a night, again?”

A pout settles on his face. She likes this version of him. “I see you get my point. I look like a baddie.”

“Yeah. Bad at life.”

“I swear to god.”

“Don’t do that, that’s a sin. Don’t use the lord’s name in vain and all.”

“Anyway. You of all people know I am soft, actually. She didn’t like that. And so I gained a second personality and-”

It’s rude, the way Y Nhi interrupts, but Vinny doesn’t seem to mind at all. “So if you’re always soft, what’s left for me to help you with?”

“You’ll see,” he says. “Actually. No, I’m going to tell you. I get embarrassed about my relationships. So if it ever looks like I’m pushing you away… I’m just really fucking embarrassed, at least for this first stage. Do what you will with that.”

- bonus/epilogue -

They return home for Y Nhi’s mom’s birthday. They’ve always rode home together, since they are neighbors no matter where they are. No one finds it odd that they hold hands more than before, that Y Nhi is still averse to touching everyone but him.

They appear at social events hanging on each other’s arms. Commentary about their status as a “married couple” breeze over their heads, but they never confirm nor deny anything. In public, they remain aloof to each other. They show tenderness in only the smallest of gestures.

In private, they are as they ever were. Vinny still does her eyeliner on her bad days, but now she cuddles him on the couch on his bad days. Between the two of them, there are a lot of bad days, days when they almost threw in the towel.

But they didn’t. Instead, they’ve introduced all manner of pet names (Vinny’s favorites to use are love, darling, and lately, em. Y Nhi’s favorites are Vinny and anh). They write songs to each other, for each other, with each other. Every morning, they make the choice to keep loving each other the way they have since they were fifteen - and while they joke that they wasted so much time, it was a necessary time for them to spend apart to learn how to exist together and how to choose each other even when it’s the harder choice than letting go.

Even I get lonely too

It’s not hard

Every question’s got an answer

And mine is you

Where you go then I will follow

All my life

You’re the name that I will whisper to the night

#musclememory.wip #it turned out differently than planned #but I hope you enjoy it!

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ardett · 3 years

Text

all dead hearts to you

Description: George and Dream have never met in person. It isn’t a problem until Dream calls George to tell him he’s going to kill himself.

check this out on Ao3 if you wanna be cool!

Author’s Note: Not me crashing recklessly into another fandom (also this is assuming sapnap went home to Texas after living with dream idk let me live)

title from Dead Hearts by Stars

also I'm new here, anyone wanna give me a welcome to the boys?

warnings: suicide warning (obviously) but no actual suicide, general anxiety and panic attacks

It’s 3am when George gets Dream’s call.

Late, but only really for him. It’s still before midnight in Florida, right around 10pm. He’d like to say that he’s so practiced with converting time zones that he doesn’t even have to think about it but he still has to count backwards on his fingers, thinking on the jump between late late nights and early mornings.

He’s still awake but the leds in his room have been turned to red, set to the dimmest mode. He was streaming with Quackity up until about half an hour ago and his room has settled back into quiet again.

He feels the thrum of anxiety as he hears the ringtone. Dream usually only calls him when George is about to sleep through something important or if he’s on the road. George wonders if he forgot something today or maybe he let something slip on his call with Quackity.

Now that it’s on his mind, he realizes that he hasn’t heard from Dream all day. Or yesterday?

They’ve both been busy, though George has been busy with the usual things and Dream said something about needing to put his affairs in order or whatever that meant. They usually text at least but even that has been quieter.

George grabs his phone off his desk and picks up the call.

“Dream. What’s up?” he asks. George runs a quick hand through his hair, checking his screen quickly. It’s a real phone call, not even a discord call. “Hey, I’m putting you on speaker. I’m gonna put on my pajamas.”

He’s about to set the phone on his dresser when Dream says, “Oh, I probably shouldn’t be on speaker.”

There’s something off in his tone. Something flat. It sets George’s nerves on edge.

“Yeah? Okay.” George tucks the phone back by his ear, slumping back on his bed. “Did you have something you had to tell me?”

“Yeah. George, I’m going to kill myself.”

Everything in George stills.

And then starts to spin.

“What?”

“I’m going to—”

“You’re not serious.” George jerks upright, ignoring the lightheaded feeling sinking its fingers into his skull. “Dream, this isn’t funny.”

“I don’t think it is. It’s just going to happen.”

There’s not even a tremor in Dream’s voice. George can’t feel anything past the bone deep shock in his system.

All he can think of is Dream, wrists bloody and split open. Dream, fingertips dusted white with the residue of unnamed pills. Dream, rope burns fracturing the long line of his neck.

Dream, dead.

How is he even going to do it? Is he actually going to do it? George wants to ask but then he realizes he doesn’t want to know.

He imagines the first time he sees Dream in person is when he attends his funeral.

He imagines all the words he’s held in for so long, waiting and waiting for the moment he could say them to Dream face to face, finally being said to dead air.

But George can’t say that so all he manages is an obstinate, “No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Stop disagreeing with me.”

“George,” Dream laughs. Laughs.

George feels dizzy with the disbelief swirling inside him. Surely this can’t be happening. What reason would Dream have to make this up though? Dream would never joke about something like this. Why is he laughing?

How can Dream be so casual when George’s world is shattering?

He doesn’t know what a future without Dream looks like.

They’ve always lived miles apart but Dream has never felt so far away. George has never felt like this. Like he couldn’t reach him.

“Dream.” Dream’s laugh cuts off as soon as he hears the plea in George’s voice. “Is something wrong? Are you— I can come there. I can be with you tomorrow. Sapnap can stay with you again. You don’t have to do this—”

“I know. But I want to. So I’m going to.” Any trace of mirth is gone. Dream sounds the same way he did when he decided he was going to break a world record or make YouTube work for him.

Determined. Steadfast. His voice has the steely confidence of knowing he won’t fail.

Usually it’s inspiring but now the familiarity of it just makes George sick. He’s never known Dream to be someone content with failure.

George's phone digs into his palm as his grip spasms. He tastes blood.

And he doesn’t even know why yet.

“What happened? Whatever it is, we can fix it.”

Dream sighs. “Nothing’s wrong, George.”

“There has to be something wrong. You can tell me,” George insists. Then he changes tactics and lies through his teeth. “I swear I won’t tell anyone else. We can work this out together, just the two of us. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“I already told you nothing’s wrong,” Dream repeats.

“Then why would you… do that?” George trips over the word, rephrases it instead.

And then Dream rips that tiny defense to shreds.

“You can say it you know,” Dream says. “I’m going to kill myself. You should probably get used to it actually. People are going to ask you about it. I’m sorry about that,” he adds as an afterthought.

The harsh, blunt words sting against George’s skin.

“Don’t apologize,” he strangles out. “Don’t apologize for that out of everything. Just don’t do it.”

“George,” Dream breathes, exasperated.

“I just don’t understand,” George begs. For the first time, his voice wavers.

Dream, cold gun in his cold hands. Dream, long limbs hanging over the railing of a bridge as he stares down. Dream, slumped over his table with a bottle of vodka nestled near his feet.

Dream, dead.

Dead.

“Don’t cry, okay?” Dream’s voice softens. George forgot how gentle Dream could be with him when he wanted.

“I didn’t want to make you cry. Look, it’s just…” Dream trails off. Eventually, he continues even quieter. “This is it, you know? This is the top, this is the peak. It can’t go on like this forever, crazy numbers on videos and trending on twitter and all that shit. I’d rather go out like this than wait to hit the bottom. Doesn’t that make sense?” Dream persuades.

“No,” George insists, all the air leaving his lungs at once.

“Come on, George. Can you even picture yourself growing old? What happens when we’re 30, 40, and all of this is gone. Do you want that?”

The sick part of it all is that George has imagined the future. He imagines it lovingly, not viciously. Not like this.

He imagined a future with Sapnap and Bad and Karl and Quackity but most of all with Dream. He wants so badly to be with him. Sapnap talked about living together, how great parts of it had been, how he would have stayed if he hadn’t had to return home for family, and George so selfishly wants that for himself.

And he’s always known that’s not what Dream pictured. Dream doesn’t want what he wants. Dream doesn’t want to grow old with someone, much less George.

Can you even picture yourself growing old?

It hurts because George can and he always wanted it to be with Dream.

“What are you even saying? Do you want me to kill myself too?” George bites. He scrubs viciously at his eyes and stabs at the power button of his computer, teeth piercing into his lip as he waits for it to turn on.

“No, no, of course not. I would never— Come on, that’s obviously not what I’m saying.”

George fumbles with his keyboard, pulling up his discord messages with Sapnap.

He just needs someone else to help him, someone else to know. Someone who can do what he can’t. Someone who isn’t as fucking helpless as him, who doesn’t live an ocean away and who has never seen Dream in person and has never touched Dream, not once, has never known what the sun feels like in Florida.

Of course he was lying when he said this was going to stay between the two of them.

This isn’t the kind of thing he can do alone.

George: Sapnap dream says hes going

George: to kill himself

George: you have to get someone to him

George: call 999

George: 911

Sapnap: what

George: please now sap Im on the phone with him

Sapnap: are you joking

George: no

George: do it

George: please fast now

“Are you typing?” Dream questions, a note of warning in his tone.

George jerks. “No, I—”

He’s cut off by a beeping from his phone.

His heart stops.

“What’s that sound?” Dream asks.

Sapnap is calling him.

George can picture him, knee jumping as he clutches his phone, hoping against hope that George is joking. He can practically hear the adrenaline trembling in Sapnap’s voice, can see the way Sapnap stands and paces.

He can’t answer though. He can’t leave Dream.

George declines the call, hand shaking.

“Who was that?” The question is flat.

“No one,” George says too quickly.

“No one?” Dream repeats. Only a second or two passes before George hears the same beep through his phone speaker, this time coming from Dream’s end. “Wow look who’s calling me. Sapnap. Wonder if he changed his name to No One,” Dream says without emotion.

Sapnap: fck are you serious

George bites his tongue, wincing.

“Dream—”

George: y

George can’t manage to type anything more before Dream snarls, “You’re such a fucking snitch, you know that? It’s fine though, I thought this might happen. I was gonna call him after you, for the record.” It almost sounds like Dream is smiling. George’s heart twists. Why is he smiling? “I know you have to try as a friend to save me, or whatever you want to call it, but you really don’t have to. I want to do this. I’m going to.

“It’s not like you could really stop me anyway,” Dream continues. “You don’t even know where I live. You barely know what I look like. What, are you going to ask the police to search the entire state of Florida?”

“Sapnap knows,” George whispers.

He tries to shake off the savagery seeping into Dream’s voice. He tells himself Dream is defensive, Dream is nervous, Dream is scared. Dream isn’t thinking about what he’s really saying.

Though things have never mattered before, the fact George has never been to Florida, that George has never seen Dream in person. But now Dream is weaponizing them against him, forcing George to acknowledge that for everything their relationship is, it can never replace an in person friendship. And Dream has always been a better fighter than George.

“No, he doesn’t. Me and Sap rented a house, remember? We never went to my house. I never sent him my actual address, I checked.” And Dream sounds so smug. Like he won.

George’s gaze darts back to his computer.

But he already knows Dream isn’t a liar.

Sapnap: I dont know his address

Sapnap: fuck

Sapnap: Im calling bad

Sapnap: dont let him hang up

“People are so dumb about it, you know? They tell all their friends and then they get caught before actually doing it,” Dream goes on, not paying attention to George’s disconsolate silence.

“But you’re telling me,” George mutters. Hopelessness strings through him.

Sapnap isn’t writing anything else. George can only hope Bad picked up.

“Yeah but you’re literally in another country. What are you going to do about it?”

George can’t manage any words. He doesn’t even know if he remembers how to breathe.

Dream is right, he always seems to be right. George just wishes it wasn’t about this. Anything but this. He has to believe that Sapnap and Bad will figure something out. He has to trust them.

“Just think about how many people are found before they actually do it,” Dream goes on in George’s quiet. “Because they can’t commit. Most people are cowards. It’s dumb honestly. Just do it or don’t.”

“Don’t then,” George whispers.

His eyes burn with unshed tears. His fingers spasm on his bedsheets.

He doesn’t know what Dream wants. Does he want George to beg? To get on his knees and plead with him to save his own life? Because he would in a heartbeat but he doubts it would make a difference.

Dream sighs. “I feel like you’re not listening to me, George.”

“No, I am.” George’s voice rises with his wrath. Suddenly all his terror and frustration comes to a bursting point. “I’m listening. I’m listening to you talk about killing yourself. I just think you’re wrong. I think it would be a lot fucking braver to stay alive even if your views go down, even if you’re not fucking famous, Dream. What the fuck? You’re a fucking coward for trying to leave!” George’s breaths heave through the staticy phone microphone. His fear and anger wind him.

There’s a moment of emptiness.

Then, lip curling, Dream says, “Trying to leave you?”

George chokes.

“What?”

“Don’t try and pull this card, George. That’s what you’re trying to say, isn’t it? I’m a coward for leaving everyone behind? For leaving you?”

Dream’s voice drowns out George’s. George flinches, though Dream can’t see it.

“Don’t be so fucking selfish. I hate that, you know that?” Dream growls. “Everyone thinks they’re enough to save someone all by themselves. Wow, the sheer force of your love just fucking yanked me back from the edge of a cliff, give me a fucking break,” Dream scoffs. George’s ribs feel tight. “You can’t just reverse psychology or guilt me out of this.”

“Jesus, Dream, is it so hard to believe that maybe I care about you and I don’t want you to fucking die?” George grits out.

The room swims before him. He can’t remember how to uncurl his fingers.

“Well it’s not up to you, is it?” Dream practically smirks.

And that’s it, isn’t it? The winning phrase. Because Dream’s right.

It’s not up to George.

George can only listen helplessly as Dream considers his own grave. He’s a constant witness to the storm that is Dream. He was always grateful to be dragged along in Dream’s hurricane winds and now he dreads the day they calm.

“You’re being cruel,” George murmurs. His aggression leaves him as soon as it came.

“I’m being honest,” Dream contends.

George sinks his head into his hands. “Why did you even call me then? To— to gloat?”

Dream’s voice goes low and quiet, vulnerable. George’s insides twist and melt and contort. “No, no, I just… I don’t know. I just wanted to talk to you one more time.”

“Don’t say that,” George hisses. The words are half muffled into his palms.

“Don’t say what?” Dream asks defensively.

“Don’t say one more time. You can’t— you can’t—'' It all hits George at once. He’s going to lose him.

He’s going to lose Dream.

Before he knows it, he’s sobbing into the phone, loud ugly heaving sobs. “Don’t do it, Dream. I’m serious. Please— Just wait for one of us to get there. We can be with you. We can help.”

Dream’s voice hardens again. “You mean you can stop me.”

“Dream—” George starts to beg, trying to figure out how to lie without Dream catching him.

But Dream beats him to it.

“I’m gonna hang up now—”

Panic rips through George. The shock of it physically hurts in his veins, in his heart.

“No!” he almost screams. “Dream, Dream, don’t hang up—”

“Oh my god, relax. I’m calling Sapnap. I’m not doing anything yet.” He can almost hear Dream rolling his eyes. It’s not comforting.

George sniffles. He knows it sounds pathetic. He’s not one for pity but if it gets Dream to keep talking with him, he’s willing to stoop to any low. He just doesn’t know if he can believe Dream.

“Can’t you just… stay on the phone with me?”

“What, forever? Is that your plan? Just keep me on the line until someone inevitably finds me somehow?” Dream mocks.

Yes.

“No,” George says instead because he thinks it’s what Dream wants to hear.

Dream switches tactics. George recognizes the persuasion in his tone.

“Don’t you want me to call Sapnap? Shouldn’t he also get the chance to talk with me?” Dream questions.

Guilts rests against George’s ribs.

Of course he wants Sapnap to get the chance to talk to Dream. What if this is their last chance to talk? But George is too selfish to think about it much.

“That’s not what you’re asking me. Don’t try and pull that shit. You’re asking me to hang up. You’re asking for me to say goodbye and I’m…” George’s voice drops, almost inaudible. “I’m not ready.”

“George…” Dream’s voice trails off. His next words are nearly silent, something bitter and mournful about them. “You know I love you, right?”

“I know,” George mumbles.

“Are you gonna say it back to me?” Dream demands. George doesn’t know what holds him back now but something does.

“You know I do, Dream, why—”

The dial tone rings in George’s ears.

Dream hung up.

Not even 30 seconds pass, not nearly enough for the abrupt end of their call to sink in, when George’s phone is ringing again. He fumbles with his screen but manages to pick up.

“George?”

George’s heart sinks. It’s not the voice he wants to hear. That he needs to hear.

“Bad?”

“Yeah,” Bad affirms. “Are you okay?”

“Am I okay? Am I—” George scoffs and it feels like it rips his throat. He feels like he wants to scream. Like he wants to punch a wall. Like he would give anything to be somewhere warmer right now. “No, I’m obviously not okay, Bad. He’s going to— to—”

“I know. Sapnap told me.”

Bad’s voice is collected, even. It just makes George more frustrated. How can everyone be so fucking calm about this?

“George, just try to take some deep breaths, okay?” George ignores the suggestion. “Sapnap is on the phone with Dream. He just hung up on me to talk to him. I’m driving there right now, okay?”

George pauses. Something cold washes over him. He doesn’t know yet if it’s relief.

“You’re— you’re driving to Dream?”

“Yes,” Bad affirms. “We just have to keep him talking to someone for the next hour—”

“Hour? Are you serious? That’s too long!” George knows he’s screaming now. He doesn’t care.

“George—”

“We have to call an ambulance, the police. There has to be someone we can call.”

George squeezes his eyes shut, trying to think of other ways they could possibly get there in time. He comes up blank. He can’t accept it. He can’t.

Dream, alone. Dream, bereft. Dream, dead.

“I know but I can’t— I was trying to tell you.” Bad’s words are muffled. It sounds like he’s biting the inside of his cheek. He confesses, “I don’t know his exact address. Sapnap is going to try and get it while he talks to him. I’m driving to Orlando and hopefully Sap knows it by the time I get there but we’re just—”

“No, no, no—”

George thinks of Bad arriving just in time to find Dream’s body still warm. He’s going to be sick. His chest hurts. His lungs burn.

“Try and take some deep breaths—” Bad placates as George speaks over him.

“I’m never going to talk to him again. He’s going to kill himself.” George is spiraling. He can’t stop himself.

“George, I’m going to get there in time.” But Bad doesn’t sound sure of himself. George zeros in on the weakness.

“You don’t know that,” George hisses.

“This is hard for all of us, George!” George startles at Bad’s yell. He’s heard Bad raise his voice before but never at him, never seriously. “I’m sorry,” Bad apologizes, words quieting again. George hears a sniffle through the phone.

Bad’s crying.

God, George is a terrible person. He didn’t even think to check in on Bad. Bad’s the one who might find Dream halfway there or already committed. He’s the only one who’s even close to being able to do something and maybe that’s the worst position to be in.

To be so close and lose a friend anyway.

“You don’t have to apologize. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t… I know it’s hard for all of us. I know you’re doing everything you can. You’re doing more than me.” George tries to laugh but it gets stuck in his throat. It’s not funny anyway.

“It’s going to be okay,” but it doesn’t even sound like Bad believes himself.

“I don’t think I can talk about this anymore,” George murmurs. He feels exhausted. There’s so much adrenaline coursing through him that it hurts. “Can we just talk about something else just… just for a little?” he begs. Like anything could distract him from this.

“Yeah George.” George can hear the sympathy in Bad’s voice. He’s too far gone for the pity to bother him. “Let me— Let me tell you about what I did this weekend on the SMP.”

George sucks in a sharp inhale. “Not— not the SMP. Can you talk about something else?”

“Of course,” Bad agrees easily. “So last Friday I went to visit my family…”

George lets Bad talk in the background. Every once in a while, one of them will sniffle or sob or take a breath that’s too shaky to be normal. Neither of them mentions it.

George listens to people walk past his window, their voices carrying up into the stars.

The noises of the highway drone on through his phone.

Bad drives.

George thinks about what it would be like to go on without Dream.

He’ll never be the same, he already knows. It will haunt him for years. For the rest of his life. The thought of being so close to someone and then losing them.

Death is natural. He knows that. But it’s the intentionality of it that aches the most. The idea that Dream would leave behind everything for something so painful and unknown.

And George just knows… part of him will die with Dream and never come back.

George doesn’t know who he’ll be with that part missing.

part 1/3, though the next update won’t really be an update but it will be soon

#dreamnotfound #dnf #just gotta get those tags out of the way #dream smp #fanfiction #dream smp fanfiction #dnf fanfic #tw suicide #mcyt #mcyt fanfiction #thewar #dream team #pls just go to Ao3 I'm begging you

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jombocostello · 4 years

Text

You’ll Never Be Alone Again (Polnareff x Reader)

Anonymous asked: would it b possible to request some angsty polnareff stuff 😳😳😳✌🏼❤️

I would like to formally thank you for sending me this request. I’ve had this idea for a couple months now and you finally inspired me to write it out! I really hope you enjoy it, it was certainly very fun to write. Thanks again!!

(I’m also gonna add a link to a Polnareff fanfiction I did back in April that fits this request too if you want to check it out!)

It's been a pretty busy day today. Ridiculously so, in fact. You and your fellow crusaders arrived in Cairo, Iggy went off on his own and defeated a stand user, and Kakyoin made his long-anticipated return from the hospital. And maybe most importantly - you now know where Dio is.

The seven of you stand outside of Dio's mansion, staring warily at the tall front gate. You can feel your heartbeat speed up in your chest as you realize what this means: you're truly going to have to fight Dio. Maybe even today. You've been building him up in your mind as this ultimate evil, who's virtually unkillable...and now you're going to have to kill him. You take a quick breath and fold your arms over your chest.

The others seem to share your feelings. Everyone looks either anxious, frightened, or some mixture of the two. No one wants to speak, so you all just turn your gazes to Joseph, who's at the front of the group.

He turns around when he realizes there are eyes on him, and he takes a deep breath. "...We shouldn't attack today," he finally says, and you feel your whole body relax. "We'll get a hotel tonight and move tomorrow, in the early morning. So that Iggy and Kakyoin can rest." You glance down at Iggy, whose leg is wrapped in bandages. He'd taken a horrible beating from whatever stand user had been guarding Dio's lair. Kakyoin seems alright, though you haven't seen him without those sunglasses yet. You wonder if his eyes are looking okay.

"Thank you, Mr. Joestar," Avdol says, breaking you from your thoughts. "I think a night in a warm bed will do all of us some good." Jotaro nods from beside him, somehow looking even more somber than he usually does.

"Of course. I agree." Joseph begins heading in the other direction, and you follow him, walking quickly to keep up with the group's long strides. After all this time, you're still in awe of the sheer height of these guys. Joseph and Avdol are speaking in hushed voices a ways ahead of you, and Jotaro and Kakyoin are doing some catching up as they walk. Kakyoin holds Iggy gently in his arms, and Iggy seems really pissed about it, but he puts up with it for the moment; his leg probably kills. That leaves you at the rear of the formation, all caught up in your thoughts.

"How are you feeling, (Y/N)?"

Oh. Polnareff. You look up when he speaks from just behind you. "Uh... I'm trying to work that out right now." He smiles a little at your reply and falls in step beside you. He doesn't walk as quickly as everyone else; he always tries to match your pace. "I'm just glad that we're gonna do it tomorrow."

He lets out a big sigh, nodding exaggeratedly. "So am I. I can't even begin to tell you how anxious I just was. I felt like my heart was going to explode."

You laugh a little. "Yeah, me too. It really sucked." You tuck your hands into your pockets. "Now we're just putting off that feeling until tomorrow, but... Whatever. One more normal night."

"Not just normal," Polnareff interjects, and you look back at him, raising your eyebrows. "One more great night! We've got to make it a night to remember, don't you think?"

You grin now, and you've almost completely been freed from the anxiety of a few minutes ago. "Yeah. That sounds like a great idea, Polnareff." He nods his head definitively and keeps walking, and as he turns away you do as well.

You're glad that Polnareff wants to spend tonight with you. You had figured that he would; you two have gotten along really, really well on this trip. You share a lot of traits, like your sense of humor, your confidence and sometimes smugness in your fighting abilities, and your semi-often moments of stupidity. Really, you just like goofing off together.

You hope you'll be able to do that tonight, if the two of you can push through the somber cloud hanging over the whole group.

After a bit more walking, you reach a nearby hotel. You step inside and sit down on a chair near the front desk, sighing. Joseph and Avdol head over to speak to the receptionist, and everyone else huddles around your chair.

Kakyoin seems a little tired of holding Iggy, so you outstretch your arms. "Hey, I'll take him." Kakyoin smiles gratefully as he hands you the little dog, who seems to have resigned to being carried like a baby. You set him on your lap and yawn, absentmindedly petting his smooth fur. Before you've even realized what you're doing, he reaches around and nips your hand. "Shit - what was that for?!" you yelp, looking down at Iggy with wide eyes. He just shrugs (as well as a dog can) and gets comfortable again.

"I told you that dog is an asshole," Polnareff says, pointing forcefully at the innocent little Boston terrier. "A very self-aware asshole."

You glower at the smug dog sitting in your lap and nod. "Yeah. Thanks for that, asshole dog." Kakyoin laughs a little at your insult, while the dog just rolls his eyes. You know he seems to terrorize Polnareff the most for some reason, but you have a feeling it's started to come from a place of love, even if Iggy would never admit it. Just as you're about to tease Iggy about his secret friendship, Joseph and Avdol return to the group.

"This place is packed," Joseph announces, jingling the keys in his hand. "We've got three rooms. We can divvy them up however we want." Joseph makes the first move by clapping his hand on Avdol's shoulder. "I'll be staying with Muhammad here!" Avdol smiles, with just the slightest tinge of exasperation in his face at Joseph yelling in his ear, and Joseph dangles the other two room keys in front of you.

"I'm sure I can guess who you're choosing, (Y/N)," he says, a teasing smirk on his face.

You roll your eyes and snatch a key out of his hand, tucking it into your pocket. "Yeah, I'll be staying with the second best stand user here." You look up at Polnareff and grin.

He pretends to be mortally hurt by your words, clutching his heart. "Second best? You wound me." He lets out a full laugh, one that you feel in your own chest, and your smile turns into something softer. "I'm kidding. I know you think just as highly of me as I do of you."

"I could tell, dude," you say to him, laughing under your breath. "But thank you. I'm glad you think that." You lean back in your chair, looking around at everyone else.

While you and Polnareff have been playing out your dumb little rapport, the final room assignment has been established. Jotaro and Kakyoin pick up their small luggage bags and turn towards the elevator. "We're going to head up now, Mr. Joestar," Kakyoin says, smiling politely at the older man. "I want to try and get to sleep early."

"Of course." Joseph nods and starts to wave goodbye, but before he does, he stops himself. "Wait! If you don't mind, Kakyoin, would you take those sunglasses off? I want to see how your eyes are."

Kakyoin's expression drops a bit, but as Joseph starts to tell him he doesn't have to, he nods. "Sure. I haven't checked a mirror in a bit, so I honestly don't know how they look." He takes a quick breath and removes his dark sunglasses.

They honestly look alright. His eyes themselves, other than being a little red, look fine, and the only noticeable changes to his face are the light pink scars that run above and below each eye. You smile at Kakyoin, who looks nervous. "Well, it looks alright to me. How are they feeling?"

He's thankful for your words, you can tell. "They've been getting better. Looking at light was pretty hard yesterday, but today it's improved a lot." He reaches out and places his hand on Joseph's arm, who looks up at him with raised eyebrows. "It's because of you that I've recovered this well. Thank you."

Joseph smiles softly, nodding. "Of course. Now you get some sleep." Kakyoin slowly brings his hand back to his side and heads for the elevator.

Jotaro turns to follow him, but before he does, he lowers his head a bit. "I'll see you guys tomorrow," he says gruffly. He won't look any of you in the eyes.

"You as well, Jotaro. I hope you sleep well." Avdol's voice is much smoother and soothing than Jotaro's, and Jotaro seems to appreciate his tone. After you all bid him good night, he follows Kakyoin to their room.

Now it's the four adults and the asshole dog left in the lobby. "They're not gonna be able to get any sleep right now," Polnareff says, frowning. "They both look stressed out of their minds."

Joseph sighs. "At least they'll have each other." He forces the frown from his face and paints a grin onto his features. "So, what are your plans for the evening? Avdol and I are going to get things sorted in our room and then head down to the bar."

You smile when you hear that; you'd been hoping for one last drink with these three. On a couple previous hotel visits, you, Joseph, Avdol, and Polnareff had shared drinks at the hotel bar, usually until the early hours of the morning. They each get a little...different after a few drinks, in their own ways, and you're sure you do too. Either way, it's always fun. "Well I'd love to join you guys. Polnareff?"

When you look over at him, you're surprised to find his eyes already firmly set on you. He's not wearing an expression you were expecting; his eyes have a far-away quality that you don't recall seeing in him very often. He shakes himself a bit and smiles, nodding vigorously. "Of course! Yes, that would be great." He picks up his bag and slings it over his shoulder. "Should we get going, (Y/N)?"

"Yeah." You stand, lifting Iggy with you. "Who are you staying with, you rude little dog?" you ask, squinting at him. He turns his head to Avdol and lets out a little yip, which doesn't really surprise you; he's probably the only guy in this assembly of people that doesn't annoy Iggy on a daily basis. "Okay." You hand the dog over to Avdol, who takes him carefully. As you pick up your own bags, you turn to Joseph. "See you soon, alright? You too, Avdol." They both wave to you as you and Polnareff walk to the elevator to head up to your floor.

You're the only two in the elevator, somehow. You punch in the number and lean against the wall, letting go of a deep sigh. "Thanks for rooming with me." You look up at Polnareff, who looks like he's feeling alright, considering the circumstances. "(Y/N), it's really been great getting to know you on this journey. You're my best friend here - well, you're really my best friend anywhere."

Oh, wow - you blink, completely surprised by Polnareff's transparency right now. Usually you two just joke around together, and that seems to get your feelings across - but Polnareff's being completely genuine right now, and for some reason it's really doing something to your heartbeat. Polnareff takes a couple steps closer to you, and your breath catches. "I want you to know that I - "

The elevator dings loudly and you both jump, turning to the door. A few young women walk inside, laughing loudly with each other. You back into the wall a bit to make room for them, clutching the strap of your bag. One of the girls looks from you to Polnareff and then smiles widely. She starts murmuring something to Polnareff that's just soft enough to be indecipherable to you - and Polnareff's eyes widen. He looks at her and shakes his head, and when the girl's face falls, the elevator dings again and opens to your floor.

You slide past the girls and step out of the elevator, Polnareff following close behind. As you walk down the hall, you turn to look at Polnareff. "What was that about?" you ask.

Polnareff shrugs, looking sheepish. "She just wanted to know what I was doing tonight. Obviously I told her I was busy." You feel your face grow a little warm when you hear that. It's the last night before Polnareff is going off to risk his life, possibly his last night even being alive - and he turned down spending it with a beautiful girl to stay with you. You know he isn't the type to leave you like that, but the idea still makes you feel good.

You nearly run into Polnareff when he stops suddenly. "Here's our room," he says, glancing down at you and grinning. "I hope it's a nice one."

You pull the key out of your pocket and unlock the door. You both walk inside, taking a quick look around. There are two queen beds in the center of the room, and a TV sits on a little dresser against the far wall. The bathroom is just around the corner from the door. "Certainly good enough for me," you say, tossing your bag onto the bed farther from the door. As Polnareff shuts the door, you flop onto your bed and sigh. "Fuck, I'm tired."

Polnareff laughs as he sits on the other bed. "You can say that again. I've been exhausted for a week." He chuckles again, his voice slowly fading away as he leans back. "It's cozy in here."

"...Yeah, it is." The wallpaper is a warm orange color, and the sheets on your bed are pretty soft. There's a large window next to your bed that opens up and leads to a little balcony. You'll certainly spend some time out there tonight. You sit up a bit, looking over at Polnareff. "Do you think Joseph and Avdol are down there yet?"

He shrugs. "Yeah, probably. Wanna go meet them?" You nod and hop up, quickly adjusting your shirt and brushing a hand through your hair. Polnareff stands up as well and pops his head into the bathroom, eyeing his reflection. "Does my hair look alright? I didn't know if the wind had messed it up."

You smile and take a couple strides over to Polnareff, then pop up on your toes and tuck a few loose strands of hair behind his ear. "You're all good now," you say, laughing as you pat him on the cheek. He lets out a bark of laughter as you pull your hand back.

"What the hell was that?" he asks incredulously, walking to the door.

"Oh, you're just too cute, Polnareff," you answer, batting your eyelashes in the most over-the-top way you can manage. This just sends you both into a fit of giggles as you leave the room and make your way back to the elevator.

The ride down is a lot less tense than the ride up had been. You hum along to the elevator music, idly bobbing your head as you listen. Polnareff watches the numbers tick down one by one, until you reach the first floor.

It's pretty easy for you two to find the bar, and it's even easier to find Joseph and Avdol - they're easily the tallest and most muscular people in the area. You take a seat at the counter next to Avdol and pat him on the back, much like Joseph had done earlier. "Hey," you say with an easygoing smile. "What did we miss?"

"Nothing at all." Avdol slides a beer towards you, and you take it. "We just got your drinks." Polnareff takes a seat beside you and Avdol hands him another tall glass. "Do you like the hotel room?"

"Oh, it's very nice," Polnareff says. He pauses to take a swig before continuing. "I like the balcony."

Joseph nods, leaning forward so he can be seen. "It's a great hotel, I'm glad Avdol spotted it." He leans back, and the group falls silent.

You know this is just dumb small talk that's only happening so you can try and ignore the elephant in the room. You can feel yourself getting more and more anxious as Joseph, Polnareff, and Avdol keep going on about whatever they can think of - the hotel, the drinks, even the goddamn weather. You sink down lower in your seat, but before you can completely lose it, you hear the faint radio switch to a new song.

"Oh, dude!" You turn to Polnareff with a bright smile on your face. "I love this song!" He breathes out a little laugh as you start singing along. You grow gradually louder and start swaying to the beat, slinging an arm over Polnareff's shoulder and pulling him into your impromptu performance. He tries to sing along, but he clearly doesn't know the words, so he's sort of mumbling without any direction.

"You don't know the words to this? Jesus, dude, it was huge a few years back! Paul McCartney's been the king of the eighties." You let go of Polnareff and turn to face him.

He shrugs. "I don't really listen to music."

You're dumbfounded by this, and your expression reflects it. "Holy shit, Polnareff. When we're out of here you're getting introduced to the pantheon of rock."

Joseph perks up when he hears this. "I hope you'll start with the Beatles?" he says, squinting at you.

You laugh, nodding. "What kind of person would I be if I didn't?" You drink some beer and gently set down your cup. You listen as the guitars slowly fade away, and then a new song starts that you've never heard before. You think it's in Arabic. "Well..." Now that your fun little distraction has run its course, you're sort of back to square one. At least you'd made everyone smile.

"Say, Polnareff..." You all look to Joseph when he speaks. He takes off his hat and runs his prosthetic hand through his hair. "Can I talk to you for a bit? To get you started on that rock and roll education." You smile a little at that, even though it's obviously not the real reason.

"Sure." Polnareff seems to know what it's about. "I'll be back in a minute, (Y/N)." He gives you a tight-lipped smile before getting up and following Joseph out of the room.

You take Polnareff's glass and slide it over next to yours. "What do you think that's about?" you ask Avdol, who's been relatively silent for a while.

"It seems to me like Joseph's confided in Polnareff about some massive secret that's been eating at him for years. They've had a few little meetings like this before." He huffs out a laugh. "But I've got no clue what that secret is."

"Oh." Maybe Joseph wants to get it all off his chest before tomorrow, in case he - you grit your teeth. You can't get choked up now. You force yourself to drink. "How are you doing?" you ask Avdol, resting your chin in your hand and looking straight ahead. "If you don't mind me asking."

"Why would I mind? I appreciate it." You kick yourself a bit; it would only make sense that Avdol has a much better handle on his emotions than you do. "It's helped me to acknowledge that this is inevitable. It's either we fight him, or he ruins the world. It's just...a duty. It's what we have to do, because we have the powers we have."

You take a shaky breath in, nodding along slightly as he speaks. You can understand that perspective - you just wish you didn't have to. But there's no point in wishing, not this late in the game. "That makes sense," you say softly, your words muffled by your hand. "...I'm having a hard time."

He turns to you, but you can't bring yourself to look at him. "Anyone would," he says lowly. "I get it."

You steel yourself, blinking hard a few times. "Yeah. I know we're all going through the same thing right now."

He places his hand on your back, and you find your lips turning up at the gesture. "Just try to take care of yourself."

You finally look at him, and you muster a better smile. "Thanks. You too." He nods and returns your smile. As you both drink some more, a thought comes to you. "I know it's weird to think about it like this, but it's been really fun spending time with you all."

Avdol's expression brightens. "No, I agree! It's been a pleasure getting to know everyone. I know our group was thrown together under dire circumstances, but I think we've managed to make something good out of it." He's put your thoughts to words perfectly. "And... After all this, after we defeat him - just know that you'll never be alone again. We'll all be together for the rest of our lives, I know it. You'll always have friends in us."

You're suddenly struck by the urge to cry - for once, not out of abject despair. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right." You will the feeling away. "I'm actually planning on going back to New York with Joseph after this is over. I've wanted to live there all my life."

"New York?" Avdol quirks an eyebrow. "It's horribly crowded, you know."

"I don't think it's so horrible." You shrug, smiling a bit. "There's so much to do, so many new places to find... If you want, every day of your life can be a completely unique experience there." You pause. "Or so I've heard."

Avdol laughs, a rich sound that makes you laugh a little too. "Well, I hope you enjoy it there. I'll just be getting back to my business." Ah, yeah - you'd forgotten that he works right here in Cairo.

"Do you like it? Your work, that is."

"Yes." His answer comes quicker than you expected. "I think I make people happy, usually. It's not often that I have to deliver bad news. When I do... I really hate it."

"I would too." The mood's shifted into some mix of reminiscence and melancholy. You catch yourself wondering if he'll have to deliver bad news tomorrow - if he'll have to tell your family members where you've been all this time, and why you're not coming back. Jesus. You grimace; you've been fighting this thought ever since you left on this trip, but you feel the need to vocalize it.

"Hey, Avdol." He hums, glancing over at you. You shut your eyes. "I... I have a feeling we're not all getting out of this."

You hear him breathe deeply from beside you, and your frown only deepens. You slowly open your eyes, but you can't turn to face him. "You're the fortune teller. What do you think, am I right?"

You can tell he doesn't want to voice his answer, which is too telling. Finally he does. "...Yeah. I agree." Your heart drops. "I don't know who, but yes - we're not all going home tomorrow."

Your eyebrows furrow and you look down at your hands, clasping them together so tightly they hurt. Avdol is quick to speak again. "But don't let yourself give up, please. (Y/N) - if we try, we might be able to fight this." It's clear that he doesn't believe this, but you're grateful for his efforts.

"No, I won't," you reply, and you hardly feel like you're talking. "We've just got to hold on until we beat him - "

"(Y/N)!" You nearly shout when a hand lands harshly on your shoulder and a booming voice speaks your name. You whip your head around and find Polnareff grinning down at you like an idiot. "What's with the long face? Did we miss something serious?"

"Nah," you answer, watching as Polnareff sits down next to you again, and Joseph follows suit at the other end of the bar. You slide him his drink, which he gratefully accepts. "Just talking about the future."

"Hm. The future." He nods pensively. "Well, Monsieur Joestar and enjoyed a wonderful conversation about the discography of Elvis Costello." You nearly laugh at that. "But now, there's something I want to say." The three of you all look to Polnareff, who's become a bit more serious.

"You all mean so much to me. I was completely lost before I found this group - even before I was under Dio's control. It was as if all I could feel was sadness and rage, or some mix of the two. But you've all made me... Well, you've helped me to feel again." He doesn't seem very nervous, which leads you to think he's been holding on to these thoughts for a long time. "Joseph, your advice will stay with me for the rest of my life - and Avdol." He looks solemnly at the man to your left. "You've taught me so much in such a short amount of time. You'll never understand how grateful I am that you're here right now. You truly mean the world to me."

Avdol reaches out and takes Polnareff's hand, who squeezes it tightly. "Of course. It's been a delight traveling with you too, Polnareff. You've taught me a lot as well." Polnareff gives him a soft smile and lets go. As he does, he turns to you.

"(Y/N)..." You smile up at Polnareff, wondering what he might say. There's something very heroic in the way he looks right now - high above you, giving a speech that would usually be saved for the third act of an epic. He opens his mouth, and you smile a little wider. As he's about to speak, though, he's suddenly struck by a thought - and instead, he shuts his mouth and wraps his arms around you tightly.

You gasp a bit, unable to hold back your wide grin as he hugs you. You can feel your heart thumping away in your chest - you wonder if he can too. "Thank you," he whispers in your ear, "for always being with me."

"Of course," you tell him softly. "Thank you for being there for me too, Jean." He pats your back and then lets go, leaning back and beaming at you. You feel oddly exposed without his arms around you.

"With that - " He grabs his glass and raises it into the air. "I propose a toast. To our crusade and to our friendship." You pick up your glass and watch as Avdol and Joseph do the same. All at once, you clink your glasses together, laughing as Polnareff spills a bit of beer due to his enthusiasm. Once you've all finished your drinks in one long swig, you set down the empty glasses. You can't get the smile off your face.

"I'd say that was a good end to this little outing," Joseph says. "Goodnight, you guys. I'll see you tomorrow morning." He stands, and you follow suit.

"Yeah, goodnight. I hope you guys sleep alright."

Avdol nods his head. "I'm feeling pretty good, actually. I don't think sleep will be too difficult." As he speaks, he gently places his hand on your arm. "Thanks, (Y/N), for the words of reassurance."

You're pretty sure he had been the one reassuring you, but you don't saying anything. He draws his hand away and turns to Joseph. "I guess we should head back."

"What about Jotaro and Kakyoin?" You look up at Polnareff, who just brought up a point you're a little ashamed that you'd forgotten about. "We should check on them, see how they're holding up. Is that alright with you, (Y/N)?"

"Yeah, of course. It would be nice to say goodnight to them too." You crack a smile. "And maybe you can give them another one of your rousing speeches." Avdol chuckles a bit, while Polnareff's face goes red.

"W-well, anyways, we should be off. Good night, you two." Joseph and Avdol wave goodbye as you and Polnareff walk quickly to the elevator.

You share the elevator with a small, older man who looks pretty damn tired. You find yourself wondering what he's doing here - is he with his family? Away on business? Though he looks exhausted, he also keeps smiling a little to himself. You catch yourself thinking that he's a stand user, but you force that thought away. And just like that, the door opens, and he leaves. You guess he was just happy about something.

You and Polnareff get off on the next floor, which is still one below yours. You realize as you step through the doors that you forgot to ask Joseph what Jotaro and Kakyoin's room number was. "Shit," you breathe, turning and surveying the seemingly endless hallway. "I don't know which room is theirs."

Polnareff has to hold back a laugh at your expression. "Shut up," you say, punching him in the arm. "You're the one who suggested it, why the hell didn't you ask for the number?"

"Because I'm dumb! I guess we're both just dumb." You sigh, unable to keep from laughing at Polnareff's stupidly wide smile. "I suppose we can try yelling their names in the middle of the hallway until they hear us."

You nearly snort at that. "So this is what it's come to... Fine." You cup your hands around your mouth and bellow, "Jotaro! Kakyoin!" The second you do, Polnareff breaks down, folding over and absolutely dissolving into giggles. You yell again, a little louder this time. "Jotaro! Yo, guys! Kakyoin?"

The door right next you is suddenly punched, and you jump nearly a foot in the air. It seems you're disturbing the hotel patrons. You snort, leaning on the other wall and wheezing out one of the hardest laughs of your life. Polnareff grabs your shoulder and takes a shaking breath, struggling for air through his laughter. A few more people knock angrily on their doors, now annoyed with your obnoxious giggle fest in their hallway.

You suck in a deep breath and shout as loud as you can, "JOTARO!" The second the word leaves your mouth you collapse onto Polnareff, grabbing his arm as you try to stop howling with laughter. He grabs your waist to try and right you, and it nearly surprises you out of your giggles - it's quite a comforting feeling, having his hands on your waist. But the moment's over as soon as it began, and you're back to crying laughing with each other.

"Polnareff! (Y/N)! What the hell are you doing?" You both look up when you hear someone hiss at you from down the hallway. It's Kakyoin, with his head poked out of the doorway. "Just shut up and come in." You both walk over and enter his room, wiping tears from your eyes.

Their room looks just like yours. Kakyoin shuts the door behind you two and gestures for you to sit on the bed. You sit down next to Polnareff, looking around for Jotaro - he's nowhere to be found.

"He's in the shower," Kakyoin says. He sits down on the other bed and faces you. "Uh... Is there a reason you guys were screaming in the hallway?"

You snort, making Kakyoin jump. "Ah, sorry - we, uh, we didn't have your room number. So we had to resort to desperate measures." Polnareff has to hold back a laugh as well, while Kakyoin looks relatively unamused. "I'm just glad we found you. We wanted to say goodnight to you guys."

Kakyoin does smile at that. "That's nice of you. I appreciate it." You hear the shower turn off, so you figure Jotaro is done. "I... I haven't been able to get any sleep."

"I figured," Polnareff said. "This is hard to deal with. I don't know that I'll sleep much tonight either."

Kakyoin nods, playing with one of the buttons on his uniform. "Yeah." You're all silent for a few moments, until the bathroom door opens.

Jotaro steps out in a t-shirt and some pajama pants, and without his famous hat. "Looking good, Jotaro!" Polnareff calls with a grin, and Jotaro just glowers down at him.

"Hi, Jotaro," you say to make up for Polnareff's buffoonery. "So, uh..." You turn back to Kakyoin. "Was there anything you guys needed? Or did you want to do anything? We could all play cards if you want."

"I'm never playing cards again," Jotaro says from the other side of the room. "So no."

You suddenly remember when Joseph and Polnareff's souls had been trapped in poker chips, which Jotaro had to win back from the enemy stand user. Yeah, that's a good reason to never want to partake in cards again. "Ah. I get it." Jotaro sits down next to Kakyoin. "So you're all good?"

"Yes. Thanks for checking up on us." You and Polnareff both stand up.

Jotaro clears his throat. "But you don't have to treat us like little kids, assholes."

You frown. "Well shit, I wasn't trying to. I'm just worried for everyone, I guess."

Jotaro's expression eases a bit, and he nods. "Yeah. Sorry about that. I'm... I'm pretty nervous."

"Anyone would be," Polnareff says from beside you. You glance at him, and he looks a little anxious as well.

"But I'm gonna see my mom tomorrow, so it's alright." You look back to Jotaro, who has the hint of a smile on his face.

"Oh, yeah! I hope I get to meet her too, I've really wanted to."

"Yeah, I'm sure you can. She loves having people over." Jotaro shrugs. "So I guess we all just have to get through tomorrow."

You start to agree, but you suddenly remember what Avdol and you had spoken about earlier. You instead just nod your head. "Yeah." You turn to Polnareff. "Should we head back?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty tired." You both turn to the door, and Polnareff opens it.

As you leave, you turn around to look into the room one last time. "Goodnight, guys. I'll see you bright and early tomorrow morning." You give them a grin and a thumbs-up.

Kakyoin returns the gesture, which delights you. "Yeah. See you two tomorrow." And after one last wave goodbye, you leave and shut the door.

You get back to your room rather quickly. The first thing Polnareff does is flop face down onto his bed. He groans loudly and stretches his arms out to either side of him, nearly hitting you in the leg in the process. "Watch it," you say, narrowly dodging him and hopping onto your own bed. As Polnareff sits up, you grab your bag and cross your legs. "So what do you wanna do? Are you tired?"

He purses his lips. "Ah... No, not really. I'll go take a shower." You watch him stand and walk over to the bathroom, and then he disappears behind the door. Before he shuts it, he pokes his head out and calls, "See you in a minute." And with a grin and a silly wave, the door closes.

Now it's just you. You turn back to your bag, the remnants of a smile on your face. You feel really lucky to have Polnareff right now. He's such a bright and happy guy, and he's so fun to be around... You lean back against the wall and sigh.

You've learned a lot about Polnareff on this trip. He was open with you all from the very start, when he told you the story of his sister's death. It had broken your heart, hearing that. You tried to be nice to him when he joined the group; everyone else seemed a bit wary for a little while. Once you reached India, though, was when you became truly close. You hadn't gone with Polnareff when he broke off from the group - you weren't sure that he wanted you there - but you were with him the next day, when Hol Horse killed Avdol. Well, when you thought he had killed Avdol. You were also kept in the dark about that important little detail, which still pissed you off sometimes.

When the two of you had gotten back to the hotel after finding and killing J Geil, Polnareff had been a mess. You were both upset, of course, but Polnareff completely blamed himself for Avdol's death. You had held him that night, which was so unfamiliar; you'd never done that for someone before. But there was something about seeing Polnareff cry that filled you with utter sadness, and you knew you had to help him feel better. You needed to be there for him.

When it had happened, sure, you were a little flustered - who wouldn't be? It was an intimate position to be in with someone, but Polnareff was a close friend and you knew he needed it. As you reminisce on that emotional night, you hear Polnareff start singing in the shower. It's something in French, so you have no clue what he's saying, but he's clearly putting a lot of heart into it. You're smiling before you even realize it, and you find yourself humming along with his little ditty.

Polnareff always has the power to make you happy, no matter how you'd been feeling before. On occasion, you'd confide in him your anxieties with the trip, and the battle that faces you all at the end of it. He's always been able to calm your nerves, and usually he can make you laugh to boot. You really are lucky that you ended up with him. You honestly love being around him.

Love... Love. It's a serious word, but it really is true. He's always been there for you whenever this journey's gotten especially taxing, and you think you've been there for him too. You think you'd like to stay with him after this is over, no matter where he wants to go. You think you love him.

Suddenly, your conversation with Avdol earlier hits you like a truck. "I don't know who, but yes - we're not all going home tomorrow." You take a deep, shaking breath. You might not be going with him anywhere. You might not even see him again. As these thoughts continue, each one worse than the last, you can feel your eyes welling up with tears. You haven't cried once in these past few months, but this makes you feel completely hopeless. You can't imagine being without Polnareff.

He's still singing in the shower. You stand up and walk to the balcony, and as you make your way over, you feel like you're floating. You open the sliding door and shut it tightly; you don't want any cold air getting in. You lean up against the tall railing, looking down at the brightly-lit city. Now the tears start to fall.

You cross your arms over your chest, sobbing. It's as if this is the first time that you've truly realized what could happen tomorrow - you could die, Polnareff could die, shit, you both could die. Your heart pounds in your chest as you take another shallow, unstable breath. You could lose the one person who makes you happier than anyone else in the world. Another harsh sob wracks your body, and you sink to the floor, leaning against the door and holding your head in your hands. You feel horrible, worse than you ever have. You don't want to have to give up this new life, this new little family - the man you love.

When the door slides open behind you, you nearly scream. "(Y/N), what are you doing out here? It's freezing." You hesitantly look up at him, knowing what you must look like, and Polnareff's face instantly falls.

"Sorry," you say almost reflexively. You feel the need to explain yourself. "I-I just - "

Before you can finish, Polnareff crouches down and pulls you into a tight, almost crushing hug. Your breath catches in your throat and you can only let tears stream down your face. "Ne pleure pas," he murmurs, and you're too caught up in everything to ask what that means. "Please." You hiccup and wince, trying to keep yourself from sobbing again. It feels so, so right being in his arms - but this might be the last time you ever get to feel it.

"Can I help you up?" he asks you softly. "We should go inside. It's too damn cold out here." You nod shakily, and you let him take your hands and pull you gently to your feet; he does it like it's nothing. Not letting go of your hand, he opens the door and leads you inside. He shuts it as you sit down on the bed.

You can't bring yourself to look at him; you think if you get a good look at his face you'll utterly break down. He sits down next to you and wraps his arm over your arms, and you cry a little harder at how tenderly his fingers rest on your shoulder. "I think I know what's wrong," he starts, almost cautiously, "but do you want to talk about it? You know I want to listen."

I love you. "...It's just everything." You're not lying, technically. "I-I'm sorry, I've never done this before but I -"

"Stop apologizing," he tells you, his voice firmer than it had been before. You finally chance a look at him, and his expression nearly knocks the breath out of you. He cares deeply for you, you can see it in his eyes - if you're being honest with yourself, it's an expression that's clearly rooted in love. You try to shove the thought away but you can't. It almost hurts you to see him so invested in you. "Remember back in India? When we thought Avdol was dead? I cried, God, I cried so much - and you were there for me the whole time. You helped me so, so much. What kind of man would I be if I didn't do the same for you?" He leans back in and hugs you again, catching you off guard. You hesitantly wrap your shaking hands around his broad shoulders, leaning your head into the crook of his neck.

He speaks, and you feel his voice all through your body. "I know how you feel," he says softly. "Trust me, I do. I'm fucking terrified. I can't begin to describe how scared I am of losing you." You've nearly run out of tears to cry at this point, but his admittance makes you hold back a sob. "I swear to you - I will do everything in my power tomorrow to keep you safe. I'll protect you with everything I have, (Y/N). Tomorrow... Silver Chariot is yours."

"That's not what I want," you say quickly, surprised by the hollowness of your voice. He pauses, and while you can't see his expression, you're sure he's confused. "I just need you to live, Jean. I need - I need us to be together after this is over." You hardly realize what you've said until the words leave your lips. "With everyone. I can't lose you guys."

He doesn't seem completely convinced by the last words you tacked on to your statement. "Yes, alright... We'll protect each other. We'll stay together and we won't let anything happen. Okay?"

You sniff, thinking suddenly of all the tears you must have gotten on Polnareff's shirt. "...Yeah. Yeah, I'll be there for you no matter what happens." I love you.

He nods against you, and you let go of a shaky sigh. "Good. Good, (Y/N). I won't let anything happen to you." It's a promise he can't keep, but for some reason it makes you feel better hearing it. You think you might finally be done crying. "Do you want to try and get some sleep?" he asks gently.

"Yeah, I - I just have to change." You carefully untangle yourself from Polnareff's arms and stand up, feeling horribly nervous. You grab your bag and quickly shut yourself in the bathroom.

You can't get yourself to breathe evenly. You lean against the wall, trying to avoid your reflection in the mirror. You really hadn't meant for that to happen. You had planned on keeping it together tonight, on not making anything weird - but you fucked it up. You pull your pajamas - an old band t-shirt and a pair of sweats - out of your bag and set them on the counter with shaking hands. Maybe you should take a minute for yourself in here.

As you change, you think about what just happened. Polnareff had essentially done for you what you had done for him all those weeks ago, when you shared the room after Avdol's death. There's something so right about being in each other's arms, for both of you it seems. You wonder if he feels for you how you feel for him.

You're not sure if you want him to. That thought might even be scarier than him not reciprocating your feelings, because if he dies and you know that he loved you, you just might lose it. Every time you think about the potential of dying, a dull pain begins to thud away in your head and you feel your breath get shorter and shallower. You throw your dirty clothes into your bag and grip the counter tightly with both hands, staring into the mirror.

You look like a wreck. It's written on your face that you've been crying nonstop for the past half an hour. You force yourself to even out your breathing, and then you wipe your eyes rather aggressively. After one last look in the mirror (which really doesn't help), you pick up your bag and leave the tiny, stifling room.

Polnareff is sitting where you left him. "Hey," you say quietly. He turns to you and smiles a little as you set down your stuff on the ground. "Well, I'm ready to go to bed. Are you?"

"Yeah. I'm falling asleep a little already." He gives a clearly exaggerated yawn, and you laugh shortly at his efforts. He stands up, pulling the covers back on his bed. You watch him, expecting him to climb in and bid you goodnight, but he doesn't move.

"...(Y/N)?" he says, a little hesitantly. You raise your eyebrows. "...I - " He huffs out a laugh, and you frown. "You're really going to make me ask?" It's clear that you're still not getting it. He smiles softly. "Would you like to share the bed?"

"Oh!" Your eyes widen, and you smile a little nervously. "I, uh... Yeah. Sure." Polnareff lays down on the bed and you follow him, grimacing as you clumsily elbow Polnareff in the arm. Polnareff's laugh wipes the frown right from your face, though.

After a silent, weird moment of laying on your backs together, staring up at the ceiling, you both turn inwards and face each other. "I won't go back on my word, okay?" Polnareff whispers, reaching out and taking your hand. You nearly shiver at the contact. "I'll stay alive for you, so we can be together after all this. It's all I want."

"Me too. I'll protect you, and I - I'll do everything I can to stay alive." The words sound a little hollow coming from you because you're not sure if you can believe them, but Polnareff still smiles in appreciation.

"Good night, (Y/N). I'll see you tomorrow." The word "tomorrow" grips your heart and makes your breath catch in your throat, but you try not to think about it. It's just another day. It's just another day, and you're going to see thousands of more days after it. You and Polnareff, together.

You give him a slight nod and turn around, and Polnareff wraps his arms tightly around you. You hold his hands against your midsection, sighing as you feel him rest his head next to your shoulder. You shut your eyes, and it takes you a second to realize you're crying again. You suppose you'd been waiting to be out of his line of sight. As the tears stream down your face, though, you stay silent - you don't want to jeopardize this lovely, loving feeling. His arms around you are like heaven. Every time his breath tickles your ear you want to cry harder. You're feeling too much, love and grief and fear and passion, all at once and it hurts more than you could ever imagine. I love you.

He mumbles something that you can't quite understand in a half-asleep daze, and you nearly melt when he snuggles closer to you. You want so badly to verbalize your thoughts and tell him how much he means to you, but you can't - you can't bear to lose him tomorrow, or to die and leave him alone after spending only one night together, when it should've been every night. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you... You repeat it in your head like a mantra as you slowly drift to sleep.

---

You wake up alone. When you realize it, you're stricken with panic, but as you sit up, you catch a glance of Polnareff slipping into the bathroom. You lean your head back against the wall and sigh, shutting your eyes. It's here.

Polnarff looks over at you from the bathroom and smiles. "Good morning," he calls, as he messes with his hair.

"Morning," you answer groggily, rubbing your eyes. "How long have you been awake...?"

"About an hour. I thought I'd let you sleep." He turns away and starts attacking his hair with hairspray, and you smile. It was a thoughtful little thing he said, and it makes you feel cared for.

"Thanks." You look over at the clock and see that it's 8:30. "They want to meet at 9, right?"

"Yeah."

You nod and force yourself to get out of bed, wincing as your joints crack. "I'm gonna change in here, Polnareff. Close the door." He looks over at you and nods, reaching out and closing the bathroom door. "Thanks," you call as you take out your clothes.

You get dressed and then pack away what other things you have. You really hadn't brought anything on this trip. You throw your bag over your shoulders and sit on your bed, kicking your legs back and forth. After a few minutes, the bathroom door opens and Polnareff steps out, clad in his usual outfit.

"Hey." You look at the clock again. "You know, we've still got twenty minutes. Do you wanna grab some coffee?"

"That sounds great." He picks up his bag, which he's already packed, and you both say goodbye to your little hotel room.

The elevator is empty, as it's still a little early for people to be out and about. You listen to the elevator music as you lean against the back wall, looking at your distorted reflection in the metal door. "(Y/N)," Polnareff says, and you look over at him. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," you answer quickly. You don't quite know if you actually are feeling more at peace with your situation, or if you've just gotten over the urge to cry. "Thank you again for last night. I'm sorry I -" You catch yourself apologizing and stop before Polnareff can say anything. "Thank you."

"Of course." He moves his arm towards you, and he hesitates for a moment before gently hugging you. You hug him back, resting your head on his chest. "Just remember what we said. We'll both be fine."

"I will," you promise, and you think you might mean it. The elevator dings, and you both pull away as the door opens to reveal the main floor. "There's gotta be a coffee place right outside, don't you think?"

"Probably." You both head outside and survey the area, searching for any sign of a coffee shop. "Oh! There's one." Polnareff grabs your hand and pulls you over to a small store a few buildings down. You smile as you follow him, holding tightly onto his hand. It's so warm - he's always so warm.

Once you reach the store, you head up to the counter. "Uh..." There's an English translation of the menu in small print on the back wall, and you squint at it as you decide what to get. "One large iced coffee, please."

"Iced coffee?!" Polnareff looks down at you in surprise. "You drink that stuff?"

"Why not? It's really good." You pull out your wallet and grab the appropriate payment, making sure to check twice - you don't know the currency very well. "Have you ever had it?"

"No. I drink hot coffee like everyone else." You roll your eyes as you pay, and then you move over so Polnareff can order.

"I swear it's really good, dude. You should get some!" Polnareff frowns, and you laugh. "You know, I read somewhere that the French invented iced coffee. I don't want to see you betraying your homeland."

He pouts, and begrudgingly he turns to the cashier. "One large hot coffee, and one large iced coffee." After he pays, he joins you at the counter. "If the French made it I'm sure it's alright, at least. But if I hate it, you can have the rest of mine."

"Oh, thanks! But I think you'll like it." You both stand and wait for your drinks, listening to the faint radio playing in the store. It's jazz - it fits the little shop.

After a few minutes, your orders are both finished. You put some cream and sugar into your coffee and stir it with your straw. "How do you take your coffee?" you ask Polnareff. "I don't think I've ever noticed."

"Lots of cream and sugar." He proves his point by dumping a shocking amount of sugar into both of his drinks. He does the same with the cream. "I like sweet things."

You grab a table next to a window and sit down, setting your drink in front of you. You take a sip and smile; it's some of the best coffee you've ever had. "It's the moment of truth," Polnareff mutters, eyeing his cold beverage with raised eyebrows.

"It's not gonna kill you. Try it!" He nods, taking a deep breath, and quickly he takes a large swig of the iced coffee.

You can't tell immediately what he thinks of it. He sets down the cup and hums, then sighs. "You're right. It tastes great."

You laugh, putting your hand in the air for a high-five. "I knew it!" He high-fives you, but he doesn't look very happy about it. "I knew you would like it."

"I can't even try to deny it. It's really good." You laugh again at his little admission and drink your own coffee. "Do you want the hot coffee too? You seem a little tired."

"Uh..." You are feeling a little sluggish, and your brain is using up a lot of energy to push all your existential feelings of dread to the back of your mind. "Yeah, if you don't mind."

"Of course not! Here you go." He slides it to you and you take it.

After a few more minutes, you've both finished your heavenly iced beverages. "They're expecting us in...five minutes," Polnareff murmurs, checking his watch. "You ready?" You nod and grab your second coffee, and you head out the door.

You're glad you made that little stop, and you're glad you were the person to introduce Polnareff to the wonders of iced coffee. You'd been afraid that once you reached today, everything would be over - you would be completely consumed by your nerves. But that doesn't seem to be the case. At least you've made one last good memory with Polnareff before you confront Dio.

You reenter the hotel and find everyone standing in the lobby. "Where were you guys?" Avdol asks.

You raise your cup of coffee. "Just went for a morning pick-me-up," you reply, smiling. Kakyoin rolls his eyes at that. "Are you guys all ready?"

Everyone nods. The mood is somber among you all, which is obviously expected - but it doesn't make it any easier to face. You don't really know what to say to break up this oppressive atmosphere, but luckily Joseph speaks for you. "Then let's head out. We've got a long day ahead of us."

And with that, you're off. Joseph leads your ragtag group out of the hotel and down the streets of Cairo. It feels a lot like your walk yesterday - with Joseph and Avdol discussing game plans in the front, Jotaro and Kakyoin talking about more casual topics with Iggy beside them, and you and Polnareff at the back. You feel a little better now, somehow. You might even be letting yourself hope that everything will be alright. You reach out and brush your pinkie against Polnareff's hand, not turning to him. He gets the message instantly and wraps his larger hand around yours. It's sweet and comforting and so full of love, and you never want to let go. You won't let go, until you've killed Dio.

---

The mansion would be pitch black if not for Avdol's strong flames illuminating the hallways. It's only you, Polnareff, Avdol, and Iggy now; the other three crusaders had fallen into some sort of trap placed by Terence D'Arby, Dio's butler. He looked like an asshole. You hope they're doing alright.

You walk carefully, making sure to take a good look around before every step. Polnareff is beside you, being just as cautious, and Iggy and Avdol are in front of you two. Avdol leads the way with the compass of sorts he's created, which can sense the movement of any stand or human. "See anything, Avdol?" Polnareff whispers, and Avdol just shakes his head.

Thankfully, the mansion isn't as large as it looks. You'd encountered a little guy earlier whose stand had been creating an illusion throughout this main floor that made it much more complex than it truly is; after you pummeled him, the area shifted into a much more manageable space. Still, though, you're scared out of your mind of what you might uncover in each dark corner. You're not holding Polnareff's hand anymore, but it really feels like you are - you can tell he's looking out for you from the way he leans towards you with every step.

A few more minutes pass, and you finally encounter something new. It's a large column with seemingly no purpose. Avdol brings his flame closer to the pillar to get a good look at it, and as he does, you can vaguely make out words etched into the stone surface. Avdol leans in to read them, and you go to do the same, but suddenly Avdol whips around and grabs you by the arm.

You frown, trying to shrug your arm out of his grasp. "What is it?" you ask, but Avdol's frantic expression tells you all you need to know - it's not good. "Seriously, Avdol, tell me - "

His eyes shift to Polnareff, who's about to step right behind Avdol and adjacent to the pillar. "Polnareff, watch out!" Avdol screams, letting go of your arm and shoving you away. As you stumble back, completely confused, Avdol grabs Polnareff and pushes him harshly towards you. "Just stay back," he breathes, turning and looking pointedly at you, "and you'll be - "

It happens before you can even comprehend it. In the blink of an eye, Avdol vanishes, and you hear a loud thud. Your head whips downwards and you gasp loudly when you see his arms lying motionless on the ground, detached from his body. You feel yourself start to shake as you turn to Polnareff, who's equally shocked. "Fuck," he breathes, falling back into the wall behind him. "Avdol!" he shouts, clearly desperate. "Avdol, where are you?!"

Instead of getting an answer, you're only horrified further when Avdol's arms are lifted into the air and seemingly swallowed by nothing. As you watch, mortified, a figure slowly fades into view; it's some sort of floating being with no legs and an impossibly large stomach. You stare at it, unable to move, until Polnareff's frantic voice breaks you from your shock.

"What the hell did you do to Avdol?" he screams, summoning his stand at once. You blink and do the same - you were so caught up in whatever the hell you've just witnessed that you forgot to get your stand.

A voice echoes from deep within the stand in front of you. "I placed him in the void."

He doesn't explain. He just states that, as if it makes any sense. "What - what the fuck is that? Where is he?" you breathe, your voice shaking.

"Not even I know where the things my stand swallows go," the voice replies. "Who's to say where he is? He's certainly not on Earth any longer. Wherever he is, I'm sure he's dead."

You can't take a full breath. "I..." You hear Iggy take a shuddering breath from beside you, and you look down at him with wide eyes. He looks totally stunned; he's clearly in shock. You somehow manage to steel yourself, and in a flurry you prepare to attack. Your stand has long-ranged attacks - as the Knight of Cups, it shoots powerful arrows from a far distance. Your stand pulls out an arrow and shoots instantly at the stand, but before it can hit, the stand opens its gaping mouth and swallows the arrow just as it's about to pierce its eye.

"Fuck," you mutter, and you back further into the wall. Tears are forming quickly in your eyes. "Polnareff, what do I -"

When you hear Polnareff sob, you turn to him. He's sunk to the ground, shaking with tears streaming down his face. Iggy still hasn't moved; he still can't believe it. You drop to your knees and place your hands on Polnareff's shoulders, trying to spit out some comforting words in the haze of your mind, but before you can, the wall behind you is smashed and breaks into pieces.

A couple small pieces of concrete fall on you, but you hardly even feel it. Had the stand - can it make itself invisible? You hadn't seen it hit the wall, shit, you hadn't seen anything. You're totally at a loss here. "We've gotta go, Polnareff," you tell him, urgently pulling on his arm. Still beside himself, he stands up with you and stares at the large hole in the wall. "I - I don't know how he -" Your voice cuts off and is replaced by something between a cough and a sob. "He's - he's probably going to Dio. We have to..." You can't force the words out - it's your worst fear. You know it's what you have to do, though. "Follow him. We have to follow him up. " You grab Polnareff's hand and hold it so tightly it must hurt, and you drag him along. Your heart is pounding non-stop in your chest, and sharp pain is starting to spread all throughout your body. You can't believe that Avdol is gone - really, this time. You're not sure if you've even fully realized it yet.

You don't even wipe the tears from your face as you sprint up the stairs, with Polnareff and Iggy hot on your heels. You keep stumbling, but every time you manage to push yourself through it and scale another two steps. Your brain is on autopilot now - you know if you don't move quickly, and move right, you're going to die. Once you've reached what you're pretty sure is the third floor, you spot a large, circular hole in the wall that's nearly identical to the one the stand had left downstairs. You skid to a stop, and Polnareff runs into you and nearly knocks you to the ground. He manages to catch you, and you both stand and stare at the large hole, trying desperately to catch your breath.

Polnareff's hands leave your sides and he walks slowly towards the hole. It seems to lead into a large ballroom. "Shh," he hisses at you, and you nod, creeping towards him. Iggy walks beside you, just as quiet. You both step through the hole, then you lift Iggy through and place him on the ground next to you. The room is large and beautiful; the walls are lined with intricate designs, and a large window covered by a thick curtain is on the far wall.

"Where the fuck is he?" you breathe, taking a few steps into the room. It's totally empty. "Where's Dio?"

"I have already consulted Dio." You scream when a voice echoes from behind you, and you stumble before turning around. A large, impossibly muscular man stands before you three, with long brown hair and a stony expression. "He has granted me the privilege of killing you all. He gifted me, Vanilla Ice, his blood and this opportunity." You feel horribly sick to your stomach when Vanilla Ice's face twists with pride. "You'll go first. You dared to try and attack me."

You summon your stand, but before you can make another move, Polnareff pushes you to the side. You stumble back, and you watch in horror as Polnareff takes out his stand and points Silver Chariot's sword directly at Vanilla Ice. "You'll have to get through me first," he spits, voice full of venom, but Vanilla Ice just laughs.

"Alright." He leaps into the air, and suddenly his stand reappears; it seems to swallow him up before vanishing again.

You run to Polnareff, grabbing his arm and pulling him down to the ground. "Fuck, Jean, you didn't - why did you do that?" you hiss. "If he wants to fight me, let him -"

"No." His voice is firm, and it shocks you; there's a new determination in his eyes that you hadn't expected to see. "I won't let him kill you, (Y/N)."

Suddenly, Iggy barks, jolting both of you out of your conversation. You hop up and run over to him. "What is it?" you ask, crouching down in front of him.

He runs over to a large curtain beside a staircase on the other side of the room, and you and Polnareff follow. You both lean against the side of the stairs and cover yourselves with the curtian. "What the fuck are you doing, Iggy?" Polnareff whispers, watching the dog.

Iggy summons his stand, and instantly sand starts to swirl around the room. You watch as it all comes together and begins to take the shape of a man; as you keep watching, it eventually turns into an exact replica of Dio. "Shit," you breathe. "Nice thinking. He's not still in here, is he? Did he see that?"

"There's no way to tell," Polnareff murmurs back. "We just have to wait -"

"Lord Dio!" Vanilla Ice materializes once again at the other end of the room. He rushes to the sand statue and drops to the ground, bowing deeply. "What are you doing here?" he says to the ground. "You should be in your study."

"I grew tired of waiting," the statue replies, and your eyes widen; Iggy's stand is a lot more powerful than you thought. "Are they dead yet?"

"No, my lord," Vanilla Ice replies. "I apologize. They will be dead soon." He takes a deep, shuddering breath, and stands. "I thank you for the gift you've given me, Lord Dio," he sighs, taking the statue's hand and caressing it. "Your blood gives me more and more strength by the minute. With your blood flowing through my veins, I'll kill them without having to lift a finger." He lets go of the sand statue and turns around, scoping out the room. "I just have to find them."

Iggy slowly raises the statue's hand into the air, so he can strike down right at Vanilla Ice's neck. Finally, after a few agonizing seconds, his hand is fully raised. Just as he brings it down, though, Vanilla Ice turns around and smacks it. It, and the rest of Dio's body, dissolves into sand and blows away.

"You must think me an imbecile," he shouts, eyes wide in a crazed rage. "Lord Dio would never set foot in this room, you idiots. It has a window." Fuck - you all had forgotten. "You'll pay for this, scum. You've insulted Lord Dio in the most unforgivable way. He is too mighty to ever be represented by your filthy false icon." Your heart drops into your stomach, and you try as hard as you can to remain still. Iggy had taken some damage from Vanilla Ice's strike, it seems, so you dive down quickly and pick him up. The motion doesn't seem to alert him, thank God.

He disappears once again, and before you can blink a hole appears in the wall right next to you. You shriek, falling back into Polnareff, and the three of you all hit the ground hard. You try to scramble away - you know another attack is coming soon - but before you can get out from behind the curtain, an impossibly fast force runs straight through your leg.

You scream as a chunk of your leg is ripped straight off and blood immediately pours from the wound. You reach down and grab at it, sobbing, but nothing you do relieves the searing pain that spreads all throughout your body. Polnareff freezes, stunned, but not a moment later he lunges towards you and crouches down. "Fuck, (Y/N), you'll - you'll be fine," he mutters, grabbing the curtains and tearing off a large piece. "Let me - let me tie it, and then you'll..." He wraps the curtain around your wound and knots it, pulling the curtain tight, and the pressure makes your head spin.

Your head lolls back and you feel yourself nearly slip from consciousness, but before you do Iggy quickly forms a hand from sand and smacks you in the face. "Fuck!" you shout, grabbing your cheek, but you quickly shake yourself and snap back to reality. "Thank you."

"Can you stand?" Polnareff asks you quickly, stretching out his arms. "Let me help you." You steel yourself and take his hands, and he gently pulls up up onto your feet. It hurts more than anything you've ever felt, but - you can hold yourself up just barely. You limp a few steps away from the wall, and Polnareff reaches out and wraps his arm around your shoulders. "Fuck, be careful! Don't fall." Suddenly, another smash echoes through the room, and you swallow back a scream.

It's the spherical shape again, but this time it's moving; it carves a path into the perimeter of the wall and just keeps going, until it hits the corner of the room and jerks in the other direction. It seems to be outlining the room. "What the fuck is he doing...?" you breathe, watching as the grooves in the ground continue down the next wall.

It hits another corner and spins around to the next wall. It's getting the perimeter of the room, but why...? Suddenly, you realize what he's doing. "He can't see in there," you say softly. Polnareff and Iggy both look to you, confused. "He can't see. Everything he's done so far has been blind shots. Now, he's just - he's covering the entire room from the outside and in to the middle. If he does that he's gonna hit us eventually."

The second you finish talking, you hear Polnareff scream from beside you. It seems that the stand had managed to sneak up on you; he'd moved just an inch in closer to the middle, and it caught Polnareff. You grab him, righting him. "What happened?" you ask, running your eyes over his body to see where he was hit. He lifts up his right hand, shaking, and two of his fingers are gone.

You feel like throwing up. "Iggy, can you get more of that curtain?" you ask, your voice high-pitched with anxiety. He nods and runs over, ripping off a large piece with his teeth. You take it from him and start to wrap up Polnareff's hand, which is gushing blood. He grits his teeth and hisses as you tie it up. "You'll be fine, I've got you. We'll figure this out, I swear -"

"Just get to the middle," Polnareff manages to say, and you nod hurriedly. You yank him over to the center of the room and you hold back a scream when pain shoots up through your leg. "Sit down," he tells you, and you let yourself hit the ground with a dull 'thud.' "What the fuck are we gonna do? How do we escape this?" The sound of Vanilla Ice carving up the floor is getting louder and louder. Iggy joins you two and watches as the invisible sphere spins round and round, revolving like the moon around you helpless three.

Polnareff suddenly sits up, and it's clear he has an idea. "We've gotta get out of this room," he says, grabbing your hand and gesturing for Iggy to hop up onto his shoulder. "I'll get us out of here. Just hold on and we'll get out through the window. Iggy, can you make some kind of cushion if we jump?" The dog yips in a way that sounds affirmative. "Good. Get ready." Polnareff stands, pulling you up with him, and he makes for the window.

Vanilla Ice is blind right now, you're sure of it - but it seems he can hear. The sphere swerves without warning and collides with Polnareff's left leg, and nearly all of his calf is torn off of him. He falls instantly, but just as quickly he tries to stand - and finds that he can't. With you and Iggy, he can't force himself up. "Polnareff!" you cry, reaching out and pulling him back towards the middle. "Just - we can get back. If we get back to the middle we'll have time to think." The three of you, all injured in some way, manage to push yourselves back to the middle of the room.

Vanilla Ice is nearly at the center now. You've been crying since you first encountered, but this is the first time since Avdol died that you're really conscious of the tears streaming down your face. You look at Polnareff, who's choking back sobs. "This is - fuck, this wasn't what was supposed to happen," you whisper, reaching out and holding his uninjured hand. "I can't move. I - I can't do anything, I -"

"You're not dying," Polnareff nearly yells at you, and you're so surprised that you stop crying. "I'm not letting you go, (Y/N)."

"How? We can't move, Polnareff. We're stuck here and we're fucked, he's gonna -" You've been staring at Polnareff, but for a second you glance behind him and you see the ground cave in just before the two of you. You shut your eyes and hug him, burying your face in his chest, but just as it's about to hit -

You're launched into the air - you have no idea by what. Your eyes snap open, and you turn your head; Iggy remains on the ground, breathing heavily, and Vanilla Ice stands before him looking utterly confused. Slowly, his gaze turns upwards, and you and Polnareff are dropped unceremoniously on the ground by Iggy's stand.

You cry out when your head thuds against the ground and you land hard on your right wrist - you think it's broken. You grind your teeth together as you try to sit up, just barely pushing yourself up against the wall. It seems Polnareff had landed a bit more gracefully, and he tries to crawl over to Iggy - but Vanilla Ice beats him. He snatches Iggy up by the neck and throws him, as hard as he can, into the wall.

You're fucking enraged. You watch, unable to do much else, as Vanilla Ice kicks Iggy hard in the stomach. Polnareff swears beside you, and you watch as he manages to pull himself to his knees. He turns around and meets your eyes, then looks to Vanilla Ice. He's planning something.

Polnareff silently walks on his knees to Vanilla Ice, and as he does he summons Silver Chariot. He's in the perfect position to stab him in the head, but you both know the stab alone wouldn't be enough. You get your own stand and conjure up the most powerful arrow you can muster. As Iggy's cries echo throughout the room, you let the arrow shoot directly into the back of Vanilla Ice's head, and you fall back. It had taken everything just to do that. Your vision is swimming, and you can't even force yourself to sit up and see what's happened to Polnareff and Iggy. Despite your best efforts, your eyes slide shut, and you pass out.

---

You slowly fade back into consciousness, and the first thing you notice is that you're in motion. You crane your neck to get a better look at your surroundings, trying to ignore the screaming pain all throughout your body, and you're clearly outside now - all the buildings and the stars soaring past your vision is making you horribly dizzy. You groan, shutting your eyes, and suddenly the vehicle you're on stops. You lurch forward and nearly vomit.

"(Y/N), you're awake!" You blink when Polnareff shouts loudly in your ear. He picks you up and grins down at you, and it's clear he's been crying more. "Fuck, I was so scared. I thought you died."

"...Can't get rid of me that easy," you rasp, surprised by how dry your throat is. He nearly laughs, and gently he sets you down.

"I'm glad you're okay, (Y/N)," you hear someone else say, and you turn. It's Jotaro, and thankfully he looks unharmed. "You look like shit."

"I feel like shit."

He nods - fair enough - and turns to Polnareff. "Stay here with (Y/N), I won't be long." He starts to leave, but Polnareff reaches out and grabs his hand before he can go.

"You're sure you won't need me?" he asks, frowning. "You have no idea what he's capable of."

"You're in no condition to help anybody," Jotaro replies, shrugging Polnareff's hand away. "Just stay safe and keep (Y/N) safe. You're both too badly hurt to do anything but that." And with that, he leaves you and Polnareff alone in a dark, silent alley.

You've got a bit of a view of the street from here, and you can see Jotaro walking down the sidewalk with clear purpose. This is everything he's been waiting for - the chance to save his mother. You can tell he's eager for it to be over. "Well..." You look to Polnareff, who sits down beside you and takes your hand. "We did it. We're both still alive." You think back to Avdol, and guilt rushes through you; you never could've expected that he had been referring to himself with his premonition last night. You try not to cry as you slightly adjust yourself. You can't get comfortable, no matter how hard you try. Everything hurts too much. "Hey..." You realize suddenly that you're missing someone. "Where's Iggy?" You figure Polnareff had managed to get him out of Vanilla Ice's line of fire with that last shot by Silver Chariot.

Polnareff's face drops, and your expression falls. "He... He didn't make it. It was a second too late." You turn away from Polnareff and cover your face with your hands, trying not to scream. He's just a dog, he - God, he hadn't deserved any of this.

"He should be here," you murmur into your palms. "Avdol should be here right now, sitting with us." As you speak, Polnareff leans against you, and you feel his tears drip onto your arms. You shut your eyes and rest your head against his shoulder. You're too tired to even open your eyes. You drift back out of consciousness while Polnareff cries silently beside you.

A motion from next to you is what stirs you, and you open your eyes. Polnareff is trying to get up, but he's clearly having a hard time. "Where are you going...?" you mumble as he finally gets to his feet. He looks down at you and his eyes widen; was he trying to sneak away...?

"I have to go, (Y/N), please." Go where? Polnareff glances back at the entrance of the alley, and you look as well. You gasp when you see Jotaro lying motionless on the ground, and what must be Dio looming over him with a road sign in his hand. "He's about to die, and I have to do something."

You know he's right, and you fucking hate it. "No," you say softly, reaching out and taking his hands. "Don't. You'll die, Jean, I know you will, you have to stay with me." You've fully gained consciousness now, and your mind is absolutely screaming. You thought you'd done it. You thought you'd leave here with him and be with him for the rest of your life. He can't go and you can't lose him. It's getting harder to breathe.

"Non," he replies gently, crouching down. He seems much more at peace with this than you are. "S'il te plaît, ne sois pas fâché," he murmurs, and he leans in and kisses you.

You reach out and wrap your arms around him, pulling him close. His lips are soft and he's gentle as he presses them to yours, reaching up and running a hand through your hair. After a moment of taking each other in, reveling in your closeness, you part. You feel indescribably empty. "I'll be back with Jotaro," he says, and he presses a kiss to your forehead before walking away and leaving you alone. Completely alone.

You try to follow him, try to pull yourself up or even drag yourself out from the alley - but nothing works. You push yourself back up against the wall and let out a gut-wrenching sob, covering your mouth to muffle the noise as best as you can. You can't stop shaking, and you can't stop feeling the lingering touch of Polnareff's lips on yours. You love him. You love him and you need him like you've never needed anyone before, and you're about to lose him. He kissed you and he left you. You pull your knees up to your chest and sob until you can't anymore, and once again fatigue grips you and pulls you under.

---

When you wake up this time, you're alone. There's no one to reassure you, to fill you in on what's happened - you're alone in a hospital bed, with only the beeping of the various machines to give you company. You crane your neck to the door and see that it's open; you consider calling for someone, but instead you just lay your head back on the pillow beneath you. You feel so much better than you had the last time you were awake; it seems like they've done a good job of patching you up. Curiously you reach down and poke your leg, where you'd been hit, and other than the jolt of pain at the touch it feels relatively normal. You push yourself up a bit so you're leaning against the wall, and you clasp your hands and set them on your lap.

Is Polnareff dead? The question is like a smack to the face. You suck in a deep breath and shakily release it, swearing to yourself that you won't cry. You've done too much fucking crying.

THere's no way he survived a face-off with Dio, just no way. He had already been beat up; even at his best he wouldn't be able to stand a chance alone. You grip your hands together so tightly they start to hurt, but you can't stop. It's a distraction from all the horrifying images your brain is conjuring up, of Avdol's arms lying alone on the cold ground, of Iggy being kicked and punched over and over and over, of Polnareff walking away and leaving you to watch him die -

"(Y/N)!" You look to the door when you hear your name called, and you nearly burst into tears at the sight of Joseph's grinning face. He bounds into the room, which surprises you; he's covered in bandages. "Oh my God, I'm so glad you're alright. How are you feeling?"

"Okay, I guess." You lift up your hand and look at your wrist, which is wrapped in a cast. "Yeah. I feel a lot better." Joseph reaches out and places his prosthetic hand delicately over yours, and you can't express how much you appreciate it. "...What did I miss?"

He looks up at you and frowns, and you elaborate. "I was really out of it. Last I remember I was..." You're afraid to mention Polnareff; that might spur Joseph to deliver the bad news. "I was watching Jotaro fight Dio. I thought Jotaro was dead."

"He was pretending to be dead, actually. Used Star Platinum to stop his own heart." Your eyes widen, and Joseph nods knowingly. "I have the most impressive grandson, don't I?"

"Yeah, you do. Holy shit." You'd all made monumental sacrifices in this fight, it seems. "So... He beat Dio?"

"Yes. I nearly died, too, when Dio drank my blood, but Jotaro had the bright idea of performing a blood transfusion once Dio was dead. He truly saved my ass in every way."

"Wow. We're really lucky we had him."

Joseph's gaze flits down to his hand over yours, resting on the bed. "I'm assuming... I'm guessing you know about Iggy and Avdol."

Your throat tightens, and you nod. "Yeah. I saw it." You can't stop thinking about it, honestly. Even while talking to Joseph your mind is running a slideshow of every horrific thing you witnessed.

"I'm sorry." He takes your other hand, surprising you, and holds it tenderly. "Avdol was a good man, and a dear, dear friend, and I'm going to miss him. He deserves to be here with us."

"It's not fair," you say in an exhale, and you nod your head in agreement with Joseph. After a long moment of silence between the two of you, in which you both think about everything you loved Avdol for, you look up. You have to ask the question, no matter how much you're dreading it. "How's everyone else...?"

Joseph meets your gaze, which is somewhat relieving. "Polnareff is fine. He was in rough shape when they brought him in, but he'll definitely be alright."

You fall forward a bit, letting go of your breath. Joseph smiles a bit and puts his arm on your shoulder as you grin at him. "Thank God," you say, not really to Joseph but just to the world. "Holy shit, I was so terrified. So he's fine?"

"He's been sleeping for most of the day, but he woke up once to ask how you were and then passed right out again." You laugh out loud, leaning back, and Joseph watches you with an easy smile on his face. "Please tell me he told you."

You smile. "He did, but I kind of figured anyway."

"Kind of? Jesus." He laughs shortly, and then his smile fades a bit.

"So what about Kakyoin?" you ask, running a hand through your hair. "What's up with him?"

Joseph's expression is like a shot to the heart, and before you know what you're doing you grab him and wrap your arms around him. You rest your head on his shoulder with wide eyes that are quickly welling up with tears - you think you'd grabbed him so quickly so you didn't have to see his face. It told you everything in less than a second.

"Who did it?" you whisper, not trusting yourself to speak.

"Dio," Joseph responds, his voice much more steady. "Kakyoin died telling us the secret of Dio's stand. He's the reason we were able to win."

"...Oh." You squeeze your eyes shut and force yourself to breathe evenly. Fuck - he was seventeen. He shouldn't have had to die for anything. He was just a kid, and Iggy was just a dog, and Avdol was a good man who deserved only great things -

"(Y/N)." You open your eyes when Joseph's voice tears you from your thoughts. You slowly lean back and let go of him, reaching up and wiping your eyes. "I have to go check on Jotaro. I'll be back later, hopefully with him. Okay?"

You nod, sniffling. He takes your hand and lifts it to his lips, gently pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "I know how it feels," he says softly, letting his hand linger in yours. "Trust me, I know how much it hurts. You're one of the strongest people I've ever met, (Y/N). If anyone can get through this I know it's you. And don't forget that we're all here to help you, okay? And help each other. You'll never be alone again."

You think Avdol had said that to you last night. You feel a smile slightly lift your features, and you squeeze Joseph's hand. "Thank you, Joseph. Really." You give him one last hug, and as he stands up, you say softly, "I love you guys." Joseph smiles widely, almost looking teary-eyed, and he leaves the room after one last wave goodbye.

You're alone again. You turn onto your side, wincing as you shift your leg, and you think about the three people you lost on this journey. Your eyes are dry but your mind is screaming. The only thing that makes you feel slightly better is knowing that Polnareff is alright, and that you'll be able to tell him you love him soon. Finally.

The next morning, you're greeted by a couple nurses. They tell you you seem much better, and that you can try to get out of bed. With their help, you swing your legs over the side of the bed and shakily stand up. Apparently you're a lot better than they'd expected, which makes you very happy, so you're sent on your way with some crutches and a cast around your arm.

The first thing you do is walk, with some difficulty, to Polnareff's room. You peek your head inside and find that it's empty, save for him lying on the bed in the middle of the room. You make your way in as quietly as you can - it looks like he's sleeping - and you sit down in a chair next to his bed.

You want to wake him up and tell him you love him right now. All you want is to throw your arms around him, to kiss him and hold him and make some shitty joke that sends you both into a fit of giggles - but he looks so peaceful. You can't.

You reach out and brush his hair out of his face; it's not in its usual, inexplicable style, and instead it gently frames his face and falls down to his shoulders. You've never really given his appearance much mind, now that you think about it. You've been so focused on the way you feel around him and the way he makes you laugh. But looking at him now, totally serene, he's actually handsome.

You take his hand and hold it loosely. You watch him for a while and then look at the clock, which reads 8 AM. It's pretty early, so you're not surprised he's still sleeping. You sit for even longer, thinking about how lucky you are that he lived. Going up against Dio alone was suicide, you both knew it, but he still forced himself to try. He's almost stupidly brave, and you can even love him for that - even though he scared the shit out of you.

You glance at the clock again, and when you look back, Polnareff is awake and looking at you with a drowsy smile and half-lidded eyes. "Good morning," he murmurs, looking down at your hand wrapped around his. "How are you doing?"

"I love you," you blurt out, and this shocks Polnareff into full alertness. He sits up and stares at you, and you stare right back. You hadn't really meant to do that. "Jean, I think I've loved you for a long time. You do so much for me and you always make me feel so - so much and I don't know what I'd do without you. I'm just so fucking happy that you're okay." You take a deep breath and watch him; he's oddly unresponsive. You frown and start to tell him to answer you, damnit, when suddenly he leans forward and sweeps you into his arms.

He kisses you with an extreme fervor, which is something you've never really felt before. It's almost as if there's an urgency to it, like he needs you to know now how passionately he feels for you - and it's working. You kiss back, wrapping your arms around him but being careful to avoid any bandages. His teeth brush against your bottom lip and you nearly shiver. He smiles a little teasingly against you when he feels it, and you're about to push him back and yell at him when he presses his body flush against yours. He moves from your lips and kisses your jaw sweetly, letting his lips linger before moving down to the top of your neck. You sigh, leaning even further into him, and he peppers kisses down your neck before finally pulling away.

It's not really "away," though - you're practically laying on him. "Are you comfortable...?" you ask, really not sure of what to say, and he laughs loudly.

"I love you too, (Y/N). So much. Ever since I met you I knew I liked you, and I've grown to need you. You're an angel, (Y/N), mon amour. Please stay with me." He kisses you one more time, and when you part you nod your head a little clumsily.

"I thought we already agreed on that," you say, smiling, and Polnareff nods. "But I'll doubly promise that we're staying together."

Polnareff's face is bright red, and you're sure yours is too. You place your hand over his. "So how are you? Did they fix you up?"

"Yeah, and you're never gonna believe this." He picks up his other hand and all but shoves it in your face, and you gasp. He's got two prosthetic fingers; they're shiny and metallic, and they stutter a bit as he moves them. "They're not perfect yet, obviously, but we're getting there."

"Jesus, Polnareff, I..." He had taken that hit for you. A pang of guilt enters your mind, but soon it disappears and is replaced by unbelieveable gratefulness. "I love you so much." You wrap him up in a hug, and he hugs you back, a little startled.

"I love you too," he says, rubbing circles into your back. "You know... A month ago or so, I wanted to start calling you 'mon amour.' I wasn't sure if you knew what it meant, though, so I didn't want to risk giving anything away."

You look up at Polnareff and snort. "I know what 'mon amour' means, you dumbass," you tell him, laughing. He laughs too, and you both sit there, giggling in each other's arms. This is exactly what you've wanted for the past month, and what you want for the rest of your life, and it's finally yours.

A couple days later, you all arrive at the airport. Jotaro has healed up well, and he' retold the story of his battle with Dio to you. You're so thankful for everything he did, and you make sure he knows that. He's like family to you now.

"You all have everything?" Joseph asks, checking his own bag for the hundredth time.

"Yes. How many times do we have to say it?" Jotaro mutters from beside him.

Joseph sighs and relents, zipping his luggage back up. "You're right." He looks at Jotaro and then you and Polnareff, who are facing the two of them. "You're all ready?"

"Yeah. I'm really excited to meet Holly," you say with a wide smile. "She sounds amazing from what you've both told me."

"Yeah, she's pretty great." It almost sounds like Jotaro doesn't mean it, but it's clear from his small smile that he does. He obviously loves her a lot. "I'm sure she'll love you guys."

"I hope so." As he speaks, Polnareff takes your hand in his. "Well, we don't want to miss the flight."

The four of you board your plane and make your ways to your seats. Everyone save for you has a bit of a difficult time, seeing as they're impossibly tall and ridiculously buff, but it's all figured out soon enough and you're on your way.

You take the window seat, and Polnareff sits next to you. Joseph and Jotaro are on the other side of the aisle from you two. You lean your head against the window and sigh, shutting your eyes. You don't really care for plane rides, so you figure you should try to sleep.

One by one, the moments flash by. Avdol's body simply ceasing to exist, and the dull thud of his arms as they hit the ground. Iggy's howls of pain as Vanilla Ice kicked him again and again and again. You hadn't seen Kakyoin's death so your mind kindly fills in the blanks for you - you see him lying motionless on the roof of a building in Cairo, completely drenched in blood. Dio stands over him and laughs and laughs, and he looks at you and laughs harder.

Your eyes snap open and you gasp, shooting up in your seat. "Shit, (Y/N) - are you -" Polnareff is cut off by you hugging him tightly, pressing your face into his shoulder. "...Did you have a nightmare?" he asks softly.

You feel like a child but there's really no other way to put it. "Yeah," you answer, your voice muffled. "It was - well, you can figure what."

"Yeah." You can feel yourself shaking. You hadn't realized that your feelings of dread and anxiety, from all the way back on the night before you fought Dio, would follow you out of Egypt. "Mon amour..." Polnareff kisses the top of your head, and you nearly start to cry - you're so fucking sick of crying. "I've been going through the same thing. I'm sure we all are." You force yourself to let go of Polnareff, and you look up at him with teary eyes. "We'll all be able to help each other in Japan, even if it's only for a few days. Someday these feelings will subside and we'll be left with all the great memories we made with them."

Polnareff looks melancholy, which isn't an expression you often see him wear. You're sure he must miss everyone just as badly as you do, and Joseph, and Jotaro. It's a unique thing, to share this struggle with three wonderful people, and you feel lucky you have them to support you - and to support. You want to help them as best as you can, though you're still not great at talking through emotions. As you lean your head back and think about how you'll try to open up a bit more, Polnareff speaks. "I'm really excited to get to Japan," he says eagerly with a smile on his face. "Do you think there’ll be any sushi places around? I've never had it."

You gape at him. "What's the deal with you? Music, iced coffee, and now this?" You laugh. "When we get a place in New York, we're gonna get sushi and listen to all my favorite albums, okay?" He nods, grinning. "Well, my favorites and some historic ones. I'll try not to be too biased."

"I'm sure you'll only choose the best," he tells you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. "I trust you."

You lean against his side, unable to stop smiling. You've don't think you've ever been this happy. You feel like laughing and crying all at once. As Polnareff pulls you closer to him and starts to hum - it's whatever he'd been singing in the shower a few days ago - you shut your eyes and take in this feeling of utmost contentment. You're a little afraid of what the future holds, in coping and learning how to live after this experience, but you're confident you'll get through it with your new little family by your side. You'll all be together for the rest of your lives.

#JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #polnareff x reader #jean pierre polnareff #polnareff imagine #jjba x reader #jojo imagine #my writing #thanks again for the request! i hope you enjoyed this beast of a story lol. its like 16k and i dont know how that happened

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novantinuum · 4 years

Text

Tides of Renewal (SU one-shot)

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: T (Mild TW for vague allusions to past suicidal thoughts.)

Words: 2500~

Summary: Now twenty years old and living on the other side of the country, Steven spends his morning relaxing on the beach, musing about his past, and having a chat with his dad.

Hi folks! This is actually my two-months-late “Happy Birthday, Steven” fic, ahah- amusingly, posted two months late to the day. I’m quite happy with how this short turned out.

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3 as well. AO3 link will be provided in the reblogs. Thank you! <3

____

Tides of Renewal

Steven rises alongside the sun, but not by choice.

As he abruptly stirs, jerking onto his side under his tangled blanket, he soon realizes that he has little lingering memory of the nightmare that shook him from his slumber. Nevertheless, his heart pounds so hard it feels like it’s hanging in his throat. There’s feelings, faint impressions— someone’s blood (his, or hers?), Connie’s screams, a bubble of terror boiling from within— but that’s all he’s left with. The young man clutches at his sheets, struggling to catch his breath as is the norm most mornings. Dim light sneaks in between the edges of the curtains, offering a rough estimate of the time.

Once it’s clear his chances of sleeping in have become null and void, he entices himself out of bed with the promise of buying himself a muffin at the local coffee shop later today, a birthday treat. His routine is sluggish, but precise. He uses the bathroom, throws on his swim trunks and a thin cotton shirt, downs the pills he forgot to take last night with a quick swig of water, carefully runs his fingers through his long curls to work out the tangles, and slips his feet into the flip flops he always leaves lying right at the foot of his bed.

The young adult only takes his guitar, phone, and keys with him as he walks the mile distance from his humble studio apartment to the public beach. Around him, the world is at peace. The only sound intermingling with the gentle ebb and flow of the Pacific at this hour of the morning is the chattering of puffins that nest on the large rock outcroppings in the tide pools nearby. The edge of his lip quirks up when he finally crosses that sacred boundary— the sidewalk meeting the shore— and removes his sandals, reveling in the satisfying, grainy texture of sand squishing between his toes. Hah... the beach. Funny, that. All his traveling these past years, from mountains, to prairies, to sprawling suburbs to wooded forest towns, and it only succeeded in deepening his childhood love for the familiarity of saltwater air and tourist-filled boardwalks. Still, the secluded, rustic charm of Haystack Cove is a far cry from the Beach City he grew up in. Different people, different sights, different types of seafood sold at the markets. This place feels like a home all his own, appropriately distant from the Gem influenced settlement he’d left behind.

He crosses the fine grained sands towards his favorite sitting spot, a hefty stone jutting out from the ground, its surface buffed to a glossy finish over the years by the high tides. The water’s still distant this early in the morning, glimmers of sunlight sparkling off of the foam and spray. Yawning, he plops himself down on the stone and lifts his guitar into his lap. He strums a few random chords as a warm-up before settling into an experimental melodic sequence.

As he plays, the early morning breeze teases at the ends of his shoulder-length hair, untied and let free in all its curly splendor. It’s still quite chilly, but with the sun peaking over the horizon behind him and not a cloud in sight, the air’s bound to heat up in no time. Steven inhales deeply, soaking in the salt and light and pushing away the shadows lurking at the periphery of his mind, that twitching, exhausting anxiety that never quite seems to leave him alone these days. Unfortunately, functional does not mean carefree. While far fewer in number then when he was a teen, he still runs into plenty of moments where he’s struck blind by particularly painful reminders of his past, his gem snapping into overdrive in an instant. He’s a bit better at coping in these moments now, and walking himself down from panic attacks, but deep-rooted traumas don’t simply melt away. With that in mind, at this point he suspects he’ll likely have to deal with a mixture of therapy and meds for the rest of his life. That’s fine, though. If that’s what it takes to be at peace. He’s thankfully reached a point in his recovery where he’s more than willing to work for it.

Startling him out of his roaming thoughts, his phone chimes to life, touting the same cheery ring tone he had as a kid. He gently sets his guitar down in the sand and fishes his cell phone out of his pocket, a silent bet as to who’s calling rising within his mind. Sure enough, his dad’s contact photo proudly greets him. Hah— he called it. Steven stifles a giggle as he hits accept and lifts the phone to his ear.

“Hey, Dad!”

“Hey, Schtu-ball!” his father chimes from the other side of the country, three hours ahead. He hears a faint shuffle over the line, and then the beginnings of guitar accompaniment as the man begins to sing:

“Happy birthday to you~!”

Dad ends the line with a resounding vibrato, and a few extra jazzy chords for good measure.

“Heh heh, thanks,” he says, bashfully blushing at the attention, and gazing across the loose sands as if ensuring the secret of his birth hasn’t swelled into a nauseatingly public affair like half of his birthdays had since the start of Era 3. “Gotta say, the impromptu guitar solo pushed that to a whole new level. You just get up?”

“Yep! Bright and early. Garnet said you’d probably be awake by now, so I figured I’d call and give ya’ a good greeting to start the day. Lemme guess, you’re down there at the beach already? I think I heard waves.”

Steven’s glance lifts to admire the slowly rising tides, and the promise of each tomorrow that lies beyond. “Hah, you know me,” he says softly, taking a deep lungful of that precious salt-touched air he’s always adored. “I live for the water. Might force myself to go for a swim later before all of you come. Not sure yet,” he says, shrugging as he turns and squints in the wake of the steadily rising sun. “But my therapist said I should probably keep as active as po—“

“It’s your birthday. You do whatever makes you happy, bud,” his dad promptly reminds him, slight concern sticking to his voice. And yes, it’s practically a father’s job to worry, but his chest tightens with lingering guilt for pressing that upon him anyways. Ugh, this is because he said ‘force myself,’ isn’t it?

“Doing my best to,” he lamely offers, hoping it’ll at least end that segment of conversation. He twirls a stray strand of hair around his finger as he scours his memory for something new to offer. Thankfully, his mind quickly lands on the exciting email he received last night. He grins, knowing for sure his dad’ll love this. “Oh, uh- topic change, but I got that last job I applied for, by the way.”

“Oh? The taffy shop one?”

“Yeah! I start on Tuesday.”

“Wow, that’s- that’s awesome! They responded fast, then.”

“Yup,” Steven nods, popping the ‘p.’ “Honestly, it’s nothing much, just stocking and working the register, but it’ll give me some cash to work with.”

Some cash to finally pay for his own food instead of continuously bumming money off his dad. There’s no way he can handle full month’s rent on his own with this minimum wage job, (who on Earth could in this economy), but it might be enough to cover the smaller things. Groceries, electricity, internet. That sorta stuff. Fidgeting on the edge of the stone outcropping, his bare toes dig narrow lines in the sand. He hasn’t really had this discussion with Dad yet, but the mere concept of being wholly reliant on other people steers his mind uncomfortably close to the I’m a Burden Zone. He’d far prefer to feel like he has a stake in the game.

“I know you said you don’t mind supporting me,” he continues in a hesitant tone, twirling his finger through one of his curls, “but I still feel kinda bad—“

“Don’t. I’d rather you not have to stress yourself to the bone about money like I did when I was your age.”

The line shakes for a second. He’s pretty sure he hears the faint clink of a bowl meeting the counter from his dad’s side.

“Dad...?”

“Sorry, bud. Just putting ya’ on speaker. Figured I’d make myself some instant oatmeal,” he says, his voice sounding a bit further away from the microphone. “Goodness, though. Twenty years. That still boggles the mind.”

He gives a soft laugh. “You’re telling me. Could’ve sworn I was twelve just yesterday. And to be honest, it’s... it’s kinda weird sometimes, you know?”

“What is?”

“Being another year older. ‘Cause... well, uh...”

Steven grits his teeth, searching for the most delicate manner in which he can discuss these emotions. The feelings of his past are a really hard topic to dwell on sometimes, even in therapy, and even though he and his dad have long since had scattered discussions about what a poor mental state he was in then, he doesn’t wanna upset him too much.

“There were definitely days I assumed I wouldn’t have a future, or didn’t want one to begin with,” he continues, throat thick. “Back during all the conflict, before Homeworld reformed. And even after that, when I was... you know. And things are better, now, they’re definitely a lot better. But the idea of a ‘future’... even if I’ve got a job, a home, a girlfriend... it’s still weird to think about, I guess.“

There’s a brief silence on the line as this vulnerable admission sinks in.

“Yeah,” Dad replies eventually, clear sorrow in his voice despite how careful he thought he was in phrasing these matters. “I hear ya’.”

With a quick nervous laugh, he scratches at the nape of his neck, fingertips brushing against the thin, wispy strands of hair growing back there. “Geeze, sorry for bringing the mood down so quick. Didn’t even know I had all that on my mind until it spilled right out.”

“No, no! No need for apologies, I’m always here to listen. And in any case, I’m glad you’re in a better place now.”

Steven nods his head to himself in full agreement (momentarily forgetting that his dad isn’t actually here in the flesh to see this response). Sixteen and seventeen really, really weren’t good years for him. And even though he’s put lot of work into himself since then, he can’t help but constantly fear the possibility of relapse. His therapist told him a few sessions ago when he expressed this worry that... relapses into old thinking patterns can be common for people living with C-PSTD, and that it’s important for him to be cognizant of any unusual changes in his patterns and routines so he can quickly intervene with his box of healthy coping tactics, but... geeze. The dark, traumatic destinations his wandering thoughts end up stagnating in when the concept of relapse brushes his mind aren’t fun to acknowledge. It makes him yearn with deafening hunger for a simple switch he could flip, some magic cure-all for his brain that would stop him from having to deal with any of this awful shit in the first place— but of course, cruel universe this can be at times, those don’t exist.

“Speaking of that,” Dad speaks up again after clearing his throat, “how are those new meds treating you? You said last call your doctor was gonna change them, yes?”

“Nah, not change. There’s no need to change types,” he shrugs. “It’s just a dosage shift. And it’s fine, I think. I’ve been on ‘em for a few days, and there’s no problems so far. Brain's been treating me a little better.”

Nightmares aren’t quite as bad.

His energy isn’t totally zapped by noon.

The whirling, panicked trajectory of his thought patterns is a little easier to wrest control of.

All in all, nothing’s perfect, but he certainly feels a good deal more stable than before. Now, if only he can remember to consistently take his meds before he goes to bed like he’s supposed to instead of totally forgetting like he did last night and having to scarf it down when he sees that forsaken capsule in his pill box the next morning. Tsk, tsk.

“That’s real good to hear,” his dad responds to his news.

He flexes his knuckles against his lap, gaze reflexively drifting back towards the welcomed distraction of the tides. “Yeah.”

“Anyways, I, uh...”

“So, party logistics,” he cuts in with an overly cheery tone, changing the topic from his boring mental health crap entirely. “We should probably hash this out now. I know Connie’s planning on dropping around about noon. What’s your guys’ plan? She can probably send Lion to you after she gets here, if you want.”

“Yeah, that’d be best. Pearl said there weren’t any convenient warps nearby. Well, there’s one- but apparently it empties out into an active lava tube. And that’s not exactly Dad-friendly.”

“Aww, you mean you’re not filled with the intense desire to dip your hand into molten lava and shlorp it up like it’s soup?” Steven retorts, only barely holding back his laughter as he thinks of this absurd text thread he had going with Connie a few weeks back, wherein she sent him a video of some volcanic flows and told him, verbatim, that 'despite all logic and reason sometimes I can’t help but look at super viscous lava and think... forbidden s o u p, mmmm.’

“Not particularly, no,” his dad says, sounding thoroughly confused. “I’m- why are you laughing? Is this some sort of weird internet thing I’m not familiar with again?”

He wipes tears from his eyes as he tries to catch his breath. “You, ah- you kinda had to be there, sorry. Anyways, yeah. I’ll have Connie send Lion. I’ll text you right before, how’s that?”

“Sounds great! Can’t wait to see ya’, bud. I’m gonna let you go, now, okay? I can talk your ears off later. Go enjoy your morning. Love you.”

“Love you too, Dad,” he says, grinning. “Bye.”

“Buh-bye.”

Once his dad hangs up he sets his phone beside him on the rock and takes a deep, steady breath, trying to capture the full nuance of each diverse scent in the air. He may just be imagining it, but he swears he’s able to pick out the faint scent of taffy intermingling with the ocean saltiness and the hint of cedar from the nearby state forest. In the end though, whether it’s real or not it’s a welcomed reminder of all the possibility the future holds for him.

He’s twenty now. It’s a brand new decade of life. He’s got a new job lined up, a stable and loving relationship, a supportive family, and plenty of courage in facing the shadows of his past. Sure, so maybe he’ll never know with certainty what will happen— maybe he’ll relapse a little, maybe he’ll still have some bad days sprinkled amongst the good ones— but as he watches the tides flow in to greet him, he smiles... and resolves to just take this year as a renewal of his vow to care for himself as best he can.

#su #su future #steven universe #greg universe #su fanfiction #my writing stuff

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justatiredpotato · 4 years

Text

Set Me Free | Chapter 4

Chapter List

Pairing: hybrid!Yoongi x human!reader

Genre: Angst, fluff, coffee shop AU, hybrid AU

Word Count: Chapter: 5,000~ Total: 40,000~

Updates daily at 10pm MST

Warnings: anxiety, panic attacks, implied abuse and sexual exploitation

Summary: Yoongi, a cat hybrid, has been hurt time and time again by a world that would have him believe he’s worthless. One day he finds himself in your protective care, and gets a new family to boot. But is it really that easy to escape the past and embrace a new beginning?

Author’s Note: In this fic the reader’s name is Yeoji

You woke up the next morning delightfully warm. You shifted to tuck your nose back under the edge of the blanket, but found you were curling into someone’s back instead. Startled, you pushed yourself up on one elbow and blinked at the figure tucked against you. Your arm was wrapped around Yoongi’s waist, legs tangled together. You blushed and quickly detached yourself from him. He let out an almost childlike whimper and turned to try and pull you close again, but you tucked the blankets around him and moved out of his reach. How could you invade his space like that? You must’ve drank too much.

The air was cold even through your sweats as you climbed out of bed. It was still early morning. You never slept soundly when you drank. Figuring you wouldn’t be getting much more rest if you tried to go back to sleep, you started getting ready for the day. You quietly pulled out a simple fitted black dress and a baggy cardigan, creeping into the bathroom to slip them on over a pair of knit tights. After grabbing your work shoes you exited the bedroom, closing the door as quietly as you could so as not to wake a still sleeping Yoongi. The shop opened in about two hours, so you figured you could get some of the office work done before then.

You settled on the couch with your laptop and a notebook that held your accounts information, spending about a half hour making sure everything was balanced properly. You decided to spend the rest of the time reviewing your inventory and preparing the order for your supplier that month. As you stood to move to the kitchen, the bedroom door creaked open. A bleary-eyed Yoongi emerged, hair sticking up in all directions, partially obscuring his ears.

“Where’d you go?” he croaked, voice hoarse from crying the evening before. “Why didn’t you stay?” His eyes widened as he took you in, already in your work attire.

“Am I late?” he asked, suddenly awake.

“No! No, you’re off today.”

“Really? Why? I can work,” he said, almost sounding hurt.

“I have Jimin coming in today, don’t worry. Why don’t you work on your music today?”

He nodded, pondering. He seemed to acknowledge that it would be nice having some time to himself after yesterday's incident. You didn’t mention the fact that you were trying to hold off a bit longer before introducing him to the other boys. They were a bit energetic for Yoongi at the moment. You feared that Jimin’s affectionate nature would stress him out.

“Okay, well call me if it gets crowded. I can get ready and come out,” he eventually said.

“Thanks.” You smiled, walking over to ruffle his hair. “But don’t worry, this is my job.”

He mumbled some kind of acknowledgement, ducking his head but also pushing into your hand so you scratched his ears some more.

“Are you coming back here for lunch?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’ll eat with you. I usually go at two, can you wait that long?” He nodded. “Alright, I’ll be back then.” You turned and headed out front as he grabbed his bag and the bundle of papers you’d salvaged.

“Ah!” you exclaimed, turning on your heel. He jumped, looking at you questioningly. You hurried over to the bookshelf and pulled a notebook off of it. “Use this,” you offered, holding it out to Yoongi.

“Thanks,” he said, flipping through it and giving you a gummy grin. You suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to curl up next to him and ask him about his music. It felt like an actual tug at your heart, wanting to know the thoughts and feelings that he’d put to paper. You pushed the thought away, pulling your laptop closer to your chest.

“You’re welcome,” you said, turning to continue your way out front.

You went over inventory, finishing up about a half hour before opening. The order could be written up that night or the next morning so it could go out on Friday. You put your laptop aside and went out to the counter, making your regular coffee and Yoongi’s. You also made breakfast for the two of you.

He glanced up when you entered the room. He hadn’t moved from his spot on the couch. He flashed a smile, pulling one side of his headphones off his ear.

“Thanks!” he said, already going for a sip of his coffee.

“You’re welcome. I’ll see you at lunch,” you said, already turning to leave.

“You aren’t staying for breakfast?” he asked a little sadly.

“I have to go let Jimin in and open,” you answered over your shoulder. “But it’ll be lunchtime soon. And maybe you can show me some of your music after I finish up tonight?” you asked hopefully.

“Sure,” he replied, running a hand through his hair and smoothing over his ears.

Jimin was already waiting outside when you returned to the cafe. He waved cheerfully as you jogged to unlock the door for him.

“Noona!” He tumbled into your arms as soon as the door was open. You laughed, squeezing him tight and rocking side-to-side with the hug.

“How’s my Chim Chim this morning?” you asked, burying your face in his hair as he held you. To anyone else you might’ve looked like a couple, but Jimin just really liked holding people and being held, always had. It seemed to help him heal when he first arrived at Jin’s shelter, and you had been one of the first people he grew close to.

“I’m good, I missed you though!” he answered, finally pulling away a little. “You spent the whole weekend with your new kitty friend!” he pouted.

“We had a few things to do so he could settle in.” You laughed at his obvious jealousy. As excited as he was about another cat hybrid in the family, you knew he’d be jealous too.

“Is that why you smell like him? Because it smells like you’ve been all over each other,” he said, raising an eyebrow at you. You chuckled awkwardly pushing him away and rolling your eyes.

“We’re staying in the same tiny two room apartment. And I gave him my bed the first day, so that’s probably why.”

Jimin nodded dubiously, slipping past you and inside. He headed to the kitchen to put his backpack away while you locked the door so you could finish preparing for the day. Jimin took down the chairs and straightened the tables while you made him a coffee.

“You hungry?” you asked as you put the finishing touch on his mocha.

“Nah, I ate with Tae before I left.” He came back to the counter, accepted the beverage gratefully and took a sip.

“How’s he doing at the shelter?” you asked as you straightened cups and checked the register.

“He seems to like it. There are… hard parts of the job. But I can tell he feels good about helping people like he is there.” A sad smile flickered over his face. “He’s really strong, you know? Staying there, seeing all those things.”

You put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. “You know there’s nothing wrong with you choosing to do something else? Not everyone is suited to a job like that,” you said gently. “I don’t think I could do it.”

“But you are doing it!” he said confidently. “With your new kitty friend. You’re totally helping him!”

You laughed, releasing him to go unlock the door. “He’s not ‘my new kitty friend.’ His name is Yoongi. Yoongi-hyung, to you,” you scolded. There was no real firmness in your tone though.

“Another hyung?” Jimin whined. “Man, I wanted someone to boss aro- I mean take care of.” He seemed pleased with his joke.

“Chim,” you turned your best older-sister-look on him. “Play nice.”

He pouted again. “I’m always nice!” he argued, but you could hear the barely-suppressed giggle in his voice. “When can I meet him?”

“I’m not sure yet. Whenever he’s ready, I guess.”

Jimin nodded understandingly.

The morning passed relatively slowly. The festival only made things slightly more busy than any other Wednesday. Around one, you ran back to your house to make Jimin lunch and brought it back out front for him. You made him eat in the kitchen. He complained, but you explained that Yoongi was working back in your apartment and you didn’t want to interrupt him.

You slipped away for your own lunch a little after two. Jimin was clearly miffed that you were allowed to disrupt Yoongi’s work. But the sulking you’d have to endure was all worth it when Yoongi’s face lit up at your arrival. He already had stuff out to make sandwiches, slicing up tomatoes and cheese.

“I’m not a great cook, but I figured I could make this for you,” he said sheepishly, gesturing to the sandwich that was already made on the counter next to him. You grinned, running over to wrap him in a side-hug. Once he finished his sandwich you settled at the table to eat. Your break seemed to be gone in a blink as you chatted about what Yoongi had been working on (he said it was a secret), and you told him about your latest dumb customer (this Karen who’d come in demanding a fat-free breve, claiming she got one at Barstucks all the time). His laugh gave you this fluttering in your stomach, leaving a warm and cozy feeling that you chose not to read into.

You glanced up at the clock, cursing under your breath. You stood quickly, the chair scraping a bit on the floor. You’d taken an extra 15 minutes.

“I’ve gotta go, Yoongi,” you said, already heading for the door. He hurried after you, catching your sleeve and wrapping you in a quick hug, so light you barely processed it had happened.

“I’ll show you some of my lyrics tonight,” he said. He waved you off as if you weren’t just going out to the front part of the building. You waved back, chuckling at the silliness of it.

When you returned to the front counter, Jimin fixed you with a questioning look, eyes sharp.

“Yeah, he’s totally not glued to you,” he said with a sniff. He rolled his eyes, laughing as he no doubt smelled Yoongi on your sweater from the hug a moment before. “You’re so whipped.”

You grumbled but didn’t argue, knowing he would only take a stronger denial as confirmation. You weren’t trying to have him give the other boys the wrong idea. You would never take advantage of Yoongi by trying anything with him. A customer mercifully pulled you from your ethical quandaries about relationships with dependent hybrids.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

By the time the last customer left and you and Jimin started cleaning up, you were eager to go check on Yoongi.

“You can go, Noona. I’ll finish up here,” Jimin offered.

“What? Why? I can help you finish up.”

“Just go see him. I’m sure he’s been waiting for you since the second you left anyway.” He snickered, eyes scrunching up with his smile.

You blushed, cursing hybrid noses and their ability to see right through people. You turned your back on him, energetically scrubbing at the counter. “Don’t be silly. If anything he’s waiting for dinner.”

“Well then you better not keep him waiting. Jin-hyung said he’s way skinny,” Jimin said.

You turned back to him, brows raised. “Jin told you about Yoongi?”

“Just a little. He said we should all help you so he can get better.” Jimin was already at your back, gently guiding you toward the kitchen. He pushed you through the door, toward your apartment. “Go take care of your boyfriend. I’ll lock up before I go.”

The kitchen door thudded shut behind you as he went back to cleaning up. If your face wasn’t red before it certainly was now. You took a second, hoping the embarrassment would fade along with the color in your cheeks, before continuing into the apartment. You were certainly surprised by what greeted you.

“Yoongi…?” you called, noting the set table with a couple dishes of food already on it. You started toward the kitchen just as Yoongi’s head popped up from behind the island, making you jump.

“You’re back!” He smiled nervously at you, a couple of glasses in his hand.

“What’s all this?” You reached the table and looked over the spread: spaghetti with meatballs, garlic bread, and a shockingly pretty salad.

“Ah, this?” he said, as if you might be talking about something else. “I just figured that since you were working all day I could do something around the house. I cleaned a bit, but I thought it might be nice if you didn’t have to make dinner. I hope that’s okay.”

“Okay? This is amazing!” You passed the table in favor of going and wrapping Yoongi in a tight hug. “I haven’t had someone make dinner for me in a long time! If I ever let Namjoon cook he’d burn down the house.” You felt Yoongi’s chuckle rumble in his chest, a faint rumble of a purr already starting as well.

“Well, I didn’t burn anything. I just hope it tastes alright.” He pulled away and led you over to the table. “I tried to do it just like the video, so I think it isn’t bad.”

“I’m sure it’s delicious!” You took your seat and watched as Yoongi returned to the kitchen for the glasses he’d been getting.

“The guy on Viewtube said wine goes with this. Does that sound good?”

“Sure! Whatever the chef recommends.” You eyed the food, and noted that Yoongi had even put on music in the background. Soft piano music played from his laptop on the counter. Yoongi grabbed the bottle of wine out of the fridge—which happened to be the only wine you had—and joined you at the table. He removed the cork and poured you each a glass, which you smiled and took.

You weren’t a big wine fan in all honesty. The bottle was just the remainder of a bottle Jimin had brought over a while ago. But you took a sip anyway, wanting to cooperate with what he’d prepared. Yoongi took the plate in front of you and started to serve the food, but you reached out to stop him.

“You don’t have to, I can get it myself,” you said.

“It’s okay, I want to do it.” His gummy smile made you sit back down. You smiled as he spun the pasta, something he must’ve picked up from the Viewtube tutorial. He set your plate in front of you with a hint of a proud smile, then made a plate for himself.

You glanced at him to find he was watching expectantly, clearly wanting to see your reaction. So you spun your noodles and took a bite. Your eyebrows rose as you looked at him, chewing for a moment.

“Edible?” he asked.

“Very edible. Delicious actually!”

He beamed at the praise, taking a bit himself. He gave a thoughtful hum, considering for a moment. “Not bad. I think the sauce should be thicker though? The guy in the video’s sauce was definitely thicker.”

“Maybe you can tweak the recipe a bit to get it just how you like it.” You smiled at him encouragingly. “I think you have real talent for this, Yoon.”

“Thanks, noona. Maybe I’ll try something new my next day off.”

“That sounds great. I appreciate this so much, truly.” You ate in pleasant silence for a moment before a thought struck you. “Did you get to work on your music today? I hope you didn’t just do housework.”

“Yeah, I got some stuff done. I can show you some tracks I’ve made after dinner, if you’re interested.”

“I would love that!”

“Actually… This is something I made.”

You blinked at him, not quite getting it. “This?”

“Yeah, the piano music. It’s all my stuff.” He nodded towards his beat up laptop, still playing soft melodies from the counter.

“All these songs have been yours?”

He nodded, avoiding your gaze. “Yeah. I mean, none of them are finished or anything. I don’t really have the tools I need to make a polished track. These ones don’t even have lyrics yet. And I don’t know any vocalists to do the melody. But I thought they would be good enough for backgr-”

“Yoongi.” You interrupted his ramble. “They’re beautiful. All of them. I had no idea you wrote stuff like this.”

The way you looked at him, truly amazed, made him shift in his seat. He didn’t know what to do with a compliment to his work, which was so dear to him. He cleared his throat before he spoke, not wanting to sound too... He didn’t even know what. “Thanks,” he finally said before quickly returning to his meal.

Once you’d both finished dinner you helped him clear the table and do the dishes. As you put the last plate in the cupboard you glanced at him expectantly. He snorted, grabbing his laptop and heading to the living room. You smiled and hurried after him. He opened his laptop, and seemed to steel himself, before turning to you.

“Now remember, these aren’t finished or polished or anything. I don’t have the tools or the skill to really make these good so don’t-”

“Yoongi,” you whined. “Stop selling yourself short. I’ve heard you perform. You’re really talented. And the songs you played during dinner? Amazing. So stop dissing yourself!”

Yoongi’s serious expression turned into a smirk. “Dissing myself?” The smirk turned into a grin, and you couldn’t help but start laughing. Any nerves he felt about showing you his work faded into the background as he laughed with you. Once you caught your breath, he played the first song he wanted to show you. You bopped along to a high energy club beat, then an intense diss track. Yoongi could spit rap so fast you almost couldn’t keep up, yet every word was clear. You glanced up at him as he focused on the computer screen, realizing how truly talented he was. A slightly slower tune with a driving beat behind it came on, something in the realm of a sexy slow-jam. Your eyebrows shot up, face heating along with the whole room as you listened. You weren’t expecting his lyrics to be so… bold.

The song ended and Yoongi clicked around a bit, glancing at you and noting your expression. “What did you think?” He was clearly nervous, but also proud of his work.

You smiled at him, trying to school your expression. If he noticed your flustered state, he was kind enough not to comment. “I would definitely dance to that. Or buy tickets to that concert.”

He grinned a gummy smile, a laugh escaping him. “I don’t think we’re anywhere near that yet. But I appreciate the thought.” He looked back at the screen, queuing up something else. “Okay, this one is a bit different than the other stuff. It’s not as… up as the other stuff. But I wanted to try writing something real. I don’t know if it’s any good, so tell me what you think.” He pressed play.

A soft piano melody began, and you quickly recognized it as something he’d played at dinner. But it quickly became clear this was a newer version of the piece as a base synth came in. After a moment of piano, Yoongi’s lyrics began. His voice was more familiar as the Yoongi you knew, not the cocky club persona from the other songs.

As you listened you felt your heart clench with every word. This wasn’t a song, it was a story. His story. He told you about moments, flashes of love and joy, broken and torn away by loss and violence. His voice strained, trying not to break as he told of greed and hate and finally, emptiness. When so much pain builds up that you are hollow. With nothing left to push you forward, you only need the tiniest push to send you over the edge and into oblivion.

You sat for a moment, looking at the coffee table in front of you but your mind was far away. Yoongi wrapped an arm around your shoulder and you looked up at him. His eyes were wide with worry.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, scanning your face before wiping at it with the sleeve of his sweater. You hadn’t realized you were crying. You didn’t answer him, instead you pulled him into a tight hug. He seemed to understand because he didn’t press you further. The two of you stayed like that for quite a while.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

It was just you and Jimin again on Thursday. Business was picking up as the weekend approached, so you were kept busy with customers almost constantly throughout the day. At noon you ran back to check on Yoongi, but you didn’t even have time to take a real lunch.

Mid-afternoon there was a bit of a lull. You had just slipped back into the kitchen to take a breath and drink the coffee you’d made yourself when a customer out front caught your attention.

“Is your owner here?” the man asked. His voice wasn’t very deep, but his tone was imposing, almost threatening.

“I beg your pardon?” Jimin responded politely.

“Your owner. I want to speak to them.”

“You mean the shop owner?” The man must’ve nodded because Jimin called for you a second later. You came out of the kitchen and looked over the man in question.

He was average height, but stocky. The suit he wore was probably expensive, and you could see a fine gold chain peeking out of the unbuttoned collar of his shirt. You glanced up to meet his eye and were surprised to find a generally handsome face. A tattoo crept out from under his collar, under his jaw, and up behind his ear. He looked you over in return, mouth curving into a smile, but it had no warmth behind it. Actually, it almost sent a shudder through you.

“Are you the owner?” he asked.

“I am. How can I help you?”

“I’m looking for a lost hybrid. A client of mine mentioned she saw him here?”

You frowned, glancing at Jimin but making sure your unease didn’t cross your face. “A hybrid? I can’t think who you’d be talking about. Maybe he came in with a customer?”

“No, she said he was working here.” The man dug in his pocket and pulled out his phone. “This one, a cat. Name’s Suga, but he calls himself Yoongi sometimes,” he said, turning the phone to show you. The image you saw made your stomach drop. The photo was dimly lit by pink and purple neon lights, but you still easily recognized the boy in the photo. It was Yoongi, curled up on the floor against a couch. He was in just a thin t-shirt and underwear, obviously trying to avoid the camera. You schooled your expression before meeting the man's eyes again, feeling nauseous.

“I can’t say I’ve seen him. My friend here is a cat hybrid, so maybe she mistook him for this guy?” You glanced at Jimin, who nodded. He looked uncomfortable, probably sensing your anxiety.

The man sneered. “Believe me, she wouldn’t mistake this kid for any other kitty.”

You cringed internally but put on a polite, apologetic smile. “Well, I’m sorry we can’t be of more help.”

“Oh don’t worry. I’ll check in with the local patrol station. You know how the police have been cracking down on strays. When they find him they’ll get him right back to me.” You nodded tightly at him, still trying to keep a smile. “Let me know if you see him,” he said, pushing a business card across the counter to you. The name on it was Kwon Hyunjoong. You nodded and the man bid you farewell, You watched until he exited the shop and the door settled shut behind him.

You turned to Jimin. “Call Jin and Namjoon,” you said, already moving back to the apartment. You burst through the door, startling Yoongi from his place at the kitchen table. He pulled his headphones off and stood, walking to meet you by the door.

“Hey, what’s going on?” His brows were furrowed as he looked you over. “What’s wrong?” He placed his hands on your shoulders and that was when you realized you were shaking. You looked at him, panic in your eyes.

“There was a guy looking for you,” you blurted. You took a deep breath, but it ended up more of a sob. You couldn’t seem to catch your breath. “He had a picture of you. And he’s going to the police. He said they’ll find you and take you back to him and I said I hadn’t seen you but…”

Yoongi stopped you from saying any more, pulling you into his chest and stroking your hair.

“Woah, woah. Slow down,” he said. He was trying to sooth you but you could feel how he’d begun shaking as well, muscles tense as you clutched his shirt. “He doesn’t know I’m here right? And you said you hadn’t seen me.”

“That woman. That disgusting b**** told them she saw you. That you were working here. Yoongi, do they have papers? Can they take you? Oh god, even if they don’t I’m not sure what I can do. What if I can’t protect you? I promised I’d keep you safe and now I- I-” You dissolved into gasping sobs, imagining the police coming and dragging Yoongi out of your home. If they had evidence that they ‘owned’ him, or even had in the past, there’d be nothing you could do. Most of the police didn’t care, and you had no legal right to protect him. “I have to protect you,” you cried. You held him so tightly he winced a little, but he just held you closer.

Your sobs had quieted a bit and you were catching your breath when a knock came on the apartment door. Yoongi carefully disengaged from your arms and had you sit on the couch while he went to get the door. He glanced through the peep-hole before opening it to reveal Jin and Namjoon, along with Jungkook. Namjoon surveyed the older man, who was shaking, eyes puffy and watery. Then he glanced over Yoongi’s shoulder and spotted you curled up on the couch, trembling. He hurried past Yoongi and over to you, the others trailing behind him. You looked up at him as he crouched in front of you.

“Joon…” you whimpered weakly. He pulled you into his arms without a word. You started crying again, sobs renewed when you glanced up to see Jungkook with his arm around a terrified Yoongi. “You have to help me Joon. We have to keep him safe. We can’t let them take him.”

Namjoon glanced up at Jin, before gently pulling away from you. “Can you tell us what’s going on? Jimin only explained a little on the phone.” You nodded, sniffling and taking a shaky breath.

“Jungkook, why don’t you go help Jimin out front?” Jin said. The younger boy nodded, giving Yoongi’s shoulder one last squeeze before hurrying out to the cafe.

Yoongi came to join you and Namjoon on the couch, leaning close to you. Namjoon glanced at him and removed his arm from your shoulders, taking your hand instead. Yoongi quickly wrapped you in his arms, nuzzling into your neck in an attempt to soothe you. Jin sat in the armchair across from you. They waited patiently for you to gather yourself before you started talking. You told them the whole story.

“I don’t know how to keep him safe. Legally, I can’t do anything for you, Yoongi.” Your free hand came up to clutch at his arm, still wrapped tightly around you. “I can’t protect you without legal guardianship. You know how the police have been about so-called ‘strays’. Without papers, they’ll take you to a shelter and notify your previous owners. They’ll take you and I won’t be able to do a damn thing about it.” You released Namjoon’s hand, tears returning as you turned into Yoongi’s chest again and held him tightly.

“Well the easy solution would be to have her adopt you,” Jin said. He looked at Yoongi expectantly. That was the obvious solution, but you knew how Yoongi would feel about it. You felt him stiffen in your arms and you cried harder.

“Yoon, I know you don’t want an owner. And I don’t want to own you. But I can’t lose you. Please, please, I just want to keep you safe.” The room was silent as your pleas hung in the air for a moment.

Yoongi let out a shaky sigh. “Okay.” You froze, suddenly quiet except for the occasional hiccuping breath. “I trust you, noona,” he affirmed. “I… want you to adopt me.”

You pulled away to look him in the eye, scanning for hesitation. But as hard as those words must’ve been for him to say, you couldn’t see a trace of doubt on his face. He smiled softly at you and you smiled back, tears still falling.

“Thank you,” you choked out and he held you close again, burying his face in your hair. You turned to look at Jin. “When can I sign?”

“You got a computer and a printer?” he asked, already standing from his chair. Less than an hour later you were all seated at the table, papers printed and pens in hand. Jin had been able to pull up Yoongi’s records from the database online. Luckily, his former owners hadn’t bothered to keep the papers up-to-date since they first ‘acquired’ him years ago, so nothing was preventing you from adopting him. You signed, and Yoongi placed his fingerprint on the document.

“I’m going to run these to the registration office before they close. I’m signing as a reference, so luckily we can forego a background check or interviews as a first time owner,” Jin said, already standing and heading for the door. “Unfortunately, they’ll want you to have tags. But you only have to have them when you go out. They make earrings now too.”

“That’s what Jungkook and Tae have,” Namjoon added. “They’re actually pretty cool looking, for what it is.”

Yoongi nodded, clearly not thrilled with the idea of wearing a tag again. But when he saw the remorseful look on your face he smiled at you. “It’s okay, noona. Look, my ears are already pierced anyway.”

You looked and sure enough, he already had earrings: three on one side, two on the other. “We’ll get whichever one you want. Maybe we can find one that just looks like a regular earring,” you suggested hopefully.

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