Robin Buckley did not save everyone’s asses on countless occasions just for you to call her dumb…So here’s a list of things she’s done without which everyone would’ve died:
- Cracked the Russian code
- Found Reefer Rick’s location
- Found the article with the Creel murders in The Weekly Watcher
- Helped get a meeting with Victor Creel at the asylum
- Found out that music is the key to escaping Vecna which in turn saved Max
- Literally helped Will accept himself and discover his powers
ex!jj maybank x ex!fem!reader | set in season 4 without the Blackbeard mystery! (non-canon) | inspiration
content warnings: mentions of/references to sex (m and f receiving; MDNI); drug use; unfaithful relationships
word count: 18k.
blurb: JJ comes back into your life - older, richer and different again from before. Can the past stay the past, and the two of you be friends, or is there too much history there to let it all lie?
Cinnamon Buns
“Where would you like these?” Someone calls out to you. You turn and take in the tray of mouth-wateringly delicious looking cinnamon buns that a volunteer holds. Smiling, you point to a far table on the grassy field.
“Anywhere over there is good! Those look amazing, thank you so much!”
You turn back to the task at hand: organising cans of tinned, chopped tomatoes. To your left is a stack of bags of rice and to your right, bags of pasta. It’s quick work as you separate them by flavour: garlic and herb; chilli; regular…In the background you overhear chatter of fellow volunteers. Where should I put this? Who had the plastic bags? This was your happy place.
‘The Stirring Spoon’ is what you had called it. It was your passion project born out of daydreams. A collaborative, community effort, providing food to anybody and everybody, free of charge. It wasn’t a traditional food drive. Instead, it was like a potluck dinner that you hosted every Wednesday in the late afternoon, running into the evening. People brought whatever dish they had prepared, or any ingredients that they had going spare which you and a handful of other volunteers whipped up into mains and desserts. Tomato soup and lentil curry and meatball subs and rainbow brownies and chocolate chip cookies. You’d even managed to rope a few local establishments into it. Any leftover bakes that they had when the workday was over, or things that were just a smidge out of date by a day or two, you took and offered out. Today? Cinnamon buns that were baked yesterday at a humble cafe in the town centre, just shy of Figure Eight. Food health and safety laws were strict but you could stretch them for The Stirring Spoon. After all, you weren’t technically selling a product so no harm done. People were clued in about the supposed “risk”.
You lift up a can of tomatoes and study the ‘best by’ date on the metal lid. A month in the safe zone. Perfect. As your mind flicks through recipes of what you could cook up, a voice stood out amongst the chatter nearby. It was like a siren’s call; distinct and damning. You could pick it out even when deaf.
“I gotta delivery here for y’all.”
“What’s in it?”
“Fresh sorta stuff. ‘Tatoes and that kinda thing.”
“Over there, I’d say.”
As the footsteps approach you can feel your heartbeat quicken. It taps nervously in your ribcage like you’re sixteen all over again. Your focus remains on the task at hand until a slight shadow casts over you, and you know you can’t stall any longer. Your hands freeze over a can of tomatoes. Looking up, standing in front of you, clear as daylight and bright as dawn, is JJ Maybank. He’s dressed in his usual attire of a worn-down t-shirt and shorts; his fingers and wrists decorated with metal rings and beaded bracelets. If you squinted, it’d be like no time had passed at all. He doesn’t look all that different from the last time you saw him and yet, he’s entirely changed. In his hands is a large cardboard crate of various fresh produce. You smile.
“JJ.”
It comes out in a breath as though you’re seeing something supernatural before you. In a way, you are. How long has it been now? Two years? Nearly three?
His own surprise mirrors yours on his face. But JJ was always better at hiding his emotions, once he had a chance to catch them. It was like a teasing glimpse before he closed the curtains. His recovery is quick as a smile starts to show, and he says your name like he’s practised it everyday.
“Hey.”
“What’re you doing here?” you ask.
“Brought some deliveries,” JJ says, hitching the box. “Kiara mentioned something ‘bout a community kitchen drive y’all do and we thought we could contribute and stuff.”
“Well, that’s nice of y’all. Thank you,” you reply.
You shuffle some stuff out of the way on the pop-up table in front of you to make space for JJ’s box. It’s hard not to watch his arms as he lowers it down, the way the biceps flex and tense beneath the skin. It’s hard not to think of other times his arms have looked that way, wrapped around your body, tugging you closer. You blink the memories away.
JJ’s hands slot into his short pockets. He rocks on his feet. “Looks like it’s a pretty popular thing, huh?v This food drive, I mean.”
You glance around at the bustling volunteers. Smiling, you say, “Yeah, I guess it caught on pretty quick. Could say the same about y’alls tackle-and-bait shop you got going. It’s the talk of the town ‘round here.”
JJ grins with visible pride and it isn’t until you see it that you realise how much you missed his smile. You wonder if he’s surveying your face and body the way you are his, as if looking for some inconsistency or change since the last time you saw him.
“Yeah, it’s coming together pretty nice. Helps having a bunch of us working on it, though.”
“I bet,” you say. You’d heard the chatter on the island about the Pogue’s latest venture. The sneers of the kooks and the curiosity of the locals. Their bets and wagers on whether the business would sink or float. You’d wanted to wander down and check it out for yourself but you always chickened out. Truth was, you’d been avoiding JJ Maybank like the flu, and now here he was in front of you, putting all your quarantining to shame. Your eyes flit down at the crate and you gently rifle through the food for a distraction. Tomatoes and potatoes and bunches of fresh berries and fruit.
“I, uh, don’t know if there’s much in there that y’all need but–”
“No, no, this is great,” you assure him, smiling. “It’s really generous of y’all. Every contribution is appreciated.”
“Happy to help. To be honest, it’s Kie and Sarah you should be thanking.”
“Yeah, I didn’t peg you as the gardening type,” you tease.
“Well, only for the stuff that matters,” JJ grins with a wink. You consciously try to fight away the warmth running to your cheeks. Damn it, you weren’t sixteen anymore. “So…how have you been, then? Since we last…y’know–”
“Baby!”
It’s a reflex reaction to turn at the sound of Mark’s call. He comes bounding over with a wide grin. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to the elbows and flour is dusted on his khakis. It’s a reflex to close your eyes when he dips his head to plant a kiss to your lips, too. You rub them together after as you prepare yourself for what might be the most awkward interaction you’ll ever go through.
“JJ,” you say, turning to the blonde haired boy. “This is Mark. Mark, this is JJ. We used to…uh…Well, we used to hang out.”
“JJ - pleasure,” Mark says sincerely. He sticks out his hand and for a painful moment you genuinely worry that JJ might never take it. But he does, shaking it.
“Likewise,” he says.
You feel Mark’s spare arm slide around your back, his palm placing itself respectfully on your side. That was Mark: respectful. Righteous but not in an arrogant way. He was kind and caring without judgement, like the sort of Christian boy your nana would want you to bring home. The sort of guy who would bring your mother flowers and play golf with your father on the weekends. The kind of face you’d see flash on the television during the six o’clock news as the reporter relays a daring and heroic tale of saving orphaned kittens from a burning tree.
“This is the guy that’s started the tackle-and-bait shop. Y’know, the one with the surf store and stuff,” you say to Mark. Realisation dawns upon Mark and he wags his finger at JJ.
“Wait, wait, JJ as in JJ Maybank? One of the gang who found El Dorado?”
You roll your eyes at the pure awe in his voice. JJ chuckles somewhat nervously and nods as he says, “yeah, uh, that JJ, I guess.”
“Holy shit! Baby, why didn’t you say!? Oh man, I read all about that. It sounded freaking incredible! I have so much to ask you, I mean-”
You place a hand to his chest and laugh, slightly embarrassed by his fangirling. “Baby, baby! Cool it a second, yeah?”
Laughing, you glance at JJ. And you catch it. That emotion he lets slip just before correcting himself. His eyes dart to yours in a second but they were looking elsewhere before. They were looking at your hand on Mark’s stomach.
“Nah man, it’s cool. You guys should stop by sometime and I can tell you all about it. The other Pogues too, yeah,” JJ cordially replies.
“Oh sick, man. That’d be great,” Mark beams. You smile at JJ and nod.
“I’d love to see what you guys have done to the place,” you tell him. JJ smiles but it falters, like a flickering lightbulb that’s fighting to stay on. An awkward quiet passes and you clear your throat and glance around at the voluntary effort. “Well, I should probably get back to work.”
“No, yeah, course. I ought’a get back to the shop,” JJ replies.
“Thanks for the stuff though. We really appreciate it.”
“You brought this?” Mark wonders, picking a strawberry out of the crate. He pops it in his mouth and hums happily. “Damn, those are some fresh strawberries.”
“Yeah, man. All from our local garden we got going.”
“This place sounds like the dream,” Mark tells you. You smile up at him. He takes the crate in his broad hands and lifts it easily into the air. Being sandwiched between two toned-up guys had you feeling as brittle as candyfloss. “I’ll take this over to Nancy. Nice meeting you, JJ.”
“Yeah, you too, man.”
You watch him wander off a moment before turning back to JJ. He offers you another smile. “I’ll come check out the shop soon,” you promise.
JJ points at you, playfully warning, “you better!” before walking away. You watch him with every step he takes and the moment he’s out of sight your head drops. You let out a breath that you didn’t know you’d been holding. Your entire body feels as though it’s vibrating; your heart running laps in your ribcage. And the funniest part of all is the strange thought that races around your mind, he’s real. It had been so long since you’d seen JJ, let alone heard from him, that it felt like a daydream. The memories were so hazy now that they’d been painted over in sepia and you wondered if you’d imagined the whole thing. But no, here he was, knowing you and recognising you, and talking to you. The two of you back in Kildare, seemingly for good.
“Baby! Can you give us a hand?”
The call drags you out of your thoughts. Your eyes fall onto your boyfriend. He stands a good head taller than most people. He’s almost lanky in build but not ungainly; broad shouldered and slim nosed. His eyes are those of an otter: nearly black with how brown they are; beady and shining, even from over here. There’s a smattering of freckles over his cheeks which is adorably boyish in contrast to his stubble on the jawline. He’s smiling at you in a way that all girls want to be smiled at. Unashamed in his admiration for you. It grounds you from the dizzying interaction with JJ and you walk over to him, ready to help out in any way you can.
The rest of The Stirring Spoon passes without a hitch or unexpected visitor from the past. It’s as popular as always, with locals and tourists stopping by. The lentil and tomato soup that you whipped up disappears within the first half hour, alongside the nearly stale but still delicious cheese bread. Mark stands by your side the whole time, smiling as he serves. He whispers little jokes in your ear that have you giggling in the quiet periods of the food drive. Then came the evening rush, with people stopping by after work. The culmination of it all meant JJ was pushed out of your thoughts and back into the long-term store, where he’d been haunting before. That is, until you’re tidying up.
“That JJ guy seemed nice,” Mark says from the table to your right. You look up from the plastic snack-bags you’re tidying away. “You said you guys used to hang?”
“When we were sixteen,” you reply.
“How come you stopped hanging out?” he wonders.
You look down at the bags and obsess over the colours of the labels as you debate how best to word your reply. What do you divulge to him? There’s an index of memories labelled JJ and you know not all need to see the light of day, let alone enter the mind of your boyfriend in scarring reenactments.
“We just grew apart. He was going through some stuff, I think, and then he got really into that whole treasure hunting thing,” you tell him. It was true enough to not be a lie. Mark hums in thought.
“That’s a shame.”
You quirk a brow, amused. “Why? Cause I could have cashed in on the gold too?”
Mark shrugs and you laugh. “What!? I’m just saying, some people are worth staying friends with!”
But that was the thing. You and JJ weren’t just friends. Shaking your head, you close the cardboard box of repacked snack-bags and carry it over to the table where he’s working. You held him wrap individual muffins in napkins before placing them in a large tupperware box.
“Hey, y’know what’d be nice?” Mark says.
“What?”
“If we took them over some leftovers. I mean, we made most of this stuff with the ingredients they gave us anyway. And there’s still some of those cinnamon buns going spare.”
You take pause and look up at him. He’s obliviously working away, head tucked down to look at the muffins. There’s an easy smile that’s permanently etched into his face, as if he came out the womb cheesing away. That wasn’t why you fell for him though. No, it was his kindness. His offhand generosity that came so naturally to him it was almost offensive. Pressing up onto your toes, you cup his jaw and press a kiss to his cheek. He chuckles quietly.
“You’re wonderful,” you hum happily. “I think that’s a great idea.”
“You go wrap up some cinnamon buns then. I’ll pack up some of these muffins for them.”
You do as he asks and soon enough, there’s a box of miscellaneous leftovers from your food drive. Mark drives. The sky is a delicate colour of amber and pink warning of soon nightfall. Colours like that always make you feel relaxed. It helps ease the nervousness of seeing JJ again. You weren’t sure why it was making you so antsy. It wasn’t as if you and JJ parted ways on bad terms. You suppose it’s just a bitter-sweet memory. All memories of JJ came with that sour coating now, like sherbet lemons on your tongue. You wonder if you’d feel the same way if Mark weren’t around.
But he is, and you’re glad he is.
Looking over to him, you reach out your hand to capture his, resting on his thigh. He glances over at you and smiles. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Just happy, s’all.”
“That’s good,” he says, looking back to the road. Like something from a music video, he raises your interlocked hands to his lips and presses a kiss to the back of your hand. “Means I’m doing something right, if you’re happy.”
It’s impossible not to do a double-take as you pull up to what was formally the Maybank property. It’s as if new life has been breathed into it. More than just a lick of paint, there’s two brand new buildings alongside a pretty sturdy looking pier and dock. There’s a handmade charm to everything that makes it all the more enticing and impressive. Mark seems to think so too because he whistles as the two of you pull up the driveway. You look to your left and see the Twinkie. A relic from your past, of memories half-naked, rolling around the back with JJ, sharing a blunt in a post-orgasmic haze. Your thoughts shut off with the engine.
Mark takes the lead, his hand in yours, and carries the box of leftovers up to the house. You both wander up the porch and Mark knocks twice on the door. Your eyes look at everything, taking it in, admiring every detail, until someone opens the door. It’s Kiara.
“Hey. Can I help you?” she asks your monolith of a boyfriend. You poke your head from around his body.
“Hey Kie.”
“Oh my Gosh! Girl, where have you been?” Kie beams. The two of you embrace, laughing and smiling. “Wait - did you get the stuff I sent JJ over with?”
“Yeah, we did,” you say. “Thank you so much.”
“We actually brought this as a thanks,” Mark adds, offering out the tub. She eyes him almost with suspicion.
“Sorry, I forgot to say - Kie, this is Mark. My boyfriend,” you explain. Kie’s eyebrows shoot up with that final word but she recovers quick.
“Nice to meet you, Mark,” she says. She takes the box and glances through the plastic.
“Just some leftovers we thought you might like. Muffins and cinnamon buns and things like that.”
“Thanks guys, you didn’t have to. We’re happy to contribute,” Kiara tells you. “In fact, me and Sarah were talking about maybe making it a regular thing. Like every Wednesday we bring some stuff from the garden, or fish that we’ve caught?”
“Oh my God, yeah, that’d be amazing,” you nod enthusiastically. “We can definitely figure out a system.”
“Perfect. I’ll put these inside. You guys want a drink or anything? I can show you around,” Kiara offers, opening the door wider in invitation.
You glance over her shoulder into the room and then around the porch, behind you out to the water. You’re not sure why you were expecting JJ to just appear out of thin air in front of you.
“JJ’s out on the dock, if you want to catch up,” Kiara posits, as if hearing your thoughts. You look at her and hold her gaze, and - unable to read what her expression means - nod.
“I think I’ll go say hi. We didn’t get a chance to properly catch up,” you reply. You glance up at Mark. “You want to come with?”
“It’s alright. I’ll stay here and get the tour,” he tells you with a wink. You smile, press a kiss to his lips, and wander off with a wave to Kie, towards the dock.
Feet thudding on the slabs of wood, the structure creaks as you walk to the shop. An American flag waves in the breeze. You run a hand along the thick rope bannister and glance down into the growth of plants and water weeds underfoot. I can’t believe they built all of this, you can’t help but think as you walk up to the wooden-slatted tackle-and-bait shop. As you walk into the store under the wooden ‘WELCOME’ sign, reggae music blesses your ears alongside the smell of incense. It’s jam-packed with miscellaneous water accessories: fishing gear, surfing gear, refreshments, you name it. There’s nobody behind the counter. You glance around and squint, catching onto a spot red through the window. JJ lies outside atop of a vintage cooler, feet crossed one over the other, arms tucked under his head. You can’t help but smile. Walking outside, you lean against the doorframe and fold your arms over your chest.
“Well, as far as customer service goes, this is pretty crappy.”
He snaps up to sit like he has the joints of a ken doll. You laugh as he blinks his eyes awake, laying them on you.
“Oh shit,” he says, clearing his throat, running a hand through his hair. “When’d you get here?”
“A few minutes ago. You looked pretty comfy there,” you say, amused.
“Yeah, yeah, it’s a good nap spot,” JJ chuckles nervously, glancing down at where he just lay his head. He straightens his t-shirt and then looks back at you. His brows furrow. “Wait, what’re you doing here?”
“Came by to see the new place,” you reply, gesturing around you. “You offered.”
“Didn’t think you’d be in such a hurry.”
“No time like the present and all that.”
You’re acutely aware of how you’re avoiding mentioning Mark and how he’s currently being led around JJ’s former house and yard under Kie’s tow.
“This is a pretty sick set-up,” you praise.
“Yeah, it’s pretty good, huh?” JJ grins, getting to his feet. “Here, you want a beer? We’re technically closed for business anyway.”
Laughing, you shrug. “Sure. Why not.”
Cracking open the cooler, he reaches in and retrieves two ice-cold cans. One is tossed to you and you catch it, and a feeling of deja vu rings through you. JJ, younger, just as handsome, throwing you a can of beer at a kegger. He leans against the cooler and you against a wooden pillar. Cracking cans and the fizz of beer, and you take a refreshing sip. A comfortable quiet comes and the two of you catch one anothers eyes. You smile.
“I don’t think I said earlier, but it’s really nice to see you again,” you tell JJ.
He smiles, small and reserved. “Thanks. It’s nice seeing you too. Even if it is with Joe America over there.”
“Joe America?” you snort. “Come on, he isn’t that bad.”
“No, no, he seems…uh, he seems nice.”
“He is nice.”
“I believe it.”
“Well…good.”
That marked the end of that conversation. You take a sip of your beer and sigh, looking out to the view of sunset over the marshland.
“I wish you could’ve seen it,” JJ suddenly says. You look over to him with a frown, confused. “El Dorado, I mean. South America. It was beautiful. Like actually fucking stunning out there.”
“Really?” you say, smiling.
“Hell yeah,” he grins. “Like there was colours out there that I didn’t even think existed without, like, LSD, man.”
You laugh and he does too and you’re glad whatever awkwardness that just came passed quick like a seastorm.
“I still haven’t gone farther than Charleston, so I guess I’ll have to live vicariously,” you lightheartedly remark.
“Yeah, well, turns out there’s a pretty big world out there,” JJ grins.
“Glad one of us got to see it,” you hum.
“Nah, you’ll see it too. All of it. Even Paris.”
The city’s name hangs heavy in the air. It was more than just a throwaway comment. It was a secret message, as if JJ was speaking in code. I remember it. I didn’t forget. You wash down the adrenaline with another sip of beer.
“But no place like home, huh?” JJ says, clearing his throat.
“Probably helps now that John B ain’t a fugitive anymore,” you muse. JJ laughs, nodding.
“Yeah, yeah, no, for sure.”
“Well, I’m glad you found your happiness, JJ,” you say, smiling at him. “I’m glad you found yourself out.”
“Ain’t we all?”
The two of you watch one another for a moment. His resting smile lingers on the edges of his thin lips. His round, soft cheeks that add to a boyishness about him that his jawline doesn’t allow. You always liked JJ’s hair though. A mop of blonde planted atop of his head with sun-bleached highlights and deep-sea lowlights. But he’s taking you in too. You can’t take the weight of his stare after a while. Taking a deep breath, pushing away from the beam, you ditch your half-drunk beer atop of the cooler.
“Well, I better get going.”
“You sure? I mean, we can hang out a bit longer, if you like?”
You smile politely and shake your head. “I’m not the one driving, so…”
JJ looks over your shoulder and spots Mark. “Ah. Didn’t know Dollar Store Chris Evans was here, my bad.”
“JJ! Don’t be mean!”
“I ain’t being mean! If anything, that’s a compliment,” JJ defends. You roll your eyes. “Look, I’ll see you around though. It’d suck to go back to being strangers again when we’re both in the same place for a change.”
Despite the innocence of the offer, something in your gut tells you that you shouldn’t agree. You should set a boundary there, draw a line, and leave it in the past. So, really, you have nobody to blame but yourself for saying “I’d like that” with a smile in farewell, before walking back across the dock to your boyfriend.
Salted Chips
JJ had always been in your life. However, in the past, he was more of a background character, like an NPC in a videogame that creators constantly add in like an Easter Egg. The kind of character you’re curious about, in terms of their past and their present, their wants and their fears, but the kind you never have the privy to get close to in that way. He’d be at parties, at the surf break, at the shops or at school, but he wasn’t in your life. Until he was.
Fate came in the form of a seating plan for history class.
You and JJ were classmates. Table buddies. At first, the conversation was nonexistent. Sometimes JJ wouldn’t show up to class at all, either bunking off or playing truant in the bathrooms to light up a joint. But sometimes he’d come to class, usually escorted by Pope, and you’d share an uncomfortable silence as you worked through the hour. But then came an assignment that needed to be done out of class, and numbers were exchanged and words were shared outside of ‘what did he say’ and ‘what’s the homework’ and ‘what answer did you get for five?’. At your prompting to start on the project, JJ offered up the Chateau to work at, John B’s house that was a renovated fishing shack on the marsh.
To stimulate inspiration for the poster the two of you had to create - outlining the history of the American Civil War - JJ had offered up beers and a blunt, and you were glad to take him up on the offer. If you’re going to be doing schoolwork at the weekend, you might as well get something out of it other than mind numbing boredness. It seems you saying yes to JJ’s “gifts” put you in his good books. It’s as if you could see the moment his opinion of you changed. From there, it was as if the two of you had always known the other. Conversation came easy, banter even more so. Time spent together stretched outside of the classroom and instead into lunch breaks and evenings and weekends. He’d seek you out at keggers and hang with you at the beach. Somewhere in the roots of you friendship grew an attraction from the fondness. You noticed it in his lingering glances, his drifting gaze from your eyes to your mouth to your body. Later, you heard it in his words, finding innuendos in smalltalk, catching compliments like falling stars. Eventually, both slightly intoxicated, it came to a head, about three months into this natural-forming friendship.
“Yo!”
You turn around, beer in hand, startled by the interruption. It’s JJ. He’s wearing a cap, squishing down his beautiful locks of blonde; the muted green pairs well with his t-shirt. His combat boots sink into the ground, damp from the rainfall earlier in the day. Everything smells piney and fresh. You lift a finger to your lips to coax him to be quiet. His brows quirk up, a bemused smile gracing his gorgeous face. God really does have favourites, it seems.
“You good?”
“Sh! You’ll scare them,” you whisper. At his cocking head, confused, you fervently gesture for him to come over. He does. His presence by your side is almost overwhelming. The buzz from the liquor makes it difficult to keep your itching hands to yourself and your inhibitions at bay. “You see them?”
“See what?”
“The birds.”
“What?”
“Look, here,” you mumble. You lean close to him so you can point clearly with your finger, just along his line of vision. A whiff of JJ’s scent dusts your nose. He’s warm like he creates heat. Through the canopy of leaves, you can make out a single branch of a tree. In the nook, against the trunk, is a nest, and inside is a bunch of baby birds, cawing out for their mother, hungry, blind. You’d left them some salted chips on the floor, crumbled and scattered, in case the mother wanted to steal some to take up and gift. She probably wouldn’t, but something about their cries made you feel the need to do something, and it wasn’t as if you could offer up your beer.
“Woah.”
“You see ‘em?”
“Yeah,” JJ breathes. “That’s sick, how did you see them?”
“I heard them first,” you tell him, keeping your voice low so as to not frighten them. “Needed some air.”
“The smoke from the campfire botherin’ you?”
“I swear to God, it targets me,” you sincerely reply, making JJ laugh. You finally retract your finger (still sticky from the Smores made earlier) and turn, looking up at him. He looks down at you. Some strands of hair stick out from under his cap, pressing against his forehead. His brows are almost permanently slanted, eyes bright in the dusk of the evening. His shark tooth necklace sits against his chest. JJ’s lips quirk at your staring. “It’s not fair.”
“What’s not fair?”
“You’re so pretty,” you say, shaking your head, smiling. The alcohol has given you too much confidence, it seems. Loose lips. His eyes widen in momentary surprise but he catches it, covers it well. Then, comes his mask of confidence. He gives you a cocky smile.
“You’re not too bad yourself,” he suavely replies.
“Nah, I mean it. You’re really something, Maybank,” you smile, doubling-down. In for a penny and all that.
His smugness fades into something more real. He doesn’t seem to know how to take compliments like that. Then, strangely, something like panic tugs his brows together. “I’m not very good at this sorta thing.”
“The best people are,” you murmur, meaning every word.
“Nah, I mean it, though. I’m not…I don’t wanna hurt you.” JJ says it so quietly, so sincerely, that you get the sense that he’s never said it before. Maybe only thought it on dark nights, when you’re so alone with your thoughts it’s maddening. Smiling, shaking your head, you lift a hand to his cheek. Your heart hiccups at how he relaxes into your touch.
“I don’t think you have to worry ‘bout that,” you whisper.
You’re not sure who moves first, whether it’s him or you, but you end up a hair-width apart at the lips. His breath is hot as it fans onto your lips. Risk comes like a lightning rod and you take it, pushing onto your toes, connecting your lips with his. His hand finds yours and squeezes. That small gesture, as innocent as it is, tells you that you’re crossing this boundary together, from friends into something more.
Pistachio Pastries
The smell of coffee rouses you from sleep. You hum sleepily into your pillow, nuzzling in the scent of your boyfriend: peppermint and sage. A heavy palm gently pets your hair.
“Wake up, sleepy,” Mark murmurs.
You grumble in protest and he chuckles. The bed dips and the duvet lifts as he climbs back into the cocoon of warmth. Rolling over, you tuck yourself against him. He always slept in pyjamas. It was adorable. Nothing cheesy: just a simple shirt and flannel bottoms. His arm hooks around your waist and holds you against him. You swear to God, you could hide here forever. Mark was safety and security. Mark was the netting beneath a trapeze artist. Mark was the emergency brake in a racing car.
“Wednesday again,” he says, stroking the skin of your back. “Kiara messaged the Instagram page today. Said one of them will drop off an order around one-ish.”
“Sweet.”
An alarm blares from Mark’s phone and he cusses, breaking apart from you to retrieve it and turn it off. You take the opportunity to sit up and grab your coffee. The steam tickles your nose as you blow on it. Routine. Mornings spent in the mini home Mark had made in his parents backyard, in their old shed. He brought you coffee in the morning and you brought him tea before bed. You’d be asleep by ten and awake by eight. Your shifts at the smoothie shop typically followed a Monday through Friday routine, with the exception of midweek, with Wednesdays reserved for The Stirring Spoon. Weekends passed in a blink. Then, you reset to continue with the same thing again.
But that’s okay. Routine is okay. It’s reliable. Monotonous in a way that assures certainty. Besides, you liked your job, and your coffee, and your Stirring Spoon. But maybe it might be nice to stray from it all, just for a change.
You carefully place your coffee back on the side table and look over to Mark. He’s scrolling on his phone, lips set in a line, brows tugged together in vague concentration. A thrill runs through your body at the thought, as you press several kisses to the skin of his neck. You feel him breath beneath you. Then a kiss comes to your forehead, quick like a grandparent to their least favourite grandchild.
“Baby,” you hum, lifting a hand to rub your finger along his jawline.
“Mhm?”
“Do you have any, like…things you wanna try.”
He takes a moment to think, looking up from his phone. A smile comes to his face and he looks down at you, and your body burns with anticipation. “Surfing. Was never that good at it but I’d like to try it again, y’know?”
It fizzles away like water atop of a dying flame. “Oh. Yeah, no, yeah…that’s…you should do that.”
He frowns. “You okay?”
“Well, I just meant more…in the bedroom. Like anything, I don’t know…” Your face burns like you’re a nun stumbling across a Playboy magazine. “Kinky?”
“Kinky?”
“Not like oh my God, kinky. Just…I don’t know…”
He quirks a brow, smiling at you in a teasing sort of way. “You got some kink you’re not telling me about?”
“Maybe,” you tell him, hoping it comes out seductive.
“I don’t know,” Mark sighs, resting his head back against the wall. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows and you lick over your lips. He grins, like something dawned upon him, and he dips his head suddenly to press his lips to yours. “Wanna know what I’ve always wanted to try?”
“Mhm,” you say, lifting your hands to cup his face and keep him near. Yes, your body practically cries. Tell me, tell me, tell me.
“Well,” he stalls, kissing you again. You chase his lips, shortening in breath. “I’ve always wanted–” another kiss “-to try-” another kiss “-doing it in the shower.”
It’s hard not to deflate completely with disappointment.
Wow, yeah Mark. Kinky.
But when you open your eyes, you come face to face with a nervous, sweet, caring Mark. A Mark who always makes sure you feel good and safe. A Mark who would never walk past an elderly man struggling to cross the road. A Mark who would donate a twenty dollar bill he found on the roadside. And you can see it in his eyes, this burning passion, this shock at his own words, because for him, that was like confessing to watching gangbang porn in a Church. So, you plaster on a smile, feigning excitement. “No, yeah. That’d be fun. We should totally do that.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you grin, kissing him again. He sighs, pushing back against you. Your body sparks up again. The feel of his hands on your sides is like static energy. “We should try it now.”
“Now?”
“Mhm,” you nod eagerly, kissing at his lips desperately. “Good way to start the morning, huh?”
“Maybe,” he says. He pulls away slightly, guilty as he adds, “but it’s been a while since I cleaned the bathroom. And I promised my mom I’d help her out today, and I gotta be good to go in like ten minutes so…”
“Oh.”
He kisses you fleetingly on the lips and then tosses the bedsheets off his lap. You watch him get up. “But maybe soon? Like Friday?”
Routine with scheduled sex.
“Okay,” you say through a false smile. You sink against your pillow and watch him put on his slippers. The moment his back turns, you drop the expression. You’re so disappointed there doesn’t feel much point in trying to get off by yourself now, either. You don’t seem to fix your frown quick enough before he turns back around.
“Oh, hey, baby, I didn’t mean to upset you,” Mark frowns. He lowers down so his eyes are level with yours. You pout like a child as you look at him. He pushes some hair off your face. “I swear, if I weren’t about to go help my mom, I’d be all over you right now.”
“Mhm.” Maybe you are being a bit selfish. He’s helping his mother for God’s sake! Smiling, properly this time, you jokingly warn, “I’m gonna hold you to that, Mark.”
“You better,” he winks. He kisses you before leaving the room, into the bathroom. Sighing, you roll on your back and blink up at the ceiling. You practise your mantra - Mark is good. Mark is good for me. Mark is good. Mark is good for me - and you get up to start your day.
The Stirring Spoon is a good distraction from your whining libido. It’s hard to think about fucking when you’re comparing shapes of pasta. And yet, you still find a way. Because as you stack packets of spaghetti, you try and recall the last time you and Mark had really good sex. Not sex where it’s soft and nice and satisfying. Sex when you feel like you might cry or scream, just to cope with the pleasure pulsing through your body. Sex when you’re actually scared that you might have a heart attack from how fast your heart’s beating. Was it ever like that with Mark? Was it ever like that with anybody else?
Yes.
“Hey.”
The very boy who just popped into your mind like a vision stands before you, crate in hand, smile on face, as if you manifested him.
“JJ.”
“You good? You were looking at that spag pretty hard,” he asks, amused.
“No, yeah, I’m good,” you say. You drop the pasta like it’s incriminating to what you were thinking about. Don’t tell JJ about the hot sex I was thinking about with him, pasta, please. “What’re you doing here?”
“Delivery from Kildare County Kitchen,” he says, dropping the crate down onto an empty spot on the table. “Some of Cleo’s less deadly version of her gumbo; a few sandwiches that Sarah whipped up; and some fish me and John B caught the other day.”
“Damn, that’s quite the haul,” you say, glancing into the crate and surveying its contents. “Thanks, JayJ.”
As you retrieve the items and lay them out carefully and neatly on the table, JJ shoves his hands in his short pockets and looks around the yard. “So. Loverboy here?”
“He’s busy today, helping his mom.”
“Ah. You short of a helping hand today, then?”
“Why? You want to help?” you say, half-joking. But JJ shrugs.
“I’m not doing much. Why not?”
“Don’t the others need you back at the shop?”
“There’s five of them, I think they’ll manage,” JJ replies sardonically. He claps and rubs his hands together. “Where do I start?”
“Um…” You stand upright and scan the area, checking what looks the most chaotic. As if on cue, the local bakery van pulls up. “Oh, sweet. Delivery. You can help me unload and log inventory.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The two of you walk over to the van, side by side, hands kept politely to yourselves. Small talk sits on your tongue but doesn’t make it into the world.
“Morning Mr Parker,” you call.
“Morning, darlin’,” he croons in his southern accent. “You too, Maybank.”
“Good to see you, sir,” JJ nods.
“What you got for me today?”
“Some good stuff, I’m not going to lie to y’all,” he grins over his shoulder before opening the doors to the back of the van. Mr Parker pulls out a tray of sealed baked goods. JJ steps in and takes it, and as he holds it you crack open the lid to peer in.
“Pastries?”
“Pistachio pastries,” Mr Parker says proudly. His takes off his cap and brushes a hand through his short grey hair. “My wife got a bit carried away. People in this town don’t have that fancy of taste buds.”
“Maybe not on the Cut,” JJ mumbles, making you smile.
“Well, be that as it may, glad I can contribute something to your little venture,” Mr Parker tells you. He squeezes your shoulder sweetly. “Y’all doing a good thing, with this here Stirring Spoon.”
“Thank you,” you say, overwhelmed by the simple praise. “Well, we appreciate any contribution, especially pistachio flavoured ones.”
With that, the three of you get to work carrying the four trays of baked goods to a spare table. Bidding Mr Parker farewell, you and JJ take pause against the table.
“I think I’ve earnt a break.”
“You’ve been here less than an hour.”
“Time flies by when you’re having fun, and all that,” he says passingly as he cracks open one of the bakery tubs. He grabs one of the pastries and tosses it into his mouth. His eyes widen as he chews. “Holy shit. These are so good.”
“JJ, you’re not supposed to eat the–”
“--try one.” A pastry is shoved into your mouth. You glare at him but bite, and holy shit this is really good. It must read on your face cause JJ grins. “Yeah, right? So good.”
“Oh my God,” you mumble. The two of you smile at one another like you’re stealing cookies from a jar.
“You remember that time we got high and raided Pope’s dad’s fridge?”
You laugh and nearly choke on the flaky pastry. “Oh my God, I totally forgot about that.”
“You were like a fucking racoon,” JJ sniggers.
“You were the one that got me high in the first place.”
“I didn’t fucking drug you! You wanted to try it!”
“Yeah, I did,” you grumble, unwilling to accept responsibility for completely draining the Heyward fridge.
“You’re cute when you’re high.”
You glance up at him. His smile is coy, like he knows he shouldn’t have said that. Because he shouldn’t. Rolling your eyes, you play it off as best you can. “Cute whilst I’m stuffing my face with questionable cheese?”
“Yeah,” he chuckles, shrugging. “You’re cute all the time though, so guess it’s not very hard for you to be even cuter high.”
“JJ, stop it.” Your tone is gentle but firm. “I have a boyfriend.”
“Oh, I’m aware,” JJ says. “Captain Vanilla.”
You hate how he isn’t completely wrong. “That’s not his name.”
“It’s just too easy,” he shrugs, playful as always. “The guy is a walking textbooked ‘good guy’.”
“What’s so wrong with that?” you mumble, picking out another pastry and studying the way it’s rolled.
“Nothing, I guess. Just find it funny.”
“Funny how?”
“That you’d go from me to him.”
You glance up from the pastry to meet his gaze. “We never officially dated, JJ.”
“Same difference,” he shrugs. “But hey - you know you. You know what you want.”
“Exactly…”
You do know you, don’t you? It sounds like such a crazy thing to question. But the older you get, the more you think you don’t know a thing about yourself. What’s your favourite colour? What’s your favourite animal? What do you want out of your future? What do you want out of a relationship? Journeying back to the morning, your mind replays the scenes like a horror movie. The worries of when the last time you felt passion in the bedroom feeds into worries of when the last time was that you felt passion, period. Oh no: it feels like an existential crisis might be coming on, about thirty years too early.
“Hey.” You snap out of your spiral. JJ forces a smile. “Just wanna know that you’re still living, not just secure. Y’know. As a friend.”
Funnily enough, that does little to cheer you up.
Croissants
JJ’s skin is warm against your cheek. Your face rests on his bicep, using it as a makeshift pillow, as you lay skin-to-skin, body-to-body. One of your legs is hooked over his, and his palm rubs large, mindless patterns against the sweat-sticky skin. The room is bathed in moonlight, the curtains drawn closed, and you can hear the sounds of the marsh from outside the Maybank residency. You wonder if JJ might have fallen asleep. His chest is rising and falling rhythmically and you can’t see his face from here, to tell if his eyes are open or shut. But then he sighs and you smile against his arm.
“Tell me about your family,” you request in the quiet of the room.
“What about them?”
“Anything, really. Like about your mom and dad; if you have any siblings,” you murmur.
“Not much to tell,” JJ replies in a hum.
“Still. Tell me anyway.”
“Tell me about yours,” JJ deflects. You crack a smile.
“Alright,” you relent. “I live with my mom and my dad. She’s a waitress and he’s a mechanic.”
“You got any brothers or sisters?” he asks, his thumb massaging your upper leg.
“I did,” you say, your voice turning softer. “An older sister.”
“What happened?”
Your lips press together. An image flashes into your mind like a jumpscare, of a coffin dressed in white daisies and lilies. Swallowing thickly, you close your eyes and will the memory away. It’s then that you decide to confide in JJ.
“Do you know who Andy Warhol is?”
“I recognise the name,” he replies after a moment, not questioning why the sudden change in topic.
“He was an artist. Painted a lot of pop-arty things.”
“Is that the freakshow who painted those boring-ass soup cans?” JJ wonders. You laugh quietly.
“I wouldn’t describe him like that but yeah, that’s the guy.”
“What about him?” JJ asks.
“He was in love with this man, way back when. He kept a diary and this man he was in love with died, and Andy was heartbroken. But he ain’t like to say that somebody had died. Instead, he used to write that ‘they went away’, like on a trip or somethin’,” you tell him. Your voice trails off towards the end, fearing JJ might laugh at you as you go on to say, “I don’t know. I think I’d like to say that about my sister.”
JJ shifts underneath you until the two of you are lying side by side, now able to see one another’s faces through the muggy darkness of the room. His eyes glow in the non-existent light, shining and present, gazing into yours.
“Where’d she go, then? On this trip of hers,” he coaxes. Your lips part in surprise, and for some reason, you want to cry for his small act of kindness. Then, you smile, small and sombre.
“To Paris, in France,” you whisper.
“She go to the Eiffel Tower?”
“Every day. She eats dinner there at night and watches it twinkle. For breakfast, she buys a croissant and sits by the Seine,” you murmur. Tears wet your eyes as you picture your lost sister, venturing the streets with the wind in her hair, kissing her plump cheeks. Your voice is thick when you continue, “it’s her dream to see all the stuff in the Louvre. She goes every week and keeps a note of where she’s been and where she wants to go.”
“Like the Catacombs?”
You laugh and sniffle. “Nah. They’re too creepy for her.”
“Damn straight,” JJ mumbles. “They scare the crap outta me.”
As a tear lets slip, trickling down your cheek, JJ reaches out his thumb and wipes it away. His hand lingers on your face and you feel yourself lean into his hold. It’s like he’s holding you up. He’s holding you together. You open your eyes into his. There’s a smile on his face, different to the others. More reserved, less obvious, so different to the JJ you’d known and heard of before. You’re terrified of losing it entirely or saying something especially stupid, and so instead you mouth two words: ‘thank you’.
When he kisses you, it’s different too. There’s something about it, like a taste that wasn’t there before, and it lingers in your mind and mouth. It only grows as JJ deepens the kiss. Your hand traces his jawline and your fingers loop through the locks of his hair, and you tug him closer with a breath. The dance of your lips and tongues and teeth is growing more and more familiar by the day and it terrifies you how easy it has been to become accustomed to it. How easy it has been to become accustomed to JJ. Hands on your hips, JJ lifts you atop of him with a grunt, him rolling onto his back. You shrug the comforter off your back and straddle him. Your hands cradle his face, palms cupping his cheeks. You kiss him like he’s the antidote to all your ailments. Your mouth chases him in the teasing of his lips, breaking apart just to reel you back in. JJ’s teeth nip at your lower lip and pull, just so, just enough to have you whining and sighing like some lovesick fool. Maybe you are.
“JJ,” you mewl, rocking back against him. He groans as you begin to torture his jawline and neck. Groans louder when you suckle on the tender skin by his ear, painting hickeys like a beautiful landscape. His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips deep enough to leave delicious bruises. You feel him growing hard beneath you as you grind against him like some animal in heat.
“Fuck, you’re so…Fuck…”
Your lips continue their descent down his body. Kisses are peppered along his windpipe, bridging over his Adam’s apple, and you can feel every breath, every stutter, every sigh. Down his chest, bare and broad, and down his stomach. His hands are now free from your hips and instead they tether into your hair, combing through the strands. You look up at him from between his legs - he’s made space for you - and can make out his lazy smile through your hooded gaze. JJ’s looking down at you too. His eyes glow.
You ghost a kiss over his boxers and he inhales a long, deep breath, his head tilting back into the pillows, eyes undoubtedly slipping shut. Lips upturning with a smile, your fingers tuck into the band of his boxers, and you pull them down his legs tantalisingly slow. Somewhere in the shadows of the room you hear him mumbling, ‘please.’ Taking him in hand, revelling in his short gasp, you guide him to your mouth. The smell, the feel - it all consumes you as you go down on him. The brush of bristly hair scratching against your nose, flooding your senses. JJ’s hand comes to the back of your head quick, as if guiding your pleasure, wordless praising your ways. Until it’s not wordless.
“Fuck, that’s it…Taking me so fucking good, huh? Look so pretty like this…”
You hum around his length and he stammers out a moan. Your eyes flick up to take in the sight of his exposed neck, head thrown back, mouth hanging open as he lets noises slip through, shameless and sinful. And you love it, the way you can bring him to the brink, the way you can manipulate his satisfaction like moulding something out of clay. A finger here, a stroke there. The tip hits the back of your throat uncomfortably. You pull away with a damning pop and a trail of saliva connects the two of you. Resting your head against the apex of his thigh, you jack him off with your hand, almost mesmerised by the way he pulses in your hold. Maybe it’s the sounds he makes. JJ Maybank walks like he’s a God; it’s a power trip to have him weak at your hold.
“Please, please, fuck…Jus’want your mouth, baby, please,” he begs through gritted teeth. His hand gently yet firmly pushes at your head, trying to guide you back to him, and you feel a giggle bubble up through your throat. It feels unnatural, this version of you. Sexy, seductive, sly.
“You want my mouth?” you tease, pressing a kiss to his throbbing dick.
“Fuck - yes, yes, please,” he groans. You glance up at him and meet JJ’s gaze. His hair, damp with sweat, hangs over his forehead, dangling over his eyes. A sadistic smile is on your face as you pull away, easing your hand off him too. His brows furrow. It’s like something snaps inside of him - some restraint he was holding breaking like the overstretching of elastic. His hands are on your in a second, gripping and grabbing at your body like you weigh no less than feathers, and you gasp as he tosses you onto your back. He’s on top of you, ravishing your throat and collarbone so mercilessly, you’re gaping at the ceiling, eyes wide.
“Think that’s funny, huh? Wanna see how much you like it?”
You stammer something out; you don’t even know yourself if it’s a yes or no. All you know is you want him - you need him - on you, in you. Anything. JJ doesn’t make you wait. His hands pull your panties away swiftly. A finger slips all too easily through your slit and you gasp, eyes rolling shut. His laugh is deep, crooning, cruel in your ear.
“So fucking wet for me, hm? Such a fucking slut. Wanna see how it feels?”
“P-please.”
The stretch of your walls isn’t unpleasant as he eases a finger in. You let out a wanton moan. It pumps leisurely inside, the foreign metal of his ring overwhelming, and the brush of the tip of his thumb against your clit has you panting from the pleasure.
“Yeah, you like that, huh?”
“Fuck…”
“Yeah,” he chuckles. Then the torture begins, of the instant movement of his finger, in and out, in and out, before easing away so suddenly it’s like he was never there. After that, the faintest of pressure on the exposed skin at his mercy. His damp finger trailing the inside of your thigh. He repeats this cycle until you’re almost in tears. Your hands clutch the bedsheets in fists, feet writhing uselessly at the head of the bed, kicking at the flimsy pillows. You know he’s gloating from the power he holds. Something tells you he doesn’t get this much control in most aspects of his life. Something tells you he gets off this just as much as you. “You wanna come? Do you?”
“Fuck! Please, please, JJ, please. I’ll do anything, please, please,” you blubber. You don’t care how embarrassing it sounds; how much it pleases him. All you care about is feeling that hot, blinding, pulsing pleasure consuming your every nerve, every bone, every fibre of your being. His breath is hot against your collarbone. JJ kisses the lobe of your ear in such a tender way you wouldn’t be able to fathom the magic he works with his hands below the belt. And as you finally break, tumbling over the edge, letting out a fucked-out sob when you do, you can make out JJ’s low voice, his Southern accent thick like molasses.
“That’s it, baby. Make a mess on my fingers.”
Smores
Despite telling Mark where you’re going, it still feels like sneaking around behind his back as you walk up to the Pogue’s house. But this isn’t anything nefarious. This is just you breaking routine. This is you catching up with old friends, current friends, and having fun. Sharing some drinks, smoking a joint or two, sitting around a campfire. Good, old fashioned fun just like when you were sixteen.
Yep. That’s all.
“Hey yo! There she is!” JJ hollers the moment you come into view.
“Hey!” you smile, waving. In your other hand is a bag filled with a six pack of beer, a packet of graham crackers, some chocolate and a bag of marshmallows. You ditch it by the cooler to hug everyone hello. JJ’s last. His arms wrap around you like tree vines, secure and strong, and it’s familiar in a way that has you lingering. Mark. You break apart and take a seat on the opposite side of the campfire to him.
“What’s in the bag, mystery girl?” the girl you now know as Cleo asks.
“Some refreshments,” you say, lifting up the six pack. That earns a few whoops and hollers of approval from the already tipsy group. “And some snacks.”
“Smores?” Sarah gasps. She takes the bag of marshmallows from you.
“Just like old times,” you say. Your eyes catch JJ’s. He’s watching you.
“Let’s light these bad boys up,” John B announces. The gang is vocal in their approval. Sticks and twigs are gathered for skewers. Marshmallows dangle over the open flames that lick into the dusky air. A marshmallow shoves at yours and you glower at JJ.
“Leave my marshmallow alone.”
“Hey, this is America. I got rights, y’know?”
“Says who?”
“The constitution,” he retorts, grinning. You roll your eyes, trying and failing to bite back your smile.
“Y’all better stop it,” Cleo says in her thick Jamaican accent. “I ain’t wanting any marshmallows going to waste.”
“You heard her,” you playfully quip at the blonde haired boy. He rolls his eyes at you. He’s smiling. The amber of the fire paints his face like an oil artwork. What must it be like to grow up that beautiful?
No, no, stop it. Stop it! God, what is wrong with you? This is just because you and Mark have been a bit distant lately. Yes, that’s all. You’re getting stuck on nostalgia. It’s a mind’s trick. It didn’t work before with JJ so who’s to say it will again. The two of you are friends - he’s been a good friend - and you don’t need to go muddying the waters. You punish yourself by staring into the flames and trying to make images of Mark’s face in the fire.
The night spurs on with drinks that wash down the sickly sweet snacks. You listen to the tales of El Dorado and laugh at the reminiscences of youthful madness when you were all in high school. It isn’t until you’re back in the bubble of the Pogues that you realise how much you missed it. It’s like rediscovering your favourite movie from childhood. It brings a certain comfort that few things can match. They ask about The Stirring Spoon and you recount the tale of how you came about with the idea, of how you got it off the ground. Nobody asks about Mark and you’re ashamed that you don’t feel the urge to bring him up, either.
You go for another swig of your beer to find it empty. The cooler by John B is empty too, upon investigating. You drop the lid.
“You guys got any more beers?”
“Probably some down at the fish and tackle shop,” Kiara tells you.
“Thanks,” you say, starting towards the dock. The further you walk, the more the vivacious chatter turns into a humming like the crying cicadas and croaking frogs and cooing owls. The water laps at the wooden pillars and you smile, letting your eyes slip shut for a moment as you walk. Nature is so wonderfully peaceful. The cooler is full of bait and chum, but there’s a small section for the beers. You retrieve one and drop the lid to find JJ standing in your peripheral.
“Holy shit!”
“Sorry!”
“What the fuck, man?” you laugh.
“Just wanted a refill too,” he says, shooting you a squiffy smile. His hair is dishevelled. He seems to wear caps less now, you note. You’re happy about that. In your tipsy state you can admit your attraction with less shame. You chalk it up to appreciating beauty the way one can appreciate a perfect sunset or timeless painting. To stop your staring, you open the cooler and hand him a can. “Thanks.”
“Hey, cheers,” you say, holding your drink out. He clinks his against yours. “To old friends.”
The two of you take a drink. Neither of you go to move back to the other Pogues (who are seemingly in some weird charades battle that is far from quiet). JJ gestures over your shoulder. “You seen the boat yet?”
“The H.M.S?”
“Nah, the new one,” JJ answers.
When he walks past you, you catch a whiff of his smell and it reminds you of home. You turn and follow him. He steps up onto the large boat. It’s painted bright green and in yellow paint, the name reads The Snapper. JJ offers you a hand and you take it, letting him help you up onto the boat. You feel your phone vibrate in the pocket of your shorts but you’re in no mood to check it.
“Pretty sweet, huh?”
“So sweet,” you agree, looking around. JJ wanders over to the main console and flicks on an overhead light. He glows beneath it. When he takes a seat on the bench, you do the same, sitting opposite. Sighing, you lean your head back against the brutal plastic. “This is the life.”
“Yeah? You miss the marsh?”
“I miss it all,” you quietly confess.
You can hear the rustle of clothes and the flick-flick of a lighter. The smell of cannabis drifts into the air. “Here.”
Opening your eyes, you lift your head to find a joint extended out to you. Smiling, you take it with thanks and have a hit, then a second, then a third. You haven’t smoked in what feels like forever. Mark doesn’t like the smell; says it makes him feel sick. You wonder why you stopped indulging in something you enjoyed just because of that, even on your own time.
“Thanks,” you say, passing the joint back. You ditch your beer can to the side. One poison at a time would be best in these sticky situations, you reckon.
“What’d you mean, ‘you miss it all’?”
“I don’t know,” you sigh. You gaze off into the distance; it’s hard to make out much definition in the dark, save for some lights of houses in the far distances and the silhouette of plants and trees. “I feel like my life is so…‘same’ now.”
“Same is good.”
“Sometimes,” you say. “But I keep thinking about what you said to me, the other day. About being secure but still living. What if…What if I’m not living?”
“Well–”
“--I mean, look at you guys! You went to El Dorado! You found El Dorado, and the Royal Merchant, and the Royal Merchant’s treasure, and the Cross of Santo Domingo. What did I find? A mouldy tomato in a box of potatoes.”
JJ cracks up and you roll your eyes. “It’s not funny,” you mutter, smiling nonetheless. You take the joint back and have another drag. Relief fills your system. The muscles in your face loosen along with your mouth. “It’s pathetic. I’m nearly twenty-one and I’ve been as far as Charleston and have about a handful of exciting memories to my name.”
“Woah, come on now,” JJ chuckles, taking the blunt back. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit hard on yourself? You heard what Mr Parker said: that Stirring Spoon thing is awesome, and that was all you. You’re feeding the community, bringing people together. That’s way cooler than some shiny fucking stones.”
“Meh,” you shrug. “Guess I’m just jealous of you.”
“Ha! Yeah, don’t be,” JJ sarcastically berates. A shadow comes to his face. Foot in the mouth syndrome curses you.
“Shit. Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“You’re good. I sometimes forget how bad it was too, with how things are now,” JJ admits. He smiles at you and takes another hit. “But I guess I didn’t fully let you in then, huh?”
“You think?” you jest. He laughs, thankfully, and you inhale the sweet scent of the herb. “Guess I just get stuck on the good memories from before. Like all the days skipping school to surf. And how the summers felt like they could go on forever. Or that time we broke into City Hall, or pranked Topper’s house.”
“Damn, I guess we did get up to a lot of shit, huh?”
“Damn straight,” you grin. Following the dance, you take the joint back.
“Well, I can think of some other memories, too,” JJ says. His grin is telling, tongue poking through his teeth. You bite back your smile.
“Don’t,” you warn.
“What?” he chuckles.
“Don’t! That’s dangerous territory,” you tell him. You point your joint at him. “That’s no man’s land.”
“Oh man!” JJ groans, tossing his head back. “Why’d you have to call it that!? You know that’s like calling a moth to a fire or whatever!”
“What?” you giggle, eyeing him.
“Telling a guy not to do something is the exact thing to do to get a guy to want to do something,” JJ argues nonsensically. You laugh, shaking your head at him. He holds your gaze and you feel your smile settle into your skin like footprints into damp sand. “They were pretty good memories, huh?”
“Yeah,” you quietly say. “They were pretty good.”
“Remember that time we did it on the beach.”
“Stop it,” you say, but there’s little conviction in your words. You can’t take his eyes anymore, the blue dragging you under like currents in a riptide. You look down at the joint and fixate on the way the embers burn at the paper.
“Or that time–”
“JJ, I mean it,” you say, your tone losing its humour now. You shoot him a look that you hope will put a pin in it. “We should talk about something else.”
“Alright, alright,” JJ surrenders, holding his hands up and all. He relaxes back against the plastic seat of the boat and you do the same. Your legs outstretch so you can rest your feet on the spot beside him. The two of you catch each other’s gaze and look away, chuckling bashfully like preteens. You take another hit of the joint and watch the smoke fizzle away into the night. “How’d you meet Mark, then?”
You glance at JJ. “A few months back. He’d just moved to Kildare and came by to The Stirring Spoon to help out, and we sort of hit it off.”
“He seems like a nice guy.”
“He is,” you smile. But it fades. The weed tickles at your emotions, pulling the wires as if to wreak havoc. JJ seems to take advantage.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” you lie. You take another hit and shake your head, plastering on a smile. “It’s nothing.”
Sighing, JJ folds his arms comfortably over his chest. “Y’know, just cause I know what you look like naked don’t mean we can’t be friends now.”
Barking out a laugh, you shake your head. “There was definitely a better way you could have put that.”
“Probably,” he shrugs, grinning, “but it’s true, ain’t it? We can be friends.”
“Of course we can. We are,” you emphasise.
“So…That means that if you wanna vent about Mr Loverboy to me, you can,” JJ offers.
Laughing, you rock your head back and gaze up at the sky. The stars are out. They shimmer white and crystal in the abyss of the night. “That’d be too weird, I think, but I’ll keep it in mind, thanks.”
“I just got one question. Just one.”
“Go on,” you reluctantly reply.
“Does he say ‘thank you’ after the two of you fuck?”
You burst into fits of laughter. It’s so sudden that it has you doubling over. Tears slip from your eyes and you wipe them away, looking at a grinning JJ. God, you missed him and his twisted sense of humour.
“He just looks like the kinda guy who would!”
“Oh my God, no!” you laugh, shaking your head. Catching your breath, you manage out, “no, he doesn’t say ‘thank you’.”
“Is he the sub then? Cause there is no way that guy is laying his hands on you without written permission.”
“JJ stop! I’m gonna pee myself!” you cackle, kicking your feet. JJ starts laughing too. You open your eyes and make out his face in the lowlight of the pier’s lamp. Wheezing, you catch your breath and calm yourself. “This is exactly what I was talking about.”
“I can give the guy pointers if he needs them,” JJ jokes. Your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets just at the idea though and you point at him in another warning.
“Don’t you dare!” you say, trying not to crack up again. “‘Sides, he doesn’t need pointers.”
“Everybody needs pointers,” JJ says with a roll of his eyes. “John B gave me one of the best pointers.”
“I find that impossible to believe,” you snort.
“He did! It was a tip for kissing. Works like a fucking charm too, I’m telling ya.”
“Mhm, I’ll bet,” you sarcastically return. You glance at the joint to check if it needs tapping off, take another drag, and then look up to find JJ watching you. He hasn’t changed enough for you to forget what that expression means.
“You want me to show you?”
“Show me? How?” you say with furrowed brows. Something in the air shifts with your question. An unspoken thing, an unseeable thing, but something nonetheless. A nervous tickle comes to your throat.
JJ doesn’t reply but he slowly leans over the seat towards you. Your breath catches in your lungs the moment he enters your bubble, breaking some unspoken barrier, and your smile fades away like day into night. You feel as though you’re stuck in place, plastered to the seat, and you’re ashamed to admit that you don’t hate that you are. You’re ashamed that you’re not pushing him away, telling him to buzz off, laughing at his idiocy. You’re ashamed that you’re curious as to what he’s going to do next.
JJ’s close enough now that you can smell him. His cologne mixed with something sweet but tangy, like seasalt and citrus. Something masculine underneath, that has a primal instinct inside of you wanting to claw its way out. Your fingers grip the edge of the seat instead. Your eyes stare into his. You study the laps of green and grey in the sea of blue, mesmerised in the way the night sky reflects in the iris. His gaze darts down to your lips and you have no idea how this happened and how you got here, and everything is blurry but so, so clear from the cannabis as he leans forward, and you can’t move but you should move and you want to move but you don’t, you never want to move again, as his lips brush against yours just so, just enough for you to know that they have, that he has, that he’s real, but that he hasn’t, and that you can take it all back, and that it doesn’t count and it shouldn’t and you shouldn’t but–
Your hand clutches his jaw and you pull him in. His lips crash against yours in a breath. You kiss him like you won’t ever kiss him again. He sighs against you in the hurried mesh of mouths, groaning as your tongue brushes against his, tasting him for the first time in years. It’s like finding a childhood toy and it smells like nostalgia. It’s like eating a baked good and it tastes like a specific holiday. It’s like smoking your first joint and it feels like floating.
Until you’re not.
Your body falls back down to earth with a thud. You shove JJ away as if he’s flammable and you’re the deadly spark. Your mouth hangs open in shock, your eyes filling with horror, and the worst feeling you’ve maybe ever felt overcomes you so suddenly, you worry you might be sick.
Guilt.
“Oh my God,” you whisper. You lift a hand to your lips and your fingers brush against the damp of his spit that lingers, and it confirms that it was all real. “Oh my God.”
JJ’s lips move to try and formulate words but nothing happens. He looks just as stunned as you do. His eyes are wide, lips swollen, cheeks pink. Those three words bang about your brain as you take in the sight of him. It’s not at all unfamiliar.
Hot ash from your joint drops onto your thigh and you cuss, brushing it off. You toss the joint into the sea behind you as if it’s the culprit, the plotter, behind all of this. Then you’re on your feet and rambling out excuses.
“I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I did that. I think it was - it was definitely the weed. I really should go, it’s so late. I’m so sorry. Oh my God, I have no idea-”
It’s as you’re about to step off the boat and onto the wooden pier that JJ’s hand locks around your wrist. It freezes you in place once more and you want to climb out of your body and scream at yourself. Instead, you look down at him.
“You can stay, y’know,” JJ whispers. There’s a pleading in his eyes, a tenderness that you haven’t known before in him, and you finally know how Eve must have felt with that damn serpent in Eden. Temptation at its finest, dressed up in blonde, unruly hair and dreamy eyes and sculpted muscles and a graphic tee.
Mark.
You shake your head and snatch your hand free. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here.”
And no matter how vehemently you tell yourself that you mean it as you hurry away from the pier and from the house, you know you don’t.
Cheap White Wine
The tart tanginess of the wine is sharp on your tongue as you take another swig. It’s late, or perhaps early, and the Chateau is illuminated by amber and orange from lamps. It’s raining outside as hurricane season rattles on, but you and the Pogues could care less. When you have wine, you really have everything you need.
“Come on, come on!” Kiara laughs, egging on you to loop your arm in hers. The two of you line dance together to an old noughties CD in the player. You swing one another around in a tipsy haze to the upbeat tempo. Pope and John B heckle and holler from the pull-out sofa, toasting their beer cans up in approval. You’re happy here, like this, in your bubble. As the song comes to a close on a major chord, you and Kiara giggle and take joking bows to your audience. You frown when you look around the room, not finding JJ anywhere.
“He’s on the porch,” Pope says, seemingly catching on.
“Thanks,” you smile, a little embarrassed that you’re that easy to read. Taking the wine, you venture out the door, closing it behind you as another song starts up. Kie’s cheer and begging for John B to dance is muted through the shutters and windows.
JJ sits on the sofa, a joint lit up, legs outstretched on the coffee table. He glances up at the sound of someone coming out and smiles at the sight of you.
“Hey. Can I join?” you wonder.
“Course,” he hums, shuffling a cushion in invitation beside him. You sit and lean against him, hitching your feet up onto the table beside his. He knocks one of his shoes against yours teasingly and you smile. Through the netting of the porch, you can make out the lashing of rain in the yard. It’s pitter-pattering is soothing like a nursery rhyme. You sigh and let your eyes slip shut. “Having fun?”
“Always,” you mumble, making him laugh. “You got any dreams?”
“Like sexy ones?”
“No,” you giggle, elbowing him, making him let out a few laughs too. “Like actual dreams. Ambitions. A wish.”
JJ takes a pause for thought. You have a swig of your wine as you wait, revelling in the sound of his heartbeat through his shirt, steady and constant. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
Your heart sinks with disappointment. This wasn’t the first time this has happened. It felt as though every time JJ came close to pulling back the curtain and letting you see a glimpse, he caught eye of something that scared him and he slipped it shut again. He told you what he wanted to tell you and kept the rest close to heart. You weren’t going to pry his cards from his body to see them, but it would be nice if he showed you them once in a while. It felt like the more time you spent with him, the less you knew. You could guess things from small clues as if playing a boardgame. He hardly went home, never mentioned his mother, and his father came into conversation with a shadow. He spoke lowly of himself, presumed the worst before others could, and it saddened you how clearly he believed everything he said. JJ couldn’t see himself the way you did.
“I do,” you whisper, hoping it might entice him to share.
“Oh yeah? What’s your dream?”
“I want to start a kitchen.”
“Huh?”
“Like a community kitchen thing. Not a bakery or a restaurant, just a place for all kinds of food, for all kinds of people, y’know? A good thing, like that. My sister used to help out at a soup kitchen and…I don’t know. I always liked that.”
JJ squeezes your thigh in acknowledgment. “Sounds fuckin’ amazing.”
“Thanks.”
In the Chateau, John B and Kiara laugh and Pope speaks loudly over them, something teasing, and you smile. The smell of weed fills the air before you and blends in with the notes of your wine and the telling scent of JJ. You wonder if the smell of you affects him in the same way; if the flavours of your perfume haunt him when he can’t sleep the way his cologne does for you. Suddenly, somewhere in the serenity of the moment comes a calamitous realisation, like a rumble thunder breaking the rain.
You were falling in love with JJ Maybank.
Biscuits
Food poisoning. That’s what you’d told Mark. The heavy sickness that had sat in the bottom of your stomach like a boulder since last night lingered still. You hoped it was a hangover, but that passed with an advil. You knew what this was.
You only escaped the guilt in your sleep. The moment you returned home, you climbed under the sheets of your bed like a child hiding from the bogeyman. Sleep was the only reprieve, though it didn’t come easy, and the second you came to in the morning, the first thought in your head was the look on JJ’s face just before his lips touched yours.
Fuck.
Your phone pings with another message that is no doubt from Mark and you can’t bring yourself to look at it. It doesn’t help that there’s a framed picture of the two of you staring at you from the bedside. It was his gift to you for your one month anniversary, because of course Mark cares about one month anniversaries. You hadn’t gotten him anything; you had to make up some lie that it was late in the mail, and then run to the shops that night. Just further proof that you don’t deserve him.
Hello, hell? I’d like to reserve my spot in advance. Queen sized bed please, for me and my whorish ways. Much love.
When the phone begins to ring you groan aloud and send it straight to voicemail. You bury your head beneath the pillow and close your eyes, but the memories haunt you like flashbacks. JJ’s eyes. JJ’s lips. The way he tasted, the way he bit your lower lip just so, in that way that only he knows, in the way that he always knew drives you crazy–
“Stop it!”
Hello, hell? Quick update: I think I might be going insane, too. Just thought I should preface you.
Somewhere in your self-loathing, you manage to drift off into another restless sleep. It’s broken by a tapping on your door. Groaning, you force yourself out of the safety of your bed and wander to your door, expecting to find your mom. Instead, your head tips back to see the face of your boyfriend.
“Hey,” he says. His voice is thick with concern, brows knitted with worry. “How you feeling?”
“Like shit.” Thankfully, you didn’t have to lie with that one. “What’re you doing here?”
“I needed to check on you,” he replies. He steps into your room and you make space, sitting on your bed. He closes the door behind him. “I tried calling but you didn’t answer.”
“Yeah, sorry, uh…I was just feeling really frail, y’know?”
“Oh, baby,” Mark sighs. He sits beside you on the bed and places his large palm on your forehead. His brown curly hair sits in perfect ringlets atop of his head. One dangles over his forehead, out of formation, and it reminds you of JJ. Just how you went from me to him, JJ had said. Were they that different, after all? “You got a temperature?”
“I don’t think so,” you say. You gently push his hand off your face. “I think I just need to sleep.”
“Well, I’m here to take care of you.”
“Really?” You hope the dread in your voice isn’t obvious.
“Course. You’d do the same for me,” he smiles. He lifts a bag you didn’t even notice he was carrying and shows you each item. “Mama’s homemade biscuits. She’s real worried about you, y’know?”
“I’m fine,” you insist, “just a bit sick. I think the worst of it has passed.”
“That’s good, then. I’ll make you a hot drink, yeah? We can watch a movie or something. You get cosy,” Mark tells you. You nod and try your best to smile. Mark leans forward and presses a fleeting kiss on your lips, and the sickness comes back tenfold. You want to cry the second he’s out of your room.
Mark is good. Mark is good for you. But what if you’re not good for Mark?
Chocolate Chip Cookies
“I don’t understand.”
You sigh, rubbing tiredly at your forehead. Bile lingers in the back of your throat but you swallow it down, alongside the feeling of self-reproach. This was it: the conversation you’d been dreading. The conversation that needed to happen. You’d rehearsed your words in the mirror like practising lines for a play. Journals and diaries filled with debate, as to whether you stay or bolt. But now was as good a time as any, and you knew in your mind what the right thing to do was. You can’t risk getting in the car accident if you step out of the vehicle.
“Did I do something?” JJ then asks, his voice weak, naked. You meet his gaze and shake your head firmly.
“No,” you breathe, “no, you ain’t do nothing, JJ.”
“Then I don’t get it,” he repeats, stronger this time. Frustrated. You knew none of this would be easy.
“Look,” you cut yourself off with a sigh. You shuffle your crossed legs, sitting on JJ’s bed in the Chateau in a way that you never have before, as if you’ve never stepped foot inside his life. “My parents are heading to Charleston for a couple months anyway, to stay with my grandmother and help look after her, and…well, maybe it’s for the better, that we have this distance sooner rather than later.”
“Distance?”
“You’ve been removed, JJ,” you mumble, hoping not to sound accusatory. “And that’s okay, I know you’re busy. I mean, you told me from the start that you don’t do the whole relationship-thing. But I don’t think I can stay, not right now.”
“Okay, is this some kinda joke?” JJ snaps. He gets to his feet and paces a few steps in the small throughway of his bedroom. Taking off his hat, JJ rakes his fingers through his hair. He looks at you, eyes fiery, expression hard as if to shield from the hurt that you don’t mean to cause. “What the fuck are you even talking about? I thought we were fine.”
“We are fine,” you insist. Sighing, you try and find the best way to explain yourself without giving it all away. “Look, I ain’t meaning that you’re a bad guy or that you’re damaged or anything like that. I don’t think that, not at all. But…How can I explain this?”
JJ takes a moment or two to calm himself as you hang your head and clench your eyes, searching for the perfect turn of phrase to make your thought process make sense. You find it. Lift your head, soften your gaze at the hurt on his face, and try your best to smile through the sorrow. This wasn’t easy for you either.
“You know when you see a tornado?”
He stares at you for a short while before nodding, urging you to continue.
“Things that like…They’re always so pretty for afar. So mesmerising, how nature can create something like that. Stunning, really. Epic. But then, you get too close, and you get sucked in. And it’s just chaos and there’s no way out of it without being broken.”
JJ nods again, pursing his lips.
“I think that’s what might happen here,” you whisper. “If I stick around.”
“I don’t get it. You’re saying I’m gonna break you?”
“No, I’m saying…I’m saying you’re not in a spot right now to give me what I need. That ain’t your fault, JJ, but I can’t let myself stay knowing that I’m gonna have my heartbroken. I wish I could - I wish I could just wing-it like that - but I can’t.”
There’s a pregnant pause that JJ drags out, staring at you as if trying to see into your head, searching for some lie. Sighing, he must come up empty, as he takes the spot beside you on the bed again. You test the waters, leaning against his chest, feeling the warmth radiate through his t-shirt. One of his hands lifts and strokes your hair, smoothing it down.
“I really do care ‘bout you, y’know? Like, that ain’t fake,” JJ admits in a hushed tone.
“I know, JJ,” you reply, just as soundless. “I just think you gotta figure yourself out before you can…”
“...love you?” JJ hesitantly whispers, after you lose nerve. Your eyes squeeze shut.
“Mhm.”
“You can’t love me ‘til then, either?”
Laughing sadly, you shake your head against him. He really couldn’t tell how much you’d fallen for him already, could he? “I don’t think you gotta worry ‘bout that ever, JJ.”
A soft kiss is planted on your forehead. “So…Just gotta do some soul searchin’, huh?”
“Somethin’ like that,” you hum. “But hey, I tell you what.”
You break apart from the comfort of his hold, tilting your head so you can look up, into his eyes. The pain in JJ’s gaze tears you like wrapping paper, and it’s worse to know it’s your fault, but you know that it’s the only way to save you both from further pain. It isn’t the right time, and that’s a shame, and it isn’t fair, since you’ve memorised the outline of him and drawn him into all your plans and daydreams. But you can hear it when you talk and feel it when you sleep together, this detachment, this removal of himself, that can’t come until he’s healed in a way that he’s far away from now. There’s something pulling him away from you, an adventure of sorts, and you don’t want to keep him from it. You want JJ to love you but you want him to choose you, too. And until then, you don’t have it in yourself to sit around on the sidelines, waiting for your heart to be broken. It’s like sitting a toddler in front of a plate of chocolate chip cookies but demanding them not to touch; the temptation might just kill you.
“What?” JJ gently prompts, bringing you back from your thoughts.
Your smile is sick with inner lamentation. “If you do figure yourself out, after some soul searchin’ and all that, then chances are I’ll still be here. So, I guess, if you ever feel like fallin’ then lemme know. You can catch me on the way down.”
JJ’s smile is beautiful, even when his eyes are wet with unshed tears. You lean up and press a fleeting kiss to his lips, but you don’t let yourself linger. If you do, you’re afraid you’ll never leave. You murmur some sort of goodbye, making an excuse that you should get going, and JJ doesn’t argue. He watches you as you stand, waves farewell with two-fingers as you leave, and you walk home with your heart halfway broken but more whole than it might’ve been if you stayed and tried to make this impossible thing work. JJ wasn’t ready to fall in love, not yet, but you already had.
Ham and Cheese Sandwiches
“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”
“Yeah, I promise,” you reply to Mark, smiling reassuringly. You wonder if it looks like a grimace. It feels like one. Even touching him makes you want to cry, as you brush your hand atop of his on the table. Your feigned food poisoning was two days ago now but Mark was still worried for your health, likely because you were still acting so withdrawn and drained. It’s hard to sleep when you’re consumed by guilt and confusion. “Why don’t you see if Nancy needs a hand in the kitchen, yeah? I can work on the inventory out here.”
“You sure? I don’t mind helping.”
“I’m sure,” you nod. “I can come get you if I need anything.”
“You better,” he grins. He dips his head and kisses you and it takes everything inside of you not to pull away like a flinch. It’s not him. It’s you. You feel like you’re poison. Like JJ’s kiss has infected you and you can’t get Mark sick too. His brown curls bounce as he walks back to the building. You busy your mind with counting tins of soup. The Stirring Spoon had never had so many posters, so many new recipes, with how much you’d been trying to keep yourself busy. You picked up extra shifts at the Smoothie Shop to avoid Mark during the daytime, and you submerged yourself in your voluntary-planning work and ‘early nights’ to avoid him during the night. It wasn’t fair to him but you didn't know what else to do.
Well, that’s a lie. You know exactly what you should do, but denial is so much easier.
Ducking down, you grab another box of leftover soup from a local supermarket. They’d recently changed providers and all the old stuff had to go. You were thinking of making toasted sandwiches with soup. Grunting, you lift the box onto the table. The sun beats down on you as if the universe is punishing you. Good, it’s the least I deserve.
You can spot him anywhere, even blind. He’s in the far corner carrying a smaller box than usual, compared to his crate. A sudden wave of panic comes over you and you speed walk over to him. He frowns as you approach.
“You good? Hey!”
You grab his arm and drag him out of sight from the field, behind an overgrown bush. “W hat are you doing here?” you hiss.
“Bringing sandwiches?” he replies, as if it should be obvious. “Are you okay?”
“JJ, you can’t be here,” you snap. “Mark is literally in the other building!”
“So?”
“So? Do you…Do you not remember what happened the other night?” you ask, calming down slightly.
JJ sighs and puts the box down on the floor. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he shrugs. “Look, clearly you spun out. I ain’t gonna mention it if you don’t want me to.”
“Wait…Really?”
“Jesus Christ, I ain’t a homewrecker,” JJ chuckles, trying to lighten the mood. You want to crack a smile but you think your face might be permanently stitched in perpetual concern forever. His laughter dies. “Listen, I think you got some stuff to figure out, a’right?”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t get offended! I’m jus’ saying…” JJ cuts himself of with a sigh and brushes a hand through his hair. He pinches the bridge of his nose. You missed all his little ticks and quirks. “Look, don’t kill me for sayin’ this, I’m just tryin’ to be honest. I don’t think Mark’s the right guy for you.”
“I-”
“I’m sorry, a’right? I don’t think you want to admit it either but…I think you gotta be honest. You don’t love him, okay? And that’s a’right, I’m not saying he’s a bad guy. I just think you need to make a choice.”
“What does that mean? A choice?” you quietly ask, terrified for his answer.
His smile is sad as JJ shrugs. “I was an idiot to lose you once, I ain’t gonna lose you again - not if I can help it. If Mark’s who you want - if Mark makes you feel like you’re living - then I’ll never bring it up again. Hell, I’ll stay away from you forever, if you want. Least, I’ll try to. I don’t know if I can be held accountable for when I’m drunk but- look, now I’m getting side tracked. The point is:”, JJ speaks with his hands, “if Mark isn’t the one for you…I’m here to catch you, y’know?”
You blink at JJ and blink away the tears. You’re not sure if you can form words right now, not even sure what words they would be, so you try your best to nod. JJ tries another smile.
“There’s some sandwiches from Kie and Sarah for today. I hope it all goes okay. Just…lemme know. Or don’t, y’know? Either way,” he trails off with a shrug. You feel cemented into the dirt as JJ backs away. Then he’s gone. Your eyes slip shut. Some weird hybrid of JJ and Mark’s faces fill your thoughts.
‘If you ever feel like fallin’ then let me know. You can catch me on the way down.’
‘I’m here to catch you.’
You need to figure this out and fast. It wasn’t fair to anybody, not even yourself. Dragging things out doesn’t make it any easier, it only delays the inevitable, like tediously inching a bandaid off the skin. Sometimes you just have to rip. You just have to prepare for the aftermath.
How ironic, how when you were sixteen it was you waiting for JJ to figure himself out, and now it’s your turn. It’s a shame you were never all that much of a fan of irony.
Cinnamon Buns
Baking is therapeutic. The precision of weighing out the ingredients; the cathartic relief from beating together butter and sugar until fluffy like clouds; the tapping and cracking of eggs; the rhythmic folding of flour; the soon-to-arrive reward for your labour. You like baking when life gets stressful. Few things are so systematic, so simple, so quick to resolve, as baking. Life is more complicated than that.
Mark and JJ. Two sides of different coins. Neither good, nor bad. Human, just like you.
As you prepare the batter for cinnamon buns, you try to make sense of everything. Figure yourself out, as JJ had put it.
Mark was designed to be easy to fall in love with. It was as if the universe had a recipe for him, everything the girls crave, the people fawn over in romance novels, the parents pray for in their child’s partner. Responsible; caring; thoughtful; kind; secure; safe. Mark was good. There was no other way to put it. Hell, you met him at a voluntary community kitchen. He gave you stability like a white picket fence. Perfect and practised, like he’d been waiting for that his whole life. But you found yourself restless in the fairytale. Found yourself itching for change, for chaos, for clutter. He was sentimental in a way you weren’t. That wasn’t to say you were heartless - the two of you just loved differently.
JJ Maybank? He wasn’t designed for it in the same way, but it was impossible to not fall in love with him. You knew it from the moment your paths crossed, back when you were sixteen and the two of you tumbled through two months together. That’s why you left in the first place. To save yourself from the inevitable heartbreak that it would bring, because sixteen-year-old JJ was in no place to commit to anybody. You assumed that with time your feelings would fade away and when you met Mark, you believed they had. You liked Mark - that wasn’t false - and you had feelings for Mark. But the love you had for JJ didn’t vanish. Like energy, it could only be transferred. It went into the back of your mind as if in hibernation but the moment JJ waltzed back into your world, it was awake. It was impossible to ignore.
Mark was the netting beneath a trapeze artist, but JJ was the acrobat. Mark was the emergency brake in a racing car, but JJ was the driver. But JJ was safety too. He made you feel safe, but he also made you feel alive.
And you wanted to feel alive.
Mark was routine. He was predictable. You could see the next five, ten, twenty years of your life laid out nice and neat with Mark. But did you want that? Did you want to give up the adventure? The chaos? The things you missed so desperately.
As you drizzle the topping on top of the cinnamon buns, you summarise your scrambled thoughts into one neat realisation: you wouldn’t have kissed JJ if you truly wanted Mark.
Your heart feels like it’s in your throat as you walk to Mark’s house. The buns sit neat in the tupperware and you’re careful not to shake them. His door looks like a tombstone as you knock on it. There’s a noise from inside and the door opens. Mark smiles down at you. He’s dressed in a baby-blue waffle sweater and it’s so undeniably, so wonderfully him.
“Hey!” he grins.
“Can I come in?” you ask. It sounds ridiculous asking that when you used to sleep in this house almost daily.
“Course,” Mark replies. He opens the door further and you slip inside. It shuts behind you. You place the tupperware on the countertop, taking too much time in letting go. “You alright?”
“Mhm. I just…I think we should talk about some stuff,” you say, feeling your voice losing power.
“Alright. Come, sit,” he urges. You do as he asks and take the spot on the bed beside him, leaving a gap. “What’s up?”
You fumble your fingers together and stare intensely at your hands, racking your mind for the words, for where to start. You’d practised this so many times in the mirror. Childish.
“I did something and I need to tell you, because you’ve always been so good to me, and so honest with me, and it isn’t fair to hoodwink you.”
“Okay,” Mark faintly replies.
You take a steady breath in. Mark is good. He deserves the truth. “I went to see JJ last week, and one thing led to another, and we kissed.”
For a moment, there’s nothing. Just the sounds of the air conditioning unit humming as white noise. Then,
“Oh.”
You clench your eyes shut before looking up at him. He’s detached in his expression. Your eyes fill with tears. “I’m so sorry, Mark,” you whisper, scared your voice will break if you talk any louder. He meets your gaze. “You don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve to be treated that way. You’re such a good, genuine person. I just…I don’t know why, but I just…I can’t love you.”
Mark swallows thickly. The tears are warm and sticky on your cheeks. It’s so selfish to cry when you’re the one who threw the punches. You hang your head with shame and watch the teardrops land on your restless hands.
“I swear I didn’t plan it. I didn’t even know I still had feelings for JJ until…Well, until then.”
“I did.”
Your head snaps up. He’s staring at you, but he doesn’t look angry. No. There’s a shadow of a smile on his lips. A sad smile, no doubt, but a smile nonetheless.
“You did?”
“The minute you saw him, that Wednesday at the start of the month. I saw it on your face, clear as day. You never used to look at me like that.”
“Mark–”
“--That’s okay,” he nods. He’s crying too, now, and you’re not sure what to think, what to do. But Mark does. Of course, he does. His hands reach out to hold yours, warm in his clutch, and you blubber like a petulant child. “You’re not a bad person, Y/N. I could tell something was bothering you this past week.”
“I just didn’t know how to tell you, and I didn’t even know what it meant. But I have to be honest for the both of us, and I don’t…I don’t think I’m the girl you’re looking for, Mark,” you say through your tears.
Mark smiles solemnly and nods once. The squeeze of your hands tells you everything. I know. I agree. It’s okay.
“Do you hate me?” you ask in a moment of pure patheticness. Mark laughs and shakes his head.
“You’re too pretty to hate.”
“Ugh! You can’t say things like that!” you whine, throwing your head back. He laughs again, soggy with his sorrow, and he shrugs.
“Just got to keep my good-guy rep up.”
Laughing, you shake your head at him and smile. The two of you share a breath and he nods. A conclusion. His smile dwindles.
“I’m gonna need time, though…Before we can be friends, maybe. Just to…You know…”
“Of course,” you whisper. “I understand. Whatever you want, whatever you need. It’s all on your terms, I promise.”
Mark nods. Thanks you. It is so fucking bizarre to have the man you cheated on thank you but here we are. Life is full of strangeness.
“Can I give you a hug?” you wonder. Chuckling, he nods, and you waste no time in throwing your arms around his shoulders. Mark holds you in the embrace and the two of you savour the feeling of one another for one last time. Against his shoulder, you murmur, “I’m going to miss you, Mark.”
“I’m going to miss you too,” he tells you into your collarbone. “JJ’s a lucky guy. But make sure to tell him I know where he lives if he hurts you.”
You tearfully giggle against him. “I’ll pass on the message.”
Bacon Sandwiches
It’s warm today; bright and brilliant. The critters are happy, chirping in the trees, croaking in the overgrowth by the water of the marsh that lines the Pogue’s house. Your footsteps feel heavy as you walk up the driveway, anticipating weighing you down. You lift a hand to shield your eyes from the sunlight and make out JJ. He’s at the entrance to the shop, stood a few rungs up a free-standing ladder. He’s trying to staple something to the walls - a banner of some kind - and you make your way over.
“Need a hand?”
He jumps and you cringe. Oops. JJ looks down at you and his lips quirk at the corners. The muscle tee he wears is grey and hangs loose on his well-kept frame. He’s armed with a staple gun. “Yo. What’re you doing here?”
“Want a hand?” you repeat, nodding up at the banner, not quite ready to confess. JJ shrugs and nods.
“Sure. Thanks.”
You glance around and find something that looks sturdy enough to stand on. Dragging it over, you boost yourself up and hold out your hand to take the other side of the banner. Holding it up against the wall, JJ leans forward and steadies himself with an elbow on the wooden panelling.
“We’re selling bacon sandwiches on weekends now, so thought we oughta advertise it, y’know? So, anyway, what’re you–” a grunt and a click of the staple gun, “-doing here?”
You step down from your boost and JJ takes your place. You don’t speak, stalling time, as JJ secures the banner. Sighing, taking it in, nodding with contentment, JJ jumps down and ditches the gun. The he stands with his hands on his hips and looks at you, shrugging again.
“I, uh…I needed to talk you,” you say, clearing your throat.
“A’right. What about?”
“Just like…” You rock your head back, take a breath, and steel yourself. Somewhere in that split second, you find a new mantra. JJ is good. JJ is good for me. I’m good for JJ. We’re good for each other. Smiling, you look at him again. “Did you mean it?”
“Mean what?” he mumbles.
There’s a playfulness, a teasing, as you shrug. “That you’ll catch me.”
You can see the words as they process through his head. See the moment he tracks the meaning, parses it altogether. A smile, beautiful and brimming, greets you, and then JJ crosses the gap between you in two large strides. He wraps his arms around you and lifts you up in an embrace. He swings you around for good measure and you laugh, looping your arms around his shoulders, holding him close, smiling against him. This is good.
“You mean it?”
“I mean it,” you whisper in reply. He carefully reunites you with the ground. You smile up at JJ, gazing into his blue eyes, bathing in their depths. Your hand strokes along his jaw, slides down his front until it rests just above his heart. “It was always you, JJ.”
“You think…You think you can love me now?” he nervously asks.
You shake your head with a silent laugh. It feels like breathing, like you’re finally free, as you admit, “I’ve always loved you.”
It comes and goes like a comet; the flash of shock in his eyes; the glow of his smile; the burning passion of his lips on yours. And as you kiss JJ, without guilt, without fear, you finally feel at home. When you break apart, short of air, JJ rests his forehead against yours. His thumb smooths along the soft line of your jaw and you smile. He takes a small breathe, shaky, unsure, but JJ's words are sure like bedrock.
Summary: You were supposed to take her out—the infamous Black Widow—Natasha Romanoff. The S.H.I.E.L.D. has been keeping an eye on her for a while now and for some reason, another high-ranking agent as you was sent to get the mission done. But then, he made a different call leading the mission to be here in front of you, soon to be a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.
Warnings: 18+, fluff, sparring, jealousy, triggering Natasha's trauma, asshole Daisy, yummy awkward Nat, sexual innuendos, flirting, dirty talk, praising, Natasha making r make inappropriate sounds😩🤪 kissing
Author's Note: Based on my own experience but I changed it a bit, lol. Enjoy, I'll see you when I see you :)))
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⧗
“Johnson was there in her office.”
“What?!” Yelena shot back.
“She had flowers with her.” Natasha added not sure if she should say it now that she knows how Yelena will overreact.
“What?!” Yelena exclaimed again as she palmed her forehead, “What are they talking about? Did you hear?” she added in a rush. “No, she asked her to leave when I came in.”
“That's good, that's good.” Yelena said, trying to calm herself or gaslight herself rather.
Natasha posed a question that left Yelena stunned, “Do…do you think Y/N still has feelings for her?”
“She told me she's over it and I’m making sure that it really is.”
Natasha just nodded slowly pulling the sleeves of her pink shirt up to her shoulders innocently, “I’ll go get some water.”
“Sure, sure,” Yelena tried to hide the devilishly smile naturally forming in her face but as soon as Natasha walked away, she aggressively tapped Madisynn’s thigh.
“Aw!” Madisynn swatted Yelena's hand away.
“Do you know what's on my mind right now?” Yelena asked the girl who was dumbly tilting her head at her. But Yelena gave her a knowing look that made the girl’s head light like a bulb.
“Oh, I think I do know what's on your mind,” she said as she looked at your figure walking towards them. “Hi boss!” She greeted in a squeal.
You looked at the two confusingly not liking the evil faces they're making right now. “Okay, enough of that look. Stop grinning at me, you both look like a pervert.”
“Foul!”
“You're so mean!”
“Where's…Agent Romanoff?” You asked ignoring their whines and you wished it came off casually. But the two agents only grinned once again at your question, you immediately caught their reactions and you crossed your arms at them waiting for an answer.
“There she is!” Madisynn pointed behind you, her nails never failing to flex.
You immediately turn to see Natasha, her shirt sleeves rolled up to her shoulders and her biceps were godly…you thought to yourself. If only you knew the two agents caught you checking Natasha out.
“We haven't done anything yet but it's working already.” Madisynn whispered to the blonde.
“I know, I know. This is gonna be so much fun.”
⧗
The team-building event got off to a great start. All the agents were thoroughly enjoying themselves as they played various games together. Shouting, clapping, laughing here and there, it was a sight to see and it was a fun experience. Could you imagine that these agents were trained to save the world but right now they're trying to balance plastic cups on their heads? It was the only time when the entire agency came together to unwind and have some fun and be free with themselves while simultaneously strengthening their bonds with each other.
Many teams had already been eliminated, but thankfully, yours was still in the running for the game. You heard Yelena taking charge and leading your team as if they were on a real mission, you couldn't help but burst into a fit of giggles.
“Okay you idiots, balloon bust, the instruction is very easy we’ve done this last last year guys. We just have to keep the balloon up on our stomach, no dropping, no popping. Be gentle with the balloon,” she relayed, as if it was a serious mission. “It’s our baby!” she clapped between each word.
The team just nodded eagerly cheering themselves as they went to grab their own balloons. You hyped your team up by giving them thumbs up and a lot of claps.
Your gaze shifted towards Natasha and you observed how she seemed a little lost throughout the game. Yet, she hadn't lost her endearing smile the entire time. She has been asking Yelena over and over on how she's supposed to play in each game, on how she is going to contribute to win and Yelena has been nothing but patient towards her, guiding her and giving her tasks on what to do.
The thought hit you then, it is her first time experiencing something like this. Her entire life she was used to working alone. You knew her past, of course you do. You know how she hadn't had the luxury of playing with dolls, teddy bears, and make-up like you had. Instead, she had spent her childhood toying with real guns, learning to crack codes on computers, and mastering the art of physical combat that if she fails every time—she’ll end up tied up in a cell or eat no food for days.
She was too young for that, she was supposed to be protected—no kid deserves that.
As you stared at Natasha, a pang of pain gripped your heart. You watched as she laughed when she saw Yelena huffing in frustration after her balloon popped. Your entire team had given up, and all of them just ended up bursting into laughter, lying on the ground.
Your team ran back at you, waiting for the next game. Natasha was still giggling her life out, shaking Yelena's shoulder.
“Hey Romanoff, water?” she was the first one you offered water.
When she looked stunned and didn't respond, you chuckled faintly, which seemed to make her even more surprised.
“C'mon, take it before I take it back,” you urged and Natasha quickly snatched the bottle from your hand. As you handed out the water to the rest of your team, you couldn't help but notice the adorable blush spreading across her cheeks.
You watched Natasha as she gulped down the entire water in the bottle in one go. You were fixated on her neck, watching the way her throat moved with each gulp. She had chugged it down so quickly, like it was just a matter of three quick swallows. The sight of her holding onto the empty bottle, squeezing it tightly, was doing strange things to you. As you continued to observe Natasha, a warmth crept up your face.
“Hey, boss, we need you for the next game.” Yelena informed behind you, pulling you out of your trance.
“Me?” You turned to look at her as you pointed to yourself as if you weren't just checking out the redhead.
“Yeah, it's three-legged race. We're only five,” she shrugged innocently but in the back of her head she’s plotting something.
“You're my partner,” you immediately told her.
“Nuh uh, Nat’s your partner. You're almost the same height though she's taller than you. Madisynn and I have the same height so…” Before you could even protest further, Yelena tightly grasped your wrist and forcefully dragged you towards Natasha. As you approach her, you catch sight of her lifting her shirt to wipe some sweat from her forehead, revealing a glimpse of her well-toned abs.
You had seen all her muscular frame in all its glory for today.
“Where's your ribbon Nat?” Yelena asked. As Natasha hesitantly handed it to Yelena, Yelena pushed you down, causing you to yelp. Before you realized what was happening, Natasha was also pushed down and you found yourselves side by side. The blonde then knelt down in front of both you and Natasha, preparing to bind your legs together.
Yelena smirked mischievously as she observed the scene in front of her, her task completed, “Perfect!” she exclaimed before walking back in front of your team’s line. You and Natasha were left stunned, your bodies pressed close together.
“Are you okay?” She asked quietly, tugging her sleeves down, embarrassed at how sweaty she was, “You're tight?” Realizing how she worded the question Natasha immediately palmed her face looking the other way, “I mean no-not t-tight for you?”
You didn't miss the curse that came after that.
“I’m fine, you?” you replied, not bothering the silly, nasty, cute mistake and tried to sound authoritative. She just gave you a thumbs up and put both her arms on her knees.
An awkward silence hung in the air after your brief exchange, until the shrill sound of a whistle pierced through, signaling the start of the race.
Darcy, the designated emcee for the day, called out, her voice echoing through the area, “Are the teams ready for the race?” A twinkle danced in her eyes as she added, “Did you know that they say 80% of the paired players for this game usually end up together?”
Yelena leaned over to Madisynn and muttered, a mischievous smile on her face, “Darcy definitely knows the assignment.” Madisynn smirked in agreement, seemingly in on the unspoken plan they had in mind and nodded.
However, you and Natasha missed the playful comment because you were too focused on planning your strategy for the race.
“Coordination, Natasha okay?” You reiterated and she agreed, her cheeks turning a slight shade of red. Natasha felt a different kind of warmth as you spoke to her with a gentle tone, different from your usual cold and robotic tone. And the way you called her by her first name sent a flutter through her heart.
Daisy stood at a distance, her eyes locked on you and Natasha as you talked. She clenched her fist tightly, not liking how close you were to the red head.
A shrill whistle pierced the air once again, signaling the start of the race and a chorus of cheers and shouts echoed loudly as the first pair sprinted off, kicking up dust and sand behind them.
Sensing a bit of struggle on Natasha's part, you offered, “You can hold onto my shoulder if that'll make it easier for you.”
Natasha nodded appreciatively, her left arm about to reach for your shoulders when she surprised you by gently taking your right arm instead. She positioned it around her back, creating a more intimate position as you both clung to each other for support. The unexpected action caused you to blush and you found yourself pulled closer to her as Yelena and Madisynn handed you the flag, signaling your turn to start.
As you began the race, the mood was lighthearted, filled with laughter and giggles. You started off good, however, just as things seemed to be going well, you suddenly tripped and lost your balance, causing you to stumble forward. But Natasha was quick to hold you back, grabbing you by the waist, preventing you from falling forward. In the process, your hands inadvertently landed on her abdomen, seeking support.
“That was really stupid,” you manage to say between giggles.
“You're fine, we’re close c’mon,” Natasha encouraged sheepishly, her response catching you off guard as it was the first time she had talked to you again this entire game.
“Left, right, left…”
You and Natasha continued with the race, Yelena and your team eagerly watched and cheered from the sidelines, supporting you every step of the way. They shouted encouragement and teasing comments.
“I am going to tie you both for life!” Yelena exclaimed.
“Fall for Nat, boss! She’ll catch you!”
“Don't get too tangled up now!”
As you dashed towards the finish line, an unexpected trip caused you to falter—again. Natasha's quick reflexes kicked in once again. Her hand moved swiftly to support your head, preventing it from hitting the surface with a thud. She acted instinctively, shielding you from further harm. With a soft thump, you found yourself on the ground and Natasha was now on top of you. Her right hand holding the back of your head, her body hovering over yours.
Natasha's gaze remained fixed on you as you burst into a fit of laughter, lying on the floor. She couldn't help but marvel at the sight before her, no cold voice just your laughter filling the air. No hint of seriousness on your face, your unguarded expression and carefree attitude were delightful to behold.
As you continued to lie on the ground, laughing uncontrollably, you didn't notice Daisy appearing and giving Natasha a push from the sides. This unexpected shove caused Natasha to stumble and fall beside you, landing rather clumsily on the ground.
“Get away from her.”
“Fuck off, Daisy,” Yelena snapped coldly as she shoved Daisy away, Madisynn immediately knelt in front of you and Natasha to untie the ribbon.
Daisy was already back in her team’s position when you got up, her team trying to soothe her. Natasha saw you looking at Daisy’s direction as if you were checking on her—on your ex-fiance.
“Y/N…I’m sor—”
“I’m sorry about that Romanoff, are you okay?” you turned to her and touched her arm which made the redhead shudder.
Back with the last name basis now?
“I-I’m fine boss.” She stuttered, stunned at your apology. She scratched the back of her neck as she looked away but looking away wouldn't hide the redness of her face.
“Piece of advice, please don't interact with her,” you gave her a half smile tapping her arm twice before shouting to your team.
“Get up! Get up!”
⧗
The sudden news hit you like a flash. One of your agents had accepted a sparring challenge from a senior of another division. It is one of the activities your team-building events often took as a competitive edge.
You realized from the start that you had forgotten to remind your team not to participate. But it was a well-established rule that shouldn't need to be constantly reiterated, the sparring challenges were typically reserved for the more seasoned members, the oldies of the agency—the seniors and Natasha isn't one.
“Fucking hell.” You hissed, striding towards the area where the sparring match was taking place, “Romanoff is really testing my patience.”
How come that you were really soft with the agent earlier and now? You're back being a meanie to her?
Yelena tried to defend her partner, her voice a squeak. “She didn't know!” she protested. “She's only been here a few months. She's clueless and her senior isn't even making things easy on her.”
You were seething with anger as you heard Yelena's words. You halted in your tracks and turned around, your gaze locking onto the blonde, who suddenly looked like a frightened child under your intense stare. You fought to regulate your breathing, trying to maintain your composure. Deep down, you knew that Yelena had a point. Her words were stinging because they held a measure of truth. Yet, your ego couldn't help but bristle at the audacity of her calling you out like that.
The sound of raucous cheering jolted you back to reality, you pushed the door swinging open with a harsh creak, you felt a sudden wave of attention directed your way. Numerous agents turned their heads in your direction. It was obvious that your arrival had caused a ripple of interest amongst the crowd. Well, let's just say that the opponent that your agent is fighting is none other than your ex-fiance.
“Fucking hell.” You muttered to yourself as you balled your fists.
You hate her for being so naive…but god, she is now positioned in the ring and greeted you with an innocent wave. The protective mouthguard showed as she tried to smile. How are you supposed to hate that?
Despite your anger towards her naivety you managed to wave back but she wasn't able to see it as your ex-fiance landed a punch on her face, you involuntarily flinched and placed a palm on your forehead. Well, that was awkward.
“Get her Romanoff!” Yelena shouted from behind, you swear you heard her betting $20 for Natasha.
“She was supposed to take you out,” Daisy growled at the redhead, her boxing gloves poised to deliver another punch anytime.
Natasha furrowed her brows together but she didn't mind what Daisy was trying to say. Natasha seized an opening and threw a punch on her sides, catching Daisy off guard and regaining the upper hand in the fight. The impact sent Daisy stumbling back a few steps, momentarily stunned by the unexpected offensive move. But then a smirk creeped out on her face.
“You're supposed to be history by now if it wasn't by Barton.” Daisy's words, though meant to rile Natasha up, seemed to be taking effect now. “If it was Y/N, you’d be dead by now.”
Natasha's breath hitched at the revelation and Daisy saw the horror that flashed into the redhead's eye. Natasha clenched her jaw and squeezed her eyes shut.
Rule number 1: Never take your eye away from your opponent.
Another wave of cheers and shouting from the crowds surrounded the boxing ring as Natasha seized another opportunity, throwing another punch this time connecting with Daisy's cheek. It seemed as if Daisy was deliberately allowing Natasha to land blows, letting her get a few hits in. No, letting her hit her.
You stood there, frozen. You are really not liking this.
You saw Daisy's lips moving, clearly as if she was saying something to Natasha. While you also noticed how the redhead’s body tensed up and you saw her focus seemed to be shaken a little.
“Dreykov’s daughter?” You whispered to yourself as you read the words coming out of Daisy's lips. The redhead tried to throw another punch but Daisy was able to dodge it sending back a punch to Natasha's stomach.
“I won't let Y/N be with a killer like you.”
The words made Natasha’s emotions reach a breaking point, as if something snapped inside her she immediately moved forward encircling her arm around Daisy's neck locking in a tight grip. She then swung her other fist at Daisy, her boxing glove landing a powerful punch on her face as she kept her arm locked around her. The impact sent Daisy kneeling while Natasha stood behind her not letting her go, causing gasps and murmurs from the surrounding crowd.
The referee blew his whistle with a sharp, shrill sound, which echoed through the ring. He then extended his arm and pointed directly at Natasha, who had staggered backward losing her hold on Daisy.
Daisy recovered from the forceful blows, she rose unsteadily to her feet, her left eye was swollen and there was a cut on her lips. She let out a guttural snarl and stalked Natasha who was crawling backwards, Daisy leaned down to her and yelled, “Are you tryna kill me, too? Huh?!”
“You fucking kill—”
“Watch your next words Johnson!” You yelled as you ran and jumped towards the ring.
“Y/N she went out with the rules! She…she almost—” Daisy stopped when she saw you kneel in front of Natasha.
“I’m sorry,” Natasha immediately whispered. You furrowed your brows at her.
“Romanoff…”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” her voice became hoarse as she repeatedly whispered. As she continued to apologize, you stared into her eyes, noticing a look in them that revealed something deeper than mere regret. It was as though a hidden trigger had been set off within her.
“Romanoff…” you called out to her again.
“I’m sorry, Y/N…I—” she choked.
“Nat,” you called softly as you brought your hands on her cheeks. Her lips trembled as she finally looked at you, “You're okay,” you gave her a smile and she nodded slowly as if she was high with the sound of your gentle voice and your soft feathery touch.
As if she was an evil and you were an angel attempting to soothe her troubled soul.
“Yelena,” you summoned the blonde over. You removed the gloves on her hands and Natasha's gaze remained fixed on your every move, her eyes never straying as if she feared losing this connection between you—it was the closest she's been with you. Her breath hitched when you moved away to give Yelena a way to help Natasha stand. Yelena knelt in front of her and propped her up with a supportive arm around her shoulder.
You watched as Natasha and Yelena slowly moved out of the ring and away from the center of attention.
You ex-fiance, who stood surrounded by her team members from her division, remained surprisingly calm. She has been watching how you treated Natasha and she didn't like it—she wanted to tear you away from her.
You stepped up closer to her, your voice low and filled with venom as you spat out, “You know she was a new recruit and you still challenged her.”
“Oh Y/N we all know she's more than just a recruit.”
You huffed at her words, you couldn't hold the outrage any longer and you hissed back, “You think I didn't notice? You triggered my agent!” Your voice trembled in anger. “Dreykov's daughter? Really? You would bring that up? How did you even know about that?” You started eyeing each of her team who were looking down to try and avoid your gaze. You know damn well that they know something about it. You huffed on how pathetic they looked.
Natasha's information was kept under you since she was your mission back then. No one could access this information unless they possessed the same level of clearance and security clearance as you did as a level 7 S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.
Dreykov's daughter was the collateral damage to end Dreykov himself, to end the empire he built that brought horrors to the lives of young little girls. It was the last thing Natasha did before getting into the S.H.I.E.L.D. with the help of Clint.
You turned your gaze back to Daisy who is now looking down too. “Daisy…” you squeezed your eyes shut, “I forgave you for what you did to us,” you gulped as you tried to hold your tears at bay, you couldn't even utter the words that would bring up the memory of her betrayal. That she cheated.
The silence that had fallen over the entire room was almost deafening and you could feel the weight of everyone’s gaze bearing down to the both of you. You’ve had so much attention today already.
“Please stop going out of your way for this. Stop embarrassing yourself, you look desperate.” With that, you immediately stepped out the ring leaving her, she tried to go after you but her team immediately held her back.
⧗
After reading the text from Yelena, you can't believe it - they're still planning on going to the after-party after what just went down. You can feel the frustration rising inside you, almost boiling over as you read the message again.
“Please, Y/N join us, we’re all here with Natasha. She’s okay now but she's got bruised lippie though.”
“If you're scared that earthquake’s gonna be here, no she's not, so please join us here boss.”
Yelena then sent a video after she noticed that all her messages were just marked as seen by you. It's your team whining in the background, begging you to come to the party, but your gaze was fixated on Natasha's face on the screen. She waved shyly, her bruised lips forming a tight-lipped smile, the sight just making you sigh disappointingly before getting out of your car.
As you made your way into the party, you were relieved to find that most eyes were averted from you. You had been expecting a similar scene as the one earlier when you confronted your ex-fiance, but it seemed that the focus was on other things now. Maybe they're tired of the drama you had with her.
You spotted your team at a table near the bar, a few drinks already in front of them. They looked up as you approached, welcoming you with broad grins.
Yelena was the first one to greet you with a sly smile, acting as if nothing had happened earlier. “Well, look who decided to show up,” she said, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. “Here, let me help you with that.”
Before you could protest, Yelena had taken your purse and was leading you to a seat at their table. She pulled out the chair for you, gesturing for you to sit down.
Madisynn who was next to you, slurred slightly, a sure sign that alcohol had definitely gotten into her system already. She stumbled over to you, her eyes lighting up as she turned and saw you. Her gaze lingered on you for a second before realizing it's you, her voice was slightly slurred as she exclaimed, “Boss! I'm so happy to see you. You look hella sexy in that dress! Right, Romanoff?!”
Natasha, who had been quiet until now, spoke up timidly. “Yeah, you look…” she trailed off, careful on what to say, you really looked sexy right now. The way that your black dress hugged your body and highlighted your curves, but she didn't want to sound perverted
“Beautiful,” she continued, her voice barely above a whisper.
Yelena leaned in closely, her lips hovering mere centimeters from your ear. She looked at Natasha before whispering, loud enough for the redhead to hear, “I think you look delicious right now, Y/N.”
She then playfully nipped at your earlobe with her teeth, a sly smirk on her face. The brief contact sent a shiver down your spine. Yelena was never one to hold her tongue, she didn't have a filter and often spoke her mind without thinking.
You however, decided to play along with Yelena's antics, you faced her with a coy smile. Your faces were now mere inches apart, and you could see a hint of redness creeping up on Yelena's cheeks.
For a moment, it seemed like she was taken aback by your boldness, but then she regained her composure. Still, she couldn't help but back down slightly, her gaze lingering on your face before quickly looking away. You smirked as Yelena visibly backed down, her confidence faltering for a moment. Deciding to tease her further, you leaned in even closer and said, “What's wrong, Yelena? I thought I looked delicious.”
Natasha watched the exchange between you and Yelena, her eyes narrowing slightly. She hadn't realized just how close you were with Yelena, and it made her shift a little awkwardly in her seat.
A pang of jealousy flared up within her, but she quickly pushed it down. It was none of her business who you chose to be close to even if it's with her closest friend, and besides she had no right to feel possessive over you. Not when you hate her.
Not when you were supposed to be the one to take her out.
Still, the sight of Yelena being so flirtatious with you made her feel a little bothered. She found herself coughing involuntarily. It was an unexpected reaction, and she quickly tried to cover it up with a sip of her drink.
Yelena caught sight of Natasha and a sly grin spread across her face. She exchanged a glance with Madisynn in a brief second enough for you and Natasha not to notice.
“You okay, Romanoff?” The blonde asked, as she wrapped her hands on your waist, you on the other hand leaned to the blonde—not aware of the antics that she and Madisynn planned.
You were comfortable with Yelena's closeness, having known her for a long time and having shared many experiences together. She was like a strict baby sister, the type of sister that would ask you who you were with and what time you would be back. And If anyone hurt you, she wouldn't hesitate for a second to go after them. Her protective nature went into overdrive, and she would hunt down whoever had caused you pain. She cares for you and she would go far to keep you safe.
She had been there for you during tough times, like when Fury had to call her to make you come out to your childhood bedroom after your ex-fiance cheated on you or when she had to clean your room after she finally get you out to eat at the dinner table with your father. She had seen you smile because of your ex but she saw you cry more about her. Tough and good times, she had been there—always.
You yourself look out for her too—she can be careless at times so you gently correct her when she crosses the line or make sure she doesn't get into too much trouble. But at the same time, you also relied on her quirky sense of humor and unwavering support. She was part protector, part best friend, and part sibling all rolled into one.
“Let's play medusa y’all!” An agent shouted in the distance and it made you laugh.
“What are we? In college?” You huffed after, only to be dragged by Yelena.
“We’re joining!” Your eyes widened in disbelief and attempted to pull away from her grip, wanting nothing to do with this childish game. But just as you were about to tear yourself away, Madisynn suddenly latched onto your other arm, effectively trapping you. You were too confused when you noticed that Yelena was gone and Madisynn replacing her as if it was all planned.
“This will be fun boss, c’mon.” She slurred with a drink on her other hand.
You forgot to breathe as you saw Daisy across the room, conflicting emotions bubbled up within you, how in the hell she's here and you didn't even know?
Part of you wanted to run away from the room to escape the memories of her betrayal. But another part of you, driven by your desire to maintain your composure and dignity, compelled you to stay and keep things professional after what she did to you and to your agent.
But…a small, a sly part of you, tucked away in a hidden corner of your mind, whispered a tempting thought.
What if I make her jealous?
The idea was a little petty and you knew it, but you couldn't help the flicker of satisfaction it brought you. The chance to show Daisy that you were doing just fine without her, perhaps even better, was tantalizing.
But with who?
As various agents approached you with smiles, greetings or drinks, a wave of realization washed over you. Deep down, you knew this whole thing was ridiculous. Trying to find someone to make out with solely to make your ex jealous was a far cry from the person you aspired to be.
You shook your head slightly, silently scolding yourself for even contemplating such a childish idea. This whole situation was just plain stupid, however, despite the logical part of your brain telling you it was a stupid, a small, defiant part of you still wanted to go through with it.
If only you had known, but you were oblivious to the fact that Daisy had been burning with jealousy since the moment she spotted you with Natasha during the game.
Darcy, with her usual enthusiasm, called out to the group of agents gathered around you, “Alright, everybody! Form a circle, it's time to start!” She then saw you and let out a squeal, “Hi boss!”
You waved shyly before you settled down on the cold floor of the room with Madisynn beside you, “Where's Romanoff?” You asked, “and Yelena…” You rushed out. Madisynn then gestured with her drink, drawing your attention to the direction she was pointing. There, across from you, sat the redhead and the blonde.
Yelena had made sure that you and Natasha were seated directly across from each other, perfectly setting up the game of Medusa to play out exactly how she had planned.
“Alright, everybody!” Darcy shouted, getting the group's attention. “Everyone sit in a spot where you can see all of the other players.”
Once the group had taken their seats, she continued, “Now, each of you put your heads down. On the count of three, you'll raise your heads and stare directly at someone else. If you lock eyes with someone, both of you lose, and I will yell 'Medusa' if I caught y’all staring at each others’ asses and I will be sending you to 7 Minutes in Heaven!”
The agents began shouting and whistling, creating a chaotic atmosphere, hyped up from the game.
With a flourish of her hand, Darcy counted down, “Three, two, one.”
Everyone raised their heads, and you were suddenly faced with a sea of staring eyes. You quickly darted your eyes to an agent who was luckily not staring at you. The room buzzed with tension as people nervously tried to avoid locking gazes with the other players. Darcy stood in the center, ready to call out the first pair of victims. Her eyes scanning the group, spotted a pair that had locked eyes with each other. A sly grin spread across her face as she called out, “Medusa!”
The two unfortunate players were singled out and a chorus of “ooo” and whistles erupted from those around them. They sheepishly got up, blushing as they made their way toward the 7 Minutes in Heaven.
As the players shuffled off to the 7 Minutes in Heaven room, the game continued. It was only a matter of time before another pair would be called out for staring. You found yourself becoming more nervous as the round progressed.
Darcy's eyes glinted mischievously as she scanned the group once more, eagerly awaiting her next opportunity to pounce on a paired set of victims.
You were contemplating your strategy. And thought of Natasha, part of you knew that Natasha was averse to staring, always quick to look away—especially on you. But this might work to your advantage.
As the countdown ended, you found yourself staring at Natasha. She, as expected, was not looking at you. However, your heart raced when you noticed her eyes on someone else in the group. You furrowed your brows, trying to follow her line of sight to see who she's staring at.
Who was she looking at? Is she eyeing someone else? Oh, how you hoped that whoever she's staring at isn't looking back at her too.
You finally let yourself breathe, a wave of relief washing over you as Darcy called out “Medusa,” pointing at the pair who had been caught staring at each other. Thankful that it wasn't Natasha and whoever she's staring at, you felt a weight lift from your shoulders.
As Natasha navigated her way through the game, a plan formed in her mind. She glanced over at you, contemplating the likelihood of making eye contact with you. Her thoughts ran through her head, reasoning that you wouldn't look at her because you harbored a deep dislike for her—who would lock eyes on someone they hate, after all?
Natasha glanced around the room full of agents, her gaze falling upon Daisy, who was watching you as giggles escaped your lips at whatever Madisynn was whispering to you. The sight of your ex continuously eyeing you only made Natasha wish that you wouldn't look at your her the same way again as you did when you were still together.
She wished that you would look at her—this time.
“3”
“2”
“1”
You find yourself staring at the green orbs staring right back at you and the world seemed to stopped only for it to continue when Darcy shouted Medusa, her fingers pointed decisively at you and Natasha.
A collective gasp filled the room as everyone realized what had just taken place. Darcy's gleeful expression revealed her satisfaction at having caused this unexpected twist. Madisynn and Yelena traded smug grins, thrilled to see their plan unfolding flawlessly. They had orchestrated this moment carefully and their plans had paid off.
As word spread about your unexpected pairing with Natasha, your ex, Daisy, couldn't help but glance your way. She tried to hide her fueling rage, but her emotions were laid bare in her eyes. A lot of agents were looking her way too, satisfied at her reaction and silently rooting for Natasha.
Madisynn placed a gentle hand on your shoulders, helping you stand up from being seated on the floor. Your mind was still reeling from the sudden turn of events, unable to fully grasp what was happening. As you looked at the small cabinet not so far away from of you, the realization of who you would be sharing such a confined space with finally sank in.
“Times ticking boss.” Darcy whispered as she gently held your hands and pulled you. Meanwhile, Natasha was being ushered ahead by Yelena. Yelena then pushed Natasha gently into the small chamber, causing her to stumble forward slightly as she made her way into the cramped space. The room was dimly lit, its walls closed, not enough to leave little room to maneuver.
Natasha looked up as you stood just outside the small chamber. She saw how hesitant you are and she spoke up softly, “If you don't want this, you don't have to.” Her voice was gentle, giving you the option to back out of the situation if you so desired.
But you didn't listen to her, you immediately climbed into the small room and found yourself sitting beside the redhead. Before you had a chance to process the tight space, the door closed with a distinct click, sealing you inside with her.
Darcy's voice echoed from the other side of the door, she knocked, reminding that your time starts now, “Alright, lovebirds, 6:59 minutes. Enjoy your time there!” Her amusement was evident, and her words were followed by a series of giggles and shouts heard in the distance.
As Natasha hugged her knees and said, “We don't need to do anything,” she did so with a sense of finality, as if speaking aloud the thoughts that were already in your head. She already assumed you wouldn't want to do anything in this tiny-spaced room.
You broke the silence, your words reverberating in the small chamber. “We can talk,” you suggested, your fingertips grazing the ceiling inches above your head. You asked once again, “Do you want to talk about something?”
Natasha sat silently, her eyes locked on the door as if she just wanted all this to be over, and for a moment, she didn't respond to your question. The quietness in the tiny space seemed to stretch on and her lack of response left you unsure of how to continue—so you just stayed silent too.
A couple of minutes have passed and you two just sat there. The silence between you was heavy, almost unbearably so, until Natasha finally spoke.
“Do you think you would make the same decision as Clint,” she started, her voice soft yet steady, “if you were the one sent to take me out?”
You were taken aback by Natasha's question, her words piercing through any facade you may have tried to maintain. How did she know about it? Panic and anger surged through you as you thought of the only person who could have told her the secret, intentionally told her. But you quickly pushed that thought aside, realizing it was a moot point now. The dilemma of how to respond to her question left you momentarily tongue-tied.
Would you? You asked yourself.
“I…” you trailed off, “I don't know.”
You took a deep breath, your voice low and steady as you finally admitted the truth. “Everything happens for a reason, Romanoff,” you began, your words measured, you’ve never been like this when you were talking to her. You’ve always been so honest, no, harsh when it comes to her, “It was originally my mission to take you out.”
“But Clint was the one sent with the same mission, you.” You sighed disappointingly as you recall the memory.
“I was upset, bitterly disappointed, angry.” You looked down at your thighs plopping sideways, “I immersed myself in studying you, devoting significant time understanding your every move, training myself on how to…” you stopped realizing what the next words would be, but Natasha knew what it was you’ve been trying to say.
You’ve been training yourself on how to eliminate her—to kill her.
There was a silence between the two of you again, not heavy this time, you leaned back against the cold wall and squeezed your eyes shut for a moment before opening them again.
“He made a different call for a reason.”
Natasha looked at you intently as you spoke again, “He saw something in you. And I think I do see that now.” You finally looked at her.
As you locked gazes, your eyes involuntarily fixated on her bruised lips, and you were certain that she was doing the same. However, the intensity of the moment became too palpable and you found yourself awkwardly turning your eyes away from her in an attempt to alleviate the growing tension.
“Boss, are you still alive in there?” You heard Darcy call out, how dare she ask if you were the one still alive? If there is someone supposed to be out of breath right now, it would be the redhead beside you. “You still got 2 minutes…and 32!”
“I wonder what other agents did in this room.” You suddenly spoke, but you didn't mean it to come out as if you were trying to hint to do the same thing you know agents did in this tight room which is releasing some sexual frustrations. “Gross.” You then whispered that made the redhead laugh.
“Yeah, I think they really need that.” She replied in a low voice, trying not to burst into more giggles.
“Wow, aren't you sexually frustrated too Agent Romanoff?” Maybe now you are hinting something.
Her voice echoed through the small space as she quipped, “I don't wanna get another punch from your ex.”
“You wouldn't catch a punch for me? Agent Romanoff?” you teased, your seductive tone adding an extra layer to the already charged atmosphere between you two.
Only if you know the things she would do and take for you.
“Trying to make your ex jealous?”
“Hm?” you eyed her before focusing with the necklace around your neck, fiddling with it absentmindedly as you avoided the redhead’s accusation when suddenly, her hands reached out and pinched your waist.
The action caught you off guard and an unintentional gasp escaped your lips. At that moment, Yelena's voice echoed through the door, as she whisper-shout, “What was that?!”
“What was that for?!” You quickly slapped Natasha's arm in retaliation, causing her to exaggerate a groan of pain that was heard outside.
“Oh god, it's happening. Shit! Shit!” Yelena exclaimed, apparently unable to contain her excitement. A chorus of shouts and whistles erupted from the agents gathered just outside the door, their reactions evident even through the thick boundary.
The situation was too absurd to not find amusing and you struggled to contain your laughter. Your hand shot up to cover your mouth, attempting to hide the impending giggles and shock at the chaos happening outside. You looked over at Natasha, you found her wearing a smirk. She then gestured for you to tap on the walls and you followed her lead, making a moaning sound as you did.
“Oh god!” you exclaimed, feigning a sense of ecstasy, playing into the moment and the reactions you knew you were eliciting from the agents outside.
“Oh god?!” Yelena and Madisynn shouted in chorus, “Praise the Lord!”
As you continued your act, Natasha suddenly spoke, her voice low and seductive. “Oh yeah?” she purred, “Mhm, yeah. That's my good girl,” she murmured, the praise and the nickname making you feel and think inappropriate things right now.
Is this even appropriate?
Both you and Natasha released synchronized grunts and moans, intentionally creating the illusion of some... passionate act.
As your performance continued, you could hear Yelena's voice rise above the others, “Romanoff, if you hurt Y/N, I swear I'll chop you into tiny pieces!” Yelena threatened. “42 sex-onds!” she reminded in a rush.
“Get on my lap,” you hadn't even realized what you were doing until you found yourself sitting sideways on Natasha's lap, your tight dress not allowing you to straddle her but you still complied with her commanding order. The space between you grew even tighter, the proximity leaving you heady and breathless.
Natasha then shifted her thighs beneath you causing you squeal in surprise.
“Sorry,” she whispered, but you just nodded, your face a burning kettle. Outside the door, the agents’ voices grew louder, their excitement evident as they reacted to the sounds you and Natasha were making.
“They were rushing it out!”
“Give them more time! C'mon!”
“I hope at least one of them could finish.”
You brought your hand on your mouth to contain your laughter once again. You blushed at the comment of the agents, the other was holding Natasha’s hand so you can steady yourself.
“18 seconds!”
The countdown and the outside world faded into the background as you bit your lip, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps. Overwhelmed by the moment and the intensity of your emotions, you leaned in and surged forward, your lips crashing onto hers, bruising them further in a desperate and passionate kiss.
As your lips melded together, Natasha's hands instinctively found their way to your waist, gripping it firmly, grounding you both. Pulling away, you locked eyes with Natasha, the gravity of the moment finally sinking in. Your heart hammered against your ribcage as you notice her lip, slightly bloodied with traces of your lipstick smeared across it.
“I can't believe I just wasted those minutes in silence when I can have this with you,” she confessed.
And with that, the door of the small room you were in swung open, signaling that your 7 Minutes of Heaven is finally over.
Pairing: Ellie Williams x reader AND Abby Anderson x reader
Summary: no summary. just read :)
Word count: 1.4k+
Five.
A/N: The LONG awaited part 6 is finally here. For those of you who have been following this story since my old account, thank you for being patient.
you’re as good as dead.
You’re as good as dead.
YOU’RE AS GOOD AS DEAD.
Echoed through your head. You replayed that day a thousand of times. You constantly racked your brain to explore any and every possible scenario to understand where everything went wrong. Not even in your darkest thoughts you’d imagine you’d be in a hospital bed recovering from injuries Abby gave you.
Would you be here if you had talked to Abby alone? Would you be in Seattle if she would have let Joel go? Why would she let you live if you were just dead weight to her? Did it hurt her to see you dying or did she not care?
Did she imagine you were Joel?
Were you supposed to die alone in that cold lodge?
You’re as good as dead.
And now, you felt as if you were as good as dead.
Every time you closed your eyes, you could see her hovering above you with the bloody golf club. You could feel her stroking your face once last time. You can hear her voice telling saying you were as good as dead.
Abby was all you could thing about. Abby consumed your every waking thought.
“Hey, I’m glad too see you awake,” Joel began ripping you away from your thoughts. “You hungry?”
“Yeah, where’s Ellie? She’s always the one who brings me lunch. Not saying that I don’t enjoy your company, but I just… you know…I want to know if she is okay.”
“Don’t worry kid, she’s alright. I sent her home to shower and rest. She needed it.”
Ellie had not left your side since you were brought back to Jackson. She spent every waking moment by your side. You were glad that she was finally okay with leaving for a while.
You groaned as you managed to sit up in the bed.
“You think you can feed yourself with your right hand today?” Joel asked as he set the tray down on your lap.
“Joel… You know I can hardly hold the spoon in my hand.” You whisper.
Oh, you thought the only thing Abby had caused you was trauma? Check again.The side of your body that was kissed by the golf club trembled every time you tried to use it. You walked with a limp and your hand trembled every time you tried to use it and no amount of physical therapy seemed to help.
Abby was written all over your body.
You took a deep breath in and took the spoon in your left hand.
“Joel what…what…what happened that day? When…when you found me. No one will tell me anything. Ellie avoids it any time I ask. I…I…I need to know.” You said as you took another bite of your food.
“So much happened that day kid. I left to Jackson like you asked me to, but I just had this feeling in my stomach that I just couldn’t shake. I knew I had to go back and at least check if you had left or to see if you were okay.”
1 month ago
“What the fuck is taking so long? Is she down there or not?” Ellie asked as she went down the stairs. She craved to be back inside of the walls of Jackson. She did not want to spend another moment looking for you. You were a waste of their time. Abby and her people could come back and look for Joel. They were sitting ducks.
Ellie flung the door open. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the two men hovering over something… or someone.
“Get out of here.” Joel said firmly, but not once removing his eyes from the object in front of him.
“Oh god. That’s her isn’t it?” Dina asked walking towards the men. A quiet sob left Dina’s mouth as her eyes fell on your body. She dropped to her knees to help Joel hold pressure to your wounds.
“She’s barely holding on Els.”
Ellie’s heart sank as she heard Dina’s words. It was as if every word that left Dina’s mouth was in slow motion. Ellie held her self up by the doorframe.
Her eyes widened in horror at the sight before her. There you were, motionless and pale. Your face was bruised and blood seeped on the ground and on from what seemed like everywhere on your head.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck..” She whispered as she rushed over to your body dropping next to you. A deep gash was on the side of your head and blood was everywhere, staining the floor and your clothes making it impossible to know where the bleeding was coming from. She felt Joel’s hand on her shoulder, trying to pull her back, his words were muffled, but she wouldn’t… couldn’t budge. Guilt rushed across every inch of her body.
How could someone lose so much blood?
Joel finally shook her out of her frozen state.
“We need to get her out of here. She’s still breathing.” Ellie sobbed. She pulled your body into her arms. Blood slowly seeped onto her clothes. “Someone fucking help me!” She cried. She watched as your chest moved up and down slowly.
Ellies attention was ripped away from you by the noise on the other side of the door.
“Hurry the fuck up Nora. She could be dead by now!” Abby yelled jogging over to the door.
“I’m right here Abby,” Nora said said walking up by Abby’s side and swinging the door open.
Without a second thought, as the two girls walked through the threshold of the door, Joel drew his weapon and fired. Both bodies dropped to the ground instantly.
“Nora, get up,” Abby whispered as she hid behind the couch. Her friend laid there with a bullet wound right between her eyes.
“Nora,” Abby whispered again hoping Nora would talk back to her.
“Get the fuck up and throw your weapon or the girl gets shot!” Joel yelled pointing the gun right at your head.
“What the fuck are you doing! Stop it!” Ellie screaming attempting to shield you with her body.
“Get the fuck up!” Joel yells once again.
“Stop please stop,” Abby says standing up with her hands in the air. Her eyes widen as she realizes that its Joel who’s threatening your life. “Give me (Y/N), she deserves to be buried back home. She deserves to be back in Seattle with her family.
Ellie set you down gently and getting up from her spot on the ground.
“Her family? You left her here to die. You’re the reason why she is bleeding out. You are in no place to be demanding things. Abby is it?” Ellie said approaching the girl.
“Look I don’t want any more trouble. I just want to take her home.” Abby said taking a step back tripping over Nora’s body.
Abby saw the fury in Ellie’s eyes. She knew that if she was in her position she would be doing the same thing.
“You came back to drag her body to fucking Seattle, but she’s not fucking dead yet. You want to bury her, but she’s still alive. Are you fucking kidding me?”
Present
“Where’s Abby now?” You asked interrupting Joel. You couldn’t bear to listen to another word from that day.
“She’s uh- “ Joel began.
“Dead. I shot her for what she did. After I told her all of that, we fought and I reached for my gun and shot her. Quick and easy. She didn’t suffer if you’re wondering,” Ellie interrupted as she walked into the room.
Dead. Dead. Dead.
The room began spinning and you could feel your heart pound against your ribs.
Abby couldn’t be dead.
There was no way in the world she could be dead.
You scanned Joel’s and Ellie’s face, they were hiding something from you. That couldn’t be it. Abby couldn’t be gone just like that.
“Get out. I want to be alone,” You day finally breaking out of your thoughts.
“Peach…” Ellie began.
“El, I’m tired I just want to sleep,” You murmur flashing her a weak smile.
Ellie and Joel share a look of guilt.
“I'll be back soon Peach, sweet dreams,” She said against your head, planting a kiss on your forehead.
The pair left the room and as soon as the door closed behind them, you broke out in a sob.
summary: Day 3 still. Lots of emotions and flashbacks.
word count: 2.9 k +
Hi!!!I am so sorry for depriving y'all of swff for 23 days. (yes i went back and counted how many days it has been). I do hope you guys enjoy this even if its shorter than usual :) I really appreciate the patience from all of you.
Tension and silence filled the air as the group traveled. Not a word was exchanged since they had left the lodge. Everyone was still trying to process everything that had happened. Abby was silent, lost in her thoughts. She replayed the events that happened, trying to make sense of everything. Your betrayal. She continues to see you, your face twisted in pain and fear. She could hear the golf club making contact with your head and the sobs that escaped your mouth as she continued to hit you. Your plea’s haunted her.
“We’re here,” Manny said, opening the door to the library. The snowstorm was too bad to continue for the night.
Abby was the first to step into the building, and as soon as she did, she examined her hands. Her knuckles were cut and bruised, and blood was smeared all over her arms and hands. Blood splattered on her clothing and face. It's like a switch finally flipped inside of her, and she breaks down.
She drops to her knees, crying and shaking uncontrollably. She had just killed the one person in the world who would do anything for her—who loved her unconditionally even when she didn’t give her that love back. Your blood covered her. The sound of your cries was the only thing she could hear aside from her own pathetic sobs. Everyone rushed over to her and attempted to comfort her, but the only comfort she needed was seeing you again. Dead or alive. She needed to see you.
“I need to go back,” She sobs. “I have to go back for her. She needs me.”
“Abby, we can’t go back for her. She’s probably dead. It does us no good to go back for her. We need to stay here, and we still freeze to death if we go back out there,” Owen said, rubbing Abby’s back.
“I'm not asking anyone to come with me. Stay here, but I am going back for her. Even if she is dead, she deserves to be buried in Seattle, at home. I have to go back for her,” Abby said as she stood from her stop on the ground. Wet tears rolled down her face nonstop. If there was any chance that you were still alive, you would never forgive her.
“Abby, there's no point in returning. She is gone, and even if she wasn't, she doesn’t deserve to go back to Seattle. Abby, you know I love you, but she betrayed you; she doesn’t deserve your mercy,” Manny said.
“I don’t care. I’m going back for her. I can do it alone.”
The room fills with chatter from the group. It was all muffled to Abby. She couldn’t stop thinking about you being alone in that lodge. That cold lodge. Your fragile body lying there surrounded by your blood. She couldn’t shake the image from her head. She needed to be back there. She needed to know if she had truly killed you.
“I’ll go with you,” Nora finally said. “You won’t be able to carry her body to Seattle alone. Even if she is alive, she won't be able to walk to Seattle alone. She’ll need out help.”
Abby looks at Nora, gratitude and relief written all over her face. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
“You’re making a mistake, Abs,” Manny mutters.
“My only mistake was hurting her,” Abby said before leaving the library.
2 years ago
“Why did you bring me here (Y/N) on my birthday?” Abby questions, scanning her friend's face. You were not an easy person to get information out of, but that didn't mean she would stop nagging you about it. You brought her out here and not a peep about your plans.
“Not a patient bone in your body, huh, Abigail?”
Abby lets out a laugh as you drag her through the lobby of the theater. Your hands were intertwined as you walked down the hall. Abby’s heart skipped a beat at the feeling of your hands in hers. She would follow you anywhere with every annoying question she could think of, but she would still follow you. You came to a sudden stop outside of what she could only assume was the auditorium door.
“Seriously, what are we doing here?” She asks, annoyed by your secrecy.
“Well, what do people do in theaters, Abigail? They watch movies.” You began before she interrupted you, “These things are like a million years old. I doubt they work.”
“Weren’t you, like, alive when the whole outbreak thing happened? So who’s a million years old.”
“I was not! We are practically the same age!” Abby whined.
“Yeah says the 18-year-old.”
Abby glared at you before saying, “I still highly doubt this old junk will work.”
You roll your eyes and cross your arms across your chest. “You have no faith in me.” You begin glaring at the blonde girl before you. “I, being the best friend you could ever have, fixed the projector, and we have a movie to watch tonight.”
A smile grew on Abby’s face, “You know we can watch movies at home, right? We have a TV and a bed and blanket and food and….” You cut her off by punching her arm, knowing damn well she could take you out with her pinky.
“Okay, go home then.” You said, blocking the door with your body, causing Abby to burst out in laughter. You did your best to conceal the smile on your face.
“Oh, I'm just kidding.”
You glared at her as you continued to block the door, and in one swift motion, Abby threw you over her shoulder, causing you to yelp. “Abigail Anderson, put me down right now. Im so going to kick your ass.” You demanded. Abby ignored your pleas and continued to walk into the theater. She plopped you down in a seat.
“Are you gonna take that look off your face and put on the movie, or what’s your plan?” Abby teased.
“You’re such a jerk, and to think I was sneaking away to fix this place up.” You said, standing up from your spot. “And these aren’t even our seats.”
“Oh, I didn't know we had assigned seats in an empty theater.” Abby teased causing her to earn a glare from you. You take her hand in yours and take her up to the middle of the theater where you had set everything up. There were blankets and pillows and a backpack filled with your favorite snacks. Abby glanced over at you, “You did all of this? How did you even manage to bring this all out here?”
“Magic.” You begin as you pull her into a hug. Her arms wrapped around your body. You tried to hide your huge smile, but you could not deny that you were incredibly proud of yourself. Abby had a huge smile on her face. She could feel her cheeks getting red. She couldn't help but feel an immense amount of happiness with you in her arms. You went out of your way to do all of this for her. Abby's heart could have busted out of her chest if you had remained in her arms one more second.
“Settle down. I will be right back. Get ready to be spooked.” You said, walking away from her.
“Me spooked? In your dreams!” She said, causing you to laugh. Abby sat in the chairs and admired all you had done for her. No one had ever done anything remotely this nice, not even Owen.
You went back into the theater and plopped down next to Abby. “What movie is this anyways?” She questioned, throwing a blanket over the both of you. “Scream.”
“Oh, is it gonna make me scream?” She asked. You both looked at each other and let out a laugh. “You know, I doubt this movie will even be scary. ‘Scream’ seriously? What kind of movie even is that.”
You let out a laugh knowing Abby was a chicken through and through. Abby rested her head on your shoulder. Every time a ghost face claimed a victim, her entire body jolted. She would hide her face in your neck, swearing she wasn’t scared. You took her hand in yours to calm her nerves. Electricity races throughout Abby's body every time you took her hand in yours.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it, Abigail?” You asked, looking over at the blonde girl. “No, not at all. I wasn’t even scared.”
You snort. “Oh, so it wasn’t you screeching every two minutes?”
Even in the dark theater, you could tell Abby trying to hide her blush.
“Shut up,” She said, putting her arm around your shoulders. You relaxed against her touch.
“Happy Birthday, Abigail.”
—————————————————-—————————-
Joel got to the road to Jackson as soon as possible. The one thing on his mind was to get to Ellie before she left Jackson. He knew too well that Ellie was hot-headed and would immediately come looking for him as soon as she read that letter.
Joel didn’t believe in God, but he prayed like hell that you were alright, but the pit in his stomach begged him to turn around and go back for you. Everything in his body told him that something was incredibly wrong. You were not okay, but he had to find Ellie first. You were a smart girl.
He spotted the silhouettes of three people he knew all too well. Ellie, Jesse, and Dina. He rode towards them as fast as his horse could take him through the snow. “Ellie! Ellie!” He yelled.
Ellie felt like her heart would beat out of her chest as she heard Joel’s voice calling her name. She wasn’t entirely sure if she was seeing him or if it was her mind playing tricks on her, but sure enough, Joel was riding towards them, but you were nowhere to be found. Traitor. You had probably left with your stupid friends. She immediately hopped off her horse and ran towards Joel.
“Joel, are you okay? Did she hurt you? Are you hurt? Are you okay? What the fuck happened out there?” She asked. Her eyes scanned all over Joel's body—no sign of injury on him.
“No, Ellie, she saved my life.” Joel began. Ellie furrowed her eyebrows as the letter replayed in her mind. It didn't make sense. Why would you save a man that you were instructed to take to his death? “We need to go back for her.”
“No, absolutely not Joel. She fucking infiltrated our home to fucking kill you. I will not let you go and risk your life for that bitch. She came here and used her connection to me to get to you. And what? She thinks just because she let you go means she’s the hero and all is forgiven. Fuck no. We're going back to Jackson.” Ellie said, storming back to her horse.
“I’m going then. I have a bad feeling. I have to go at least check. I owe her my life. She didn’t have to do what she did for me, but she did it anyways. She betrays her people for a man she doesn’t even know.”
“No.”
“Ellie, he's gonna go whether you want to or not. The least we can do is go with him. He’s one man. If (Y/N) and her group are still there, he doesn’t stand a chance.” Dina said, hoping that it would calm Ellie.
Ellie ran her hands across her face, “Fine. Let's go.”
She couldn’t believe what they were doing for a traitor.
6 years ago
“Hey! Stop right there.” A man's voice yells. Ellie felt her heart drop. This is exactly what you didn't want to happen and it did. She knew you were going to be so mad at her. You didn't want to go out, to begin with.
You shut your eyes tightly and glance at Ellie, who has a terrified look on her face. “I got this don’t worry El,” You whisper.
“Turn around slowly!” The man yelled. You took a deep breath, put your hands in the air, and turned around slowly. You weren't certain that your plan would work, but you were praying like hell hoping it would.
“Williams. (Y/LN). What are you two doing out here? You know this is going to cost you time in the hole. You two are lucky I didn’t shoot on sight.”
“Captain Kwong,” you sigh. A piece of cake. “I am so sorry. We were just heading home.”
“Yeah, you two know the rules. Time in the hole.”
“I got word of fireflies in the old bakery building. I wanted to check it out before I reported on it, sir. I asked Ellie if she would come with me. It is better to travel in a group than alone. You taught me that sir. Forgive me. If anyone should do time in the hole, it's me. Please just let Ellie go home, and I’ll do my time.”
Captain Kwong rubbed his eyes in frustration, “Get home. Don’t let me catch you out here after curfew; next time, report it to me immediately. You’ll be a good officer one day, kid.”
You smiled at him before pulling Ellie by the arm. The walk to your room was silent, and the tension between the two of you worked. Adrenaline raced through both of the girl's bodies but for very different reasons. You climbed through the window and plopped yourself down on your bed.
“Ha, I can’t fucking believe that worked, El.” You chuckled.
“I can’t fucking believe you (Y/N),” Ellie said. You immediately sat up in your bed and furrowed your eyebrows at her.
“Don’t sit there and give me that fucking confused look. You know exactly what you did. You gave out Riley’s hideout.”
“It was that or doing time in the hole Ellie.” You snapped.
“You are fucking putting her in danger. If something happens to her, I will never forgive you.”
“But it's not a fucking problem when she put you in fucking danger, right? Riley doesn’t even care about you. She abandons you every chance she gets for the fireflies, so why should I care if she’s there or not? It's our asses on the line, not hers. I saved our asses tonight, not her.”
“You’d do almost anything to save your ass, wouldn’t you?” Ellie snapped. Your chest tightened with her words.
“Not just my ass, Ellie. Yours too. I wasn’t alone out there, and I didn’t drag you out to the mall. We were out there together. And lord knows you’ve spent too much time in the hole because of Riley. And I’m not stupid enough to give out your best friend's location. The fireflies already left that building. I would never put Riley in danger.”
Silence lingered in the room for too long. Ellie could feel her heart pounding against her ribs. She was so angry at you, but all you were doing was looking out for her. That’s all you ever did for her. Save her ass.
“Goodnight.” You whisper, getting under the covers. You lay there facing the wall. Tears gathered in your eyes. You hated fighting with Ellie, and you hated that Riley had again come between you.
“I'm sorry for not trusting you, Peach,” Ellie whispers. “I just- I just worry about Riley. I know you don’t like her.”
“I would never….”You began choking up. “I know how much she means to you…”
Ellie felt a pang in her chest, seeing you choke up like that, “Sleepover?” She asked.
You let out a laugh and wipe your tears, “Can we skip the whole dancing and watching movies part and just sleep?”
Ellie eagerly nods and gets in bed next to you.
“I'm sorry, Peach.”
You smiled at her and kissed her cheek, “All is forgiven, Els.”
—————————————————-—————————-
Ellie felt the anger rise in her chest as she entered the lodge. She hoped you were long gone and she would never have to see your face again. You betray her. You were after Joel and never even thought to mention to her your plans. You were only looking to save your own ass.
“Jesse and I will go check down there. The two of you stay up here and keep guard.” Joel said firmly.
“Holler if anything happens,” Dina said.
Ellie hardly even reacted to anyone’s words. She just stood there and stood guard.
“You think she’s hurt?” Jesse asked Joel as they went down the stairs.
“I just have a feeling. I hope she's not.” Joe said. His hand hovered over the doorknob. His gut was telling him there was something so wrong. He took a deep breath slowly twisting the door knob. Jesse raised his gun preparing to be attacked by whatever was behind the door. Joel finally pushed the door open. Jesse immediately put his gun down at the sight behind the door. The sight of the room sent chills down their spines. The two men stood there shocked by the sight. There, lying on the floor, your body remained surrounded by a pool of your own blood. Joel’s heart sank, guilt and worry washed over him. He rushed over to your body. He looked down at you. His hand shook, the sight was not easy on the eyes.
“Don't let Ellie down here. I don't think she’s alive.”
pairing. dealer college student! ellie williams x f! reader
PART ONE. PART TWO. MASTERLIST.
synopsis. ellie tries her hardest not to mix business with pleasure. or, ellie gets a new customer and unfortunately falls in love with her.
warnings. 18+. blank & ageless blogs will be blocked. clichè comments on sorority girls (sorry), sexually explicit descriptions of female receiving cunnilingus, fondling, fingering, and dry humping. not beta’d.
an. well here ya go! thank u to all those who were so patient and lovely with me<3 to those who weren’t and were mean to me…i’m giving you the nastiest dirty look rn. pls comment and reblog!!!! love u.
pairing: ellie williams x fem! reader (ur a girly girl in this one!!) (she/her pronouns)
summary: you’ve won the life lottery as one of the few people on earth with parents who gained admittance to the most prestigous safezone in the world after the outbreak. but after a lab accident sends you out to jackson, wyoming, real life hits you fast. it’s a good thing that a hot lesbian finds u. (lol). mean ellie at first, slowburn, enemies to friends to lovers, fem reader asf
warnings: (PLEASE READ!) explicit language, violence, description of a medical procedure sans anesthesia, recreational drug use (idk how else to put it ellie gets absolutely zonked in the beginning), reader overthinks asf and is a little neurotic but that's why we love her x
a/n: hey guys! thank you so much for the wait! it's been genuinely insane how sweet and incredible all of you are. i've never felt so appreciated for my writing!! also, some notes: this chapter is heavily inspired by my last relationship. sorry if it's not as immersive bc of it! and also i don't have ANY medical knowledge so...cast a blind eye when u get to that scene
You gave Ellie a withering look from where you were sitting at the end of her bed.
“Please,” she said, drawing out the s. “Just once more. I promise.”
“Fine.” You rolled your eyes—a habit of hers that you were quickly picking up—and took in a deep breath. “Fuck.”
Ellie lost it, peals of laughter bouncing off the walls. “Another one. Say something else.”
“I don’t understand why you think this is so funny,” you said.
“You say it so weird.”
“I enunciate,” you clarified. “I don’t ‘sound weird’. It’s called pronouncing every letter in the word and not having a lazy mouth.”
“Please,” she gasped. “At least say bitch. You haven’t said that one yet.”
You looked her dead in the eye. “Bitch.”
If you weren’t already certain that Ellie was high out of her mind by the smell of her room and the general haze in the air, the way she howled with laughter and fell back on her bed would’ve made you entirely positive.
This was new. You’d begun to hang out with her in her room after dinner—that was normal—but when she’d knocked on your door smelling heavily of weed once you’d said goodnight to Joel, you were nothing less than shocked. Of course, she had none left for you. Which was probably good, because only a sober mind could navigate a night sitting on Ellie’s bed without doing something really, really stupid.
“I can’t believe you call me weird,” you said, tucking your feet under her and giving her a pointed look.
“You’re so lucky you didn’t grow up where I did,” Ellie said, wiping a tear away from her cheek as she tried (unsuccessfully) to rein in her giggles. “You would’ve been eaten alive, good lord.”
“What were you like as a kid?” you asked, resting your chin on your knees.
She considered for a moment, growing more somber. “Um…I don’t know if you would’ve liked me very much.”
“What do you mean? Of course I would’ve liked you.”
“No,” she said, swiping at her face so she pushed a strand of hair away. “I don’t think you would have.”
“Why not?”
“I was…” She paused, picking at her cuticles. “Back then I didn’t have anyone. I was an orphan, you know. My parents were never in the picture, so I was the only one I could count on. I was really rough around the edges and could be nasty. But I probably would’ve ignored you like I did everyone else. “
“Everyone? You didn’t have anyone? No friends at all?”
Ellie blinked, and her gaze remained fixed on her hands. “Basically, yeah. I mean, there was one girl, but that’s…I don’t want to talk about that right now, actually.”
“That’s okay,” you said, reaching forward to touch her knee. She flinched at the contact but didn’t brush you away. The image of a young, scared Ellie living somewhere alone made your chest ache. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“What were you like?” she asked, tilting her head and meeting your eyes.
“Hmmm…” Mirth crept into your tone. “What do you think?”
“What do I think?” Ellie echoed, her eyes cloudy as she thought. Then a small smirk formed on her face. “Oh god, were you one of those spoiled brats? Were you a mean girl?”
“God, no,” you said, raising your eyebrows. “Not mean.”
“Then what?”
You paused. “I was really shy, I guess. And quiet, too. I didn’t do much but read for a good 10 years of my life. I used to have awful pronunciation because I would spend more time reading than talking to anyone. But I think I would’ve liked you.”
Ellie shook her head.
“Yes,” you said. “Maybe I would’ve been a little scared of you. I probably would’ve never had the courage to talk to you. But I would’ve liked you, I think.”
“Scared of me?”
“Yeah.”
“Why? I was a kid.”
“I was mostly going off of how I felt when I actually first met you,” you said, shrugging.
She gasped theatrically. “You’re scared of me?”
“No!” you said, smacking her knee. “That’s not what I mean. You’re just really intimidating.”
“Intimidating?” She looked at you incredulously.
“You’re so tough,” you explained, feeling heat grow in your cheeks. “You seem just—I don’t know, just so capable. There’s nothing you’re too afraid to face, nothing you’re too afraid to say.”
“That’s not true,” she said lightly.
“Well, of course I’m sure there are things that you’re afraid of,” you amended. “But you hide it so well. You just seem so…fearless.”
“Hm,” Ellie said, letting her head rest against the headboard. “I think you would’ve made me a nervous wreck. If we’d met when we were kids, I mean.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “I’ve never met anyone quite like you before. You’re just so untouched.” She winced. “God, no. That sounds gross. I just mean…I dunno. I wouldn’t have known how to act around you. You haven’t had to harden up like everyone else I know.”
“Are you saying I should develop trust issues or something?” you asked, your voice a teasing lilt.
“You know,” she said, nodding seriously, “That is part of it. It was really off-putting how quickly you trusted me. But I guess that’s just a product of where you grew up.”
“Yeah,” you said softly. “I wonder how I would’ve turned out if I’d grown up like you.”
“Can I be honest?” Ellie asked.
“Sure.”
“I don’t think you’d still be here if you were me,” she said, her eyes crinkling. “No offense. You just have zero survival skills. I swear that shit has to be genetic. I’ve never met someone more averse to violence in my life.”
You sighed, pressed your hands deep into Ellie’s comforter as a thought hit you. “I think if you’d been born in my position, you would’ve been greater than anything either of us could ever dream of. Much greater than me.”
“Definitely not,” said Ellie. “There’s no fucking way I’m studying the way you apparently do. I honestly think I’d take being an orphan over the study schedule I saw in your bag.”
She was of course referencing the time table you’d roughly sketched up the morning before you’d ended up in Jackson. It was blocked to the minute, citing the study content and the location of said study session. She’d been beyond horrified to see it.
You laughed, nudging her socked food with yours.
“Is there music? In Terranova?”
“Oh,” you said, startled at the abrupt change of subject. “Uh, yeah. Of course. I listened to it all the time.”
“I used to have a Walkman,” she said, leaning back as she reminisced. She was lying flat on her back now. “It ended up breaking a while ago, but it was like my child.”
“Have you ever seen a movie before?” you asked, sitting up rigid straight as the thought occurred to you.
“Duh,” she said, giving you a weird look. “Do you think I live under a rock?”
“How many?”
“Hm.” Ellie began counting, ending on her second hand. “I think 6?”
“You’ve seen a total of 6 movies in your life?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you want to see more?”
She shrugged. “I mean, I guess. It’s just tough to find CDs that are still functional after so long.”
“Hold that thought,” you said, holding a finger in her direction as you stood up.
“Hey!” she called as you bolted out the door. “Where are you going?”
You came bounding back to her room in a matter of seconds, your laptop in your hands.
“What the fuck?” she said. “Isn’t that your homework thing?”
“Yes,” you said, feeling around for an outlet, “But I also have a ridiculous amount of movies downloaded on this. Our dorm wi-fi is shit and I have way too much storage on this thing, so I just download, like, every movie I’ve ever wanted to watch.”
“Your dorm what?”
You waved your hand. The last thing you wanted to do was explain to her how the 802.11 standard allowed wireless connections a few years after the outbreak. “Not important. Here, come look at this.”
Your laptop roared to light with the help of your charging cord. Quickly, you typed your password in and opened your downloads. Ellie hovered over your shoulder, squinting at the screen with confusion.
“Here,” you said, opening up the album that had everything you had seen for your entire university career and passing the laptop to Ellie. “Use the touchpad—there, yeah—to navigate. Press to click. These are all movie files that I’ve seen. We can watch them on my laptop. Some of them were filmed in Terranova, too, so they’re post-apocalypse.”
She perused the selection you had for quite some time, the glow of the screen lighting up her face against the dim room. “Okay. This one.”
And thus began a tradition. Each night after you’d finished showering and Joel retired to his room, Ellie would come knock on your door and ask if you wanted to come over. You’d talk for a while, then open your laptop and pick something out to watch. Ellie was never high after the first time, which was unsurprising considering that there definitely wasn’t a way to get any in Jackson. Where she found any the first time was still a mystery to you.
~
A week or so after your first patrol with Ellie, Joel had taken it upon himself to teach you how to shoot. You were surprisingly not as bad as you’d expected, but the rebound was tough to get used to, and you were still hung up over the whole “killing living things” part.
Your first patrol—first real one—came quickly, and before you knew it, Ellie was handing you the same gun you’d dropped the first time with a suspicious look.
“Don’t kill one of us with that thing,” she warned. “Be smart, okay?”
“Sure thing, boss,” you said to her, mock saluting as best you could while you were leading Japan to the mounting block.
She rolled her eyes. “Please act normal or I’ll make you carry around that glorified pocket knife instead again.”
The patrol began as usual, Ellie leading you down the same path you went last time. It was a beautiful day out, with the early spring sun filtering through the evergreen trees that populated the woods and birdsong filling the air.
Though conversations with Ellie were getting easier (given that it actually seemed like she wanted to talk to you now), you were still starstruck. Nothing that you did and nothing that you thought could get you to stop seeing her the way you did. You were routinely distracted by everything about her. It was a wonder that you could even function as a normal person around her, much less handle a weapon and a horse.
You two had nearly made the full rotation when your surroundings exploded in action.
“Fuck,” Ellie hissed as someone behind you two fired a shot that narrowly missed Shimmer.
You whipped around, gun in hand, to see two men—two normal men who weren’t infected. One held a bow, the other a gun.
The one who had fired the first shot never even stood a chance. He was down on the ground seconds after you’d seen him, Ellie’s aim taking him out before you could even ready your gun.
The second man notched an arrow and managed to draw it back and release into the air right as Ellie’s bullet struck him, sending him falling back.
“I don’t think there’s any more,” said Ellie, slightly breathless as she scanned the forest. “Sometimes outsiders pull this shit—try to kill us for our supplies. I’ve never seen them this close to the wall, though. I’ll have to tell Maria and Tommy.”
Normally, you would’ve felt up to making some sort of sarcastic comment about how that was a really unconcerning thing for her to tell you and that you actually felt so much more comfortable going on patrol knowing that there were also just run-of-the-mill people trying to kill you, but a twinge in your lower body distracted you.
Slowly, nervously, you looked down. Air immediately left your lungs.
“At least we’re done,” Ellie was saying, wiping her hands off on her thighs and slinging the gun over her shoulder. “What a crazy end for your first actual patrol, huh?”
When you didn’t answer, she turned to you and saw the arrow sticking out of your side,
“Shit,” said Ellie, jumping off Shimmer and reaching you in seconds. “Shit, shit, shit. Oh god.”
“Am I going to die?” you asked, staring starstruck at the blood escaping the outline of the arrowhead. You couldn’t feel anything anymore. Were you in shock?
“No,” said Ellie firmly. “Absolutely not. Do you need help getting off?”
Before you could answer, she was already helping you down, carefully avoiding the protruding arrow.
“Listen,” she said, back to being her unwavering self, “We’re right by the wall. I’m going to help you walk in, and then I’ll grab some supplies, okay? Don’t try to pull the arrow out. You hear me? Don’t.”
Swallowing hard, you nodded. She helped you walk the few steps to be carefully concealed by the wall, then grabbed the two horses and darted past you, making a break for Maria and Tommy’s cabin.
In a haze of confusion, you could see Maria running out, holding a box out to Ellie in exchange for the reins of the horses. Ellie said something that made Maria point towards you. She nodded, then ran back to you.
By the time that she’d reached you, the shock had begun to wear off, replaced by the stinging pain from the object that had impaled you. It was worse than anything you’d ever felt before in your life, and it took all you had not to keel over.
“Hey,” she said, reaching out to grab your face so you had to look at her. “Don’t be afraid. I’ve done this before, okay? I’m, like, the master. It’s going to be alright.”
“Done what before?” you managed to grind out.
Ellie let go of your face to dig through the box Maria had given her, producing a needle, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and what looked like a spool of thin thread.
Horror slowly trickled through you as you realized what was about to happen.
“It doesn’t look all that deep,” Ellie was saying as she examined the arrow. “So I don’t think it’s hit anything. It’s just going to be a nasty hole. I’m going to pull it out now, okay?”
You let out a strangled scream as she grasped the arrow’s end and yanked it out without warning.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Ellie repeated. She threw the arrow over her shoulder and knelt so she was hovering over you. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” you gasped. You were most certainly not. You couldn’t quite get your eyes to focus, and your heart was beating out of your chest.
“Alright,” she said firmly, grasping your shoulders and pulling you up so you were slumped against the wall. “Sit up straight, alright? Also, this is going to hurt.”
At first there were just snipping sounds as she cut part of your shirt away—then something cool and wet pressed to your wound. You cried out again as a fresh white hot pain bloomed in your middle.
“I know, I know.” Ellie’s voice was consoling as she reached up to brush away the sweaty strands of hair stuck to your forehead. “Just a few more seconds.”
“Fuck—off—” you gritted out from your teeth.
Ellie’s eyebrows shot up. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. Just this once.”
She released the alcohol-saturated cotton pad, throwing it aside and fussing with the thread and needle until she was satisfied.
By the time her fingers were ghosting over your abdomen again, you couldn’t pull your eyes away from the puncture wound and the needle she was wielding.
“Don’t look,” said Ellie. “Pick something else. You don’t need to watch.”
“I hate needles,” you whispered, choosing the air over her shoulder to be your focal point.
There was a prodding at the top of your wound, and you hissed.
“I can’t say I’m a fan myself.”
Something pierced through your skin, and your midriff exploded in pain.
The edges of your sight went fuzzy, stars forming in the corners of your vision. Someone that sounded suspiciously like you cried out. Your cheek rammed up against something solid and warm.
Once the initial sting had faded, you realized that you’d slumped into Ellie, your face buried into her neck. She didn’t make any move to push you off, instead just taking one hand to brush up and down your arm with a feather light touch.
“You're fine," she said firmly. "Everything's going to be fine."
Your fingers curled around the hem of her shirt as the needle exited through the other end of your wound, pulling another whine from your throat. It was easier to not feel like you were about to pass out when you were crushed into Ellie, clinging onto her and just focusing on the way she felt against you.
“Hang on, I'm almost there,” she muttered a few stitches later. You’d quieted down, only letting out the occasional gasp as she pulled the thread through. “You're doing so well. Just one more.”
Now that you were more conscious, you had no idea how she was managing to stitch your side while you were nearly on her lap, but she continued to weave her needle through your skin, pulling it taut.
“And done,” said Ellie. You felt her take another cotton square to swipe against your skin.
You laid against her for a few more moments, panting as the shock slowly began to fade. She shifted, and for a moment you were sure that she was going to shove you away, but then the hand she’d lifted hesitantly rested on your head, her fingers parting to card through your hair.
“How did you learn how to do that?” you asked, your voice muffled from where you were pressed against her.
“Trial and error.”
Her joke was enough for you to finally let go, sitting back against the wall. Her hand slithered out of your hair, resting back in her lap.
“Shut up,” you said. “That’s awful.”
Ellie shrugged.
“I’m sorry,” you said, feeling the bumpiness of the stony wall press into your back. “I have a really low pain tolerance.”
“So I’ve noticed,” said Ellie, the side of her mouth quirking.
“I’ve never been hurt before,” you heard yourself saying. “Like, beyond the occasional splinter or bee sting or accidental scrape or ankle sprain. It’s just not something that happens.”
“Must be nice.”
You smiled sadly. “Yeah. It’s not nice being weak, though.”
Ellie looked away from you then, silent as she packed up the first-aid kit. Then: “I don’t think that’s true.”
She’d said it lightly, like it was meant to be an offhand comment, a throwaway addition that wouldn’t be remembered by either of you. But the sentiment still struck you, twisting your heart.
You were less capable because your survival had never required anything more. You were weak because you could be.
Her voice from the night she’d been high floated back to you. You haven't had to harden up like everyone else I know.
Out here, weakness was a luxury few could afford.
“Not so untouched anymore, huh?” you said, since you didn’t know how else to respond.
“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t,” quipped Ellie. “But if I were you, I wouldn’t lose sleep over it. I still consider needing to be held to get 4 stitches as being soft. You haven’t changed a bit. No offense.”
Your cheeks burned bright red. “I—”
“I’m teasing,” she said before you could defend yourself. “Arrow wounds suck. I get it.”
“Right.” You turned away, keeping your gaze fixed firmly on the ground beside you. With feeling more yourself came the inevitable shame at what you’d just done. What had you been thinking, touching her like that? Grabbing onto her like that?
This was going to haunt you for the rest of your life.
“Don’t make that face,” said Ellie. “I’m sorry for saying that. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. It really is fine.”
It was not fine. It would never be fine. You wanted the thugs to come back to life and finish you off, and then have the earth open up and swallow you for good measure.
Ellie probably thought of you as an overgrown child. You doubted that there was ever a point where she could see you as anything equal. If she ever knew how often she appeared in your imagination, she’d probably be disgusted.
She called you pretty a contrarian voice in your head reminded you. Don't you remember?
But maybe she hadn’t meant it. She hadn’t said it explicitly: “Y/N, I think you’re pretty.” She just hadn’t argued when you’d pointed it out. Maybe because she was being nice, or maybe because she was actually being sarcastic.
“You were really brave, okay?” said Ellie. “Your first armed confrontation and you did well.”
“I didn’t shoot anyone.”
“It could have gone worse,” said Ellie. “You could’ve accidentally shot me. Or died. And neither of those things happened, so that’s successful in my book.”
“That’s very glass half-full of you.”
“That’s me. Ever the optimist.”
You snorted.
~
That night, Ellie knocked on your door and asked you if you were up for another movie. You found yourself sitting on her comforter, plugging in your computer and booting it up minutes later.
Physically speaking, it had always been a little awkward to fit two people on her twin bed if they weren’t right next to each other, given that your laptop screen was a very unimpressive size. When you’d first started watching with her, Ellie would rest against the headboard, her legs stretched out in front of you while you would sit with your legs crossed, positioned sideways so you weren’t accidentally pushing her legs off.
But after the day you had had, your back was sore and your whole body ached. Sitting on something soft without any back support as you angled yourself to look at the screen was quickly proving unsustainable.
“Pause,” said Ellie about ten minutes in. You’d been watching an older sci-fi flick—Ellie’s choice.
You complied, leaning forward and pressing the spacebar. “What’s up?”
“Are you even comfortable sitting like that?”
“Yeah,” you said.
“Liar,” accused Ellie, crossing her arms over her chest. “Don’t think I don’t see you ‘discreetly’ cracking your back every 2 minutes. It’s ruining the movie.”
“Sorry,” you said, shaking your head and smiling in exasperation. “It’s from all the years I spent hunched over a textbook.”
“You know, you can sit up here,” she said, patting the space beside her. “I don’t bite.”
“Jury’s still out on that,” you said, though by the time Ellie let out a laugh you were already unfolding your legs and moving so you were next to her.
She leaned forward, grabbing the bottom half of the laptop and lifting it. “Hey, do you want a blanket?”
“Sure.”
Ellie’s other hand grabbed the edge of her comforter and held it up.
Hesitantly, you slid your legs under and watched as Ellie did the same, awkwardly holding the laptop in the air before you were both settled enough to rest it on your covered right thigh and her left. “Better?”
When you nodded, she reached her tattooed arm out and pressed play. The audio picked back up, but you couldn’t for the life of you focus on the movie.
When Ellie had asked if you’d wanted a blanket, you were expecting her to toss the throw blanket that would really only fit one person at you, not invite you to get under the blankets with her. That was significantly more intimate.
You two were sitting close enough that your sides were touching, from shoulder to thigh. You could feel her chest lift with each breath, feel the heat coming off of her.
After a while, Ellie properly laid down, taking the laptop and hoisting it up so it rested on her lower abdomen as she settled into her pillow.
You gulped, your eyes flickering between her face and the screen. Ellie’s gaze was fixed intently on the screen, her eyes half lidded with exhaustion.
You could be tired too. You weren’t, of course—your heart was racing a thousand miles an hour. But she didn’t know that. It was normal to lay down next to her, right? You’d done that with Irena more times than you could count, and it was never weird. Yeah, you could do that.
Also, if you were totally horizontal, you would stop getting distracted by the sliver of her skin that her crooked shirt showed of her chest.
In a moment of blind courage, you scooted down so your head was lying right next to Ellie’s. She didn’t seem to react, just extending her hand from under the covers to steady the laptop as it wobbled from the movement.
Her sheets smelled like the soap that you used to wash your hair—a cottony freshness that had the slightest hint of lavender.
“Are you going to fall asleep on me?” asked Ellie after a while, her voice nothing more than a whisper.
“I could ask you the same thing,” you responded, equally quiet. Then, because you hadn’t made enough rash decisions for the night, you angled your head so it rested in the space right above her shoulder.
She inhaled sharply but didn’t move. On her next exhale a piece of her auburn hair tickled your forehead.
“How’re your stitches?” she asked suddenly, like she'd just remembered.
“They’re okay. I think. As stitches go.”
“After this is over, I’ll check on them,” she said. “Don’t let me forget, okay?”
“Okay,” you whispered, suddenly feeling shy. It was one thing for her to cut off your shirt and see your skin when she was trying to save your life while you were mentally gone. It was another thing altogether to pull up your shirt without adrenaline coursing through you.
You didn’t pay any attention to the rest of the movie, instead hyperfocused on the rhythm of Ellie’s breathing and the fact that if you moved just a little your chin would be on her shoulder.
Her mention of the stitches wasn’t helping at all, either. Now all you could think about was the embarrassing way you’d basically tried to crawl under her skin, burying your face into her and clutching at her clothes like you were a child.
A part of you was disappointed that you hadn’t been more lucid at the time. If you had, you would’ve been able to clearly remember the softness of her skin against yours. You would’ve been able to enjoy it for what it was—the only time you’d be able to touch her like that.
Because you couldn’t go around just grabbing onto her shirt and getting into her lap. That was a one-off, the only time that the rules were waived. You couldn’t touch her like that now, now that you didn’t have any excuse. It wasn’t allowed.
But sometimes you wanted to so badly that it hurt.
The movie ended abruptly, wrenching you out of your thoughts.
“Hey,” whispered Ellie. “Sit up so I can see.”
Reluctantly, you pressed yourself up from your back and began rolling up the hem of your shirt. Ellie twisted to face backwards, her thin top riding up and showing part of her back as she reached for the lamp.
Once golden light returned to the room, Ellie turned back and bumped your hands away. She bent over, tilting her head so that she was looking at the stitches straight on.
They didn’t look bad, you had to admit. Though you wouldn’t consider the actual experience of getting the stitches a 5-star experience, Ellie had clearly known what she was doing. The surrounding flesh didn’t look angry or irritated, and she’d pulled the stitches just tight enough without it puckering.
She prodded at the side, then gave a satisfied nod. “Looks good. What did I tell you? I’m really good at this sort of stuff.”
“I think you would’ve made a really good doctor,” you said once she’d sat up straight again. “Under different circumstances.”
“Is this you telling me that you don’t think I’m a good doctor now?” she teased.
“Your bedside manner could use some work,” you offered.
Ellie laughed then, shaking her head and crossing her arms over her chest. “Yeah, yeah. You lived. You'll get over it.”
“Did you go to school?” you found yourself asking, hung up on the thought of Ellie as a potential medical student. If she’d been in one of your intro biology classes, you never would’ve been able to pay attention. That was a fantasy you could shelve away for later.
“Sort of,” said Ellie, looking down at her arms. “I went to a military prep school run by FEDRA. I didn’t graduate though—obviously. I was long gone by then.”
“Right,” you said, remembering that she’d mentioned that she’d been 14 when she’d left Boston. “And what was it like?”
She paused, opening her mouth before closing it. “It was—unkind. Joel's told me about schools before the outbreak. It was nothing like that. There were some normal classes, but most of it was meant to prepare us to be soldiers.”
“Is that where you learned how to do sutures?”
“Among other things.”
Terranova had no military academies, given that there was hardly any military presence. The founder of Terranova had bodyguards and there was a police force that controlled the borders, but it was nothing like Ellie described. With invisible borders and a social order that valued peace and tranquility over all else, there was no real danger posed to any of the citizens.
But from what you had learned from movies and books and comments from older people, you had gathered a very dim picture of what a military academy looked like—harsh, strict, and cruel.
“I’m sorry you had to grow up like that,” you said.
“It’s okay.”
“Is there anything you would want to study? If you could?”
Ellie’s eyes closed. “Yeah. There are a couple things.”
She did not elaborate.
~
It didn’t take long for you two to settle back into your routine of meeting in her room each evening and watching one of your downloaded movies. Following the night after you’d gotten your stitches, you wouldn’t even have to ask—Ellie would pull up her comforter and let you slide in next to her without giving you a second glance.
You’d also gotten over the fear of touching her. Now, when you flopped back so your head was on her pillow, you’d adjust until you were nestled into the crook of her neck. She never once reacted to it, remaining perfectly still unless she was adjusting the laptop or messing with the sound.
Because it was normal, of course. You and Irena would rest your head on each other’s shoulders sometimes. That was something that friends did.
One night a week or so into April, you and Ellie made a harrowing discovery: there was only one movie left in your collection that you two hadn’t seen together.
“Damn,” said Ellie, furrowing her brow. “And there’s no way to get more on here?”
“I’m afraid not,” you said, frowning. “To download more or stream one, I’d need either an Ethernet cable or a wi-fi connection. Neither of which function out here anymore without cell towers and maintained cables.”
“Right,” said Ellie, though her face told you that she didn’t understand a word that had come out of your mouth. “So—this is it?”
“Yeah.” Your finger hovered over the play button. “Savor it, I guess.”
When you settled back and into her side, the heavy weight of dread settled into your stomach. Now that you’d finished showing her your entire collection, it’s not like she’d have a reason to invite you over every night. And there was especially no reason for you two to lie so closely together unless you were both trying to watch something on a small screen.
Once again, your excuse to touch her was gone.
You pressed closer to her as your mind raced. There was no way that Ellie didn’t see what you were doing as platonic, right? Was it possible that she was creeped out by how touchy you were but just tolerated it to be nice?
Maybe. You swallowed hard, keeping your eyes fixed on the screen. Ellie didn’t see you like…like that. She spoke to you like you were an obligation, a burden. Because you always had been. You’d been a responsibility thrust on her by a father figure who felt like he was indebted to you from that stupid bag of coffee you were lucky enough to bring.
Oh, god. Had Joel told her to befriend you? Had he asked for Ellie to pretend like she enjoyed spending time with you and to put up with your privileged, soft-hearted nonsense?
The knowledge that you were spiraling wasn’t enough to stop you. You did the best that you could—tried to remind yourself that it’d been a while since she’d looked disgusted with you, recall that she was outspoken enough to tell you to fuck off if you did something she didn’t like—but it was to no avail.
Ellie reached forward and hit pause on the movie, thrusting you both into silence.
“Is everything okay?” she asked after a moment.
“Yeah, why?”
“I can feel your heart going, like, crazy fast.”
You froze. “Oh. Uh, yeah. I was just thinking.”
Ellie pushed the laptop off of her, sitting up to give you an odd look. “About a near death experience or something? You running a marathon up there? That shit’s not normal.”
You laughed nervously. “It’s really nothing. Just an, uh, suspenseful movie.”
Which was actually really stupid of you to say, because you were watching some obscure Tarkovsky film that did nothing but pan over burning buildings and pensive men. For the past 5 minutes, there had been nothing on screen but the back of a car driving through traffic with minimal sound. Also, it was in Russian, and the English subtitles made zero sense.
There was a reason why this was the last movie you chose.
“This is the most boring fucking movie I’ve ever watched in my life, so you’re a dirty fucking liar,” said Ellie. Then her face pinched in worry. “Wait. Have you taken a look at your stitches lately?”
Before you could answer, she was grabbing a flashlight off her nightstand and yanking the comforter off you. She was pulling your shirt up when you finally found your voice.
“Wait!” you said, grabbing the bottom of your shirt and yanking it back in place. “It’s not—I don’t have an infection, okay? There’s nothing wrong with me. I really was just thinking, okay?”
“About what?” She reached back to place her flashlight back on the stand without taking her eyes off you.
“It’s nothing important.”
“If you say so.”
She picked the laptop up and placed it back on her thighs, lying back down. You followed suit, but this time you didn’t touch her, opting to keep as much distance as you could so she wouldn’t hear the stuttering of your heart.
Not even 5 minutes had passed before Ellie sat up to pause the video again.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“No. Why?”
“You’re acting weird,” she accused, but there wasn’t much conviction behind her voice.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that you’re acting weird,” she repeated, shutting your laptop off and moving it to the bottom of her bed, despite the protests that left your lips.
“I don’t understand,” you said. “I’m just watching the movie. I’m not doing anything. “
“You’re not watching the movie,” she said. “You weren’t even looking at the screen. What’s got you so bothered? Did I do something?”
“Of course not.” You pulled your legs under you so your legs were crossed and your back was against the wall. “You don’t need to worry. It’s honestly fine. I’m sorry if I’ve done something to imply otherwise.”
Ellie rubbed the bridge of her nose, sighing. “You stress me out. You can just tell me, you know? No need to be so cagey. I promise I’ve heard worse.”
“Don’t be so quick to say that.”
“Okay, now you have to tell me,” she said. “I’m never going to know peace again with a hook like that.”
You were about to open your mouth to tell her that it was stupid and that it didn’t matter, but something stopped you.
That was the coward’s way out. That’s what you’d always done—hid your feelings and concealed your emotions. That’s how you’d been raised. That’s how you thought everyone was. But now that you’d spent 2 months in Jackson, you’d realized that some people actually just said what they thought. And that, in the grand scheme of things, it was a better system than the Terranovian culture of superficiality.
Just because the you 2 months ago would have shook her head and changed the subject didn’t mean the you now had to.
Maybe this you could be different. Maybe, for once, this you could be brave.
“I really—” You stopped yourself. Saying I really like you didn’t even begin to encompass what you felt for the girl sitting across from you. To distill the sheer magnitude of your feelings down to four words felt criminal. The swell in your chest that never went away whenever you were near her could never and would never be adequately represented in the puny offerings of the Latin alphabet and the English language, and if you were going to do this, you were going to do it right.
You dared to look up at her for a moment. She was completely still, her green eyes reflecting the dim moonlight from outside. Once you met her gaze, you couldn’t bring yourself to pull it away.
“I’m really sorry that I’m putting you in an uncomfortable position for saying this,” you began (because old habits ran deep, and you would rather die than be impolite), “And I totally understand if you don’t want to talk to me after this. And I’m sorry for not telling you earlier.”
“As much as I’m sure that this is some sort of cultural cornerstone for you, please spare me the 6 foot long disclaimer script,” Ellie drawled.
“Right.” You gulped. “Anyway. As I was saying.”
“Any day now.”
At that moment, she had never looked more perfect. Your eyes had adjusted to the dark lighting, so the weak moonlight that spilled in from the window above her created a halo around her head.
“It’s you.” Your voice came out tiny. “You’re all that I can think about, and I don’t know what to do.”
There. It was off your chest.
For a moment, it was as if you’d suspended time, stopping Earth on its axis as you both held your breaths. There was nothing but silence and the occasional wooden creak of the old house’s foundation in the wind.
Ellie’s face betrayed nothing, save for something in her eyes and the disappearance of the smirk that had been on her lips moments before.
Then she spoke, her response whispered.
“Come here, then.”
final a/n: NOW HOLD ON before you show up outside my dorm with pitchforks and torches 🗣️🗣️🗣️ i'm so sorry but this was a necessary evil as this was going to a massive scene without the chapter break. also a disproportionately massive chapter compared to the other ones coming out. i write very quickly and should get the following part out in a timeframe similar to the first 3 parts. thank u for reading ! tell me what you think abt this chapter while you wait x
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