⏳️🪐 12th House and How Your Mental Anguish Affects You 🪐⏳️
Exchange readings: Open: You (Tarot) x Me (Astrology)
12H ruler in 1H
Imma give you a hug first, okay. What you have gone through, like the experiences that you have had with the world at large, all that you have seen in your life, you internalized it all. You have sort of taken it upon you to be the witness of the suffering around you. Because you feel it all so personally. The person you have become, the thoughts and beliefs you carry are the way they are because of the absurdity of life that you have felt so deeply. It has shaped you, a lot. Next time, try to detach. It is not about you, it was never about you, it about them. You are observing, not absorbing.
12H ruler in 2H
When you are at that lowest point, second guessing everything, it really does affect your ability to manage your resources. And more often than not it can make you feel like you are not worth-it, or that you simply do not deserve to be happy. Especially if you have Chiron in the 2H too, it can feel suffocating because you keep on doing thing, trying to make it work, but you never feel like you did enough. Affirm to yourself about your successes, keep a gratitude journal and remind yourself that your need/wants are all valid.
12H ruler in 3H
You can completely obsess over finding out the reasoning behind why certain things happen the way it did. It's like you want to understand, you want to make actual sense out of it, why your problems are causing you the things that are happening. This can lead to a detachment from actually allowing yourself to feel things out and like emotionally get in a better shape first. You can get stressed out about the facts, a lot of the times. Perhpas communication is something you truly struggle with. Talk it out with someone, understand your feelings first and then a lot of the facts will start to make sense too.
12H ruler in 4H
A lot of your turbulent thoughts and experiences affect you very deeply, like the depth which can make you question your entire existence. Now, I gotta be honest with this one, you are clearing up a lot of karma from your family lineage. You are going to the very root of the issues. Because these mental anguishes aren't surface level for you, they are seated very deeply within your psyche. You have to face these deep seated demons, otherwise you can keep them shoving them down, till it becomes completely unbearable to face yourself. On the positive note, learn to be vulnerable with yourself, learn to be more accepting of what you are going through.
12H ruler in 5H
When you are at the low point in your life, you start to put a great distance between enjoying yourself and becoming completely oblivious to your childlike nature. You need to embrace your inner child. Do what you want, but do not do it because you feel like you can't do anything else with your life. There needs to be like a balance here, between enjoying yourself and knowing when it can get destructive. Too much of anything never did good. You can struggle with finding that simplistic joy in life. So try and spend time alone for a while, maybe get a coloring book or just try and bake cookies. You don't have to be good at something to enjoy it. Even if it's loving yourself.
12H ruler in 6H
You can neglect your health like nobody's business. These thoughts, stress and anguish can manifest directly in your body. That's what it is. When you are not in a good energy, you know you need to reconnect with your body. This may come initially as a bit challenging to truly get yourself to do, but, once you build that habit over time, you will realise how much you have mastered yourself. Focus on your physical well-being. This placement is very simple. You don't need to spend time spaced out and in another world. Get down and strengthen your body, you will notice that you will start to feel much more better in your mind.
12H ruler in 7H
When you get to a low point in life, the point where you are confronted with your old habits, fears and challenging emotions, it highly reflects in your relationships (more so the romantic kind). You can easily slip into unhealthy patterns with your partners, like seeing them with rose colored glasses or not having a proper sense of boundary with them. And you may even fear that true vulnerability with them. So when that happens, seek to be honest by being polite. You are not for everyone, and the ones that are for you will always understand this. Relationship can either make you or break you, choose the people wisely.
12H ruler in 8H
At the lowest points in your life, the people who aren't by your side intentionally, remember them because they are not supposed to be a part of your life. A healthy bond is where both people are there for each other, and that's exactly what life keeps teaching you over and over again. Your biggest anguishes are be caused because of the way certain people treat you and use you for their own benefit. When that happens, remember your biggest enemy is what you do not choose to see within those who take advantage of your kind nature. Yes, we can witness everybody's suffering, but at the end of the day everybody is responsible for themselves.
12H ruler in 9H
When you are at that low point in your life, you can question your faith a lot. There is a feeling where trusting your morals can become really hard. It's like when you know you truly love something, but the mere beliefs that everybody has instilled within you from birth hold you back. And you may even be the type who rebels often because of this thing. Create your own beliefs. That will require you to question what you have always been taught, don't be afraid to question it. You need let yourself see thing. At your lowest you can really see in black and white. Take a step back and observe. Read and learn.
12H ruler in 10H
Many of your mental anguishes come from you struggling with what kind of image you want to uphold between other people. You may struggle a lot with showing up between people or excessively thinking of what other people may think of you when you are at the low points in your life. You can often feel like other people look so deep within you, within the things you want to hide from everybody. When that happens, remember that what others think of you is absolutely none of your business. As long as you know that you are on the right track, you don't need anyone to tell you otherwise.
12H ruler in 11H
You are learning to trust in your dream and not hold yourself back from achievement. You know when you are at those low points in your life, there could be a deep seated fear of missing out on opportunities. You can start to second guess your own hopes, uncertain if you even deserve to have what you want or not. There could also be this sense of feeling like there is no hope left for you, like there is nothing anymore you want to have. When that happens, try to remain grateful, look at all the cool things you have achieved till now, appriciate yourself, open yourself up to something new.
12H ruler in 12H
When you hit rock bottom, it's like plunging into the deepest recesses of your mind, where you confront your fears and doubts about existence. It's a heavy burden, carrying the weight of your own struggles and the suffering of the world within you. At times, it feels suffocating, like you're lost in a maze of your own thoughts, trying to make sense of it all. But amidst the darkness, there is also potential for a lot of spiritual growth. Your journey through the depths of your psyche can lead to a greater understanding of yourself and the universe. Meditate often, and write your thoughts, talk to someone like-minded. Do not isolate yourself either.
______♡______
That's all! Thanks for reading!
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hi can you recommend the best way to break into the fanfic world on here? i'm new, yay, and don't know how the tagging system or anything works
thank you in advance!!
Hello Lovely Non! 🖤
Oooh! Exciting!! YAY! 🎉🎉 Firstly, welcome, welcome. How wonderful it is that you wanna write and share something with us all, that's so cool! ✨️
Look, Dieter's excited too!
I suppose the best way to break in, is to take the leap. I know, groundbreaking advice Jett, right? Hehe! 😆
From experience, these are all things I've learnt and had guidance on myself during my time on wacky Tumblr, so here are my pearls of wisdom for ya...
So you've written the fic. WOO! 🎉 Now what? Well, firstly, have a treat. Some cake or vodka, or both. You've earned it. 🍰
Then, when you're no longer hungover and throwing up cake, do these things:
And make yourself a banging banner of some kind, or use a picture/GIF. I'm personally more likely to be drawn to a fic to read if there's a cool banner, or you've made a mood board or have a GIF. Kinda sets the tone, you know? We love a bit of the ol' aesthetic. Like a bookcover, we're immediately drawn in with our eyes. Be creative, go nuts. Use the free trial of Canva to go design crazy.
Check it through for grammar and spelling as much as you can.
You can always have someone beta read it for you. And look at your formatting to ensure you don't have massive spaces between your paragraphs etc... When I copy and paste into Tumblr, it screws up the formatting from Google docs, just to test my already thin thread of patience further, no doubt... 😑 It's not a massive deal, but I guess presentation is a hook in itself, right?
Beware of glitches when saving your drafts on Tumblr too. The app especially loves to auto-post it when you hit save, 🤬 so double check you're saving it in draft, not in post, before you're ready to post it to the world.
Everyone has their owns tastes and comforts when reading fic, and quite rightly so. Variety is the spice of life. 🌶 And look, you'll NEVER please everyone. So don't even try. But what is important is that you give the reader a choice to read it or not.
⚠️🚫🔞👉🏻👌🏻 Ensure you list any trigger warnings.
Look, there's this age old debate that continually surfaces on whether we should list every single trigger or warning in our fic, or should we just... not? 🤔
The simple answer is, it's up to you, ultimately. Not everyone does this or feels the need to do this. I mean, published books don't, right?
HOWEVERRRRR. And it's a capital letter however. There are so many people who won't want to read stories about certain topics. Age Gap, Anal, Noncon etc...
Kinda looks like a sandwich to me... I'm hungry 🥪
I personally won't release a fic without listing all the triggers as I don't want any of my readers to encounter something that could be triggering for them later on. Yes, to some degree it can give away "spoilers" but it's up to you as the writer ultimately about how much you want to give away. If you fic contains Age Gap, you can simply write "Age Gap."
Use the Read More/Keep Reading divider.
It looks like this on the app:
Some people write a paragraph or two before they place it on, others hide the whole fic and just leave the intro/warnings etc... on show. How you do it is up to you, but please, please use it!
Nobody likes to scroll through a whole chapter of 10k+ words trying to get to the next post... nobody. Cue ranty Anons in your mailbox if you don't. We've all been there and made that mistake. 😬
Plus, using this will also hide any explicit or triggering content from immediate view. People more than likely won't read your fic if you don't have one of these on it.
# Tagging
Tagging - to tag or not to tag?
Tagging is a massive topic, but essentially it boils down to two types of tagging.
Tagging using a # which is at the bottom of each of your posts, and tagging people in your posts by using the @ and then their username.
So say, for example, you've written a Joel Miller fic.
Oh, hey Joel... we're talking about you handsome, not to you.
You can tag it "joel miller" or "joel miller tlou" or "joel miller x reader" etc... People can follow the tag, so they'll see your work in it if they're following it.
If you search the tag on Tumblr it'll tell you how many people are following that tag too, so you'll know which ones are more popular and will be seen by the most eyes.
Currently (as of writing this response) the 'Joel Miller' tag has 225k followers! 👀 So if you write a Joel Miller fic, you deffo want one of your first 5 tags to be that one!
Someone's popular, eh Joel?
@ Tagging
He loves it really.
☝🏻Note that the first 5 tags you use are the ones that Tumblr actually uses to make your fic show up in those tags too. You can put up to 30 tags on a fic and yet Tumblr only counts the first 5. Dumb, I know. 🤦🏻♀️ The rest is just for your own use to find it again on your blog.
If you search your own blog using "Joel Miller" everything you've ever posted with Joel Miller will come up. So you can use your own tags or words for yourself too. I use "Jett's fic recs" for example, when I re-blog someone's fic so I can find it again.
⚠️ And you can use tags to highlight triggers too, for example you can write "tw blood" for a blood warning. (tw = trigger warning) People can block tags so certain things don't show up in their feed as a way of shielding themselves from content they don't want to see/read. So if I've blocked "tw blood" I won't ever see your fic, even with all the other tags you use.
So be mindful of how you tag, not only for yourself, but for others too.
And essentially tags are how some people choose to comment and interact with you. Some people write mini fics in the tags! It's really quite fun. Just remember, there's a limit of 30 tags per post and put your best 5 first.
You can also tag users! You can offer up a tag list to users who you think might be interested in reading your fic (feel free to tag me, I'd love to read it!) A lot of writers have a bunch of regular readers who they'll tag @ username on their works. They're called tag lists. Readers may reach out to you to ask to be tagged too.
There's no shame in hyping your own work - you wrote it, be proud of it! 🙌🏻
Others choose not to do this and instead create a side blog for notifications of their works. It's up to you how you choose to do this, but if you tag specific people, chances are they're going to read your work because they want to.
You can tag up to 50 users on a single post, I believe. (Or at least it's 50 users and 50 links when I do my fic rec lists) I think it varies if you're on app or desktop. Someone will correct me if I'm wrong... but there is deffo a limit.
Reblog your own work for time zones.
So, I'm in the UK and the majority of my followers are in the USA, so when I'm in bed snoozing away, they're awake and reading smut at work.... 😏 So I'll schedule my fic to release at various points in the day and night so everyone can see it on their feed.
Keep it circling too, I'll go back and re-blog older works when more people follow me so they don't miss out. And as a writer, you'll want people to love your older works as much as the new.
And finally, some basic etiquette...
Please don't be disheartened if your fic doesn't get the traction you want right away.
It does not mean that your writing isn't good. We all started in the fandom with 0 followers and 0 reblogs. Its important to remember to write, first and foremost, for your own enjoyment. The right people will find you and love your work, it just takes a bit of time.
You can jazz your fic up with dividers and GIFs. Just ensure you give credit by @ tagging the person who made the divider you're using, if you choose to use one, and use the GIF search function on Tumblr for your GIFs, as they auto tag and credit the creator of the GIF for you. And that way, everyone stays happy. ✌🏻
And finally...
Interact with your comments and reblogs. People took the time to read your work, even just a simple thank you back is always appreciated and well received.
Re-blog, re-blog, re-blog what you love!
The like button is for bookmarking only. It does absolutely nothing to make posts get seen like it does on other socials. Re-blogging is what gets yours and others work seen and put on people's feeds on Tumblr. If you want people to re-blog your own work, you'll need to give back and re-blog theirs too. Tumblr is all about sharing in the form of re-blogs.
Love you! 🖤
✨️HAVE FUN!✨️
I'm so excited you're here and can't wait to read your fics! 🤗
Apologies if any of this you may already know, I just wanted to share what I've learnt in abundance.
And if you have further questions, feel free to reach out. I'm no expert, but I'll try and help if I can.
And if anyone else has any tips/hints/advice etc... feel free to share in the comments.
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This year's just... yearing.
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Types of AO3 Summary
Option 1 - The Excerpt:
The quickest, the easiest! Find a section of your fic that contains the main premise of said fic and also showcases your writing. Copy paste that into the summary box. BOOM! Done.
Best used for any fic, unless it's so short the excerpt would be the whole fic.
Option 2 - The No Frills:
Just a description of the fic. No need for drama. No need to complicate matters. Keep it simple, keep it safe.
Example:
"A short character exploration of Blorbo's thoughts after Daisy leaves."
Best used for short fics, poems and fics where the style/format is more important than the plot. Or fics that tie directly into a scene/episode from canon or another fanfic.
Option 3 - The Hook:
Draw the reader's interest by giving them a set up with no conclusion. Introduce the main character(s), introduce the status quo, describe an inciting incident, leave a question in the reader's mind.
Example:
"Blorbo is a barista at a coffee shop, struggling to pay their bills, but after handsome rockstar Obrolb walks into their coffee shop they find that they have to decide whether a chance at love is worth the cost of fame."
Best used for mid to long fic where there's a strong premise and follow through. Especially good for AUs. Can be expanded for more complex plots or used multiple times in one summary for multiple characters or subplots.
Option 4 - The Sitcom One-Liner:
"The one in which [over simplified description of one of the main plotlines]" This is essentially 'boil your plot down to the very simplest statement you can, oversimplify if possible. The more bizarre or unhelpful the better.
Example:
"The one in which Blorbo learns to like cake".
Best used for fics with at least a little humour in them.
Option 5 - The Rule of Three:
Three is a magic number. Find three key moments in your fic and just list them. That's it. Often ends with 'not necessarily in that order' if used for comic effect. If it's an AU, establish that quickly (i.e. 'Star NHL player Blorbo…').
Example:
"Blorbo makes a friend, falls in love, and almost burns to death, not necessarily in that order."
Best used for anything, really. Three is a magic number. The human brain loves things that come in threes.
Option 6 - The Trope Lure:
Why bother describing the plot? We all know AO3 readers are here for the tropes. Similar to The Sitcom One-Liner just using tropes instead of plot. Often followed by the phrase 'that nobody asked for'.
Example:
"The Space western / A/B/O / Mail Order Bride fic that nobody asked for."
Often tacked on to the end of The Hook or The Excerpt as a tl;dr.
Best used for fic that plays its tropes straight with no shame or second guessing.
Option 7 - The Pre-emptive Strike:
(Not recommended) You just wrote this fic, the self doubt is consuming you. You feel the need to apologise profusely for your existence for no apparently reason. You feel cringe, you think the fic is cringe, you want everyone to know that you think the fic is cringe in case they don't like it and judge you for it.
Example:
"So I fell in love with this pairing and had to write this. It's weird and terrible. Lol! I suck at summaries! Sorry!"
Best used for no fics ever. I cannot stress this enough.
(Seriously, I am begging you, don't do this. If you're planning to use this option, rethink it and do one of the others. I guarantee you more people will want to read your fic.)
Sometimes added on to any other summary as a strange disclaimer. (srsly. don't.)
Option 8 - The Unapology:
Embrace the mayhem, embrace the deep dark depths of your soul. The opposite of The Pre-emptive Strike. A combination of The No Frills and The Trope Lure that truly gives no fucks.
You have committed crimes and you are proud of them. You know what your USP is and you're going to make sure your target market finds you. Look upon my works, ye readers, and despair!
Example:
"There aren't enough tentacle fics in this pairing, so I had to write one myself!"
Best used for fics with controversial/polarising tropes with all relevant details already clearly stated in the tags.
Option 9 - The Interrogation:
What if you wrote a summary entirely in questions? What if your readers had to read the fic to discover the answers? Who knows what will happen if you do this?
Example:
"What happens when Blorbo McBlorbo gets his wish and Daisy doesn't make it to the plane on time? What happens when Obrolb finds out? How will this change Daisy and Blorbo's friendship?"
Best used for... I honestly don't know. This style of summary does not vibe with me. Mystery fic maybe? Sorry guys.
Option 10 - The Multipack:
Got a bunch of shorter fics in one work? No way of summarising them all without a wall of text larger than the Great Wall of China? This one is similar to The No Frills in that you're not describing the plots themselves and similar to The Trope Lure in that often broader genres and tropes are mentioned. What links those fics? Are they all in the same fandom? The same pairing? The same challenge? Just slap that right in the summary. A chapter list with 1-2 word trope/pairing summaries can be included or not.
Example:
"A collection of Blorbo/Daisy/Obrolb fics based on Tumblr prompts.
Chapter 1: Regency AU
Chapter 2: Werewolves vs vampires
Chapter 3: Ghost!Daisy
Chapter 4: Space pirates!"
Best used for (obviously) works that are compilations of fic.
Option ? - The Void:
I said The Excerpt was the quickest and easiest summary to do. I lied, well... I didn't exactly lie. What is quicker and easier than not having a summary at all? After all, that's what the tags are for.
Example:
Best used for... nothing? Write a summary, guys. Please?
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"𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙞𝙢 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙄'𝙢 𝙜𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙙𝙤 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪." | dark!jackson rippner x reader
(I'm sorry but also no I'm not because wes craven knew exactly what he was doing when he put that line in the movie... he fucking knew...)
𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 | after following you for weeks as part of his job, jackson got a few ideas in his head about making you his, but finding out you had a boyfriend meant he needed to change his approach.
𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 | just under 9k (wow what the actual fuck)
𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 | DARK NONCON SMUT (18+ only, don't keep reading if you're not physically or emotionally mature enough to manage your own content consumption please and thank you), knife kink, stalking, forced exhibitionism, forced infidelity, humiliation, vaginal and anal sex (whoops), pain kink/painal, ass to pussy (god this fic is disgusting lmao), hair pulling, brief breeding kink/forced breeding, some angst but really it's just filth
once again, this is a dark character being dark and I don't wanna hear y'all acting brand new about it so no hate please. that said, if you do enjoy this (which I very much hope you do) please consider reblogging to support my work :) comments are especially appreciated and literally make me so so happy!!
Following you was just part of the job— and Jackson did not like his job mixing with his personal life.
The problem was, he hadn’t had much of a personal life lately. No time for it; one or two hook-ups, women he met in bars, but that’s it. And believe it or not, he wanted more than that. Nobody would accuse Jackson of being sentimental— not really an attitude you can have when you organize illegal weapons sales and political assassinations— but he wasn’t made of stone. He wanted to be able to share at least part of his life with someone… or, you know, have a nice set of legs waiting for him at home that he could get between every night. Either, or both, would do.
It was an unfortunate coincidence that his realization that he wanted a girlfriend, or at the very least a plaything of his own, came right around the same time that he started to follow you. He was only doing it to pick up on your habits, figure out a way to get to you so he could blackmail you into being his inside man for his next job. It was supposed to be pretty simple: you were a museum events coordinator in charge of an upcoming lecture series which would feature a speech from a Bolivian presidential candidate who was unfortunately unfriendly to cartels. The American government not only endorsed him, but had him under incredibly tight security. This speaking event was going to be a rare chance to get to him in a public space without metal detectors, and Jackson was being compensated generously to ensure your museum would let a few extra attendees in the back.
But see, the Bolivian presidential election was the last thing on Jackson’s mind as he watched you through your window. His eyes drifted all over you, mesmerized by the way you prepared yourself for your day— styling your hair in the mirror, smoothing the wrinkles in your white button-up, pulling those stockings up your thighs…
He caught himself biting his lip and shook it off, straightening up in the driver’s seat of his car; he knew he should probably leave then, beat you to your work and then wander into the museum to feign interest in a few artifacts before striking up a conversation. But he loitered a bit longer, letting himself imagine how quickly he could rip off those clothes you were so thoughtfully dressing yourself with.
Eventually, he managed to pull his attention away from you and start the car, sighing as he tried to remember his plan of attack for ‘accidentally’ meeting you later today.
~
The museum might’ve been interesting, if he wasn’t so distracted by you. He was loitering, hands in his pockets, pretending to look at the paintings and artifacts as he waited for you to be near enough to strike up an innocuous conversation with. Early in the day, he saw you give a tour to a couple considering the museum for a wedding location, but kept his distance— it could be a while before you were available and he didn't want you to notice him yet, or he'd have to justify having been in the museum all day by himself.
For the first time since he’d started this job, Jackson felt slightly nervous to speak to you. It was always a big step, going from following someone to actually approaching them, but usually it didn’t give him any specific emotional reaction. Sure, he might feel a certain amount of pressure to do this correctly lest he blow the whole thing by tipping off his target, but he never was worried something would go wrong. This time, though, he felt his heart picking up every time he glanced at you from across the museum, closer to you than he’d ever been. His palms were even a bit clammy when he saw you walk by and realized this was the moment he needed to strike. God, did he really have a crush? How pathetic… but he couldn’t worry about that now, he was about to lose his chance as you brushed by him quickly.
"Miss?" he got your attention, gently touching your shoulder through your shirt as you passed by; you seemed a little startled by the physicality, yes, but not exactly offended.
"Oh, um— can I help you?" you said. He’d heard you speak before, on the wiretap and all, but it was a little different in person like this— and directed at him.
"I was gonna ask you about this sculpture, if you didn't mind," he explained with a gentle smile.
"Oh, well, one of our dosants would love to talk to you about our collection—" you began, starting to look for the closest staff member designated to help him, but he interrupted.
"So, you don't know anything about the stuff here?"
Your attention moved back to him and you smiled to hide your obvious defensiveness. "No, I do," you assured, "I actually am uniquely equipped to tell you about this sculpture: I studied Incan art specifically during my master's program."
He gave his best 'quietly impressed' face and nodded; he knew he could get you with that, you had kind of a know-it-all thing going on, which he happened to find annoyingly attractive. "Alright, then tell me about it," he challenged.
"Well," you sighed, crossing your arms as you looked at the piece, "we got this one a few years ago, it's actually a ceremonial vessel— there’s the llama head and the bird on this side here, those were both animals with a lot of cultural significance…”
As you pointed out elements of the vessel, he leaned in ostensibly to look at where you were gesturing— but it was all an excuse to get close to you, warm you up to him.
“They would’ve used this to pour essentially a form of beer on the ground,” you continued, “in hopes of increasing the strength of the crops and fertility."
"Fascinating," he smiled at you, and you didn’t back away when he stood closer. Like fish in a barrel. "How old is it?"
"It's estimated to be about four or five hundred years old,” you explained.
"Wow," he nodded, looking at the stone carving behind the glass again. "It's interesting to me that humans have always made art— and always been superstitious. Though I have to be honest, if I was living before the invention of birth control I don't think I'd be praying for fertility."
You smirked a little, and he hoped he hadn't gone too far— but it was fun to look at you and know what you must be thinking about. He could only hope that you were thinking about it with him in mind.
“Jackson, by the way,” he introduced himself, “my name’s Jackson. It feels unfair that you’ve gotta wear the nametag and I get to be anonymous.”
You laughed a little, glancing down at the silver nametag on your blazer and then back up at him. “Fair enough; welcome to our museum, Jackson.”
“So, wait,” he tilted his head, “forgive the late reaction here, but— if you’ve got a master’s degree of that caliber, how’d you end up as an event planner?”
“Well, believe it or not, the position does require historical knowledge,” you explained. “I started in curation, though— just moved to events because I was too cooped up in the back offices… I like meeting new people.”
Although Jackson would never consider himself particularly empathetic, he did think he had a decent sense of people— specifically, when they were lying. And that felt like a lie— a white lie, maybe, but still. A lie you were telling yourself most of all, that this was what you wanted to do. And it wasn’t that he really thought you disliked your job, moreso that his two weeks of following you did not indicate you harbored a strong desire to meet new people. You were a total homebody: rejecting offers to go out for drinks or dinner from friends and coworkers, staying up late watching TV instead of hitting the town or something, shrinking into your room every night and staying there until it was time to go to work again. He’d only seen you leave your house once that first weekend, and it was to pick up groceries— that’s it. No hot date, no concerts… almost no social life at all. Either you stayed late at the museum, or you went home.
And he also found that annoyingly attractive. Jackson, after all, was a workaholic himself; he imagined he would go out and do fun things, if he had the time, but right now nothing sounded better than going home and cuddling up with a sweet girl like you, being lazy couch potatoes together, resting after a long day of espionage, cyberterrorism, actual terrorism, and whatever else his work day got him up to.
….Jesus, when did he get so goddamn sentimental?!
“It certainly seems like a unique job,” Jackson replied.
“Every day’s a little different,” you agreed.
“Sounds like my job,” he snorted, “but I don’t work with other people much— I think it would be more entertaining with other people around. Especially when they can tell me everything there is to know about Incan art.”
“Okay, I don’t know everything,” you backpedaled, not seeming to really notice the larger sentiment of his statement, “but I can certainly hold my own. I like to think we all have something we know a little too much about, and could ramble for ages about.”
“Yeah, I hope so, or we’re just weirdos,” he chuckled. “For me it’s probably cocktails. I’m not an alcoholic or anything— I actually don’t drink that much, just socially, you know— but I have this thing where I can guess anybody’s favorite drink order.”
“Oh?” you raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” he smirked, “but hold on, I can’t guess yours until I really get the vibes.”
“Oh,” you nodded, “yeah— vibes, sure.”
“Hmm,” he pondered, narrowing his eyes as he looked you up and down, biting his lip like he was really thinking about it.
Here was the hard part: he really hadn’t seen you go out for drinks this whole time, so he was actually going to have to guess. Of course, the fun part of this game was not actually getting it right— if anything, it worked better when he got corrected. All he really needed was to get you alone long enough to tell you who he really was, what he needed from you, and how he was going to motivate you to do it… but if he could actually seduce you first, that would be a hell of a bonus.
“I’m thinking something a little sweet, not too fruity though,” he thought aloud, “something classic— you have an old soul, I think.”
You seemed to be a little surprised by that analysis, but he figured that meant he was mostly right.
“Your cocktail of choice is, obviously, a sidecar,” he announced.
For a second, he thought he might have got it from the way you smiled, but then you started to laugh. “You were on the right track,” you admitted.
“Damn,” he snapped his fingers in playful frustration. After a pause, he realized, “you’re not gonna tell me?”
“I figured I’d give you another guess,” you explained.
“Or,” Jackson countered, “I could take you out tonight, and you could show me yourself. Your drink order, I mean.”
Alright, that was forward, but he figured he’d been doing well so far. Instead, though, you tensed up a bit, causing Jackson to knit his eyebrows together for a moment. “I would, really, but, I have plans tonight… with my boyfriend,” you said.
He swallowed behind a barely-suppressed frown. Following you for all this time and he hadn’t noticed any boyfriend; were you lying just to get him to back off? You’d seemed so flattered before. “Oh?” Jackson tried to get out in his most neutral voice. “That’s great— is he taking you somewhere nice?
“Even better,” you blinked quickly, a shy smile lifting your face. “He works here at the museum, but he’s been gone almost an entire month to pick up some artifacts from around Eastern Europe… hasn’t even been able to use a phone out there. So he’s promised to come over and give me a first look at everything he got, and apparently he’s brought something just for me, so…”
“That’s sweet,” Jackson replied, willing his nostrils not to twitch. “Nice to know he was thinking of you all the way over there. I travel a lot for my work, actually, and it’s… hard to find somebody loyal these days.”
You nodded in agreement, sighing slightly. “Yeah, it is.”
“I mean, gone for a month, no communication, no reminders of you— just out there surrounded by opportunities and nothing keeping him from them,” Jackson went on. “That’s a lot to get through without at least one drunken encounter.”
You furrowed your brow, looking at him with a sort of grimace. “I… I guess,” you mumbled in reply. “I do have a lot of work to get done so I think I’ll just let you explore,” you decided.
“What if I have more questions about the pieces?” he asked.
“Try reading the little plaque underneath it,” you suggested flatly, already turning and walking away.
Jackson watched to leave for a second before scoffing to himself. Bitch. But it didn’t make a difference anyways: one way or another, he was going to get to you— for the sake of the job, of course. Although this boyfriend character was certainly a spanner in the works of his secondary plan to get you in bed, Jackson had to admit that he was ultimately an advantage for his actual purpose with you: an attachment, something he could exploit to get what he wanted. Do what I say, or he gets hurt.
Of course, he knew he should use that to make you be his inside man for that stupid lecture series— he wasn’t going to get the second half of his payoff until the cartel had their chance to make an example out of the visiting politician. But, as a small smile crept over his face while he walked out of the museum, he realized that he could use his leverage for so much more than that.
~
The door was unlocked when you got home; beaming, you realized it meant that your boyfriend beat you here, and was likely waiting for you just around the corner.
“Babe?” you called out, shutting the door behind you and shirking your purse and blazer to set down on the wooden credenza.
And yes, he was waiting for you around the corner alright, but you gasped in shock and felt your stomach sink when you saw him. He was bound to a chair with zipties, restrained at his wrists and ankles with tape over his mouth, looking a bit roughed up and absolutely terrified.
“Oh my god!” you gasped, running to him, but he oddly seemed to pull away from you as much as he could when you tried to break one of the ties. “What the fuck, what’s— oh my god, are you—?” you rushed, not even knowing where to start and just focusing on freeing him. But he just kept letting out muffled grunts and shaking his head— like he didn’t want you to keep going. Of course, you’d been so shocked by it that you hadn’t even considered why he looked so scared, why he seemed to want you to get away from him: whoever did this was still in the house.
It seemed obvious in retrospect, but it was too late now; you screamed when someone grabbed you, but the sound was muted by a hand over your mouth. “Shh,” a voice beside your ear soothed as a blade pressed to your neck. “Nobody’s going to get hurt if you behave.”
Your boyfriend hung his head defeatedly, and you thought you heard the sound of him crying though it was hard to tell.
“You missed him quite a lot, didn’t you?” the man asked, and you wrinkled your brows together as you wondered how he could’ve known that he was gone for a while. “Left you all alone here, poor thing— probably got all worked up, lonely, needy… like three nights ago, when I saw you through your bedroom window, touching yourself."
Your face burned with humiliation— not even that he saw you doing that, really, but just knowing he'd been watching you for god-knows how long. That made you feel more violated than anything.
“Wanted to help you so bad,” he purred, “but I had to wait. I’m not waiting anymore— you’ve got me feeling pretty fucking impatient these days.”
You kept thinking about what you could do to get him away from you— his feet were just behind yours, you could stomp on his shoe and hope it hurt enough to distract him, or maybe you could wrench your elbow back into his side— but with the knife at your throat, you were afraid that he’d be faster than you if you tried anything. “Please just— don’t hurt me, please,” you begged, whimpering a little, not sure what else to say at a time like this.
“Oh, honey,” he cooed, “you sound so sweet when you’re scared.”
It was the way he said that word: sweet. It reminded you of before, something you’d done your best to forget about all day. Something a little sweet, not too fruity— that weird guy at the museum, he’d said it just like that. “Oh my god,” you breathed, “it’s— it’s you.”
“You remember my name, don’t you?” he smiled.
“Jackson,” you recalled, “you— oh my god—”
“I’m sure you’re a little relieved,” he chuckled, addressing your boyfriend with a grin as you turned your head enough to look up at his semi-familiar face. “She was so into me when we met today at the museum,” Jackson informed him proudly. “You wanted me to fuck you then, didn’t you, baby?”
“No I fucking di—” you began to deny with a sneer, but he quieted you with a finger over your mouth— of course, a finger from the hand still holding the knife, to remind you exactly why you should stop talking.
“Now, try anything, I might just have to hurt you— or, better yet, your shitstain boyfriend over there,” Jackson warned. “I’m just waiting for an excuse to break a few of his fingers. Don’t give me one.”
Swallowing, you shut your eyes for a longer moment— you couldn’t believe this was actually happening, like one of those horrific news articles you read before bed just to torture yourself. Like one of those horror movies guys think are campy and fun but give you the most awful sick feeling because that could really happen. And now it was really happening, and your first thought was somehow to wonder what you did wrong to let this happen.
“So, are you gonna be a good girl for me?” he asked, tilting his head down to look at you questioningly.
You nodded, but he wasn’t satisfied.
“Say it.”
“Yes,” you answered quickly, and he snarled with frustration.
“No, baby, say it like I said it,” he insisted, his tone a warning not to test him again.
“I’m gonna be… I’m gonna be a good girl…” you choked out.
“Whose good girl?” he taunted, and you groaned as you shut your eyes, feeling him pull you closer to him and press his face close to yours.
“Yours! Your good girl,” you spat out, breath picking up as you heard him purr against your cheek. “Jackson— please, you don’t… you don’t have to do this. Please don’t do this.”
You shivered as the knife pressed against you again and moved from your neck down to your shirt, gently slicing off the top button and exposing a little more of your chest. “Mm, but I want to,” he explained, “wanted you since I first saw you.”
You hated the realization that he likely first saw you quite some time ago, before you ever knew he existed, and that he’d been waiting for this ever since then.
“I think it turns you on, knowing I can do whatever I want to you,” he presumed, cutting off a second button from your shirt.
“Please just go,” you begged, starting to properly cry as his teeth grazed your neck. “You’re right— you can do whatever you want. I can’t stop you. Isn’t that what you wanted to prove? Just… just don’t make me—”
“Make you?” he repeated. “No, no— you wanted me. I could tell. Only thing stopping you was him.”
He pointed towards your boyfriend with the knife in his hand, who looked devastated and horrified to say the least.
“You could do better, by the way,” Jackson informed you. “You should be with somebody who can really treat you right.”
Another button fell to the floor; your bra was visible now, baby pink lace, and your nipples hardened from the cool air on your skin— that, and the way Jackson’s breath fanned across the nape of your neck.
“Are you getting wet for me, baby?” he whispered to you as his knife trailed delicately over your skin, tracing the curve of your breasts. “Think it’s time for me to finally give you what you need?”
You took a deep, but shaky, breath as you tried to put on a brave face and brace for what was to come. “My… my bedroom is upstairs,” you whispered, and Jackson laughed in a way that made your skin crawl.
“Oh, eager already,” he taunted.
“I just wanna get this over with,” you insisted.
“Sure,” he said facetiously with a mischievous smirk and a wink to match; you felt like you were gonna be sick. “But bedrooms are a little, you know… basic? That’s probably what you’re used to, real traditional stuff: missionary, in the bed, in the dark, for a few minutes on weekends only. That’s the vibe I’m getting, at least. You’re not used to being with somebody romantic— you know, spontaneous.”
He turned you around to face him, making you yelp a little as he spoke by your ear.
“Somebody who just has to have you; right here, right now,” he cooed, running his tongue along the outside of your ear before suddenly kissing roughly along your neck.
“N-no, please,” you begged, imagining the humiliation you were in store for if he really did fuck you on your living room floor in front of the man you loved. “Please, I— I said I’ll be good for you, just— take me to my room, please.”
"No, baby,” Jackson purred as he held your chin, “let’s show your little boyfriend here what you look like when a real man fucks you, huh?"
Whining, you jerked your arms forward to try to break away, but it only ensured the bruises his fingers would leave on your skin.
A second later, you were shoved to the ground, and he was on top of you wearing a wide grin. You could hear your boyfriend kicking and screaming in the corner, but your attention was more focused on Jackson starting to open his belt.
"Fuck! Get the fuck off of me!" you yelped, kicking and shoving as hard as you could and finding each one more helpless than the last. "You— you fucking piece of shit!"
He smacked you across the face only to pull it back harshly by the jaw, glaring into your eyes. "Better be careful with that dirty mouth," he warned, shoving two fingers between your lips until you gagged on them. "Don't need to wash that out with soap, do we?"
As you choked, you shook your head, hoping it would be enough of an apology to get you some air.
"How about come?" he joked, making you gag for more than one reason, and he laughed at the tears that rolled down your temples.
He took his fingers out of your mouth and reached down to his fly again, letting out a small satisfied sigh as he freed himself. You sobbed a little when you accidentally caught a glimpse of his erection in his hand; he grunted when you tried to push him off again, and responded by grabbing both your wrists and pinning them down above your head. He hummed as he stroked himself a bit, looking down at you trapped under him.
“Thought you said you were gonna be good for me,” he recalled, chuckling when you bit your shaking lip. “You sure you don’t need me to hurt Romeo over there, give you a little motivation?”
You shook your head. “No— I’m sorry, I’ll do what you say. Don’t hurt him.”
“Open your legs,” he ordered.
Hesitantly, you lifted your legs up a bit and spread them, cringing at the happy groan you heard when your skirt started to roll up your thighs.
“Don’t move your hands,” he warned before he let go of them, leaning back and looking down at you: spread out under him, his for the taking.
He snapped off the last few buttons of your shirt, humming when your torso was exposed further. His hand started at your neck and ran down to grope your chest through the lacy bra; he purred, pinching your hardened nipples until you were forced to react.
Pulling it down, he took a quick breath at the sight of your bare tits— his chest rising and falling— and he set his knife aside to knead them both with a hum. "Been thinking about these for a while…" he mumbled. You gasped when he leaned down and captured a nipple in his mouth, suckling with a wide mouth as you scrunched your nose and looked away. Still, it made your insides pulse when he swirled his tongue around, only to pop off a second later and move to the other. "Damn," he breathed, leaning back again to move his attention lower.
Starting at your knees, he rubbed your legs carefully, moving a little higher every time until he was gripping needily at your thighs; his own breathing was a little faster as he did it.
You hadn't exactly imagined how this would be, obviously, but you still were surprised at how long he was taking. Was he just trying to build up the anticipation to scare you? Or was it for his own benefit?
He was gentle for just a few seconds before suddenly flaring his nostrils and ripping your stockings open. Through the new hole in the fabric, he rubbed your panties and you bit down on your tongue to avoid crying any harder.
“Fuck,” he breathed, then laughed, as he pet your cunt through the lace— they matched your bra, of course. Your boyfriend was coming back from a long trip, you’d wanted to do something nice for him… that idea backfired completely. “All dressed up, matching and everything… you’re too good to me, babydoll.”
You were about to correct him, make sure both of them knew that this had nothing to do with Jackson, but your open mouth only let out a gasp when Jackson pulled your panties aside to touch you.
“Oh, baby,” he groaned when he slid two fingers between your lips. “So wet. Fuck. When’d you get like that, huh? Hmm, it was the knife, wasn’t it?”
He looked over at your boyfriend and gave him a terribly smug look while he slipped a finger inside your hole.
“Women like a sense of danger,” he informed the tied man flatly. “But… I think your girl likes it even more than most.”
You flexed on his finger, turning his attention back to you, and he licked his lips as he slipped another finger in until you winced.
“That’s too much for you already, baby?” he noticed. “Fuck, I might break you…”
He curled the fingers inside you, clearly trying to get you warmed up for him, and you shut your eyes tight in hopes your face wouldn’t show any reaction. There was a sense of relief when he stopped and pulled his fingers out, but it didn’t last long since the next thing he did was grab your jaw and press those fingers to your lips.
“Ever tasted yourself before?” he asked, and you tried to turn your face away but it was useless. “Come on, it’s good, I’ll show you.”
He licked his own fingers first, moaning in satisfaction as he did it.
“Fuck, it’s sweet,” he promised. “Now you try it.”
This time, when he put his fingers to your mouth, you opened it and let him push them inside. He slid them over your tongue, watching you with dark eyes.
“Suck them,” he instructed you quietly, almost a whisper, and though your cheeks burned you wrapped your lips around his fingers and hollowed your cheeks. “Mm, that’s it— see, you can be a good girl. Knew you could.”
You were panting a little, for some reason, when he took his fingers away, leaving your mouth slack and wet. He brought his hands down to his fly to finish freeing his cock, and you looked up, to the side, basically anywhere but at… that.
“Look at it,” he encouraged you, and you shook your head. “Don’t you wanna see it before I put it inside you?”
You figured you could get him to shut up if you just did it, so you went ahead and took a glance down at his erection in his hand, only for a terrified whimper to catch in your throat.
“I can tell what you’re thinking,” he grinned. “Trying to remember the last time you had a dick this big, right?”
Trying to figure out how that’s supposed to fit.
“Get on your hands and knees for me,” he demanded suddenly, sitting back enough to get you room to do it.
You hesitated, and he suddenly looked angry as he grabbed your wrist and yanked you up a bit until you yelped.
“Go on! Hands and fucking knees, did I stutter?” he ordered, louder.
You were a little sore and weak all over, and it became even more apparent when you awkwardly got up off the floor; you avoided your boyfriend’s gaze as you took the position, opting to just stare down at the rug under you instead, suddenly fascinated by every detail in hopes it could somehow distract you from this. From the feeling of him delicately pushing your skirt up over your ass and his hands all over you, from the way he pushed your knees apart with his own and settled between them, from the sick drop in your stomach as his cock’s head rubbed over your clit and lined up to your opening. Yes, it sure was a riveting pattern on this rug alright…
But, of course, Jackson wouldn’t let you get through this that easily. “Beg for it,” you heard his firm voice from behind you.
“Jackson, come on, I—” you choked, “I— just—”
“It’s okay, babydoll, go on…” he egged you on, as if shyness was the reason you were hesitating.
“Please…” you began, shutting your eyes tightly. “Please fuck me.”
You tried not to react too much when he pushed inside, but it was big, and he himself let out a husky groan at the feeling as he filled you. You managed to stay silent at first, but a little squeak came out halfway through, and it turned into a loud sigh when he was all the way inside. “Fuck,” he breathed, dropping his head back with a breathy laugh. “Fuck, it’s tight. Guess that’s what happens when nobody’s here to treat you right— and I don’t just mean because he was out of town. I can tell nobody’s given you what you need in a long time…”
Before you could wonder what could possibly make him capable of telling that, he took a tight hold of your hips and began to fuck you— slower than you expected, but not quite delicate.
Shaking, you tried to keep yourself propped up on your wobbly arms as he set his pace, and tried to keep yourself quiet while he did this. The last thing he needed was any more reasons to think you liked this.
Still, you couldn’t fight the whimper that came when he suddenly slammed himself into you, rougher than before; your thighs even quivered for a moment. “Fuck,” you choked out, under your breath, and he hummed back at you as he sped up a little.
“Not too deep, is it?” he asked, though it didn’t seem like he was actually concerned for your well-being (obviously). “Not used to anything this big, huh?”
You were afraid he was going to force you to answer that, but instead he surprised you by putting a hand between your shoulder blades and shoving you down; you gasped and grunted when your chest pressed to the floor, your face thankfully turned to the side against the rug— but unfortunately, it meant you were looking right at your boyfriend. You had to shut your eyes, too ashamed that he was seeing you like this.
“There, you like that better?” he purred as he held your hips up against his, but the new angle only forced him deeper until you were choking on nothing with every thrust. Your hands searched wildly along the floor for something to hold onto, but eventually just had to settle for gripping the rug for dear life. “Mm, fuck, s’good— you feel so fucking good, baby…”
The compliment sent an unwilling shiver up your spine, and your back arched even deeper than he’d forced it to. It was too much, it was all far too much, but your toes were curling inside your (ruined) pantyhose and you bit down on your lip without thinking about it.
“Oh, see how much she likes it?” Jackson grunted, apparently still addressing the captive boyfriend in the chair— you really wished he would just leave him out of this. “Fuck, what a pretty little whore…”
Not only could he switch from sickly-sweet to rageful in a moment, but you realized that he could somehow seem to be both at once. Still spitting out praises and insults all at one, he fucked you rougher and meaner as your moans— pain or pleasure, you couldn’t tell anymore and you didn’t want to— grew louder. He kept getting more aggressive— harder and faster, harder and faster— until you were all but screaming and you couldn’t keep your hips up anymore. Each thrust pushed you down until you were flat against the floor, but he kept fucking you and holding the back of your neck. One thrust seemed to go too deep suddenly, and you yelped as you reached back to try to grab his thigh out of instinct.
“Shh, shh, s’okay, baby,” he assured with a hiss. “Fuck.”
But he kept doing it, kept fucking you deep (if a little slower) as you whined and shook under him. “Jackson,” you heard yourself breathe, “please— I-I can’t—”
“God,” he growled, “say my name again. That’s so hot.”
You hadn’t meant it like that, but now it was too late. “N-no,” you tried to deny, but that didn’t last long as he grabbed you by the hair and forced your head up, laying over you enough to speak right against your ear.
“Say. My fucking. Name,” he spat.
“Jackson,” you choked out against the strain on your throat from having your neck cranked back like this. “Jackson, f-fuck—”
He groaned and dropped your head, propping himself up so he could fuck you faster again; his gaze moved down to where his body filled yours, where each thrust made your ass bounce under torn pantyhose…
As he slowed down for a moment, panting, you wondered if maybe it was almost over— maybe it already was, but that seemed too good to be true. He was still holding you down just as hard, anyway; he put his whole weight on your arms as he turned to look at your boyfriend tied up in the chair.
"Does she do anal?" Jackson asked him point-blank.
Your struggle renewed as you screamed angrily— but you couldn't keep it up, it fell into a helpless sob a moment later. Your boyfriend didn't give much of an answer— couldn't, really, on account of the duct tape— just kicked around against his restraints again.
Jackson shrugged as he looked down at you crying under him. "Well, you do now," he decided, pulling out and spitting into his hand.
You’d never felt so helpless, laying there on the floor while he pushed his fat tip up to your puckered hole. “Please,” you begged for mercy, but you didn’t even have the energy to lift your head from the rug and it was all muffled and pathetic.
“It’s really not that bad,” he insisted as he started to press forward, but your whole body jumped and you let out a loud whine when his head slipped inside with a sort of pop— all that pressure giving way to a sick, stinging stretch.
“Oh my god oh my god,” you whimpered, feeling goosebumps break out all over your body from the sharp pain. “I can’t— please, I really can’t—”
“Shh, it’s okay, I’m gonna go real slow,” he promised under his breath, moaning loudly as he pushed in a little deeper. Laying on the floor like this, there was really nowhere for you to go, no way to run from the feeling. “Just breathe, long slow breaths— focus on staying relaxed.”
Frustratingly, it was actually pretty good advice; it certainly didn’t make it painless, but when you shut your eyes and thought as much about breathing and as little about anything else as you could, it helped.
“See? Just relax, babydoll,” he whispered, but relaxing could only do so much as he slid the rest of the way in and you felt like your whole body might go numb. Your eyes rolled back, your insides (all of them, it seemed) flexed, your heart was pounding… you felt sick, and disgusting, and used.
He breathed heavy as he laid his weight on top of you, slipping an arm under you to wrap around your shoulders and neck.
"Fuck, that's a tight fuckin' ass," he grunted, laughing a little as he glanced at your boyfriend, slowly beginning to move again. "This one's got you spoiled, huh? How'd a loser like you get your hands on a perfect fucktoy like this?"
He bit down on the shell of your ear as he picked up his pace quickly— way too quickly— and soon he was growling each time he slammed his hips against your ass. You couldn’t even tell what noises you were making anymore…
"But you're gonna be mine now," he whispered to you. "Oh fuck, s'all gonna be mine. Gonna fill these pretty holes of yours every fuckin' day."
You dropped your head down defeatedly onto the floor, though shocks of pain were still making your fingers and toes curl while he roughly fucked your other hole.
“Yeah, fuck, you fuckin’ like it,” he snarled as he fucked you faster. “Needy little slut. You like getting all your holes filled, huh?”
You simply bit down on your lip, not realizing it wasn't a rhetorical question.
"Answer me," he insisted.
"I-I don't like it," you said— quietly, because if you spoke any louder it would've been mostly unintelligible with sobs.
"Huh?" he taunted, leaning in closer.
"It hurts, Jackson," you choked, pleading.
“No?” he noticed, feigning shock with heavy sarcasm in his tone. “Are you saying you don’t like it up the ass?”
“Please, please,” you choked out, “fuckin’ hurts— god, please, hurts—”
"You don't like it, sweetheart?" he cooed at you, cloying condescension dripping from every word as he roughly pet the hair out of your face. You whined and shook your head. "Well, I could always put it back in your cunt, would that make you feel better?"
He chuckled at your grimace of disgust.
"Is that too dirty for you?" he wondered, clicking his tongue. "Aw, it's okay, just gonna give you what you wanted— hold still, baby."
You winced when he pulled out of your ass, only to whine as he slid back into your cunt; you hid your face, feeling how absurdly warm it had become from all this, and tried not to think about how dehumanizing what he had just done to you was.
He picked his pace right back up when he entered you, letting out a deep groan of satisfaction. "Oh my god you're fucking dripping, is that from being fucked in your little ass?" he noticed. "Jesus Christ, wettest fucking pussy I ever had... somebody likes it dirty, hm?"
You wanted to deny it, but he wasn’t lying about your physical reaction; you were soaking, and you didn’t even know why. It wasn’t like you found much pleasure in that experience physically, it was rather agonizing— and then there was the thought of it, of knowing you’d been used that way, and it just made you feel dizzy and weird. Regardless, it was true… your body responded even when your mind was running in circles convincing itself there was nothing enjoyable about this.
“Such a pretty thing,” Jackson purred at you as he sped up again, shaking your whole body against the floor— that arm around your shoulders was the only thing keeping you from being pushed away, and he held you tightly like he really was worried you’d get away somehow, even though you’d stopped resisting quite a while ago.
At least it didn’t hurt anymore— except that you were still a little sore, and he was holding you too tight and his weight made it hard to breathe, and you were probably going to get rug burn, and you felt disgusting. But in a literal sense, it hurt less.
“Think I need to turn you over and get a good look at that pretty face,” he decided, pulling out of you and rolling you onto your back. Maybe it was just because you knew it was only for a moment, but being empty wasn’t as much of a relief as you expected. You were pretty much limp by this point, letting him turn you over and simply looking up at him blankly. “Oh,” he said as he smiled proudly, “look how fucked out you look— and I’m not even done with you yet.”
Lifting your legs and pressing them against your chest, he slid back in until he was deeper than you thought possible, and you gasped and shivered helplessly. “F-fuck, wait—“
He started to fuck into you quickly, and you nearly screamed, reaching down to try to hold his thigh or push him back or something to keep him from going so far inside you, but nothing deterred him. For how drained you were a moment ago, the shock of this gave you renewed energy, and you hated feeling your walls bear down on him in sick, overwhelming pleasure. “Oh god,” he moaned, “so fucking good.”
As hard as you were trying not to be loud, your efforts were lost when he reached down and roughly rubbed at your swollen clit; again, you tried to reach to stop him, holding onto his wrist and pushing his hand away with all your strength, but he bested you easily and kept going. “Fuck!” you screamed. “Please, please— it’s too much, I—”
“It’s okay, baby,” he soothed, watching proudly as your back arched and your head tilted back with a gasp.
You hadn’t even realized you were building to an orgasm— you would’ve sworn you weren’t, before, but now you felt all sensitive and sticky, and his thumb on your clit was relentless, and the shivers that had been running all over you all evening were turning into hard, heavy jolts of— of something. Something you’d been holding back longer than you realized. Something you hadn’t felt in much, much longer than three weeks.
“It’s okay,” he kept encouraging you with a proud grin that turned into a growl through his teeth as he fucked you harder. “Show him what it looks like when you’re not faking it, babydoll. Show him who you really belong to now.”
“Please,” you cried, the word barely spoken and more just a shape you made around your cries. If he didn’t stop now, you wouldn’t be able to, either; you were spasming uncontrollably, inside and out, it was just getting worse and worse (or better and better, depending on how you looked at it).
It felt fucking good. You would die before you admitted it, but you didn’t have to— it was obvious. And it was overtaking everything now, even your shame, until for one impossible moment, you were completely shameless. You weren’t sure you had ever felt quite like that before— not just physically, but spiritually. Shameless. Even though all you’d felt until now was ashamed. “Good girl,” Jackson praised you, though it was sort of lost on you as you were coming down from a high that hit you hard enough to not even feel real until it was nearly over.
It was like time had slowed down, and then snapped back to superspeed, to hyperreality, when he finally pulled his hand away and let you have a small reprieve.
"Fuck, I'm gonna come, oh my god," he gasped, his voice getting oddly high-pitched as he said it. "Want me to come inside, babydoll, or paint that pretty face?"
“Not… not inside,” you warned, just conscious enough to remember that.
“Mm? Why not?” he smirked.
You were still blinking away the blurriness in your vision, panting, trying to process all that you’d just felt— so you really didn’t have any energy for stupid questions like that. “What?” you just asked groggily. “Why… why do you think?!”
He just laughed briefly— more like a hum— and kept going. Of course, you should’ve known he’d do it once he realized your boyfriend didn’t; but wasn’t it enough that you and your boyfriend used condoms and Jackson had already gone past that?
“Just— just don’t,” you begged again, shut up with a firm hand over your mouth suddenly as he grunted lowly above you with each thrust.
“Fuck,” he said, a sort of warning though it wasn’t specific. “Fuck!”
He bit his lip when it happened; you shut your eyes, not wanting to see his face all slack and flushed like that with his hair falling forward and his neck and jaw flexing. But closing your eyes only made the feeling inside you more undeniable: the rush of warmth, the flexing against your walls as he pushed himself in as deep as he could. You whimpered a little, though you weren’t sure it was audible to anyone but yourself, and Jackson sighed as he emptied himself into you.
He took his hand away with a deep breath, and all you did was let your mouth fall open and your eyes blink numbly— what else was there to do?
As he caught his breath, he laughed a little, very softly; he put his hands on the floor beside your head, propping himself up but letting his head hang down loosely for a second— he was still smiling.
“You’re… you’re really something else, you know that, babydoll?” he informed you.
You didn’t say anything, and he sighed again just before he pulled out— you both winced, for different reasons, and he took a moment to hold your legs open so he could look at what he’d done to you; you felt filthy and exposed like that, but you were too weak to try to stop him or even to close your legs.
“Now that’s just beautiful,” he decided in reaction to whatever he saw; you didn’t want to picture it, how stretched out and used up you must look, but you could feel his come oozing out, running down.
Some of the numbness was already wearing off, at least physically, and you were beginning to realize how purely un-ergonomic it was to get fucked on the floor. Your back and shoulders were sore, your legs were tight when you finally got to lay them down again after being held up for so long… you tried not to imagine how long you’d be feeling the effects of this, wearing bruises and feeling knots and having to know exactly where they came from.
“Come on,” he mumbled as he lifted up your limp upper body, pulling you closer to him. He held your face for a second, petting your cheek which was still a bit clammy with sweat. “Kiss me,” he demanded, though he said it somewhat softly; you didn’t actually sit up and do it for him, but you let him press his lips to yours and you tried your best to half-heartedly mirror his movements as he did it.
He held your head and neck more firmly and slid his tongue into the kiss, making you whimper a little but that was the end of your protest. You thought it was a little strange that he wanted to kiss you now, but maybe it was just a matter of claiming you in the final way since he’d pretty much covered all the others.
When he broke away, he brushed his thumb over your cheek and smiled at you sweetly.
It’s over, you told yourself, hoping to feel more relieved. It’s over, he’s finally done with you. You did it. It’s over. But as those words repeated in your mind, you only felt emptier than ever.
“Look at your boy over there,” Jackson mumbled beside your ear, a smirk on his lips as he shook you a bit with the arm around you. “You see it, don’t you? He looks different now.”
You dared to glance at your captive boyfriend, who you realized you hadn’t heard muffled protests from in quite some time. His eyes were bloodshot and swollen, but dark, too; his stare was heavy and piercing. You suddenly felt sick.
“He looks at you different now.”
You bit down on your lip as it started to shake; you felt worse than ever with him looking at you like that. Things hadn’t been perfect before he left— nothing’s ever perfect— but they were good, and easy, and now you felt like he hated you. But what had you done wrong? All you’d done was try to keep him unharmed by appeasing this awful, horrible person…
Jackson had already been speaking quietly, but he dropped his voice down to whisper as he rubbed your shoulder. “I don’t think he’ll look at you the same way ever again,” he posited, and you swallowed as your stomach dropped.
“I don’t… I don’t understand,” you whispered under your breath.
“He’s never seen you like that before,” Jackson explained, “and he understands now that he can’t do for you what I can.”
Jackson brought his hand to his own chest as he said that, but then reached up to wipe up another tear that rolled down your cheek. “Please,” you said, looking at your boyfriend though he wouldn’t meet your gaze, “don’t— don’t think that I— it’s not my fault! I didn’t want this to happen!”
“Shh, you don’t have to lie anymore,” Jackson cooed at you, “we’ve all seen the truth now, it’s alright.”
You were exhausted, you were devastated, you were too overwhelmed to even feel terrified anymore; you dropped your head onto Jackson’s shoulder defeatedly. After all you’d been through tonight, you were starting to lose track of what was real anymore.
He let you cry quietly against him for a while, petting your head, until finally breaking the silence. “Now, the thing is, there’s actually just… one more thing I need you to do for me,” he admitted, and you started to cry harder again.
“Please— please, I did everything you asked,” you sputtered out through your tears, “you took. Everything. From me.”
“Hold on, that’s not true,” he frowned, “you’ve still got your cuck boyfriend over there, even if he’s not quite what he used to be— you still love him, don’t you? Can’t help that?”
“O-of course I do,” you insisted, feeling oddly guilty as you said it.
“So, you don’t want me to hurt him?”
Even if this was the end— even if he would hold what was done to you against you, which would break your heart— you couldn’t have that on your conscience. You shook your head.
“I didn’t think so,” Jackson nodded, “you’re too sweet for that. I won’t hurt him, and I’ll let him go, if you promise to do what I ask you to.”
“What more… what more could you possibly want…” you breathed, shaking your head, trying not to imagine what else there was for him to do to you.
“Something a lot less fun than what I wanted before,” he smirked. “What I need from you now is purely work-related.”
You wrinkled your brows together with a sniffle as you began to slowly compose yourself. “Work…?”
“Let me tell you a little bit more about what I do for a living…”
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Fantasy Guide to Creating Your Own Language
When writer's set out to world-build, language has a huge role in creating new cultures and lending a sense of realism to your efforts. A world and people just feel more real when language is involved. As the old Irish proverb says "tír gan teanga, tír gan anam”. A country without a language, is a country without a soul. So how can we create one?
Do Your Homework
First things off, you should start by studying languages. Nobody is asking you to get fluent but it's important to understand the basic mechanics of language. You will start to see certain tricks to language, how verbs are conjugated and how gender effects certain words. It will be easier to make up your own when you know these tricks. For example, in Irish one doesn't scold but "gives out to" - "a thabhairt amach". In German, numbers are arranged differently to the English with the smallest digit arranged before the tens for example 21 - Einsundzwanzig. By immersing yourself in an array of different languages (I recommend finding ones close to how you want your language to sound), you can gain the tools necessary for creating a believable language.
Keep it Simple
Nobody expects you to pull a Tolkien or channel the powers of David J. Peterson (hail bisa vala). You're not writing a dictionary of your con-lang. You will probably use only a handful of words in your story. Don't over complicate things. A reader will not be fluent in your con-lang and if they have to continually search for the meaning of words they will likely loose patience.
Start Small
When you're learning a language, you always start with the basics. You do the exact same when writing one. Start with introductions, the names of simple objects, simple verbs (to be, to do, to have for example) and most importantly your pronouns (you will use these more than any other word, which is why I always start with them). Simple everyday phrases should always be taken care of first. Build your foundation and work your way up, this is a marathon not a race.
Music to the Ears
If your creating a new language, you're more than likely doing it phonetically. Sound is important to language and especially a con-lang because you want to trick your reader into thinking of a real language when reading the words on the page. I suggest sitting down and actually speak your words aloud, get the feel of them on the tongue to work out the spelling. Spellings shouldn't be too complicated, as I said before the readers aren't fluent and you want to make it easier for them to try it out themselves.
Also when you're creating the con-lang, it's important to figure out how it sounds to an unsuspecting ear. If a character is walking down a street and hears a conversation in a strange language, they will likely describe to the reader what it sounds like. It might be guttural or soft, it might be bursque or flowery. It's always interesting to compare how different languages flow in the ear.
Writing in Your Language
Now that you've written your language and created some words, you will want to incoperate them into your story. The way most writers do this is by italicising them. As a reader, I generally prefer authors not to go too overboard with their con-lang. Swathes of con-lang words might intrigue a reader but it can leave them confused as well. It is better to feed con-lang to your readers bit by bit. In most published works writer's tend to use words here and there but there are few whole sentences. For example in A Game Of Thrones by George RR Martin, has actually only a handful of short sentences in Dothraki despite the language being prevalent throughout the book. Daenerys Targaryen pronounces that "Khalakka dothrae mr’anha!"/"A prince rides inside me!" and it's one of the only sentence we actually see in actual Dothraki.
There's also nothing stopping you from just saying a language has been spoken. If you're not comfortable writing out the words, then don't make yourself. A simple dialogue tag can do the trick just fine.
Know your Words
I do recommend keeping an actual record of your words. Make a dictionary if you want or a simple list of words you need. This is one of the most entertaining aspects of world building, have fun with it, go mad if you like. Also here's a short list of questions you can ask yourself about language in general which might help your juices flow.
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─── 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄
+ sae x f!reader | wc 5.3k
notes: i’m in love with this man, and wrote this on a whim :’) hope y’all like it !! feedback & reblogs are greatly appreciated !! <3
summary: you’ve known sae since you were both sixteen. he’s always dreamed of going overseas and facing the world, will he ever be ready to come home?
𝐒𝐈𝐗𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍
sae can read almost everyone flawlessly, you included.
he’s not close to you, not at all. physically? yes, because you’re his seat partner. but in all other aspects? no, definitely not.
you’re scared of him, he can tell. whenever he moves, you get self-conscious, immediately pulling your own chair in, giving him way. then you check on him as he moves away, because you’re scared that somehow you’ve managed to offend him.
you never did. because to offend sae, you’d need to be someone who can even bother him in the first place.
sae doesn’t care about what you do though, he just happens to notice you. out of convenience, because he sees you every monday to friday and sits next to you for every class.
it’s the same routine thing every week—you sit next to each other, barely say a word all day and then before he knows it, it’s the end of school day.
it doesn’t even matter. you don’t matter.
nobody really does.
he peeks at you out of the corner of his eyes, your eyes peering down at your paper with the utmost concentration. he quickly looks away though, because the last thing he wants is to get caught and be labeled as a cheater on a history quiz. especially when he’s not cheating.
yeah, you really don’t matter.
𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍
soccer, soccer, soccer.
that’s all sae can think of nowadays. just do whatever he can to improve his skills, everything else is up for debate.
you’re still his seatmate, still ever so distant. he gives you credit though, for greeting him every morning now even though you look terrified and nervous all the time.
“good morning.”
today is no exception. sae’s eyes flick up to you and then back down to his desk, and that’s all of the acknowledgement you get, as usual. it’s nothing personal, he just doesn’t want to get into small talk at all.
but he’ll give you points for trying, even if he doesn’t exactly know what’s going through your head right now. somehow, he can’t read you as well anymore.
that’s how you usually are now, the newer version of you. a little more upbeat, a little friendlier, less awkward but still as shy as he first pegged you to be.
well, now you’re just slightly more amusing. somehow, sae starts to find himself wondering how you’d react to different situations.
it’s almost the middle of the school year and you’d kept up with your usual greetings everyday. sae keeps up with his usual stoic demeanour on his part.
until today.
“good morning!” you’re extra chirpy today, he notices.
sae blinks at you once, twice, and you’re still smiling at him, and he’d like to know whether you’re still that same nervous mess inside, so he opens his mouth this time.
“morning, y/n.”
simple, easy, basic courtesy.
but somehow you’re looking at him as though he’s a fucking freak.
to be fair, that’s exactly what he expected. but it’s now been a whole minute and you’re still staring dumbly at him.
“what?”
you shake your head, laughing sheepishly as you take your seat beside him, “nothing, it’s just… you never bothered talking to me before.”
sae shrugs, because it’s not like he bothers now, per se. he’s just—what’s the word—bored? “i can shut up too if you prefer that.”
“no!”
you look so embarrassed by your quick outburst that sae almost snickers. that’s the most reaction you’ve nearly managed to get out of him yet.
“i mean,” you stutter, looking for the right words to say, and maybe sae is getting a little bit of an ego boost right now because he can tell you’re flustered. “you’re pretty terrifying most of the time so…”
he knows what you mean, but he acts like he doesn’t. “oh, so you like terrifying? okay, i can do that.”
the way your face instantly switches to a straight expression is fucking amusing, and for a split second his guard falls and you get to hear him snicker.
luckily, the bell rings right after and mr hayato is never late. sae never got to hear what you thought of that.
every single day after that passes by a little bit easier, your non-friendship inching a little closer together, sae might even consider you an acquaintance now.
he converses with you a lot more fluidly (as much as he allows himself to—he doesn’t like you being too comfortable, likes to keep you on your toes), and he finds himself teaching you things he notices you’re absolutely horrible at.
like logarithms, because no matter how much you try to wrap your head around it, you refuse to ask anyone for help. you’re a little stubborn, but sae can live with that, just has to speak to you in a way that doesn’t seem like you look like you need help.
“no, you’re forgetting that the log of e is always one, there, see?” sae sighs as he explains, because you’re quite muddle-headed. “it’ll be much easier once you get all the definitions in your head.”
“were you born a genius or something?” you ask innocently upon catching his test scores. a 94 out of 100, compared to your 63.
that day, neither of you notice the fact that other people are beginning to notice your growing friendship.
sae starts tutoring you whenever he can, because apparently you’re hopeless without his help. (he says this to your face. he’s always straight with you.) and then he finds himself noticing you in ways he never did before.
how you look absolutely angelic when the sun hits your face. he notices the way you puff out your cheeks when you’re thinking hard. even the perfume that wafts through the air. you smell good.
this is ridiculous.
“hun, do you want any—”
fuck. sae’s head whips around to see an older woman at your door, almost a carbon copy of you, eyes wide as her gaze falls onto him.
no, he’s not particularly nervous or feels like he should be, but something tells you if your mother is anything like you, she’d misunderstand. this is just a lot more trouble than it’s worth. you’re a lot more trouble than it’s worth. what’s he even getting out of tutoring you?
“oh hi there! and who might you be?”
he can see stars in her eyes, all hopeful and excited as she shifts her gaze between you and sae and back to you again.
“mom! he’s no one—” ouch, he’s tutoring you and you introduce him as no one? “a friend and he’s tutoring me for some math stuff so could you…?”
it’s like the gears are turning in your mother’s head when she eyes sae knowingly. god, he has to do some damage control. don’t want either of you expecting anything much out of him.
“i’m itoshi sae,” he introduces himself, shaking her hand. “i just make time to tutor some of my classmates to earn extra credit.”
not even close to true, but neither of you need to know that. he’d much rather spend his free time getting in some training or going to the gym but he decided maybe he could spend a few hours out of today to help your dumbass with numbers.
he’s an expert at sidestepping small talk and in no time at all, your mother’s out of the room. you still seem embarrassed, he can feel the heat emanating from your cheeks.
“concentrate,” sae sighs, and he wonders why he’s even doing this for you. he’d rather go home right now, he thinks, maybe kick the ball around with rin, or just lie down in bed because waking up at 4am to train every morning is taking its toll.
you mumble a hushed apology and rub the sleepiness from your eyes. the both of you had been at this for a couple of hours now, maybe looking at numbers too much is making you tired too.
sae acknowledges you’re a fast learner though, if you have a proper teacher. he’s not surprised that ms kina’s teachings are lost on you—she’s not that good at explaining concepts. sae is, though. he usually doesn’t bother sharing but hey, maybe now is just a glitch in the matrix, maybe now he’s just trying to do good samaritan things and help you out so you don’t fail the damn midterm test.
“okay then, see you,” he says, picking up his bag and slinging it around his shoulders, only to have you grab his wrist. “what?”
you look a little bashful once you realise what you did, and then you let go of him immediately. you look like you really want to say something, but you don’t, you just shake your head.
don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it.
sae’s putting his bag back down before he knows it, and he groans internally. “say it.”
“if-if you don’t mind, maybe we could schedule a tutoring session every week?” you’re so, so timid and so, so soft.
he blinks once, twice, realising what you actually mean to say. you don’t want the tutoring session, apart from logarithms you’re fine with pure numbers, but you want time. with him.
it boosts his ego a little, if he’s being honest.
“i’m too busy with my soccer trainings,” he tells you, nonchalant until he sees how quick your expression falls and then he has to hate himself for continuing, “i have some time on friday evenings though.”
like a puppy, you’re instantly chirpy again, saying how maybe he could tutor you after he’s done with whatever stuff, and how you’d get a head start and grab some seats at a cafe or something.
you’re both seventeen when your weekly tutoring sessions start. it’s beyond himself why he agreed. all he knows is that he doesn’t particularly like being the reason your expression goes sad.
first week in, you’re still too nervous, too jumpy.
the second week, you’re a little too full of nonsense, daring to laugh at him, or with him, depending.
by the fifth week, your bare arm is already brushing his and you’re not even flinching.
you’re both seventeen when sae realises that maybe he cares for you. in the way lovers do. in the way he gets you to walk on the safer side of the sidewalk. in the way he sends you home every friday. in the way he actually responds to your goodnight texts and wakes up waiting for your good morning.
in the way he listens when you tell him that your mother is actually sick, that you want to take care of her. that your dream is simple—to find your passion one day, and to be able to earn enough to let your mother live peacefully, to help her fight whatever she has to because you don’t want her to be alone.
in the way, for the first time in his life, he reaches out to you, putting his hand on top of yours as he lets you cry on his shoulder.
your birthday falls on a friday this year, and he tells you not to bring your books that day in class. you look at him with pure shock, but then quickly adjust yourself and bring up a grateful smile.
“yes, sir.”
that night he meets you up on the rooftop of your complex, in the middle of the carpark, and you’ve never looked any happier than you did when you saw him holding that petite round galaxy cake in his hands, the sparkler candles so pretty in the night.
“happy birthday.”
𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍
the next school year starts and sae enters into it still close to you as ever. you haven’t met in just over a month, what with sae’s intense training camps and your family holiday. but the both of you still talk to each other daily, and he finds himself waiting for your response every night.
it’s like the both of you are in a relationship, but neither of you are saying anything about it. whatever this relationship-non-relationship is, sae thinks he likes it.
but it’s barely three months into the school year and sae has to break your heart.
“it’s the opportunity of a lifetime, i’m sure you understand right?” his coach rambles on, disgusting with how he’s talking with his mouth full and chips keep falling out of it.
sae nods, because he does. he’s almost sure he’ll go for it. it’s not everyday kids from japan get offered a spot to play for a european club.
“great! so let’s get your parents involved and get you to spain.”
“yeah, sure.”
it’s frustrating how he’s not more excited. it’s there, but it’s faint, because it’s lingering on the traces of his feelings for you. he’s never really thought this far, and maybe that was his fault. he’ll keep that in mind; he can’t risk this situation again. he can’t risk getting your hopes up and being the reason that they’ll never recover.
minimise damage, yeah, that’s what he has to do.
you go from talking endlessly in class to being quiet because sae is trying to concentrate. you go from meeting every friday outside of school to every other friday, to once every month, to none at all. you go from texting a good morning and a goodnight every day to barely getting responses from sae, barely ever even get your messages read.
then one day sae just doesn’t show up to school at all. and you finally hear that he’s been scouted for a club in spain, that he’s going to be away for god knows how long. and then you realise that maybe that’s why he’s been distant lately, because you refuse to believe that the sae who took so much time out of his busy schedule for you, the sae who made the effort to buy you a birthday cake and spend all night on the carpark just listening to you talk on and on about insignificant things because you were nervous, the sae who you fell in love with—you refuse to believe it wasn’t real.
that’s why you hold your hopes up and ride your bicycle to his house, which you’ve been to once before, just outside though, because you’d asked him where he lived and he finally obliged. it’s still beautiful as ever, neat garden lined with flowers and a soccer field in the back.
when you knock on the gate, you see a familiar face come out; it’s itoshi rin, his younger brother. you only know that because sae’s spoken about him a few times, and you saw a picture of the both of them together on his phone.
“oh, um, hi, who are you?” rin asks, cautiously, because evidently, he’s never seen you.
“uh, i’m one of sae’s… classmates,” you decide, and it stings that you realise you can’t even say that anymore. how did it all spiral from cloud nine? “is he home?”
rin blinks a few times. his lower lashes are slightly longer than sae’s, he’s carrying a soccer ball, and you just know he’s been training all day because he’s sweating from head to toe. sae has said rin wanted to be a striker just like him.
“oh, didn’t you hear? my big bro got scouted, he left for spain last night.”
it shouldn’t be this upsetting—he isn’t even your boyfriend. no matter how much you wanted him to be. he was just… someone you studied with, spent time with, made efforts for.
but something forms in the pit of your stomach when you hear that sae’s already gone, that he’s already halfway to spain without even saying goodbye, without giving you any warning.
you’d thought whatever friendship you had with him was worth more than a silent goodbye, than a one-sided decision.
“o-oh, okay, thanks!”
you bolt off before rin can say anything else, it’s better that no one can see you crying anyway.
that night once you’ve sort of calmed down, you open up sae’s message thread, which as of late is mostly a string of messages from you and sae only replying with oh or i see or i’m busy.
the last time he even bothered replying to you was last week when you asked if he wanted to watch a movie together and he said a simple no.
“you’re an ass, itoshi sae,” you cry to yourself as you bring up the keyboard on your phone, your tears falling onto the screen.
i hate you, itoshi sae.
𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍
soccer is the same; thrilling, tiring, demanding.
it’s been a year since he left japan and he’s still surviving, still thriving, still being revered as a genius midfielder. sae knows he has what it takes to bring victory to a good enough team, that’s what he came here for anyway—to be the best in the world.
“good job out there, sae,” the captain claps him on the back, but sae’s mind isn’t there.
it’s been a year since he left japan and he still pulls up the last message you ever sent him.
i hate you, itoshi sae.
perhaps it’s good that you do. there’s no place for your dreams in spain, or anywhere else in the world except for japan. you need to move on from him. maybe you already did, from what he hears from his classmates who still check in on him from time to time.
the first time sae hears about how some other guy asked you out, he can’t say he doesn’t care. but he’s relinquished his right to be jealous, so he barely responds to the news.
but maybe he’s beginning to see where he fucked up, because he shouldn’t have gotten close to you in the first place, should’ve just left you alone.
instead now he’s left with this sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. is this how it feels like to really miss someone?
𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘
you’re now in college and you’re past whatever happened in high school. itoshi sae still lingers in the crevices of your mind, with his teal eyes and his pretty lashes and the way his hand felt when they were on top of yours.
some part of you thinks you’d never get over him, but you have to make peace with that. just because he never bothered to give you closure doesn’t mean he should be allowed to ruin your life.
besides, you’re pretty sure he read what you last sent him. there’s really nothing else for you to do if he doesn’t even bother talking to you.
you’d been trying to properly move on anyway, and that’s exactly what you try to do later that night, after accepting ryusei shido’s invitation to dinner.
he’s like the opposite of sae, though. he’s all expressive and goofy and wild because he’s got you trespassing on private property just to borrow their garden and he likes to drive fast, really fast, because he loves the wind in his hair.
if you had met him first, you’d probably be in love with the rush he gives you, the adrenaline pumping through your veins. when he kissed you, if only you didn’t have itoshi sae in your head, then maybe you’d have kissed him back.
when you’re twenty, you find out that maybe you can’t move on without giving itoshi sae a piece of your mind.
𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐎𝐍𝐄
sae’s career has been rapidly progressing, he’s part of the starting team and is hailed as one of the world’s up-and-coming top soccer stars.
the earlier game cemented it.
his team won, with the commentators naming him as the most valuable player, assisting in all the goals scored by his team.
when he’s pulled aside for an interview, he can’t help but wonder whether you’d be watching through the television, hanging on his every word. or maybe you’d already moved on with this shido guy he hears about.
fuck that shido guy.
and when an interviewer asks whether there’s anyone special in his life that motivates him, he finds himself wishing he could say your name.
“nothing of that sort.”
interviews pass by quickly, as they always do for him because he’s not much of an interview guy, with his stoic expressions and lacklustre responses. he’s on the way back to the locker room when he hears a familiar voice calling out to him.
“sae!”
he spins around to find his mother and father there, surprising him. they must’ve heard he was playing and booked a flight out. rin’s not here though.
“rin’s busy with some soccer matches of his own back at home,” his father explains, as if he read his mind. “he couldn’t make it, but he’s surely watching the match from home.”
how silly of sae to have wished that it was you calling out to him, for that split second. you’re still in his head, and that’s annoying.
“oh! sweetheart,” his mother coos after she’s done gushing over his game, “we ran into one of your friends earlier! what’s her name—ah wait there she is!”
sae furrows his brows, following his mother’s gaze and finds you there, hugging the walls, sheepishly waving your hand at him. he’s starting to doubt his vision, maybe you’re just his imagination, maybe his mother’s looking at someone else.
“hey, sae,” you greet him, mellow and polite.
he’s still standing there like he’s the one who’s starstruck, like you’re the famous one. are you really here?
“what are you doing here?”
not the best greeting, but that’s the most he can muster when he hasn’t seen or heard from you in over three years.
you smile, and he thinks he might melt, but he doesn’t because he’s just told—lied to—the world that there’s no one special to him.
“what’s wrong with supporting one of my friends?” you say, as though this is a neighbourhood soccer match and you didn’t have to fly halfway across the world for it.
“itoshi! get in here!” by the sound of his voice, it’s the captain talking. sae doesn’t even want to take his eyes off of you, but he has to.
“go,” you tell him, “i’m staying near the airport, if, uh, you wanted to do anything afterwards.”
does he?
sae swallows the lump in his throat and nods. “yeah, okay.”
that night, he figures out which hotel you’re staying at and pays you a visit—it annoys him how fast his heart is beating and how your sudden presence threatens to mess up his life.
he knocks on your door, and you open it, beaming at him when you see him. “i thought we were meeting at the restaurant,” you say as you let him in, closing the door behind him.
“i was just passing by, sent my parents to the airport and thought i would just drop by,” he answers, lying through his teeth. his parents are still somewhere in spain and he just wanted to see you sooner, that’s all.
“well, i’m still getting ready,” you tell him, straightening your dress and looking at yourself in the mirror.
how is it possible you keep getting prettier everyday? your hair’s a little longer now, and you look more mature, you’ve learned to do makeup, and your dress hugs your body in just the right places. he’s cursing himself for staring at you.
“i thought you’d be too busy to come out with me tonight, honestly,” you confess, putting on some lipstick.
sae has to look away, “and i thought you hated me.”
that has you stopping in your tracks; this conversation happened earlier than you expected, but you’d been gunning for this all the same.
“yeah, well you left japan without saying a word to me, like i was just anyone else.”
he understands why you’d think that. that was what he was going for anyway, and it reminds him what he should be doing instead of entertaining you right now. sae should be rejecting you, you and your efforts, should turn away from you like you’re another one of his fangirls.
“why?”
but the shakiness in your voice takes him off guard.
“why what?”
“why didn’t you say anything?”
“i didn’t have to,” sae responds, simply, like he doesn’t owe you a damn thing.
“was i imagining it?” you ask, finally turning around and looking him in his eyes.
no, no you weren’t.
“i don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“then why are you here, sae?” you burst out, and he stills in his position, feet glued to the floor. “you wouldn’t give a second thought to people you don’t care about, so what now?”
“i was just taking an old friend out to dinner, that’s all.”
he’s stubborn, so so stubborn. he’s hoping he’ll hold out.
“i don’t get you,” you mutter softly, to yourself or to him, he doesn’t even fucking know.
sae really shouldn’t, but he thinks about how he might never see you again and tries, “what do you want?”
“what are you talking about?”
“do you know what you want?” sae turns it around on you. “you flew halfway across the world to get here, for what? for me?”
he’s intimidating when he speaks a little louder than usual, and you shrink back just slightly.
“i-i wanted to talk to you,” you try your hardest to form an excuse but it’s not working.
“and what did you want out of that?”
you fall flat, and you feel like giving up. you know the answer, but you don’t want to admit it. you don’t want to tell him that you wanted him to want you too, you don’t want to admit that you’ve been thinking about him nearly all the time and what could’ve been.
“just forget it,” you relent, averting your gaze, but the next moment you feel an unfamiliar sensation on your lips, the taste of his on yours.
sae doesn’t know why he’s doing it, but his body moves on its own; something he got from playing that manages to bleed into his daily life, apparently.
you taste so much better than he expected, and you feel like you belong in his arms, like you’re made for him because there’s absolutely no one else in the whole fucking world who could ever bring itoshi sae to his knees.
he’s been in denial all this time, yes, and he’s tired of it. if you came all the way here, he’s not wasting it. he pulls away from you, absolutely dazed by the wanting look in your eyes.
you’re twenty one years old when you first hear itoshi sae telling you he loves you.
𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐖𝐎
“someone’s chirpy,” your mother says from the couch, looking up from her ipad. “i sense… a date with sae.”
you roll your eyes, throwing one of the cushions at her. “mom, shut up,” you groan, still embarrassed whenever she calls you out for it.
sae’s still in spain most of the time, but the both of you make it work. you make a point to video call at least twice a week, and he responds to you like a normal boyfriend does. it’s back to that good morning, goodnight love you shared back in high school. he makes as much time as he can, and you appreciate him for it.
“i’m glad you’re happy, sweetie,” she tells you, and you smile gratefully.
you’re more than relieved now that she’s managed to fight the cancer off. it’s the only reason she pushed you to go see sae last year. you technically wouldn’t have done it without her.
a knock on your door signals that he’s here, and your mom gives you a knowing look before she excuses herself to her room.
when you open the front door, you feel a burst of excitement when you see sae there holding a bouquet of flowers.
“happy birthday, pretty.”
even when he’s busy, even when he’s swamped, he’ll never stop making you feel like you’re on top of the world.
both of you are twenty-two when sae decides that you’re his world.
𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄
this is the year you find out long distance is actually really really hard.
sometimes sae loses the match, and sometimes he can’t separate friend from foe from you. he gets frustrated, and so you do too. he has less than kind words when he’s venting, and you happen to be on the receiving end.
sometimes you get stressed from your finals projects, and you push him away, and sae leaves you to it. sae doesn’t check up on you as much as you’d like to, and you’re a little too stubborn to tell him that you mind.
sometimes sae would get interviewed and would have to address dating rumours, whether it’s the upcoming supermodel from america or that renowned sexy sports photographer from brazil—it’s hard not to get jealous, especially when you’re kept private.
you can’t blame him for that, not when everyone likes to send hate to the pretty girl he’s supposedly dating.
this is also where you find out that itoshi sae knows you better than anyone. it’s where he always leaves you a reminder he loves you, even when you’re fighting. it’s where he sends you a goodnight text even when you’ve hung up the phone hours ago in anger. it’s where he keeps japan in his weather app just so he can tell you not to be a klutz and fall down when it’s raining. it’s where he declares on international television that no, he’s not available but that’s none of their business.
even if you yearn for him to be next to you at times, sae’s off doing what he’s always wanted to do, and you’re not going to let yourself be a burden—so you do what you want to do, because the last thing you want the headlines to blast is the fact that itoshi sae’s girlfriend is a good-for-nothing.
twenty-three is the age where you start writing articles for a local magazine company, where you take lead on fashion articles while occasionally helping with the sports section.
𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑
both of your careers are in full flight.
so is your relationship.
sae’s always proud of you, of your achievements, of your efforts even if they didn’t bear fruit. you’re doing so well, making yourself a name in Japan with your articles, with your wonderful insights and funny wit.
he always reads your articles, tells his assistant to get a subscription on the magazine and send it to sae’s hotel, always reads the articles you write. he doesn’t tell you about that though. doesn’t want you getting a big head.
and every time you talk on the phone about your articles and how hard it was to write or how you’re afraid people will take it the wrong way, he acts like he doesn’t even know which article you’re talking about. (he absolutely does.)
“hey, when’s my contract ending again?”
sae’s assistant looks up from his ipad from his seat across him on the private jet. he blinks twice before rifling through his different folders.
“oh, next year.”
a ghost of a smile appears on sae’s face and his assistant thinks he’s hallucinating.
“good.”
𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄
sae is twenty-five years old when he finally decides he’s ready to come home.
it makes the headlines—how he quit the club and refused to play for them anymore, the reason being that he wants to go back to his roots.
back to you.
because now, at your front door, after he knocks once, twice, and you open it, surprised, sae’s never been more sure that he’s making the right decision.
after all, you’re the only one in the world capable of bringing itoshi sae to his knee.
“will you marry me?”
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Ok so I have been stewing this crossover au in my brain nonstop for the past few days and. I am nothing if not committed to the bit, so. Volume cover redraws :)
Here are the originals:
If you want to read more about my one piece spy x family crossover, keep reading!
So the idea is simple! Crossover reincarnation au where ASL is reborn in Spy x Family. They’re each born separately and none of them are born with the same names as their previous lives, and with no way of finding each other, they each find their own thing to do in the world.
Sabo, too used to the dangers of being a spy, eventually finds a cause to devote himself to again, in preventing war from engulfing the country he was reborn in. Ace, drawn to fire as he was in his previous life, used arson as a means to rob rich people for sustenance and survival, and is eventually scouted and hired by Garden as a fire specialist and assassin. And Luffy, though born in perhaps the poorest condition, grows up happily and takes whatever part time jobs he wants to do.
The thing about Sabo is that, as much as he seems like a young man of good repute and high standing within society, everyone in WISE knows that he is a massive nuisance. Nobody knew in the beginning how a child less than half the age of most of their veteran agents could have the same skills and knowledge in their profession. Sabo was— and still is— hyper competent, and by the time WISE figured out just how much of a menace to society he was, it was too late.
Ace forgot for the first few years of his new life that he wasn’t made of fire, and consequently, received multiple accidental burns. This did not deter him, however, from growing up to be a very skilled arsonist, well-practiced in every which way to start a dumpster fire or house fire. As a teenage he would use this often to draw attention as he robbed rich people blind. When he was caught, he was given an ultimatum by Garden: join them and receive payment for starting fires and causing problems under contract, or face the government and authorities for his crimes. Begrudgingly, he joined Garden, but eventually comes to appreciate that he can make substantial money in his element.
Luffy is Luffy. No telepathy or experimentation, no fancy schools, no gimmicks or secret identities. But he has still lived an extremely colorful life in this world, full of fascinating and kind individuals who have helped him grow up healthy and relatively happy. He goes where he is free, and he takes whatever part time jobs he wants in order to make the minimum he needs to survive.
Ace and Sabo find each other first, in their late teens, and neither of them realize that the other remembers their previous life, but both refuse to separate. (Sabo thinks Ace doesn’t remember, because Ace didn’t recognize him. Ace never saw Sabo grow up past 10, however, so he doesn’t recognize older Sabo immediately. By the time he does realize who exactly Sabo is, Sabo has backtracked and pretends to know Ace from a dream, or from somewhere else.)
Sabo’s attachment to Ace, predictably, causes problems between Sabo and WISE, but by then, Sabo is indispensable to the organization, and they make an exception for Sabo to be able to remain with Ace, so long as Ace never finds out what Sabo’s actual job is. Ace, on the other hand, hides his job because he doesn’t want his brother, who he has just found and who does not know Ace well enough yet, to know that he makes a living from killing people.
And they find Luffy sometime afterwards, prior to the beginning of the Spy x Family canon. Luffy figures out, not long after moving in with his brothers, both of his brothers’ secret occupations and the fact that both of them remember their past memories. He thinks it is common knowledge, however, and so he never brings it up.
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Sure, Astarion has his reasons for being the way he is, but he wasn't a good man before Cazador either.
He was a corrupt magistrate of high society, who had an insatiable thirst for power and immortality. He got it in the end, but at a cost he never expected to pay.
So imagine if he and Tav met centuries before the events of the game? Tav being one of the “commoners” he looks down upon, scrunching his nose in disgust at the library when your fingers brush against one another as you try to reach for the same book. He yanks his hand away so abruptly that it makes you blink.
“Ah, sorry, did you want it?” you hold out the book in his direction, but he’s already scowling. You’re by no means filthy, but he thinks you might as well be with how your clothes would fetch less than a few dozen gold pieces at the local market. And rather than having your hair neatly arranged like other ladies of high society, yours is messily tied back with a string, in a manner he'd consider disheveled.
“I did,” he mutters in return. “You can keep the damn thing, dear. I no longer have any need for it.”
You don’t know where this snarkiness is coming from, so all you can do is watch as he strides away, lips sealed in a confident yet mildly annoyed frown. He swears he won't return to this library again if those are the kinds of guests they allow in these days.
So imagine his surprise when he meets you at the nautiloid crash site. Well, he doesn't recognize you at first. You don't either. Who would? You've only said one sentence to one another. But when you see him reading at his tent, you mention favorite books of your own even though he never actually asked. Within them, is the very title of the book he let you have—which happens to be some obscure book basically nobody else reads.
He remembers you, because his encounter with you was just a day before he’d been ambushed and turned into what he is. And it’s an underestimate to say he's reimagined that very day at least a few hundred times in his head.
The same can't be said for you. You remain oblivious.
But he's different now. He stitches the rips on his own shirt at least a dozen times a month, making sure the seams blend flawlessly and the cloth makes him look as flattering as he possibly can. In the past, he would've made the expensive personal tailors do the work, but 200 years as a slave can enact more than a few lifestyle changes to an elf.
However, similar to then, he notices you're still struggling in your own ability to sew.
“Like this, darling,” he says again. “Through the loop, here.”
As you marvel innocently at his handiwork, he smiles. He's not sure how you can derive such joy from a simple needle with a thread, but he doesn't complain about the way you fawn over him rather than anyone else. He thinks about his first reaction to you, much to his avoidance. He misjudged you at the time. Terribly. And while he’ll come around to telling you eventually, he’d rather find little ways to make up for it for now.
And if he has to use a needle on the rips of your pants to do so, so be it. Besides, he thinks he likes sewing—especially when it’s for you.
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i don’t wanna keep secrets just to keep you (and i)
summary: dating tip? just don't. for celebrities, romantic relationships are absolutely forbidden. the slightest hint of one could ruin your career. but are you even listening to the lecture? doubt it, 'cause you're doing the complete opposite. (alternatively, a celebrity au featuring secret relationships.)
→ featuring: childe, & ayato (you can really tell who my faves are)
→ warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, slight cursing, established relationship, mentions of alcohol and drinking, tension, actual cursing, unreliable reader pov, gender-neutral reader (i apologize if i missed things, i haven't proofread it yet)
→ a/n: so, hi! long time no see? i was pretty stressed with college and well, i'm back! i began writing this last year and finally got the courage to finish it. but here it is and i hope you enjoy it :> please let me know if you like it <3 it really makes my day!
credits to @dumplingsjinson for the prompts!
beware, lengthy post ahead!
more under the cut!
the debut.
“forbidden?” you repeat.
“absolutely forbidden!” your manager says. “a rookie with no fanbase? a scandal will ruin your reputation! you're absolutely forbidden from dating anyone.”
you sigh. he's being too overdramatic.
you will never be in a relationship, you're absolutely sure. how can you? with no time for yourself as it is, dating someone with the limited hours you already have sounds impractical.
besides, you're too busy training and practicing for auditions.
remembering it now, you want to laugh.
i told you so, your thoughts chastise.
god, you should've listened.
childe, the actor
“that's a wrap!” the director cheers.
your eyes glisten as you hold back tears. it's embarrassing, you think. so damn embarrassing.
you've been repeating the same kissing scene multiple times now. obviously, the director cheers for finally completing the take and not because you did a good job.
childe pats your back. “you did great,” he says, with a smile.
but you know the gesture so goddamn well. the same nonchalant cold grin he throws at everyone that he now directs at you? oh, he's angry alright.
for what reason? who knows. you're too busy wallowing in self-despair over how terrible your acting is.
the scene is supposedly simple. it involves the second lead, who happens to be you, confessing their love to the leading man, resulting to a spontaneous kiss.
yet, you're fumbling over the lines, acting so out of character, tripping over set, incorrectly initiating the kiss at awkward angles—the whole time-wasting squander.
“what's going on?” childe eventually asks, once he arrives at your shared apartment. his bag drops to the floor with a flop. “you're acting strange. the entire crew sees it, i see it, the director sees it—what if he decides to fire you? what will you do then?”
you swallow dryly. you left the set early hoping childe's hectic schedule prompted him to forget the whole issue. yet, here he is finally bringing up the conversation after what feels like a month's worth of tension.
as you sit on the sofa chair, your fingers massage the bridge of your nose. breathe in, breathe out. you repeat. don't cry. you try to calm yourself down as a sob tries to break through.
eight months, you've been a couple.
but, there are some things you're afraid to say.
each year, the biggest tabloid newspaper in the country releases an article on celebrity dating scandals. a month ago they released one single page article about a popular actor dating a newbie actress. it barely had any juicy details, just a simple paragraph of a somebody dating a nobody.
yet, it did not end well for them. and you're terrified; for when it could happen to you.
you imagine it. dozens of messages and multiple missed phone calls on your cell as your name becomes the next talk of the town. the headline reads: revealed! a nobody actress, the second-lead from the northland bank saga currently dates the nation's boyfriend, childe!
it terrifies you. you could lose your job. lose what you love doing the most. and you could get tossed aside like an old sweater under someone's bed, left to rot and decompose.
so, yes. you hesitated earlier at set because you don't want anyone to connect the dots. to look at the kiss between you two and notice something amiss. to speculate that there's more to your relationship than what meets the eye. to realize you look at him as more than a co-star. to see how much you're in love with him. to realize the both of you are dating.
“it's not easy.” you say, releasing a sigh.
two years you've been in the business. rookies barely get any roles as it is. being in a well-received rendition of an old romance drama is a once in a blue moon opportunity and you can't risk someone finding out about your relationship.
“camera shy? no—you've kissed heaps of actors for that school drama.”
you mumble, “two people aren't heaps of actors, tartaglia.”
“then what is the problem?”
childe saunters to where you sit. he leans towards you and presses his palm on the head of the sofa, trapping your body between his and the chair. childe's eyes meet yours and you instantly look away.
he knows you well enough to comprehend that look on your face. the way you hide your clammy hands behind you, the manner of your eyes staring only at your feet, how your body tucks itself into the corner of the seat.
“me?” childe whispers.
he places a hand under your jaw. his thumb softly pushes your chin upwards so your eyes meet his.
“why?” he pleads.
“you won't understand.”
“i will if you tell me,” he says, holding your gaze. seeing how you relentlessly persist on keeping your mouth shut, he shakes his head. “oh, please tell me.”
you hesitate. you tell him and then what?
you could say: hey, childe! i'm afraid of our relationship being discovered. i'll be hated by your fans. you'll be constantly drained by my crying and whining. your reputation would take a hit regardless of how popular you are and—and then he'll finally realize how exhausting and annoying it is being with you.
your self-deprecation loves to pull you deeper into its sapping embrace. you're nothing, it mouths. childe would dump you and find some other actor or actress to date. god. it would be so easy. with his popularity, good looks, and charming personality, he'd find a better and talented rising-star the moment he chucks you out the front door.
so, you shake your head firmly.
“tell me, please.” he whispers.
you cross your arms, and look away.
“are you sick?”
you shake your head.
“somebody hurting you on set?”
again, you shake your head.
childe pauses, “...do you have feelings for someone else?”
“no!”
“then what is the damn problem?”
“nothing!” you exasperate, furrowing your brows together.
childe takes your reluctance as distrust and it ignites his irritation. do you not trust him? is he that insignificant to you? what are you hiding? hell, did you fall for the main lead of the show, zhongli? or do you not love him anymore? god, he can feel himself suffocate in resentment.
is he so unimportant that you'd prefer to keep the problem to yourself? it makes his blood boil; how he'd do anything for you, but you'd rather keep it to yourself and suffer alone.
“tell me.” childe scowls as he watches your lips quiver.
you keep your mouth firmly shut.
“fine, hold your tongue.” he sneers, “i understand. i really do, baby. it's not about the cameras, the flashing lights, the audience.”
childe brushes his lips against yours, “you wouldn’t kiss me like that in public, though, would you?” he releases his hold on your chin and his sharp eyes meet yours. “it’s only behind closed doors when you care to act like we’re each other’s.”
with a hooded jacket in one hand and a face mask in another, childe swiftly leaves the apartment with a slam of a door.
leaving you alone with your wretched thoughts.
more under the cut!
despite walking out the flat hours ago, childe still reverberates jealousy and anger; pure envy at how normal you act around everyone else yet, around him you're too guarded; and angry at himself for saying those awful words to your face.
he smacks his forehead on the steering wheel. childe acknowledges how childish he's been acting. you aren't ready to talk, and he shouldn't be forcing you to speak out your difficulties.
surely, the stress is piling up on you. he knows the hours you've been working on set, memorizing lines, practicing moves—again, he thumps his head on the wheel.
stupid, he curses. control your damn temper next time.
he reaches for the box of blueberry cheesecake on the front passenger seat. subconsciously, he drove two hours (and back) to the bakery's main branch as its side branches were sold out of your favorite cake. and he knows how much you love the pastry.
however, his body slouches in the parked car outside the apartment. the long drive works miracles with his anger, but the courage to actually walk inside and apologize never comes.
the ding of a text draws his attention. ‘go inside and beg for forgiveness, brat.’ yoimiya, a fellow actress from the same company as him, says. the woman is always in the loop and well-informed.
a shiver goes down his spine. if you told yoimiya about the argument, he's absolutely sure you're furious. you'd only speak to her as a last-ditch effort; knowing her personality she'd pummel him to bits while you watch.
as a result, he stands inside the apartment, one hand knocking on your bedroom door. however, instead of tasting blood, he hears your stifled sobs. the abrupt sound convinces him to turn the knob and enter the room.
the illumination from the hallway brightens the bedroom, shining a bit of light on your face. you lay on the bed with your knees to your chest, with a blanket over your waist. your reddened cheeks and tear-stained eyes makes his stomach churn.
“please don't cry, baby.” childe cooes, kneeling by your bedside. he leans over you, his fingers gently grip your cheeks. “i'm so sorry.”
the sudden apology sprouts pools from your eyes. his thumbs brush the water off your face and softly says, “i shouldn't have said—please, don't cry. it's my fault for taking my anger out on you.”
“i'm afraid of losing you,” you whimper. “if they find out—oh god—they'll tear me apart. i'm nothing compared to you. i'd lose everything. i might even lose you—”
“never, i will never leave you. no matter what happens,” childe interjects.
you furrow your brows, sobbing. “i'm no one—too difficult,” you hiccup. “you'll throw me away. i'm too whiny and too draining. if they find out... you'll see all the comments about how ugly—”
“breathe, baby.” he settles himself on your bed and softly places you on his lap. “you're gorgeous. you're not draining, and frankly, you're cute when you whine.”
you bury your face into his neck and continue, “i'm serious, childe. you'll get exhausted. the articles will talk about you too!”
“articles, mhm. they're just articles.” he hums.
irritation begins to set in. was he this clueless? you release another sob, “they're not just articles. they'll nitpick every single thing you do! oh—look at this newbie getting together with childe. oh, they suck at acting! why is childe even—”
childe gently places his palm on your neck, coaxing you to meet his gaze. “are you talking about the tabloid from last month?”
you sigh, “what else am i talking about?” and instantly you sense his laughter resonate. “are you laughing?”
“you're adorable, baby.” he breathes, nuzzling his face on your neck.
“you're making fun of me! what the hell, childe?”
he releases a sigh, pausing his laughter. “the tabloids every month. they're paid. companies pay them to talk about their idols for publicity.”
your face contorts into confusion, “who would willingly—they talked about lumine all month because of the article! you know she's my favorite actress. why would they willingly put her on the spotlight like that?”
“publicity, baby.”
you shake your head, “it makes no sense.”
“oh, it does.” childe hums. “of course, they'd seek permission first. it boosted views for her drama, didn't it? lumine did say she got extra for the views and switched apartments.”
“yeah, wait—you knew this whole time and didn't bother to tell me?”
he chuckles, “that's what you get for keeping these things to yourself for a month.” he squeezes the bridge of your nose.
“you're terrible.”
“love you too, baby.” he teases, “and besides, if a tabloid threatened to do something—” his thumb gently traces the skin around your neck. “—i'll keep you safe.”
a soft smile graces your features. “...i'm just not ready for anyone to find out. yet, anyway.”
childe hums, “we'll do it on your terms, okay? whenever you're ready.”
“sure, i guess you can keep me for a while longer. until you throw me away and find the next rookie to—”
childe's soft laughter sparks a flutter in your stomach. he would never do such a thing. the moment he first laid his eyes on you on set, heard your beautiful laugh between takes, listened to your jokes while practicing lines, and god, seen your angelic smile? the things he would do to keep you as his.
“never.” a cheeky grin appears on his lips, “i'll take care of you.”
bonus: five years later
your phone rings. the vibration continues on and off, signaling multiple inbox messages. you swipe your phone to see texts from several of your close friends.
‘i know you told me you were okay with it, but i didn't think he'd try to do it so soon. i tried but he's too hardheaded.’ says yoimiya.
‘congratulations! when's the wedding? i'm kidding. don't kill childe.’ says thoma, an actor from your same company.
‘sorrows, sorrows, prayers.’ says venti, your current co-star.
you even receive a message from childe himself.
‘good morning, baby. i'm completely fault-free. simply honoring your wishes as a devoted fiancé should.’
attached to a message was a link to a video entitled: please don't kill me honey.
you click the link.
the video's blurry, as if taken by a cellphone. you recognize thoma as the person videoing the whole scene, as he turns the camera to face him before focusing it on a woman—seemingly a fan of childe. she wears merch from his most recent drama.
a fan goes on stage chosen by a random lottery draw. the said fan wins the chance to interview childe, who was the guest of the day for talk show, and ask one question.
the girl hastily walks on stage, holding a microphone given by staff.
“um. hello, childe!”
the audience screams as the huge video screen focuses on your lover's face. he waves a quick ‘hello’ and the crowd yells louder.
the girl hesitates, “are you dating anyone right now?”
childe twists the microphone in his hands. “hm? right now... i'm not dating anyone.”
the crows sighs in relief, utterly happy their favorite leading actor continues to be single.
but you see the outline of a smirk flashing on his face, and you instantly know there's a deeper meaning to that sentence. “but, it's difficult to say... since we're not really dating as of the moment.”
quietly, you hear the voice of yoimiya whispering, “don't do it.” the camera now focusing on her, trying to get herself on stage. thoma flips the camera around to face it on himself, waving a hello, apparently enjoying the drama. he then focuses the camera on the wide screen, featuring childe's face.
to add mayhem into the mix, childe continues, “i don't think being engaged to your partner falls under dating. we're way past that.”
the interview ends with the audience screaming their lungs out in disbelief, while childe's laugh resonates the whole auditorium.
ayato, company director
“oh, them?” ayato's steady gaze meet yours, pressing his lips in a tight-lipped smile. “they're a friend of mine.”
friend. it echoes in your mind, repeating incessantly. friend. friend. friend.
dread creeps into the pit of your stomach akin to a quick flick of a lighter. after all this time, your stomach lurches. is that all he thinks of you?
god, you need a drink.
the businessmen before you smile, prompting you to return the favor. subsequently, you humbly introduce yourself as just an ‘actor in the industry’. and they laugh. of course they do.
who wouldn't know you? a multi award-winning movie and television star with piles of nominations. so modest, they say. so kind, they praise. you grin, the smile not reaching your eyes, thanking them for their compliments.
but you're so accustomed to their fake smiles, ingenuine flattery, and sweet talk; you never truly know what's actually honest and real—eyes flickering to your azure-haired partner—no, who's honest and real.
you swallow the thought down.
as if aware of the invisible daggers thrown his way, ayato's gaze meets yours. his lips are pressed firmly together, eyes devoid of warmth.
not now, his expression conveys.
you narrow your own eyes, irritation burning through your corneas. as much as you want to start an argument in front of his investors, you agree to his silent insistence. after all it's his gala; one he's tirelessly prepared for over several months.
so you bite your tongue and smile: one honed by years of acting—fake yet strangely genuine.
it's not strong enough. you say, sipping wine with shaky hands. earlier, you left ayato to his fellow businessmen using the excuse of needing a bathroom break, a reason to which he obliged.
you stare at the elaborate party before you, wishing you could go home. the gala swiftly dissolved your social battery, aided by forced mingling and bitterness. a friend, your consciousness repeats. always a friend. so you sit on a chair by the wall, sipping drinks like water.
suddenly, the hairs of your neck stand on end. you sense his presence behind you, prompting a glance through your peripheral vision.
“careful, darling.” ayato's says, tone smooth yet laced with warning. “i'd rather not have you collapsing. your lovely face wouldn't compliment these filthy floors.”
you tense immediately, shoulders stiffening. “reverting back to pet names, i see?”
ayato's hand now rests on your shoulder, his thumb brushing your soft skin. “what seems to be the issue? i doubt it's due to the eight glasses of wine you've consumed in one sitting.”
you roll your tongue in your mouth, practicing the words. let's break up. you bite your tongue. let's see other people. besides, he wouldn't care would he? it's not as if he's been acknowledging you as someone he's been dating, has he? hiding your relationship from his business partners is one thing, but concealing it from closest friends? his family? that's an entirely different matter altogether.
a friend, he says to his business partners.
a star from the company, he answers to his closest friends.
a companion, he whispers to his family.
you're sick and tired of it. all of it.
raising the wineglass to your lips, you drown the drink in one go. you raise two fingers signaling the waiter for another drink.
ayato sighs and you think you feel his hand on your neck tighten, ever so slightly. “you've reached your limit with wine, dear.”
soon, the waiter arrives with three more glasses on his tray. ayato's disapproving glare compels the waiter to scurry across the ballroom floor, steering clear of you.
you click your tongue and begin, “who says so?”
“your fiancé,” he mutters, voice dripping with venom.
you immediately scoff. “sure. for your sake, i'll pretend you mentioned that earlier.”
before ayato could retort, the presence of another individual calls his attention; his younger sister, ayaka.
“brother, the sangonomiya heir's requesting your presence.”
he sighs, irritation etching his features. yet, you blink, catching a subtle shift in his expression—seemingly twisting from annoyance to something resembling relief at the mention of sangonomiya's name.
you swallow the bitter thought.
“watch them for me, could you? i'd rather not have them find a server willing to disobey my instructions and serve them a drink,” ayato whispers, his tone betraying a hint of tension that doesn't go unnoticed.
ayaka nods. her consent prompts the older brother to depart, heading towards the misty rose-pink heir who stands at the opposite side of the ballroom.
ayaka says the inevitable, “you should let him know it bothers you.”
“...i'm not sure what you're referring to.”
her gaze follows yours, observing the giggling and cheerful countenances of the kamisato and sangonomiya heirs. they seem to be enjoying their time together. as always, you remark.
“they're just close friends, you know.”
you click your tongue. “like how him and i are just friends?”
ayaka sighs, understanding your implication. “you know what i mean.”
sangonomiya's hand on your partner's shoulder elicits an exasperated sigh from you. “thoma told me they were to be married if i wasn't here.”
“the man always running his mouth—” she takes a calming breath before continuing, “—but brother's very fond of you. i'm his sister, i should know.”
“then how come after dating him for five years, he still calls me his friend.” you pause, a hand sliding into the right pocket of your outfit. you absentmindedly play with the engagement ring inside. “i'm his fiancé, aren't i?”
“he has his reasons. petty reasons.”
you bite your tongue. or he's embarrassed of you.
you met the kamisato company heir two years after your debut as an idol. as you shifted towards acting, you developed a close relationship with his sister, a seasoned actress from the same company. eventually, she became the bridge that strengthened the bond between the two of you.
you dedicated yourself nonstop, evolving from a rookie actor to a multiple-nominee and winning star; all in the pursuit of being able to openly show off your relationship with ayato without it tarnishing your reputation.
however, when you're prepared to finally reveal your relationship, he isn't.
and it leaves you wondering, is there someone else?
you mean, you're hesitant to doubt the love of your life. but considering he's kept your relationship a secret from everyone for years, it's obvious he's adept at keeping things hidden.
even from you.
and the thought sours your mood.
excusing yourself once more to use the restroom, using the premise of consuming ten glasses of wine, you bid adieu to your favorite kamisato (at the moment). you instead head towards a secluded balcony away from prying eyes.
you stare at the garden below. your eyes quickly blink back the tears threatening to fall. not now, you hiss. don't do this to me, not right now.
“i assumed you would have retreated to your room by this point.” his voice murmurs, unnervingly composed.
you turn around to see your partner holding a glass of wine. his features remain blank, inscrutable.
maybe it's because of all the wine you've been drinking. you can't seem to tell between what's real or not.
“what did you discuss with kokomi?”
“i wasn't aware you were both on a first name basis.”
“answer the question.”
he smiles, “business as always.”
you huff and wrap your hands around your arms. “of course. just business.”
ayato immediately picks up the anger in your tone. he lays his palm on your forearm, gently pulling you towards him. “look at me,” he pleads, with a subtle trace of irritation in his voice.
you turn to look at his face, eyes glaring.
“i felt your glares the entire night.” he begins.
you shrug, smiling innocently. “...what ever do you mean?”
“don't toy with me, darling.”
as he enunciates his answer, it's as if the final thread of your patience snaps. does he still continue to feign innocence and lie to your face?
last month he proposed and you were overjoyed. you then expected a shift in your relationship; the final unveiling of your engagement to the public. you gave him your permission, a definitive “i'm ready for everyone to know.”
yet thirty days later the engagement remains concealed leaving only a few of his friends (thoma) and a few family members (ayaka) knowing about your updated relationship.
if it was the ayato from two years ago, he would be delighted—ecstatic even—to reveal the truth. he might have used the gala today as an avenue to scream to the world, this person and i are in love.
but he didn't.
so the weight of your feelings began to drag you down; it almost feels suffocating in a way. as if a ribbon labeled, he's ashamed, tightly winds around your insides, intricately tying them all together into a sophisticated bow sowing distrust whispering; he's hiding something.
your suspicions, coupled with his frequent visits this month to the sangonomiya estate, fueled your frustration until it erupted. if only he ceased pretending innocent, perhaps you would able to smile through the whole facade.
if only he didn't ask.
“i'm not naive. if you developed feelings for kokomi then you shouldn't have proposed.” you snap. “was it out of pity? did you feel so damn guilty that you chose to go through with the engagement instead of being honest about your feelings?”
ayato furrows his brows, mouth tightening in anger. “what are you talking about? i discuss private affairs with kokomi. business affairs.”
you laugh; one infused with irritation and disbelief. “don't tell me then. keep your stupid secrets.”
“do you want me to jot down a damn list detailing every single thing i do in a day?” he growls. “i won't divulge company secrets just because you feel like throwing a tantrum.”
your hands drift to the tie around his neck, tugging the crooked tie straight. “no. go ahead and keep your secrets.” you pause and roll the words with your tongue, “you're clearly very good at keeping secrets. you’ve kept me—us—as a secret for so long, so of course you’d be good at keeping fucking secrets.”
anger flares across his face. “you desired our relationship to remain a secret, and i respected your wishes.” he sneers, “i wanted to let the damn world know how much i'm in love with you yet, it was the opposite of what you desired.”
ayato releases his grip on you and strides back into the ballroom, but he halts right at the door to the balcony. “so don't dictate when i should reveal the truth simply because you've grown sick and tired of keeping me as your dirty, little secret.”
he finally departs; and you stay, tears pooling, with a profound ache in your heart.
ayato waltzes around the room in a nonchalant dance; yes, good to see you. he lies. how's business? he couldn't care less. enjoy the party! no, he wants everyone in the damn room to feel his wrath.
although he yearns to set the entire ballroom ablaze, ending the party prematurely would be ill-manned of him. so, ayato continues being a gracious and honorable host.
but he feels hollow. he envisions himself freezing the entire room in an icy gust, everyone turning into statues. he wants to sprint back into your arms and plead for you to listen.
he doesn't understand what came over him. why he lost his temper like that. typically, he'd manage your outbursts with composure and understanding. what happened? he doesn't know.
he attributes his outburst to the mounting pressure. the chronic lack of sleep and continuous exhaustion coming from his title as heir. perhaps it's the truth gnawing his skin; despite his powerful position atop the company, it can easily be ripped away with the flick of a wrist.
instead of spending time with his fiancé—he doesn't know if he still deserves to call you that, you probably threw away his ring the second he left the balcony—yet here he is, engaged in conversations with business associates he cares little about.
“brother?” ayaka calls. she finds him leaning against a railing of stairs. “i closed off the gardens.”
ayato swallows. he last saw you sneaking towards the grounds. “they're still on the grass?”
“yes.”
“they'll catch a cold.”
“they will.”
he glances at his sister. “they think i'm unfaithful.”
“i know,” she says matter-of-factly. “have you offered them any evidence to convince them otherwise?”
ayato stays silent.
“i know you care about them, brother.” ayaka sighs, “however, surprising them with a specially crafted ring and being petty when your entire relationship is at stake may not be the wisest move.”
he sighs.
“most especially if they suspect that your frequent visits to the sangonomiya manor are fueled by romantic feelings for its heiress, and not for their own wedding ring.”
after a while, ayato spots you lying on the grass in a starfish formation, having finally swallowed his pride. his eyes glaze over your features: red eyes, cheeks marked with tear stains, and an exhausted expression.
“can we talk?” he begins.
you spare a quick glance before turning your attention back to the night sky. “there's not much to talk about.”
“i'm not cheating,” he asserts.
“i know.”
“do you know, or have you resigned yourself to not knowing?”
“hm,” you hum. “a part of me entertains the thought of you cheating. yet an even smaller part absolutely knows that if you were truly cheating, you'd be more discreet. who, in their right mind, would inform thoma that you visited her manor?”
he chuckles, a laughter-less sound escapes him. “i understand i've been secretive. you have every right to assume i'm up to something indecent. but i have my reasons.” ayato confesses, kneeling beside your body. he places his hand inside his suit pocket, pulling up a black small box.
you instantly sit up. “you're horrible,” you cough, eyes widening as he opens the box to show a ring. “this entire time you were—god.”
“i placed a special order,” he mumbles. “i visited each day to ensure it was flawless, right down to the smallest details.”
“i'm so sorry.”
“don't be, love.” he breathes, “you had your reasons, and i was insistent on keeping it a surprise.”
relief floods your features. “good,” you whisper before tears well in your eyes.
the sound of your sobs breaks his heart. he immediately wraps his arms around you, brushing his lips on your cheeks.
“i'm sorry, darling,” he murmurs, kissing the skin above your brow. “i'm sorry for worrying you.”
“goddamn sadistic,” you sob. “you knew i was freaking out, but you just watched!”
he grins, “i have to admit, you look cute when you're jealous.”
a groan escapes you. “don't make me throw away both rings.”
“is that so? i should've ordered twenty spares.”
“no.” you scold.
“oh? look at my darling, so jealous,” he smirks, nuzzling his face into your neck. you then feel his lips press into a straight line. “you're not something i would ever try to hide. i would never be ashamed of our relationship.”
you laugh, “prove it.”
your smile faces seeing the smirk on his face. in that exact moment, you know that kamisato ayato, the preposterous god in human flesh, plans to do something grand and explosive to prove you otherwise.
“do not.” you begin, “we've talked about this. you cannot—you absolutely will not bribe the government to declare our wedding date as a national holiday!”
bonus: ten minutes before the clash
“is it getting warm in here, or am i sensing the intense gaze of your loving fiancé on me?” kokomi laughs, sipping a glass of champagne.
ayato takes a peek, and he chuckles upon seeing your irritated and jealous expression. “they certainly are.”
“please do not involve me in your lovers' quarrels. everyone knows we're just close friends.”
“they do.”
“have you told them?”
“...it may have slipped past my mind.”
kokomi shakes her head. “sadistic.” she slips a black box into his palm. “clear it up. i do not want to be murdered by your future partner.”
ayato glances at you from across the room as you engage a conversation with his sister. “mhm, i could, but their jealous expression is too endearing.”
“sadistic,” she repeats. “absolutely sadistic.”
he chuckles.
“also, kazuha mentioned that you've been referring to them as your companion. correct that.” she continues, “and stop calling them your friend!”
“they asked me to when we started dating.”
she rolls her eyes. “you're so petty. stop trying to provoke them!”
“anyways, everyone knows we're engaged,” he corrects. “their whining face is the cutest.”
“sadistic.”
“kokomi?”
she tilts her head and hums, “yes?”
“ever wondered how much it costs to propose a national holiday?”
author’s note: lmao. so in this modern au ayato actually succeeds in turning your wedding date into a national holiday. the government actually appreciates his donation because a.) they always accept goodwilled (lmao) funds and b.) ayato's an important pillar to the gov and they don't want to upset him 'cause petty rich boy tantrums tilt the economy (how sadistic).
so, ayato's the heir of the company where you are employed at as an idol turned actor/actress. kokomi is the heiress to a big jewelry corporation. lmao they were both engaged together when they were like five but they instantly broke it off because well, they both threw five year old tantrums.
plus thoma telling you that they were to be engaged was just a fact he blurted out when you asked about kokomi (he manages to omit the five-year-old part because he's careless + he didn't think it matters because anyone can tell ayato's intensely in love with you)
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#376
“Hey Caleb. You were in that bathroom for a while. Big shit or were you giving it a tug? Considering your swim trunks is showing no bulge whatsoever, I doubt you were enjoying your right hand. Or do you use the left? Me personally, I’m a lefty….
“Your dad and I were just talking by the pool. I asked him how long he knew you were gay…. Oh I wish you could see the shocked look on your face. So you haven’t told him. He was shocked too. He said you weren’t. I told him that I’ve been around sperm burpers all my life and you were a classic pole rider.
“You haven’t said much. Not one word of protest. You are just trying to figure out what your next step is going to be. Don’t worry, I love fucking with your dad. He’s worked for me for ten years now. He knows my sense of humor and just brush it off. Besides he’s been drinking. But I got enough out of him to convince me that you definitely gob the knob.
“You wanna swing on my dick, or not? Here let me take it out for ya. I can see by the lump forming in your shorts that you want it. Am I right?... Your dad likes to say that you are quiet and keep to yourself. I can see that. Just nod then.
“Ok, let’s do this then. This guest room’s toilet serves as the overflow bathroom. Someone will interrupt us. Come with me. My bedroom will offer us some more privacy. Your dad already thinks you are off reading a book on your phone. Nobody is going to miss me for a while…. It’s a large house. When I bought it, I had an addition put on for my master suite…. When you enter my bedroom, lose the swim trunks. Boys are to be naked at all times in my bedroom.
“Damn boy, you are rock hard. So, were you jerking off or taking a dump in the toilet?... Look, when it comes to sex, I cut to the point. There’s no need to be coy. I’m going to be fucking that pussy of yours, and I want to know if you are empty first. Good. Did you also give it a tug?... Of course, you did.
“Come here. Point to the guy you were jerking off to…. You are at a construction company pool party where 80% of the men here work for me. There are more muscles out there from hard work than a fag like you can take in. Which one?...
“…Of course, you would go for Stan. So you like big guys? He’s six four and built like a brick shit house. Have you talked to him?... He can be a bit of an gruff asshole. The guys call him Ox. He has a dick to match. Not the brightest guy, but damn he’s a hard worker and a brutal fucker. Yeah, he’s tag teamed with me a couple of times. He can fuck for hours.
“Come with me. This closet door leads downstairs to my hidden playroom. I had it specifically designed and loaded up for just about every kink my dick was interested in. You’re what 20? You probably don’t know about all these things. I do know this: you are leaking up a storm.
“Don’t touch yourself. Let the leak flow. Why don’t you have a look around? I need to text a few of my guests to let them know that I had to step away for a bit.
“That’s a St. Andrew’s cross. If you have an interest in being whipped, I’d be happy to oblige…. Didn’t think so.
“Those are my four rim seats. They are for eating ass. Depending on my mood, they vary based on how secure the boy is underneath. That last one secures the boy’s legs up so he can get fucked while he’s eating my shithole.
“No. No. Leave your dick alone. I want you to leak….
“There. All the appropriate texts have been sent. Now, we’ll have some time to really have fun. Come over there. This is a fuck bench. Simple. Easy access both holes. Climb up. Knees go here; elbows here.
“Oh, you have a pretty cunt. Nice…. Oh, you are not as tight as I thought you would be; my finger just slid in. I take it you are not a virgin. That’s fine. I get it, a cunt needs to be fed. You get fucked at college?... Kinda figured.
“Ever been tied up?... No? There’s always a first time.
“Ok, so here’s the situation. I’ve applied a small amount of lube to your cunt lips. Your mouth, or rather your throat needs to put some slime on me. I will probably go between your holes.
“I put a sludge plate under your dick to collect your pre-cum and when I eventually allow you, your cum.
“Open wide…. Oh fuck. Your mouth feels good. Oh shit, you know how to work your tongue. You little faggot whore. Oh man. Fuck.
“I gotta try that cunt. If it’s as good as your throat, boy…
“…Right to the root. Right to the fucking root. Wait. What the fuck?... Do that again…. Boy you are something. I could just stand here, and you can squeeze my cock like that all day. It feels like you are jerking me off with your hole.
“Where the fuck did you learn all this? No twenty-year-old stumbles on how to treat a cock like you. Who taught you?
“…Your math professor? Damn, I never would have thought a math professor would have been so twisted.
“Say faggot, you have a job?... Living off your dad, hunh? You probably go out looking for dick when he’s at work. You fucking faggot whore. How would you like to come work for me? It’ll be in my main office. It’s a tiny office, just me and my manager Dwight. You’ll actually have office responsibilities in addition to servicing me and Dwight. Yeah, he’s another guy that I work with that I play around with. I employ four or five guys that also enjoy using faggots like you, although Dwight also uses bitches too.
“This is a serious offer. Your dad doesn’t need to know anything other than you are working in my office. I need to have these holes accessible. You want to do that?...
“…Fuck yeah! I’m getting close faggot. Keep doing what you are doing. Oh shit. Oh shit! Here it cums! Shit yeah!
“You keep performing like this, and I’ll pay you what I do your dad.
“So, did the math professor teach you other kinks?… Eating ass and piss drinking! Hell yeah! So you have been under a rim seat?... No, he just sat on your face. Did he tie you up, or get rough?... He wanted to? Boy, when a man wants to use you the way he wants you need to let him.
“Oh fuck, climb down. And keep my load in you. Here hop up on this fuck table. I want to sample that tongue. Legs go in the stirrups. I will be securing your legs in them…. Wrists will be secure at your sides in these cuffs.
“You still in contact with the professor?... Good. I want to invite him over some weekend so we can use you all weekend long.
“This table was designed for butt play as well as eating ass. Your head goes here onto the head rest off the end. I can lower the head rest and your head back so that opens your throat to a deep straight throat fuck, but I primarily use it by lifting it up like this to support your head when I straddle it like this. Now your face is wedged in my ass, with me just standing here. Get that tongue going.
“Oh fuck. Fag, this will definitely be part of your office responsibilities. Dwight will love it too. As will Ox….
“Hey Ox….
“Faggot, I took the liberty of telling Ox to join us when I sent out those texts.
“Holy shit Ox, this is Murphy’s boy. He’s a total cunt pig. I just hired him to work for me in the main office. Wait until you try his holes.
“Shut up faggot! This doesn’t concern you…. Get back to sticking your tongue into my shitter.
“He does this pulse thing with his cunt muscles. You have to try it. My load is still inside.
“Hey fagboy, you ever have a baseball bat in your cunt?... No?... Well it would have been practice for what’s about to be shoved into you. You know that bulge you jerked off to is going in your twat.
“Scream in my ass. Keep that tongue going in deep. Oh fuck!
“Look at how much he’s leaking. Give it to him. Hard. He’s shaking. Keep plowing…. Oh shit! He’s fucking cumming. Without his hands, that’s fucking amazing.
“Fag, I don’t care that you shot a huge load. Ox takes a while to get going. I’ll be right back. Ron Owens needs to try you out.
“Fag, while I’m gone, I want you to focus on the man you jerked off to—the man that is tearing up your cunt. Here, let me undo your hands. Run them over his chest. Feel those muscles and that chest hair.
“Ox, don’t you dare cum before we get back. Keep pile driving into him, and don’t let up, even if he begs.”
“Faggot, this is only the beginning….”
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Ruinous Fixation // Stalker!Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader || MODERN AU.
Valentine's special 💕
Summary: Aemond had been stalking you for a while after an encounter with you in the past, when you found out, you should've been creeped out and called the police, but you didn't, he intrigued you, and so, you pursued him.
WARNINGS: mdni, dark themes, stalker!aemond, afab!reader, unprotected p in v sex, cunnilingus, oral (f. receiving), body worshipping, teasing, masturbation (m. & f.), fingering, multiple orgasms, reader is fucked in the mind too, consensual impregnation(?), voyuerism (to aemond that's watching through cameras), lmk if I forgot + not proofread
WC: 2.5k
A/N: ah yes, valentines special, surely the fic will be something sweet and fluffy, lol sike, it's just two mentally ill ppl getting together 😍, don't let the header fool u guys. // divider credits @cafekitsune
Perhaps it was too much.
Perhaps it wasn't.
Maybe following you home without your knowledge, leaving you presents not signed with a name, instilling secret cameras into the gifts he had given to you — which you've naively kept in your room — could be considered stalking.
But Aemond doesn't feel that way, whether he is ashamed to admit or is in pure denial is unknown to himself, he justifies all of those actions by simple reasoning, ‘to make sure you were safe.’ which is way far-fetched than it should be.
You did not know Aemond, but he knew you, a obsession developed through the course of an year when you had first defended him in something, nobody ever took his side since he was a child, so seeing you step up in his defence, when he was mocked because of his eye, really ignited something in him.
You of course had forgotten about the encounter and moved on, he didn't, he cherished that memory like it was a tiny water droplet amongst the vast desert, he didn't want it to evaporate.
At first he just appreciated you, but then he got curious, of what kind of person you were, and then he got attached and now? well now he's far too in deep to leave, he knows everything about you, the outfit you like, what you do after coming home, your favourite food, what song you blast while getting ready, every miniscule thing, and he prepares his gifts accordingly.
Aemond thought you'd throw his gifts away, but you didn't, he would drop off your favourite flowers which you'd keep in your vase, he was confused why you weren't creeped out by this type of behaviour, an unknown person leaving gifts should make you be fully alert right?
The thing is, you knew.
How can you not? He was way too fully obvious, you had only ever pretended that you did not remember him, but you recognized him, he was unique after all, you'd often catch him staring in your direction, and the gifts and letters he leaves you? How can you not recognize the handwriting when you're both in the same English class? When you've read countless handwritten essays by him?
You knew he was stalking you, you knew it was fucked up, but there was some deep subconscious part of you that liked it, to see someone be obsessed over you to the point of stalking or having their whole life revolve around you was like a stroke to your ego, maybe you're allowing it because you liked the guy? he wasn't a bad person, and neither does he behave like a total creep.
His behaviour is indeed creepy, but not completely creepy or anything — is what you justified your non-repulsiveness about him with
However you had gotten tired, tired of waiting for him to make a move, so you got ahold of his schedule to see when he's free and that's when you decided you'd strike him yourself.
You walk through the hallways in search of him, immediately smiling when you find him coming out of the class, you neutralise your expression and begin walking at full speed towards him, eventually ‘accidentally’ bumping into him, causing your belongings to fall down.
“Watch where you're—Oh are you okay?” He takes a moment to recognize you, and you nod slightly, picking up your things slowly, waiting for him to help you, which he does, but when he's about to touch something – and item that he himself had gifted – you grabbed it in a rush, hiding it from him and he raises his eyebrow at that while he picks up your other things.
He then hands over all the collected stuff, “Sorry for being, that was just an important thing someone had gifted me, I cherish it a lot.” You tell slowly, and smile up at him, you watch the way he shifts in his position, as his eyebrows relax and his mouth slightly curls up in a smile, “No problem.” He tells you and you both part your ways.
That wasn't enough however.
Because Aemond still did not strike, and it made you anxious to no end, so you began planning your guys’ accidental meetings until you eventually became friends with him, Aemond did not expect any of this but he enjoyed every moment, thinking his efforts paid off, well they technically did.
You found out about the camera in the eye of a comforting bed plushie he had gifted you accidentally, it made you shocked to know that he was keeping his eye on you like this, but you didn't care at that point because you too were so obsessed about him.
It's fucked up.
And then, an idea struck up in your head.
You invited Aemond for a coffee date, if you could call it that, and spent time together, preparing for English, he's actually very smart when his life isn't revolving around you, and you liked him even more because of his intelligence.
After a few hours together, you guys ended the date and went back home, you knew he'd be watching you through the camera so you decided to put on a show for him, you laid on the bed, breathing heavily as you imagined Aemond.
You closed your eyes, imagining that your hands were his and you began touching yourself, the way his hands would squeeze your breasts, play with your njpples, you mimicked as your imagery began to go wild.
Aemond was watching all this happen, it's not like he hadn't watched you masturbate before, or hump the plushie he had given you, but this time he for an odd reason, knew it was different.
You hand slowly pulled your panties down, pretending it was him before you slowly spread your legs apart and cupped your own cunt, before rubbing small circles onto your clit.
The pleasure and tension slowly began to rise as you picked up the pace, quickly growing desperate. You knew he was probably watching so you began to make noises hoping he'd hear you, and then an idea struck through you.
Maybe you should give a point of view if he is indeed watching.
You stared at the plush for a second before committing to that, you grabbed it and positioned it between your legs and took off your shirt, so you were completely naked now.
Aemond was unbearably hard at the sight, he massaged his balls to ease the tension before unbuckling his pants pulled his cock out and wrapped his hand around it.
You rutted against the plush, bouncing up and down to create friction inbetween your legs that provided pleasure, Aemond threw his head back, trying to match your pace with his hand, imagining that it was your cunt wrapped around him instead of his hand.
Your orgasm was drawing nearer and you desperately moved your hips back and forth, letting out gasps and whines, squeezing your breasts and pretending it was Aemond's hands.
The band that tightened in your core snapped with a warning, and you closed your eyes shut at the intensity it hit you with, you came with a loud moan of his name, “Fuck— Aemond.” you gasped.
Aemond finished right then there when he heard you say out his name, he grunted as he finished all over his hands. He breathed heavily gazing through the screen as you plopped down onto the bed tiredly, “Mhm Aemond.” You whined sleepily as your tiredness finally caught up to you, and you slowly drifted off to sleep, your breaths slowing down.
Aemond couldn't sleep that night.
——————
“Are you alright?” You teasingly ask him the next morning at class and he stares at you for a moment before nodding. He decided that since you had liked him back, there should be nothing stopping him right?
“Y/N, I have something to say.” He begins
‘Finally,’ you think.
“I'm in love with you, and I don't know if this will ruin the friendship between us but I really do.” He finally confesses and you smile.
“I know Aemond, I loved all of your gifts.” you tell him
And before he could process what you had said, the professor had come in and silenced the class, even after class he didn't get a chance to talk to you, you were always whisked away by something and he grew more frustrated.
So after the college had ended, you both walked home, and he thought it was better to discuss it in private rather than in public, to which you nodded and allowed him into your house. You dropped your bag on the couch before undoing your shoes and throwing them off, before making your way into the kitchen, fetching some water and bringing it for Aemond, while he sat on the couch.
“What do you mean by that you liked my gifts?” He questioned before gulping down some water and placed it on the table right in front of the sofa. You wasted no time and got on his lap, straddling him as you wrapped your arms around him and gazed into his eye.
“I know about everything, Aemond.” You mutter and his eye widens, “Since when?” he queried and you smirked, “Months ago, our meeting wasn't a coincidence.” You cup his cheek, caressing his scar with your thumb. “I hope you liked my show last night, I was waiting for this moment.” You whisper seductively before connecting your lips with his and he lets out a satisfied hum at how soft your lips feel against his, he immediately succumbs into your kiss, grabbing you by your waste and chasing your lips with his, the kiss becomes heated as well as passionate while you grip his head and push your tongue into his mouth.
You pull away to catch your breath and stare into his eye, you push a strand of his hair behind his ear before you lean in, “Take me to the bedroom and fuck me in the bed, Aemond.” You demand and he immediately obeys, holding you tightly against him as he carries you to your bedroom, before gently throwing you on the bed.
And you sit up on your elbows as he crawls up the bed towards you, pawing at your clothes and trying to pull them off, which you assist him with, he kisses your shoulders and your neck, all the way down towards your breasts and to your stomach before pressing a loving kiss on flesh of your cunt.
“You're so fucking wet.” He says amused, and your face heats up at that comment, “All for me, yes?” He looks at you and you nod, “All for you, Aemond.” You reaffirm and he smirks, you felt warmth creep up in your stomach at his expression, giving you butterflies.
He wets his fingers with his spit before pushing one inside humming in satisfaction as your cunt swallows his finger as though it was waiting for him, he slowly begins to thrust in and out, growing more restless and hot as he watches his finger move in and out, hoping that would be his cock soon.
He adds another finger and you whine at the delicious stretch, bucking your hips upwards to which he huts at and presses them back down, his hot breaths fan against your clitoris, causing you to twitch and look at him desperately, and he immediately knows what you want.
His lips wrap around the neglected bud before he begins to suckle on it, twirling his tongue around the pearl whilst you throw your head back at the amplified pleasure he was bestowing you with.
Your fingers tangle themselves in his hair, gently pulling against his scalp as you writhe and squirm because of him, your orgasm hits you before you could even process it, making you moan his name out loud as your vision turns white as well as make your ears ring loudly.
He pulls away with a wet pop and pulls his fingers out before cleaning them up with his mouth, he licks his fingers – that was covered in your juices – squeaky clean before and hovers above you and kisses you. You wince at the tangy taste of yourself but nonetheless still kiss him back.
You tug at his pants and shirt, “Take them off.” You command, but in a pleading voice and he gladly does as you say, you watch as he pulls off his shirt and unbuckles his pants.
The sight of his body was divine, from his chest muscles to his defined arms, you began becoming more aroused as he fully undressed, and hovered above you once again, positioning himself between your legs.
“I don't have a condom.” He bites his lower lip nervously, but you cup his cheek and pull the lower lip from between his teeth, before you gazed up at him, “I don't fucking care, take me raw Aemond, I just want you to fuck me right now.” You admit unashamedly to which he chuckles lightly at before pressing his lips against yours once more.
He breaks the kiss and guides his hand towards his cock, gripping it and lining it up with your entrance, Aemond suddenly sits back so he isn't hovering over you anymore and pulls your legs over his shoulders, holding them in place as he pushes his cock inside.
He begins to thrust in and out, fucking you with a slow and gentle pace to gently stretch you out so you can adjust to his cock, and soon begins to move a faster pace than before.
However that still wasn't enough, so you begged for him to go faster; “Faster Aemond! Fuck, fuck me harder—” You are cut off by your own gasp when he sets his pace even faster than before, his thighs slapping against your butt.
Lewd noises fill the room, the scent of sex permeates the room while your body jolts up and down your bed as he restlessly pounds into you, all you could hear was your own moans matching with his as he too experiences the pleasure of this act.
“I'm cumming— fuck.” He warns you and tries to pull out but you pull your legs off his shoulders and wrap them around his waist, locking him in place, “Impregnate me like you desired, Aemond.” you tell him and he gasps as he hits his high at your words, shooting his seed inside of you.
He stimulates your clit while riding off his high which causes you to peak as well, making your walls to grip his cock tightly as they spasm around it.
He immediately plops down next to you, and you pull him to your chest, caressing his hair as he nuzzles his face in between your tits.
“I found your diary, you know, this morning.” You begin to speak as he catches his breath, “And I've found all the deepest and darkest desires you've written about me.”
His heartbeat rises and he stares up at you.
“I'd love for you to do those to me, Aemond.” you tell him.
“How are you okay with all of this? A normal person would be creeped out.” He questions and you smirk.
“I'm not so normal after all.” You kiss him on the head.
— ! ݈݇- thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated greatly ♡
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hiii!! could i request fwb switch!ryujin x reader? it's completely fine if you're not comfy to dw!!
hickeys | shin ryujin
synopsis : it was a secret nobody could know, and you would’ve liked to keep it that way, however, ryujin leaving marks everywhere on your body truly did not make that easy.
pairing : gp!ryujin x fem!reader
genre : friends with benefits, smut!
tags : like one page of texting, g!p wbk, quickie, forbidden ig??, she’s your older brother’s best friend we all know she is not supposed to be fucking you, bathroom sex, nipple play, making out ofc, fingering, clit play, ryujin is strong so manhandling kind of, daddy kink, lots of dirty talk, jock ryujin, mirror sex(?), almost caught, that funky stuff, switchy activities
warning : none!
word count : 2.5k
your older brother occasionally having ryujin over wasn’t at all a bad thing, quite the opposite, actually, considering you both were incredibly close to her growing up.
she was incredibly chill, always dressed well, was super close with your brother, was fairly muscular, attracted everyone just by being in close proximity to them and was also like, 5 years older than you. so naturally, you took a huge liking to her. you admired her a lot when you were younger, she seemed so perfect. you didn’t quite know if you wanted her or if you wanted to be her.
things took a turn, though, and that quickly clarified things for you.
13 year old y/n definitely wouldn’t believe that 20 year old y/n was having sex on the lay-low with ryujin basically every week if you told her. who would’ve thought!
it always happened randomly, too. one would get inexplicably horny, the other would have to help them out, and it was a repeated cycle every time she came over. an unwritten agreement, if you will. sometimes, you’d even sneak into her house late at night because she’d randomly call you on the phone, telling you all about how she was jacking off thinking about you. in summary, you guys would fuck frequently.
very frequently.
today wasn’t any different!
the three of you were sitting on the sofa, watching a god-awful horror movie that made you wanna poke your eyes out each time a character did something insanely stupid, which was quite often, by the way. you clearly weren’t interested in the film whatsoever, so it’s not like ryujin standing up to go to the bathroom went unnoticed. she threw you a sly glance before casually walking to the restroom.
you already knew what she was doing, she’s done it many times before, and she’ll definitely keep doing it. you decided to wait it out though, immediately giving her what she wants takes away all the fun.
upon reading the message, you rolled your eyes, wearing a smirk, then quickly peeked over your shoulder, trying to see if your brother was awake.
oh he was knocked out.
you internally celebrated as you saw him laying there with his eyes closed, peacefully resting as he quietly snored. you waited it out for a couple of minutes, making ryujin lose her patience has always been amusing to you, so, it was a natural reaction. getting up slowly, trying your hardest not to make any sort of noise, you then make your way to the washroom.
upon opening the door and entering, you were immediately greeted by a pair of hungry lips being pressed onto yours, which happened for quite a bit. you could tell how worked up she was getting over a simple kiss. she smirked against you, and you quickly felt one of her hands cupping your ass while hearing the other seemingly locking the bathroom door, just in case your brother did wake up.
once she was assured that the door was locked, she quickly gravitated her mouth lower on your body, from your lips to your jaw, down to your neck and, later on, your chest. her own body rubbing itself on yours, you felt how desperate she was for you, how badly she wanted you.
you even felt it from the not-so-subtly boner gently poking at your upper thigh.
“fuck baby i’ve missed you so much–” she told you in between kisses, embracing your body as if she hadn’t fucked the ever living shit out of you like- not even 4 days ago. you pulled away, scoffing,
“mmh- you just cannot live without getting your dick sucked, can you?”
instead of replying, she simply took your hand and lightly placed it on her crotch, breathing out of relief from the slight contact before pulling you back in, her lips getting hungrier by the second for you. you could finally properly feel how hard she was, and it was… ego flattering, really. i mean, who would’ve thought that shin ryujin, a jock who played basically every girl who breathed in her direction, would be this needy? for you, might i add.
i mean, really, she had girls sobbing over her, begging her to take them back. she ruined their lives, basically. she had the tendency to love-bomb the fuck out of her talking stages, sometimes even lasting months on end. then once they got attached, she’d ghost them out of nowhere and move onto the next.
ryujin wasn’t a marriage kind of girl, hell, she wasn’t a dating kind of girl either.
it was incredibly fortunate that you weren’t, either.
you gently rubbed your hand on her boner through the fabric of her jeans, hearing the noises coming out of her was like fuel to you, by this point, you wanted to hear more.
and despite yourself, you were getting impatient.
you unzipped the bracket of her jeans and pulled them down in a swift motion, her clothed cock bouncing up, hitting your lower stomach. you kept palming it as you kissed her, taking in every sound she let out whilst you rubbed the tip of her dick through the fabric of her underwear. feeling her twitch against your hand, you finally got down on your knees, your eye level exactly where it needed to be.
“so desperate for me, hm? i barely even did anything, and you’re already squirming.” you teased, looking up at her wearing the same smirk she had when she was headed for the bathroom in the first place.
“come on y/n, don’t play around like this—”
“you’re gonna have to talk to me in a nicer tone if you want something to be done about your situation, ryujin. just to remind you, you brought me here, at least ask nicely.” you told her sternly, earning a small, pathetic whine from her.
“pleasee..” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“please what?”
she whined more, before muttering, “pleaseee suck me off..”
you grinned, the sounds of her begs amusing you greatly as you watched her shudder due to the hot breath she felt on her dick. not wanting to tease her any longer, you simply took all of it in your mouth in one go. ryujin had to cover her mouth immediately after, afraid of being too loud. however, you were making it impossible to stay quiet.
she whimpered against her own hand, trying her hardest not to be moaning out your name like she usually would. she watched you bob your head up and down her girthy shaft as you glanced up at her occasionally with the most lustful eyes she’d ever seen. the fact that she had to be quiet, the feeling of having her cock deep inside of your warm and wet mouth, the way you pushed your hair back when it got in the way; all of it made her twitch uncontrollably.
while you blew her, she couldn’t help but ponder about what she wanted to do to you, you made it so complicated for her. she would usually just fuck girls normally then move on, but with you? she wanted to use you in the most dehumanizing ways possible, then once she was done, she’d wanna get used by you and be treated like a little bitch in heat.
you just made her feel and think things she didn’t even know she could. no seriously, who would’ve thought that ms. shin ryujin would enjoy being dominated every once in a while?
you did, apparently. hence why you’re in the situation you’re in right now.
and she truly didn’t want to admit it, but you were the best fuck she’s ever had.
she’d been breathing heavier up until now, you knew she wanted to cum, she was getting closer to the edge and it showed.
you pulled your mouth away from her dick, panting heavily from the lack of air in your lungs as you tried to catch your breath. you still gave her throbbing cock attention by rubbing the tip with your thumb, you rightfully assumed that she probably would’ve died without it, “how badly do you want to fuck me right now?” you asked before spitting in your hand and using it to keep stroking her rock hard boner.
she looked down at you, running her hand through her soft short hair as she leaned against the bathroom counter, attempting to keep her loud whines contained, “sosososo bad–” was all she managed to get out before she had to cover her mouth.
cute, you thought.
watching her lose herself under your touch, whether it be minimal or not, you couldn’t help but giggle. she always went crazy for you, and you would be stupid not to notice her efforts at pleasing you.
she’d been so good for you up until now, and you felt like she could have her oh-so-deserved reward of finally being able to cum.
you look up at her and quickly shove her dick back into your mouth, bobbing your head up and down in swift movements as she tried her hardest not to scream out your name, she could feel your tongue tracing down the length of her shaft.
“f-fuck y/n baby i’m cumming fuckfuck—“
it didn’t take long before you felt her cock throbbing, feeling it shoot out a huge load of its thick and warm juices fill up your throat as she grunted. you immediately swallowed every last drop.
what can you say? muscle memory always does its job.
still coming down from her high, she quickly pulled you back up to face her and hungrily put her lips in contact with yours, licking at them, asking for entrance. her hands roaming everywhere around your body and
soon enough, the tables turned and it was now her turn to let her tongue work wonders on yours as you felt like every nerve of your body reacted to the sensation. before you knew it, she was already pinning you to the counter, your back to her as her hands reached around your waist eagerly to pull down your piece of clothing. she kissed on the back of your neck and left her marks, and you knew she was smirking about it, too,
‘cause you felt it against your skin.
“you’ve had your fun, you’re gonna let daddy use that pretty cunt of yours now, right? that’s what i originally called you in here for, after all.” she whispered into your ear as she slowly slid her hand into your panties, middle finger gently caressing your swollen clit. she could tell you were ready for her, and it turned her on even more.
her dick, once again, gave it away.
and it hasn’t even been that long since she came.
sliding your panties halfway down to your knees, she didn’t waste any more time and carefully settled the tip of her cock under your dripping pussy, rubbing it against your wet folds. you slightly whined at the feeling whilst she breathed hot air against your skin. you needed to feel her inside you, your walls were literally clenching around nothing, and you couldn’t wait any longer.
“just put it in ryujin—“ you quietly pleaded,
“what was that? sorry, i don’t think i heard you properly.” she mocked, stopping her grinding movements altogether,
which earned a small whine from you, “fuck daddy pleasee just—“ you exhaled upon feeling her hand grope your breast, then quickly added, “i need you inside me, please..”
she chuckled, satisfied with your answer, “good girl.”
immediately, she pushed you back onto the counter and slid her dick inside of you as she breathlessly groaned. you, on the other hand, were already arching your back and holding back moans. she started by slowly thrusting into you, before getting impatient and simply just pounding into you with full force.
her cock was hitting places you genuinely didn’t even know she could hit, all you did know was that it felt heavenly. every hit of the tip pressed against the end of your cervix made you feel like you were gonna pass out.
basically, the dick was good, it was so good that you had to be physically silenced to prevent your brother from potentially waking up and hearing the both of you go at it in the bathroom.
ryujin was the one that had to cover your mouth. not only did she cover your mouth, but she also pulled on your hair when you were being too loud (which kinda made you even more loud, but that’s beside the point). in a normal situation, she’d thrive on hearing you scream out her name and be this noisy for her, but with your brother in the other room? she couldn’t exactly afford to hear that, unfortunately.
pulling your hair back and making you face yourself in the mirror, she asked, “look at you, so slutty for my dick, so pretty, too.. don’t you think?”
and she was not wrong, your hair was a mess from her constantly grabbing it, your makeup was running all over your cheeks from the tears you’ve been shedding at the pleasure, your hooded eyes all red and swollen, your marked up neck, it was all so… filthy? you looked so filthy.
god you looked so hot like this.
you could only nod in agreement as you kept moaning into her palm, feeling her dick slide in and out of your wet pussy repeatedly, you were so close to climax that you could pass out—
the sounds of knocking on the door made the both of you flinch.
“y/n, i gotta use the restroom, are you almost done? i just woke up and i think ryujin left..? she isn’t here anymore and she hasn’t been answering my texts so i don't even think she’s home yet.” is what was heard from the other side of the door.
what now??
you obviously wanted to respond to your brother but it’s not like ryujin even gave you the chance to, she just kept mercilessly pounding into you as he rambled and rambled. that is, until she pulled her hand away from your mouth.
was she actually expecting you to respond like this?? you looked at her through the mirror and saw her smirking at you with lust-filled eyes.
well shit!
you’d scold her later, now you just desperately had to think of a way to not sound like you’re getting fucked senseless. closing your eyes and mustering up all of the willpower to answer without your voice shaking uncontrollably, “y-yeah i’m almost done just give me a second i’m coming—“ was what you said.
and then your orgasm hit you like a truck when ryujin grabbed your waist and came into you.
quickly covering your mouth to muffle any sort of sound that escaped it, your eyes rolling back as you heard your brother mutter a quick “alrightt” before seemingly walking away from the door, not suspecting a thing.
thank god.
she slid out of you, the rhythm of her breath matching yours as you both tried to catch it.
god how lovely, you were leaking, you had hickeys every-fucking-where and now you had to think of a way to make ryujin flee the house without making it seem like she was in the bathroom with you.
this was gonna be tough to go about, especially with a fucked-out mind such as yours at that moment.
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Angry Heart | Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader (Part 1: Prom Night)
Series Summary: Your best friend Chrissy Cunningham always got everything she ever wanted, even you new friend and crush Eddie Munson. When Chrissy does the unthinkable, Eddie is left to pick up the pieces alone... or is he?
Chapter Summary: You have finally started to find your own groove after accepting that Eddie and Chrissy were an item, and ultimately more into each other than you. But why do you still feel such a strong connection to Eddie? Why are you secretly wishing for their downfall? Everything comes to a head during your final high school play and the prom where a new friend makes Eddie rethink everything.
Pairings: Eddie Munson x Chrissy Cunningham, Eddie Munson x Reader (eventually), reader and Chrissy are friends but have a fallout. Minimal usage of Y/N
Series warnings: MDNI 18 +, Smut, fluff and angst (everything all rolled into one beautiful shit show), mentions of drugs and alcohol being consumed, overall adult language and theme. By clicking the read more, you agree that you are over 18! Ageless and minor blogs who interact will be blocked.
Word Count: 9k (I got excited)
A/N: Holy hell! I never thought that this series would get so much love just from the prologue. I thought this was going to take me the next week or so to write, but I whipped this puppy out in 2 days. Thank you thank you thank you for all of the support. Again, your feedback, reblogs and replies are so appreciated!
Prologue
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
April 1986
Falling in love with Eddie Munson was easy. He made it so incredibly simple. The spring production rehearsals were in full swing and you got the lead role. It meant long hours in the theatre with your favorite metalhead, sharing snacks, laughing at inside jokes and telling deep dark secrets. You had started to spend equal amounts of time at the Hellfire table, making quick friends with Jeff and Gareth, you grew to love and protect the freshmen as your own as well. Even though you had no interest in playing DnD with them, Eddie always invited you to sit in on their campaigns. Chrissy and the other jocks started to distance themselves from you on the days you would decide to sit with them, but it started to bother you less as you made more meaningful connections with people who liked you for you. The last 5 months caught you off guard. Things seemed like they were normal, better than normal even; until you went home alone after school and remembered that Eddie had someone else keeping his bed warm. Chrissy was there. Your best friend stealing your other best friend away from you and nobody knew.
Things between you and Chrissy were tense only on one end. The blonde always greeted you in the hallway and passed you notes in class, blissfully unaware of the heartache her new romance had caused you. But when you were in a group, she seemed to unconsciously take value to others in the group. Eddie and Chrissy had started their relationship in private, and you were their sworn protector. Even when you didn’t necessarily want them, you got all the gory details of how Chrissy let Eddie feel her up for the first time, or how Eddie is a lot more well endowed than many had previously thought. It killed you on the inside, but throwing yourself into the spring show gave you a healthy distraction. Cheer kept you just close enough to Chrissy to keep up the feeling that things were not falling apart between the two of you, but you could focus on what you needed to do on the field. It felt good to put effort into new friends and reignite passions, even though the love the two of your best friends shared would always take up a small residence in the back of your mind.
It was three weeks until prom. You were seriously considering not going, but you knew you would regret not going, so you decided that you would make an appearance, likely not a sober one, but you would show up. You waltzed past the posters in the cafeteria, and the ballot box being guarded by the student council, stationed around it like soldiers. You knew who would be winning each crown, there wasn’t even a point in voting for anyone else. You would be there to cheer Chrissy on for the third year in a row of winnings. Like clockwork, she would accept her crown, dance with whatever meathead got crowned king, and then help her fix her mascara that ran from her happy and “surprised” tears. You rolled your eyes thinking about it; but you were snapped out of your trance when you heard the blonde call your name. You reluctantly wave to her and the other ponytails looking expectantly at you and you start to cross the cafeteria. You are interrupted by a mop of light brown hair and a gleaming smile.
“Hey! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Gareth greets. You instantly relax as your new friend puts his arm over your shoulder and leads you to the Hellfire table. You look over Gareth’s shoulder to see the cheer table staring daggers at you. Chrissy looks disappointed, and the rest of the table looks mildly disgusted. Chrissy understood why you would hang out with the freaks but she still didn’t necessarily approve. Your image was important to her as you continued to be associated with her. You look at Chrissy apologetically, but happily turn and walk with Gareth.
“It’s good to see you, Gareth” you smile up at him.
“How are rehearsals going? You getting excited for the big show?” He remembered, and he seemed genuinely interested.
“Yeah I guess so! I’m sort of ready for it to be over so we can push through exams and get out of here.”
You slide out your usual chair at the hellfire table, across from Gareth and beside Eddie at the head of the table.
“I thought you were eating with Chrissy today?” Eddie questions.
“Good to see you too, Ed…” you mumble.
“No, it’s just… I wanted you to see if anyone had asked her to prom yet” Eddie leaned over and whispered to you.
Gareth rolled his eyes. Eddie had recently let him in on his secret relationship with Chrissy, since he was missing or late to more and more hellfire meetings and had been mentally absent during their band practices. He needed someone else within the group to be able to cover for him when you couldn’t, and Eddie trusted Gareth with his life.
“Why the hell wouldn’t she be going with you?” you snorted. You knew that Eddie and Chrissy weren’t necessarily public, but you would never think that she would brush him off like that.
“I don’t know… because I’m well… me” Eddie looked to the ground. You grabbed his hand and he instantly turned red. Your skin burned when you touched him. It felt like it had been so long since you had any physical contact which made you feel empty. Eddie was always one to give you a hug, or hold your hand or pick you up and carry you down to the theatre when you were running late. He was a tactile person and it took you until now to realize how much you really missed the way things were.
“Eddie Munson you listen to me, anyone would be lucky to go to prom with you” You turned pink as you reassured him. Gareth noticed and tried to hide his smirk underneath his hands. You kicked him under the table. You wish you were the lucky person that he would take, but you know that he would soon rather die than be seen with anyone else but Chrissy.
“ I don’t know” Eddie questions as he shyly pulls his hand away from yours. Both of you felt cold after the loss of contact. “I just really like her and I really want her to be with me, you know, not in secret… sometimes I think she’s ashamed of me.”
“Well, that’s her problem then, isn’t it?” Gareth snaps. He was so tired of watching Eddie stomp all over your heart when he knew that Chrissy was going to do the same to him eventually.
Both yours and Eddie's heads snapped to look at him. He was never one to question anything from Eddie, but he looked bothered. He stood up and left the table without a word.
“What’s up with him?” You chide. Eddie shrugs and picks at his pretzels.
“Hey, I was wondering if you could give Chrissy a note for me? I think I’m gonna ask her to go to prom with me today.”
“Ed, shouldn’t you just go up and talk to her? She’s your girlfriend for fucks sake.” You were getting sick of being put in the middle. Neither of them understood how much their romance crushed you.
“Whatever, I thought you would wanna help me, seeing as you’re my best friend and all, but I’ll just humiliate myself then”. He shoved his chair backwards and with a huff, he stormed out of the cafeteria. Eddie was always one for theatrics. Usually it was entertaining, but this felt more like a toddler’s temper tantrum. You rolled your eyes and flipped him off as he left.
Eddie’s departure caught the eye of Chrissy. She looked at you quizzically and you gestured for her to follow him and rolled your eyes. She discreetly got up and trotted out the exit Eddie had just used. The back exit opened up to the field outside. You could see Eddie’s figure heading out to the bleachers - the place where you often went to to get out of O'Donnell's class, or smoke after a particularly stressful rehearsal. But it wasn’t sacred to you two anymore. It was their spot now. You could see Chrissy’s figure following behind him. You took the rest of Eddie’s pretzels and ate them with a huff.
The final night of the play was here. Your last hurrah as the lead and the last show you may ever be a part of. Hawkins for sure does not have a thriving theatre community, so who knows what other opportunities you might have. You didn’t want this to be the last time though, it made your heart hurt and you wished this night would never end. You had spent your time before curtain warming up with Eddie. He could tell you were nervous.
“Sweetheart, I am telling you, you have nothing - and I mean nothing to worry about. You have been crushing this whole show run. All you have to do is go on stage and do your thing! And if anything bad happens, I tell the booth to blackout and I cut your mic!” he giggles. You didn’t find it as funny. You paced back and forth across the small stage, arms shaking and your breath hitching. None of your friends had been there to see your performance yet. You weren’t expecting many people, at least Chrissy, but she hadn’t said a word about your show or if she was coming. You pacing was driving Eddie wild. He hated seeing you so bothered.
“Y/N just relax” Eddie grabbed you by your shoulders and your whole body went stiff. Your breath caught in your chest and your heart sank to the floor. You could feel his breath on your face; you hadn’t been this close in a long time. Without being able to help yourself, your eyes flicker from his to his lips. All you would have to do is lean up and your mouth could be on his. His gaze lowered to your lips as well. You wanted to give in so badly, you wanted to kiss him, to feel like his again - but you couldn’t do that to your friend. You broke his contact and took a step back. Eddie cleared his throat and looked at you expectantly.
“Did Chris say when she was coming to the show?” You ask, clearing your throat in an attempt to clear the thick, tense air. Eddie’s gaze went from soft and longing to hardened. Eddie looked to the floor and shifted his weight.
“I-uh I don’t know… I haven’t talked to her in the past couple of days.” Your eyes doubled in size.
“What do you mean? What happened that day after lunch?”
“I don’t want to talk about it” Eddie turned to stalk back behind the wings of the stage. You pulled his arm back and turned him towards you.
“Eddie, please. What happened?”
“She said she didn’t want to go to prom with me, okay? Are you happy now? Is that what you fucking wanted to hear?” His voice boomed through your skull. His eyes were glassed over, dangerously close to spilling tears, like yours have already started to do. He had never talked to you like that.
“Wha-what do you mean?”
“Oh don’t be so naive. You’re fucking happy that Chrissy doesn’t want to be seen with me. This is what you wanted the whole time, right?
“What the fuck are you talking about?” you whisper to him, tears free flowing. “Why the fuck are you coming at me now when you just wanted to kiss me? I know you felt that too and you can’t deny that to me” You yell at him with a shove. You were shaking. You wanted to pour your heart out to him now, tell him how angry you were and admit that maybe you were happy that things weren’t picture perfect for them. But it wasn’t worth it now.
“You know what, Eddie? You both deserve each other. Have a great show” you turn away from him, panting. You felt like you were going to fall to the ground because your legs felt like jello. Eddie grabbed you by the shoulders. You both looked into each other's eyes, glassy with emotion. For the first time in what seems like forever, you could not tell what Eddie was thinking. His eyes clouded with conflict, with anger, but with something else you couldn’t quite decipher. His lips quivered and his cheeks were flushed.
You felt like your head was going to explode. What was going on? You felt like all of your weight, your body and soul were all dependent on Eddie holding you up. In one swift movement he pulled you in and his lips were on yours. Your whole body tensed, your eyes remained on his face. It was so wrong. This wasn’t supposed to happen like this. But as much as your mind was screaming at you, his lips felt perfect on yours, like they were made to be there. Your heart was on fire and you felt like you might crumble into tiny pieces. But this is not how it was supposed to be.
You pull away and look at him. His eyes were beautiful. The glow of his chocolate irises were back. He looked at you like you were his world, but he looked guilty.
You slapped him across the cheek. You turned around and you paced back to the dressing room, leaving Eddie there with a burning cheek and a hole in his own heart. He walked backstage.
“Fuck!” He yelled and punched the cinderblock wall, making his knuckles bleed. He trudged back up to the booth to prepare for the show, the feel of your lips on his lingered on his like a tattoo.
You took your final bows with heavy applause. Your heart felt warm and finally you felt like things were falling into place for you. The stage is where you belonged and where you felt the most like yourself. You had almost forgotten that you were standing in the very spot where Eddie Munson kissed you for the first time three hours prior. He shouldn’t have done that. You shook the memory out of your head. He didn’t matter right now, this was your time. You gestured up to the booth for their applause and there your gaze met Eddie’s. He was beaming, both dimples showing from the sides of his cheeks. For a moment, you saw your proud best friend. You saw the boy you made friends with in seventh grade art class and you saw the boy that came and knocked on your door to see if you wanted to go to the arcade with him. You beamed back at him, in hopes that he felt those same feelings as well. You eyes cast down to the audience and you searched for the other face you were so wishing to see. Chrissy was nowhere to be found. Instead, you saw another mop of shorter dusty brown curls and four other hellfire shirts to accompany him. Gareth whooped when you took your final bow. Your heart soared. You finally found your moment.
The Hellfire club waited for you in the hallway outside of the auditorium. Jeff and Gareth each wielding bouquets of flowers to give you. The freshmen were buzzing about the performance. You ran to them and embraced them in a big group hug. You thought your face was going to break from how wide you were smiling.
“Holy crap, Y/N! You were amazing!” Mike gushed.
“That actually made me regret not going to more plays here” Gareth laughed and handed you the bouquet in his hands.
“Thanks guys. I am so happy you’re here” You were so relieved to be telling the truth from the bottom of your heart. It seemed like forever since you could be totally honest with yourself.
“Dude, we wouldn’t have missed it” Jeff offered his bouquet to him and you gave both older boys kisses on the cheek.
“Did I ever tell you guys that you’re the best?” You exclaimed, while you brought them in for another group hug.
“I’m just gonna run and grab my things from the dressing room and then we should go grab something to eat! I am starved!” You turned and trotted towards the stage door.
“Hey, Y/N wait!” Gareth ran up to your side
“What’s up?” Gareth shifted his weight and looked to the floor.
“I want you to know that we - I think you’re great.”
“Thanks, Gareth” you wrapped your hand around his wrist and gave it a squeeze.
“You deserve better than you’re getting, sweetheart.” Your smile faltered.
“What do you-”
“You know what I mean, Y/N…” Gareth implored. You nod.
“I know that I am not your first choice, but I was wondering if you wanted to go to prom together? I promise I am not in like love with you or anything, and I want to go with you as a friend, but I don’t want to see you go alone, or worse go with friends you don’t like or don’t show up at all because I think you could win pro-” You cut Gareth off by giving him a tight hug and when you pull away you give him a kiss to his cheek. Your eyes wet with gratitude.
“Gareth, I would love to go to prom with you” Gareth lets a long breath out and laughs.
“Okay, great. That’s really great… cool” You squeezed his shoulder and turned towards the door again.
“I’m gonna go grab my stuff and then we can talk more about plans over some food” You offered.
“Okay cool! Awesome! And Y/N? We’re all really proud of you. You shone out there.”
Gareth retreats back to the group to wait for you. Eddie had now joined the group, his face looked hardened. Why did you just give Gareth a kiss on the cheek? He knew, like him, that you were a tactile person. You showed your appreciation in physical ways, but he had never seen you be so close to Gareth. It bothered him more that it should.
“What was that about?” Eddie interrogated.
“Nothing man, I was just congratulating her.”
“Did she say anything about me?” Eddie pressed.
“...No? Why would she?” The rest of the group snickered at Gareth’s remarks. Eddie turned away. Not only was his mind racing, desperate to talk to you, but now he was embarrassed in front of his own group of friends. He couldn’t take being in the same room with you right now. He needed time to think.
“Alright, I’m going then.” Eddie stalked off to the double doors.
“Wait! You aren’t going to come out to celebratory dinner with us?” Dustin whined.
“Not this time. I got shit to take care of” Eddie retorted.
“Probably another hot secret date” Jeff poked at Gareth and they both laughed.
Eddie grumbled as he turned and opened the door to the parking lot, a cigarette already out of his pocket and in his mouth. He needed to find Chrissy.
It was 11:36pm. Chrissy had gotten home just an hour ago from an outing with Tiffany and Sarah. Her stomach was in knots, she was afraid her reputation was slipping. They had both made a comment about you sitting with the Hellfire club recently and she instantly went into defensive mode. She couldn’t handle them talking shit about you, her best friend and her boyfriend. The girls grilled Chrissy about why she had been being so nice towards the Hellfire seniors and started to put two and two together.
“Oh my god, did that Freak Munson put a spell on you or something when you went for that deal?” Sarah sneered.
“Holy shit! That would make sense as to why Y/N is spending so much time with him too. I heard she sucked his soul out of his-”
“Okay enough!” Chrissy boomed. She could feel her chest caving in. She hated hearing people talk about you that way, but she hated the idea of you and Eddie being together even more.
“He was really sweet and friendly to me when I went over to his trailer. He seems like a really nice guy. And Y/N is one of us, she wouldn’t do that with him.” Tiffany and Sarah sat with their mouths ajar, unwilling to believe that Chrissy would ever talk back to them like that.
“Oookay, Chris. Didn’t know you were like, in love with him” Tiffany teased.
“Ugh, as if. Let’s just drop it…” Chrissy mumbled.
She couldn’t sacrifice her already jeopardized reputation by being seen in the auditorium, where both you and Eddie would be. She wouldn’t be able to help herself around him. Her feelings towards the metalhead, although still conflicted, were growing stronger. She didn’t know how much longer she could hold out in keeping this a secret if she was going to actively be seen in public with him.
She had plopped onto her perfectly made bed with a new Danielle Steele novel when she heard a knock at her window. She looked up and her face contorted into the most beautiful look of surprise to see her favorite curly haired metalhead at the window. He looked like he lost his lucky DnD dice. She opened the window quickly and stood out of the way to let him stumble into her room.
“Eddie? What’s wrong, darling?”
“Are your parents home?” he grabbed her waist and began to back her into her wall.
“Ummm no, they’re out” Chrissy breathed. Eddie pressed his lips to her neck, moved his right hand up her torso as his left hand flicked the lock on her door.
You had tried to call Chrissy a few times after you had returned from the diner with the hellfire club. You were hurt and wanted to know where she had been. But most importantly, you wanted to tell her what happened between you and Eddie. Although you also felt your friendship slipping, this was something you couldn’t keep from her. You had showered your show hair and makeup off and had gotten yourself into comfortable pjs. The flowers the boys had got you sat neatly in a vase on your nightstand; they made you smile every time you looked at them. You had just closed your eyes and surrendered to sleep when your phone rang. You answered and you heard the cheery voice that you had been waiting for.
“Hey babe! How was the show?” So she did remember, but just decided not to show up.
“It was great Chris, but it would have been a lot better if you were actually there.” You tried not to sound angry, because in the long run, you really wanted her there. She hurt you more than made you mad.
“Yeah, I’m really sorry, I had this thing that I couldn’t get out of with Tiffany and Sarah. I’m sorry, you know I’ll be at the next one” She offered.
“What if that was the last one, Chris? You know what, I would rather not do this over the phone… Can I come over?”
“Oh.” Her voice dropped. “Yeah, Okay.”
“I’ll be there in 10.”
You knock on Chrissy’s door. Unlike her previous visitor, you knew you were always welcome at her house. She was quick to open the door. She looked perplexed, worried even. It wasn’t often that you saw her being anything but her shiny happy self. You knew something was very wrong. She knew too.
“Hi.” You offer
“Hi… come in” she opens the door wider to let you into her foyer. She holds her cardigan tight to her chest. You follow her up her stairs and into her bedroom. It felt so familiar but there was a tension that made this feel foreign. You sat yourself on the end of her bed while she perched herself on her vanity stool. Even though you were facing each other, you found it hard to make eye contact with each other.
“I need to tell you someth-”
“I feel like we need to-”
You both started talking at the same time and with an awkward chuckle, you stopped talking so she could speak.
“Eddie came over after the play” Chrissy whispered. You clenched your jaw.
“Oh, I couldn’t tell from the numerous hickies on your neck, Chris.” you poked. She wrapped her cardigan around her small frame tighter and kept her stoic expression.
“Eddie told me that you kissed him at the theatre” she said, her tone hard. You shook your head in disbelief.
“Is that what he really told you?” You pressed. She nodded her head, not being able to make eye contact with you.
“Huh. So what if I told you that he kissed me? That we had a fight over the fact that you won’t be seen in public with him? That he accused me of being happy that my two best friends in the whole fucking world were destroying each other, all while they pretend that I don’t exist anymore and just keep shitting on each others’ feelings, leaving me in the middle of this whole mess?” you started to raise your voice. You couldn’t believe that Eddie would ever lie about what happened, and you really couldn’t believe that Chrissy would believe him.
“That sounds like a real easy way to shift the blame, Y/N. You kissed my boyfriend” Chrissy snaps, tears threatening to spill.
“Bullshit, Chrissy! He kissed me! And I still don’t fucking know why! He kissed me, I pulled away, I slapped him in his stupid fucking face and I left.” You screamed. Your tears flowing freely. This had been the single most confusing night of your life. You thought that the two people you loved the most couldn’t betray you more than they already had.
“Well, that’s not the story that Eddie told me” She whispered.
“Yeah… it seems like Eddie told you that story all over your body, Chrissy” she gasped and lunged for her bedroom door. Your face twisted in disgust. He used you because he was mad at Chrissy, and the he used her to lessen the blow.
“Get out.” She sobbed.
“You tell me to leave right now, you are telling me that you believe Eddie’s word over mine - fuck, not even Eddie’s, a stupid fucking boy over my word. Me. Your best friend. The one who has been there for you since forever.” The air was thick. Both of your eyes were red and chests heaving.
“I do. I believe him.” Chrissy gasped.
You cackled as you stood up. You huffed out of her room and bound down her stairs. You opened and slammed her front door shut and climbed into your car. You sped out of her driveway and rounded the corner. When you got out of eyeshot from her house, you turned off your car, slammed your hands on your steering wheel and screamed at the top of your lungs.
You wanted to go see Eddie. You wanted him to tell you that it would all be okay. You wanted him to wipe your tears away and you wanted him to hold you with the same passion he did at the theatre. You wanted him to kiss you and tell you that you were right and she was wrong; but you also knew that she would be calling him right now and she would be getting the comfort you so desperately needed. You turned your ignition and started back to your house.
The next weeks of school seemed to bleed together. You felt numb. You had no play, no Chrissy and no Eddie. Every other day, Gareth would meet you in the library to eat lunch with you. You were so thankful for his friendship. You didn’t have the heart to tell him what happened with Eddie and Chrissy; knowing that it would cause yet another rift within their tight group. He also thought that it was best to keep the fact that the two of you were going to prom together between the two of you to prevent the same thing; But, he knew that Chrissy had pushed you to the side. You had secretly thought that she was waiting for a reason to ditch you as a friend, seeing as you weren’t what Chrissy envisioned as a perfect person to put on her social resume. You knew that the cheer girls were starting to treat her differently because you were friends and you didn’t subscribe to the jock way of life. Gareth was there to listen through it all, and although your heart was broken, it was comforting to know that you still had a friend that was willing to help you put the pieces back together. You were grateful that one of the biggest nights of the year was going to be spent with him.
May 1986
Your preparations had begun as prom week came. You took Gareth shopping for a new shirt and tie.
“Are you sure I don’t need like, a tux or something?” he questioned.
“Do either of us look like we are fancy or rich enough to be tux people?” you joked.
“Fair enough.”
“You are going to look awesome in whatever we find!” you praised. Gareth beamed back at you.
You walked through starcourt mall arm in arm. The sting from the past couple of weeks had become a dull ache and you started to appreciate the little things again. You had been bold enough to take your seat at the hellfire table last Friday and although Eddie looked at you quizzically, he didn’t say anything. It seemed like there was a silent agreement between the two of you, that you were both going to put what happened at the show behind you. As much as you both wanted to though, neither of you could forget. You both remembered each time you looked into each other’s eyes. Your conversations had begun to pick up again, they were surface level and short, but you were happy for the small sense of normalcy. You wondered if Chrissy did tell Eddie about the conversation the two of you had. But in your growth you decided that you didn’t need to know that, and worrying over it was just going to cause you more stress than it was worth.
As you and Gareth passed through the food court, a pair of chocolatey brown eyes fixed on your figure. Eddie had posted up at the mall with Steve Harrington, the former King of Hawkins High and adult friend to many of the Hellfire freshmen.
“Dude, you gotta relax.” Steve warned. Eddie’s jaw had instantly tightened and his body had stiffened when he had seen you and Gareth walking through the mall. Why the hell were you out with him?
“Why is she here with him? Why is she holding him like that?” Eddie sneered.
“Is… Is Eddie Munson Jealous? I thought you were boning the hottest girl in school?”
“Yeah boning. But we’re also dating and she doesn’t want anyone to know that”
“Shit, dude” Steve gulped.
“Yeah… Shit.” Eddie wished he had natural charm like Steve. Maybe it would make it easier for Chrissy to like him. He hated that he was questioning his whole person because of a stupid girl. But he really thought that he liked her. But how could she like him if she didn’t even want to be seen in public with him. Eddie ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated, overwhelmed and wanting to burn starcourt mall down if it meant that you wouldn’t be here with Gareth anymore.
You found Gareth a satin button up shirt and he stole a lavender bowtie that matched the color of your dress. You were finally laughing and joking faintly like you used to. It made Gareth’s heart soar. He cared greatly for you, but knew that your heart belonged to Eddie. It never stopped belonging to him, even if you told him repeatedly that you didn’t have feelings for the Hellfire leader. Even though he was hoping you weren’t going home with him on prom night, Gareth was more than happy to be taking you.
Tonight was the night. Eddie was sure that everyone in his graduating class was stirring with anticipation and excitement for what was going to be the best night of their lives. Eddie wasn’t as optimistic. He had put on his best black jeans (the ones with no holes in them) and was sitting on his bed, lazily strumming his guitar with a lit joint hanging out of his mouth while he waited for his wet curls to come to life. He didn’t want to go anymore. Chrissy had ensured the fact that she was going with Jason Carver meant nothing but keeping up appearances and that she would save a dance with him once she was crowned prom queen. Eddie felt like a charity case and had been feeling so increasingly often lately, Chrissy only daring to talk to him through notes left in his locker, or going to their hiding spot during their class breaks. Eddie was sure that he wanted to be in love with her. But when he kissed Chrissy, it didn’t feel like it did when he kissed you. He was so confused. Your relationship was finally amicable again, and he had the girl that he had been chasing after for years. But he was scared to see you tonight because he was worried he was going to mess everything up. He could be in love with Chrissy, but it seemed like Chrissy might not love him back. But maybe you did. Eddie let out a loud groan and flopped back onto his bed. He finished his joint and put on his burgundy dress shirt and put his arms through his vest. He put on his freshly polished rings and toed on his reeboks. He reluctantly started his van and began his drive to Hawkins High.
Gareth picked you up at 7 o’clock sharp. You answered the door with a bright smile and his face lit up the dusk behind him.
“Wow, girl. You look amazing!” Gareth looked you up and down. Your lavender sleeves landed just off of your shoulders, highlighting the pearls that rested on your collar bone. Your tiered skirt flowed and shimmered beautifully with the light.
“Says you! I told you you didn’t need to get a tux!” you slap him on the shoulder. To your surprise Gareth had showed up in a full tuxedo, sporting the shirt and tie the two of you had picked out.
“Yeah I know but my mom was so excited that I was going that she went out and bought me one anyway” You both laughed as you turned to take your polaroid camera off of the entryway table.
“Let's take a picture to commemorate the occasion” you tease. The two of you place your cheeks together and smile for the camera. The light flashes and you both giggle. You were so excited to be spending an evening with your friend.
“Jeff gonna meet us there?”
“One step ahead of you!” You heard from Gareth’s truck. Jeff stuck his head out of the back and gave you a huge smile and a wave. You laughed as you closed the door behind the two of you. Tonight was going to be a good night.
Chrissy had stationed herself at Tiffany’s directly after school to prepare for what was going to be the best night of her life. Sarah had snuck a bottle of champagne from her mother’s wine cellar and by 6pm, Chrissy could feel her own pulse in her head. She felt beautiful, she looked beautiful, but even her baby pink slip dress could not hide the insecurity on her face. The stakes were high and all she wanted was everything to go the way she wanted. Her glossed lips sank another flute of champagne while they waited for Jason and his posse to show up in the limo.
When you arrived, the Hawkins gym was decorated with tinsel and adorned with snack and drink tables on the opposite side of the stage. Your stomach fluttered at the excitement of being at your senior prom with some of the people you loved the most. You grab some punch and you Gareth and Jeff sit. Your head was on a swivel looking for a beautiful blonde, or a mop of brown curls, but to no avail. You took a big sigh and shook out your hands. Tonight was going to be a good night, you repeated to yourself. No one was going to ruin this for you.
“Wanna dance?” Gareth held his hand out to you. You gladly grabbed it and let him sweep you out to the dancefloor. He spun you and you laughed. Any thoughts of anyone else dissipated as you laughed and danced with your best friend.
Chrissy entered the gym in awe, teetering on her pumps, and brain fuzzy from the champagne. It was her night for a win and she knew that. She walked arm in arm with Jason, a smile plastered wide and eyes full of expectation. Her eyes faltered when she saw you smiling and laughing with your date, she didn’t remember his name. She longed to give you a hug and apologize. She wanted to dance and laugh with you, but she knew that now wasn’t the time. She needed to focus. Tonight was her night.
Eddie trudged into the gym, head already aching from the synth pop being played out of the large speakers. He grabbed a small flask out of his back pocket and took a swig. He sauntered over to the punch bowl and grabbed a cup, eyes scanning for two women. He found neither. Who he did find was his hellfire clubmates sitting at a table on the outskirts of the gym. Eddie tramps to them.
“Who let the freshmen in here?”
“Your guess is as good as mine” Jeff offers as he shakes Eddie’s hand “Looking good Ed. I didn’t know you even knew what a dress shirt was”
“Ha ha… I feel like shit. How long do we have to be here for?” Eddie whines
“Dude no one is making you stay! So have some fun with your friends would you?” Dustin scolds. Eddie scowls as he sinks into a chair at the round table. He immediately senses your absence. He looks around inquisitively.
“Where’s Y/N?” He asks. Jeff nods towards you on the dancefloor and Eddie’s heart stops. You looked absolutely radiant. He felt his hands get clammy and his chest got tight. You looked so happy and carefree. He missed seeing you like this, his girl the way he remembers you the best. He smiles to himself when he hears you laugh.
“Gareth, stop spinning me, I'm gonna throw up!”
His smile faded. Gareth? You were here with Gareth? He saw the mop head holding your hands and laughing with you. Suddenly, Eddie felt sick to his stomach. He could feel his pulse in his ears and he saw red. Jeff saw Eddie’s gaze harden.
“Eddie, don’t.” Jeff warns. “She’s having a really good time.”
Eddie didn’t respond. He took the flask out of his pocket and took a long swig. As he put it away, he stood up, vision locked on your dancing figures. Jeff sighed and put his head in his hands. Dustin and Mike looked at him confused. Jeff shook his head at them, implying that they didn’t want to know.
Eddie sauntered up to Gareth and grabbed his shoulder. Your smile faded as Gareth turned around to face Eddie.
“Hey, can we talk?” Eddie seethed through gritted teeth. Gareth looked at you apologetically.
“I’ll be right back okay?” He squeezed your hand and let Eddie guide him out of the gym. You were left in the middle of the dancefloor, too stunned to move or say anything. Dustin came to your side and asked if you wanted to sit back down with the club. You nodded, dazed, but followed after the two boys into the hallway instead.
Eddie pushed Gareth into the hallway and grabbed onto his lapels. You ducked around the corner so you were within earshot and close enough to help Gareth if he needed it.
“What the fuck are you doing Gareth?”
“What are you talking about, Munson?” Gareth pushed Eddie off and he began to smooth out his jacket.
“Why are you here with her?”
“What, like you were going to ask her to go with you?” Gareth challenged. Eddie looked at him dumbfounded. “Look, Eddie. If you really cared about her, you would let her have a good time tonight. You’re too busy with Chrissy lately anyway so I don’t know why this is suddenly such a big deal…”
Eddie clenched his fists and stalked towards Gareth. You covered your mouth to prevent the two from hearing your gasp.
“That’s my girl… you’re here with my-”
“Oh shut the hell up, Munson! She’s not your girl! Your girl is here with Jason fucking Carver. The guy that has been tormenting us for fucking years! Get your head out of your ass and stop playing with Y/N. She isn’t yours.” Gareth yelled. Eddie wracked out a sob and turned away from his friend. Gareth’s stomach sank and he watched his friend unravel in the hallway.
“I didn’t ask her here romantically, Eddie.” Gareth offered. “I care about her a lot, but I know that she doesn’t like me. I know exactly who she wants to be here with.” Gareth bores into Eddie, only hoping that their conversation will knock some sense into him. You slip back into the gym and sit with the hellfire club, mind racing thinking about what you just heard.
“If you’ll excuse me, I am going to continue to keep having fun with my friend.” Gareth stepped closer to Eddie and clapped him on the shoulder. “Get your shit together, Munson, and then try and enjoy yourself for once.” With that, Eddie was left alone in the hallway. He pulled at the roots of his hair, and let a string of profanities leave his mouth. It was better than punching a wall like last time.
Gareth returned to the gym and sat next to you with a smile, reassuring you everything was fine. Gareth whispered in your ear, telling you he wasn’t going to let anyone ruin this night for you or him and that it was time to have fun and forget about everything happening outside of this night. You couldn’t agree more. You wrapped your arms around his neck and gave him a thankful hug. He laughed as the two of you positioned yourselves towards the stage as the principal announced the prom king and queen would be crowned shortly.
Eddie slithered back into the gym, his arms crossed and a grimace glued on his face. He saw Chrissy and although his heart should have skipped a beat, it did nothing. She looked beautiful, gorgeous even. But she wasn’t you. But you made it clear, and Gareth made it clear. You weren’t his and you didn’t owe him anything. You deserved to have a good night and as much as he wanted to take you away and drive off with you, he knew that couldn’t happen. So he would settle for his dance in secret, and the potential for some action after Chrissy got her ten minutes of fame.
As the microphone squealed and the gym quieted, Chrissy shifted in her chair restlessly. Her dress felt too tight, and Jason felt too close. She wanted the boy that made her feel the prettiest. She wanted the boy who would do anything for her to be beside her. She wanted to dance with the boy who told her that he adored her. Her eyes scanned around the gym and she saw him lingering against the back wall. She sent him a wave as she smiled brightly. He waved back but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. She thought she knew why he was so upset. He hated seeing her with Jason. She was starting to hate being here with Jason too. When Jason was called for prom King, he patted Chrissy on the thigh, gave her a kiss on the forehead and sauntered up to the stage to receive his crown. Chrissy felt like she was going to be sick. This was the single most important moment to her. Principal Higgins held a white envelope in his hands.
“And this year’s prom queen is…” He fumbled with the envelope.
You were rooting for Chrissy. You knew that you didn’t need to be, but there was part of you that was longing for your old friend back. Maybe her winning prom queen would bring her back from her orbit.
“Chrissy Cunningham”
Chrissy opened her perfectly glossed lips into a gasp. She stood timidly and strutted to the stage to accept her crown and flowers. She flashed a beauty pageant smile and wave and sobbed a thank you to the gym. You could tell that she was definitely not sober. You worried for her, but this was also your night. She was Jason’s problem, not yours. It gave you a small bit of relief to see Eddie was not in a matching baby pink getup to the blonde’s. They didn’t come here together. You knew you shouldn’t be holding out hope, but the scene he caused on the dancefloor and now this, you couldn’t help but be a bit hopeful.
Once Chrissy and Jason took a bow as king and queen, the DJ had spun a slow song. Gareth offered you his hand again and you happily accepted it. Dancing with Gareth had been the most fun you have had in a while. You both went to the dancefloor and dramatically rocked each other back and forth.
Chrissy left the stage and as Jason went to grab her to dance with her, she tossed her flowers to him and trudged across the gym in Eddie’s direction. Jason looked back to his posse confused, he followed Chrissy’s bouncy curls to the opposite end of the gym.
Eddie nursed his flask as dancers started to repopulate the space. He saw you get up with Gareth. He scoffed and took another swig of his flask. When his eyes returned to the mass of students, he saw a pair of bright blue eyes bounding towards him. He stood in shock, not knowing what Chrissy was doing. When she reached the wall he was leaning against, she stuck out a perfectly manicured hand to him, her face set with determination. She led him to the middle of the dance floor.
“Chris, wh-what are you doing?” Eddie breathed
“Shut up, Munson. W-we are gonna d-dance:” she slurred.
“We don’t have to-” She stopped him in the middle of the gym and wrapped her arms around his neck. He could see Jason fuming behind her and he smirked down at her.
“You’re ready to stir the pot aren’t you, doll?” Eddie chuckled.
“Yeah, I’m r-r-ready to start some, some shit b-because I-I love you, E-Eddie Munson.” Her blue eyes bore into him. Did he really just hear her properly? He felt like there was only one right thing to say.
“I, I love you too, Chrissy,” Eddie hesitated. Before he could wrap his head around what had happened, Chrissy pulled his head down to hers and planted a searing kiss on him. He quickly returned her offer and swiped his tongue over her lips. She deepened the kiss. Eddie felt like he was floating, but it didn’t feel like it was a good feeling. Chrissy tasted sour like wine and Eddie’s head pounded. But feeling this was better than feeling nothing. It was better than the emptiness he felt when he saw you being held by someone else. He kissed Chrissy like no one was watching, while in reality all of the gym had directed their gaze to the world's oddest couple they could imagine.
You swayed Gareth back and forth, laughing so hard your stomach hurt and your face felt like the smile was never going to leave. Once your laughs subsided, you pulled Gareth in closely and rested your head on his shoulder. You closed your eyes and hummed in content.
“Thank you, Gareth. This has been such a great night”
“You’re welcome, Y/N. I am having so much fun with you” Gareth rubbed small circles into your waist as you turned slowly. You opened your eyes and you instantly stood up, your body tensing under Gareth’s touch.
“Hey, what’s wr-” Gareth turned to look behind him and saw the picture perfect way to ruin your night. Gareth stiffened and grabbed your hand. You didn’t want to look but you couldn’t avert your gaze. You felt like you were going to be sick. Gareth grabbed your hand and whispered in your ear.
“Let’s go get some fresh air, okay?” You nodded your head and let him lead you out of the gym.
As Eddie broke his kiss, the first thing he saw was you taking in their display. Then he saw you turn and leave the gym with Gareth’s hand in yours. Eddie grabbed Chrissy’s hand and kissed it and ran out of the gym after you.
You refused to let the tears fall. You didn’t want to ruin your night with Gareth and you didn’t want to give Eddie and Chrissy the satisfaction. Why would he look at you the way he did, why would he say those things to Gareth? Why would he call you his girl? Gareth could tell you were trying to process, so he squeezed your hand to ground you and remind you he was here for you.
“Y/N” you hear a familiar voice ring out. The voice you wanted to hear the most and the least. You turn to find Eddie standing in the middle of the empty hallway. Gareth gripped onto your hand tighter, a scowl setting on his face.
“What do you want, Eddie?” you manage to squeak out.
“I-I’m sorry” he huffed. “I’m so fucking sorry”
“For what, Eddie? For being defensive all night, telling Gareth that I’m your girl?” Gareth and Eddie both tensed. “For knowing that my heart fully belongs to you and you actively shitting on it? What is it?” You were angry. You deserved to be angry. This time, it was Eddie’s turn to cry. You walked towards him, cheeks growing hot. You came chest to chest with him when you heard the gym door fly open.
“E-Eddie, my love?” Chrissy giggled. She stopped when she saw the three of you in the hallway. “Oh no.” She murmured.
“Chrissy, go back inside. I’ll be there in a minute.” Eddie ordered. You scoffed and rolled your eyes. Tears are now dangerously close to ruining your makeup.
“Hmmmm, no. I think I wanna st-stay for this Teddy” she cooed. She stumbled towards him and threw her weight on him.
“Yeah, Teddy. She might want to stay for this.” you sneer. You could feel your blood heating up, your hand tightening on Gareth’s.”Why did you kiss me in the theatre?” You take a step back as Eddie opens his mouth to speak and closes it again. “Tell me it wasn’t because you were in love with me and I’ll walk away right fucking now.” you sniffle.
“He didn’t love you, babe. He only kissed you b-back b-because he f-f-felt bad for you. That’s what he told me” Chrissy hiccupped. Eddie looked at you, his eyes now freely flowing.
“Y/N… Please” Eddie begs. You laugh at him.
“Is that the truth Eddie? Is that how you really feel? Or is that what you told Chrissy to feel better about the fact that you kissed me, and you didn’t want to stop?” You spit.”Or was it what you told her to get in her pants without any punishment?”
“Please don’t do that” Eddie whispered. You start to back away with Gareth. Eddie tries to peel Chrissy’s arms off of his torso.
“I’m leaving right now Eddie and you have a choice to make. You can come with me and that will be enough of an explanation.” You stood strong and dropped your hand that was holding Gareth’s. He whispered your name softly. You turn to him and smile tightly to let him know that it was okay. You turn back to Eddie who stands still.
“Eddie, lets gooooo.” Chrissy whines.She began to pull his arm back towards the gym. His feet feel like they weigh a thousand pounds. He looks to you, completely heartbroken as your gaze hardens at the drunk prom queen hanging around his body. You chuckle as he lets Chrissy pull his body back towards the gym.
“Great. We’re done.”
You hear Eddie release a broken Sob as you grab Gareth’s hand and walk through the double doors.
Chrissy finally drags him back towards the bustling music and plastic tinsel of the gym. He felt like he could throw up. How could he just let you walk away?
Gareth opens his truck door open for you and helps you get seated in the passenger seat. He stands in between you and his truck door. He kissed your forehead and began to run his hand up and down your arm.
“Do you wanna go home, sweetheart?”
“You know what, a milkshake sounds really fucking great right now” you smile. Gareth laughs and you eventually join him.
“Milkshakes coming right up.”
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Bubblegum Kisses: Koby x F!Reader
Tags: nsfw, fluff, "there's only one bed" trope, dry humping, penetrative sex, accidental creampie, and accidental ruined orgasm
Koby rehearsed the scene repeatedly in his mind as he approached the meeting room. He would attend the briefing, maybe offer a few words to his superiors afterward, and then leave.
That was the plan.
He had to follow it this time.
When he pushes open the grand doors to the meeting room, he tries his best to only look for his chair and keep his eyes down, but, yet again, he can’t help himself. As soon as he takes his seat, his eyes scan the room.
And they finally stop searching once he sees you talking with some high-ranking officers.
His eyes rake over your features; your soft-looking skin, beautiful eyes, and fantastic figure are all he can focus on. ma
Ever since you started attending these meetings a month ago, he couldn’t help but be distracted! He would usually zone out, thinking about how he would approach you or his opening line, only for him to dip out of the meeting room and never say a word to you.
If it wasn’t painfully obvious, he had a massive crush on you. However, he knew he shouldn’t pursue it.
After all, you were a relative of Sengoku. And while he was no longer the Fleet Admiral and your relation to him was distant, it would still be messy for him to become involved with you.
He tries to clear his head, shake it off and all that, but his heart starts to race when your eyes meet his from the other side of the room.
He looks away quickly, trying to appear as though he is busy with something else, but when he peeks at you again, he notices you walking his way,
His heartbeat is in his ears as he perspires; surely you weren’t coming over to him. He continues this game of his, eyes glancing back and forth between you and the table in front of him.
But as you come closer, his face grows red and his head dizzy.
And when you finally sit next to him, well, he almost faints.
“You’re Captain Koby, right?”
“Uh, y-yes-“
Koby almost dies of shock when you take his hands in your own, your eyes wide with excitement, “It’s a pleasure to meet such an amazing hero!”
Koby clears his throat, trying his best to be polite, “W-Well, I’m not all that special; it’s really all thanks to Vice Admiral Garp and his training-“
You hold his hands even tighter, leaning in as you heap on the praise, “You’re too modest; You saved so many lives at the Rocky Port Incident, and-!”
You’re quickly silenced by Fleet Admiral Sakazuki, who clears his throat, ordering the start of the meeting. You smile at Koby and release his hands, turning to give Sakazuki your full attention. Koby just stares at his hands in awe.
The meeting is about general things: where to deploy ships, major incidents that recently happened, and the ever-growing list of dangerous pirates.
Koby is intently listening before he feels something graze his thigh. He jumps and hits his knee on the table, causing a few eyes to glance his way. Koby gives an apologetic nod, trying to eliminate any awkwardness, but the remnants of confusion and disapproval from the others who noticed are still there.
Looking at his lap, he sees a tiny, folded piece of paper. He glances back at you, who is eagerly waiting for him to unfold it.
He gives a timid smile before picking up the paper, unfolding it before reading a simple sentence:
“These meetings are so boring, aren’t they?”
He read it a few times before finally registering what was happening. A blush creeps over his cheeks, and his chest tightens as he tries to play it cool.
Eventually, he starts mentally drafting his response. He takes a pen from his jacket pocket and begins to write back.
Folding it along its previous creases, he slides it back to you.
You two pass the note back and forth like this for quite some time, and it’s clear that some people notice this exchange. But nobody says a word, not wanting to interrupt the Fleet Admiral.
Little giggles and snorts are kept quiet as you two exchange written words, the conversation flowing naturally. You give your name, and while Koby already knew it, he didn’t want to say so for fear of sounding like a creep.
Though, what he didn’t know was why you were attending these meetings. They were for higher-ups, and you didn’t fit that description.
When Koby asks, you answer gladly, explaining that your role would soon be assistant to the new Fleet Admiral. These meetings were just to prepare you for everything that was to come.
After getting the topic of work out of the way, you two talked about yourselves on a more personal level. You discussed hobbies, interests, and things of that nature.
As the meeting comes to a close, you pass the note one last time. Koby unfolds it and furrows his brow as he reads a string of numbers, followed by: “Let’s talk some time!”
Koby’s eyes bulge, and his face turns scarlet. He goes to look at you, but when he does, your attention is strictly on whoever is delivering the final words.
He pockets the letter.
_____
That was months ago, and since then, word had spread of you two communicating outside of work often. People had spotted you both getting lunch, enjoying time by the beach, and generally being a bit too close to each other (though it was usually you initiating the close contact)
Rumors began to fly, and eventually, they made their way back to Koby. Sometimes people would say you were just friends. Other times it was lovers. And sometimes, it was partners.
Koby was greedy and wanted them all to be true.
But he had an internal struggle; he wanted to ask you to be his, yet he was always warned to never date within the Marines. Work relationships growing romantic always complicated things, and he didn’t want to make things messy. It was something he had been mulling over endlessly, many sleepless nights caused by this dilemma.
But tonight, he knew he had to say something when he saw you under the gate of Sabaody Park clad in a cute, short dress and Mary Janes.
He would confess to you; it was decided.
He just needed to think of when.
“Koby!” You called, waving your arms, “Over here!”
When he reaches you, you do a wide spin, your dress’s skirt twirling, “What do you think?”
“You look great!”
Koby almost leaves it there, but he gets a sudden idea.
“But you know, something’s missing…”
You tilt your head, and Koby reaches behind his head, untying his bandana before placing it behind your ears, tying it behind your head like a headband.
“There!” He steps back and admires you again, “It matches your dress perfectly.”
Your smile radiates warmth, and your fingers hover over the new accessory, “Oh, thanks!”
Koby’s heart pounds when you reach for his hand. While you always held his hand, it never got old for him.
“Let’s go!” You exclaim, dragging him towards the gate, “I’m gonna totally crush you at these carnival games!”
“Oh, we’ll see about that!” He laughs, following your lead.
The day turns to night quickly. You weren’t sure how long you had been there, but the fun you shared made the time fly by all too fast.
After riding the biggest rollercoasters and eating enough junk food for the year, you both make your way to the exit. You hug a plush that Koby had won for you in the shooting gallery and skip happily along.
Koby’s chest tightens as he watches you walk ahead, your dress swaying with the motion of your hips. His heart hammers to the beat of your steps, the clicking of your heels and his internal drum creating a frantic rhythm.
His mind races as he parts his lips and shuts them once more; he’s hesitant to say what he wants, but eventually, he works up the courage to speak.
“Hey, uh,” Koby clears his throat, causing you to slow down and look back at him. He stiffens up and stutters a bit, “I had a really fun time tonight-“
“Me too!” You say cheerily.
Koby wants to say more, to say how he wants the next time to be an actual date or that the next time you hold hands, it’ll be as partners, but your voice cuts through his hesitance.
“And,” you lean in, balancing on your heels, “There’s more fun to be had!”
You grab his hand and guide him along the path that leads out of the park.
He decides to hold off on his confession a bit longer.
Koby laughs as you tug him, “Where are we going now?”
“Just wait; you’ll see!”
Eventually, you two approach a massive building. Koby tilts his head back to observe it thoroughly. The gigantic structure is pale, with countless arched windows and balconies. Silhouettes from the inside are illuminated by dazzling lights as they glide around the interior. At the top is a blue roof, and the corners of the building are decorated with smaller dome-shaped summits.
“Ah, what’s this?” The pink-haired man asks, following your lead as you proceed.
“A hotel!” You beam happily, “I hear they have an amazing restaurant, and I wanna get room service!”
“O-Oh,” he laughs nervously, “You reserved a room?”
“Is that bad?” You crease your brows with worry and stop in your tracks, “I thought you’d like some time away from that marine ship and the food.”
“N-No, I appreciate it!” He reassures you, and your sad-looking face brightens immediately, “I just, well, what are the arrangements like? Are we sleeping here or…?”
You nod, “Yeah! Don’t worry. Some strings were pulled, so it’s not terribly expensive or anything! And it’s only for the night; you can go back to your duties in the morning.”
As you turn back around, continuing to guide him, Koby’s mind races with varying thoughts, some more vulgar than others, as he imagines sharing a room with you for the night. Of course, you’d be in separate beds, but a man can dream, right?
As you both approach the grand doors, a man out front scurries to open them, inviting you inside. The pale floors are perfectly polished, and your images reflect across the smooth marble. The lounge has many plush-looking couches, with little wooden side tables for guests to leave their drinks and pocket-sized trinkets. Koby watches as people wander around the space, some pointing upwards to admire the large chandeliers that dotted the ceiling.
Koby appreciates the fantastical lounge while you bounce ahead to the receptionist, sorting out the arrangements and grabbing the keys quickly. When you return, you squeal happily, presenting the keys to Koby with delight, “We’ll be pretty high up, so we’ll have an awesome view! Come on, let’s go see it!”
The trip to the room makes Koby’s heart race, and his palms begin to sweat. Being alone in a hotel room with you… it was too much for his heart to handle. And, when you reach the door and unlock it, all the impure thoughts bubble to the surface because in the large room sat only one bed.
“Oh!” You exclaim, “There must’ve been a mix-up. I swore I asked for a two-bedroom suite…”
“W-Well, we should get this fixed! I can go back downstairs and-”
You walk into the room and sit on the bed, slipping off your heeled shoes, “It’s alright! I don’t mind sharing a bed.”
“B-But-!”
Koby protests but you just laugh, “It’s fine! Really! Unless the idea makes you uncomfortable?”
“I-It’s not that. It’s- well-“ Koby stutters uselessly, trying to find a way to express why he wants to change rooms. But when he sees your cute face and confused expression, he decides he can handle this if it’s just for one night…
“It’s nothing,” Koby grins reassuringly, “Let’s just order that food and get some rest, okay?”
You give a wide, toothy grin.
____
“Oh, that was so good!” You exclaim, throwing yourself into the fluffy bed, your head hitting the pillows.
Koby sits on the edge of the bed, nodding in agreement, “Much better than what we eat on the ship, that’s for sure!”
“But all this food is making me kinda sleepy…” you yawn, rolling over onto your side so you are looking at the pink-haired marine.
He smiles softly and rises from the bed, “Go ahead and sleep then…”
You prop yourself up on your elbows, “Where are you going?”
“Huh?” He looks at the bed and then back at you, “Oh, I’m just going to sleep on the floor. It would be rude not to give you the bed and-“
You pout and reach your arms out, “Nooooo, stay in bed with me.”
His face turns red at your words, and he laughs a bit, “No, I shouldn’t-“
“Why not?” You huff, crossing your arms, “You’d sleep next to Helmeppo if you had to share a bed.”
“That’s different.”
“How?” You protest, “I’m your friend too.”
“Well, it’s different because- well- because-“Koby stumbles through an excuse hopelessly, trying to formulate something quick.
But you’re quicker.
“It’s because I’m a girl, isn’t it?” You whine, “C’mon, it’s only weird if you make it weird.”
“I-I’m not making it weird. I’m just, ah, well-“
“I’m not going to do anything to you if you’re worried about that-“
Knowing you, you didn’t mean that sexually, but the implication makes Koby’s face hot.
“N-No, I know that- I know you wouldn’t! That’s not- it’s not-”
“Then what is it?”
Koby’s chest grows tight as he’s backed into a corner. He can’t lie to you, so he timidly whispers, “I just… really like you…”
His heart is in his throat as his feelings are finally released into the universe. The room feels as though it’s spinning, and Koby’s brow becomes wet with sweat as he waits for your response.
“I like you too.” You say bluntly, “But isn’t that why we should be able to share a bed?”
He shakes his head, “N-No, you aren’t understanding.”
He inhales deeply before continuing, “I… really like you, and it would be wrong if I slept next to you with those feelings in my heart.”
Koby babbles as you sit up and rise from the bed, approaching him slowly.
“It would be perverted and messed up, and I couldn’t take advantage of your trust like that-“
You press your finger to his lips, silencing him effectively, “And like I said, I like you too…”
Koby is stunned when you let out a little giggle, leaning in so your lips are mere centimeters from his.
“And I’d love to share the bed with you.”
Koby’s throat goes dry, and his lips quiver as yours are so tantalizingly close.
And, without further hesitation, he closes the gap.
You gasp in shock as he kisses you. It’s sudden and desperate, his lips pressed against yours with a strangely assertive force. His hands rest on your hips, and your face burns at the intimate touch.
He quickly breaks the kiss, “S-Sorry, I should’ve asked to do that. Please, forgive-“
You cut him short with a kiss of your own, your arms wrapping around his neck as you kiss him with a fiery passion. The young man is taken aback by your boldness, but he melts into the kiss, bringing you closer. Your chest presses against his body, yet you feel you’re not nearly close enough.
You slide your tongue over his lips, and he jolts in surprise. He parts his lips, gliding his tongue over yours. When you moan into his mouth, he feels his cock harden in his pants.
And you feel it too.
Koby is the first to pull away again, and he looks at you in embarrassment, “Sorry about, um, that. I-I can’t really control it-“
“It’s okay.” You smile sweetly, your hands trailing down his chest.
He groans softly, reaching for your hands as if to push them off, “God, I don’t think I can control myself like this.”
“What do you mean?” You ask softly.
“When I kiss you, it makes me excited, and- and I don’t think I can trust myself to be a gentleman if we do that again, so please- please,” he pleads with you, “Tell me to stop-”
You look up at him innocently, your lashes fluttering as you say the words:
“But I don’t want you to stop.”
And with that, his restraint snaps.
In a flash, you’re lifted off the ground and pressed against the wall, Koby’s lips attacking your neck now. He licks the exposed skin, placing firm kisses along the damp trail.
His hands are grabbing at your ass, massaging and kneading the flesh, and your legs are wrapped around his waist, drawing him closer.
You moan when you feel his growing bulge prod against your clothed pussy, your warmth growing wet. And when he begins grinding against you, you grip his shoulders tight.
Your lips find each other again, and the reunion is frantic, your mouths desperately moving against each other. Your tongues dance, and your saliva mixes, your combined sounds echoing throughout the room.
When you grind your hips against him, he bucks desperately, trying to gain as much friction as possible.
“Shit,” he hisses under his breath, “That feels so good-“
“Can we… do it without the clothes in the way?”
Koby nods, your wish sounding like music to his ears. He carries you to the bed and lays you down slowly, his hands sliding up your thighs to your panties.
He peels the garment off slowly, watching your expression to ensure you aren’t having second doubts. But you bite your lip excitedly, spreading your legs even wider.
As Koby fumbles with his shirt and pants, you slip off your dress and bra, leaving you only in his green bandana. You crawl further up the bed, your head resting against the pillows as he settles between your legs. Your eyes travel to his exposed cock, the organ twitching above your entrance.
He leans forward to kiss you again, his muscular chest and solid abs pressed against your soft body. A moan bubbles up from your chest as he hooks your legs around his waist, his cock sliding effortlessly between your soaked lips.
He grinds against your slit, his tongue exploring your mouth as he rocks back and forth, his member twitching and pulsing.
In a sudden twist, you roll him onto his back and take charge, pinning his shoulders to the bed as you grind your hips into him.
“Oh,” he laughs breathlessly, “You’re so bold-“
He brings his hands to your hips, guiding you as you rock your wetness against him. You press your forehead against his, your eyes flickering back and forth between his eyes and his lips.
As your movements grow more desperate, he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you further onto him so the pressure is more intense.
Your new lover begins to lose himself, his grip growing tighter and his soft grunts turning into full-on moans as his cock aches, desperate to cum.
Though your hips grow more frantic and without meaning to, you take his tip inside.
“Oh shit-“ he gasps, “Wait, wait- we shouldn’t- I don’t have a condom-“
“You can just pull out, can’t you?”
“Mmn, but,” he weakly protests, clearly not even convincing himself, “It’s dangerous-“
“I’ll just take the tip,” you smile, “It’ll be easy to pull out in time that way.”
“Alright,” he nods, “Just the tip. T-That should be fine…”
Koby bites his lip as you slowly begin riding him, your walls enveloping his swollen, pink head. He grips your hips but tries not to force you down too much lest the whole thing slips in.
But god, did he want you to take every inch of it.
The urge to fuck you only grows as you take a bit more than you promised, more slowly slipping in each time you move downwards. Koby knew you didn’t mean to do this, but it drove him crazy.
And when he watches your face contort in pleasure as you rub your clit, your breasts jiggling with each little thrust and bounce, he feels his self-control going out the window.
You two move your bodies together like this for quite some time, but when you part your lips to call his name, he can’t resist anymore.
He’s only human.
In one smooth motion, he forces you down onto his cock, burying himself balls-deep in your cunt.
“Koby-!” You squeal in surprise, your eyes fluttering as he filled you up, “But you said-!”
“I changed my mind-“ he grunts, “I-I’ll still pull out, promise-“
He wastes no time destroying you, his hips slamming upwards and his hands holding your hips in place. You squeal and moan loudly, but Koby’s grunts closely rival your volume.
“So wet-“ The young captain moans out, “A-And tight- Oh god, you feel so good-“
You mewl at the praise and fall forward, your body resting against his as he fucks into you. You bury your face in his neck as he pummels your inner walls; you’re shocked at how rough he is, but you love the feeling.
“Koby! Oh-!” Your voice grows louder still, your words shakily coming out, “A-Ah, it’s so deep!”
Your squeals become louder as his hips piston in and out, his rhythm becoming less consistent and more erratic.
Loud creaks sound out as the force of his thrusts rock the bed. Your moans and his grunts drown out the sound, though, as the headboard slams against the wall.
His cock batters your cervix, his sensitive tip mashing your deepest walls. Your insides begin to twitch and tighten, your orgasm fast approaching.
“I’m cumming-!” You warn him, and somehow, someway, his hips snap upwards even faster, causing you to almost faint when you finally reach your climax.
He fucks you through it, only slowing once he’s certain you’ve ridden your high to completion.
You pull yourself off his cock, his shaft coated in your slick with a thick ring of cream built up around the base. Your legs are shaky, but you sit back on your heels, your eyes glued to his still-hard, red cock.
“You didn’t finish yet-“
He shakes his head, his chest rising and falling, sweat glistening over his naked body.
“No, but I still have energy to spare,” he laughs, “if you want to keep going.”
You smile and lean forward, resting on his body as you take his lips with yours. You two kiss, his hands traveling all over your body, his thick fingers eventually settling in your hair as yours grazed his chest.
Koby flips you over so he’s on top now, his cock rubbing against your slit as it did before.
“Ah, wait…” he perks up, grabbing a spare pillow and placing it under your ass, “I hear that makes it feel better for you..”
You watch with curious eyes as he runs his thick head over your needy clit, your parts effortlessly slipping and sliding against each other thanks to your cum lubricating his cock.
He prods your hole, teasing you for a moment before slowly sliding in, only stopping once his balls are pressed flush against your ass.
You let out a pleased sound as he rocks his hips, his pace much more controlled now. His eyes meet yours, and he holds your hip with one hand, the other holding your hand.
He dips down to kiss you, and suddenly, his hips roughly snap forward, drawing a gasp from you.
He pulls back and does it again and again, the headboard of the bed knocking into the wall once more, your moans filling the room. The creaks and lustful sounds create an intimate, filthy song that continues for what feels like hours.
“You sound so good,” he rasps against your lips as his hips more at a steady pace, “So pretty- oh my god- you feel so good- fuck, I love you so much-“
Koby leans forward and captures your lips again, his thrusts becoming less consistent and more erratic as he approaches his climax. You grip his shoulders, hanging on for dear life as you enjoy the ride. His moans grow desperate, his cock twitching eagerly within you.
“I’m close-“ He pants out, “Oh fuck, I’m close-!”
He moves to pull out, but he’s too late, his first rope of cum shooting inside your pussy.
“Shit-!” He hisses, hurriedly pulling out. You watch as his balls tighten and his cock bobs excitedly, rope after rope decorating your lower stomach. You felt terrible as you had no doubt his orgasm was ruined by the sudden interruption.
He pants as he stares down at you, watching the white sticky seed oozing out of your cunt. It slowly starts to sink in what he’s done, and he begins to panic, running his hand through his hair as he curses under his breath.
“It’s okay,” You try to comfort him, “There’s a store downstairs in the lobby. I’m sure they have some, um, emergency contraception.”
Koby considers your words and calms himself, taking deep breaths before nodding, “Y-Yeah. Yeah- you’re probably right.”
He quickly adds, “I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to do that. I promise I’ll pay for it. It was my fault, so it’s only right-“
You can only laugh, “Don’t worry so much. It’s okay. Just… hold me before we go downstairs.”
Koby smiles and takes you into his arms, his warmth, and steady heartbeat making you feel safe.
“So uh,” he clears his throat awkwardly, “The answer is probably obvious but I just want to make sure: we are officially a couple now, r-right?”
You giggle, “I would like that… Would you…?”
“O-Of course!” He says excitedly, tripping over his words, “I would love nothing more!”
And you kiss his cheek with a smile.
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—everywhere, everything
keep my hand in yours ('til our fingers decompose)
pairing: daniel ricciardo x female reader
warnings: parent death, angst, language, driving under the influence, underage smoking/drinking
love, mackie... 6.6k. part two of this guy (but I think can be read stand-alone). I hope I make u all sad enough that you never ask me for a part two ever again <3
I hear you’re snooping around the old stomping grounds. I’d love to be there when you do it. Bring your dad if he’s free. It’ll be a good night, lots of strawberry wine—the real shit this time. All love, (always your) Danny.
— —
Danny is notably absent from your mom’s funeral. Granted, he is in Budapest at the time, and he had two races this weekend. You know this because you still keep tabs on him, even if he’s not yours to keep tabs on anymore, even if there’s nobody to blame for that but yourself.
If you didn’t know better, hadn’t spotted Grace, Joe and Michelle a dozen or so people back in line to greet you and your dad, you would have been able to convince yourself Danny didn’t have a clue your mom was even sick. She went quick, less than eight months from her death sentence to… well. From death sentence to death.
Two hundred and thirty-one days since her diagnosis means two-hundred and twenty-eight days since you broke things off with Danny. So even if he was in town, you probably wouldn’t have seen him. You wish you would have though, that he would have appeared in the plethora of grieving faces. Not for you, but for her. She always loved him, even before you did.
Grace’s arms feel like the light at the end of a dark tunnel when she finally gets to the front of the line. She squeezes you tight, the only way a mother knows how to, and you cry in her arms. Grace doesn’t tell you how sorry she is, or that your mom loved you so much, or that she’s in a better place now. She just hugs you and wipes away your tears.
“Danny wishes he could be here,” she tells you, but you don’t want to think about him and you don’t want to believe her.
“Tell him I said ‘thank you?’” you say, a forced smile on your face. It’s got to be the hundredth of the afternoon. If there’s one thing your mom is—was. If there’s one thing she was, it’s loved. Tell him I hate him, is what you wish you could say to Grace. Or maybe tell him I love him.
A million and two hugs later and you find yourself missing his arms more than you should. He was always a good hugger, and you could use a good hug right now.
— —
You showed up at the property fifteen minutes after the event started. You’d hoped to slip in and out, to at least be able to say you went, that you tried. You had no intention of trying to find Daniel, and you figured it would be easy to avoid him, especially if you showed up after everyone else did—it’s his show, he’s the man of the hour, everyone will be fighting for his attention.
You don’t even know why you came, really. Maybe it’s to figure out how the hell Daniel even got your address to send the invite in the first place. You’d moved half a dozen times since he last knew you. Or maybe it’s that you don’t believe, even after seeing it with your own eyes, that somebody actually had success with growing berries in the heat. It could be that you just… It could be simple, that you miss your Mom, and that everything about that place reminds you of her.
Whatever the reason, you put on a long, flowing sundress, tied your hair back, and slipped on a pair of comfortable sneakers and a denim jacket. You didn’t even bother to tell your Dad—knew he’d want to catch up with Daniel, or maybe want to strangle Daniel. You didn’t want to give him the chance to do either. You park on the dirt road that leads to the vineyard, because the parking lot is overflowing, a pattern you’re beginning to notice since he’d taken over.
The place looks the same as it did last time you were here. DR3 Wines still adorn the fleet of ATVs out front, and the wooden letters on the perfectly red barn are still perfectly white. You give your name to the woman working the door, regret it as soon as you catch her announcing your presence over the radio-headset she wears.
Momentarily, you consider turning around and walking right back to your car. But, you aren’t one to waste a good outfit, not if you’d gotten all dolled up like this, so you walk into the Barn with your head down.
It smells the same inside; wood, lavender, citronella and alcohol. There’s candles burning to make it feel cozy, but they do a poor job at changing the aroma in the air. The walls are still hung with photos, and the counter is still that slab of wood. It’s exactly the same as it was a few months ago, and manages to remind you of the place you grew up without wearing your childhood memories like a costume.
Daniel has always been easy to find in a room. He’s loud, his voice and his laugh vibrate off the walls of whatever room he’s in. He’s loud and he’s confident and sometimes it feels like he’s the only person in a room that’s really alive. That’s how it felt then, at least.
It’s been thirteen years since you last shared a space with him, but the fact you can hear his laugh on the other side of the crowded room assures you that while everything has changed, some things have stayed exactly the same.
You can’t see him, but man can you hear him.
You sign the guest book—proof, in case anybody asks. Proof that you did show up. It’s the top of a wine barrel, DR3 2023 branded into the oak—two tops, because so many people are here. It’s covered in signatures and messages from people he loves. You feel guilty even signing it, but you do.
Congrats Dan—your marker pauses. You scoff at yourself. Congrats Daniel. Time flies, 13 years! The place looks beautiful. Wishing you continued success, you write, finishing it off with your signature.
He still wears the same cologne, you realize, when you look up and he’s leaning against the table watching you write. He wears the same cologne, and the same smile, even if less crooked. Everything else about him is different. His hair is shorter, eyes older. His arms are covered in art, face is all together thinner, and his five o’clock shadow is less of a pipe dream and more of a full-fledged beard. He’s taller, maybe. Or you’re shorter. It doesn’t really matter, you suppose.
You purse your lips into a curt smile. He matches—you didn’t even know he could smile like that. “Hi, honey,” he says, leaning over to read your message.
“Hi.”
“Who’s Daniel?” He teases, the smile on his face growing into one you’re much more familiar with. You look back at your writing, but you don’t laugh. If anything, you’re sure you look a little scared. “I’m teasing.”
“I know,” you nod.
“Okay,” he nods right back, slow, apprehensive over your apprehension.
“Sorry,” you force out a chuckle. “I’m being so weird,” and you adjust the strap on your dress. He shoves his hands in his pocket, rocks back and forth on the sole of his shoes. Do you know how weird it is to be face to face with someone you were head over feet in love with? It’s really fucking weird. You put your best smile on your face, “Hi, sorry,” you continue, opening your arms for what you think might be the most awkward hug you’ve ever given.
He’s quick to pull his hands back out of his pocket, like he’s worried if he doesn’t act fast enough you’re going to rescind the offer.
His touch is uncanny; familiar and comforting and unsettling. It melts the years away and you feel just like you did some twelve years ago when you wished so desperately for one of his hugs. You’re nineteen again, and he’s twenty, and everything feels like it’s going to be okay.
“How are you,” he asks quietly, his arms tight around you. “You look great.”
“I’m okay,” you say over his shoulder, and then again, as if you’re trying to convince yourself: “I’m okay. How are you?”
“Oh, y’know,” he shrugs, pulling away from the hug, gesturing your question away. “Same old, same old.”
“Yeah,” you nod, even though you don’t know. Even though it’s been eleven years since you forced yourself to ignore his existence, since you last kept any sort of tab on him. You can’t get over how different he looks. How you’d still recognize him without a second glance. “You look different.”
He laughs, looks down at himself. At his arms, his hands. He can’t look at his face, but it’s different, too. “Yeah, I guess so, huh?” He keeps looking back at you every time he laughs. He makes sure you’re laughing, or smiling at least, before he lets his slip. “Is your Dad here?”
“No. He uh, he wasn’t feeling well.”
Once upon a time, Daniel could spot your lies from the other side of the vineyard. You get stiff and stuttery, he told you, it’s easy when you know what you’re looking for. That was once upon a time, though, and this is now. Now, you don’t know if Daniel remembers any of those little things about you.
His eyes go momentarily soft, worried, almost. “Just a cold, yeah?”
“Exactly.”
“Well, can I get you a drink? Give you a tour?”
You look around the place—not much to tour. Not when it used to be yours, not when one of his teenaged employees gave you a tour a few months back. He seems so excited about the idea, though, so you go along with it. “Sure. Yeah, that’d be nice.”
“Nice, awesome,” he says, looking around the place like he forgot where everything is. He claps his hands together, pulls them apart into a snap, and points at you with both hands. “Stay here? I’ll be right back.”
“Okay,” you chuckle, and it’s genuine. “Staying here.”
“I know you, Bee,” he says, walking backwards away from you. B. He totally knows you’re full of shit about your Dad having a cold. “Don’t try to sneak out while I’m gone.”
“I won’t.”
“You promise?”
You nod. “I promise.”
— —
You, Daniel, and your Mom worked the closing shift that night. When he was around, that’s almost always how it went, because the two of you were the only ones who’d worked there long enough to know how to properly close up without a babysitter.
Your Mom worked tediously in the office counting all the money—she was the slower counter of your parents, but it wasn’t like anyone was ever sitting around waiting on her. There was always something to be done, and Daniel was always good at making sure those closing tasks took up more than a chunk of the evening.
You’d cleaned inside, swept the floors and vacuumed the rugs and cleaned the tables and the counters. You washed glasses behind the bar and restocked displays. The landline on the counter rang while you were writing up the day’s inventory, and you almost didn’t answer it, but your parents had told you to improve on your customer-service skills, even when you or the customer weren’t on site.
To your surprise, the voice on the other end was Daniel’s. He was calling from the cellar, is too lazy to come over there to get shot down. “Is your Mom finished counting?” He asked, and you pulled the phone away from your ear to try and listen past the office door.
“I think so,” you say, bringing the phone back to your ear. “We should be heading out soon.”
Sometimes you feel like you can hear Danny’s smile. “You wanna do the lock check with me?”
You slot the phone between your shoulder and your ear, returning your hands to the task of finishing up your paperwork for the night. You needed to be done when he got here, or there was no chance your Mom let you go with him. “How do you know I’m done with my shit?”
You can hear the lull of the old beat up golf-cart engine in the background, can almost feel the vibrations, can see clear as day Danny sitting there, lounging on the leather seat—tanned skin, unruly hair, toothy grin. “You always finish fast so you can daydream about your boyfriend,” he says, turning the last word into his own little sing-songy ballad.
Your pen pauses on the paper, and you roll your eyes. “Jake isn’t my boyfriend.”
Danny laughs, and you roll your eyes again, pretend like you aren’t smiling. “Oh? But you knew who I was talking about!”
“Because you never shut up about him being into me.”
“Because he is!”
You set the pen down for good, now, grab the phone again because you want to make sure your next words come across loud and clear, even if it is the millionth time you’ve told him. “He’s my friend, Danny!”
“Oh, come on!” His laugh intensifies. “I don’t think a guy has ever been just friends with you.”
“You’re my friend, aren’t you?”
His laughter quells, and you’re sure he’s picking on the plastic of the steering wheel. There are so many scrapes on it from the same thing. He’s always picking at it, ever since you told him to give his poor nails a rest. He has to destroy something, you suppose—teenage boy and all—but you prefer a destroyed golf cart steering wheel to a destroyed Danny, so you let it slide. He sighs, and then he clears his throat, and the memory of your question dies in the silence. “Are you coming with me or not?”
“Are you coming to get me?”
— —
The air is chilly—nippy almost, especially with the sun dipping below the horizon like it is. You’re walking stride for stride with Daniel over the gravel path to the cellar, glass of sweet pink wine in your hand. He’s taking you to the strawberry field, per your request, because even after tasting it, even after telling you which field it’s in, you still don’t believe him.
“So,” he asks, one hand deep in his pocket, the other hanging in the space between your bodies. He’s very hesitant with you today, you’ve noticed. It’s nothing like the brash boy you called your first love. He’s gentle, softer, like he’s scared of his next words. “Who finally put that ring on your finger?” The threat of a smile is weak, but the idea of it alone is charming.
You look at your free hand, carefully decorated with several different rings. “Which one?”
He drops his head to his shoulder, gives you a pathetic smile and a matching chuckle. “The only one an ex-boyfriend would ask you about, Bee.”
The sunlight—the little bit that’s left of it—catches the diamond on your ring finger. “Oh,” you shrug, dropping it back to your side. “It’s Mom’s.”
“I know,” he nods solemnly, and your head shoots over to look at him. You don’t know why he would remember that. “Who put it there, though?”
A smile pulls on your lips, and you bury it in the lip of your wine glass. “I’m not engaged, if that’s what you’re asking,” you laugh. “I just wear it… I don’t know, it makes me feel close to her.”
Sunsets at the property have always been gorgeous. When you were younger, you thought that maybe it was the most beautiful place in the entire world. The blues and the pinks and the yellows all mix together into some grand watercolor and tonight is no exception.
The silence that lingers in the air should be awkward, but it’s not. It should be harder to be here, to watch the sunset, to walk the paths you have memorized, to stand next to Daniel after all these years. It’s not hard, though. It’s comfortable, like it was when you were sixteen and seventeen and eighteen and barely nineteen. Like it was all the time you knew him, even before you loved him.
“I’m sorry,” he finally speaks. “She was really cool.”
You chuckle softly. It’s a familiar routine, consoling those attempting to console you about her death. “That’s what everyone says,” you say, even though Daniel might be the first person to posthumously describe your mom as cool. Lovely, you’d gotten more times than you could count. Beautiful and kind and oh honey, she loved you so much, you knew already. She was really cool, that’s a Danny-original if you’ve ever heard one.
“I should have been at the funeral.”
“It’s okay,” you nod, because his presence wouldn’t have changed that your Mom was lovely and beautiful and kind and that she wasn’t around to be any of those things anymore. There wasn’t anything Daniel could have done to remedy that reality. “You were busy. We weren’t together,” and before he can come back with something, insists that it’s a bigger deal some decade later than it was, you change the subject. “What about you, though? Putting rings on anyone’s fingers these days?”
He laughs. A person can only get poetic about Daniel’s laugh so many times before it’s easier to just leave it at that. He laughs, everyone around him lights up, and he laughs some more. “Believe it or not, my work-life balance isn’t super great at fostering long-term relationships.”
You don’t exactly know what Daniel’s work-life balance looks like. The last time you paid any attention, he was racing with Toro Rosso. Every update you’d heard since had been one you weren’t looking for—commercials and posters and billboards and word-of-mouth; more than a couple ex-boyfriends and a few stray friends.
You never cared much about racing. It was Daniel you cared about.
There aren't a lot of specifics you remember about Daniel’s schedule, but you remember that he was almost always coming or going. There wasn’t much staying, and that was before he’d even made it to the big show. “You mean, women like it when their partners are around for most of the year?”
“They do, yeah,” he nods, dimples digging into his cheeks. “Crazy, right?”
“Crazy.”
— —
Danny didn’t go down without a fight. He caught what had to have been the first flight home—home, you’re not sure that he can call Perth home now that he doesn’t live here. He caught the first flight to you, threw wood chips at your window at three-in-the morning. He didn’t need to wake you up, it’s been two weeks since you had any kind of meaningful sleep. You spend the majority of your time in bed looking at the ceiling fan spin or staining the sheets with your tears.
You let him throw mulch for twenty minutes though, hoping that maybe he’ll give up and leave so you don’t have to face him.
You’d done the breaking up over the phone for a reason. It wasn’t that you couldn’t wait until whenever he was home next. You could. It was that you couldn’t break up with him while looking him in the eyes, and you knew it.
Eventually, though, you pull your pajama-clad frame out from under the warm covers, drag your feet the entire way to the window, pulling the curtains open just enough to confirm what you already knew—that it was him in the driveway. His entire face relaxes when he sees you there, forcing the window open. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“What the fuck am I doing?” He scoffs. “What the fuck are you doing?”
You cross your arms over your chest. The night air is cold and your pajamas are scarce. “I’m trying to sleep.”
He rolls his eyes, always dramatic, always over-the-top. “Come down here, honey.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
You stand there in silence, shivering in your bedroom window. He stands there in silence, thick jacket on and a handful of wood chips from the garden in your driveway. It’s a stalemate, and you don’t know which of you is more exhausted. Appearance points to him, but you dread that fact that you’re standing, that you’re tired enough to give up the fight this quick.
“Fine,” you relent, and it’s less than two minutes before you’re running into him on the back porch, slowly closing the sliding patio door behind you so as to not alert anyone else in the house of his presence. “What do you want?”
“Where are your clothes?” He asks, and is already taking his coat off to wrap around your frame. You huff and puff the entire time he’s doing it, because your lack of clothing was a choice—you were hopeful that he wouldn’t keep you long if you were shivering.
“What do you want, D?”
“I want you to talk to me,” he says. “Tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it.”
Your lip trembles, and you bite down on it to try and stop it, chew on the skin until you taste copper and then it still trembles. You don’t look at him, you can’t. “You can’t fix it.”
“No, no,” he argues, grabbing your elbow in a plea, stepping closer to you, speaking hardly above a whisper. “Just tell me, baby.”
You yank your arm away, tone a direct contrast to his when you insist: “You can’t fix it this time, okay!? Nobody can fix it.” You point an accusatory finger, like there’s actually something he’s done to deserve this. There isn’t, there never will be. “You can’t fucking fix everything just because you want to.”
He matches, points his finger at you, presses it into the middle of your chest. Your heart races. “You can’t just fucking break up with me because you want to.”
You swat his hand away, offended by the accusation that you wanted this, that any part of you is enjoying this, finding relief in this. You hate this. Fucking loathe it, but it doesn’t change any of the facts. “I don’t want to,” your lips downturn into a frown, all pathetic and trembled, and your voice cracks and shakes half as much as your lips. The tears that burn in your eyes are reflected back in his, tired and bloodshot and wet.
“Then don’t do it,” he pleads.
You gulp around the lump in your throat, voice leaving your body meekly through tears. “I have to.”
“No, you don’t,” he assures you quickly, his hands slotting on either side of your face, the pads of his thumbs wiping your tears, his fingers locking into the hair at the nape of your neck. He shakes his head before he speaks, brown eyes searching yours, begging you to change your mind. “You don’t.”
His hands on your face are what push you over the edge, turn you from poised and sniffly to half-wrecked—choking on sobs and swallowing snot. It all hits you at once, all the weeks of testing, the days of trying to come to terms with a diagnosis, the hours spent grappling with the fact that nothing will ever be the same about you. You’re changed, now, and you’re only going to continue to change. It’s not Daniel’s responsibility to see you through any of this fucking shit. “I do, I do,” you sob. “I have to, I’m so sorry, I have to.”
He presses his forehead against yours, your tears mixing with his every time your noses bump. It calms you, if only slightly, and your eyes close, mind focused on remembering this, on remembering what it feels like to have his skin on yours, to feel his voice in your bones, to breathe in the same air, the same space, the same atoms.
Your breath is shaky, but the pattern is steady. In, out. In, out. Your nose is so stuffed you can’t breathe through it. Your lips are all but touching his, a stray tremble holding the power to force them together. You don’t know if you want to kiss him or not, if it would make things better or so much worse.
He swallows hard, pulling your faces apart. “I love you,” he mutters softly, like a wounded animal, and then he presses a long, hard kiss into your forehead.
You sniffle, your hands holding onto his wrists. “I’m sorry.”
He nods, drops his arms, your hands falling into his. “Yeah.”
He lets your hands go, lets you go. You feel like you might be sick watching him walk down the steps of the patio, along the path of pavers to the gate. A shiver runs up your spine, and you pull his jacket closed over your chest. His jacket.
You wipe a new set of tears from your cheek with the back of your hand. “Your jacket,” you sniffle, “hold on.”
He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even turn back to face you. “Keep it,” he says, unlatching the gate and slipping through to the other side. You sigh, and then you cough, and then you cry some more before finally finding the ability to move again, to go back inside and up to your bedroom, and that was that. That was the last time you saw Danny. The last moment that he was yours.
— —
You’re walking back from the unbelievable strawberry field, quickly approaching the still lively barn, people and smiles and conversations pouring out into the adjacent spaces. Someone appears in front of you with a camera, with two cameras—one professional, and one a cheap polaroid. Smile, they said, and you laughed, your cheeks burning red.
Daniel slinks his arm over your shoulder, and you step closer to his side. He flashes a toothy grin and a shaka sign to the camera. You hear the shutter of the camera take a dozen photos, and then the photographer holds up the polaroid—one for the road, she says, and Daniel pulls you that little bit closer, you blush that little bit harder.
There’s a flash, and then you both relax, the photo printing out of the bottom of the camera. She holds it out Daniel, but he nudges you with his elbow to take it. You do, even though you aren’t sure you want it.
You shake the polaroid while the two of you make your way into the barn. “What do I do with this?” You ask, looking carefully at the developed print.
Daniel shrugs, leaning over. You flip the photo in his direction so he doesn’t have to lean as far, but he still does. “It’s cute,” he says. “You don’t want it?”
“I mean, I’ll take it, but…” But. But I’m going to throw it away when I get home. But it only reminds me of you. But it only represents what won’t be.
He looks to the wall of photos behind the counter, eyeing the display carefully. You follow his sight line, your eyes going to the exact place you remember the photos of you being. You don’t know why you’re surprised that they’re still there, like you knowing they exist means they’d vanish. “Hang it up,” he says.
You laugh. “Where?”
Daniel shrugs. “Anywhere you want.”
— —
The best part about only being able to afford cheap workers, was that you spent every day at the property with a new teenager looking to have just as much fun as you were. Between that, and the plethora of college kids that were constantly leaving to go back to school, to get a grown-up job, to get any job that paid more than your family could offer—there was always an opportunity for going away parties. And party, you did.
You and your coworkers turned friends had slept down by the river more summer nights than you could count, hiding six-packs in the staff locker-room and hiding ziploc bags of joints behind the six-packs.
Tonight, the going-away party is to honor someone whose face you won’t remember in a year, much less thirteen. He’d worked there for the holidays and not much more, and there wasn’t much memorable about him.
The bonfire on the back of the property snaps and crackles, sparking off into the night and lights everyone in flickers of orange and yellow. The breeze has picked up after dark, and the tank-top and shorts you’d donned earlier in the day aren’t appropriate any more, one of Danny’s hoodies—a purple one that sits in his locker just for you to steal and smells like weed and wood from all the past nights just like this one—takes the chill out of the night and keeps the goosebumps off your exposed legs.
The sky is clear and cloudless, a big moon staring back at you and a million shining stars fill the night sky. It’s times like these you think there’s no prettier place on Earth, nights like these where you feel completely rich.
Two joints are being passed around the circle lazily, laughter and conversation filling the air. The first one comes your way from the left, from Daniel. He takes a long hit, the embers at the end of the paper burning orange with his inhale. He holds it in, nodding his way through someone else’s joke, and exhaling into a laugh.
He looks at you, hesitates to hand it over. “I really don’t want a lecture from your parents tomorrow morning,” he teases, playful smile pulling on his lips, mischievous glint in his eye.
You roll your eyes. “They won’t know,” you insist, to no avail. Daniel chuckles, but holds his resolve and passes the joint around you to the next person.
Undeterred, you keep your eyes on the joint that moves clockwise, that comes to you from the other direction, a path with no Danny-sized roadblock. With practiced ease, you take a hit, exhaling slowly, savoring the warmth in your chest. You meet Danny’s eyes on exhale, find them half-amused and half-concerned, brows raised and smile drawn.
“Whatcha got there?” He laughs, gently taking the joint from her. “I told you not to,” he continues, taking a hit himself before passing it along again. You grin, a wave of giddiness washing over you. It always goes like that when he laughs—makes you all warm and fuzzy and silly.
“It’ll be okay, Danny-boy,” you laugh, leaning against him. Lazily, without hesitation, he tosses his arm over your shoulder and pulls you that much closer. You like being closer, can feel his laugh instead of just hearing it. You like the way his arm rests on your shoulder, the way his fingers trace patterns over the fabric of his sweatshirt, every touch echoing on your skin for minutes. You like being close, even if it makes your palms a little sweatier and your heartbeat a little faster. You could get used to being closer, you think.
The fire is starting to die out now, and the air gets colder. You wonder how long your parents waited up for you to get home. The original excuse was that Daniel had forgotten the lock-check, that you wanted to come along and really, it’s no problem to drive her home. After about fifteen minutes, you’d snuck away from the newly-built fire to make a phone call, to let them know you were grabbing food on the way home and don’t wait up for me. You’re sure they did, though, even if only for a while longer.
Anyway, the air is colder and the joints have been smoked through and the beers have been drunk—not by you, you’re too messy when you’re crossed. And not by Daniel, either, who refuses to drive drunk but insists on driving high.
You yawn under Daniel’s arm, find a way to somehow lean in closer. “Sleepy?” he asks, and you nod. Carefully, like he’s done it a million times before, he presses a kiss into the crown of your head. It’s not the millionth time, it’s not even the second time he’s kissed any part of you. It’s the first time you've felt the press of his lips and you think that you’ll feel it there forever. “You wanna go?”
“No,” you say. “I’ll stay, make sure the fire gets out and everything.”
It’s not much longer, anyway, until the fire is being doused with water bottles and beer and everyone is taking turns spraying the same perfumes and colognes over their clothes in a poor attempt to mask the smell of smoke and weed.
Daniel drives you home. It’s not the first time you’ve been the passenger in his old Ford Bronco. It’s not even the first time you’ve been in the truck while he was high. Usually, car rides with Danny consist of cranked down windows and loud music, of louder conversations and excessive laughter. This drive is quiet, though.
His hands are steady on the wheel, eyes focused on the road ahead. There’s no music, the windows are up, and he doesn’t talk. You watch him carefully from the passenger seat, study him in your paranoia. You haven’t done anything, you don’t think. There’s no reason for him to be mad at you. Unless there is.
“Did you have a good time?” You ask. Danny nods. “That’s good.”
He turns to face you at a stop sign. “Sorry,” he laughs. “I’m trying to focus.”
“It’s okay,” you nod.
“It’s harder,” he explains. “It’s hard with you here.”
— —
The evening you’d anticipated is far from the evening that unfolds. Fifteen minutes, maximum, in and out. That was the plan. But then Daniel—Daniel, and all the far-fetched dreams of him making himself at home in your life, all the passing thoughts you’d had over the years about the what-ifs; the grocery bills and the taxes and the white wine and the rusty barn doors. He glues you to his side for hours that feel like minutes.
The event is winding down, people keep coming up to him, firm pats on the back and handshakes and hugs goodbye. They tell him how great the place is, how great the wine is, how great he is, and you move around like his shadow, smiling awkwardly whenever someone catches your eye and waiting for the next joke Daniel has to crack quietly, just to you.
You stand at a high-table next to him, elbows on the tabletop, shoulders bumping everytime one of you moves. There were people around the table, a reason—an excuse—for the proximity, but they’re long gone now. “You know,” Daniel says quietly, dropping his head against his hands, speaking to nobody in the room but you. “I’ve missed you a lot.”
“Yeah,” you nod, speak just as softly. “Me too.”
He takes a long drink from the wine glass in front of him. Liquid courage, you know now, for what he was going to do next. The glass returns to the tablecloth with a soft pat, and he lets out a heavy exhale. “I heard there’s a new coffee place opening in Northbridge?” He asks, and you assume it’s because he knows your neighborhood, wants to know more about it. The wine has made you naive, or maybe you’d just pushed the reality of his implication so far from your mind that it’s an impossible thought.
“Yeah,” you nod. The new coffee shop in Northbridge is a seven minute walk from your apartment, and is on your way to work. You’ve been eyeing the place since the empty building went up for lease. “It’s got this super cute bakery right next door,” you add. “I think they opened last week.”
Daniel nods. “I’d love to try it out.”
“Yeah,” you continue, still genuine and naive and oh-so silly. “You should. I’ve heard good things.”
He laughs, then. Laughs this specific kind of Daniel laugh that you used to get so excited to hear. It meant he was going to do something for—or to—you. He’d laughed like that before he kissed you for the first time, and he’d laughed like that while orange juice ran down his arm and he asked you out for the hundredth time. He’d laughed like that on every anniversary, every birthday, every holiday. It’s Danny’s you laugh. “I’d need someone to go with, though,” he says. And the laugh and the words and the whole thing clicks. Daniel is trying to ask you out. “I don’t really know my way around Northbridge.”
A lie, objectively. One that confirms the assumption you’d just jumped to. Daniel’s first apartment was in Northbridge. He lived eleven minutes from where you live now. He knows the place like the back of his own hand, knows the streets like he used to know you.
You nod into the bottom of your wine glass, watching the liquid spin around the clear glass. “You don’t?”
He purses his lips, looks all deep in thought. “No,” he shakes his head. “No, I don’t think I do.”
“Oh,” you frown, your eyes meeting his. It’s really hard to mess with him when he looks at you like that. Hard, but not impossible. “My dad’s usually around.”
He chuckles. “Your dad, huh?”
“Yeah, yeah,” you nod, a smile pulling impossibly hard on your lips. “Retirement and all, you know.”
“Oh, sure.”
“I guess…” you shrug, stop spinning your glass and set it down altogether. You push it slowly across the tablecloth towards the center. “I could always show you around, too.”
He leans back, stands up straight and scratches his beard, makes a piss-poor attempt at wiping the dimpled smile off his face when he cocks his head to the side and says, “As much as I like your dad…”
“As much as you like my dad.”
And, because Daniel was never really Daniel, because he’s always going to be your Danny, no matter the time or the distance or anything else that should get in the way, he says: “You’ve always been my honeybee.”
— —
“Don’t call me that, Mom,” you shouted from the office, gathering your morning gear. You were working tours with Danny, today, and the two of you had spent all morning bickering over who gets to be lead and who has to be secondary guide. While you shoved the batteries into the walkie-talkies, you could overhear Danny successfully pleading with your Mom. Honeybee, she’d called out to you. Let Danny take Lead today, won’t you?
She laughs. You roll your eyes, slipping behind the counter where she leans, where Danny lounges on a stool. You toss Danny’s walkie at his chest, and he catches it before it hits him. She raises her brows pointedly, meets Danny’s eyes in some shared language, a shared silent remark about you. “Why not?”
“Because. It sounds like something Grandma would say.”
Your mom smiles, twirls the end of your ponytail around her finger. “But you’re so sweet”
Danny chokes on his laugh, shooting up straight in his seat to clear his throat, to cough into his elbow. “She is NOT sweet.”
You scowl, shove his shoulder gently. It only makes him, and your mom, laugh harder. “Hey!”
“You make my life sweet, baby girl,” she hums.
Danny nods, falling back into his comfortable spot, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re kinda like a bee,” he says, leaning back even further. Your entire day would be made by him losing his balance and falling flat on his ass. “You make her life sweet but for me…” he pauses. “You’re just this annoying little buzzing I can’t shoo away.”
Silently, you hold up both middle fingers to him, walking backwards out from behind the counter, towards the back door. Your mom only laughs at you, always laughs at you and Danny. “Love you, Bee,” she calls to you, and winks at Danny.
“Yeah,” he calls, the stool creaking underneath him as he properly stands up. “Love ya, Bee!”
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